Susie Rothschild

July 24, 2009

Making Miracles, then Making Space for Another to Grow

Every family has a story.

The Book of Deuteronomy presents Moses’ retelling of the Israelites’ journeys, all having led up to their current position: poised on the border of the Promised Land, about to enter an uncertain communal future together. In this week’s portion, Devarim, Moses is beginning a series of farewell addresses, knowing that he cannot go with them on this journey.

Moses wanted to be certain that the Israelites would be alright without him; that the wisdom of this people’s history – its story – would be by now sufficiently embedded – infused – incorporated in their DNA – to guide them in their new home.

As I read this portion, I immediately related it to my and my husband Charlie’s parenting of  three adult sons and the challenging task of our struggle to strike the right balance between – on the one hand - hovering like the now famous helicopter parents who try to stay totally involved and save their “kids” from making stupid mistakes and – on the other hand – being a supportive listener and letting our sons know we are always there if they need us but don’t intend to step in and run the show.

The Blessing of a Skinned Knee, by psychologist Wendy Mogel, is a book on parenting that combines Jewish wisdom and wit with psychological insights. Mogel says the Talmud sums up the Jewish perspective on child-rearing in a single sentence: “A father is obligated to teach his son how to swim.” Jewish wisdom is that our children do not belong to us. “They are both a loan and a gift from God, and the gift has strings attached. Our job is to raise our children to leave us.”

This process is neither easy nor painless. Not for an individual family; not for a great leader of a people.

The Midrashim speak to how very painful it was for Moses to give up his role – to withdraw and watch someone else succeed him. Rabbi Marder taught me about the Jewish mystical principle of tzimtzum – “contraction of divine energy” - of literally pulling back to make space for others to grow. “Originally everything was God; God filled up the entire universe. But … in order to make a place for the world, God had to withdraw a bit.” 

How to let go of your “child”? There is a huge element of self-restraint, of generosity, in this pulling back. It is GOOD to feel needed!

But – helicopter parents – what happens to the child when the parent one day isn’t there?

Every family has a story. With your kind permission (and theirs) I will relate part of  ours. The Readers’ Digest Condensed Version:

Two 17-year-old kids fell in love in high school. They brought their four parents together. They continued to bond through University of Michigan football games and snowy winters and great friends. They got married at 22, moved to New Jersey , then Canada , then Los Altos , courtesy of Hewlett Packard. They had three sons, whom they loved with all their hearts and then some. They were blessed with a wonderful daughter-in-law whose large extended Israeli family added more beautiful threads to the tapestry this family was continually weaving. They joined three very wonderful, very different Reform Jewish congregations in the three communities they called home from 1979 through today. They passed on the stories of parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, some of whom the couple knew only from their parents’ stories.

The rich narrative comprised a tapestry of astonishing breadth and color. The grandfather who had lost his entire family in the Holocaust, then went on to become an eminent composer. The grandfather who was a lion of the Reform Jewish movement. The grandmother who had been a teacher, physical therapist and businesswoman. The grandmother who devoted her life to worthy Jewish causes. The great-great-grandmother who, widowed at 35 and with three small children, worked hard to support her family in the days when women did not normally participate in the workforce outside of the home. 

Throughout our life together, especially as parents, I have been the one to worry. Endlessly, incessantly, worry worry worry. Charlie therefore has seen it as his calling to not worry about anything! But we have experienced an interesting role reversal in recent years, as our “children” have really become adults.

Our oldest son has been married for three years. He will be thirty in November. He is a newly minted attorney, working in Ottawa , Ontario , for a law firm. As is common in these economic times, the firm has downsized. Neither he nor his fellow young associates will receive offers from this firm. Just last week he received a wonderful offer from a firm in Toronto , near where we used to live. His wife has a great job in patent and trademark law for the Canadian federal government in Ottawa , where two years ago they bought a lovely home.

Charlie said to me many times in the past few weeks as Denes had multiple interviews for this position – oh, I have mixed feelings about this. How are they going to resolve this? What should they do? And – totally out of character for us – I have patted Charlie on the hand and said, Don’t worry. They will work it out. They’re adults. We can’t do it for them, nor should we. Our solution would not necessarily work for them, even if we had one!

Meanwhile, the story of son David, age 25. He has one more year of law school. He has spent several years happily playing the bachelor field (with Charlie living vicariously through him). Now he has fallen in love. And he and the young woman are moving in together. As if that weren’t sufficient commitment, last week, their application to adopt a homeless puppy was accepted. We’re going to have a grand-dog, David proudly announced!

The young woman is wonderful. This point is agreed upon by both Charlie and me. But our opinion aside, this is David’s choice. I’m thrilled for him. Charlie, again, is worried. (And I am wondering, is this worry the new normal for my previously unflappable Charlie?) Is David too young for this? Why does he want to restrict his freedom at 25? What if they break up? Who gets custody of the dog?

Once again, I pat Charlie’s hand and offer my new refrain: don’t worry. They’ll work it out. They’re adults. We can’t do it for them, nor should we. Our solution would not necessarily work for them, even if we had one!

In Skinned Knee, Wendy Mogel spoke of tzimtzum, of “making space for another to grow.” After God created the universe, he at first stayed close by us, “his new and vulnerable creations, to provide help as needed. When we were trapped by the Egyptians, God provided plagues; when we needed to escape quickly, God parted the Red Sea…God was a day-by-day, sometimes minute-by-minute miracle worker,” much as parents are for their tiny newborns. “Later, as we matured and were able to manage on our own, God withdrew further and made fewer miracles. Left to our own devices, we took a lot of false steps. But we learned from our mistakes and became a resilient people.”

The analogy to Moses’ agony over losing the grip of parental-like control and leadership over the Jewish people is far from perfect. But I do find it apt. As a parent, it hurts to step back, to let go of the hand that used to be so tiny and grip so tightly to yours. But every family has a story. Ultimately, we have to trust that our story, our tapestry, has woven itself deeply enough into our children’s hearts, minds and souls that it will serve them and sustain them, through their many decisions and challenges, long after we have let go of their hands.