Natalie with her mother, Danna
by Natalie Sopinsky
My mom had duck boots for the rain. And for the snow. And luckily, we wore the same size shoe. So, when I visited her in January 2024 and it snowed, she let me wear the duck boots.
They are old-fashioned, and probably not so stylish anymore, but I remember in the 1980s they were seen everywhere. And practical, oh so practical. They proclaim to keep your feet dry, and they do!
My mom was generous. She gave them to me to wear without hesitation. Just like she’d join groups in her senior living community without a second thought. Christian, Arts-n’ Crafts, the Italian Club. She didn’t care, she was social and wanted to make friends and be busy.
That’s what many Jews still do. Mingle, get along, make friends, needing people to like us.
I like that and I, for the most part, agree. It might be something ingrained in me as a Jew, but I think it mostly comes from my mom. Because I am so much like her. I even have the same voice.
When her friends used to call on the phone, and she’d be in another room or “indisposed” (her fancy way of telling people she was in the bathroom, and she taught us to use that very phrase), I’d sometimes pretend that I was her and handle the conversation. I’d go along until at some point, her friend on the other end would detect something and say “Danna? Is this you?”
I was caught!
I didn’t say any of these things in Mom’s eulogy last year. But I want her to know.
Is it too late to tell her now?
My life has continued after Mom left me. Us. And this happens to everyone at some point. But for some reason, I never imagined it happening to me. I never imagined life without my mom.
How silly. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I prepare? I prepare for other things, why not that?
So now I have memories. And thank goodness I have lots of them. Lessons. Memories. In a way, they are one and the same.
Yesterday, I was on the phone with a friend who lives in Toronto. He was criticizing my most recent article. I wrote about Israel and the lack of crime here, but also about the simple fact of terror. He wanted to write how our children are all superheroes because they all serve in the IDF.
I thought it was “too much” and sounded a bit like a cheerleading mom on the sidelines of a soccer game. Our children are mature fighters, we don’t need to brag about them and call them superheroes. What does that accomplish?
But maybe I’m wrong.
My mom, as an example, was always quick to praise. If we were even mediocre, she would approve, applaud, and encourage us.
I was a ballet dancer. Was I good? My mother certainly thought so. My teacher yelled at me, hit my feet, and made me cry. My mother couldn’t have been prouder. “He pays attention to you!” she would say. That meant I was worth paying attention to . . . or in other words, I was good.
Having that kind of encouragement from a parent can make a big difference. It builds confidence, it allows children to grow, to try things, to believe in themselves. I am a spokesperson today because of the things my mom instilled in me, I don’t doubt it for a minute.
And I strive to instill the same confidence, by being encouraging to my own children.
That’s a great gift Mom gave.
Natalie with her son, Ariel
Today, I took my third son to serve in the IDF in response to his draft notice. His two older brothers have been combat fighters, and now he will be, too. He is my look-a-like. For years, I’d grab his face, hold it next to mine, and say to people “see, doesn’t he look just like me?”
He was our first sabra. When we made aliyah, I was seven months pregnant. He was born when we were living on a kibbutz, integrating into our new Israeli life. I remember how lonely I was at the hospital . . . we were six women to a room. Our beds were separated by dividers, there was very little privacy. I could hear everything from the women around me. And they all had visitors. Big families came with food and gifts. But I had nobody.
Being an immigrant has its difficult moments. But I knew it was worth it. I was growing an Israeli family and my kids would be tough, independent, and confident.
So, we plowed ahead and moved to Susya, a “settlement,” with tough Israelis and fresh air, goat farms and vineyards. We grew our family and made our way. An out-of-the-way community, with most of the families having six kids or more, all serving in the IDF in fighting units. The fathers serve, too, maintaining a very high percentage of reservists. And even our Kitat Konenut, our internal security team is made up of community members and functions expertly, having thwarted several terror attacks since October 7.
Over the years, some of my children have complained about us living here. They’d call it a “hole” and whine at the time it takes to get to their friends in the different cities.
But we held fast. I never let it really bother me. For sure, I had the same sorts of complaints growing up in the American suburbs of Wilmington. I mean, don’t all kids complain?
Here, when we are in the news, as we have been recently, because our shepherds were attacked by near-by Arabs throwing rocks, friends of mine in the U.S. contact me asking for clarification.
Some reconsider their plans to visit.
Last night we saw the Iron Dome out the window. We were eating our last dinner together . . . a special dinner before our son joined the army.
No party for our family. We don’t have any family here to fill up a room. Another reminder of our immigrant status. So, we had a nice dinner and made the best of it.
My mom used to tell me how her family was “small,” and she’d drive around before a holiday picking up old relatives scattered around town.
We don’t even have that. But I am grateful for what we do have.
When I tell my son I’m proud of him, I can barely get the words out.
It doesn’t matter that we don’t have the numbers, or the parties, or the fancy lawn. I am bursting with pride like so many other parents and I think the kids feel it no matter what.
Today at the soldier induction center, the sidewalk out front was crowded with mothers like me, and sisters and fathers and babies.
It was nothing like being at that hospital nineteen years ago. And my son wasn’t alone.
Pictures provided by Natalie Sopinsky
About the Author
NATALIE SOPINSKY, a Delaware native, was raised in an all-American Conservative Jewish family. Today she is a pistol-wearing, hitch-hiking settler living in the Hebron Hills. A lawyer and lifeguard, the mother of five children, Natalie represents the 150 communities in Judea and Samaria as Director of Development for Hatzalah Yehuda and Shomron, the main US charity for emergency medical needs in the Jewish heartland. www.hatzalah.org.il. Natalie also hosts the weekly radio program Returning Home on Israel NewsTalk Radio, israelnewstalkradio.com/returning-home/. Natalie has more information on her website, www.nataliesopinsky.com.
