This past Shabbat I had the privilege of watching my middle daughter, Emma, become a Bat Mitzvah. It was a moving and miraculous experience. Nearly four years ago our synagogue informed us that April 20, 2013 would be Emma’s bat mitzvah date and at the time it seemed like light years away – we hadn’t yet even celebrated her older sister’s bat mitzvah. But in a blink of an eye, I found myself sitting in the first row of our synagogue, gazing up at my beautiful daughter, standing with incredible poise, skill and confidence. She competently read Torah, haftarah and offered a short commentary about the difficult task of creating sacred times and places of holiness through our everyday actions and our everyday words.
Andrew Solomon, in his groundbreaking book Far From the Tree opens by reminding us: “There is no such thing as reproduction. When two people decide to have a baby, they engage in an act of production, and the widespread use of the word reproduction for this activity, with its implication that two people are but braiding themselves together, is at best a euphemism to comfort prospective parents before they get in over their heads… We must love them for themselves, and not for the best of ourselves in them, and that is a great deal harder to do.” Solomon’s book focuses on parents who must face significant challenges – raising children affected by a spectrum of cognitive, physical and psychological differences. And while he is mostly addressing how parents come to terms with children who may face unfamiliar challenges, his comments also contributes to our perspective when looking at our children’s strengths.
As I watched Emma up at the bimah, in front of our congregation, I was able to find some distance, some separation. It almost felt like watching her through a one-way mirror, as an observer (and admirer!). I had the privilege of gazing at her from the congregation – seeing her as her own person, with her own unique identity and formidable strengths. Kahlil Gibran, in his masterpiece book “The Prophet” reminds us “Your children are not your children…They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you…You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.” When we have the experience of literally birthing our children (or raising them from birth) they feel like they come from us. We offer our blood, sweat and tears to our children and there is some inevitable confusion about our individual identities. But it is helpful both when our children are at their most magnificent and at their most monstrous to see them as distinct and unique.
As I watched Emma not only as she negotiated her time in the synagogue but also as she danced at her party, as she mingled with her friends, and as she traversed the social landscape of greeting people from near and far, it was poignant to witness this emerging young adult. It was a palpable moment to experience her growing up and to feel the inevitable gap as this occurs. She stands more than an inch taller than I do, she roams independently to school, to sleepovers, even on the Peter Pan bus to her camp friend in Rhode Island. There is a great deal to celebrate in this moment of individuation. As parents, our job description is “Chief Launchers,” or as Gibran more poetically describes, to be the bows from which our children shoot forth. I couldn’t be prouder of the direction that my children are aimed. And while a part of me would like to nestle Emma back into the Baby Bjorn in which I carried her during her first year of life, it is a privilege and blessing to have been the mother of the Bat Mitzvah girl last Shabbat.
Ilana received her B.A. from Harvard College and a Master's Degree in Education from Bank Street College. She was born and raised on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and now lives there with her husband and three children.
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