It is that time of year again, when we are called to do acts of teshuvah, of repentance and return.
Before I became a parent, I thought of this season mainly as the time we have to sit in services all day, and then, about a week later, a day of fasting until sundown. Full disclosure: the longest I have ever made it fasting is about 1:30, maybe 3 p.m. if I take a nap. (I can practically hear my husband sighing).
Parenting always comes with challenges, but raising kids in a world that feels like living in the upside-down is, well… a lot. Since Oct. 7, being Jewish has felt heavier than usual. Conversations are more complicated. Politics find their way into almost everything. Some days the mental gymnastics it takes to navigate all of this makes me want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.
And yet, in the middle of this madness, we still get to love. We get to laugh at our kids’ silly antics, inhale the smell of the tops of their heads and catch the sparkle in their eyes, because this is their childhood. It is unfolding right now, even when the world feels uncertain.
That, to me, is what teshuvah looks like this year. Not only the prayers in synagogue and fasting, but the turning back to my kids again and again. In this way, parenting is a kind of daily prayer. Every time we choose patience instead of snapping, every time we pause to explain, listen or forgive, we are doing something holy. Small ordinary acts add up to love and repair. The work is not glamorous, but it is real, and it matters.
Then, there are the evenings. Every night, my husband and I begin the long ritual of putting the kids to bed. The pleading, “Put on your pajamas. Brush your teeth. Stop fighting. No, you cannot have more food from the kitchen.” It takes no less than an hour, often two, much to our chagrin. By the time they are finally asleep, we sit in the quiet and breathe a sigh of relief. The house is still. Baruch Atah Adonai. Dear God, thank you for bringing us to the end of another day.
Are we allowed to make up our own blessings? I’m not so sure. But if there was a blessing for finally getting your children to sleep, I imagine it might sound like this: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, who gives us the gift of loudness and chaos, and who also grants us the silence and peace at the end of the day. Amen.”
I will be honest. I have never been the biggest fan of long services on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In my pre-parenting days, I sometimes skipped them entirely (shhh, don’t tell).
The 20-something-year-old me would laugh at how I now insist on going to services each year, if only to show my kids what we must do, just as my family once showed me. L’dor v’dor, from generation to generation.
Yes, we will most likely make our appearances at synagogue this year (at more than one, but that is another article entirely). Still, I believe the truest prayers are found in the rhythms of daily life; in the messy imperfect work of raising children with love; and in the small moments of returning to one another, repairing again and again.
So this year, whether I make it through a full day of services or if I make it to fasting past 3 p.m. on Yom Kippur, my prayer is simple. I pray that our children and loved ones be inscribed in the Book of Life. I pray that we hold one another close in these divided times, and that we remember every day is worth treating as holy. Because each day of parenting, with its chaos and its peace, deserves its own special prayer.
Shanah Tovah.