Tonight, as I was putting Dakota to bed the discussion subject of choice was teeth. He was lamenting that he had only lost a couple to this point and wondering if he would need braces once his teeth all came in. When I shared some of my experience with braces with him, he asked me if had lost all of my teeth. I hesitated for a moment. Of course I had lost all of my teeth, but I did not remember losing most of them! I have to imagine that losing teeth was as big of a deal for me as it is for Dakota and Addison - our Tooth Fairy is quite dedicated. How could I forget my own visits from the Tooth Fairy? How could I not remember such significant events in my life?
I became concerned as my train of thought continued to what other significant events and moments I could not remember. I was worried as I thought about the important things that someone must have said to me that I don't even know were said because those things are either not in my head any more or just did not hang around as long as would have hoped. I was embarrassed as I realized there are probably - no certainly - things that I have done to offend, upset or hurt people that I simply do not remember. I also realized that, conversely, there are offenses, upsets and hurts done to me that I cannot recollect.
And, well ... I have no meaty, pithy response to give this some perspective. I do not have the Jewish story or take that may lend some background to this dilemma. I only have this momentary realization (one that I might forget) that humbles me. I am humbled - not in the sense that I feel small or insignificant - but that I grasp for a moment both my possibilities- to love, to create and to heal and my limits - in loving, in creating and in healing. Grasping both are essential to me in remembering before whom I stand.
Welcome to Mo-Drash ... the weird confluence of the Jewish tradition of Midrash and me!
What is Midrash? Literally, the word derives from the Hebrew root that expresses interpretation. Figuratively, it is the process by which Jews read between the lines of our sacred stories and seek insight from what we discover from each story, verse, word, letter and stroke of the pen.
Who am I? My name is Adam Morris, but known by many as Rabbi Mo. I spend a lot of my time serving in the role of rabbi, but I am also a husband, a dad, a runner and a 'weekend' craftsman (among other things). I try to move like Abraham to find my Place ... to wrestle like Jacob to know my Place ... and to snicker like Sarah to keep me in my Place.
B'makom she-ani omayd (from The Place where I stand),