On Their Own
Do you know what is important to your kids?
I don’t mean the Wii or Littlest Pet Shops.
I mean the kind of things in the world that they find meaningful. Do you know? Because I surely didn’t. Until this past Shabbos when PC asked each one of them to decide where they would like to send their tzedakah.
It was one of those moments — brief, magical, rare moments — when all three kids sat quietly, listened respectfully, and participated thoughtfully. Each contributed their own age-appropriate thoughts about the meaning of the word ‘tzedakah.’ PC then asked them to think about something in the world that needed help or fixing. What problem did they want to help solve.
Three hands shot up in the air.
Poppyseed: You know that hospital that helps the really sick kids? I want to send my tzedakah there.
Beernut: I want to send it to the place that does the walk for autism.
It was a little harder for Peach to focus in on one place. But that is only because he kept naming friends to whom he would give his tzedakah if they didn’t have any money. Eventually, though, he decided that he wanted to make certain that all kids have toys.
Throughout their lives, our children have heard us talk about societal ills, natural disasters, and medical devestation. They have walked to raise awareness for the genocide in Darfur, given tzedakah to family causes (the American Cancer Society, Retinoblastoma International, and the Myasthenia Gravis Foundation of America), planted trees in Israel, and so much more.
But asking them to think about those issues that right now concern them, that capture their imagination, that moves their souls taught me more about who they are right now than I could have discerned on my own.
And so, contributions have been made, in their names, to the following agencies/organizations:
- Autism Speaks
- The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia
- our local Marine Toys for Tots Foundation campaign office
May their now-empty tzedakah boxes be filled once again and provide them with more opportunities to repair our fractured world.
Tween Angst
You don’t understand anything!
And with that, she turned and stomped her way up to her room, using the door for punctuation.
With the birth of a daughter, I have known for the past eight years that this time would come. The time when my daughter, like her mother before her, like all daughters, would accuse me of being unable to understand her problems. I have been steeling myself for this since the moment she was born. My passionate, dark-haired beauty, my Poppyseed.
What I didn’t expect, aside from the fact that I thought we had a few more years before such accusations, was that the subject matter would not be boys or clothes or mean girls, but…wait for it…mathematics.
A-raze! A-raze! Don’t you know about a-raze?!?
A-raze? A raise? Rays? To what could she possibly be referring. I scrambled to connect some mathematical function with what she kept screeching in frustration. Coming up empty, I went immediately to the computer to find a tutorial.
I knew how do it.
I just didn’t know it had a name.
It’s A Girl
courtesy Microsoft Office
See here for some astounding examples.
Which reminds me of a story — again, I’m a rabbi and everything reminds rabbis of a story — well, two stories, actually.
***
In fulfillment of the requirements for Rabbinic Ordination at HUC-JIR, I was required to write a Rabbinic Thesis. My thesis advisor was a straight-shooting, grumpy, brilliant character. Giddy with the completion of my first chapter, Dr. P returned it with a single red circle.
I used spell-check, I lamely responded, rather humiliated.
Ms. Frummie, he said, spell-check will never correct ‘pubic library.’
Dr. P was right.
Upon learning the grade of tumour that had infiltrated MamaBear’s, z”l, brain, I send a text to a doctor-friend. She thought that congratuations were in order.
Because spell-check changed “glio” to “girl.”
it’s not a girl. It. The tumour. It is a glio. A glioblastoma. A 5 cm tumour in the posterior parietal lobe with some extension into the temporal lobe.
So not a girl.
***
Caveat textor.
Against the Current
via CCAR and itunes
Am I too rigid?
or too much of luddite?
Too old-fashioned?
or
Am I simply in the wrong movement?
Probably.
Possibly.
Most definitely.
and,
sadly,
increasingly accurate.
Today, one of my colleague’s dreams, not to mention hard work, has come to fruition: the launch of our movement‘s prayerbook as an app for the iPad.
I have written before about my love/hate relationship with the ereader. And I really do feel that Shabbat should be a sacred, unplugged time and space. The idea that the People of the Book should begin the slow process of moving away from the physical relationship with the printed word and towards the screen is disheartening.
To me.
But, clearly based on the dozens and dozens and dozens of positive comments on FB, I am alone in my reaction.
Just as I cannot imagine giving a d’var Torah from my iPad.
I am alone in that too.
Each generation looks ahead with trepidation while comparing the present to the past…and finding it lacking. A perspective generally felt in the winter of one’s life.
I, as usual, am ahead of myself.
And, as usual, in a minority of one.
The Time Has Come
Courtesy Microsoft Office
Yet one thing continues to mar this perfect relationship; Baby All Gone continues to call him “Mommy.”
This morning, in a burst of frustration, Peach yelled, “Why can’t you remember that I’m Daddy?!?”
Why, indeed. It’s not her fault, sweet Peach. She was preprogrammed at a time when it still doesn’t occur to companies that boys can, and should, play with dolls.
When asked about it a little while later, he fabricated rationalized it this way:
I did that too, when I was really little. I called Daddy “Mommy” until I growned up a little.
Hey toy companies — you make dolls to reflect different ethnicities. Perhaps it’s time to make dolls to reflect the expecation that our sons will grow up to be gentle, loving fathers.
Meaningful Traditions or Outdated Definitions?
Courtesy MomGiraffe
Isn’t she beautiful?
She has been hanging in my parents’ home for as long as I can recall — which, in my case, is nearly my entire life. She is my mother.
OK — that last part is not, to the best of my knowledge, true. But as a very young girl, with my earliest memories of MomGiraffe were of her lighting the Shabbos candles, the two images became conflated.
With one exception, a topic for another day, Shabbos candles were lit weekly in my childhood home. My mother had a beautiful candelabra while PepGiraffe and I shared a set of small, plain candle holders. Until both of us, in turn, reached the age of mitzvot whereupon we received a set of our own silver candlesticks.
And our brothers? They were there…in the background. One helped with the kiddush and the other with the Motzi. I doubt that there was any sort of agenda with regards to the gender roles; my sister and I were on the scene before the boys arrived. I do not remember ever desiring to help with the other rituals nor am I aware of any of my siblings expressing any problem with the established practice.
But now I am faced with a dilemma — what to do in my own home. When I bentch licht, the kids stand and chant the blessings alongside me. And they participate equally in the kiddush and the motzi. So what’s the dilemma? I want Poppyseed to use the same little brass-coloured candlestick that I did when I was a girl. I want to present her with her own set of silver candlesticks on the first Shabbat after her thirteenth birthday. I want them to represent the transition to a life of ritual responsibility. And I want her to feel that same exhilaration that I did.
Without making her brothers feel left out.
I am the first to assert that equal does not mean identical. Yet in a world where egalitarianism seems to be equated with sameness, I wonder if I would be doing a disservice to the boys by making such an obvious distinction between male and female…
Or am I just over thinking the whole darn thing?
The Real Issue
Peach: Mommy, remember what we had for that dinner last week?
FrumeSarah: Are you referring to Thanksgiving?
Peach: Yes. That thing was disgusting.
FrumeSarah: Which thing? The turkey?
Peach: Yes, the turkey. The turkey didn’t want me to eat him…. He wanted to be alive.
Yowza, kid. From where is this coming? The turkey didn’t want me to eat him? He certainly didn’t hear this at home.
I am, what I would consider, a reluctant carnivore. I love meat. I love the taste of it. Beef, lamb, chicken — all good. Since my teen years, I triumphantly pointed to the end of the Flood narrative where permission to eat meat is given (Genesis 9:3). But in the past five years, I have become more and more uncomfortable with the ways in which the animals are treated prior to ending up on my plate. And while I am not-yet prepared to forego such foods, I am certainly more aware of the ethical issues surrounding the meat (beef, poultry, etc) industry.
We have not always been forthcoming about the origins of the “meat” as far as the children are concerned. Beernut was flat-out flabbergasted when it was suggested to him that meat comes not from a store, but from a cow. Of course, it must be pointed out that Beernut was not incorrect when he said that meat comes from the store. He just wasn’t sharing the origin. Also, assuming that the meat in question was beef, it would have been more accurate to say that it is derived from beef cattle.
I’m just saying…
But this morning’s conversation was not quite finished as Peach had just one more question:
Mommy, can a person who is a kid and a vegetarian and a person who is a kid but is not still play together?
This Again?
Who would not support a program designed to promote values and positive behaviour in our children?
On the face of it, a benign question. I cannot imagine there are many who would disagree that today’s youth would benefit from some etiquette instruction as well as a recalibration of values. In fact, society as a whole would be positively influenced with a shift in societal values.
The question is: to whom ought it fall to teach these standards?
According to Jannie Blackwell, member of the Philadelphia City Council, the responsibility is the school. And the approach? School prayer, as she stated in a hearing that she convened. “Prayer can promote more virtuous living and may have a positive impact on student behavior in schools,”
Both of these statement may very well be true. Prayer can promote more virtueous living as well as encourage a more positive outlook in general. So can yoga. And other lifestyle activities.
Whose prayer will be the one selected to promote such behavior? I can state without hesitation that hearing a daily prayer “in the name of our Lord and Saviour, JC” would cause me to have a seriously negative outlook.
Which reminds me of a story…(I am a rabbi, after all)
Upon our return from Thanksgiving Break during my junior year of high school, I was greeted by a Christmas tree in my English class. Not only was I shocked to see this flagrant display of religion in a public school classroom, I was floored when asked to contribute, “voluntarily,” to the tinselly decorations of said tree.
When I pointed out to the teacher that the presence of a symbol promoting one particular religion in a public setting was upsetting, she replied that the tree was seasonal rather than religious.
“Which season?” I inquired.
“The holiday season”, came the reply.
“The tree doesn’t represent my holiday. In fact,” I countered, “the tree, though most likely pagen in origin, has come to be imbued with religious meaning.”
This was all news to her.
“You are more than welcome to hang some dreidels on the tree or place a menorah next to it,” she offered.
“Promoting two religions hardly seems like a sensible solution. It is not the place of the public school to promote any religion. Teach about them in a historical, sociological, or literary context? Fine. But the display of religious symbols does none of those things.”
“Well, there is nothing illegal about having a tree,” came the slightly-defensive answer. “You certainly don’t have to contribute to the decorations.”
I had no intention of doing so. Any money I would contribute will be sent to the ACLU in your honour, I silently grumbled.
“I just wanted you to know that if I seem a bit resentful, grouchy, or otherwise out-of-sorts for the next 31 days, it might very well have something to do with your decision to decorate the classroom in such an exclusionary fashion.”
Needless-to-say, I barely passed that class and had to fight my way to take APEnglish the following year.
It doesn’t take much to imagine what Frune Sarah would have been like if forced to pray in school.
What about a non-specific prayer? Or a moment of silence? Or an area designated for those students who desire to pray?
Each one is a respectable attempt to deal with the sectarian nature of prayer. And each one is problematic in its one way.
A non-specific prayer is liturgically unsatisfying to the pray-er.
A moment of silence? In a classroom filled with kids? Unlikely.
And a special area increases the likelihood for bifurcation among the student body.
You feel that it is important for there to be in school? Consider parochial school (day school, etc.).
Literary Hopes
It has baffled me that my kids are not voracious readers.
We did all the recommended things. We read to them since they emerged from the womb. Our home is filled with books of all types and they see the adults in the family inhale the written word as if oxygen.
Asperger’s makes reading increasingly difficult for Beernut. Grasping inferences, predicting character behaviours, and anticipating outcomes are outside of his realm. And he has grown to despise reading. The only saving grace for him has been our move to a school that has an amazing reading program facilitated by an amazing reading specialist. He has made tremendous progress…and even admits to enjoying reading. Sometimes.
And Poppyseed…my sweet Poppyseed. One-and-a-half years of remedial reading has brought her up to grade level. More importantly, in the past few weeks, the switch has been thrown. She is reading whenever she can steal a few moments. For the first time, she stayed up reading to finish a book.
She was on chapter two when I said “lights out.”
Remembering my own childhood obsession with books, I didn’t have the heart to enforce bedtime. “Don’t stay up too late” was the most I could muster while hiding the glee I felt. Finally!
Though she loves being an independent reader, she still insists on certain books being read to her. “Mommy books,” she calls them. You know the ones. All-of-a-Kind-Family for now. The Little House series next. And then…Anne. My most favourite character of all time. How long I have waited to introduce my daughter to Anne.
What childhood character do you hope to share with your child (son, daughter, niece, nephew, etc.)?
Stunned
My heart broke a little today.
Thanks to the wonders of Facebook, a woman, who knew JockBro from BBYO, saw that I was FB friends with one of her FB friends. And that mutual friend died quite suddenly over the weekend.
This isn’t my first experience with death. It isn’t even my first experience with the death of one of my peers. As a rabbi, I deal with end-of-life issues on a continual basis. So the emotions I am experiencing are not unfamiliar to me. Rationally, I can explain them.
But.
That doesn’t really ease the dull aching.
SMC — You possessed a brilliant mind and a dry, witty sense-of-humour. Your scholarship was widely respected. Your wanderlust and sense of adventure took you to the highest and lowest of depths of a world that constantly provided you with places of personal and spiritual discovery. Your thoughtfulness showed itself in the smallest and largest of ways. Always a reliable source for the best books, films, shows, etc., I can recall many a spirited “discussion” about the virtues, or lack-thereof, of certain composers. Simultaneously socially-awkward and charmingly-disarming, the most brilliant facets of your soul remained shrouded by protective walls.
Now revealed to the Holy One of Creation.
Your memory will always stay with me for blessing.
After an Italian dinner at the 2010 CCAR.
Frume Sarah is Shabbos-observant -- in a Reform way, that is. Please note that from Friday afternoons until one hour after sundown on Saturday evenings, Frume Sarah will be unavailable, in observance of the Jewish Sabbath.
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Thank you for your understanding...and gut Shabbos!!! 
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