A Crash Course In Grandparenting
By Malkie Hirsch Magence
I’ll be the first to admit it: it still feels surreal to go from being the mother of five young children to suddenly being called “Savta Malkie.” And not by my own grandkids (I don’t have any of those—yet), but by the grandchildren of my husband Jeremy, from his first marriage.
This identity shift came to a head during a recent visit to Israel, where two of Jeremy’s daughters live with their growing families. If you’ve been following the ups and downs of my made-for-TV life, you know that a few years ago I remarried a wonderful man, ten years older than me, with four adult children and an ex-wife. In doing so, I didn’t just gain a husband—I inherited a complicated, already-in-motion family dynamic. One that included a cast of children, spouses, ex-spouses, and yes—grandchildren.
At first, I was simply Malkie. Not “Mom,” not “Savta,” just me. And I was fine with that. It was an easier title, free of expectation. But over time, as bonds formed and trust grew, that title evolved. Today, I’m proudly known as Savta Malkie. And even if I’m occasionally weirded out by the fact that we now have both a grandson and a daughter who are just three weeks apart, I can’t help but marvel at how life has unfolded.
Being a grandmother—especially a step-grandmother with zero prior grandparenting experience—is an entirely new chapter. And it’s nothing like parenting. I’ve always been a self-proclaimed “hands-off” parent—the opposite of a helicopter mom. But grandparenting, I’ve learned, has its own unspoken rules, rhythms, and rewards. It’s a crash course in loving through presence, supporting without overstepping, and showing up, even when you’re not sure if you belong.
This recent trip to Israel was the first time Jeremy’s ex-wife and her fiancé, and Jeremy and I, were all together on the ground—taking shifts and trading roles across two daughters, six grandchildren (aged seven to seven days), and a jam-packed week of simchas, errands, and emotions.
We coordinated hospital visits.
We relieved exhausted husbands who had to be in two places at once.
We planned and cooked for Shabbos meals.
We baked cakes for brisim in three different kitchens (and let me tell you: no one in Israel has extra fridge space).
We did spontaneous school pickups, ran errands, and bribed tired toddlers with sweets—returning them to their parents just in time for the sugar crash.
Like much of what I’ve experienced since remarrying, I didn’t understand what I was signing up for until I was already doing it. It’s not a complaint; it’s just the reality of stepping into a life that was already full before I arrived. But what I’ve learned is that love doesn’t always come in the ways we expect. Sometimes, it shows up in the form of effort. Of doing the thing that needs to be done, even when no one asked you to. Of choosing to care and showing it in ways that aren’t always acknowledged but are always felt.
I also found myself reflecting on what I wanted when I reentered the dating world in my 40s. I wanted someone solid. A good father. A steady partner. A mensch. Jeremy told me that’s who he was—and over time, I’ve seen it proven again and again. Watching him this past week, so naturally involved with his Israeli children and grandchildren, just as he is with the ones back home, I realized: I got exactly what I asked for.
The week culminated in a beautiful bris for the newest member of the family: Eyal Maier. The preparation was nonstop. The logistics were complex. The emotions ran high. But as I looked around the room that morning—at the parents, stepparents, exes, in-laws, and kids all gathered to celebrate—I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging.
It hasn’t always been easy to get to this place. There were times when I felt like an outsider. Times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be fully included. But this week changed that. I was there. I was part of it all. And that felt… huge.
I’ve come to see that love changes over time. When our kids are little, love is kisses and bedtime stories and wiping away tears. But when they grow up and start families of their own, love becomes effort. It becomes picking up groceries, showing up for doctor appointments, making room (in your suitcase, in your schedule, and in your heart). And when you’re a stepmother, especially to grown kids who had a strong, loving mother of their own, it also becomes about respecting what came before, while gently carving out a space of your own.
And so, even if I’m still adjusting to the title, I’ll answer proudly to Savta Malkie.
Because love, I’ve learned, isn’t about how you got there. It’s about what you do once you arrive.
Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of five, a writer, and a social media influencer.
