The Upsherin

Jewish Advocate, March 2009

 

In spite of the fact that I claim no anxiety (as if), I wake up at four in the morning, without being able to go back to sleep.  To make matters worse, the clocks are adjusted, so I get an extra hour of sleeplessness, and an extra hour to ponder, walk around aimlessly, stare at the clock that just won’t move. I have much to think about: today is the day my son will have his haircut.  This will be a big change; from now one, everybody will be able to see his face, strangers will no longer call him a girl, and if he gets gum in his hair again, we can just grab the scissors.  

Of course, this is much more than a haircut.  After today, my son will be a “big boy”, and no longer a baby.  He will have responsibilities. Jewish responsibilities, no less.  Mostly, this means we have to be his teachers; more responsibility for him means more responsibility for us.  Just like his Bris, this ceremony serves as a reminder to parents that we have these children on loan, and that we need to take care of business. It’s time to make up the balance regarding our son’s Jewish education; what are we doing right, in what areas are we lacking?  

He has been learning his Brachot, although at this time, they mostly sound like “mumble, mumble, mumble” followed by a loud and heartfelt: “Omeyn!”  He knows how to wash his hands, and give Tzedakah.   He can recognize a Gimel, though no other letters, but it’s a start.  He is twisting his tongue around the jargon of his identity; we go to ‘Shabbat’ to celebrate ‘Chabad’, a Mogen David is a ‘Chanukah’, and kippahs are a nuisance, to be thrown across the room like a Frisbee.  When I show him a picture of Latkes in his Chanukah book, he insists it’s a Challah, on Friday mornings he goes to ‘Torah Tops’, and he continues to think that Shabbat Candles need to be A) blown out, and B) accompanied by a birthday song.

Most of the time I feel there is a lot of knowledge bubbling beneath the surface, ready to erupt.  So what if he only knows the “Torah” part of the Torah-song; it’s the most important part, isn’t it? It’s so tempting to feel overwhelmed by the amount of things we have to teach him; it’s easier to focus on all the things he doesn’t know, than on the things he does know.  

At the ceremony, I see my baby amidst a throng of gathered friends, and Naches replaces apprehension.  During the ceremony he sits perfectly still, and not one complaint passes his lips as, lock by lock, his hair gets snipped; it’s as if he knows how important this moment is.  Sometimes, when our children go through such earth shattering transformations, time stands still and we know we will remember this moment forever. However, before I can dwell on the sentimentality of it all, the ceremony is over and he goes back to running around the synagogue. It occurs to me that small children don’t allow much room for parents to get all touchy-feely about these things.  He drives that point home when, after most of the guests have left, he climbs up on the podium, jumps off and hits his head.  Which is fine, it’s not the first time.  Except for the fact that now there is no hair to cover that big, blotchy-is that a rug burn??- thing on his forehead.

 

 

Dancing Barefoot in the Rain

This column previously appeared in The Jewish Press, June 2008

Spring is here; the jar that my daughter brings to me says so. Inside, I find a bug and some leafy greens; she proudly tells me she “screwed the lid on extra tight so Mr. Bug won’t escape”. I explain that Mr. Bug probably won’t survive the lack of oxygen, and with a disappointed look she takes her brand-new pet back outside and releases him.  In truth, I don’t have the faintest idea how long a bug can live in a jar, but I’m not willing to find out. There’s a reason I have the exterminator stop by my house every two months.

Fortunately, there are other ways to freak your parents out when the weather gets nice, and my children know them all. We’ve already had the first accident (our daughter Isabella falling out of a tree) and the first really dumb idea (our son Mendel using a rake to play horse while standing in a wheelbarrow). Our kids find that nice weather is best enjoyed in an atmosphere of danger.

            I am not entirely convinced I am the right parent for the season. I hate bugs, and I don’t like swimming. I despise that the maple tree in front of my house seems to drop a hundred branches every time the wind blows, and that the hot sun makes the trashcan smell like something furry died in there; most of all, I hate how by the time my house settles down it is too dark to truly enjoy my garden. Of course, I would love to be a fun mom, and sometimes I think I am, but these days I mostly hear myself say things like Stop stepping on the flowers, That roof is not for climbing, and, most popular of all: Get out of the compost heap! No wonder my children look at me as if they wish I’d turn into a garden gnome. What fun is a back yard if you can’t get dirty and destroy things? Where’s my summer spirit?

            When I was little, I practically lived outside during the summer. I grew up near the woods, and there wasn’t a tree I didn’t climb, an adventure I didn’t have, or a dare I didn’t fall for. The only rule my parents had was: “be home in time for dinner”, and even that I often didn’t stick to (Sorry, mom). Yet now that I am a mother myself, and my children’s outside is the size of a postage stamp compared to the world I used to play in, I am suddenly the biggest chicken on the block. Obviously, it’s time for an attitude adjustment.

            Someone very smart once told me that G-d does not perform unnecessary miracles; if you can fix things yourself, He will not split the Red Sea for you. So now what? I decide I have to set some new ground rules, starting with less interference on my part. This means, if Isabella and Mendel are outside, let them be outside in the fullest sense of the word. So what if they get dirty, so what if their shins bruise until they look like the map of Europe; it’s not the end of the world if they wear the signs of summer. And with Memorial Day just around the corner, we have many warm months ahead of us, so I might as well relax. And they don’t need to know that I peek out the window every two minutes, and then give myself a stern talking to. Maybe I’ll get really brave and introduce some shock treatment: next time there’s a summer storm, we can all go outside and dance barefoot in the rain.

Let’s hope it stays dry until deep into August.

Hanukkah 2007

Bad Toys
By Annette van de kamp-Wright

(This column was previously published in The Jewish Press, November 2007)

 With Hanukkah just around the corner, it’s time for the December Dilemma.  I am not referring to any real or imaginary issues we have with the Christmas season; I am talking about the question of what appropriate Hanukkah presents look like. I know people who manage to make it through eight days with the help of Gelt and candles, and maybe a donut and a latke or two, and I admire them.  They avoid greedy behavior, spending too much money, and wasting hours wrapping every gift just so.  This is not the case at our house.

 

            Of course, my husband and I have set the precedent years ago, and now we are stuck: Hanukkah is here and presents are expected.  I think that’s okay; besides, I like buying and wrapping presents for my children.  Now that my daughter is in first grade, she plans ahead: as soon as the first toy catalog hits the mailbox, she buries her nose in it and sighs wistfully every five minutes or so.  I told her to make a list with things she would like; if she is expecting ridiculous things like ponies or a new house, I’d like to know about it.  We set rules: for each toy she has to write down a book; and my husband and I agree that only one Barbie is allowed. What’s more, nothing can be over fifteen dollars. That way we avoid unacceptable items like the “Barbie hot tub party bus” and the “Barbie gymnastic Divas playset”.  I am not making this up.

            When she presents me with her “Hnakah”-list, I am pleasantly surprised; there is not a single item over $15.   She wants a crown, a fake flower, and a new dress. As an extra reminder, she has drawn a picture of a present in the corner of the paper.  As far as books go, she casts her net a little wider: instead of specifics, she has written down categories, such as art-books, and ‘funny books’. This begs the question of what books are ‘funny’ to six year olds.  I’ve already bought her a ‘Shakespeare for Children’ book; would she consider that funny?  I doubt it.  All in all, this is not such a bad list.  Judging from the toy catalog, things could be much more grave.

            For instance, there is a dinosaur doll, that develops its own personality based on how much time you spend with it.  In other words, time you don’t spend reading, or being outside, or cleaning your room.  The cost is a mere $349.99.  I wonder, if you leave it lying around too much, does it develop a personality disorder? Does it become socio-pathic if you don’t cuddle it?  That’s a pretty big risk to take for a couple of hundred dollars. The toy that truly puzzles me is a doll by the name of ‘baby alive wets ‘n wiggles’.  Yes, it is exactly what you think it is.  Who comes up with that?  And who wants a doll in the house that pees and doesn’t lie still; didn’t we suffer enough when our own, very real, babies went through that phase?  Hm, maybe I can buy this for her when she turns 16, as a warning?

This year, there are some new toys inspired by the movie “Transformers”.  My husband liked the movie; I didn’t see it and plan to keep it that way.  “But it has Shia LaBeouf in it!” he’ll say, as if a Jewish actor in the lead role automatically makes a movie acceptable.  Even he has to admit, though, that the accompanying toys are questionable at best.  Take for example the ‘Optimus Prime Voice Changer Helmet’, or the ‘Optimus Prime Battle Rig Blaster’.  Who even knows what these things are?  The little boys that wish for them are probably also enchanted by the idea of owning the ‘Ben 10 Deluxe Ominitrix’, which is a kind of oversized wristwatch that apparently helps defeat evil.  Well, no ten year old can live without one of those, I guess. 

            I have to ask myself, am I going to be one of those parents that absolutely don’t understand what their children want?  Do I make fun of, and use sarcasm when confronted with the toy aisle, merely to mask the fact that I’m experiencing a disconnect?  Maybe.  When I am confronted with the picture of a tent shaped like a café, I enquire whether it comes with a real coffee maker. Now that would be handy.  My daughter doesn’t think I am funny and rolls her eyes; she’s probably worried sick about what I’m buying for her.

            Of course, the real question remains to be answered: what is Hanukkah really about?  Because we all know that it isn’t about presents, and it isn’t about how crisp the Latkes are, or whether that new dress matches your expectations.  I do believe that, although Hanukkah is one of the minor holidays, it can fulfill a major role in our Jewish life, if we let it.  It is about spending time with friends and family, and about togetherness; about forming strong bonds through traditions and beliefs. About believing that miracles continue to happen, every day. It is, in short, a holiday that reminds us that Judaism brings light to dispel the darkness that so often surrounds us.  And dispelling darkness is better for our children than any toys I can think of.