I didn't want to discuss
my feelings about Mother's Day yesterday. Talking of how my my mom
died on that day, just didn't seem right. I felt as I'd be adding a
sad note to a day, that for many people has a lot of meaning and joy.
So, I was silent. I “liked” a whole bunch of posts and pictures,
and enjoyed my friend's happiness, even as I felt a twinge of
jealousy. I also read several articles and a post by my friend Malky,
which got me thinking. While Frimet Goldberger, a former Satmar
chossid wrote
of a partial reconciliation with her mother, Malky, who comes from
the same community wrote of the poor relationship with her mother
which has never healed. Finally, I read Ruth Margalit's moving
article,
about being “unmothered” on Mother's Day. Moved by the ideas
shared by these three insightful women, I share the following letter,
written to a fictitious mother whose child has chosen a different
course for her own life. (Although it is addressed to a mother, it
expresses an idea that just as easily could apply to a father as
well).
Dear Mrs. Schwartz,
I hope you'll forgive me,
a total stranger, for writing to you. Although we come from very
different worlds, I believe that my thoughts might be helpful to
you.
I remember the first time
I came home from yeshiva having learned about what the Pesach seder
was supposed to be. I eagerly awaited the night of the seder, when my
family would join in a long discussion and analysis (forgive me, I
was a bit of a Litvak) about the Exodus from Egypt. I prepared
various divrei Torah and topics of discussion which would involve my
whole family. I'm sure you can imagine my disappointment when, after
my second devar Torah, my father A”H, who never received a yeshiva
education, made it clear that he was hungry, and not in the mood for
any more long discussions. This was not a one time event. Each year,
including in all the years after I married and had children of my
own, the seder was heavy on food, but light on discussion, at least
as far as sippur yetziyas Mitzraim. After my father passed away, I
had the opportunity to conduct sedarim of my own. They had everything
that I had ever wanted, discussion, analysis, singing and meaning.
Well, everything except for my father. Despite the fact that I
greatly enjoy my sedarim, I would give anything for one more rushed
seder with my father.
I have only an outsider's
understanding of your community, but I believe that in many ways,
people are people. Chazal say that a father is never jealous of his
son. This is generally understood to be a positive statement, but I
think there is something a little dark hiding behind these words. At
least in some cases, the reason a parent is not jealous of her child
is because parents sometimes live vicariously through their children.
Both their children's successes, as well as their children's
failures, are seen by the parent as their own. We all invest so much
in our children; time, money and hope, and we want the best for them.
Often, the best we want, is what's best for us, assuming that what we
want must be right for our children. It is indeed a comforting
feeling to see one's children live a life similar to our own. What of
the child who takes a different path? How can we not feel a twinge of
disappointment when our son or daughter picks a different path?
HaShem has given us all
bechira chofshis, free-will. Inherent in that gift, is the
opportunity to live in the way he asks of us, or to reject it. Even
then, even when it is objectively what He, as the creator knows is
best for us, he still loves us. Af al pi sh'chat'u, banai heim,
regardless of our choices, we remain God's children. How much more so
should we, as mere humans, make this same choice? Is this not another
instance where we are commanded to follow in God's ways?
In no way do I make light
of your pain. I'm sure that it must be hard to see so many of your
neighbors have children who all live according to the ways of your
community. Perhaps you wonder whether some of your friends blame you
for how your children turned out. I ask of you, for your child's
sake, for your grandchildren's sake, and for your own sake as well,
to not hurt them or yourself. As much as we don't like to think about
it, none of us live forever. There will come a time when it is too
late for hugs, apologies, acceptance and all that comes with being a
mother and grandmother. Take advantage of the opportunity for
reconciliation. You have so much to gain, and nothing to lose.
Pesach
