In this era of uncertainty, we are faced with challenges that even the most cynical of us could not have possibly predicted. We have changed our behavior regarding everyday activities from shopping to carpooling and from doctor’s appointments to visiting with friends. Our expectations regarding simchas and even small family gatherings have been revamped to the point where questions like, “Was it a Covid wedding” or “Did you zoom with your family?” are not uncommon. Regardless of how well we have adapted, though, there are still things that take us by surprise. We are so hypo-focused on anything that has to do with Covid that we don’t even realize that other aspects of our life, which we took for granted, are being upended without warning. My most recent collision with an ever-changing reality occurred while looking through one of our venerable international frum magazines during Chanukah.

y first Zoom experience bears no resemblance to the Zoom we know today. In my youth, Zoom was a children’s television show that aired on PBS. It included a group of highly energetic and slightly hyperactive children singing and dancing. They even spoke their own language. This language, Ubbi-Dubbi, required you to place the syllable “ub” before each vowel sound in each syllable of each word. The famous greeting they proffered was “H-ub-I, fr-ub-iends.” This is known in the vernacular as “Hi friends.” My siblings and I went around speaking Ubbi-Dubbi with each other and our friends.

Pesach preparations are often fraught with frustration and angst. We rid our homes of chometz and turn over our kitchens while attempting to keep our families from starving. We pore over menus, shop for ingredients, and prepare Yom Tov meals for our loved ones. We also invite guests.

During the year, inviting guests is a simple process; on Pesach, however, it is different. Why is this invitation different from all other invitations? Pesach meals present a unique numerical challenge. Not only do we have first and second day meals; we also have first and second day meals of the first days as well as first and second day meals of the second days. Far be it from me to point out that virtually everyone I know can count to eight. After all, we spend the rest of springtime counting all the way to 49. This brings me to the heretical suggestion that we refer to the second days of Pesach as the seventh and eighth day. I know this is a radical departure from the minhag hamakom, but it might serve to ease some of the confusion that we face in these difficult times.

There are many areas in which the concept of rotation, exchange, or substitution has been shown to have positive benefits. For example, we learn about crop rotation in social studies, where the goal is to help maintain the balance of nutrients for healthy soil. One of the rules is “to rotate plant families from one season to the next so that related crops are not planted in the same spot more often than every three years or so.” Combine this with the concept that “it takes a village to raise a child,” and the text books could read, “One of the rules is to rotate members of families from one season to the next, so related children are not planted in the same spot more often than every three years or so.” You see what we have here? A survival technique for parents across the globe!

The advent of a wedding creates a whirlwind of excitement. After months of careful planning and preparation, not to mention stress and anxiety, the wedding flies by in the blink of an eye. A flurry of friends and relatives celebrate with the happy couple for hours on end. As the final dance winds down and tables are cleared, the chassan and kallah bid their guests adieu. The young couple, flying high on the stream of good wishes, feels ready to face the world. Having already discussed their hashkofos, chosen their future home, and settled on where they will spend their first Yom Tov, they feel like they are ahead of the game. They don’t realize that their first real-life dilemma is less than 24 hours away.

I recently attended a wonderful lecture, where as an aside, the Rabbi mentioned how difficult it is when we realize we are aging and can no longer do everything for ourselves. Before he went on to add some truly encouraging and inspiring words, someone behind me mumbled under her breath, “Tell me about it.” This got me thinking.

We’ve all heard the saying “age is relative.” Anyone who’s ever been a kid or been related to a kid knows just how true this is. You see, children have a very limited vision of age. In their eyes, you’re either a kid (this includes babies) or you’re not (this includes bubbies). If you’re not a kid, then you have two options: You can either be married or you can be a morah (teacher). If you’re a morah, you live at school, and if you’re married, you live with your family. It is an uncomplicated web they weave – that is, until they see their morah at Seven Mile Market. A child’s reaction to seeing their morah falls into two categories: “fright or flight.” If the child is young, then, with a little prompting from their mothers, they shyly peek out from behind her skirt and whisper a barely audible hello. If the child is a little older, the conversation goes something like this: “Look,” they say to their mother, “there’s Morah Sarah.” Just as you turn your cart and glance over your shoulder, your daughter yells, “Run!” Children’s shock of seeing their morah outside of school has shattered their carefully constructed understanding of the world.

A child’s misunderstanding of age comes to light in many ways. Once, when my daughter was learning about presidents, she turned to me and asked if I was alive when George Washington was president. After a negative and slightly huffy response on my part, she then piped up, “Well, what about when Abraham Lincoln was president?” Needless to say, that history lesson ended quickly. On another occasion, my nephew, who was all of six years old, wanted to play Connect Four. It turns out that he is a whiz at the game, and he not only beat me but also beat his grandfather. As we complimented him on his wins, he proudly added, “I beat a second-grader at school.” I said, “That’s great, but you also beat me and grandpa.” To this he scoffed and said, “Yeah, but you’re old.”