By Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence
You know those people who turn their birthdays into week-long extravaganzas? The ones who announce it to anyone who will listen, eagerly awaiting accolades on how well they’re navigating this journey called life?
The ones who don tiaras and sashes, parading through the streets to ensure no one misses their special day?
That’s definitely not me.
You see, my birthday often goes unnoticed. As a Pesach baby, I share this sentiment with many. My mother gave birth to me during that hectic time, and I continued the tradition with a couple of my own children.
I even received a comment from the attending nurse when I cradled not one, but two baby boys, exactly three years apart, both on the eve of Pesach.
“In case you didn’t hear me the first time, don’t get pregnant in July,” she reminded me.
As an aside, my next baby was born in mid-August, so it’s a toss-up on which timing is better.
Us April-born folks know the birthday struggle is real.
We’ve even got a support group, complete with subpar Pesach coffee.
It’s the type of birthday I never wanted my kids to experience.
After all, who wants to be the one whose birthday coincides with the day grocery stores extend their hours in preparation for Pesach, hiding all the good chametz?
Sorry, boys. Sorta just happened that way.
My birthday always falls on yom tov, and if it miraculously lands on chol ha’moed, I assure you, no one’s checking their phone to see who gets to (not) enjoy a Pesach birthday cake adorned with a pound of margarine-based frosting and a “Happy Birthday!” etched into it.
Oh yes, my contemporaries are either knee-deep in the 10th straight Pesach meal, assuming the same dishes will magically appear, or they’re at a theme park with their kids, hoping to avoid the dreaded “I’m bored” statement while waiting in line for a ride.
If they’re fortunate, they get to navigate the stroller brigade, laden with essentials, enduring curious stares from outsiders wondering about our unique cuisine: canned tuna, cheese, and some form of potato chip.
Is that a flatbread with a blob of cream cheese smeared onto the side because knives didn’t make the “food and supplies needed for chol ha’moed adventures” list?
Nope, at that point, we’re just focusing on surviving the day.
I’m not sure if having my “invisible” birthday during Pesach made me dread the day, or if I would have been more celebratory had it fallen at a different time of year.
It’s a question I’ll likely never answer.
I wake up on that day fully aware that I was meant to arrive when I did, just like everyone else. I reflect on the feelings of past April 20ths and am grateful for being in a place where I feel truly blessed, despite all that’s happened.
Through birthdays following family losses and those spent during COVID, the most ordinary ones—those that quietly arrive and depart—are the ones I cherish most.
I don’t regret the timing, G-d forbid.
I simply celebrate it differently, looking forward to a year ahead filled with blessings, health, and happiness. I take the day to reflect on my life, my purpose, and my connection with the Almighty.
I want to take a moment to acknowledge the efforts of the men and women organizing the upcoming yom tov for their families and friends, in case they haven’t heard it yet.
This is a time for togetherness and bonding.
It’s a time to reflect on our historical journey from slavery to freedom and to thank G-d for both revealed and hidden miracles in our lives. It’s a time to recite our own personal “dayeinu” and to acknowledge that what we have is enough.
And it’s a time to wish a happy birthday to all my fellow “invisible” Pesach birthday babies.
I see you.
Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of 5, a writer, and a social media influencer.
