Shanah tovah.
A Letter to
my Children
Dated the
First of Tishrei in the year 5778
To my dear
children, to Lev and Eli and Maya –
On the eve
of this great big new year, I am thinking about the book that I read to you
sometimes at night. The Hugging Tree
by Jill Neimark. It begins:
“On a bleak and lonely rock by a vast and
mighty sea grew a lonely little tree where no tree should ever be.”
The illustration on the first page shows
a little sproutling seemingly all on its own. It’s holding on as best as it can
to the edge of the cliff as clouds loom ominously above.
Lev, Eli, Maya, there are times when I am reading you that
story and I think I am that little tree out there flailing in the storm.
And then a worst
thought arrives.
It’s you, you’re
out there, hanging over a cliff, on the verge of being uprooted.
As your parent, I want to teach you optimism. I want to
teach you resilience. I want to instill in you hope.
For the
world is not as simple as I would like it to be for you, my loves.
With harsh winds
blowing all around and an unforgiving sea below, the little tree calls out: “Mighty
cliff, hold me tight. Don’t let me blow away.”
The cliff calls out
in return: “Little tree, with all my
might, ‘ I’ll hold you close, night and day.”
I am thinking a lot
about how we are rooted in this life. And uprooted, too. What allows us to dig
our roots deep? How deep do we need to dig to withstand the storms that rage
around us?
“Her tiny roots pushed night and day, and
bit by bit the rock gave way. A smidge, an inch, a foot, then two. She grew and
grew and grew and grew.”
I want you
to be rooted so that you can grow. I want you to be rooted so that when the
storm inevitably comes, you can withstand the winds.
If I could
make the storms stop raging, I would.
If I could
stop the need for your shelter-in-place drills, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
If I could
assure that that you will never be the target of a bully, that you’ll never bear
the brunt of anti-Semitism, I absolutely would.
If I could
make this world all that you deserve, you know that I would.
I won’t pretend to
you that this world is perfect. We are full of flaws. I want you to know this so
that you are prepared, so that you are not blind to your privilege, so that you
can join all good people of conscience in repairing this world.
The most
important job I have as your parent is to help you dig your roots deep and to whisper
continuously in your ears to be brave and to be courageous.
We’re living
in a time, you see, when a lot of people are afraid. It doesn’t matter if
they’re little like you or big like me. We all get scared.
In my role
as rabbi, many people have come through my door to talk about feeling like that
tree hanging over the edge.
And I say to them
just as I have said to you (and as I tell myself time and time again):
It’s okay to be
afraid. Don’t run away from the feeling. It’s telling you something important
about what’s happening around and inside of you.
Allow yourself to
be afraid.
Allow yourself to
be in pain.
Allow yourself to
be angry.
And then ask
yourself: what am I to do with all this fear and pain and anger?
It was Shimon Peres
who said that the Jews’ greatest contribution to the world is dissatisfaction!
Lev, Eli, Maya, use
that dissatisfaction with the world as it is and your anger and your pain and
your fear and your courage and do something just as our forbears did before us.
Be like Abraham
when he stood up for the innocent at Sodom.
Be like Shifra and
Puah who defied a Pharaoh.
Be like Moses who
refused to be a bystander as he watched a slave being beaten by those in
authority.
Be dissatisfied.
The truth is that sometimes life's trials are
thrust upon us or we are thrust upon them.
We’re like that seed that takes root on a
lonely cliff side. We know we shouldn’t be here; the wind has blown us out of
our comfort zone. We look around, startled, and ask ourselves, How in the world
did we get here? I know a lot of us
have been asking that question lately.
And yet… and yet all we have left to do is
deal with it. It may not have been our choice to take on the trial but it is
always our choice in how we respond.
One of the best-known
prayers of the holy day season is Unetaneh
Tokef. It asks the prophetic question: In the year to come, who will live
and who will die. It is a text that begins without human agency. It
acknowledges that yes, there is so much in this world over which we do not have
control and we feel powerless. But the good part… the good part is that the
text doesn’t end there.
Unetaneh Tokef
ends with what to me feels like a sacred gift, a sacred calling, a sacred
command in Teshuvah, Tefillah, and Tzedakah.
Our tradition likes to
live in the tension, in the in-between as it both comforts and challenges us.
It screams at us: It is not your responsibility to get it all right, to fix
this whole world, but don’t you dare stop trying![1]
So what can we do? We
can take on the sacred work of teshuvah,
which translates to turning - and turning to me means recognizing the incredible
potential for transformation within and beyond. Sure, life is happening all
around us and to us, but that does not negate that we can also be great
architects of grand change. We don’t have to accept the world as it is with all
of its flaws. Doing teshuvah means we
get to tinker and imagine and dream big in order to create the world as it
should be, the world we all deserve.
So what can we do? We
can take on the sacred work of tefillah,
which refers to our capacity for prayer, our capacity to be open to the
vastness that is our universe, to being a part of that sacred something that is
so much bigger than each one of us. To me, tefillah
is about walking through this existence with an open heart and soul. There’s so
much out of our control, but do you know what we can control? We can control
how many times we say I love you. We can control how many times we say thank
you. Doing tefillah means living with
love and gratitude.
So what can we do? We
can take on the sacred work of tzedakah,
which means that we are generous with our time, our energy, our pockets, our
hearts. What we can control is how we respond to the events around us. When our
hearts break after Charlottesville, we organize. When homes go under water in
Texas and Florida and islands across the Caribbean, we donate. When the futures
of young people in our nation are in question, we stand by the Dream that is
America.
Teshuvah. Tefillah. Tzedakah.
When the difficulties
of life happen, I want you to know – clear as day - what the Jewish response
is. The Jewish response is do teshuvah,
do tefillah, do tzedekah. The Jewish response is to do something. Change, open up,
give. Show up. Resist. Do justly. Love. Pray with your heart. Pray with your
feet. Move with sacred purpose.
And that’s how we stand strongly in the storm.
It was George Bernard
Shaw who said, “This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose
recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of
a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the
world will not devote itself to making you happy.”
You will be happier, I
promise you, when you count yourselves as sacred servants of this world. When
you push forward with purpose. For you are powerful. And you are capable of
doing so much good in this universe.
But sometimes we
forget that truth about ourselves.
Why do we forget this
most essential part of who we are?
Somehow, our own power
and ability to affect change gets lost in the hubbub of life. Disappointed by
our failures, overwhelmed by the enormity of the problems on our own plates,
never mind the problems of the world, we begin to see ourselves as powerless. And
I forget this truth sometimes, too.
“Storms will come and storms will go. At last the sun melted
the snow. But now the tree could not grow. The storm had torn her roots. The
moon gazed down and softly said, ‘Sometimes we lose our way. But with help, we
start again. That’s how life is, you know.”
That’s how life is,
you know.
I’m thinking of
Joseph, Joseph of Technicolor coat fame. Joseph had been thrown into the pit by
his own brothers, sold into slavery, falsely accused of a heinous crime, and
forgotten in a jail cell. Joseph was a man who was as low as a man can be –
literally – he had been thrown into a pit! How could Joseph, poor Joseph, hold
onto hope that anything would ever be different?
But you see, Joseph
had always been a dreamer. And he had dreamed for himself a different ending to
his story.
Eventually, Joseph was
delivered from the dungeon; he rose to success in his new land, rejoiced in the
birth of children, reconciled with his brothers, and saved his family and
people from starvation. Perhaps even Joseph the dreamer couldn’t imagine the
heights to which he would ascend after dwelling in the depths for so long.
When I spiral or become
overwhelmed or forget my truth or my power, I think about Joseph and about a
particular moment from midrash that has always moved me.
Midrash imagines Joseph
choosing to return to the pit that his brothers had thrown him in decades
before. Joseph stares down into the darkness where his journey had begun. He could
have raged against that pit. He could have shed tears for his lost years. He
could have spit into it – and really, who would have blamed him? But instead…
instead, midrash teaches us he returned to the pit so that he could
utter a blessing for the miracle wrought for him in that place.”[2]
A blessing for the pit. A blessing for the struggle. A blessing
for the man that he had become.
When Joseph was on the other side, he was able to consider
the journey of his life as a whole. From his story, we glean the wisdom that
every moment is only a moment, not a permanent or prophetic state of affairs. Holding
onto hope that perhaps a better tomorrow is on the horizon was essential for
Joseph’s survival. And it is essential for ours as well.
When we feel beaten
down by hurricane after hurricane after hurricane… or when hatred marches in
our streets… or when our hearts have been broken… we have a choice. We always
have a choice. We can stay where life has dropped us, we can stay in the pit, let
go of our grip on the cliff side… or… we can remember the sacred purpose that
exists within all of us. And I see that purpose in each one of you.
There will be plenty
of days ahead when you won’t see that spark or feel that purpose inside of you.
There will be days when you are tired and not sure if you can go on, days when
you are hanging on to the side of the cliff… but please know that I know that it’s there. I believe in
you. And others do, too. You are not alone.
“And soon a boy came running by, skipping stones into the sea.
When he saw the little tree he stopped and stared. He touched the tiny leaves.
He felt the ragged roots. He shook his head and said, ‘I can bring just what you
need. I can help you, little tree.’”
“Every day the boy came back carrying a full backpack. From
the pack he took a tin and poured out rich, brown earth. He packed the roots
and tucked them in.”
We need one another to
get through the harder days of our lives. My children, your roots reach down
deep and your backpacks are full of soil. I pray that you will accept help when
you need it. And that you will offer help whenever you can.
I believe that your
souls, resilient and kind, have the power to change the very nature of the
cliff side when you do teshuvah, when
you are architects of turning and transformation, when you do tefillah, when your hearts overflow, and
when you do tzedekah, when you generously
and courageously give.
It always feels a little bit like a miracle when we
turn to the last page of The Hugging Tree
and we see that that tree is not so little anymore… And I can’t help but look
at you and see that you are not so little anymore either…
And wonder of wonders, not only has the tree itself
grown, but we learn that the tree’s roots have developed into a vast expansive
root system that is now magnificently and bravely holding the entire cliff side
together.
“Now every day new people stop
to rest beneath the little tree and dream the things we all dream of. To love,
to share, to give, to dare, to grow just where we are.”
“And to this very day they
come. For on a splendid sunny rock by a warm and bright blue sea, a great big
hugging tree grows just where she was meant to be.”
One day, we might
feel like we could fall into the ocean and disappear. And the next, we discover
that we have become the anchor, the one holding it all together.
One day, we receive the help; our roots get
packed with earth. And the next, we are the open hand; we hold the cliff side
together.
And that’s life, too, you know.
There will be ups and downs, victories and
failures, sunny days and stormy weather. But if your roots are deep and there
is a helpful hand nearby, I know that you will withstand the storm, my loves.
I want to teach you optimism. I want to teach you
resilience. I want to instill in you hope. But all I need to learn these things, I realize now, is to look at the
wonder that is you.
“For on a splendid sunny rock
by a warm and bright blue sea, a great big hugging tree grows just where she
was meant to be.”
Yes, we are growing just
where we are meant to be.
Love, Mom
Shanah tovah.
No comments:
Post a Comment