Castles and Catch: Spiritual Lessons Children Teach Us

By Ilana Grinblat

As adults, we instruct our children in many life skillshow to catch a ball, ride a bike, and read a book. Yet children have a special spark to them. How can we catch their outlook? Ilana Grinblat shows us how by revealing the spiritual insights that children teach us:

How a roller coaster ride becomes a lesson in overcoming fear and embracing joy
When baking cookies demonstrates how to grapple with failure and redefine success
What we learn from childrens tough questions about death, sex, God, and growing up

In this enchanting memoir, Grinblat shares personal stories interwoven with biblical narratives. Through these reflections, she grapples honestly with the struggles of raising children and how to cherish the extraordinary nature of ordinary moments. Castles and Catch leads us on a personal journey to discover the wonder within the everyday.

Looking for wisdom, heart, and resilience? Rabbi Ilana Grinblat offers a steady supply, all through the words and deeds of her children, her own keen insights as a mother whose soul has been seasoned with the insights of Jewish tradition and scripture. Join her on this rewarding journey of faith, of feeling, and of love!
Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson, DHL, author of God of Becoming and Relationship

With a rabbis soul and a writers eye, Ilana Grinblat shows us the intimate moments others overlook: the holiness of a family hike, the sanctity of ice skating lessons, the sacredness of a pancake breakfast. Discovering Torah in daily life and daily life in Torah, she will help you to do the same, making both more meaningful and poignant.
Tom Fields-Meyer, author of Following Ezra: What One Father Learned About Gumby, Otters, Autism, and Love from His Extraordinary Son

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504911535

Ilana Grinblat

Ilana Berenbaum Grinblat teaches Midrash (biblical interpretation) at the American Jewish University’s Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies in Los Angeles. She is the author of Blessings and Baby Steps: The Spiritual Path of Parenthood, and her columns have been featured in Sh’ma and CCAR Journal, as well on the websites of the Forward, the Jewish Journal, and the Washington Jewish Week. Her blog can be found at www.parentstorah.com, or visit her website at www.ilanagrinblat.com. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Tal, and their children, Jeremy and Hannah.

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© 2015 Ilana Grinblat. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 06/10/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1152-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1153-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015907281

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Table of Contents

Introduction

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Round 1

1    Lost and Found

2    The Birthday Cake

3    The Ferris Wheel

4    The Fireworks

5    Bedtime

Round 2

1    Waking Up

2    The Castle

3    The Zoo

4    The Brownies

5    The Rollercoaster Ride

Round 3

1    Kissing Frogs

2    Baskets and Bubble Wrap

3    Playing Catch

4    The Birthday Party

5    Hide and Seek

Endnotes

"And the children struggled together inside her;

and she said, If so, why this me?

and she went to seek God."

Genesis 25:22

In memory of my mother and my grandmothers, Rhea and Sandra

and to my grandmother Lillian

As Rabbi Joshua ben Levi said,

"One who imparts Torah to one’s grandchild is considered

as having received the Torah directly from Mount Sinai."

Kiddushin 30a

To my husband Tal,

image%20%231.jpg

the love of my heart, who helps and challenges me

Genesis 2:18

and to our children

Jeremy Judah and Hannah Leah

As Rabbi Hanina said:

"I have learnt much from my teachers,

and from my colleagues more than from my teachers,

and from my students more than from them all,"

and from my you, my children,

I have learnt the most.

Ta’anit 7a

Once there was a father who traveled with his son for miles. Each time they reached an obstacle such as a river or mountain, the father lifted his son on his shoulders and carried him through the difficult terrain. Finally, they came to their destination—a walled castle. But the gate of the castle was shut up, and there were only narrow windows on the sides of the wall.

The father said to his son; My son, up until now I have carried you. Now the only way we can reach our destination is if you will climb through the windows, and open the gate for me from within.

So it is… with parents and children and God. Parents take care of their children, feed and clothe them, and see them through all sorts of obstacles. Yet parents, who have so many strengths, often find the gate to God closed. But children have a special spiritual magic. They can climb to places their parents cannot reach. Children fling open the gates of heaven from within so that they and their parents can reach God together. ¹

- The Maggid (storyteller) of Dubnov

A man once told the Kotzker Rebbe proudly, I’ve gone through the Talmud three times. (The Talmud comprises approximately 5894 pages of intricate rabbinic discussions. To have read the entire corpus even once is a major accomplishment.)

Yes, the rabbi replied, but how much of the Talmud gone through you? ²

- Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

A book

so full

of words

is like

a teacher

that

you can

carry with

you.

- Yonatan Becker, age 7

Introduction

When my son was five and my daughter was two, I embarked on an unusual writing project, unsure where it would lead me. I was grieving for my mother’s death a few months beforehand, and both overjoyed and overwhelmed by the sweeping changes parenthood had brought to my life. I turned to the Torah for perspective and strength.

In Jewish tradition, the Bible (called the Torah in Hebrew) is divided into sections for weekly reading. The reading cycle starts with Genesis in the fall, continues through the year until the end of Deuteronomy, and begins anew with the first line of Genesis. The spiritual claim of Judaism is that the portion read in a given week sheds light on the week’s events.

As a rabbi, I repeatedly told congregants that the Torah portion for the week (called parasha in Hebrew) had a special message to impart at that moment. Then I shared the connection between the portion and their life. Yet, I had not explored this idea for myself. If the Torah portion for each week had insights for them, then maybe it had a message for me too. Perhaps, by viewing my life each week through the lens of the Torah portion, I would find guidance and healing.

For the next year, I wrote a column every week for the Forward’s website for the full cycle of Torah readings from Genesis through Deuteronomy based on my parenting experiences. I also began to share the columns by email with a small group of family and friends which grew over time. Each week, these reflections helped me articulate the lessons I was learning through the daily delights and struggles of raising children.

After the year of Forward articles concluded, I continued to write these reflections over the next few years. Some of those columns appeared on the website of the Jewish Journal and the Washington Jewish Week, as well as on my own blog at www.parentstorah.com. Other pieces, which were too private at the time to publish, served as a kind of spiritual diary. In this book, the columns are organized chronologically into rounds, moving through the cycle of the Torah three times. I tried not to change the columns so that they capture my feelings at a particular moment along this journey.

Over the years, the Torah helped me savor the highs of parenthood and comforted me through the heartbreaks. The connection between my daily life and the Torah portion were striking, surprising, sometimes ironic or even comic. When my kids and I got lice on the week which describes the plague of lice in Exodus, or my husband had a skin infection on the week which details leprous skin diseases in Leviticus, I felt as though God was laughing at me, and saying: ‘If you want your life to be like the weekly Torah portion, be careful what you wish for!’

Overall, though, the writing brought me to a place of peace that I’d never known. Each week, after I went through the Torah portion, it went through me. As adults, we instruct children in so many life skills – how to catch a ball, ride a bike, or read a book. In the realm of the spirit, however, the children are the real teachers. With the key of Torah, my children unlocked the gates of my heart so God could enter.

I hope that reading this book will help the Torah’s stories go through you too – to help you uncover the sacred within simple moments.

I suggest several possible approaches of how to read this book. Since each column in this book was written separately, every piece stands on its own. Feel free to flip through randomly and read any reflection to find what’s meaningful to you at a given moment in your life.

The book moves through the yearly cycle of Torah reading three times. If you would like to read each week, corresponding to the weekly Torah portion, an index of the Torah portions is provided at the end of the book – as well as an index of holidays for those looking for reflections on a special occasion.

Or you can read straight through the book. When read in order, this journal chronicles experiences over time, showing how questions raised by caring for children evolve through the years.

Each fall, at the conclusion of the Torah, the reader immediately starts again at the beginning. Likewise, the process reflected in this book does not end when these pages conclude.

I hope that you will visit my website at www.ilanagrinblat.com or my blog at www.parentstorah.com where you can add your email address to receive occasional reflections from me and contact me to offer your ideas and responses. I would love to hear from you.

Thank you for joining me on this journey. I can only hope that reading this book will help you cherish the spiritual lessons that the children in your life teach you.

Acknowledgments

This book was made possible by Jane Eisner, the editor of the Forward, who published the first round of these columns on the Forward’s website as well as Gabrielle Birkner and Allison Yarrow who meticulously edited them. Special thanks go to Rob Eshman, the editor, and Jay Firestone, formerly the web-editor, of the Jewish Journal and Debra Rubin, the former editor of the Washington Jewish Week who published many subsequent columns on their websites.

The faculty, administration, and staff of the Rabbi Jacob Pressman Academy of Temple Beth Am support and inspire me. I am especially grateful to the clergy, school directors, and the staff who included some of these pieces in the school and synagogue newsletters.

A version of the column entitled The Love Poem was originally published by the Central Conference of American Rabbis Journal in the spring of 2012. Special thanks to Rabbi Susan Laemmle, the editor of the CCAR Journal for her assistance with that piece.

Rabbi Harold Kushner’s D’rash Commentary within the Etz Hayim Torah and Commentary was crucial to this project. I read the Torah portion each week in the Etz Hayim, and the wisdom of Rabbi Kushner’s commentary is reflected throughout this book. Thanks also to my teacher, Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson, dean of the Ziegler School of Rabbinical Studies. The Bedside Torah, one of his masterful books, was an important resource for me. I appreciate Rabbi Artson’s encouragement of my writing and Blanca Jensen’s assistance in including a number of these columns on the Ziegler School’s website and emails on the Torah portion.

I am deeply grateful to all those who appear in the reflections of this book (whether by name or anonymously) for their inspiration. A special thanks to all my family, friends, teachers, colleagues, students, and congregants, who read these columns by email and responded. Your encouragement made what could have been a lonely writing process joyful instead.

Thanks to Tom Fields-Meyer, Deborah Blum, and my father, Rabbi/Dr. Michael Berenbaum, for corrections and suggestions about the manuscript and for their encouragement. Thanks also to my mother, Dr. Linda Bayer, of blessed memory, and my grandmother, Lillian Marlow, whose editorial and proofreading lessons continue to guide my writing.

Along with my mother and grandmothers, this book is dedicated as to my husband Tal for all his love and support – and to our wonderful children. Jeremy Judah and Hannah Leah, I thank God daily for you and for the Torah you teach me.

Author’s Note

The Hebrew Bible consists of the Torah (The Five Books of Moses), the Prophets and the Writings. The Hebrew Bible was originally written in Hebrew. Therefore, I will often draw on the Hebrew words and offer the English translation in parenthesis after the Hebrew word. In Jewish tradition, interpretation of the Torah is called midrash. Judaism also is based on the rabbis’ teachings, which were recorded in the Mishnah (compiled in the third century), the Talmud (compiled in the sixth century), collections of midrash, commentaries, works of Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism), and Hasidic tales. Hasidism began as a movement in eighteenth-century Eastern Europe that focused on spirituality and storytelling. The teachings of the Hebrew Bible are the foundation of Judaism, and they are also sacred to Christianity, and Islam.

In the Bible, God’s name is often represented by a four letter Hebrew word. In English, this word is commonly written as YHVH. In this book, I use that transliteration.

ROUND 1

1

Lost and Found

Why?

On a recent morning, we arrived a few minutes early to my 2-year-old daughter’s pre-school, and I explained to her that she couldn’t go into the classroom just yet.

Why, Mommy? she asked.

Your teachers are cleaning up and getting the class ready for you, I replied.

Why?

Because they want the class to be ready for you to have fun and play.

Why, Mommy?

Because they love to play with you.

Why?

Because they love you.

Why?

Finally, I ran out of explanations and just hugged her in exasperation.

This week’s Torah portion, B’reisheet (In the Beginning of) — the Hebrew Bible’s first parasha — recounts the creation of the world and humanity, and the experiences of the first people, Adam and Eve, in the Garden of Eden. In his first comment on the Torah, Rashi, the preeminent medieval commentator, explores the question of why the Torah begins with Genesis — given that the first commandment is not found until Exodus 12:2, where God explains how to set a monthly calendar.

Rashi says that that the Torah begins with Genesis because it demonstrates divine power and authority by recounting creation. Yet it seems to me that the real answer to Rashi’s question is found within the question itself. If you read the Torah with the question in mind What should I do? you might as well begin in Exodus; but if you’re wondering: Why do I exist? then you need to begin in Genesis.

B’reisheet articulates the purpose of human life, showing how God created humans and placed them in the garden to work it and to keep it. The dual purposes of our lives are to protect and creatively transform the world around us for the better.

In our busy lives, we often get caught up in the whats of life. As we check off the tasks on our unending to-do lists, we can easily forget about the whys — the reasons underlying our choices. Yet, it’s precisely this sense of purpose that rekindles our inner light and gives us the courage to face each new day.

We each need to be able to articulate the overarching goals of our lives and why we’re doing what we’re doing. Only by having a vision of our life’s purpose and working toward it can we attain fulfillment through life’s ups and downs.

With Genesis, the cycle of the Torah reading commences anew, and we begin again. In this new year, one spiritual lesson we can learn from our toddlers is to never stop asking Why?

No Regrets?

Becoming a parent has brought great joy to my life. It has also forced me to struggle with the troublesome feeling of regret.

When my son was an infant, I was working (more than) full-time as a congregational rabbi and regretted not being able to spend more time with him. Soon after my daughter was born, I left my job so that I could spend more time with my children; in short order, I began to miss the congregation and question my choice to leave. I couldn’t win. Speaking to other moms, I was surprised to discover how many have struggled with the same pesky emotion of regret.

In this week’s Torah portion, our Heavenly Parent had the same problem. Just ten generations after creating humanity, God saw how great man’s wickedness was on earth. Genesis recounts: God regretted that God had made humanity on the land, and God’s heart was saddened.

So God brought on the flood, saving Noah, his family and the animals on the ark. After the flood, God decided that floods were not the best plan after all, and vowed never again to destroy the world. God showed Noah and his family a rainbow to signal God’s promise to preserve the earth.

The story of Noah raises the question: Do our regrets ruin or enhance life? When feeling regret, we can ask ourselves whether this emotion is self-destructive or whether it is leading us in new, positive directions. The great medieval scholar Maimonides detailed the process of t’shuvah, or repentance. According to his model, regret is the first step – followed by confession, and changing one’s behavior both in the present and future. Maimonides understood that regret can be a catalyst for transformation, but only if it is followed by positive changes in behavior.

As a mother, I’ve experienced both kinds of regret. My initial regret about missing time with my son led me to prioritize my family in a new way. However, my subsequent regret was a form of self-doubt and self-flagellation that made me pine for the past, rather than embrace the future.

When I slip into this destructive kind of regret, I try to remember what Hillary Clinton said in her farewell address at the conclusion of her unsuccessful bid for the presidency. Her words summarize the Torah portion perfectly: Life is too short, time is too precious, and the stakes are too high to dwell on what might have been.

Monsters under the Bed

Recently, my 5-year-old son, Jeremy, had been waking up at night. One evening before bed, I asked him why he had trouble sleeping. He said he was afraid of monsters. To calm him, I explained that there were no monsters, but Jeremy insisted the monsters were real. Then, I responded with the first idea that popped into my head. I took a stuffed dog from the closet and told the dog to bark if any monsters came into the room. Jeremy hugged the dog and slept well that night. On subsequent nights, I repeated these instructions to the dog and Jeremy slept soundly.

I wondered why this approach worked. Jeremy surely knew as well as I did that the stuffed dog couldn’t bark. Why did this idea quiet his fears?

This week’s Torah portion tells the story of someone facing terror and finding comfort. The parasha, titled Lekh Lekha (Go forth), tells the story of Abraham and Sarah’s journey from their birthplace in Haran to their new home in Canaan. However, the parasha also recounts a second journey — that of Sarah’s handmaid, Hagar, who fled to the wilderness.

At Sarah’s suggestion, Hagar became pregnant with Abraham’s child. Thereafter, Sarah, who was barren, began to treat Hagar harshly, prompting Hagar to run away. In the wilderness, an angel of God found Hagar by a spring, called her by name and asked, Where have you come from and where are you going? Hagar explained her problem. The angel then promised her that she would have a son named Ishmael — the name means God will hear — because God has heard your suffering and that Hagar would have countless descendents. In response, Hagar named the place where the angel spoke to her "El-roi which means God sees me." Encouraged, Hagar returned home.

The angel of God didn’t do anything to change Hagar’s situation. The angel didn’t provide any physical protection or miracles; the angel just heard her anguish and offered hope — reaffirming that Hagar’s pain was real, and agreeing that Sarah’s treatment was harsh. The angel taught Hagar that she was not merely Sarah’s mistreated handmaid; she was the mother of generations to come.

In reflecting back on Jeremy’s nighttime struggles, the stuffed animal may have served the same purpose. Jeremy knew on some level that the dog couldn’t scare off any monsters. Yet, to Jeremy, the dog represented that I heard and acknowledged his fears; the dog symbolized my love.

Like children, adults often face our own monsters which are likewise invisible but no less real. Economic uncertainty and fears for the future can disturb our sleep. Our friends and family, our clergy (and even God) can’t make these demons go away. Yet they can see/hear our pain and offer hope that times will get better. They can show us their love. And sometimes that’s enough.

Welcoming the Stranger

Recently, my children and I were standing in line to order at a restaurant. A boy was standing behind us with another man by him. The boy noticed my son (who was around the same age) and stood next to him. Immediately, the boy asked me, Can we sit with you for dinner?

I paused for a second, unsure what to say. I would be happy to sit with them, but if I said yes, I wasn’t sure how the man (who hadn’t noticed this encounter) would react to having to sit with us. In my momentary pause, the boy got distracted and bounded away.

I felt embarrassed, regretting that I hadn’t immediately said yes. I realized how strong the habits of social engagement are. By approaching complete strangers, the boy broke an unwritten rule of etiquette – which caused me to be momentarily taken aback. How powerful are the invisible boundaries that keep us apart.

In this week’s Torah portion, Abraham faced a similarly socially awkward situation. The parasha, called Va-Yera (which means ‘and God appeared’), begins with God visiting Abraham. Normally, when God appears in the Torah, God comes to impart an important message. However in this parasha, God appeared, and before God could say anything, Abraham saw three men standing nearby. Abraham faced a choice – should he greet the men and put God on hold or stall the men so he could listen to God.

Unlike me, Abraham didn’t hesitate even for a moment. He ran to greet the men and invited them to his tent for dinner. He became so focused on arranging the preparations for the strangers that he never returned to listen to God’s message. The tradition teaches that Abraham’s counterintuitive choice was exemplary, as the Talmud teaches, Hospitality to wayfarers is greater than welcoming the Divine Presence. During their meal, the three men told Abraham that he and Sarah would soon have a baby.

After eating our dinner, I took the kids to the play area where my son started playing with the boy on the slide. The boys had no initial awkwardness between them, and I thought how much more easily children get to know each other than adults. I commented to the man how cutely the boys were playing together, and we struck up a conversation. He explained to me that his nephew, Buck, was seven years old and autistic. Part of Buck’s condition involved not recognizing social boundaries, but as a result he was an exceptionally outgoing child, far more so than his uncle who always struggled with his own shyness.

In Jewish tradition, there is a blessing that is said when one sees someone with a disability. The formula blesses God for making God’s creations different. This blessing always puzzled me; why do we bless God for deformities? However, in this moment, I understood the meaning of this blessing. Buck’s different way of perception had important Torah to teach. Like Abraham, Buck had demonstrated the mitzvah (commandment) of welcoming the stranger.

In the parasha, the mitzvah of hospitality is immediately followed by the news of a child to come. Indeed, the two are intricately linked. Children have a special way of bringing people together. (Without the kids, the uncle and I probably never would have spoken.)

Young children don’t see the boundaries that separate us as adults. They teach us that such barriers can be traversed. Like Abraham, children help us see God by opening our eyes to each other.

Where ‘Love’ First Appears

Over the summer, I took my kids to the shore with my friend Mia and her children. At a beachside café, I explained to Jeremy his options on the children’s menu.

You can have macaroni and cheese, I said.

Yay! he said, jumping up and down.

Or you could have a grilled cheese sandwich…

Wow! I love grilled cheese!

Or you could have pancakes…

Again, Jeremy raised his hands and exclaimed, Yay, pancakes! as if he were cheering for the home team at a football game. My friend Mia noticed how excited Jeremy was about each of the options. After lunch, we walked to the beach, and Jeremy and the other kids ran and leapt with delight at seeing the ocean. As Mia and I trailed behind, she nicknamed Jeremy, Mr. Exuberance.

This week’s Torah portion tells the story of someone who exhibited such exuberance: Rebecca. The parasha is called Hayei Sarah – the life of Sarah – because it begins by recounting Sarah’s death. However, most of the portion recounts the first love story in the Bible, between Isaac and Rebecca. Prior to this point, Genesis retold the story of many couples: Adam and Eve, Noah and his wife, and Sarah and Abraham. But the story of Isaac and Rebecca is the first time the word love is used in the bible to describe the relationship between spouses. This word shows that Isaac and Rebecca shared a special connection, beyond what their parents and grandparents experienced.

When Rebecca saw Isaac for the first time, she had a dramatic reaction. She was riding to meet Isaac. When she saw him, she literally fell off her camel.

The word love is used later in the Bible for the relationship between Jacob and Rachel. In that story, Jacob also has an intense reaction to seeing his beloved for the first time. The Torah recounts that when Jacob saw Rachel, he kissed her and wept.

The actions of these biblical characters are intense by modern standards. Try to imagine any man today who would cry over a first kiss – or a woman who would be moved by this response, rather than alarmed or even scared off.

Children are known for extreme reactions — leaping with glee or sobbing uncontrollably. However, as adults we’re taught to dull our emotions. We try not to cry too much, even when