What does forgiveness look like?

Tonight marks the beginning of the Jewish High Holy Days. Much of the emphasis of the next ten days is on forgiveness. We ask forgiveness from those we have hurt. We ask forgiveness for ourselves for being less than we know we can be. We ask forgiveness of God for our failure to lead good and righteous lives.

I was asked to create a piece of art that illustrated what forgiveness might look like. This is what I came up with.

A broken vase, a treasured gift
from a father who is gone.

My grandfather’s Havdala spice jar,
dropped by a five year old’s inattentive grasp.

The Kiddush cup we got when our first son was born,
mangled in the garbage disposal
as I hurriedly tried to rush through kitchen clean-up.

Broken bits of life that used to shatter my heart.
I chastised myself for their loss.

At first I didn’t know why I saved them in that crate in the garage.
They were painful reminders of moments gone wrong and the
things and people I could never replace.

And then one day I found them and realized
that although they were not whole, as they had once been,
they could live anew, as they now were,
precious pieces of a creative expression.

Entangled within cabinets, picture frames, shelves,
these beloved mementos remind me to forgive, to let go,
to welcome the changes that come sometimes with
carelessness, hurry, and the natural course of our existence.

Forgiveness allows what is broken to become whole.
Art is the process by which those shattered shards come together
to express the imperfect beauty of life.

L’Shana Tova to all.

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I’m mad as hell and…O.K., I forgive you

I am a pushover. Really. And it’s pathetic. All it takes for me to forgive weeks, and I do mean weeks, of maltreatment and abuse is a naked little boy, wrapped in a Cardinal’s Snuggie, watching “I Love Lucy” reruns, and I turn into a puddle of mushy oatmeal.

Eli, my 7 year old, has been going through a stage. Imagine “the terrible twos” meets teenager hell, and you’re close to what’s been going on in my house. It’s the kind of stage that makes parents question the wisdom of ever having had children in the first place.

God made them this cute so you don't drown them in their sleep.

I’m talking on the brink.

But then tonight happened, and all is good again. My little lamb came home. Eli was back to being the loving little creature I remembered but had begun to think I’d merely imagined in some new age parenting book I’d read.

It was slightly past bedtime and I’d leniently allowed the boys to watch one more episode of “I Love Lucy.” Eli was giggling softly, which always weakens my defenses. Then he actually pulled me close to him and offered to share a corner of his favorite Snuggie with me. This was unusual juxtaposed with the last few weeks of his inconsiderate self-centeredness. But I declined his offer, intent on maintaining my hardened heart and newly drawn parental boundaries. I was not about to be sucked in by a feeble attempt at kindness. After the show, I announced that it was time for bed. Ready for battle, I stood up and braced myself. Eli rose gently, took my hand and led me to his room where he climbed into bed, said his prayers and laid his head on his pillow. It was effortless. I was stunned.

But then, a few minutes later, I heard his tiny voice call out, “Mama, I can’t fall asleep.” This, I must admit, is rare for Eli. I reentered his room and offered to rub his back for two minutes if he agreed to remain silent and try to sleep. He concurred and I began to fulfill my end of the bargain. I was trying, hard, not to fall back in love with him, as I gently rubbed his back and listened to his soft breathing. No. I would not succumb to his innocence and sweetness as he lay there trying so earnestly to fall asleep.

After two minutes (I am a woman of my word) I pulled my hand back, kissed his forehead and began to leave. “Mom,” his little voice murmured, “Thank you. It feels nice to have you rub my back right there. I try. But I just can’t seem to reach it very well.” And that was it. I was sunk. It doesn’t get any cuter than that.

My husband happened to be passing by Eli’s room as I quietly exited, tears welling up in my eyes. “He got you already?” He said. “Man, you are easy.” I nodded in reticent accord and wandered back to my office to confess my weakness to all of you. So, am I a marshmallow?

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Sorry, minus the strings

Tonight at sundown marks the beginning of the Jewish holy day, Yom Kippur. It’s also known as the Day of Atonement, where Jews around the globe ask God and their fellow man for forgiveness. We ask to be forgiven for all the failures, indiscretions, and wrongdoings of the past year. We also ask, ahead of time, to be forgiven for all of our upcoming transgressions. It’s like an open acknowledgement that sin is human, and even with the best intentions, we are destined to slip up again, and again, and again.

In some ways, Yom Kippur offers Jews a forgiveness insurance policy. “Please forgive us for all the sins we are bound to commit in the coming year.” We say this as we beat our chests, confessing with heartfelt sincerity, all our regrets from the year that has just passed. It is the humility and acceptance of ourselves as imperfect beings that is inherent in this holiday that I find so compelling.

No matter how sorry we may be, no matter how determined we are to improve our behavior in the future, Judaism recognizes that we will inevitably err anew. So we apologize to all whom we have hurt, and we tell God that we will try to behave better, to be kinder, to act more thoughtfully. But we remind God, or the Universe, or whatever Power we happen to believe in, not to take our declarations and promises too seriously. For our weakness as human beings is to fall short, to let down, to disappoint. But in some ways, it’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

What if, just once, we vowed to improve without strings attached? What if we didn’t give ourselves loop holes and excuses that set us up for failure? It’s possible that even with a deeply sincere commitment to do better we would still fall short and disappoint. But maybe, in the striving, we would actually move closer to the truth, goodness and harmony each of us seeks to achieve.

Wishing all of you a day of repentance, self-reflection and enlightenment.

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Birthday blunder

Not at all the gift he'd imagined.

I really blew it tonight. It’s the eve of Levi’s birthday. Tomorrow he will be 10 years old. I wanted so much to make it the perfect birthday. But instead, I reverted to being a 10 year old myself and almost ruined everything.

This is hard to write about. Most of the time I’m okay belittling myself. I make mistakes. I allow my emotions to get the best of me. I act, in numerous occasions, less like a parent and more like a tantrum-tossing toddler. But I always admit the error of my ways. And I usually manage to learn a good, heart-felt lesson from my less than perfect parenting. But tonight takes the cake.

Levi isn’t your typical kid. He’s never been into stuff the way other kids are. He’d honestly rather build castles in his imagination than an entire aerospace propulsion system out of legos. If you ask him what he wants for his birthday, he’ll tell you he’d like to go out to lunch with you and just talk about what’s going on in your life. He’s definitely what many would label, “an old soul.”

But this year, he told me he wanted some Harry Potter action figures for his birthday. I was excited. Finally he was acting like a normal kid which gave me the opportunity to act like a normal parent. Maybe for once I could get him some stuff that would make him happy, even if it was only a fleeting happiness. I told everyone what he wanted. I not only told everyone, I went ahead and ordered more than $300 worth of hard to find, collectible, Harry Potter action figures from several obscure toy websites on the internet.

When the box came, I offered the various figures to different relatives (at cost of course) so that they too could finally feel victorious by for once giving my son something he really wanted. I had no trouble selling the figures to friends and family. I even wrapped them all individually and made the cards so that no one had to lift a finger to make my boy happy this year. It was my pleasure and I was thrilled to be able to do it.

But as luck would have it, tonight when my mother gave him the first pre-birthday pack of Harry Potter and Serious Black action figures, there was the same dull apathy that always greeted our birthday selections. I was beside myself. After all, there were still $250 worth of figures wrapped up in my closet waiting to be opened tomorrow on his actual birthday. How could I have gotten this wrong.

Levi, I said, I thought you wanted these action figures.

I did, mom. But I wanted the small ones. These are kind of like Barbie size. They’re too big.

But the small ones are just cheap pieces of plastic. I ordered the rare, collectible versions with the hand-painted faces that cost four times as much.

“Oh well,” he tossed it off,”no biggie.”

“What do you mean?” I shouted after him. “Levi, I went to a lot of trouble to find these for you. I mean, that’s all I have for you — from everyone. I thought that’s what you wanted.” I was beginning to sound pathetic.

“Stop it,” my husband chastised. “You’re making him feel bad.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I snorted as I became increasingly unglued. “I guess I just can’t do anything right, can I?”

“You are acting like a child,” my husband chided. .

“Yeah, well, maybe if he acted like a child once in a while I wouldn’t have to.”

This was ridiculous. I was fully aware of my idiotic behavior. But it was like I couldn’t stop. I kept imagining my son the following day, opening present after present and feeling more and more disappointment with each gift. I really screwed this up. I wanted to cry. Why is it so hard to make a 10 year old boy’s dreams come true?

Meanwhile, Levi was in his room sulking. Every once in a while he’d say something like “Mom, really. They’re fine. I’ll just keep them.” and I’d counter that no, we were sending them back, all of them and getting the shitty little plastic ones. After all, he could probably afford a whole town of those mini Harry Potter people in exchange for the ones I’d bought.

“Will you please stop it and go talk to him. He feels awful,” my husband pleaded.

I went into Levi’s room. We both had tears in our eyes. I sat down on the floor and said, “Levi, I am so sorry to be acting like this. I’m really having a hard time being a grown up right now. Here’s the thing, I so wanted to make your birthday perfect. I searched high and low for some of these figures. That’s pretty much all your getting from everyone. And when I saw that they weren’t the figures you wanted, I felt so horrible that I acted really badly. I want you to understand that I think you’re the greatest and I just wanted you to know how much I and everyone else loves you and wants to make you happy. That’s what this is about. You didn’t do anything wrong. This one’s all me, buddy. I hope you can forgive me for acting like a jerk.”

“Mom, all I care about is that you wanted my birthday to be perfect. The fact that you and all my family and friends tried really hard to get me what you thought I wanted is way more important than whatever the present is. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“No baby, you didn’t make me feel bad,” I countered almost instantaneously, “I made me feel bad. And I am ashamed of acting like that. Sometimes even mommies get overwhelmed with their emotions and do really dumb things. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Of course, mom,” he smiled and threw his arms around my neck. “But don’t worry about it. Nobody’s perfect. All we can do is try. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”

“Yeah, Leves, I guess it is,” I stammered, more amazed by him than ever. “I guess we both need to remember that lesson.”