A few weeks ago I met my two oldest friends for lunch. We’ve managed to maintain our friendship for 33 years–practically our entire lives–and through living in three different states. I’m aware that these kind of friendships are rare–as adults we are all so completely different, yet we share an unspoken connection. I can be myself around them and they have been there to offer support and guidance through many of life’s twists and turns. On the drive home from our gathering, with my kids in tow chattering away in the backseat, I thought about what’s made our friendship last when so many others have faded. It began in the classrooms of our Jewish preschool.
Jewish preschool. Exactly the place we ended up three years ago, when my oldest was 4. My husband and I thought he should spend a year in preschool before kindergarten, but the decision to make a change weighed heavily on us. At the time, I was hesitant to leave the loving arms of home day care for a more formal preschool. I had so many concerns and it was hard to imagine finding a place that would meet all of our family’s needs. “Who were these new people? Would we fit in? Would the teachers REALLY know my kids the way our sitter had?” Clearly, though, the preschool was prepared for a family with my level of worry and met my family and I with smiles at every open house and “get to know you” event.
We took the leap to enroll and almost immediately my fears were dismissed as we were welcomed into the community. Many families reached out to offer a warm welcome and to make a connection. I realized just much how this community would come to mean to me when that September my mother-in-law passed away. The preschool sent a Shabbat dinner to us and strangers, now friends, came to pay shiva calls. Remembering how those people reached out to us still touches me so deeply. The teachers took time to offer advice about how to help my kids understand the loss of their grandparent.
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