Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Serenading G-d's Ocean: 8 Year Olds & G-d



“What do you think it’ll be like when you go into the ocean?” I asked the girls, who were staring, amazed at the magic of water crashing against the land.

“Super cold,” S yells, excited and scared. The Central Coast’s water is warmer than the currents in the Bay Area, but it isn’t LA. We had warned the excited children that the Pacific Ocean would be cold. It was February, after all. They didn’t care and brought their swimsuits anyway.  

“Alright, go on in,” I said. The girls ran to the ocean, only to run back as the water lapped at their feet. They played this game of tag with the ocean for a few minutes before the ocean exercised her power and overcame the girls, soaking them with a big wave they could not outrun. Their introduction was loving and kind, and the next two hours were spent in the waves, sitting, running, and jumping as the water washed over their bodies.

The night before, I drove our family of four from Berkeley to the Central Coast. An hour into the five-hour drive, the girls started asking if we were there yet. Ima Kate and I laughed at their inexperience with the trickery that is time, a magic that moves fast only when you want it to move slowly.

By the end of the drive, their (educational) tablets had lost some of the magic, and the girls requested songs instead. First, S asked if we could sing her favorite, We Shall Overcome. Then, E, asked for her favorite, Miriam’s Song.

We were loud and punchy as we finally pulled off the freeway at our exit. It was past their bedtimes, but I wasn’t yet ready to go to Great Granny’s yet. We passed her house and I drove the extra few blocks to the beach. I parked along a dark strip of road, across the street from the water.

The ocean’s rhythmic crashes enveloped us as we got out of the car.  The power of the ocean was pounded into us by the sound of every wave. “I’m scared,” E told us, as she gripped my hand.

“It’s okay, mija. You’re safe with me.” E, tentative, slowly led me to the grassy bluff that looks over the water. Her wonder constantly conquers even her most primal fear. It’s a quality I admire in her, and something I hope will stay with her as she grows older.

The powerful waves crashed against the shore, looking fearsome in the night sky. It was the first time the girls met the ocean, and they were humble before it. Above us is G-d reflected in thousands of stars, each a pinprick that helps light our way. 

E is obsessed with G-d.  On the drive up, she found a bright star and said, “I think that’s G-d.”  I tried to explain to her some Talmudic interpretation that immediately went over her head.  “We’re all G-d,” I remind her. 

Standing before the ocean, I think to myself, “This is G-d.”  I don’t know what G-d is, but surely it must be found in the magic that makes up our lives.  In the waves that crash against rocks to create sand, in the capacity of a human to live through tragedy and love again, in the night sky that twinkles from million miles away.

How do I explain to an eight year old that I believe there’s a little bit of G-d in everything, that when I say “It’s a G-d thing,” what I mean is “Somehow the universe came together in a magical way that may or may not involve a higher being?”  All E wants is the belief that someone is watching out for her, that she has a purpose, that somehow her pre-destined life will include good.  My belief system disregards pre-destiny, and so often I feel at a loss of words for her.  I worry that our views of G-d will one day split us apart, but I try to stay optimistic that our love of magic will bring us together.

And there is so much magic.

“Can we sing the song?” E asks. 

The four of us begin to serenade the dark ocean, linked together in hand and in destiny, waiting for a future that surely will be magical. Our voices are both magnified against the bluff and drowned out by the monstrous waves. 

And the women dancing with their timbrels
Followed Miriam as she sang her song (woo woo)
Sing a song for the one whom we’ve exalted
Miriam and the women dance and dance the whole night long

After we finish the song, E urges us back to the car.  We tell her that tomorrow the ocean will seem less scary.  She doesn’t believe us as we drive to Great Granny’s house, but she trusts us, and that’s all we can ask.  It’s like magic.


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