Many years ago, when we were on the brink of leaving for a sabbatical year in Israel, I explained to my then 3½ -year-old daughter that we would be away for a year. I told her we were going to Israel, where she would find kosher ice cream, kosher candy, and Mickey Mouse swings in the playgrounds. Her excitement was palpable, but was also laced with some concern when she asked how old she would be when we returned. I told her she would be 4½. “But Mommy,” she said, “then I will be older than all my friends in Teaneck!”