My 55 years on this planet can be neatly divided into two periods: Before Parenthood (B.P.) and Since Parenthood (S.P.). Everything I, as a gender queer feminist, knew, believed, and thought about both God and childrearing B.P. could be summarized as:
- My God was not patriarchal, punitive, a rage-aholic, or snarky.
- I would be a kind, patient, fun-loving, and permissive parent.
- My children would be kind, patient, fun-loving, and cooperative.
Yiddish meets this naiveté thus: Man tracht und Gott lacht, people plan and God (the patriarchal, punitive, and snarky kind) laughs.
As toddlers, my two youngest were difficult and polar opposites (“like night and an orange,” it has been said). Between them someone was always crying, bleeding, hungry, angry, or in need of the bathroom. Neither slept through the night, ever. In no time, my B.P. cardinal rules were broken. I yelled, I manhandled, I counted to three, I threatened, I insulted, and I punished. Three years S.P. found me devastated, broken into a million pieces.
On Yom Kippur that year, after having reluctantly wrapped my lips around the androcentric language of Avinu Malkeinu, “our Father, our King,” it struck me that I was praying to a God capable of both erratic, scary outbursts and compassionate, loving forgiveness. Suddenly I was staring into a full-length cosmic mirror. Of course our liturgy is filled with parental imagery! Who better than the King of all Fallible Fathers to consider our supplications? S’lach lanu! Forgive us!
In that humbled, weeping moment, something turned, and I grew up. God and I shared shattered dreams of the perfect relationship. Whether between parent and child or Divine and human, relationships are seldom without their breakdowns. But, love and forgiveness heal what we damage in our pursuit of perfection. Amen.
