Rosh HaShanah: Reflection on the Adoption Process Thus Far

Thus far, the adoption process has meant a lot of paperwork, expose of all the skeletons in our closets, and - mostly - waiting. We  have been in this process for 10 months. If we had been pregnant, our child would be born by now.

But we weren't pregnant. December marked the beginning of our adoption quest, it's the "trying" phase for many bio parents. It doesn't guarantee a pregnancy or a child. In that way, we're still ahead of the curve. In general, a fertile couple has a good chance of getting pregnant within a year. But not all couples are "fertile" and not all couples get pregnant. And not all pregnancies last. With adoption, the "trying" phase lasts a long time, but once we get "pregnant," once we find our kid, that process lasts weeks, months. And then it's the next step, the actual adoption, that will take months, years. 

We have been on the precipice of "search" for months - MONTHS - now. Maybe this is a test of our parenting skills - patience, strong communication skills, advocating for our needs. Maybe these moments are just a small glimpse of the world to come. 

Our home study is still not done. The "matching event" was rescheduled for October and the home study deadline vanished with it. The bureaucracy of an agency that's supposed to help us cut through the bureaucracy is starting to fray at my nerves. The unresponsive social workers who tell us deadlines they never meet makes me feel like I can't trust them to be my advocate. 

We have a new social worker, our third one since we started this process. First, there was the "intake" social worker - the initial screening where they documented our home, our animals, our non-human trafficking jobs. Second, was the "home study" social worker. She asked us invasive personal questions and mundane ones, some of them so sad you just want to cry. (Will you feed your child at the table with you? Will he or she get to eat the same food as you? Will you lock your child in his or her room? How will you punish your child?) Our third social worker will lead us through search and help us find the child for us. She is the agency director - the only person in the entire agency who has quickly responded to my questions. 

It makes me nervous that the agency director is our social worker. Are we so unique we need the biggest guns around? Did we set off red flags? I'm sure it's not us, but it raises my anxieties all the same. But I'm grateful it's her. I'm grateful that I can trust her to tell us when the deadline won't be met, instead of just letting it lazily pass us by. I trust her to be our advocate, and to help pair us with a child who is right for us and our family.

There's an email chain that Social Worker II started weeks ago that's titled "You are in search!" The email is a lie, enthusiasm for something not yet occurring. Maybe their computers say we're in search, but we haven't signed our home study. We haven't searched for our child. We're still waiting. First for them to assign us a search social worker, then for that social worker's schedule to free up for us to look at the home study and sign off on it. Then we'll be in search. Then we can start "kid shopping" as I like to call it.

Tonight begins Rosh HaShanah, a start to a new Jewish new year. Rosh HaShanah represents a new start, but also reminds you of the previous years transgressions. You will be inscribed in the book of life on Yom Kippur, so make these last few days count, apologize and be thoughtful in these days of continued reflection.

On Rosh HaShanah we will sign our home study. We will inscribe ourselves in the family book, committing ourselves to a new year full of family - new and old. 

This year, 5774, I did things both wrong and right. I am a fallible human being. I hope that in 5775 my wrongs look different and new - that I don't make the same mistake twice, and that I have the opportunity to make mistakes with my kid(s)...because we'll have kids?! I am excited to see what the future brings.

Love y'all,

M

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!