America is big on holidays, especially those that relate to family. There’s a holiday for mothers in May, a special day for dads in June and a grandparents day in September that usually includes a pancake breakfast at pre-school. But what inspires these holidays is more than a positive earnings statement for Hallmark.
We honor our parents and grandparents because they have given us life.
The Jewish tradition teaches that there are three partners in the creation of a human being: G-d, a father and a mother. Parents are part of a holy relationship with G-d as the co-parent.
In this way, Jewish thinking offers great comfort to us parents because, in a sense, we share the struggle of raising our children with the Creator.
This also implies that the way we treat our parents is a reflection of the way we feel about G-d. When we love and honor our parents, we love and honor G-d.
Judaism is clear about the duties children owe their parents. The Fifth commandment requires that we honor our father and mother and Leviticus 19:3 commands us to revere our mother and father.
The positive commandment to honor requires us to provide food, shelter, clothing and the type of support and care that our parents gave us when we were young. The commandment to revere our parents is one of restraint and forbids us to disrespect, disgrace or degrade our parents, especially in public.
Jewish wisdom offers an amazing insight about the parent-child relationship. While we are commanded to love G-d, our neighbors and even the stranger among us, nowhere in the Torah are we commanded to love our parents. Why?
Our sages teach that it is because loving a parent is assumed to be so natural that it need not be stated. But for some children, especially those who have suffered parental abuse, that is not the case.
We are meant to be able to fulfill the commandments in the Torah. Perhaps that is why we are not commanded to love our parents — because it’s just not possible for everyone to do so.
I am incredibly lucky. Both of my parents are still living and I love them very much. But 20 years ago, when I was trying to determine “what I want to be when I grow up,” I unconsciously did something to dishonor them.
At the age of 40, I realized that I wanted to give up the practice of law to study Judaism. I had no clue at the time where this would lead me, but my heart told me it was what I needed to do to live a more meaningful life.
I was sure that my parents, especially my father, would have a really hard time understanding my decision. I could hear their questions in my head even before they asked them.
Dad: “Why would you give up a lucrative legal career to study something that probably won’t amount to anything?”
Then Mom: “Why can’t you just get a facelift or remodel your kitchen, like other women having a mid-life crisis?”
Truth be told, I struggled with those questions myself, but knew, deep down, that I had to make the change. I avoided telling them about my plans for months, quietly rearranging my life under their radar.
Then one night I had a terrible thought: Do I have to wait for my parents to die before I can live my life the way I want to?
That question plagued me because I hated what it suggested about our relationship. Did I really give my parents so little credit that I thought they couldn’t handle my decision to change careers?
As a parent, I dearly hope that my children will pursue meaningful life choices and be happy. Don’t all parents want that — including my own?
My struggle helped me understand a deeper truth: if I didn’t believe in my parents, I couldn’t expect them to believe in me. If I didn’t trust their ability to respect my need for change, I wouldn’t trust my own judgment in making the change.
If I didn’t respect them enough to tell them, I would never respect myself as an individual.
It’s true that they had certain legitimate concerns about my choice at the time. Yet, within weeks, my father began to send me articles from The New York Times about women lawyers who were leaving the profession in search of more meaningful work.
And over the past two decades, my relationship with my parents has become stronger and more authentic because of my decision.
I no longer doubt that their love for me is so fragile or conditional that it can’t sustain the truth of who I am or what I want to be.
Loving our parents is not commanded in the Torah; neither is believing in them. But when we have faith in their capacity to accept our decisions and honor our truths, we take a necessary step in honoring them as well.
Copyright © 2014 by the Intermountain Jewish News
