What Israeli Sketch Comedy & Hiking Taught Me About Turning 50

Why do some social situations feel like stepping into a puddle of mud? The harder you try to pull yourself free, the deeper you sink. What starts as a minor annoyance quickly becomes a messy struggle, leaving you wondering how such a small step got you so stuck.

The Israeli sketch comedy show, Mi Zot (Who Is She?), delights in these stuck-in-the-mud moments. Written by women and featuring an all-female cast, its characters respond to everyday social awkwardness by pushing it to absurd extremes, all through an Israeli lens.

The mother of a bar mitzvah boy greets guests she can’t stand with air kisses and compliments so over-the-top that her sincerity is as obviously fake as her simcha makeup and hair. At the park, when a busybody insists a baby isn’t dressed appropriately for the weather, the mother offers to call her every morning for outfit approval. The sketches are funny because they capture a feeling most women know well: getting trapped in social situations where there seems to be no graceful way out. It appeals to the women in my family ranging in age from tweens, twenties, thirties, forties, and now me, at 50.

Just like the women of Mi Zot dealt with uncomfortable situations by transforming them into comedy, I’ve tried to transform my discomfort with turning 50 into an adventure.

Turning 50 is like a switchback trail. One turn brings accomplishments and blessings. The next reminds you that aging requires constant vigilance for health screenings, hormonal changes, and hair color. I have more credibility at work but must bring my reading glasses to every meeting. I don’t drive multiple carpools, but I also don’t see my adult kids every day. We are best friends, but I can’t solve their challenges with a cup of hot chocolate and a bedtime story.

So I decided to embrace the switchback-trail-ness of 50, both figuratively and literally.

On my birthday, I got a second ear piercing. That might not seem like a big deal, but for years I didn’t have earrings at all. And I did it for no other reason than I wanted to. I didn’t worry whether it was age-appropriate or what others might think. I did get a raised eyebrow from my mother – and that gave the act the perfect amount of rebelliousness.

Then I traveled solo. Again, not because I had to – because I wanted to. I walked the fragrant boulevards of Beverly Hills and window shopped on Rodeo Drive. I got a fancy cocktail at the Chanel café. I strolled along the Santa Monica pier and Venice Beach, eyeing Doors and Red Hot Chili Peppers merch and remembering my teenage self – before college, relationships, babies, jobs. My own origin story. It’s much easier to look back on now that I’m past all the confusion, angst and fear of the future. I know what my future held – and it’s been pretty good.

Finally, I spent five days hiking, rock climbing, and camping in Yosemite National Park – activities I never experienced before. As someone more comfortable in front of an aerobics instructor than on mountain terrain, with a healthy fear of steep descents and cliff edges, it was entirely out of character.

And that was the point.

I had the incredible support of Yifei Nof Tours, an all-women’s team who runs kosher outdoor adventure tours for religious women. Yifei Nof covered the meals, lodging, and equipment. All I had to do was train, show up, and work hard. The 12 women came from diverse backgrounds, including Hasidic from Williamsburg, Yeshivish from Monsey, Baltimore and Cleveland, and laid-back spiritual seekers like me. But we all made friends easily and supported each other by taking photos together, sharing snacks, gear, and hiking tips.

The friendships came easily. The hiking did not.

We climbed Upper Yosemite Falls, the tallest waterfall in North America, gaining 2,700 feet of elevation. It was stunning to see, hear, and feel the massive cascade of bright white water, which creates its own rainbow as it mingles with the sun. After making it to the top, I had to face the toughest part: hiking down. That took intense concentration, physical strength, and perseverance. Kind of like labor, but without the epidural and the baby.

I watched my feet take every single step down. I let scores of other hikers pass me – from the muscled backpackers who skipped down the steep inclines like they were basement stairs to a family of Sikhs, to the group of Israeli fathers from Herzliya and Kfar Saba who asked me to take their photo. The head of our Yifei Nof trip kept calling to make sure she knew where I was, waited for me at one point, and helped get me through the last half of the descent.

The next day we spent 5 hours rock climbing and I came away with bruises on my elbows and skinned knees. Battle scars from pulling myself up nearly vertical rocks up 50 feet in the air.

Our final hike was Chilnualna Falls, marked by three waterfalls, rushing rivers, and a steep climb up 2,300 feet. After making it up, we set up our tents, sleeping bags, camping stoves, and secured our food in bear-proof cannisters. We waded in the river, hiked further up to watch the sunset and saw the stars and constellations emerge. We sang Tehillim, Shlomo Carlebach’s “Return Again,” and listened to Yishai Ribo. My tears flowed naturally – this time from exhilaration and connection, rather than fear.

When we hiked back down the next morning, I prepped myself for the challenge. I listened to our hiking guide’s stories about the history of the park, and followed her expert feet down the trail, moving much more confidently across the switchbacks.

As I reached the end of the trail, I realized that turning 50 was more like a switchback trail than getting stuck in mud.

Mud traps you and holds you back. The switchback keeps you moving, even if it zigzags and seems to go backwards. Sometimes you climb. Other times you descend. Sometimes all you need is a snack and a laugh with friends to keep yourself going.

As I round my own corner from 50 to 51, I know there are things I’ve left behind. But I’ve also gained so much: confidence, perspective, friendships, and the new freedom to do things simply because I want to.

Just like the women of Mi Zot, I’ve learned that laughter can make the uncomfortable moments bearable. Those tough moments – whether it’s getting older, hiking up a mountain, or parenting adult children – will always be there. The difference is that now I can see them as parts of my trail – not messy mud holding me back. Whether the trail goes uphill or downhill – I know I can keep going.