I had the privilege of speaking at the Prime Pesach program in Aspen, Colorado, and while there I got to know a beautiful contingent from the Jewish communities of Panama and Mexico.
In my many travels and speaking engagements I have discovered that every community has its own unique flavor, its own unique gift. Our brethren whom I met from Panama and Mexico all had tremendous Kavod haTorah– honor for the Torah.
Families would approach me with their little children for blessings, and I always felt so privileged to impart them.
One afternoon, while I was sitting in the courtyard of the hotel, an adorable little girl with curly hair, sparkling eyes, and a wide smile came over. She must have been 3 or 4 years old. I immediately recognized her as one of the children of the fine families from Panama.
She said something to me in Spanish and I did not understand her. She pointed to her head. I still wasn’t quite certain what she meant. Then she took my hand, placed it on her head, and said, “Oomain!” I finally got it. She wanted a beracha! No sooner had I given her a blessing and hugged and kissed her than other children came over as well.
Now, I’m accustomed to having children come over for a candy or a toy, but for berachos? That was an unusual experience. I wish I could have taken a photograph to share with my readers, but it all happened so quickly.
I looked up to the Heavens and said to G-d, “Look at your children – not demanding material things like most children, but requesting a beracha!”
There are many memories I took back from Pesach in Aspen, but that little girl asking for a blessing will be forever etched on my heart. She represents everything the Jewish people should represent.
In our materialistic society, berachos have little if any meaning to our children. Many parents who try to bring their little ones for blessings find it a very frustrating experience. Too often the attempt is met with whining and crying.
What are our Panamanian cousins doing that we may have missed over here? Could it be that they are raising their children differently? Could it be that they are teaching their little ones the importance of giving rather than getting? Are they teaching reverence for their rabbis and Torah teachers, for their mothers and fathers and bubbies and zaidies?
I use the word “reverence” rather than respect because reverence is one step above. Our children have been given license to be demanding and at times even nasty. We have created a child-oriented society, and if our little ones become haughty, arrogant adults and look at their elders with disdain or condescension, we have no one to blame but ourselves.
HaRav HaGaon HaTzaddik Yaakov Kamenetsky, zt”l, was on his way to Eretz Yisrael. Every few minutes his son would come to check on the rav. He was actually hovering over him, anxious to make his trip as comfortable as possible.
A man sitting in an adjacent seat asked Rav Yaakov’s son, “What is your secret? My children would never care for me like you are caring for your father.”
“There is no secret,” Rav Kamenetsky’s son replied. It is in our Torah, in our value system – it is our heritage.”
The answer Rav Yaakov’s son gave is one we should all reflect on.
In our contemporary world, everything belongs to the future. The new generation is always smarter and better, and everyone has to own the newest iPad, the latest smartphone, the fastest computer.
But we Jews take the opposite approach. We regard our ancestors as having been holier and loftier than we are. We trace our way backward to Sinai, and before that to the Patriarchs and Matriarchs.
We commence our prayers calling out to the G-d of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and hope for the day we will see the fathers of our nation. We pray for Mashiach, who will come from the House of David and whose advent will be announced by the Prophet Elijah – not by the latest celebrity sensation or even a president or a prime minister.
If we raise our children with reverence for yesterday rather than adulation for the here and now and the future; if we raise them to give rather than to get, to honor rather than be honored; if we train them to put others first – particularly parents and grandparents, rabbis and teachers and elders of the community – then we can hope for a better present and future.
Some surely wonder whether asking for a beracha is itself a selfish act. Aren’t we saying, “Give me”?
Yes and no. Yes, we are asking, but for what are we asking? A beracha. The word itself testifies that there is a higher dimension to the gifts of life, and that those gifts are bestowed on us by G-d Himself. The gift of berachos demands that we prove ourselves worthy of Hashem’s bounty, that we recognize there are no entitlements, no free lunches.
As I write this, I’m busy completing my new book, Your Life Mission – Be a Blessing. Our Patriarch Abraham was the first to be charged with this mission: v’heyeh beracha – and be a blessing. Not be blessed, but be a blessing.
It follows, therefore, that when we ask for a blessing we are asking for the privilege of being a blessing – to our families, our people, the world, and ourselves. Can there be a more awesome calling than that?
G-d granted us the merit of being blessings. If we can do that, we will have fulfilled the purpose of our lives and we will know we made a difference and that the world has become at least somewhat better for our being here.
“Give me a blessing” is our clarion call. Give me a blessing so that I might become a blessing – a blessing to know and teach Torah, a blessing to give rather than to get, a blessing to bring healing rather than to acquire fame – a blessing to be a Jew and illuminate the world with G-d’s sacred light.
The little Panamanian girl knew something that many of our children have yet to learn. Sweetly and respectfully, without even knowing a language I understood, she asked for beracha.
She was not the only one. I could share with you many stories about those sweet children. A group of little boys, cousins ranging in age from 4 to 12, came over. They stood in line and each asked for a beracha. The oldest among them called them one by one and made certain their yarmulkes were properly on. They already knew I always asked for Jewish names. As they came close, they announced their names.
These boys had been playing ball when they spotted me sitting in the courtyard. They stopped their game and approached me for berachos!
And then the non-Jewish nanny who was watching all this came over. Not knowing English, she pointed to her head and bowed deeply. Of course I blessed her. She cried and cried with tears of gratitude.
I invite all my readers to absorb these stories and then ask themselves this question: “Will my children ask for a beracha?”