“It is a tree of life to those who grasp it, and all it’s supporters are praiseworthy” (Proverbs 3:18)
There are stories that become part of family lore, tales we tell, or are told, that weave into the fabric of our being. There is one such story about my first day of nursery school. I have no idea what I was wearing, but in my imagination it’s a pair of Osh Kosh b’Gosh overalls. I have short wispy blonde hair clipped into plastic barrettes. My mother is holding my hand as we enter the nursery school room. There are little tables and chairs set up and a carpet with toys at the perimeter. That’s when I see them: a row of easels. There are clothes pins holding up big sheets of paper and little containers with paint in primary colours. I am invited by one of the teachers to paint “if you’d like”. If I’d like? What kind of a question is that?! I approach and pick up a paint brush.
My mother stays nearby as I begin to explore; brush into paint, paint onto paper, repeat. Now comes the part that is family lore. As I continue painting, I turn to look over my shoulder at my mother. She is standing with what I can imagine is the maternal attentiveness of a kid’s first day of school. Perhaps I will cry. Maybe it will be hard for me. I look at her and say, “you can go now”. After that the screen goes blank. I have no recollection (or perhaps I have not been told) of what happened next. Suffice to say I have fond memories of both nursery school and painting.
Now this memory is full of greater detail than I trust. But I have been told the story many times. I still like to hear it. It makes me smile. It connects me to something. In a sense, it’s a bridge between past, present and future. The girl I once was, my current recollection and the promise that I might still look over my shoulder with that sort of confidence and security.
As a young child I could tell my mother that she could go, because I was certain she would return. The deepest relationships are founded on this kind of trust. We need a secure attachment to venture into the world, we need to know we have somewhere to belong in order to spread our wings. Maybe that’s why this story is particularly dear – it is the telling of that kind of security. If I could stand at that paint easel with such trust, perhaps we all can live with that kind of conviction. We can. How? Through our collective story.
As Jews there are stories we tell over and over as a people – the narrative of the Torah. They too are like a bridge – coming to tell us that we can have a secure bond with our Creator. It is no mistake that our fore mothers and fathers lived lives of struggle. There is a reason we were born as a nation through slavery and redemption. We need that kind of promise – that even the darkest and loneliest of hours can give birth to something great. How do we integrate this knowledge? By turning to the text, the living Torah, over and over, until it becomes a part of us.
The deepest relationship is founded on security – an attachment that tells us we can and will return to our Source when we need. Torah is the Almighty’s communique directly to us: that He is here, that we are not alone and that if we choose to attach ourselves to it, we will thrive. When we feel that kind of certainty, we can tolerate bumps along the way. With trust, we can look over our shoulder and say with four-year-old certainty “you can go now”, because we know mommy will return. That is G-d’s promise to us, if we reach out to Him, He will always be there.
With love,
ilana
Last modified: December 15, 2019
