Ki Teitzei: Is it okay to benefit from lost children?

In this week’s parsha, we are told to return a lost item. In the Talmud, we are instructed that we’re not just to return the item that was found, but also the bounty that such an item created. For instance, someone left some chickens in your home. These chickens multiplied and produced eggs. You sell these chickens and eggs and buy a more expensive goat. When the person returns for the lost chickens, you give them the goat.

I find much in this week’s parsha troubling. This too troubles me, especially in the context of adoption. The child we’re to adopt will not be lost – their parents didn’t just accidentally misplace them – but they will have lost their family. What do we owe those biological parents who granted us this wonderful gift? What do we owe the other foster parents who nurtured the child and helped develop them into who they are today? How can we ever pay the universe back for the gift of parenthood?

In essence, I feel guilty for profiting from someone else’s tragedy. This child, this great gift, can only come from a broken home (otherwise they wouldn’t be in the foster care system). I feel guilty for the joy of parenthood when it can only be achieved by a broken family.

We are on the cusp of the next step. Our home study will be approved shortly and on Sunday, September 14 we get to meet foster children. About every six months there is a “matching event,” in which foster-adopt parents meet with foster children who are ready for adoption.  Next Sunday, we’re going to learn how to drum with 9-17 year olds waiting to be adopted, and I can’t wait.

I’m not expecting to meet our child there, but the possibility itself is exhilarating. More likely, we’re now starting a more arduous and anxiety-producing process of identifying our child, which will transform into an even more arduous and even more anxiety-producing process of adopting him or her. All made possible by the child’s tragedy.

Childhood trauma made me the strong-willed, resourceful, efficient, and thoughtful person I am today. I think experiencing trauma makes a human being stronger and can help a person cultivate gratitude and sustaining justice work. Maybe the abundance from tragedy, from a child who has lost their family, goes to the child themselves. Maybe it makes them stronger and helps them become a better person. Maybe we don’t find the child, but the child finds our family, and together we get to nurture each other to make a better world.  Which would mean that there's nothing to return - what was a lost child is now a family, found among lots of loving family.

Shoftim: It's a justice issue

The Hebrew tattooed on Kate’s right arm comes from this week’s parsha. Tzedek tzedek tirdof – justice, justice, you shall pursue. For some Jewish communities, inscribing this onto your body would be a sin – something against justice – but I prefer to see the Torah as a holy scripture that intends justice, and the reminder as holy. But I digress…

Justice is an amorphous concept, but the basic tenants seem to be something along the lines of making things right in the world. It’s hard work, and it feels like there’s so much work still to do. As the news talks about Ferguson, Ebola, and drought, our personal lives have small and large injustices as well. It can be overwhelming.

Yet, there is good news. A friend of mine had a healthy baby this week. (Sequoia, may your roots spread across the earth, ingesting knowledge and kindness, and may you grow up to shelter those beneath you.) This week, I learned alongside friends, one of whom recently came back from her honeymoon. (Caroline, may your marriage be as beautiful as your soul, enriching each other and everyone who is near you.) This week, we got news our adoption home study will be approved and we’ll be “in search” shortly. (May our future be complete with child, who enriches our already beautiful lives.)

Every day there is an opportunity for justice. Laughing with a stranger, giving up your seat on BART, donating money and time, calling a friend, learning together, bringing food to a new family. Sometimes there are opportunities that grow for months and finally emerge in a happy moment – births, marriages, adoptions are the ones on my mind this week.

Among feminists there is a saying, “Every child a wanted child.” Adopting an older child is the right choice for our family, but it’s also a justice issue. There are 55,000 foster care youth in the California system. Each of them should be a wanted child. These are children who, because of no fault of their own, are without a family. After they “age out” of the system, they won’t have a family to celebrate holidays, support them during pregnancy, give them a safety net in case of emergency. These children deserve a family, and we have the capacity to provide it.  

For me, this is how you pursue justice: you make choices that help repair the world. Saving (helping/guiding) a life is saving the world, one piece at a time. Our adopted child (may it be so), will give me the opportunity to do a mitzvah, a good deed, and I am so grateful for the opportunity. Our child will change our lives irrevocably, and infuse our already boisterous house with more love and energy than we could create without them. We will support one another – child and parent – as we, together, pursue justice.  

Korach: Dissent, Leadership & Divinity

Some of my strongest memories are of protests. I have yet to stay dry-eyed as the crowd's passionate cry for justice swells within me. Fighting first so my parents could marry, then so I could marry, was such a personal dissent that I couldn't help but imbue each step with my heart's cry for justice.

But it's not just the personal fights that make me cry for the fight. I've chanted alongside my friends, family, co-workers and strangers in favor of same-sex marriage and in opposition of war. I've painted protest signs for fair wages and transgender inclusion. And I've walked miles so that we can repair this broken world.

Korach's dissent is something I have said before. In this week's parsha, Koarch says to Moshe, "You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst. So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord's assembly?" For this, he is swallowed up by the earth.

Commentators, troubled by the death of a messenger of justice, create reasons for such troubling conduct. They say that Korach had improper intentions - that he publicly advocated for justice, but he wanted the power for himself. Moshe, on the other hand, was divinely given the power to lead. 

As someone who believes an an amorphous G-d, with each of us having the reflection of G-d within us, I find the idea troubling that leadership is divinely determined, excluding some from positions of power.

The scariest part of the adoption process is that we first must say "Yes!" and only then can we meet our child. This is for the child's protection, to keep him or her from feeling rejected and not good enough, and a good policy. Yet, how can we pick the "right" kid when we only can meet their social worker? How can we not feel guilty for excluding a different child from our family?

In my daily life, I try to trust that everything will work out. I have been extremely lucky in my life - I have a wonderful wife, I own my home, I have a great community, and I am pursuing my dream career - and there's no reason to expect that I shouldn't trust my future too.

I believe that there's divinity in each of us, and that our energies combined can change the world. At the same time, this trust in divinity doesn't guarantee anything about my future child. Just because they are G-dly doesn't mean that they're the right fit for us. Ultimately, I disagree with classic rabbinic teaching. I don't believe that divinity (which I think is universal) entitles us to anything - including leadership - nor will bring us anything specific - such as the "right" child. 

I know that the "right" child is a myth, but it doesn't keep me from worrying. I know that the child is "right" because we nurture it and share our spark with the child. Our universal G-dliness doesn't divine anything about our future, but it should inspire our present. Connecting to each other - to our future child - is the most important thing. We are there to nurture our child's spark - no matter who they are. They are "right" because they are our child.

Shelach: Pomegranates, figs & grapes

Kate and I sent books to our immediate family, to help prepare them for the adoption to come. Adoption is not just a process for me and Kate; our family must also navigate the emotional twists and turns of bringing in a new family member. By sending them a book, we wanted to share with them some of the answers we've come to, as well as help them find their own answers.

As each family member got the book, it felt like a virtual hug. My brother, overwhelmed with emotion, called and told me he "can't wait to be Uncle Izzy." My father told me that the book helped him feel included. My moms couldn't wait to read it. Kate's mom picked our her grandmother name, and I was so touched & overwhelmed that Cecilia picked out a name too. Kate's dad and wife - living in Ohio - finally received the book as well, and are excited for us.

After my hard conversation with the social workers, it was like the spies of my past returning with sweet things to savor, not harsh words to worry about. So much has changed since my childhood, and I'm so glad to have a supportive family that loves me and looks to see my family flourish.

Shelach: Trust yourself

The last obstacle can be the scariest part of the journey. You must confront the reality that your life could change completely, but also that you must still fight hard to reach that goal.

Kate and I are in the last stage of the process before we get to "search" for our child. We're interviewing with our social workers about who we are, where we came from, and what type of parents we want to become. As someone with a traumatic childhood, yesterday's personal interview was hard.

In this week's parsha, twelve spies return from the land of Canaan carrying delicious bounty of the land's sweetness (pomegranates, grapes & figs) and tales of warriors "more powerful than we." The people, afraid, did not trust that they were strong enough to win, and they were punished by wandering the desert for forty more years. The people failed to trust their own strength, intelligence, and faith.

Yesterday the social workers asked me about my parents, and how I want to parent compared to them. My parents gave me many great treasures – my father's capacity to love, my mother's boundaries – but my childhood was also burdened.

Yesterday, I rushed home from work to meet with the social workers. My work at legal aid triggers traumatic memories of my childhood, and I was unprepared to give the measured, thoughtful answers I had thought out beforehand. In that moment, I didn't trust that I could be a better parent to my child or that I could be a parent at all.

I almost cried. I almost said so many things that my wounded youthful heart wanted to say, but aren't part of my truth anymore. I wanted to say I was unfit, that I know from firsthand experience love doesn't conquer all, that my parents didn't love me the right way, that I spent my childhood afraid. But these things aren't my truth anymore, and I summoned my sanity and revived myself and my story.

I am strong. I am smart. I know how to love, set boundaries, and empathize. I will be a perfect parent, not because I will always be right, not because I know what I'm doing, and not because I won't mess up my kid. I will be a perfect parent because I will unconditionally love my child and do my absolute best to parent them.

Yesterday, the spies of my childhood returned, and they brought forth the good and the bad – and Kate and I are ready for what's next. This is the last battle before our "search," and I do not have to fight it alone. I have friends and family surrounding me in this process. We have our community, who will bring us pomegranates, figs, and grapes – as well as play dates, used clothes, and lots of love. We trust our strength, intelligence, and faith – and, most importantly – one another.

Only by trusting in myself, my partner, and my community can we take on the commitment of raising a child and believing that we can become the parents we want to be.

Behaalotecha: Raising Light

This summer feels so busy. Days after finals, Kate and I left for New Orleans, and after we returned she went back to work, and I started my new job. At night, we continue to rearrange our home to become kid-ready or sit down and watch one of our new favorite shows, The Office. Every morning I drag myself from bed, spiritually exhausted from the day before. I make promises to myself about the day to come - taking time to read, eating well, getting enough sleep - but I break the promises as easily as I make them. 

The child-to-come is not in my mind as much as s/he's in my heart. My heart bursts with anticipation, but my brain is calculated and calm. This week we began the final process before the child-picking process - the home study! As we get closer to "search," my daily tasks are in preparation for our lives to change completely, even as I mentally leave room for the possibility of the timeline extending many more months. But even as I keep the unknown child close, I fail to take care of myself - a necessity as a busy parent (I hear).

In this week's parsha, G-d tells Aaron to "raise light" in the sanctuary's menorah. The Lubavitcher Rebbe says that the spiritual significant of the mitzvah of lighting the menorah is that a person should be a "lamplighter" who ignites the latent potential within "the soul of man, a lamp of G-d." He taught that the lamplighter should ignite a flame so that it "arises of its own accord," making the other a self-sufficient luminary, so that the new flame should kindle the light in others.

Prior to having a child in our home, it's important for us to kindle our own fires as brightly as possible. The road ahead will not be easy, as we try to kindle love, self-sufficiency, and loving-kindness in our child. The brighter our flame is, the easier it will be to share it, so that our children can share their flame with the world. 

Tonight is Shabbat, and I look forward to the calmness that can invoke us during this special time. Turning off electronics, work, and non-community building life, it's a practice in being present in what's right in front of you and appreciating all the blessings you have. By growing that appreciation, I find myself being kinder to others, and refreshed to continue the hard work of repairing the world.

Shabbat Shalom!

Behar: Trusting life will bring abundance

Kate and I have a new five month old puppy at home. She's playful and energetic, loves to spend time with her dog sisters and tries to tempt her cat siblings to play with her. I hope you don't judge me harshly, but we named her Pursey because she's supposed to be my purse dog.

Instead, she's a squiggly puppy that can't stand my lap or arms for more than thirty seconds at a time. My instinct is to hold on, capture her in my arms, and teach her to stay with me, but I know if I do that she'll grow scared of me and I won't even be able to enjoy thirty seconds of tenderness. Instead, I let her jump down and chase the cat, nipping at an animal that she'll soon learn is the boss of this house.

It's hard to give up what you want to hold close, trusting that whatever you need will come back to you. In this week's parsha*, the rules of the Sabbatical and Jubilee are passed down to Moshe and the Jewish people. Every seven years the Torah commands Jews to desist from all agricultural work (the Sabbatical year), and whatever the land produces is free for anyone - animal or person - to take. I cannot image taking such a big leap of faith, especially before freezers, canned foods, and non-Jewish grocery stores that cater to my needs!

Strong bonds of trust takes preparation, a strong foundation built on reassurances and hard work. A person cannot trust someone when they've failed to do so many times before. Trust is hard. It's something that your brain and your heart negotiate; a lot of logic and a lot of love go into the mix, and only sometimes do you reach the "right" result.

The Israelites' were prone to distrust after they were shackled as slaves in Egypt, and here G-d was telling them to trust that they would be provided for during a year of fallow fields. Lost, in the middle of the desert, G-d was promising a future full of lush foods, permanent homes, and a bustling community. G-d was asking them to trust at a time when there was a rocky history (a.k.a. decades of slavery) and lost hopes.

Yet, people are magical. We don't give up all hope, even after failing to get pregnant, yearning for kids so bad that you can feel their small breathe upon your skin. Or going into labor, only to lose your baby. Or maybe it's missed birthdays and anniversaries, a parent who's never there, yet you hope that this year they'll show up to help you blow out the candles.

In this week's parsha, G-d tells us not just to hope that tomorrow will be better, but share our hope and things with our neighbors and enemies alike. How can G-d expect a people - who were just enslaved - to trust that life will work out?

I think about the child that will come to our family, hurt and distrustful. We're asking them to give up their old home and choose ours instead, asking him or her to trust us to care for them. Trust us when we say they can lay down their plow and sword and we'll feed them and fight for them. How can they trust us? How can we show them that we'll be here today, tomorrow, and as long as we're alive, when they've experienced such life-changing tragedy?

And for me, how do I trust I'll choose the right child? For us, unlike other bio parents, there's an element of choice, which means I could choose the wrong kid. Right now, I worry I've chosen the wrong puppy. Yet, there's an element of fate - and faith - in expanding your family. Just because Pursey is not who I expected, doesn't make her "wrong," just like a child. Such innocence deserves nothing but overwhelming love - with some strong boundaries, of course. I know that for Pursey, I need to give her the time and space to grow into herself, learn to trust me when I hold her, and experience safety in things I already know are free from danger. I can't expect anything more from the child we'll welcome into our family....hopefully within the next year. (We begin our home study within the next month!)

There are a lot of things you can do to build trust within an adoptive relationship, but it all takes patience and parents' trust that it'll work out. Success is based on me trusting that life will bring abundance. Thankfully, it's brought me so much - Kate, my animals, my amazing community, a new family - that I can do nothing but lay back and hope that my life continues on this amazing path.

*Each week, Jewish communities around the world read a designated section of the Torah, which is called a parsha.