Rosh Hashana talk--2005
When I was growing up, my mother, Mitzi, frequently told me I didn’t have to be like everybody else. I could be different. I very much appreciated this. Certainly Mitzi was different. When I came home from college during breaks, sometimes I found her wearing the old flannel shirts I had long since outgrown. My mother didn’t wear my shirts to provide comfort in my absence, or (if I brought a girlfriend home) to mark territory, warning any prospective mates that I came as part of a terrifying package deal. Rather, she wore them because they were hanging in the closet, because they fit her reasonably well, and because they had no designer labels. Mitzi mistrusted the status quo, and she obstinately and proudly defined herself from the inside, as she believed others should. She cut her own hair and wore no makeup. She was an intellectual, an artist, an aesthete—and probably the toughest, least sentimental person I have known. She hardly fit the norm as a mother, and this shaped me, often for better and sometimes for worse, as a person.
When I think about my daughter, Micaela’s childhood, it is not the summer vacations in Acadia, the singing recitals, the soccer games that stand out—but rather the deviations from normal that often left an indelible mark. Like the time Micaela had a stomach bug when she was 4. Laying next to Hildy in our bed she suddenly had an uncontrollable urge to throw up. She looked all around as if to say “where?” Since there was no ready place, I cupped my hands together like this and—well you get the picture. We both remember this moment lovingly and always will, because it was revealing of our relationship in a way our “normal” interactions were not.
Normalcy doesn’t connote goodness, kindness, or benevolence. From an evolutionary psychology perspective, normal refers essentially to those common attributes selected into the gene pool that promote survival—not godliness. Jared Diamond writes in his book, Guns, Germs, and Steel, that throughout history, if two tribes were living next to each other, the stronger one ultimately dominated and subjugated the weaker one. This happened over and over again. It continues to happen today. It is normal. If man and woman were created in God’s image, then the ancient Greeks had it right: their Gods were often petty, vain, power hungry creatures—in other words, just like normal human beings. We need to teach ourselves, in part, how not to be normal, if we are going to become less destructive to those around us. Judging by recent history, this continues to be a slow, torturous process.
But enough editorializing. A few weeks ago Rabbi Don and Betsy invited our family, including our six month old Golden Retriever, Beau, to their house for dinner. Some of you may not know that the Pollocks are superb cooks, and Rabbi Don had prepared a sumptuous roast that sat on a tray on the island in their kitchen. It took Beau less than thirty seconds to run into the kitchen, jump up on the counter, knock the roast to the floor, and take a huge bite from the best piece of meat he ever tasted. After we managed the near impossible task of separating Beau from the roast, Rabbi Don came over to me and said: “I love it! I love it!” I knew what he meant. This was the good life: enjoying together the memorable, loving, intimate, deviations from normal.
Have an abnormally good year!
Richard
