I routinely put my one-year-old daughter Ahuva down for a nap every morning at 10:30, a predictable routine. Today she was tired and irritable, and refused to lie down in her crib. I walked out of the room, letting her cry it out for a minute or two, hoping that she would settle down on her own. As the wailing escalated in the room behind me, I sat down heavily on the hallway floor, weighted down by her misery. I would sit there for a few moments and then rescue her if she hadn't stopped crying. My three-year-old pulled at me, reminding me to come and play with him.
"Just a minute, honey," I whispered. "We've got to sit here and wait for Ahuva to stop crying. She is very tired, and Mommy needs to see if she'll fall asleep." As the words came out of my mouth, the irony of my statement hit. Our house was small enough that I could hear the baby cry in every room, so why did I need to sit and wait it out in the hallway? Of course, I knew why. My love for the baby is so intense that I feel pained to be far away when she is crying. But how can I explain this emotional response to a three-year-old?
| As the wailing escalated in the room behind me, I sat down heavily on the hallway floor, weighted down by her misery |
I am reminded of something I learned years ago, and in my role as a mother, I suddenly identify with G‑d. This must be how He feels when we experience pain. Just as I am compelled to stay close to my crying baby, feeling her pain in the hallway outside her door, G‑d, our Father, must feel our hurt when we endure suffering.
King Solomon revealed this same idea in the Song of Songs (2:9). The verse states:
"Hinei zeh omed achar kotlenu, mashgiach min hachalonot, metzitz min hacharakim."
Referring to G‑d, this means, "He is standing behind our wall, observing from the windows, peeking through the lattice."
Just as I left the baby's room so that she could fall asleep on her own, G‑d distances Himself from us to help us achieve new levels of growth. Just as I yearned to lift up my crying baby from her crib, G‑d yearns to rescue us from the challenges we endure. My baby, the recipient of my deep love, remains unaware that I am listening to her cries. We, the Jewish people, feel disconnected and broken, unaware of G‑d's loving observation occurring just outside our door.
| My baby, the recipient of my deep love, remains unaware that I am listening to her cries |
The High Holidays, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, require intense introspection, as this is the time that G‑d decides our individual and collective fates for the coming year. I remember the pain we suffered this past year, and tears come easily. As they drop onto my prayerbook, I entreat Him for myself, my family and our nation. In my mind's eye, I see G‑d, our parent, listening outside my door, and I realize that I have come full circle. Perhaps a murmur is rumbling through heaven as the tears roll down my cheeks, and the command issued, "Wait a moment, My child is crying."
I sigh in relief, feeling a connection to the Ultimate, glimpsing our future redemption.
