What Our Children Know About Us
I’ve been thinking a lot about parents lately.
With the yahrzeit of my father-in-law, Sheldon Berman z”l, this past Shabbat and my mother, Denise Bresler z”l, yahrzeit this Wednesday, I’ve found myself reflecting on the very different ways they influenced my life.
And something else.
How much do we really know about the people who shape us?
Sheldon was someone who shared his experiences.
He exposed me to people, ideas, opportunities and ways of thinking that I might never have encountered otherwise.
Through him, I saw the importance of getting involved, building relationships and caring about something larger than yourself.
He opened doors to a world I otherwise would have not experienced.
And along the way, he helped shape how I think about leadership, community and the impact one person can have.
I learned a lot just being around him. It was osmosis.
(I also had my first single malt scotch with him. He introduced me to that as well! )
My mother was different.
Of course, there were things I knew about her. Things she taught me. Things I watched her do throughout my life.
But after she passed away, I began discovering things I never knew.
I remember being at her funeral and looking around at people I didn’t recognize.
And then at shiva, more people came.
People who had worked with her.
People who knew her through things she had been involved in.
People who had stories about my mother that I had never heard.
It was a strange feeling.
Here I was, her son, meeting people who knew parts of her life that I didn’t.
I knew my mother. Of course I did.
But I was beginning to realize there was so much more to her than the parts of her life I had experienced.
One of the things I learned was that she had translated the Shema into Mandarin.
She had actually done the translation herself and had been a force in helping organize and support the effort.
The Shema.
One of the most familiar prayers in Jewish life.
In Mandarin.
And somehow, I hadn’t known about it.
It made me wonder what else I didn’t know.
How many conversations she had.
How many people she helped.
How many things she did that mattered to someone else but never became part of the stories we told at home.
These things were simply part of her life.
Just as we all have parts of our lives that our families don’t necessarily see.
And that’s what I’ve been thinking about as I remember both Sheldon and my mother.
Two people who had an enormous influence on my life.
Two different ways I came to understand that influence.
With Sheldon, so much of it came through the experiences he shared and the world he exposed me to.
With my mother, some of it came through the things I discovered only after she was gone.
And now, as a parent myself, I find myself wondering about my own children.
What do they actually know about me?
Not just what I do for work.
Or where I go during the day.
But what matters to me.
Why I make certain decisions.
What I’ve learned from mistakes.
What I believe is worth spending time on.
And what am I teaching them without even realizing it?
We spend so much time thinking about what we want to give our children.
An education.
Opportunities.
Experiences.
Values.
We should spend more time thinking about how much of ourselves we’re actually sharing with them.
The people we meet.
The things we care about.
The decisions we struggle with.
The work we do that nobody sees.
The stories we never think to tell because they don’t seem particularly interesting to us.
I don’t think we need to tell our children everything. Definitely not!!
There is something beautiful about just making a difference. Keeping it to yourself.
But there is also something very valuable about letting our children see more of who we are.
because those experiences become part of how they understand the world.
I wish I could ask Sheldon more questions today. boy do I have a list!
I wish I could sit with my mother and ask her about the people I met at her funeral and shiva.
About the Shema.
About the things she did that I never knew about.
About the parts of her life that were so meaningful to other people but that I missed.
I can’t.
But I can continue learning from both of them.
And perhaps I can be a little more intentional about what I share with my own children.
Because someday, they’ll look back at the things they saw, the conversations we had and the experiences we shared.
And maybe they’ll discover things about me they never knew.
Just as I’m still discovering things about the people who helped shape me.
As I remember Sheldon and my mother on their yahrzeits, I’m grateful for what each gave me.
For the experiences they shared.
For the things I learned.
And for the parts of their lives I’m still coming to understand.
In Jewish tradition, when we mention someone who has passed away, we often add z”l.
May their memory be a blessing.
Maybe it’s not simply a wish.
Maybe it’s a responsibility.
To take what they taught us, what they stood for, and the impact they had on others, and carry it forward.
To share their stories with our children.
To live a little differently because they were part of our lives.
Not just to hope their memories will be a blessing.
But to make their memories a blessing.
