Lost and Found

Why?

On a recent morning, we arrived a few minutes early to my 2-year-old daughter's pre-school, and I explained to her that she couldn't go into the classroom just yet.

"Why, Mommy?" she asked.

"Your teachers are cleaning up and getting the class ready for you," I replied.

"Why?"

"Because they want the class to be ready for you to have fun and play."

"Why, Mommy?"

"Because they love to play with you."

"Why?"

"Because they love you."

"Why?"

Finally, I ran out of explanations and just hugged her in exasperation.

This week's Torah portion, B'reisheet (In the Beginning of) — the Hebrew Bible's first parasha — recounts the creation of the world and humanity, and the experiences of the first people, Adam and Eve, in the Garden of Eden. In his first comment on the Torah, Rashi, the preeminent medieval commentator, explores the question of why the Torah begins with Genesis — given that the first commandment is not found until Exodus 12:2, where God explains how to set a monthly calendar.

Rashi says that that the Torah begins with Genesis because it demonstrates divine power and authority by recounting creation. Yet it seems to me that the real answer to Rashi's question is found within the question itself. If you read the Torah with the question in mind "What should I do?" you might as well begin in Exodus; but if you're wondering: "Why do I exist?" then you need to begin in Genesis.

B'reisheet articulates the purpose of human life, showing how God created humans and placed them in the garden "to work it and to keep it." The dual purposes of our lives are to protect and creatively transform the world around us for the better.

In our busy lives, we often get caught up in the "whats" of life. As we check off the tasks on our unending to-do lists, we can easily forget about the "whys" — the reasons underlying our choices. Yet, it's precisely this sense of purpose that rekindles our inner light and gives us the courage to face each new day.

We each need to be able to articulate the overarching goals of our lives and why we're doing what we're doing. Only by having a vision of our life's purpose and working toward it can we attain fulfillment through life's ups and downs.

With Genesis, the cycle of the Torah reading commences anew, and we begin again. In this new year, one spiritual lesson we can learn from our toddlers is to never stop asking "Why?"

No Regrets?

Becoming a parent has brought great joy to my life. It has also forced me to struggle with the troublesome feeling of regret.

When my son was an infant, I was working (more than) full-time as a congregational rabbi and regretted not being able to spend more time with him. Soon after my daughter was born, I left my job so that I could spend more time with my children; in short order, I began to miss the congregation and question my choice to leave. I couldn't win. Speaking to other moms, I was surprised to discover how many have struggled with the same pesky emotion of regret.

In this week's Torah portion, our Heavenly Parent had the same problem. Just ten generations after creating humanity, God saw how great man's wickedness was on earth. Genesis recounts: "God regretted that God had made humanity on the land, and God's heart was saddened."

So God brought on the flood, saving Noah, his family and the animals on the ark. After the flood, God decided that floods were not the best plan after all, and vowed never again to destroy the world. God showed Noah and his family a rainbow to signal God's promise to preserve the earth.

The story of Noah raises the question: Do our regrets ruin or enhance life? When feeling regret, we can ask ourselves whether this emotion is self-destructive or whether it is leading us in new, positive directions. The great medieval scholar Maimonides detailed the process of t'shuvah, or repentance. According to his model, regret is the first step – followed by confession, and changing one's behavior both in the present and future. Maimonides understood that regret can be a catalyst for transformation, but only if it is followed by positive changes in behavior.

As a mother, I've experienced both kinds of regret. My initial regret about missing time with my son led me to prioritize my family in a new way. However, my subsequent regret was a form of self-doubt and self-flagellation that made me pine for the past, rather than embrace the future.

When I slip into this destructive kind of regret, I try to remember what Hillary Clinton said in her farewell address at the conclusion of her unsuccessful bid for the presidency. Her words summarize the Torah portion perfectly: "Life is too short, time is too precious, and the stakes are too high to dwell on what might have been."

Monsters under the Bed

Recently, my 5-year-old son, Jeremy, had been waking up at night. One evening before bed, I asked him why he had trouble sleeping. He said he was afraid of monsters. To calm him, I explained that there were no monsters, but Jeremy insisted the monsters were real. Then, I responded with the first idea that popped into my head. I took a stuffed dog from the closet and told the dog to bark if any monsters came into the room. Jeremy hugged the dog and slept well that night. On subsequent nights, I repeated these instructions to the dog and Jeremy slept soundly.

I wondered why this approach worked. Jeremy surely knew as well as I did that the stuffed dog couldn't bark. Why did this idea quiet his fears?

This week's Torah portion tells the story of someone facing terror and finding comfort. The parasha, titled Lekh Lekha (Go forth), tells the story of Abraham and Sarah's journey from their birthplace in Haran to their new home in Canaan. However, the parasha also recounts a second journey — that of Sarah's handmaid, Hagar, who fled to the wilderness.

At Sarah's suggestion, Hagar became pregnant with Abraham's child. Thereafter, Sarah, who was barren, began to treat Hagar harshly, prompting Hagar to run away. In the wilderness, an angel of God found Hagar by a spring, called her by name and asked, "Where have you come from and where are you going?" Hagar explained her problem. The angel then promised her that she would have a son named Ishmael — the name means "God will hear" — because "God has heard your suffering" and that Hagar would have countless descendents. In response, Hagar named the place where the angel spoke to her "El-roi" which means "God sees me." Encouraged, Hagar returned home.

The angel of God didn't do anything to change Hagar's...