By Aliza Billet, Arts and Culture Editor
Even in Modern Orthodox spheres where bigger families are more common, when I tell people I’m the oldest of eight kids, eyebrows rise. But being part of a growing family is all I’ve ever known; my first sibling was born before I was two years old and my youngest sibling was born when I was a 17-year-old high school senior. Big-sister-of-many is part of my identity, and I thought I had the job down pat by the time my youngest brother was born. However, I didn’t account for the massive change that was coming when I moved out of the house.
I suppose that everyone needs to deal with the changes that come with “leaving the nest,” as they say. But not everyone can say they left at the same time that someone else moved in. I left for my gap year in Israel when my brother Shmuel was seven months old, and watching him grow up from afar has been the hardest part of my transition from teenagerhood to young adulthood.
Maybe hardest isn’t the right word, but there were definitely moments when I cried about the fact that my youngest siblings wouldn’t know me. However, thanks to Steve Jobs (and my parents), that hasn’t exactly been the case.
Picture this: My phone rings. Caller ID says it is my mother. I pick up the phone and say, “Hi, Mom.” Then, a little voice on the other end of the call says, “Why do you always say ‘Hi Mom’ when I call you? I’m not Mom, I’m Shmuel.” In those moments, I know we’re going to be okay. “Hi Shmuel,” I tell him, “I thought it was Mom because you’re using Mom’s phone.” And he immediately gets defensive: “But she lets me use it!”
Then the conversation continues on to more important things, like “Let’s FaceTime” and “When are you coming home?” My heart breaks a little when he asks me that, but the question also makes me happy, because it means he knows I’m a person who can come home, and he even wants me to do so. Sometimes fights break out when the other kids hear I’m on the phone. “Who is that?” “Is that Aliza?” “I want to talk to her!”
Being away from home is also difficult, though. I feel guilt over not being there to help with carpool or to run errands. I don’t make enough of an effort to call the kids who don’t have phones, and I’m sure that hurts them more than it hurts me. I miss performances and concerts, birthday parties and some holidays. I know I’m not a parent, that it’s not my job to be at all of those things. My job is actually to get on with my own life, but that doesn’t mean the guilt goes away, or that I don’t miss being the big sister I was when I lived at home.
And it’s weird, watching my little siblings grow up on FaceTime, or via videos I get sent periodically from various family members. Their essence isn’t captured completely, even as I watch footage of them playing pretend (my brother Shlomo is famous in our family for his imaginative battle noises) and being generally adorable. Sometimes my reaction to a video is smiling and thinking, “Yes, I know that kid.” But other times I can only marvel sadly at how much they’ve grown, and how I wasn’t there to see it.
I remember a video I received during my shana bet (second year in Israel), of then-two-year-old Shmuel repeating “I love you, Aliza” after the eight-year-old videographer. But the videographer whispered the line, so Shmuel mimicked the whisper; when cued, “Louder,” he delivered his next line at a scream: “I LOVE YOU LIYA” (Zs are hard when you’re two).
I compare that with a video I got a year later, of three-year-old Shmuel holding our dad’s phone, complaining that “Yaliza is not answering me” (he figured out the Z sound but that initial A was still difficult). I was not home to see him every day, but I could still see and feel a part of his development, even if I “was not calling [him] back” and he had “to retry Yaliza back.” More importantly, I was a part of his life, even if I was just a concept.
I joke about it, but I love when a cashier tells my little brothers they’re “doing such a good job helping Mommy,” and we get to laugh about it in the parking lot when I explain that the person thought I was their mom. I love watching the younger kids read the books I read when I was their age, and getting to discuss the stories with them. I love our eclectic family Shabbos meals, with every kid holding their own in the conversation, even if said kid is four years old. And I miss not being around for all these things, now that I haven’t lived at home in almost four years.
At the same time, the future is exciting. Part of the joy of growing up is the novelty, the opportunity that life offers us. And it’s not like my relationship with my siblings has gone away. It’s just morphed into something new. I get excited when my sisters come to me for advice and take what I have to say seriously. Every milestone my little brothers complete is wonderful. Each kid who graduates high school messes with my perception of time.
Ultimately, I am grateful for where I am, grateful for my role as an older sister and looking forward to existing alongside my siblings – even as the dynamics of our relationships change and evolve over time – as we embark on the adventure that is the rest of our lives.
Since writing this article, I have officially been promoted from oldest-of-eight to oldest-of-nine — my baby sister was born shortly before this article’s publication. Baruch Hashem, the adventure continues.