Category Archives: Family friendly

When I was first married, I attended Sabbath services at the rabbinic school where I studied. Present at the services were many of the rabbis who taught me during the week. I recall very vividly one occasion when the young child of one of the rabbis grossly misbehaved. He began to hit his father and used unbecoming language. In spite of the child’s appalling behavior, his father did not hit him or rebuke him publically.  He did not shout at him nor scold him nor physically grab him.

At the time, I wondered whether the father was teaching his son by example how to show restraint and how to control emotions or whether the kid was in control of the situation and mocking his father. To this day, I don’t know the answer. All I saw was one snapshot in time, from which no conclusions could be drawn. However, a recollection of the incident reminded me of how complicated it is to be the child of a celebrity or prominent leader in the community.

It can be a blessing or a curse. Consider for a moment the children of Margaret Thatcher as depicted in The Iron Lady, an exceptional film about a young civic- minded girl who rises in political power to become Britain’s prime minister.

The film opens when Margaret Thatcher is past her prime, now a frail and elderly widow functioning in the present but often swept back to the past through imaginary conversations with her dead husband Denis. She has much of which to be proud. Restoring England’s financial power in the face of great economic challenges, navigating the volatile relationship between Ireland and England, successfully managing the Falklands War are all high points of a long and illustrious political career. She also is a wise woman who enjoys sharing insights about life.  One particular speech encapsulates her lifelong wisdom: “Watch your thoughts for they become words. Watch your words for they become actions. Watch your actions for they become habits. Watch your habits, for they become your character. And watch your character, for it becomes your destiny! What we think we become.”

But there is a dark side. Her family pays a price for her rise to power and for the maintenance of that power.

Margaret Thatcher had twins, a boy and a girl, who have a lukewarm relationship with their mother. They are dutiful children, respectful, yet distant emotionally. There is love between mother and daughter but the connection is strained. Her son Mark lives in South Africa and is not always available even by telephone. At one point in the movie, Margaret watches a DVD of her little children playing on the beach, but it is only a hazy memory of a warm and loving time long since gone. Even her devoted husband is ambivalent about the price the family has had to pay for Margaret’s dedication to serving England.

Children of people in leadership roles do not travel a simple road. The eyes of the community are upon them. Sometimes it is fine and the children rise to the community’s and parent’s expectation. Sometimes they do not. It is instructive to note that there is little in the Bible said about the son of the greatest Jewish leader Moses. His son, Gershon, is a footnote in Jewish history, suggesting that Moses paid a personal price for his leadership of the children of Israel. Gershon never rises to a position of leadership or prominence. He remains average in spite of the fact that he was Moses’ son.  Instead, Joshua, Moses’s trusted student, assumes the mantle of leadership once Moses is gone.

The Sages tell us that it is good to work on behalf of the community, and blessings will accrue to you because of that valuable work. But clearly, the Sages also warn us about the potential negative effects of community involvement. Every one of us has to make a careful calculation of the costs and benefits of such holy labor.

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A friend of mine has two dogs. Whenever he and his wife go on vacation, they place the dogs in what is essentially a dog hotel where they will be fed, walked, and cared for while they enjoy their time off from work. Several months ago, one of the dogs died and my friend went through a genuine grieving experience. He was depressed, very mellow instead of his usual upbeat self, and generally quiet as he processed his loss. When I spoke to him, I felt that the dog was not just a dog to him, but functioned like a human friend, always there with him in times of trouble to comfort him and provide a beacon of light in dark times. The dog was a real companion that made his life more happy, more positive, and more fulfilling.

My friend’s attitude towards dogs resonated as I watched Hachi, the story of a remarkable dog who feels a special bond with its owner. Sent as a gift in a cage from Japan, the cage falls off a baggage cart leaving the dog alone and in danger. Professor Parker Wilson finds him and tries to locate its owner but to no avail. Soon he forms an attachment with Hachi and keeps him, much to the dismay of his wife Cate, who does not want a dog in the house. Cate relents, however, and soon the dog feels at home in the Wilson household.

One morning, Hachi follows Parker to the train station and returns in the afternoon by himself. There he greets his master as he exits the train station after a day at work. This ritual continues for a very long time, until Parker suffers a sudden fatal heart attack. The Wilson house is sold, Cate moves away, and Parker’s daughter Andy and her husband Michael take Hachi to live with them. Hachi, however, finds a way to return to his original home and then to the train station where he waits patiently for Parker for the next nine years. Hachi is fed by local vendors who remember his devotion to Professor Parker each day as he waited for him to return home.

Hachi is a dog story, but it is more than that. Like Aesop’s fables, animal stories are a metaphor for the human experience. Hachi reminds us to be intensely aware of the gratitude that we should show towards friends and family. Hachi is a foundling and Parker rescues him. That act of kindness has a ripple effect, remembered by Hachi for the rest of his life and celebrated by the many people who witnessed this act of loyalty and devotion by a dog.

The Talmud makes a similar point when it tells us that if someone teaches us only a single letter or a single verse, we must give that person honor. We are indebted to all those who are benevolent towards us.

In Judaism, the training ground for the nurturing of kindness is the home. It is here that the kindnesses that spouses show for each other and the kindnesses that parents show for children are locked into the family’s DNA. Here acts of kindness happen in the moment, but they transcend the moment and establish a psychological bank account for generations. The changing of a diaper, the emergency trip to the hospital, the act of giving birth all create emotional connections that are unbreakable.

At the heart of Hachi is the message that kindness needs to remembered and perhaps even memorialized. It is a dog story that tells us how important and meaningful it is to treasure the kind acts of others.

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During my years as a synagogue rabbi, I would often speak at funerals and do my best to comfort the bereaved, but it wasn’t until I myself experienced a loss that I could truly empathize with the mourner. With time, we do adjust to the loss and life continues; but the shadow still remains. It is felt particularly when we have something good to share with family members, and we suddenly realize they are no longer here to share the moment with us.

When I achieved my crowning academic achievement, a doctorate in English Literature, my mother and father had already passed away; and I felt their absence acutely, for they would have enjoyed the moment with me as only a parent can celebrate the good things that happen in the life of a child. This sense of loss was intensified when I suddenly lost my wife in January of 1989. This was a tragedy of a different kind. My world fell apart. It was my personal 9/11.

Let me share a strange yet normal memory. I remember very vividly having chicken soup at the home of a friend in Israel after the funeral in Beit Shemesh. The soup was so tasty that I asked my host for the recipe so I could give it to my wife. I could not comprehend that she was no longer here.

I still can make no sense of the tragedy that affected our entire family during those dark January days. Perhaps this is why I responded positively to Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, a film that deals in a thoughtful, nuanced way with the loss of a husband and father on 9/11.

The film recounts the story of Oskar Schell, a young boy whose father perishes on 9/11 in the Twin Towers. Through flashbacks, we see the close and loving relationship that existed between father and son. When Oskar’s father dies, the loss is devastating and he is inconsolable.

A year later, he explores his father’s closet and discovers a key in an envelope with the name “Black” written on it. Oskar then sets out on a journey to find out what the key fits, thinking that it is a message from his father. The journey connects him with a wide assortment of people who listen to his story, often befriend him, and share life’s wisdom with him.

In time, Oskar comes to terms with the reality that some things in life never make sense. His mother, suffering her own emotional pain, remarks: “It’s never gonna make sense because it doesn’t.” That does not mean, however, that one cannot find comfort in the memories a loved one leaves behind, in the life lessons learned from a beloved spouse or parent who is no longer in this world. The mystical figure of a person falling to his death at the beginning of the film is reversed at the end. The falling image falls up instead of down, signifying that Oskar has matured, conquered his fears, and is now ready to move on with the memories of his Dad animating him as he transitions into adulthood.

What happens in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is in many ways a reflection of the Jewish mourning cycle. The initial seven day grieving period is intense. The mourner does not even leave his home. But at the end of the week, the custom is to walk around the block, to begin a new cycle as it were. The pain is still there, but God is telling us to keep going in spite of tragedy. We will never understand the reasons for tragedy, but Jewish tradition reminds us that tragedy should not be the only thing that defines us, nor should it paralyze us as we face an uncertain future.

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