The sixtieth birthday is a big one for Jews for it means that one has avoided at least one of the definitions of kareis — premature death. And with it one is officially welcomed into the ranks of ziknah (Avos 5:25) however unworthy one may feel of admission just yet.
At fifty I joked that I was now too old to die young. Now I’m even too old for a midlife crisis.
Other than finding it hard to believe that a decade has passed since I wrote “On Turning Fifty” — the passage of time seems to accelerate sharply with advancing years — my chief feeling on this latest milestone is gratitude.
Above all I’m grateful that I have no desire to go back in time. I wouldn’t claim that I’ve never been happier — who can remember or compare? — just that I would not wish to be any other age right now. When I watch my children chasing after their young ones or listen to them complain of sleepless nights I wonder how I could have had the energy for that. If I wonder aloud they are likely to answer “You didn’t Abba. Ima did that.” But in any event I have no desire to switch places with them.
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