Rabbi Janet Marder

May 19, 2007

To the Confirmation Class of 2007

            One evening in Confirmation class we did a “get to know you” exercise that involved taking off your shoes, hiding one of them behind you and putting the other into a big pile in the center of the room. We took turns picking up a shoe, looking at it carefully and analyzing what we could tell about the owner from that shoe. Then each of us tried to guess who the owner of the shoe was.

            As we pondered an assortment of cute-looking strappy sandals in pastel colors, squashed-looking, often odorous sneakers caked with layers of dust and grime, and everything in between, we observed the panorama of personalities that make up this year’s Confirmation class. There were the sports-conscious and the fashion-conscious and the rebels and the free spirits, and those with their nose in a book who barely paid attention to what was on their feet.

            Jumbled up there in a pile, in a rainbow of styles and hues, were all the different kinds of people you are. Jumbled up there in a pile were the structures of leather and cotton and suede that get you through your long, long days. All through these months of Confirmation, though I doubt that you realized it, I’ve been trying to think about what it’s like to walk in your shoes. What it’s like to be who you are.

            Your parents, if they stop and remember for a moment, can recall vividly a time when your feet had never touched the ground. They were velvety smooth little feet -- so tiny they could fit inside the palms of your parents’ hands. Your mom or dad bought you adorable miniature shoes with Velcro closings or Mary Jane straps, and they clapped and cheered for you when you took your first tentative steps on the earth.

            Now they wonder, along with me, along with the rest of your Confirmation teachers, what goes on inside your mind as your assorted sneakers and sandals trek through the halls of high school. Now you are more than five and six feet tall and some of your feet are bigger than anyone else’s in the family. You walk on your own now – not just in the sense that you’ve mastered your own independent locomotion, but in the sense that your journey is your own. We can’t think your thoughts or feel your emotions or trespass on your dreams. All we know is what you tell us, when you choose to let us in.

            This past year, when you’ve come to Confirmation on Wednesday nights, you brought along all the things you carry with you through the halls of high school – the psychological counterpart to the heavy backpacks you shlep. We heard about some of them during the check-in time we always had at the beginning of class. Academic stresses – tests and projects and papers, teachers who were tough to deal with.  Your schedule of games and practices and tournaments, concerts and performances. Fatigue – almost all of you talked about that.

            We know, your teachers know, that there were other burdens some of you carried, as well. Health problems. Family problems. Worries about the future. Worries about boyfriends, girlfriends, not enough friends, quarrels with friends. Each of you carried something different into our Confirmation class.

            Some of you were there because you wanted to be. You feel connected to your Jewish heritage, or you want to feel more connected, or you wanted to be with your friends. Some of you, we know, were there because of your parents. Whatever your reasons, all of your teachers want to thank you for making Confirmation part of your long, long days.

             On Wednesday evenings when we sat in a circle at the beginning of class, and stood in a circle at the end of class, singing the bedtime Sh’ma, we tried to give you a safe and peaceful Jewish space where you would not be judged. We tried to offer you a strong, solid connection to spirituality and community that can be with you always. We tried to show you that we see you, and we appreciate who you are.

            To us you are not just the clothes you wear and the façade you present to the world – sports-conscious, fashion-conscious, sassy and confident, cool and detached, quiet and shy. To us there is something precious in each of you.

            To us you are inspiring and resilient, funny and compassionate, thoughtful, sensitive, and brave. We love your spirit. We love the sound of your singing, whether or not it’s in tune. We love your laughter. We love your curly hair, and the bangs waxed in the front so they stand up straight look, and single earring in the left ear look, and  the wearing the sunglasses on the back of your head look. We love your cute and squashed and stinky shoes, big and small and in-between.  We cherish your individual souls. We ache for you when you’re sad.

            Before you finish your Confirmation year we want to make sure you know that.  Know that we, and all the people who love you, still cheer for you when you take your first steps on the next part of your journey. Know that we love you even when you fall down, or struggle, or slam the door to shut us out.  Know that we tried to do our best, because you deserve it, and that we feel bad when we fall short of what you need.

            Your teachers and parents can’t walk in your shoes or dream your dreams but we can give you a secure place to push off from, and to come home to, for the rest of your life. We will always be glad to see you, because you will always be in our hearts.

            May God bless you on your journey.