בס''ד
Parshat Shemini
28 Nisan, 5772
April 20th.
2012
13th Day of
the Omer, Yesod in Gevurah
Among the regular responses I get to being a rabbi is one
that is particularly adorable: if a family has a child in Jewish preschool,
said child will be duly trotted out before me and prodded to recite whichever
blessings he or she learned in school. The kid will be shy and sweet in the way
only preschoolers can be, and the whole experience is quite enjoyable.
But it can also make me sad. I know that I cannot ascribe identical motivation to everyone – sometimes parents are just being proud. But
sometimes I hear, when the adult pushes the child forward, “see – I know we
don’t make these blessing ourselves, but we’re educating our children.” As
someone whose passion it is to spread vibrant, relevant Judaism, this message
goes down with difficulty.
So I had a hard time with Laurel Snyder’s Beliefnet
piece, “My faith: Raising religious (but not too religious) children.”
The piece
is beautifully written (winning my immediate respect); however, its thrust is
that Snyder has become involved in Jewish life – synagogue, havurah – for
the sake of her children. As she puts it, “Because there’s something about having kids
that makes me want to be a better version of my Jewish self. I want something
special to pass on to them.”
I am
conscious that I am about to touch a real nerve. So many people whom I love and
respect have voiced the exact same sentiment to me. But, beautiful as its
articulation is, there’s a problem.
You see,
when I ask why people involve themselves in Jewish life I overwhelmingly get
one of two answers: “because of my ancestors/tradition,” “for my children.”
More
importantly, when I ask children why Jewish life is important to them –
and I ask every single bnai mitzvah student – I only receive these two
answers. I have yet to hear a student say the 13 year old version of, “I
practice Judaism because it fills my life with meaning, purpose, and
Godliness.”
Why is there
a vacancy between the past and the future? What about the present? What about
us?
So, with a lot of love, I put forward questions I think
are worth asking:
Is it worthwhile to
engage in a tradition we value for our ancestors and our children, but rarely
for ourselves? What do children learn by being educated in ways they know their
parents do not practice? Is there something that prevents us from practicing
Judaism for ourselves, and what should we, the synagogue, the rabbi, do about
it?
Near the end of the Torah, it is written, “You are
standing here today, all of you, before HaShem your God…” (Deut. 29:9)
Only the covenant we create for ourselves can be given to others.
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