As of Rosh Hashana, our family of seven will have been secluded together for 10 days. In the spring, when everyone was in their homes, it was different. It was easier. In this current situation and leading up to the Day of Judgement, it becomes almost natural to question what Hashem wants. I can't listen to a shiur. I can't open a sefer. Indeed, between wake up calls and endless rounds of dishes and cooking, I can only get this writing done by blackmailing my children for quiet time - and even then it's a struggle. If there is a message to take from quarantine, I think it is (even as I struggle to fulfill it) that I need to focus on my job, which is my family. They are my gift, and they are my test. They are my joy, and they are my sorrow - on an hourly basis!
Every year there are women around the world who struggle with the duality of their lives during this time when all around is the anticipation of the beautiful davening that is to come. During the Yamei Noraim, they long for the days of spiritual infusion through heartfelt, communal tefilos, while also recognizing that they need to stay home to ensure the well-being of their family. This year, for many of us, even the choice of that to duality has been removed, but the emotional struggle remains.
It is interesting to realize that this question is not new and that, like so many other things, this is addressed by our sages through their choice of the Torah that we read on Rosh Hashana. If I were to ask you to tell me, without pausing to think, what that portion is, most people would not struggle to respond: the akeida, the offering of Yitzchok. But the truth is that the Torah reading of Rosh Hashana starts long before Hashem calls upon Avraham to bring up his son. It begins with Yitzchak’s birth, and it is all about the joys and challenges of parenthood. From the celebrations of life and the early milestones that are pure joy, it introduces the more complicated sides of being a parent. Parenting means choices, sometimes choices that are so difficult they tear you apart - as in the story of YIshmael and Hagar. We might know that Avraham is making the right decision to send Yishmael away, but one cannot ignore how painful a decision it was for him (“The matter greatly distressed Avraham regarding his son "- Bereishis 21:11) or miss the fact that he set out to do as much as he could for the boy (waking early and preparing sustenance himself for Yishmael and Hagar - 12:14). One could jokingly say that the entire second half of Vayeira might well be titled "Parenting is Hard."
The narrative of the akeida is not told from the perspective of Yitzchak, because it wasn't about him. It’s about Avraham the father. One might see in the akeida a type of bildungsroman, a reverse coming of age story, if you will. According to the midrash, Yitzchak was in his late thirties when the akeida took place. In the biblical narrative, he was a baby, then he was a toddler (weaned), and then he was a tormented little brother … his next appearance in the Torah is when he is being lead by his father to an unknown location. There has never been an expression of Yitzchok developing a personal relationship with Hashem - until the akeida, until his father shows him that for God we must be ready to sacrifice that which is most precious to us. Obviously, this is not meant to mean we should all be ready to sacrifice our children. Rather, I am pointing out that often times doing what is best for our children, for their development spiritually, requires sacrifice from ourselves. The narrative of the akeida, however, shows us Avraham making these sacrifices with seemingly total calm and acceptance - not even a melodramatic murmur or a sigh of a martyr.
My spirituality, my need to go to shul or to listen to shiurim in the days before the chag, are not significant compared to my children's need of my presence. (If you can do it all properly, yasher koach!)
As they approached the mountain, Yitzchak finally speaks, and the midrash tells us that he then understands that he is meant to be the sacrifice. This is the moment of YItzchak’s entering spiritual adulthood. After the akeida, his relationship with Hashem is his own separate relationship. And at the end of the akeida, we understand that Hashem never intended for Avraham to sacrifice his son. This is not just from the malach stopping him In the final crucial moments, but when one looks back at the initial request one sees that Hashem asked Avraham to being his son up to him, l’alot, but never uses specific words for an actual offering. Avraham’s misunderstanding, however, was the ultimate goal because it was his opportunity to demonstrate spiritual sacrifice.
When my children are grown and they return to me to celebrate Yom Tov as adults with their own personal relationships with Hashem, my current actions that feel like a sacrifice now will seem as if they were nothing. And being locked up in quarantine for Rosh Hashana will just be a story we all enjoy when we sit and reminisce.
I wish you all a Shana Tova u’metuka, full of health and joy.
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