A Wish for My Son Upon Receiving His First Siddur

This past Friday, my son (along with nearly 100 first grade colleagues) received his very first siddur. As anyone who has participated in or attended a “mesibat siddur/siddur party” can attest, the party is an exciting celebration of reading, of tradition, of Judaism. There are flashy costumes, singing and dancing, mixed in with a few quieter moments, like watching the children anxiously scan the audience until they locate Mom and Dad, or seeing them open up their brand new siddur for the first time. The party is a culmination of weeks of preparation, and it marks the official beginning of their lives as pray-ers.

 

It was a beautiful little ceremony. Everyone waved their arms and turned around in time to the music. They sang their hearts out and completed their various costume changes at lightning speed. After all the singing, dancing and speeches, they waited patiently until their name was called, at which point they received a siddur and a kiss from their teacher and proceeded through the decorative arches to shake hands with the chief rabbi of the city, the principal and the “rav” (rabbi) of the school.

 

What can I say on this momentous occasion? I thought about the oft-repeated sentiment of “May you always pray with the same excitement and devotion as you do today.” The same way people say at a wedding, “May you always be this happy, this in love, etc. as you are right now.”

 

But then, I thought, that’s not really right, is it? Are my husband and I as happy today as we were on our wedding day, nearly 13 years ago? Certainly not. Love grows and changes, it is not a stagnant and unmoving thing, a thing about which you can say: “This. This is how happy I want to be, always.” I cannot say that we are in love today “just like” we were on our wedding day. The glamour and romanticism of the wedding have given way to the mundane, routine lives of a couple of old married folks and their kids. Is the love less, because we spend less time smiling sappily and gazing into each other’s eyes? Of course not. Through the years together, the love grows, deepens and matures.

 

So, too, does our relationship with God.

 

To my little boy, I know that you may not always open the siddur with the same intensity and excitement as you do today. But that is OK. Because your relationship with your Creator certainly will not be the same when you are 15, 30, 50 or 75 as it is right now, when you are almost-seven. Your relationship will change and grow as you do.

 

The excitement of the siddur party will not last. In fact, that very siddur you are clutching so tightly today may not make it out of elementary school. I hope that what will last is your desire and effort to communicate with God.

 

My prayer for you, then, is that your relationship should not be “just as it is” today. May you continue to develop a personal connection with God, and through your years together, may it grow, deepen and mature.