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Friday January 26, 2007

Can I teach my children to love God if I’m not even sure I believe?

by joanne catz hartman

I’m with 10 other parents in the social hall (also the Kindergym room, the room with the stage, the place where Israeli dancing is done and where Kiddush is served after Saturday services) at Oakland’s Temple Beth Abraham. We all want to know how to talk to our children about God and Rabbi Mark Bloom is at the podium ready to tell us. Children’s picture books and story collections are piled on the podium; books he’s borrowed from his young boys to share with us. I’m well aware that the rabbi’s children know more about God than I do.

Since I’ve missed the picture book window of opportunity, what’s a mom of a grade-schooler to do? That’s why I’m here. To get some ideas, to feel more comfortable about discussing the concept of God with my 8-year-old daughter.

In her younger years she had conviction — God is a spirit in the clouds, God is all around us — but she’s hit her skeptic years early and isn’t at all sure anymore. Since I haven’t always been so clear about my own concept of God (mostly due to the fact that I’m conflicted myself), I don’t readily bring it up. But avoidance isn’t what I want to continue perpetuating, so I’m here, and I’m all ears.

When we introduce ourselves and are asked to explain our fear or challenges about talking about God with our kids, we see we have very similar issues — from not wanting to lie to concern about screwing up our kids because we are wrestling with our own doubts. The parents present have children ranging in age from toddlers to early teens, children with a lot of questions and a lot of opinions.

Bloom confirms that ages 8 to 12 are the hardest group to talk to. That’s usually when there’s a crisis of faith and not as many resources exist for the age group as they do for younger kids. So my daughter’s right on target. That, combined with my not being able to articulate easily what I believe, makes it pretty easy to just not have the discussion at all.

The rabbi reassures that “you really can’t screw them up, even if you’re doubtful,” and that it’s “normal human development to go back and forth.” It’s OK not to be completely certain, he tells us, and advises saying what Jewish tradition teaches instead of always trying to focus on what we believe or don’t believe.

“Take risks. Get over your fear. Listen to them,” he says.

I’m all about the listening. I tend to notice more and learn so much when I do. But what if they don’t want to talk, I wonder?

Our beloved dog has just died. We’re all sad and missing her. I want to say and do things that are helpful. We look at photos of the dog, reminisce about her happy life, talk about what we miss. I ask my daughter if our pet has visited in her dreams. “No, I don’t think I’m ever going to dream about her,” she says, despite my gentle reminders that maybe she might, and that is as close as we get to a discussion of the big beyond.

I don’t use words like dog heaven or the soul, but it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about them. Is my child curious about the possibility of any of that, or does she simply dismiss it? Whenever I ask, she’s adamant that she doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever. It just makes her too sad. So I don’t press the issue, and just tell her that if she ever does want to talk about it, I’d love to have the conversation.

“People who have rituals to deal with the difficult times and those who have faith have an easier time with it,” Bloom tells us. I can take a look at what our tradition teaches and become more familiar with tales from the Midrash that explore the concept of God and Jewish beliefs.

Before she goes to sleep one night soon and we sing the Sh’ma as we sometimes tend to do, I’ll tell her about the midrashic tale where God sends an angel to us in the womb and we’re taught everything we need to know. But before we’re born we’re touched on the upper lip, the small indentation between our lips and bottom or our nose, and everything we’re taught is forgotten. We spend our lives learning it all again.

Joanne Catz Hartman lives and writes in Oakland. She can be reached at jc_Hartman@comcast.net.

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