There Are More Than Four Questions

My daughter is learning the Four Questions in pre-K in preparation for Passover. She is very excited about the upcoming holiday, eagerly singing songs like "Where is Baby Moses?" and "Frogs on Pharaoh's Head." Yet, there are clearly more than four question floating around for her. When she learned about a few of the plagues, she asked why the plagues happened to everyone when Pharaoh was the one who made bad choices. The next morning the question was how God didn't burn when God was in the burning bush. Then why Moses was in the river Nile.

To try to concretize some of the story, I showed her the movie "The Prince of Egypt." This film is beautifully done and helped facilitate some conversation around parts of the Passover and Exodus story. What the movie also did, though, is show the pain of the plagues as they were inflicted on the Egyptians. By the time the Israelites emerge on the other side of the Sea of Reeds watching Pharaoh's army drowning in the sea, one is left with a bittersweet feeling.

While I understand that we want to be age-appropriate with our children and help them to see the fun and joy in the festival of Passover, I would also encourage us to remember that we have a responsibility to be honest about the power and questions the story raises. Amidst plague masks and toys is a dark story of an entire nation being punished by Pharaoh's hardened heart, which is in part hardened to ensure the Israelites are clearly delivered by God, reminding us that freedom can come at a price. Amidst the songs and the foods is a deep question of what it means to be free in our time, not just in that Exodus story. I would offer that most children can find some degree of that understanding, and we as adults should push ourselves to reflect on the deep meanings and questions of this festival.

As we approach our family's seder, we are certainly focusing on the joys--the food, the family, the singing, and especially my daughter's "Four Questions" debut. And, we will encourage her to offer her many other questions along the way, because each of us at every age is supposed to find meaning in the seder, the story, and feel it applies to them.

As you approach your seder, may it be one of many questions, because that is how we learn, that is how we grow, and that is how we will continue to find meaning in this Festival of Passover, the time of our freedom and celebration.

The Family Seder

Some of my earliest Jewish memories are from Passover. I vaguely recall, as a very young child, watching Grandpa Hurwitz cough while eating horseradish root (or, because my  mother retells it to me, it feels like I was there). I remember learning the piano chords to the Four Questions and then proudly playing them at my Great Aunt Lenore's home when we all gathered for seder one year. I remember a seder at my Grandma Irene's home in Florida, dusting off the dishes she never used.

But most of all, I remember the seder as it usually was, in our home growing up. It was a remarkable blend of the intentional and the unintentional. Recipes were handed down, but not discussed with any fanfare. China was from my parents' wedding, but when we had more than 10 people, interspersed was my great-grandmother's china (a floral pattern my mother hated). After her death, we used my grandmother Julia's silver, which as a Ukranian Catholic she never could have envisioned happening at a seder, but we also had plenty of plastic forks and plates around. The haggadah was just the one we happened to have, one with a burned corner where a guest had accidentally set fire to it from one of the decorative votives on the table. The matzah cover was a horribly ugly blue felt creation from my brother's early religious school years that was somehow gorgeously meaningful in its weirdness. You get the idea.

We didn't think too hard about the actual content of the seder. We knew we'd do it all in some form or fashion, but there were never plague bags or gimmicks to make it flow. We'd read, each person in their turn, and then we'd eat. We'd talk some more, and then we'd go to bed. I recall the first year, as an aspiring rabbi, I was given the role of introducing the seder. I wrote a d'var Torah about the meaning of freedom (I wish I still had it now) and proudly set the stage for what the festival meant to me, and to us, in that space.

I believe it has been a decade since I have been in Pittsburgh for a seder. It's been years since the last family seder Micah and I experienced, in Las Vegas in 2008. Usually we spend Passover in a community we have created through our rabbinates. The first night usually at The Temple, the second night with couples whose weddings and conversions I officiate.

I find myself each year yearning to make our Passover authentic. Somehow the seven days pass so much faster than they did when I was younger. before we know it, we can eat bread again. I almost miss it by the end. Micah and I spend time talking about the seder, ways to make it creative, and in that way we find our authentic seder voice (one more scripted, one more spontaneous). I often feel we could do more in this festival, but that is an ongoing journey.

Now, with children of our own, we have another growing edge. We are taught about the Four Children: wise, wicked, simple, and unable to ask. We know that we are all of these children in some way.

In our daughter and son, we have these children looking at us in anticipation of being taught. It is no longer abstract. To our five year old's wise questions, we try to answer from our own faith and uncertainty. To our children's simple questions, we answer easily. To their wicked moments (of which there are few), we try to respond with compassion. And, for all that they are unable to ask, we model our own commitment.

When thinking about Passover this year, something in me yearned for a different experience. While I can tell you the practical reason we are traveling for Pesach this year is because we did not take vacation time at winter break, there is a spiritual reason. I knew, deep down, that we need to have a family seder. Our children need to make a memory that is organic, drawn from the deep connections that exist in a family, not just created by their rabbi parents and Temple community. They need to have the experience of learning that which is not always explictly spoken--that for some reason even the least religious of us are drawn to a ritual that has been handed down from generation to generation, that somehow we find a new meaning embedded in the parsley, matzah, and this year, Grandma's brisket.

I think about this weekend and am brought to tears by the image that our children will experience something powerful beyond words: a seder table filled with family members they already know well. Four generations will gather together and say that we are proudly Jewish and connected to our people, and say that we are lovingly connected to one another as well. In that moment, it does not matter what parts of the liturgy we do or forget, or what tunes we do, or whether things are like they are at home. What matters is that we come together and give ourselves the gift of a night to remember. 

Mommy, what is a racist?

Last week, The Temple hosted marchers for the NAACP's Journey for Justice, a march from Selma to Washington to draw attention to injustice and inequality. Over 140 Reform Rabbis are participating in the march, carrying the Torah as a symbol of our commitment to the pursuit of justice for everyone.

Outside of our social hall, we displayed large photographs of the bombing of The Temple and of our late Rabbi emeritus Jacob Rothschild with Dr. Martin Luther King. Walking past these photographs, my daughter asked me, "Who broke The Temple?" I took her to the other photograph and reminded her of Martin Luther King and his dream of equality. Then, I said, "Bad men didn't like that The Temple believed this too, and they broke The Temple." She asked, "Who were the bad men?" And I said, "They were racist." "But Mommy, what's a racist?"

It is tempting to say to my four year old that I'll tell her when she's older. After all, why draw attention to race at a time when she barely notices these things? Yet, there are many children out there who do not sit in a place of privilege, whose reality already includes difficult truths about how our society works for some, and not others, on the basis of race.

Yesterday, I marched with the Journey for Justice and my children joined me for a part of it. The leaders of the march encouraged all of the children (we had eight "Rabbis' kids" there) to be up near the front. At first I said we didn't need to do that, they weren't there to draw attention to themselves. But then someone explained to me that we were walking through rural Georgia, we were expecting some nasty comments, and it was safest for our children to be near the front. Later that day, we had two African-American children, ages 4 and 6, and they too were walking up front because that was the place they could be most protected.

This is the difficult truth--that for as simple as it seems to us to treat people with dignity and respect and to see and respond to the injustices that exist, there are still plenty of people in this world who don't or won't see them. I walked next to a young man from Texas who was marching because he was denied the right to vote in a recent election. We talked about children and he asked how I explained racism to my daughter. I said, "There are people in this world who don't like people simply because they look different from them." We then talked about raising our children to be a generation who know from the earliest ages how to treat others and bring about goodness in this world. If we teach them from the beginning love and pursuit of justice, they won't know any differently.

I have added the photo of my children "strolling" through the march to their photostreams. One day, they will look at this picture, alongside Pride Parades and Hunger Walks, and know that even before they really understood, they were being taught to pursue justice. And I will tell them that alongside us were people who wanted the same thing for their children that I do for mine: a peaceful, safe home, access to food and healthcare and quality education, a strong community, and the ability to pursue their dreams and potential to the fullest. Kein yehi ratzon--may it be God's will, and may it be ours.

Would You Rather?

It's been a while since I've had the opportunity to write on this blog...had to get rid of my gallbladder, prep for Purim and Pesach, and answer my daughter's multitude of questions as she approaches her fourth birthday in a week. This week, I got the parenting "would you rather?": Would you rather the question "How does the baby get in your tummy?" or "Mommy, are you going to die?" Both are challenging questions, reasonable question, and anxiety-provoking questions. But, as I have said in other posts, there are a few strategies to answering your child's tough questions:

-answer the question that is being asked, not the question you are afraid is being asked

-keep it age-appropriate and localized

-keep it honest

-when in doubt, ask him or her "what do you think?"

The "How does the baby get in your tummy?" question came as we were driving in the car in the afternoon. Being a follower of my own advice, I asked her, "What do you think?" to which I was told, "I don't know. You tell me." Trying quickly to sort through what she already knew, wonder what she's already heard, and gauge what the right reaction might be, I said, "Well, that's where babies grow." She said, "but how do they get in there?" And I replied, "When it is time, that is where babies grow, and then they come out. Do you know that the day you were born was very special?" The conversation then shifted to the day she was born and how amazing that was. 

I am not proud that I dodged the question, but having spent the morning's car ride trying to explain the difference between America the country and Captain America the superhero, I was fairly certain that the biological answer was not age-appropriate. I was unprepared for any "seed" metaphors (and am not certain that's what I want to say), so the best approach for me was to shift the conversation to something that is age-appropriate, talking about birth as a special moment for families to celebrate. If nothing else, I have assured my daughter that her birth was a miracle and she has been loved from the first moment we saw her (and before).

Later in the week, my daughter turned to me at the dinner table and asked, "Mommy, are you going to die?" Death has been a topic in our home recently as she has been trying to process some of the pieces of the princess stories which previously went unnoticed. We have told her that death is when a person has to go away and cannot come back, we cannot see the person (except in pictures) and cannot hear the person, but we remember them and think about them and still love them. My answer to her was a simple, "Yes, everyone dies. We pray that they die when they are very, very old." "How old, Mommy?" "Really old, like 100." "Do we get old fast?" "No, it takes a long, long time." 

You and I both know that people can die tragically young, and this week as a rabbi I was made painfully aware of this reality in multiple ways. Yet for my almost-four year old, this is not age-appropriate to discuss. Her first encounter with death is likely to be her great-grandparents and the explanations we have given will hold up in that situation. And, in the painful and tragic event that we need to explain it to her differently, it will be from a place of faith and love. Right now, she is asking from a place of curiosity and probably a little anxiety, so we want to be reassuring on both counts. 

As parents, I believe our responsibility is to try to be honest with our children, and thus be honest with ourselves. I want to make sure I have given true statements, even if they aren't fully answering the question, and I want to encourage asking questions so we have ongoing opportunities to evolve with our answers. Yet, we also have the responsibility of knowing what is age-appropriate, both in offering more information and in offering less. 

I also remember that whatever I say to my daughter about these questions is likely to be held against me in the court of the preschool classroom. Those kids talk, and I want to make sure I don't get a phone call! This is a good reminder that we need to have conversations with our fellow parents about how they are discussing this with their children so we can be respectful and learn together. We might get good ideas for talking with our own children, and also be able to understand where some of the questions (or answers) are coming from. 

Which question would I rather get? I like them both. What I care about is making sure my husband is present for the next time a question is asked!

Chocolate vs. Candles

This morning I found myself in a debate with my 3 1/2 year old daughter. When I said that Chanukah starts tomorrow evening and we'll have fun lighting candles and exchanging gifts, she said, "And eating chocolate coins." I said, "Well, we can do that too, but we're going to have so much fun playing dreidel and eating latkes," and she said, "And eating chocolate coins." In a last-ditch effort to emphasize the true meaning of Chanukah, I said, "The only thing we have to do is light the candles--the rest is just fun." And she replied, "But we have to eat chocolate coins."

At her Jewish preschool, and then at a Chanukah event at a Jewish day school, my daughter tasted chocolate coins. Now, it is abundantly clear that more than candles, latkes, and gifts, the true spirit of Chanukah can be expressed through chocolate.

This entire day I have been wrestling with that all-important parenting question: Why do I care? It is not the measure of my worth as a Jewish mother or rabbi whether my preschooler cares more about chocolate coins than lighting the candles. I have to trust that she will enjoy the aspects of the holiday as they unfold--candles, foods, gifts, programs with our Temple, dinners with friends. Chocolate coins will be just one part of a constellation of treats and joys during these eight days.

My answer, as best I can figure, is that I forget she is only 3. She speaks so clearly, seems to understand (or at least hear) so much, so I find myself surprised when she says something that is so clearly her age.

I could make this about me, or I could make this about her. This is probably the first Chanukah she will really remember--so I'm going to make it fun, special, and truly on her level. I imagine that if I make this a fun Chanukah for her, it will be my best Chanukah yet!

Now, you can be sure I am off to the store to buy some chocolate coins :-)

32 Ideas for Making Chanukah Meaningful and Fun

Last night, we had a program hosted by our interfaith committee entitled, "How-To Chanukah: Filling Eight Nights with Meaning and Fun." The reality is that all of us, whether we identify as interfaith or not, sometimes struggle to make eight nights interesting and to make the holiday more than candles, gifts, and fried food.

I find it helpful to remember that Chanukah does not need to be hours of celebration every night. For many of us, Chanukah is a 20-30 minute experience (if that). Keep in mind the idea of quality over quantity and remember that the minimum to fulfill the mitzvah is to light the Chanukiah each night.

Further, as much as possible, let's not get into the "Chanukah is just as good as Christmas" competition. Chanukah is not Jewish Christmas and if it were at a different time of year it probably would not be such a big deal in our communities. Instead, let's celebrate Chanukah for what it is. It is a holiday centered around the themes of miracles, light, dedication, Jewish pride, freedom...and oil. It is a holiday that allows us to participate in the broader society through gift-giving, donating, celebrating, and lights. It is one of the only holidays we can celebrate by ourselves in our homes if we so choose. Personally, I appreciate the flexibility of Chanukah. Each night, each year, I can make it what my family needs it to be. Some nights it is a "big deal," and some nights, it is just lighting candles and returning to the weekday joys of dinner, bath, and bedtime.

So, as we all start to think about what we want to do for eight nights of Chanukah this year, I offer you a list of 32 ideas (which could get you through the next four years) compiled at our program last night:

1.       Connect with friends or family (skype or facetime the candlelighting or make time for an extended conversation)

2.       Homemade gifts night

3.       Craft night (do a project, make decorations for your home, go paint pottery)

4.       Game night

5.       Volunteer

6.       Donate (go shopping for gifts for a child in need or spend time researching charitable organizations to make a donation)

7.       See some lights (your neighbors’ lights or more official displays)

8.       Go to a public Chanukiah lighting

9.       Have friends over for dinner

10.   Tell the Chanukah story or watch it on a movie

11.   Make a Chanukah music playlist (Adam Sandler, anyone?)

12.   See how many things you can fry (yes, that's a fried Oreo)

13.   Focus on Israel (give gifts made in Israel, eat Israeli food, etc)

14.   Do an act of social justice (find a rally or meeting around a cause important to you, write a letter to a legislator)

15.   Light some sparklers

16.   Movie Night

17.   Tasting Night (pick an item such as chocolate or wine and taste as many varieties as the night of Chanukah)

18.   Go for Chinese food

19.   Try making a Jewish food you’ve never tried or from a different part of the world

20.   Give Jewish gifts (items of Judaica, books, etc)

21.   Star Wars Night (because lightsabres fit with “festival of lights”)

22.   Pet night (give your pets a gift, and maybe a bath, too)

23.   Focus on your health (take a walk before lighting candles, do some kind of exercise)

24.   Build a Lego Chanukiah (but don’t light it)

25.   Do a “White Elephant” gift exchange with friends

26.   Attend a Chanukah dinner at your Temple

27.   Try making latkes, especially unique varieties

28.   Bring in takeout—you need a break from cooking!

29.   Have your kids “invite” a stuffed animal or doll for the candlelighting (but keep them away from the flames)

30.   Go through toys or clothes and donate items that aren’t being used in your home now

31.   Write a letter or a card to a friend or family member (because nothing replaces “real mail”)

32.   Arrange to spend a night of Chanukah with someone who doesn’t have family around or offer to drive someone to services during Chanukah who otherwise wouldn’t be able to attend

I hope that you and your loved ones have a very happy Chanukah!

The Rainbow, Equality, and Our Children

This month, our family had the opportunity to do two social justice opportunities together. The first was the Atlanta Pride Parade, where we walked with 180 other people representing the Jewish community's support of LGBT equality. This was our daughter's third time in the parade, and our son's first.

Then, this week, Micah and I joined with other clergy in standing in support of marriage equality at a rally hosted by Georgia Equality, asking the state's Attorney General to stop defending the constitutional ban on same-sex marriage. We didn't realize we would be standing behind the podium for the rally and had brought our children. No matter--our family, not just the two rabbis, stood in support (remarkably quiet due to the apple slices and lollipops in my bag--look to the left of the podium).

On the drive home, I reflected with my daughter on our "special mitzvah". She wanted more information so I said, "You know from school that there are many kinds of families. Some people have a mommy and a daddy, some people have just a mommy or just a daddy, and some people have two mommies or two daddies." She replied, "I saw two mommies there." I said, "I did too! That's why were there, to say that all families are special." For my 3 1/2 year old daughter, that made perfect sense.

So many people get nervous about explaining homosexuality or same-sex marriage to their children. I would offer that, just like any other topic in life, if we focus on the basic truths for us and answer the questions being asked, we create an open dialogue and build understanding. I would ask each parent to consider how they explain marriage between a man and a woman to their child, how they help their children to know that single parent-families are families too, and then build messages around this. 

In our home, we say all people are special and all families are special. And, at preschool Shabbat this week, teaching the story of Noah, I focused on the image of the rainbow. We counted all the colors represented there, how each had their space and could be seen in the rainbow. In the same way, all people should be seen and loved and given their space, too, because we were all created by and in the image of God.

While this is the preschool-friendly way of explaining diversity, and we will continue to layer more information as appropriate and requested, the reality is that the truth will never change. We will never tell our kids: "Hey, remember when we told you that all people are special and made in the image of God? Well, that was just because you were little." Instead, we can use this idea of all people are equal and deserving of respect to explain racial, religious, and ethnic diversity, why some people are in wheelchairs or have special needs, and any other questions our children's ever-developing brains bring to us. By the time they are adults forming their own opinions, it is our hope that they will always come back to this message, remembering that from their youngest ages, they stood for equality, dignity, and the hope for a better world.

Awakening: Everything in its Time

To be the parent of a ten month-old is to be in "watching and waiting" mode. We're watching for tooth #3, we're watching for allergies as he tries new foods, we're watching for signs that he'll pull up, and we're watching for a more even pattern of crawling. Each of these things is, in their own way, an awakening. To watch a (thank God) healthy child's brain wake up in a different way each day, showing another step on the journey of development, is to experience a depth of gratitude and awe unlike anything I have ever experienced.

Yet, waiting for each thing to awaken in its time requires patience and faith. I received a video of my son crawling at day care yesterday. I was delighted to see that he crawled almost across the entire classroom to reach his favorite toy because his crawling is progressing slowly. But I watched as he crawled awkwardly, slithering along using one arm more than the other. I found myself internally whispering, "Wake up...come on, just move your other arm."

Am I worried about him? No, he is a delightfully healthy and sweet baby. I have come to realize that I am just a little impatient sometimes and then lose the faith that everything will unfold in its time (and if it doesn't, we'll cross that bridge when it comes). Every baby website preys upon this part of parents: "just read this and you'll know if everything is normal." Upon reflection, though, I realize that I don't need him to be "normal." What is that concept anyway? What I want is for him to be healthy and to grow in his unique way--not his older sister's way, not the internet's way, but his way. And, I pray that I can find the patience to watch it unfold, to see each piece of his brain, his body, and his soul awaken and connect with us and the world. If I can sit with that patience, and the gratitude and awe which comes with celebrating this awakening, then I will truly love my son as he is, and I will be closer to being the mother I aspire to be.

Carrying Forward A Legacy

Last week, I was in Baltimore where most of my mother's family is buried. We were actually there for my brother's wedding, yet since we are so rarely in Baltimore, it seemed appropriate to take the morning to go to the cemetery as a family.

As I was preparing my three year-old for the visit, I explained that a cemetery is a place where we remember those we love. It is a mitzvah to visit a cemetery and place stones on the graves. So, when we arrived at the cemetery, my daughter immediately set upon the task of finding enough stones for everyone. She was eager to place them where we said and was excited to "do a mitzvah."

I invited her to come over to her great-grandmother Irene's headstone. I was very close to my grandmother and my daughter was named for her. I pointed to the name Irene and asked, "Who do you know who has Irene in her name?" "Me!" my daughter proclaimed. This gave me an opportunity to say that she was named for someone who was brave, who loved family, and who was very special to her mommy and her Savta (grandmother). 

Standing in that cemetery, I was struck by how much my daughter does embody parts of my grandmother. I thought about how my grandmother would always raise her hands in excitement when I arrived for a visit, and how my daughter uses her hands when she wants to make a strong point. I think of my daughter's love of nail polish and how my grandmother did her best to keep a manicure. I think of how my grandmother, when she went into hospice, lamented how she would never see my children. Yet, 6 1/2 years later, I believe she does get to see her children in some way. I could feel in this moment of memory how delighted she would be in them, and in me as a mother. 

When we name our children for family, we are endowing them with a legacy. We are hoping and praying that they will take on the positive qualities of those we love and will maintain a memory for our entire family. In a way, we fulfill an obligation to remember our loved ones by passing on their name, and all that represents. The name, though, is only the first part. It is the stories, the memories, the "wow, your grandma used to do that" moments, that invite our children to actively carry forward this legacy. If we only say, "You were named for our relative," we miss the opportunity to make our children the bearer of a piece of history. 

I stood at the grave of my great-aunt Florence. She was my grandmother's favorite sister and died young. My mother chose to name me for Florence (which is why my name is spelled the way it is). Yet, that's the sum total of the stories I know about Aunt Florence. I never really thought to ask. For my daughter, I had the opportunity to start telling the stories about Grandma Irene in a way that makes sense to a preschooler. I hope that, with time, she will not only know why she was named for Irene, but what her great-grandmother meant to me. My stories will become hers, and then Irene Hurwitz Pollock's legacy and memory truly becomes a blessing. 

God is like...

At bedtime last week, as we prepared to sing bedtime Shema, my daughter asked why we say this prayer at night. I said, "Because we are asking God to watch over us." Then came the obvious question, "What's God?"

How does one explain God to a three year old, who still can't separate "today," "tomorrow," and "yesterday," or other abstract concepts? tried a few approaches: "God is something we can't see but can feel...so much bigger than all of us." I then received the question, "Is God a rabbi?" I tried again: "God is like love." Then I said, "God is in our good choices." And then I realized I should exit gracefully: "Let's sing the Shema."

I've spent the nights since then reflecting upon what I know as a rabbi about teaching God and what I now as a parent realize about teaching my children about God and faith. 

When teaching our children about God, the first step as parents is to know what God is to each of us. Everything I said to my daughter about God was true. I do believe that God is present but invisible, felt strongly in the relationships we have, expressed in the choices we make. I feel God's presence as gratitude, the overwhelming feeling of blessing as I look at my children and so many areas of my life. If we as parents don't have a clear sense of some basic truths for us with regard to faith, we will not be able to approach this from a place of confidence or authenticity. 

The next step is to model that knowing. In the moment my daughter asked me about God, I naively thought that I could give one answer that would make perfect sense. She's three, though, and her understanding of faith is more closely tied to her understanding of the parent-child relationship. She can't understand God the way I do....but she can understand that I have faith in God. She can understand that we pray. She can understand that we believe in something greater than ourselves. More powerful than any conversation is what she watches me and others do. 

Those little eyes and ears notice everything! There is a lot of pressure to make sure that what she sees and hears are positive messages. Yet, I would like to think that all of us strive to acheive the best within us, doing our part to bring goodness to this world. So, perhaps this is just another blessing children can bring to our lives--they can be the mirror that reflects who we are and inspires us to be better. 

A Blessing For A Healthy Child

Today brought our daughter's 3 year and our son's 6 month physicals. It was entertaining to anticipate this visit to the doctor with our daughter. She had a list of the things she learned in school about doctor's visits and interacted beautifully with the nurse and doctor. Even the little hemoglobin stick didn't bug her. She watched her brother get some vaccines and was appropriate sympathetic. All in all, a good visit.

Every child has their growth areas, and ours are no exception. Certainly there are a few things to work on, but we left with fundamentally healthy children, particularly our daughter who doesn't need to come back until she's four!

When a child comes into the world, we "count their fingers and toes" and are grateful that he or she is healthy. I believe that gratitude needs to continue to be present in our minds and hearts after that initial concern. Every physical with a clean bill of health, every medical issue that can be easily resolved, every challenge that is manageable....this is a moment of blessing and thanksgiving. While I sit here this evening knowing that there could one day be something life-threatening which emerges in one of our children, surprising us and tearing our world apart (we've all heard the stories), I address that fear with acknowledgement of the blessing in this moment of healthy children. In that spirit, I offer this prayer for all of us who are so blessed:

Dear God, thank You for my child and for the good health he/she enjoys. I know that there are many children who are gravely ill, one of the deepest mysteries we have to face as human beings. I don't know why I am blessed with this healthy child, but I want You to know that I am so grateful. Help me each day to appreciate my child's health and growth, to put our struggles in perspective, and to never take the resources we have for granted. Make this next year one of health and strength for my child and for our family. Bless us with wholeness and peace. Amen. 

The Frozen Effect

With my princess-loving three year-old daughter, our house has fallen captive to the Frozen craze. Every day is a new opportunity to dress up as Princess Anna or Queen Elsa, to knock on a door and ask, "Do you wanna build a snowman?", and get excited about "coronation day." While I have read many articles and blogs about the phenomenon that is Frozen, including the positives and drawbacks of the two princesses, I overall think this is a great, entertaining movie. For all of its shortcomings, it does send a message of confidence and that sibling love is true love, too.

Yet, Frozen has blown a chill wind into our house as well. Recently I observed to a friend that, in the past few weeks, our daughter has worried that we are leaving her when we do multiple trips to the car before leaving in the morning, she is now complaining about the wind, and most recently, refuses to "be cold." The friend replied, "Oh, all major themes in Frozen."

Some of this, particularly some of the worry of being left behind, is normal three year-old behavior. She is trying to make sense of the world around her, and this is just part of that development. I also know, though, that my friend is right and this is could absolutely be from watching Frozen.

What I realized is that I watch Frozen with my daughter and we talk about some of it, but I have shied away from the scene when the parents go away and don't return. I have focused on the positive themes of sibling love, helping, being trustworthy...and not talked about the scary parts like dying parents or frozen sisters.

Fairy tales and princess stories often have scary parts in them because they respond and address the fears we all feel. How often do we really process them with our children?

This weekend, when it is time for our weekly viewing of a Disney movie (and I know it will be Frozen), I'm going to be pausing the movie at different parts and asking my daughter what she sees and feels. Maybe it will turn out that this is all just three year-old stuff, not anything related to the movie. Regardless, it will be a growing experience for me as a parent, opening up the difficult conversations I'm not sure we need to have. If I don't try, though, I'll never know!

"I have called you by name"

In the Torah portion this Shabbat (Ki Tisa), God says, "I have called out by name Bezalel (karati b'shem)..." We learn that Bezalel, singled out by God, is endowed with a divine spirit and will lead the creation of the mishkan.

It is a powerful idea to call someone out by name. In Torah study this morning, several people suggested pieces of the same idea--to be named is to affirm one's fullness of being. To be reduced to a number or to be nameless is to be almost nonexistent. In this passage of Torah, Bezalel and his assistant, Oholiab, are both named with their lineage, so their fathers and tribes are recognized as well. Thus, when we give someone a name, we link them with generations past and we also endow in them hopes and dreams of what they may be. Studies even suggest that a given name has power over a child's development as a person.

Calling each of my children by their name for the first time was spiritually profound. In both cases, I asked Micah (who saw each child first) if the baby looked like the name we planned to give. Once he said yes, the medical team asked what the name was and I said, "Hadara Irene" and then two years later, "Caleb Doron." Setting aside that we then had to explain the origin and meaning of Hadara and Caleb, it was a moment when I truly called my children by name in the most powerful of ways. Like God calling Bezalel and endowing him with divine spirit, saying their names aloud for the first time was a recognition of past and present, and especially future. I could taste the sweetness of the moment, and heard the potential in each name and thus each child. 

To call someone by name is to acknolwedge their being, to say that we see them in an intentional way. And each of us has the responsibility and ability to bring honor to our names, to live out the things with which we were endowed by those who came before, and to create a future of goodness and blessing. 

"But I'm still little"

Tonight is my last night of maternity leave. I am filled with the ambivalence of wanting to return to my work, with colleagues I respect and work I find meaningful, while wanting to stay within arms' reach of my three month old son and available to my daughter and husband. And, above all, there is a fear of change. I have had an amazing three months of being present for my family and now, change is coming. I can't stop the change so it is time to embrace it.

My daughter tonight discovered that same ambivalence about change. She has a guard rail on her bed and has been talking about removing it for some time. Today at nap we finally did it. She seemed to enjoy the freedom until bedtime when she insisted on putting it back. When we said that this was a big girl step, she cried, "But I'm still little!" My heart broke a little bit at hearing her face what we all do--a fear of not being ready for scary change. Tonight we could put the guard rail back...and she can decide when it is time to try again. Other times it won't be so simple, yet the emotions will likely be the same. How can it be time for this? I'm not ready!

Tonight I feel the same way. I'm not ready! My son is too little! I don't want change! I miss work, and right now I suspect that tomorrow I will miss my children more. The unknown seems overwhelming, yet change is the only constant in life. It keeps things interesting, it challenges us to find new qualities within ourselves. I know that in a few weeks, I will discover a new rhythm of balancing my roles as mother, wife, and rabbi. I will find the satisfaction in multitasking and will appreciate my time at home even more because I spend so much time away. My husband will discover new joys in his time with our children on the weekends when I am on the pulpit or at religious school. And, our children will continue to develop resilience as they are surrounded by so many different people who care for their well-being. But for tonight, my daughter and I both will feel a little ambivalent about the forces of change until we wake up tomorrow ready for the challenge!

The world in which we live

A few days before our daughter was born, we saw the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed. My husband and I remarked on how she was entering a world without bin Laden in it. What else would we know that she would not experience? And, what would she see in her lifetime instead?

Today, I drove my daughter to daycare with her 5 week old brother in tow and the news was full of stories about the one year anniversary of the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. The world in which our children live does not have Osama bin Laden, for years the face of terrorism and unexpected violence. Yet, now it has a different face--the anonymous, unknown perpetrators of violence in movie theaters, workplaces, and schools. I think many of us would agree this is a much scarier world. For reasons that defy our understanding, seemingly normal people turn to guns and take the lives of innocent people--adults and children.

How do we approach such a world? How do we help our children to cope with this reality? For now, my children are still too young to know about such things, but that time will soon end. I want to be able to help them channel their fear and confusion into action--that they will not only know how to keep themselves as safe as possible in the event of the unthinkable (whatever that may be), but they will also know how to write and call their legislators and advocate on issues of guns, violence, and mental health support. I pray they will draw strength from being surrounded by a community that is committed to creating a safer and better world for all people.

Tonight, as Shabbat comes and we offer our prayers for our children, asking God to bless them with peace, may we envision a world where all children will be safe, be loved, and know wholeness and peace.

Is there only one blessing?

This week's Torah portion, Toledot, is truly a cautionary tale of parenting. Forget the akedah, the binding of Isaac. Although it is scary, I don't think most of us are in danger of offering our children up to God as burnt offerings. This Torah portion, the story of Rebekah and Isaac and their sons, Esau and Jacob, actually involves things that might happen today.

From the beginning, we learn that Isaac prefers Esau and Rebekah prefers Jacob. This eventually leads to Rebekah encouraging Jacob to deceive his father and take Isaac's innermost blessing, the one intended for Esau. When Esau comes in for his blessing, Isaac discovers he has been deceived. Then come some of the most painful words in our Torah, "Have you but one blessing, Father? Bless me too!" as Esau wept aloud.

How terrible it would be to only have enough blessing for one of our children, to not only show preference, but when asked, have nothing left to say to our other child. This is why this parasha is so painful--it plays out the fear that parents have limited love and blessings for their children. We fear this as parents, we fear this as children. As I sit here, 36 weeks pregnant with our second, this weighs on my mind. I, like many parents about to have a second child, am trying to envision what it will be like to welcome a new child who isn't my first. Will I be able to appreciate him or her or will I only compare to the older sister? As is very normal, we wonder about having enough love. Yet, everything I read, everyone I talk to, says yes--the minute you see your second, you love him or her unconditionally and beautifully. The transition is different: the first child makes us parents, the second (and third, fourth, etc) child makes us more of a family.

And so, I offer this blessing for those of us parenting more than one child:

O God, give me the strength and wisdom to be the best parent I can be.
Help me to see each of my children for the unique and special creations they are.
Guide my eyes to look at each of them differently, in a way that honors them as individuals.
Guide my tongue to speak to each of them uniquely, in the way they will best hear.
Guide my ears to listen to each of them intentionally, hearing what they are saying without judgment or comparison.
Guide my hands to offer love and compassion, giving them the care they need to feel most loved.
Help me to discover the many blessings I have within as a parent so I can share them freely and lovingly with my children.
May our family be blessed with an abundance of love, freely given and received.
Amen.

The Minivan Question

About two months ago, we started to realize that the arrival of our second child meant that one of our cars, the little Corolla, was probably not a practical car for our family (my CRV is doing fine). Thus began the conversation about the minivan, something which I have found is dreaded by many people. Minivans do symbolize suburbia, lots of children, "mommy-ness" in a way that SUVs don't. And, here's what I have learned in the process:

-Considering a minivan asks you to determine how important vanity is...said a different way, how far are you willing to go for style over practicality? The car companies know that for many families, style is worth a lot. This is why an SUV that seats 7 or 8 will likely cost more for the same features than a minivan. It is also why the base model of most minivans have more features than the base models of other cars (XM radio, etc). I would compare this to shoes...I have a pair of 4 inch black patent heels that are adorable. I paid a little extra for the style, when I could have found a less expensive pair of black shoes. They make me feel great, but only work with certain situations. When I wear them, I can't comfortably carry my daughter! I also have a pair of black flats. They are nice enough, maybe even a little stylish when dressed up correctly, but are the shoes I wear when pregnant or in need of comfort. In fact, there is rarely an occasion for which these shoes would not work. To buy a minivan is to say that practicality has won. It is giving up the pumps and putting on the flats. Fortunately, the car companies have made minivans look sleek enough and put enough features that it feels like a pair of flats and not like really unfortunate sneakers!

-A minivan invites you to realize just how grown up you have become. There are moments when I believe we stop and think, "How did I end up here?" Whether it is first job, first house, marriage, first child...we realize that we are truly adults. To test drive a minivan, let alone buying one, is an acknowledgement of a specific stage of life. Yes, we are the people with two children who need to cart around a lot of junk. We are excited by the prospect of being able to change a poopy diaper comfortably on the floor of a van, or climb in to strap a child into a carseat. And, instead of thinking of flying off to some luxurious destination, the minivan just makes us want to take a fun road trip with the kids. My husband and I looked at the van and one another and both agreed--this is where we are in life. We may as well embrace it. One day, we will be done with the minivan stage of life and I am sure that too will come with a dose of shock and a little regret.

-A minivan is full of stereotypes. On the Toyota Sienna website, it has "Mommy like." The whole "Swagger Wagon" ad campaign is a response to the assumption that minivan drivers and families are boring. A friend told us that the minivan gets no respect on the highway. When I searched Honda Odyssey v. Toyota Sienna, I found an Orthodox website where people were weighing in on this exact question. When we told people that we were looking at a minivan, they just laughed. When we said that Micah would be driving the car, they laughed even more. Under #realmendriveminivans there are only about four entries. I am proud that my husband is willing to drive the minivan and thinks it is cool to make it his own and do this for our family.

I am proud to announce that, after a month or so of research and a test drive, we are now the proud owners of a 2013 Toyota Sienna. Mini-Van Morrison joined our family on September 27, 2013, and I am sure there will be a character in this next chapter of our family's story!

There's a Little "Disney Parent" in All of Us

We have officially entered the "princess" phase in our home. A loving gift from my mother of the movie "Cinderella" in July has yielded an obsession in our two year old daughter. She has fallen in love with the music and Cinderella--it is not unusual for her to ask questions such as "What is Cinderella doing right now?" We are excited to take her to Disneyland to see Cinderella on our next trip to visit family, and I will thank Cinderella for her help in encouraging potty training (when I found Disney princess panties at Costco, it was a great day).

As we have tried to branch out beyond Cinderella, I've had the opportunity to screen some other Disney movies. Someone told me that Disney isn't particularly nice to mothers, and I have to agree. If you are a stepmother, just don't watch Cinderella. We looked at Brave and Tangled--not a good portrayal of mothers. There isn't even a mother present in Little Mermaid or Beauty and the Beast, the mother plays a passive role in Lion King, and don't even start me on Bambi. Sleeping Beauty is arriving at our home any day--I am relieved to have a movie coming that will allow me to describe the villain as a witch, rather than the stepmother!

I am not sure the fathers fare much better. Little Mermaid is scary, particularly when the king destroys his daughter, Ariel's, possessions in a fit of anger. The father is eccentric in Beauty and the Beast, needing his daughter to care for him.

Setting aside Disney's motivations...I have come to realize that there is a little "Disney Parent" in all of us. As the mother of a two year old who is verbal and independent, yet also nonrational and only two, I have moments I want to put her in her bedroom, lock the door, and put the key in my pocket just like the stepmother in Cinderella. I also, at times, want to burn the Cinderella DVD because I am tired of arguing about whether it is a "movie day," just like the father in Little Mermaid. I know that there are mothers out there who distantly push their daughters to achieve as much as possible, like the mother in Brave, or mothers who want to protect their daughters from the outside world, sometimes to obsessive extremes, like the mother (or pretend mother, actually) in Tangled.

Fortunately, my Disney parent moments are short-lived and now I have a name for them. The take-home message for me as I watch these movies is two-fold. First, watch the movie with your child! Only you can process and explain what he or she sees. Even a Disney movie, rated for children, has complicated themes and needs to be processed in an age-appropriate way. In our home, we talk a lot about "good choices" and the importance of being a good helper, something that we can glean from Cinderella without making this about stepmothers or stepsisters. Second, even on my worst days, I'm not a creepy tyrant, a baby-stealing witch, a distant queen, or an eccentric inventor (last I checked). The Disney parent reminds us that we all have moments where we aren't our best selves...and we should accept that we can't be perfect all of the time, but we are responsible for making  "good choices" with our children. In Judaism we have the idea of the evil inclination and the good inclination--never is that more apparent when dealing with a challenging parent moment (with children of any age). Said a different way, we have the choice to be a "Disney parent" or to be the best version of ourselves. Let's choose goodness and unconditional love...and pray they never make a movie about us.