From home-schooling to swab testing screaming babies, these past years have not been easy for parents. Without getting into a hierarchy of suffering, it’s fair to say that mothers especially have had a rough time. Having been fortunate enough to have had a “normal” birth and maternity leave before Covid was a twinkle in anyone’s eye, my heart goes out to the two thirds of women who the Care Quality Commission says went through labour partnerless. Likewise to friends who spent lonely days in hospital with newborns while loved ones had to stay away, or to those for whom lockdown meant starting parenthood trudging round frozen parks, no warm spaces available for nappy changes or feeding. Unsurprisingly, one study found Covid mothers were twice as likely to experience post-natal depression. 

Against this backdrop, we continue to see discussion of falling birth rates and pearl clutching that selfish women are leaving it too late. First, there was Murray Edwards president, Dorothy Byrne, saying that female students should be taught about fertility. Last month, the ONS revealed that record numbers of women were reaching 30 without kids. And last week, James Kirkup wrote a much-discussed Times column fretting about “Britain’s baby shortage”. 

I won’t dwell on the obvious structural reasons why couples are reluctant to procreate early and often — from house prices to the need to sell a kidney to fund childcare — nor the fact that our attitude to immigration sits at odds with fears of declining birth rates. Rocket science it is not.  

Still, as and when you do take the plunge, the British Jewish community can be a great place to have and raise a child. Like a nagging aunt, Judaism encourages us to fruitfully multiply, but at least it provides a supportive context when we do. I often see women on parenting Facebook groups appealing for others nearby to make themselves known. 

Yet if you’re even vaguely active in Jewish life, by the time you give birth you’ll probably have been matched with a dozen others in your shoes. The Jewish grapevine has nothing on NCT for acting as a shadchan.

British Jews tend to live close to family and, if not, to friends of all generations who arrive on your doorstep with food, company and advice. Non-Jewish friends who moved cities as adults tell me how envious they are of the myriad pluses of having long-established local networks, from emergency childcare to chums (often with medical degrees) who can be there in under 15 minutes in a crisis. 

It’s not just those early weeks, it’s what follows, from synagogues providing babysitting lists to children’s services, and endless events aimed at families. The “shushing” ladies of days gone by are long gone; perhaps not every synagogue, but certainly most, want children involved and organise communal life to some extent around the preferences of their youngest members. 

From accessible buildings and buggy parks to leadership specifically focused on enacting policies that welcome families, Jewish life can offer a stark contrast to a world that’s not always set up to make parenting easier. And I’m sure as my son gets older I’ll appreciate other things, whether the barmitzvah to help kickstart his adolescence or the social structures offered by youth groups and summer programmes. 

All this might sound trivial. Undoubtedly, there are other such supportive communities and advantages to bringing up children in different faiths and none. 

Obviously, not every Jewish parent enjoys these benefits, especially those with children with additional needs. And there is more that could be done. Communal childcare provision that reflects working hours and healthier kiddush snacks are on my wishlist.

Nevertheless, two years of stripped-back services, when we’ve been unable to spend time in each other’s company, have exposed just how hard life can be without the ability to parent with a community behind you. They’ve set out starkly just what it can be like for parents lacking the support networks many of us take for granted. 

The corollary is that the Jewish community must also be accommodating to those who either choose not to or are unable to have kids. Being set up for family life is wonderful, but it shouldn’t exclude those who don’t fit that mould. Developments like the ISAAC campaign (which encourages more openness about fertility challenges) are helpful, but in a community where the emphasis is on creating the next generation, we must be more understanding of those for whom that doesn’t apply, or for whom family looks a little different than a 1950s postcard. 

It’s easy to dwell on the challenges of Jewish life, so let’s also celebrate the good; the huge benefits of having, if not a village, then a community to raise our children.