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  Celebration and gratitude are key concepts in Judaism and Jewish child-rearing. We are commanded to be constantly on guard for opportunities to be grateful for the richness of the world and for our good fortune, whatever form it takes. Through its spiritual calendar, rituals, and blessings, Judaism offers families many ways to practice and teach gratitude and joy.

  Sanctification, the third principle, is the process of acknowledging the holiness in everyday actions and events. Since the Second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed in 70 C.E., the place of greatest holiness has become not the synagogue but our own homes. One traditional Jewish expression for home is the same as the word for a house of worship: mikdash me’at, or “little holy place.” Our dining table with our children is an altar. It has the potential to be the holiest spot on the planet.

  In Jewish tradition, there are rules designed to help us sanctify all our daily enterprises, from the way we treat our spouses to the way we treat our children, our household help, even our pets. There are rules for reproof, for praise, for greeting in the morning and going to sleep at night, because in Jewish tradition each of these activities is holy.

  THE PRACTICE OF RAISING CHILDREN

  The purpose of having children, according to the teachings of the Torah, is not to create opportunities for our glory or for theirs. The purpose of having children and raising them to be self-reliant, compassionate, ethical adults is to ensure that there will be people here to honor God after we are gone. So the rules regarding child-rearing are not primarily about making children feel good, but about making children into good people.

  The Torah, the Talmud, and the writings of learned Jewish thinkers over the centuries provide invaluable wisdom to help parents with the great task of raising their children. I’ve tried to distill this wisdom into a form that contemporary mothers and fathers will find not just inspiring in theory but also effective during the day-to-day scramble. Each of the chapters that follow is devoted to an aspect of parenting that Jewish thinkers have deemed crucial to raising children:

  Accept that your children are both unique and ordinary.

  Teach them to honor their parents and to respect others—family, friends, and community.

  Teach them to be resilient, self-reliant, and courageous.

  Teach them to be grateful for their blessings.

  Teach them the value of work.

  Teach them to make their table an altar—to approach food with an attitude of moderation, celebration, and sanctification.

  Teach them to accept rules and to exercise self-control.

  Teach them the preciousness of the present moment.

  Teach them about God.

  This is the blueprint Jewish parents have followed for three thousand years, and I believe it will work in any era, any city, any home.

  FINDING YOUR OWN WAY IN YOUR OWN TIME

  A beautiful element in Judaism is its tradition of tolerance, revealed by the ancient saying, “The holy one does not come to His creatures with excessive demands.” God does not demand of people more than they can give, but we are required to try to give something. In The Ethics of the Fathers (a collection of ethical maxims dating back to before the first century), Rabbi Tarfon teaches, “It is not your responsibility to complete the work [of perfecting the world] but you are not free to desist from it either.”

  The Torah understands that we all come into the world, and to God, differently. In the Book of Exodus, reference is made to the “mixed multitude”—a phrase used to describe all the people whom Moses led across the Red Sea and into the Promised Land. The group was composed of people at different levels of Egyptian society, from widely divergent backgrounds. Then and now, we all need different things from God, and God expects different things from each of us.

  I continue to struggle with every aspect of Judaism—with theology, ritual, and community. Anything close to perfect faith escapes me, although I never doubt that there is a distilled truth in religion, a truth that can be defined as the recognition that a created universe gives us both meaning and obligation. But struggling with God does not diminish my commitment, because in Judaism struggle is built into the theology. Look at Moses, who spent his entire career in a lively debate with God! Just as we are never supposed to stop studying Torah, we are never supposed to stop questioning it, either. In that spirit, I offer this book as either a philosophy for child-rearing or an introduction to Judaism. Any parent—unaffiliated, Reform or Orthodox, Jewish or not—can benefit from the wisdom of the rabbis and scholars whose ideas I’ve mined for these pages.

  Even after learning Jewish principles of living that stunned me with their psychological insight and common sense, I have not entirely escaped the perils of parenting today. I have not liberated myself from having grand aspirations for my children or from overindulging and overscheduling them, but I have moved a few degrees out of the zone of competition, pressure, and anxiety that led me to ruminate so often in the night. I don’t worry about my age as much as I used to, because my children are part of a solid and portable community. I hope they will develop a robust relationship with God that will supplement their relationship with their mortal parents. When confronted with ethical dilemmas, they will have a framework for evaluating right and wrong, and a sense of a higher power to whom they are accountable. On a lonely Friday night away at college, they will be able to find something they grew up with at home—warmth in the candles at a Shabbat dinner on campus, familiar songs and prayers. We are giving them a tradition they can pass on to their children.

  This book is not a formula for foolproof parenting. It is a lens, a way to look at the world, your life, and your family. Judaism has given my family unexpected moments of closeness and harmony, clarity about daily ethical dilemmas, and a sense of the holy potential of everyday life. It has guided me as a parent more profoundly than any other way of thinking I’ve yet found, and I hope it will do the same for you.

  There is one question that sums up everything I have learned about the power of Jewish teachings to guide us in every generation. It’s a question that rabbis like to ask schoolchildren:

  What’s the most important moment in Jewish history?

  The giving of the Torah on Sinai?

  No.

  The parting of the Red Sea?

  No. Right now. This is the most important moment in Jewish history.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Blessing of Acceptance:

  Discovering Your Unique and Ordinary Child

  I recently read a third-grade school newsletter that used the word special five times on two pages. The Thanksgiving Sing was special. So was the Spellathon. The Emerging Artists exhibition was special. Even the unassuming Pie Drive was, for reasons not clearly revealed by the newsletter coverage, special indeed. And, finally, this year’s third-grade class was in itself a very, very special group.

  I wondered, Is it possible? So much specialness concentrated in one place? A cosmic coincidence? Or was this really an extraordinary school with unusually dazzling children, committed teachers, generous and energetic families? In fact, this school is a fine and good one. The children are intelligent and well behaved, the teachers care, the parents give of their time and money. But it is not a terribly unusual school, and I questioned the benefit of believing otherwise.

  The third-grade newsletter was not unique. At nearly every campus I visit, the staff, the posters on the walls, and the overall atmosphere emphasize that this is not merely a place of learning, it’s a breeding ground for enlightened, compassionate champions. The schools are not to blame for their hubris. Parents, with their grand expectations for their children, have sparked the outbreak of specialness.

  My friend Paula, who runs a terrific elementary school, told of taking a mother on a prospective parents’ tour of the campus. The mom said that her daughter Sloane had a strong interest in science. “At another school I visited, the kindergarten teachers put streamers in the trees to demonstrate the properties of wind to the students,” she
reported. “I’m hoping you would do that here too. I wouldn’t want Sloan-ster to miss out.”

  “We have leaves on our trees,” Paula responded. “They do the same thing. Can’t guarantee we’ll be using streamers.” Sloane’s mother sent her daughter to the school with the streamers.

  The principal of another school complained to me about his frustration with parents’ expectations:

  Too many parents want everything fixed by the time their child is eight. They want academic perfection, a child as capable as any other child in the Western hemisphere. Children develop in fits and starts, but nobody has time for that anymore. No late bloomers, no slow starters, nothing unusual accepted! If a child doesn’t get straight A’s, his parents start fretting that he’s got a learning disability or a motivation problem. The normal curve has disappeared. Parents seem to think that children only come in two flavors: learning disabled and gifted. Not every child has unlimited potential in all areas. This doesn’t mean most kids won’t be able to go to college and to compete successfully in the adult world. Almost all of them will. Parents just need to relax a little and be patient.

  What’s going on here? Why does the newsletter shout hosannas? Why is Sloane’s mother so anxious for her daughter to experience a miniature physics lab in kindergarten? Why can’t parents let their eight-year-olds develop at a natural, raggedy pace?

  When I began studying Judaism, one of the first things that struck me was how directly it spoke to the issue of parental pressure. According to Jewish thought, parents should not expect their children to be anyone other than who they are. A Hasidic teaching says, “If your child has a talent to be a baker, don’t ask him to be a doctor.” Judaism holds that every child is made in the divine image. When we ignore a child’s intrinsic strengths in an effort to push him toward our notion of extraordinary achievement, we are undermining God’s plan.

  If the pressure to be special gets too intense, children end up in the therapist’s office suffering from sleep and eating disorders, chronic stomachaches, hair-pulling, depression, and other ailments. They are casualties of their parents’ drive for perfection. It was children such as these who spurred me to look outside standard therapeutic practices for ways to help. In Judaism I found an approach that respects children’s uniqueness while accepting them in all their ordinary glory.

  MISSION: PERFECTION

  In Chapter 1 I described my surprise and confusion when, after conducting tests and telling parents that their child was “within normal limits,” the parents were frequently disappointed. In their view, a diagnosable problem was better than a normal, natural limitation. A problem can be fixed, but a true limitation requires adjustment of expectations and acceptance of an imperfect son or daughter. Parents feel hope if their restless child is actually hyperactive, their dreamy child has ADD, their poor math student has a learning disorder, their shy child has a social phobia, their wrongdoing son has “intermittent explosive disorder.” If there is a diagnosis, specialists and tutors can be hired, drugs given, treatment plans made, and parents can maintain an illusion that the imperfection can be overcome. Their faith in their child’s unlimited potential is restored.

  Why are parents so anxious to be raising perfect children? The answer is twofold: pride and fear of the future.

  My Child, My Masterpiece

  Janet asked for advice from me and the other members of our parenting class about how to “talk sense” to her older son.

  Do you know about the Johns Hopkins Talent Search? They offer sixth graders the chance to take the SAT. If a student scores in the same range as the average twelfth grader on either verbal or math he qualifies for a special summer academic program on a college campus. I know that Dylan would qualify in math but he says he doesn’t want to sit for the test. This is crazy because the school wouldn’t even know his score and if he makes it and enters the talent search program it would look great on his transcript.

  Laypeople call it bragging; psychologists describe it as “achievement by proxy syndrome.” Some parents use their children’s achievements for their own sense of security, personal glory, or the fulfillment of unfulfilled dreams. Even parents who don’t use their children as a hedge against existential fears or a badge of their own worth can find it hard not to succumb to the fever of competition.

  It wasn’t always this way. In the past, parents produced children for their work value (hands to labor on the farm). Today many parents see their children’s achievement as an important family “product.” This attitude leads to an upside-down, child-centered perspective where we cater to children’s whims yet pressure them to achieve at all costs—academically, socially, and athletically. But this pressure can backfire.

  Children who feel that they are expected to surpass their parents’ already high level of achievement or to demonstrate skills that are beyond their capabilities will suffer. Some children are one-trick ponies, and trying to get them to master a broad variety of skills is futile and destructive. Keep at it, and they’ll even forget their one trick. Other children begin to feel as if they are working only for their parents’ satisfaction, and they openly rebel. Some respond to the pressure by losing their intrinsic enjoyment of mastering skills, and still others use psychosomatic symptoms to get out of the running. By exaggerating their defects, these children hope to avoid failure and to have their progress measured by more individual, realistic standards.

  Your child is not your masterpiece. According to Jewish thought, your child is not even truly “yours.” In Hebrew there is no verb for possession; the expression we translate as “to have,” yesh li, actually means “it is there for me” or “there is for me.” Although nothing belongs to us, God has made everything available on loan and has invited us to borrow it to further the purpose of holiness. This includes our children. They are a precious loan, and each one has a unique path toward serving God. Our job is to help them find out what it is.

  Conquering the Future with Brave Little Generalists

  If children were required to excel only in certain areas, they might be better able to cope with their parents’ expectations. Psychologist Michael Thompson says that we make unfairly “generic” demands on our adolescents: “It is the only period in your life when you’re expected to do all things well. Adults don’t hold themselves to those standards. We don’t interview the pediatrician about whether he can throw a basketball, or quiz our accountant on biology before we let her do our taxes. In elementary and high school we celebrate the generalist, but in the real world there is no room for the generalist except on Jeopardy!”

  The age at which we expect children to become very good at everything is getting lower. Part of the reason for this is parents’ fears of an uncertain future, one that is hurtling at us more quickly than ever before. The computer bought today can be replaced by a cheaper, lighter, sleeker-looking one with a faster modem by the time we get it out of the box. Parents worry that in this hyperpaced world, only the child who excels at everything will survive. If young Maya can’t design her own website, stay at the very top of her class, run a marathon, and speak confidently before large groups, she’ll be left in the dust.

  Our attempts to prepare our children for the future are limited by our own imaginations of what the future will be like. We’re apprehensive, but our children are not. The high-tech, rapidly changing world that seems so mind-bending to us is normal to them. “Preparing” our children for this new world by turning them into supercompetitive generalists is useless because we can’t second-guess the skills they will need twenty years from now. The only things that are certain to be valuable are character traits such as honesty, tenacity, flexibility, optimism, and compassion—the same traits that have served people well for centuries.

  Fear of the Ordinary: Lake Wobegon Parenting

  Remember Lake Wobegon, the fictional town created by Garrison Keillor, where “all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average”? That sunny, statis
tics-defying state of mind is familiar turf for elementary school teachers. They describe hearing the same song every year when it’s time for parent conferences. One weary middle school director told me,

  Parents are so nervous. If their child is doing well in everything it’s like a badge for them that everything is OK. If their child is, God forbid, average, they panic. That’s why so many teachers have started giving “Lake Wobegon” report cards. Teachers are afraid that if they give anything less than an A, parents will blame their child’s poor achievement on the teacher’s lack of skill rather than on the child’s limitations. This is a shame, because real problems get glossed over or missed until fourth grade, when there’s no more hiding it and the child’s weaker areas show up on standardized tests.

  Some parents can maintain the specialness myth with their children long past fourth grade. Is this good for the child’s self-esteem? Listen to Isabel, a student I interviewed at an elite private school. Isabel will be entering the eleventh grade next year. She told me that she was having a hard time socially. The last two boys she wanted to have as boyfriends hadn’t been interested in her. Her teachers seemed to favor other students. She felt confused and hurt:

  I know why this is so hard for me. My mom and dad always, always made me feel like I was the best: the most beautiful, the smartest, the most charming. And mostly I’ve done well in everything. But, now I’m finding out that I’m not that unusual. Maybe I’m good enough, but I don’t know anymore.

  Like so many parents, Isabel’s mother and father were afraid their daughter would think she was ordinary. Whether they were also reluctant to admit to themselves that their child was “merely” average, I don’t know. But their Lake Wobegon attitude has not benefited Isabel. They’ve put her on a pedestal and now she’s stuck up there, unable to find out what level she would reach if she had a chance to bob around with everybody else.