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Alison Stern Golub was born and grew up in Seattle, Washington and is a graduate of Brown University. She made aliya to Jerusalem in 2003. More information about her adventures in Israel can be found on her .
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By Alison Stern Golub
April 2, 2005
Toddlers. Babies. Strollers. Big, round bellies and that infamous pregnant "waddle." Sometimes it seems as if every woman in Israel (especially Jerusalem) is either already a mother -- perhaps several times over -- or well on her way. Everywhere I look, I see women heaving themselves plus three kids, double strollers, and diaper bags onto buses; Sephardic mothers with their gaggles of children, scarcely a year between each one; girls significantly younger than me discussing diaper rash and new teeth.
Besides the ever-so-slight pang of jealousy that has begun to rear its ugly head (I am, after all, gettin' up there, ladies and gents!), I am always struck with a certain awe at these sights. It's so commonplace here, but the truth of the matter is that the percentages seem to me to be significantly, and wonderfully, out of whack in Israel.
Of course, this is almost certainly related to the substantial religious population in Jerusalem, a group that considers itself solely responsible for reversing the impending and ever-threatening "demographic crisis," which is expected to reach its peak within the next thirty years. This is due in part to the Israeli Arab population's birth rate, which is nearly double that of the Jewish citizens of Israel, and in part to the fairly steady decline in Jewish immigration.
I used to think of pregnancy as simply part of the life cycle; something women do because they can. But there is something different about it here. For instance, not once have I seen a soon-to-be mother in real "maternity wear." You know the type: a big frock the size of a house, overalls, baggy pants waving in the wind, all with the express purpose of hiding every possible hint of femininity. No, here you will see bulging bellies underneath skin-tight shirts; figures shown off by long, narrow skirts; sometimes even an inch or two of skin poking out from a stretched waistline. All of this combines to create an almost palpable feeling in the air of maternal comfort, pure feminine power, and the beauty of reproduction. It's like living in a big maternity ward.
When I was in the US, I used to constantly hear people declaring that they were drastically reconsidering "bringing a child into this world," referring to the "way it is out there today," the "sorry state of affairs," and the fact that the "world is going to hell in a hand basket." I never particularly blamed people who felt this way, and there were many days on which I secretly agreed with them. It's scary "out there," and the universal aspiration to bring our children into a world that is better than the one in which we grew up is slowly fading away into impossibility.
Perhaps no people in the world should feel this more strongly than Jews, and Israeli Jews in particular. Sometimes it seems that Israel has more than her share of justification to feel dejected, pessimistic, beaten down, and wary of her future. And yet her people often seem to me to be among the most optimistic I've ever seen. Young adults in their early twenties getting married in droves, completely oblivious to the ominous "fifty percent divorce rate" that rings in all our ears. Weathered, aging Holocaust survivors who believe so fiercely in the ultimate triumph of the State of Israel that they weep freely on our Independence Day. Battered, traumatized "normal" Israelis stepping lightly onto city buses, still hoping and believing that peace will come to us one day. This is optimism on a level I've never known.
And so lately I've been rethinking my own aspirations in this arena. Granted, it's still early in my own life cycle, and I thank my lucky stars every day that I still have a few years to go before childbirth becomes an imminent decision, but I am starting to feel this country's influence seeping into me. I feel a sense of hope I don't know if I've ever felt before, and a desire to contribute to our world simply because I believe in our strength and resilience as a people. I can't say the "state of affairs" will be any better for my children than they are today, and in fact we all have good reason to assume the opposite, but I am starting to feel a need to throw in my two cents anyway. I used to imagine that two kids would be my limit, what with a career and tight finances and all those impending concerns. But now I feel a certain pull to help my people, and if having more kids would do it, that's one step I'm willing to take for us. It's as if every pregnant woman in Israel is carrying our future, and we all rejoice every time another child joins our midst. No wonder we are so optimistic.
Views expressed by the author do not
necessarily reflect those of israelinsider.
 
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