Blended Families

“Will you fly in to the States to meet him, and if it goes well, you can meet his whole family? Then he could fly to see you in Israel.” That sounded overwhelming, but the practicality spoke to me. And the adventure. Setting places for my children to stay wasn’t easy or comfortable. I didn’t tell them why I was going.

It was dreamy and fantastic: I could see building a home together. But could our kids? He flew to Israel alone a few weeks later to meet my children. Went well. Next. Married. Next.

The first time our kids met was shortly afterward, just before Pesach. My children and I got off the flight to New York and entered our future home, stepping into a birthday party arranged for my youngest daughter Shaindy. New aunts, uncles and cousins also came — it was a big crowd. The room was decorated, the cake and special chair set up.

Shaindy sat down, and that’s when we saw the candles on the cake, something we held should not be done. Inner gasp. Shaindy looked up at me, then back at the lit candles, wondering what to do — they were starting to burn down toward the frosting, everyone transfixed. Don’t get lost in the details, I told myself. I leaned forward, smiling. “You can blow them out,” I said.