Every child wants their parents to say, “I’m proud of you.” Even though my folks have been gone for decades, I would still love to hear my mom or dad say just once more, “I am proud of you, Mark.” Nothing wrong with that.
When your child tells you something good that is going on in their life, you can feel the beat that they take while they wait for the sign from you that you heard them. That you care. That what they said is important and meaningful. A book I read and loved is called “I’m Proud of You: My Friendship with Fred Rogers” by Tim Madigan. It’s about the relationship between the author and television host Mr. Rogers. Mr. Rogers would sign IPOY, or “I’m Proud of you,” in his letters to Tim, a phrase Tim never heard from his dad.
We can all do that for each other. There is a big difference between saying “good job” and “I’m proud of you.”
I have three boys, and I am proud of them all. Each one is unique, funny, interesting and, most importantly, a good person. A day does not go by that I am not thankful for them. I wish I gave my parents half the naches that they have given to me.
But the other day, I received a text from my favorite son that stopped me in my tracks (Just kidding — they are all my favorites!). It was from my oldest son, Jacob. He said, “On Shabbos, I am throwing a kiddush in honor of my wife’s birthday.” That is pretty darn cool on multiple levels. The little boy whose hand I used to hold while walking to shul, who I told not to step off the curb, who, when I had to punish him, just broke my heart. That boy is now married with a son and is making kiddush to honor his wife. A real mindblower.
But it gets better. Jacob then told me that because of COVID-19, the minyan is outdoors and mask-friendly. And here is the kicker. He wants the “old man” (or “pops”) to come. (Depending on how he feels, he calls me either “old man” or “pops.” When he first started calling me pops, I found it slightly annoying. Pops to me was Pa Kettle. But now, I love it. Like my wife’s cooking, it grew on me.) But no matter what Jacob called me, he wanted me to hang with him and his friends. I was honored.
That Shabbos morning at 8:55 a.m., I met Jacob and his friend Dan, and we sauntered over a few blocks to the minyan. It was in a backyard with no grass, just dirt, folding chairs and a few collapsible tables. There were about two dozen young men mostly in their late twenties and early thirties. I was easily the oldest by 34 1/8 years (but who is counting). Recently, when I go places, if I am the oldest, I feel weird. This time, though, I felt no such thing. I felt blessed and happy, and in the right place.
I felt blessed and happy, and in the right place.
This backyard dirt floor was holy ground and as holy as any great shul or cathedral. These young men, most of them already married with kids, were keeping Judaism and Shabbos alive and having a good time while doing it. This was truly the definition of a “Happy Minyan.”
After the davening ended, they put a few of the tables together for the kiddush food to sit on. And amazingly, these guys used tablecloths. It was beautiful. Sitting next to my son and looking at all that was going on, not only was I proud of him, but I was also proud of all these kids. I also thought of my wife and was proud of her for being an Eishet Chayil. That was a big part of getting Jacob to this point. And I thought of his wife, Anna, who helped make sure he continued this journey. And even though none of his grandparents are here to say IPOY, I could say it for them. Jacob — Grandma, Grandpa, Nana (or whatever your name for them) would be proud of you.
IPOY Jewish people who came before us, many of whom have died or suffered endlessly to keep Judaism alive and well for us. Keep it going, Jacob and friends. We need you. Judaism needs you. So, we can all be in the right place.
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.