You mean you put everyone in a big machine and smush them around until they’re all mixed up?

Well, not exactly.

Try explaining to an eight-year-old what a blended family is. Probably better off giving an example, as in: Liel is Gil’s daughter from his first marriage, and one day this young lady was explaining to her cousin that she now has two mothers. No, said the cousin– a year older and hence much smarter – you have a mother and a step-mother. But she’s a nice stepmother; she’s not a mean stepmother. That’s what Natania became when she married Gil, the nice kind. And by extension, Barbara and I became blended grandparents – the nice kind. As my wife puts it, we’re related by love, not blood.

It’s slightly different with Tina. When she turned eighteen, our legal obligations as her guardians ended. But did that mean she was no longer our daughter? That’s a ridiculous question. She’s ours forever, and so are her sons, Damon and Milo, and their father, David. So maybe it’s love, not blood nor the imprimatur of some governmental agency, that creates a family.

Does any of this blended stuff, take away the tiniest bit from the joy and relief of having your first biological granddaughter – especially in my family where generations are few and far between?

Far between? I will prove my point, and you are free to do the math as I go along. Gefen Amit was born to Natania and Gil on Fri. Aug. 15, 2025. Natania was born Sep. 5, 1987. I was born on March 16, 1941. My father, Nathaniel, was born in 1900; my mother, Lucille Jacobson, in 1903. Are you noticing a trend here? (My mother became a biological grandmother when she was 84. I always assumed I would do better than that. Wrong.)

Let’s keep going. My father’s father, Henry, was born in 1866, wife Fannie in 1868. Samuel and Mascha Jacobson were born in 1866 and 1869, respectively. Samuel’s father, Levin or Leib, was born in 1831. His wife, Zelda Allschwang, was born in 1828 and died (for real) in Jan. 1929. I actually can go back another generation or two, but you get the point. And, if you’ve been following along and doing the math, you realize that, in the course of 200 years, give or take, we’ve gone through five full generations, and we’re now beginning our sixth. I can’t even imagine how many generations other families have crammed into that time span. There are probably Jewish families who’ve done their six generations in a little over 100 years.

So we’re into quality, not quantity, and we’re doing our best to ‘age gracefully’ – as it says on my Facebook page under ‘occupation.’

So when was this start-of-a-new-generation supposed to happen? Sometime in the middle of August. We were all wondering if Natania would make it through Miri-tal and Michael’s wedding in one piece, which she did. Of course, every time Barbara’s phone rang, we were wondering, Is this it?

We had already spent the weeks before, along with the parents-to-be, getting ready with all the requisite obsessiveness. Months before, Liel was asking, Do you have a crib? Do you have a car seat? You’ll need a car seat to get the baby home from the hospital. Sooner or later, all this worrying and preparation was bound to pay off. But even though Barbara’s phone was on round the clock, neither of us heard it ring when Gil called Wed. night. We finally got the word on Thurs. morning that they were on their way to the hospital.

Like mother, like daughter, as in, labor pains start and then… ‘Baby Boris,’ after months of clamoring to get out, changed her mind and wanted to stay put where it’s safe and warm. Natania spent hours pacing about the hospital mall waiting for the contractions to intensify (Doesn’t every hospital have a shopping mall?).

Meanwhile, we had other things to worry about. We had just been notified that my appointment with the urologist had been moved back three weeks until Sep.29 (between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur), because Dr. Muhamed wouldn’t be available for the original appointment. (We’re trying to move this thing along. I’m tired of wearing a bag.) After months of waiting, Barbara was scheduled for the MRI that Thurs. evening at 5PM to investigate the vagaries of her optic nerves and why her vision ain’t what it used to be. She was at the hospital at Har Tzofim; Natania and Gil were at the hospital at Ein Kerem. I was at home preparing dinner for Barbara, whenever she showed up.. Then my phone rang. I’m still waiting; there are two people ahead of me for an MRI. An hour later: I’m still waiting; there are the same two people ahead of me. And then: there was just an announcement. The machine is not working; they’re trying to get it fixed. And then: they can’t fix it now; someone will call me on Mon. to reschedule. (Don’t hold your breath. If you do, you’ll be sorry.) Chaya is coming to get me at the hospital; I’ll be home in a while. Don’t worry about dinner; I had something here.

Sooner or later, I will write my memoir, which will be entitled, appropriately, Life in the Slow Lane. I’m waiting to see a doctor to position myself into post-catheter mode. Barbara almost – almost – had the MRI she has been anticipating for months. And the baby was still stuck inside.

Finally, with the hospital staff tired of waiting, ‘Baby Boris,’ soon to be transitioned into Gefen Amit, was removed from her safe space against her will – by suction. This occurred a few minutes into Fri. Aug. 15.

Visiting hours are between 12:30 and 1:30. We have to go!

To which I responded, How about you go, and I’ll stay here to finish cooking and cleaning the apartment. There’s no emergency. I can wait until Sunday to check out my granddaughter.

After some discussion (!!!???), that’s what we agreed (!!!???) on.

It wasn’t that I was being blasé about the beginning of a new generation of persons with my gene pool. Not at all. I was simply focused on the iron reality of Shabbat arriving on schedule, on what needed to be done, and how much time I would need to do it. Otherwise, it would be tuna fish salad surrounded by dust balls for our Shabbat meals in the Casden household. I’m sure somewhere down the road, my granddaughter will forgive me for not taking four hours on that Friday to check out her arrival. Upon returning from the long trip, my wife, finding the apartment in Shabbat mode, did admit that there was some wisdom in my decision.

But at least we know where we would be over Shabbat, in the cozy confines of our apartment with the usual crowd for kiddush. Given the dramatic arrival of Gefen Amit, it was not clear whether the parents would be able to spend their Shabbat at the hotel attached to the hospital (Doesn’t every hospital have a hotel as part of its amenities?), or whether they would remain in the hospital for observation.  Spoiler alert: it was the latter. They would be discharged about noon on Sunday. Do you want us to come over now, or will you be too tired? The irony was that it was Barbara who was feeling poorly and maybe it was something that was contagious, so better not take a chance… Now it was my turn to head to Tzomet Pat by bus (which takes longer than getting to Ein Kerem; go figure).

That’s it? That tiny little thing that whimpers, feeds, poops, and hiccups? That’s the continuation of my gene pool? It’s hard to remember how small and helpless a human newborn is. (Not like the elephant calf, born recently on a railroad track in India, that immediately toddled away after its mother, allowing rail service to resume on the line. Where was Miri Regev when we needed her?) Well, my granddaughter probably wouldn’t understand a word I say, but that wouldn’t stop me from ‘conversing’ with her. I could at least explain who I am and who she is in the greater scheme of things. Perhaps in a few years….. Time may be slowly running out for me, but I’m a patient man. I’ve waited this long…

(Gefen – which is an actual name here in The Land – was named after Barbara’s mother Gwen/Gittel; Amit in memory of Amit Mann, a paramedic who gave her life on Oct. 7, while rescuing others from that catastrophe. Natania is in the process of contacting Amit’s mother Rachel. There are at least sixteen Israeli girls born recently and named after our hero.)