Responding to Children's and Adults' Spiritual Questions & Emotional Needs

  An important article from "10 Minutes of Torah" by the URJ...

 

Responding to Children's and Adults' Spiritual Questions and Emotional Needs Following Frightening Tragedies

By Rabbi Edythe Mencher

People of all ages have questions about how a good God could let terrible tragedies happen. Following a terrible event or loss they may even cry out this question, tempting those around them to offer their own religious understanding or to engage in philosophical discussion. These are valid questions to be engaged at other times. In times of deep crisis and pain those questions when posed by adults really might be heard as, "How could this have happened?  Does anyone care about and protect me and those whom I love? What did I do to deserve this? How can this terrible and unfair thing have happened?  Is there any order and security or is the world just chaos and mayhem?" When posed by children, depending upon their ages, they may be heard as, "Why didn't my parents/teachers/caretakers protect me? Is it safe to be away from my parents? Is it safe to go to sleep? This isn't fair! Are there bad guys everywhere? Is the world a scarier place than I thought? Is anyone in charge?"

The kindest response we can offer is one of listening, conveying acceptance that the questions are being asked and doing and saying the things that help to restore a sense that there is indeed love, justice, protection and order in our world even thought what has happened is shocking, unfair, hateful or a result of temporary chaos. We don't necessarily convey that in words; it can be in hugs offered, compassionate care provided, accompaniment through often agonizing tasks like funeral preparations, gentle and timely restoration of routine. We try to provide the living proof for one another that we live in a world in which there is great goodness even though it is also a world in which terrible tragedies do sometimes occur. The great goodness is expressed in such activities as caretaking, rescuing and rebuilding and can be understood by some as a sign of God in the world.  For most of us, in the immediate moment of tragedy, the question is only partly theological and the care we desperately need is that which human beings, often Divinely inspired, can offer to one another.

This is not to suggest that pastoral counseling and religious questions aren't important and should not be addressed in the days to come. Some may change their own beliefs because of what has happened. Yet, however tenuous or tentative a person's belief in God may be, the moment of serious loss and fear is not a good time to toss aside all possibility of belief in a loving compassionate Presence. We needn't try to convince them or to challenge their doubts and disappointments, it just isn't helpful either to add our own negative conviction to theirs.  If we hear their statement to be that life and the world seems devoid of love and order and meaning then we can see that agreeing or disagreeing isn't the issue. It is how it feels to them now and anything we can do on the side of life, calm and meaning will be most valuable.

Children sometimes raise religious questions in the midst of tragedy too, although less often than their parents. It is important to ask them what they think and to try to support what they wish to and are able to believe if it is strengthening and reassuring. We needn't profess beliefs we don't have but we can be respectful of their hopes even if our own beliefs and faith may be shaken. Children can be reminded how religion and God can inspire ("teach us" in child language) us to take care of one another and to do the good and wonderful things that are also part of our world. Religious rituals like lighting candles, expressing hopes through prayer and participating in celebrations that support optimism can be very helpful. Children need their sense of security restored and anything that helps with that which is consistent with their family's practice and belief is what counts--including explaining that those who have died are with God. They may not be able to conceive that someone who was here is not somewhere-this is difficult enough for adults. Older children can conceive of people living on within our hearts or of souls returning to God. For younger children it may be much more concrete. Listening to children's questions as we compose answers is essential because very young children may not be clear about the permanence of death and the difference between being alive and no longer alive. They still may be most concerned about being separated from parents themselves and are reassured that the child or adult who has died is not "somewhere" suffering and crying out in loneliness.

At moments of traumatic crisis, children's faith and trust in the people they have counted on to protect them may be more significantly shaken than their religious faith; everything people can do to restore their sense that all around them they are working to restore safety will matter most. They need to be allowed to remain close to caring adults and to have a sense of calm and eventually joy returned to their lives. Perhaps in this way children and adults are more alike than different; all of us need to feel we are not alone and that there are trustworthy sources of hope, security and joy within our world.

Rabbi Edythe Held Mencher, L.C.S.W., serves as URJ Faculty for Sacred Community. She is a practicing psychotherapist and serves on the faculty of the Westchester Center for the Study of Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy. Rabbi Mencher is the major author of Resilience of the Soul - Developing Spiritual and Emotional Resilience in Adolescents and their Families, a program guide focusing upon how Jewish communities and tradition can help adolescents and their families develop positive ways of managing stress and difficult emotions.

A Modern Female Rabbi Maccabee

Letter from Rabbi Elyse Frishman to her congregation 
(http://www.arza.org/Articles/index.cfm?id=2456)

Friday, December 14
Late afternoon in Jerusalem
 
Dear Friends,

I’m going to miss you tonight; this Friday evening in Chanukah is a favorite time with you. I love bringing our menorahs into the sanctuary and then kindling them with joy. We sing, we bless, we remember: the Maccabees fought for our religious freedom! And for every memory of our past, we reaffirm our present and future.
Religious freedom. This morning, at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, I felt like a Maccabee.
 
Today is not only the seventh day of Chanukah, it is also Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the new month of Tevet. At 7am this morning in Jerusalem, 50 men and 88 women came together to pray at the Kotel, the Western Wall. As always, Jews lined up to enter through security to the plaza. All of us carried or wore our tallesim and prayerbooks. There were rumors: no women permitted to bring prayerbooks in today! No women allowed with tallit today! 
 
Among the 138 of us were Israelis and tourists, including a group of young Jews from Netzer, the Reform movement’s international youth movement; these 18 year olds were on a year’s study program. As we stood on line, the singing of this Psalm began, “Let all our voices be raised in song to praise God!”
 
We began to move through security. Contrary to rumor, prayerbooks were permitted -- but for the first time, not a tallit. A decree had been issued – illegally, randomly – that no woman could bring her tallit today. Security began to confiscate them. Some of the men walked in with their friends’ tallesim. But most women had theirs removed. Some of us wore them beneath our jackets, obscured by collars. Some were seen and taken. Mine was not.
 
There is no law in Judaism against a woman wearing a tallit. If anything, the law from Torah (Numbers 15:38) is: “Speak to the children of Israel and say to them that they shall make themselves fringes on the corners of their garments, throughout their generations…” 
 
Ironically, I was so jet-lagged this morning at 6am that I couldn’t locate my African tallit. I borrowed one from Anat Hoffman– a Woman of the Wall tallit celebrating our matriarchs, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. Thus I carried their wisdom on my shoulders as I moved towards the Wall.
 
We gathered quietly at the rear of the Kotel to pray, and then to sing Hallel, joyous psalms. One woman came over to me and asked quietly, “May I stand with you and pray? I wanted to wear my tallit, but I’m afraid.” 
 
Remember: I came this morning prepared to be spiritually provocative. I believe deeply that prayer and song are God’s gifts for every man and woman, and that on Rosh Chodesh, the holiday designated for women, women’s voices especially matter. This is why Women of the Wall celebrate on Rosh Chodesh. So in theory, if God indeed cares about these things as the ultra-orthodox believe, then the presence and voices of women should matter most. My spiritual provocation was to test this.
 
Two policemen who were watching walked over. One said in Hebrew, “You are not allowed to wear the tallit.” Pretending, I said politely in English, “Excuse me, I do not understand.” (I did this because I am not Israeli, and wanted to be clear throughout my actions that I am a Jew. The Western Wall is the universal site of prayer for all Jews. If anything was to happen, I wanted the police to have something to think about, to take home and mull over at night – all of us are Jews; all of us in that holy site are equally religious before God in our prayers). 
 
The policeman ushered over another who spoke English. “You are not allowed to wear this.” “Why?” I asked. “It’s against the law.” “It is not against the law.” You cannot wear it.” The policeman took my elbow and steered me away. “You’ll have to come with me.” I moved with her. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What am I doing wrong?” “You are wearing a tallit.” “Why is that illegal? It is not wrong in Jewish law,” “Because you might disturb the public peace.” “I don’t understand. Am I not part of the public?” The police officer did not respond. I realized three other women were being taken, too. The police ushered us out of the plaza. An attorney materialized, hired by Women of the Wall to protect women accused unjustly. “Do not worry,” he assured us. 
 
We were taken to a police station courtyard. We were told not to talk with one another. I had taken off my tallit as soon as we left the Kotel, since I was no longer praying. I put it on again and opened my prayerbook, thinking, “This is a good time to communicate with Torah and prayer!” I began to sing prayers quietly. The other three women joined in. We reached the Shema, and I taught them to sing it in harmony. Our voices echoed and the police watched. We sang a melody of Mi Chamocha that we all knew – one of us from New Jersey, one from Scotland, one from Britain, one from Jerusalem. The police listened. Then I shared a teaching from the Talmud, from Berachot. As I began, the policeman said, “There is no talking.” I said, “I am not talking; I am teaching.” And I taught, “When a Jew prays from the north, she faces south towards HaMakom, the Holy Place. When in the south, she faces north. When in the east, she faces west; and when in east, west. Always, from each direction, the Jew prays facing HaMakom. What is HaMakom? God. So when we face HaMakom, who are we facing? God-- and who else? Yes -- one another. We pray and we see one another.” We smiled. The police were quiet.
 
They brought us inside the police station. We sat quietly, until one by one, we were brought in “for investigation.” I understood from the attorney earlier that I was to sign nothing, and to agree to nothing. The “interrogator” asked if I knew why I was there. I said, “No.” She said, “You are not being arrested; you are being detained. You have broken a law; do you know that?” I asked, “What law have I broken?” “Wearing a tallit.” I said, “That is not against the law, Jewish or Israeli.” She said, “Sign this paper that says you know why you are detained.” I said I could not sign. She took my fingerprint and asked me to sign another document. I declined. She told me that if I did not sign, I could be arrested. I knew this was not true, so I said nothing. She asked if I wanted an attorney. I said yes. She told me that I had the right, but the court could say they were not going to provide one. I said nothing. She made a phone call. We waited. After some time, the attorney from the Women of the Wall came. I think the police officer was relieved. The attorney assured me that I was doing exactly right: I had broken no law, I should sign nothing, and I should be fairly certain that I would be released. “Fairly certain?” I asked. He shrugged. 
 
I returned to the “investigation.” The officer asked me, “Do you know why you are here?” “No,” I said. “You are being detained on suspicion of going to cause a public disturbance. Do you understand?” I replied, “I understand your words, but I do not understand the charge.” “Will you sign that you understand?” “No.” 
 
The officer continued. “Do you come to the Kotel often?” “Whenever I am here.” “How often is that?” “When I visit every year, every couple of years.” “Do you wear a tallit at the Kotel?” “Yes, when I pray here.” “Do you wear a tallit only at the Kotel?” “No, I wear a tallit whenever I pray.” “Not only at the Kotel?” “No, whenever I pray.” Again she asked me this, and again, I said, “I wear a tallit whenever I pray.”
 
The questions continued a bit. She concluded and asked me to sign. I declined. She told me that I was not allowed to come to the Kotel for 15 days. I knew this is also against the law since I had done nothing wrong. She asked if I understood. I said yes. She asked if I agreed. I said, “I decline to answer.” She frowned. She warned me that if I came to the Kotel and was recognized, I could be arrested and fined several hundred dollars. Did I understand? I said, “I decline to answer.” She frowned again. She said, “You are free to go.”
 
I walked out of the police station, and was immediately embraced by about 20 men and women who had heard of our detention and came to support us. Anat was there and embraced me with a blessing, “Baruch Atah Adonai, HaMatir asurim! Blessed are You, God, who frees captives!” Cell phones were ringing; the media had been alerted: Was she released? What happened?
 
And so, it seems, this was an important morning. A Maccabee morning. The fight of the Women of the Wall is a fight by men and women to gain full religious equality for all Jews. 
 
There are those who say, “But if the orthodox men are not able to pray with women present, and are distracted, and believe that men have the greater obligation to pray than women, it is incumbent on the women to give way.” 
For them, we can reply: “But on Rosh Chodesh, the holiday for women? Men do not have to be present at the same time that the women always come. They can choose to let women celebrate with joy on their special holiday. Instead, it is the provocation of men that creates this public disturbance on the holiday of women.”

The Maccabees fought against religious persecution. So do we. Consider these wonderful lyrics from Peter Yarrow’s “Light One Candle,” which you’ll sing tonight at Temple:
 
“Light one candle, for the Maccabee children,
give thanks that their lights didn’t die.
Light one candle for the pain they endured
when their right to exist was denied;
Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice
justice and freedom demand;
And light one candle for the wisdom to know
that the peacemaker's time is at hand!”
 
Indeed: Chanukah restores our memory of what happened long ago so that we might act justly and righteously today: 

“What is the memory that's valued so highly
that we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died?
We cry out, ‘They have not died in vain!’
We have come this far, always believing
that justice will somehow prevail;
this is the burden, this is the promise,
and this is why we will not fail!”
Today is dedicated to the young woman who came to my side and asked quietly, “I am afraid to wear my tallit here. May I stand and pray next to you?” 
 
I miss you all, and send you my hug for this important Chanukah in Shabbat. 
 
Shabbat shalom.
Rabbi Elyse Frishman