Families Had A Purpose
Families had a purpose. When we read the narratives of the Bible, we realize that children took care of the household, worked in the fields, tended the livestock and were essential to the financial wellbeing of the extended family. Having many children meant protection in your old age, which explains the injunctions, including in the Ten Commandments, to honor your parents. Jewish law and tradition taught not only deference for the elderly, but obligation to care for parents as they aged and weakened.
The world has changed. We are no longer farmers and we rely on retirement accounts to provide for our senior years. We do not need our children to support us. Children not only provide no economic benefit, they actually cost us a fortune. It is often said that the best form of birth control for Jews is to place school, synagogue and camp tuitions for your kids above the bed! Insurance companies press us to take long-term care insurance so that we will not be a burden to our children and old age homes and retirement villages are thriving. With all that, we love our kids as children have never been loved before.
We have come a long way from the family as a financial institution. But the replacement also leaves us lacking. What role can our children play in our lives? What does “honor your mother and father” mean in an age of autonomy and when parents are thrilled or feel obligated to continue giving, even to their adult children?
In our family, we have become runners. It began with Talia, our eldest, who asked us to help her new athletic hobby by jogging alongside for at least part of her training. One after another, we took up jogging, until four of the six of us became confirmed runners. For me, David, this came as a surprise, having never run more than a mile or two until I was fifty! But there is something very enticing about a family run, and so I plowed through the five-mile mark with amazement and joy.
Then Talia decided to train for the NYC marathon and our runs became longer. We each ran a piece of the marathon with her, through the cheering streets of the city only weeks after September 11th. This year, my fourth marathon, we went to Philadelphia. Talia and I were running, but Noam and Liore came along as our support team. Yaron, who the day before had biked 120 miles in a race in Tucson, flew all night after Shabbat to meet us.
This year, Talia sped ahead of me as planned. She would break her best record by thirty-five minutes, an amazing feat. Over the first twenty miles, the other kids were there to cheer at various places as I passed by. They would jump in to give me something to drink or one of those energy packets. It was a stunning day and the run took us through historic Philadelphia. Unlike New York, it was relatively quiet so that inner focus was easy to achieve. I ran the best twenty miles of my life. I felt like I was flying.
Then came the last six miles. The course turned uphill. My legs ached. My body hurt and my energy waned. Liore jumped in. Quietly, she talked to me, encouraged me, providing rhythm to my steps and length to my stride. If I tried to walk, she helped talk me through that normal reflex of giving up. But my legs were cramping. Then Noam arrived on his bike with a huge sign that Shira had made to cheer me on, calling out how proud he is of me, how strong I look. I took heart. A few miles later, Yaron jumped in on my right side. He ran alongside, whispering strength into my ears, a calm present voice encouraging me to continue. When I faltered, Liore gently put her warm hand on the small of my back, tenderly propelling me forward. Now, near the finish, Talia jumped in after her own 26.2 mile run! She ran a few steps ahead, calling on the crowd to cheer for her father. My four children surrounded me until the last hundred yards, sending me across the finish line with their voices in my ears and an incredible sense of wholeness and love in my heart.
Chances are, in American society as we know it, we will not need our children in the ways they were crucial to generations past. Families play a different role; it is no longer the primary economic unit. Instead, it can be the place where love can be experienced, where trust is built, where learning to be fully human can take place. Perhaps, even more, in our world of personal autonomy, we must find new ways to be present for others in very different moments of need. The day after the marathon, I sent an email thanking the kids and noted wryly that someday they may need to encourage me again, “Abba, just a few more steps to the bathroom; you can do it.” And, in fact, they may need to do that. Not because I cannot buy the help I need, but because the financial unit family of the past can be replaced by the family that provides spiritual and emotional support for each member. It is not healthy for families to be a one-way street where children perform for us and we tell them how wonderful they are. What I love about the marathon is that tens of thousands of children and spouses, nephews and nieces, as well as parents and grandparents, are cheering for family members who are running. We are learning as a culture to honor those we love, parents and children, in ways never imagined by the Torah – and in doing so, we are able to fulfill the mitzvah of honoring others in our family as images of God in new ways.
Yes, the world is radically different and 21st century American Jewish families bear little resemblance to their ancient biblical counterparts. Yet I feel quite confident that, whether helping me take the next step as I run the marathon or supporting me to take a next step in my old age, our children are finding new opportunities to fulfill the mitzvah of honoring one’s mother and father in rich and meaningful ways. More than the relief of crossing the finish line is the knowledge that we don’t cross it alone – that we need one another to live life most fully.
Rabbi Shira Milgrom is spiritual leader of Congregation Kol Ami in White Plains, NY. Dr David Elcott is US director of the American Jewish Committee's interreligious affairs department.
