Babyless in the Holy Land

Lately, I started to suspect that there are more babies per capita in this country that there are in Canada. Maybe it’s something about the wars (history showed that people procreate more in wartime and Israel is in a state of constant wartime,) maybe it’s the subconscious fear of being outnumbered by the enemy. Whatever the reason may be, it can make life for a 34 year old babyless woman a living hell.

Ok, to be fair, it could be also because most of my close friends in Canada are younger than me, and that I live away from my huge family (‘a family the size of a small European country’, I wrote once) and their many children. Also, even in Vancouver the trend is beginning to shift, and right now I have three friends (not in my closest circle still!) that are pregnant.

But in Israel it is a sweeping epidemic. Babies are everywhere, and of course they are adorable and so much fun to have around. I have 7 incredible nieces and nephews and one on the way.My many cousins have been having babies for years now, (I think – scary thought – that I’m the oldest female cousin at this moment who still hasn’t bred!!) My friend Tal is expecting a second, my friend Doron has a 6 month old baby, my friend Tsachi just got married and isn’t wasting any time. Every time I meet someone from the past I discover that they have offspring. I have only three friends without babies. One of them just turned 30 so she doesn’t count, the other is a lesbian who recently announced that she intends on marrying at 50 and having babies at 70 (to her girlfriend’s dismay) and the third is my childhood friend, Michal, who just like me, is simply not ready yet. Thank god for her.

But I think the main difference is that in Canada, I get most of my harassment (yes, let’s call it by its name: harassment) from the Indian staff at Yogi’s kitchen, and annoying as it may be, it doesn't happen often enough to make me mad. But in Israel, let me tell you, it is not harassment. It is a crusade.

I made the mistake, while visiting some family on a Saturday morning, of getting myself into a trap I should have recognized from miles away. It started innocently enough, with questions about my boyfriend (should have seen the flashing DANGER signs) and then one of the women asks: “So when are the bells going to ring?”
I instantly tense. “I don’t know,” I say, avoiding eye contact.
“Whatever,” my cousin who’s 45 and has 5 children, interferes. “Who cares about that? Just have a child. You don’t have to get married.”
Now that’s new. I’ve only been hearing it for the past couple years. Suddenly tradition is no longer a priority. Not in comparison to baby making, anyways. You gotta choose your battles. And especially in a case like mine, when a Jewish wedding is out of the question (so why bother?) and my clock is rapidly ticking (oh, how they love to talk about that clock,) wasting precious time on wedding preparation would just be foolish. Better get down to business! Start popping them before it’s too late! What, you think you’re so special that you can just go about life without fulfilling your role as a woman? You think you’re better than us? That your calling is different than ours? And what the hell is wrong with you anyways? What kind of woman your age doesn’t want babies? Why exactly do you need convincing?
“Later,” I say, like I’m declining an offer for lunch because I have previous engagements. “I’m really busy right now. I’m writing a book.”
“So???” my cousin yells, clearly not impressed with my literary aspiration. “You think you can’t write with a belly?”
Actually, it’s not the belly I worry about, I want to say. It’s the screaming helpless child who’d need my full love and attention. Yes, I think that might interfere with my writing time. But I say nothing and start rubbing an imaginary stain on my pants.
“How old are you?” My other cousin’s wife asks the dreadful question.
“34,” I say. I give her my age the way we do it in Canada, staying 34 until the minute I turn 35, even though I know that according to Israelis I’m pretty much 35 now, because my birthday is in two and half months.
She looks me up and down, but instead of saying: “Wow, you don’t look a day over 30!” she says: “So, it’s about time. You’re not a kid anymore.”
Now I’m offended. What did I ever do to her? That’s not a very nice thing to say! Sure I’m still a kid! Yes, I know my mom had 5 children at 34, but none of my siblings had children at my age. They were all late bloomers. In fact, my sister, who just had her first baby, is going to be 42 this summer, and by the way, at her heart she’s still a kid too! Ask anybody who ever played pillow fights with her!
I’m starting to look for an escape route. Did it just get hot in the room? My cousin’s daughter, who is in the room watching TV, looks up at me and smiles. Is it pity?
My cousin suddenly softens and laughs. “Look at her,” she says, “all she thinks is: shutupshutupshutupshutup.”
I smile tightly. She’s bang on, of course.
“Yes,” my aunt says, “I have a friend whose daughter a bit older and she stopped coming to family dinners because they harass her so much.”
“How old is she?” I ask.
“30,” my aunt says.
“That’s older???”
“Well, you know,” my aunt spit a list of clichés that should be outlawed. The clock is ticking. When I’d want to have one I wouldn’t be able to. I find myself imagining committing horrible crimes against those women I love dearly. Suddenly they’re the enemy. I see it in their eyes. There’s a new look in there. It’s as if they don’t like me as much as they used to. Because I’m a horrible daughter to my mother who wants nothing but grandchildren. Because I’m too indulgent, selfish, lazy. Because they no longer understand me.

This happens to me a lot in Israel. A lot more than I care to admit to Sean. And there’s milder harassment, coming from girlfriends (both in Israel and in Canada) who tell me they don’t really believe that I don’t want children right now. They think I secretly want a child but for some weird reason deny it from myself. ‘When you’ll see your sister’s daughter,’ they say, ‘you’d want one for yourself.’ They are probably just projecting but still, it’s slightly insulting - because do they think I am that out of touch with myself? - and really tiring. When did my uterus become a public domain? A topic of discussion?

You want the awful truth? Are you ready for it? I don’t want children right now. I just don’t. I saw my sister’s daughter and I love her like only an aunt can, and she’s wonderful and amazing and still – she didn’t make me want one of my own. I love the children around me. It’s a joy to have them around. I just don’t want my own yet. I never dream about babies. I’ve never had a pregnant dreams. When I think about having a baby, I actually cringe a little bit.

I’m not saying I’d never want children. I might want them next year. I think about that a lot. At my age it would be stupid to not think about it. And I’m clearly aware of the fucking clock. It ticks loud and clear it’s kind’a hard to miss. And my friends and siblings have nothing but wonderful things to say about having children. It changed their lives. They are happy. It seems like it would be a shame not to experience that. But that’s not much of a reason to have babies. It would also be a shame to not go skydiving, and don’t get me wrong - of course I’m not comparing the two. I’m just pointing out the way my mind works right now. I’m pointing out the lack of deep yearning that most new mothers talk about.

I can’t help feeling the way I feel. I don’t think that makes me a bad person. I know I’m a minority amongst my age group, but just like every minority, I don’t deserve being harassed simply because I’m different.