Sunday, July 18, 2010

Kindness on a Sunday

I had stopped taking Raphaela to the park on Shabbat, because 90% of the time I seem to return home angry and frustrated; inevitably, I was clashing with some parent over the fact that their kid had hogged the swing for the last 20 minutes, or trying to find a spot in the park that did not suffer from glass shards, fly-infested garbage, or nearby smokers.

As a result, I normally spend Friday and Saturday basically alone with Raphaela, except for brief interludes of adult company, and by the time Sunday arrives I am feeling physically exhausted and socially isolated.

This morning, however, there was no reason to avoid the playground, and when we arrived, we enjoyed some quality swing time. Then an older Sephardi woman approached me and invited the two of us to join her and the large group of parents, caretakers and children clustered around a picnic area in the shade. The invitation was so kind and genuine, I started crying out of joy and relief, knowing that we were welcome and that both Raphaela and I would get the soul food that we needed.

And indeed we did. We stayed in the park for almost three hours with these playmates of various ages. Raphaela sat on the picnic blanket and shared toys, ate watermelon and cookies and relaxed in the company of these wonderful women, who sang songs to the children, and spoke to me as a grown up. I learned more about their families and they asked me about my experience as an American who chose to live in Israel, and my impressions of motherhood.

I felt relaxed, happy and appreciated for the first time in a long time, and these feelings rippled through the rest of our day.

1 comment:

Doc said...

I spoke to my friend Olga several days after writing this post, she has a daughter Mika who is the same age as Raphaela. Olga told me that she has stopped taking her daughter to this part in the afternoons, because she has felt attacked by the large families- both Arab and Jewish - who take over the whole area. Once, she told me, she left with tears streaming down her face and feeling utterly alone.

I told her she was not alone.