Welcome back to Ancient Wisdom, our Sunday series in which writers over 70 tell us how they are aging gracefully. Last week, Jim Heintz, 73, explained how he wound up in Estonia, and why he decided to grow old there. This week Roberta Rosenthal Kwall, 70, describes the lesson she learned when she let a friend’s problem take over her life.
In many ways, I have lived an extraordinarily “ordinary” life. When I was in grade school, my parents moved to Union, New Jersey, a lower-middle-class town close to Newark. My dad was a shoe salesman for Florsheim, and my mom stayed home until I went to college. They were loving and supportive parents, even if at times a bit overprotective. But I really was the perfect child. I never did anything risky, never rebelled, never lied to them, and I always took my mother’s advice.
It was very important to my father that I receive what he called a “good” Jewish education. For him, this meant joining a Conservative synagogue and sending me to Hebrew school. I loved Hebrew school. And I loved being Jewish—so much so that right before my bat mitzvah I decided to keep kosher and keep Shabbat—that is, refrain from labor from Friday sunset to Saturday nightfall—in keeping with the standards of Conservative Judaism. My mom dutifully accommodated the wishes of her only child and made the necessary changes to our kitchen. She also was happy to come with me to synagogue on Friday nights and Saturday mornings, although my dad usually had to work.
I had a core group of mostly non-Jewish friends from my public school as well as some friends from my Hebrew school. I distinctly remember feeling that I was living in two worlds, and this feeling grew stronger as I became more religious, but my worlds didn’t compete. I had balance in my life—and it made me feel complete.
