As Father’s Day approaches, I realize this year will be a unique celebration. Now that everyone in our family will be vaccinated, including our 15-year-old grandson, we can sit together around the table, something we haven’t done since 2019. The sheer joy of seeing everyone’s faces, unmasked, relishing delicious morsels, fills me with enormous gratitude.
Yet I’m also aware of those whose lives were extinguished way too early. George Floyd, a father murdered before our eyes, and fathers who passed away during this last year will not see their children grow up. They will not share in peak moments of accomplishment or celebratory occasions of Bar/Bat Mitzvah, graduation, marriage, or any other life cycle or holiday gathering where they would have reaped great joy, or “shlep naches,” as my Eastern European parents used to proudly express. Many of these lost fathers were men who dedicated their energy to supporting their families through jobs that often demanded many more hours than they cared to give.
My own father, Benny, had a full-time job and spent his weekends adding supplemental work in order to care for his own young family along with his mother, his youngest brother and his brother’s family. Together, they were a family of survivors who came to Canada, the promise of a new world after the trauma of the Shoah. After brutal abuse and tremendous loss, my survivor father traveled to Toronto with my mother and me, their miraculous new baby born in Sweden, to begin again, to create a new life and find a way to make a living among foreigners, all without knowing a word of English.
Together, they were a family of survivors who came to Canada, the promise of a new world after the trauma of the Shoah.
How many men, fathers like my own, dug deep into their vast expanse of courage, despite physical weakness and emotional chaos, to take the next step so they could begin again and be “fruitful and multiply”? In the wake of unspeakable tragedy, countless men, who in most cultures were expected not to cry or express fear, lifted themselves up and like Avraham, who was mandated to “Lech L’cha,” journeyed into the unknown, traveling to the promised land to bring new life into the world. They did all this so that “L’dor vador”—“from generation to generation”—could become a reality.
Av, the Hebrew word for father, is a central principle in Judaism. Until recently, perhaps 30-40 years ago, our central prayer in the three daily services was called “Avot,” fathers. For nearly 2000 years our intimate conversations with G-d began by recognizing our ancestral fathers, Avraham, Isaac, and Jacob—men, mavericks, who are the foundation of our tradition despite their foibles. In the biblical narrative, the importance of being a male who fathered sons is apparent. Even as egalitarian Judaism recognizes the importance of women in our tradition, we must also see Judaism through the eyes of the ancient world, where the role of men was to fight and protect, often to their own peril, to keep their families safe and provide a future.
Ancient and classical Judaism expanded the role of men as fighters and protectors to include the expectation that they will study and teach Torah so that the wisdom of our texts will not be lost. The Torah reminds us “teach your children….” It is an imperative that cannot be ignored. In Judaism, a father’s relationship with his child is grounded in his commitment to fulfill this duty. There are those who believe that Moshe is left out of the Haggadah because he failed as a father, abandoning his sons (and his wife) to become G-d’s partner and denying them the possibility of priesthood. The figure of the father is central in the Jewish tradition. Even in our most sacred days, the High Holy Days, we say, “Avinu…Our Father…please show us compassion and forgive our sins.”
Yes, fatherhood is central to our tradition. As one who honors the feminine and the imminent presence of the Holy One as Shechinah, it is also important to acknowledge the fathers, ancient and present, who have dedicated their lives to loving and treasuring their children—their hope for the future. Let us remember and honor the men who are both seed and harvesters of our lives, the men who passed on the values of hard work, protection, loyalty, teaching, sacrifice, and dedication to family.
As one who honors the feminine and the imminent presence of the Holy One as Shechinah, it is also important to acknowledge the fathers, ancient and present, who have dedicated their lives to loving and treasuring their children—their hope for the future.
Here’s to you, dad, beloved father, who bequeathed a plethora of skills and values that sustain me. Here’s to my husband Steve, who dedicated countless hours not only to sustain a congregation and be father to many, but also to find the time to remain available to his own children in moments of need. Here’s to all fathers for your dedication to lead, teach, act as a role model, and exemplify the love (whether spoken or not) you have and will always have for your children.
Bless you all!
Eva Robbins is a rabbi, cantor, artist and the author of “Spiritual Surgery: A Journey of Healing Mind, Body and Spirit.”
