The question of legacy is a fraught one in this modern era of ours. On the one hand, most of us know that we stand on the shoulders of giants, that knowing about gravity at a young age doesn’t make us smarter than Isaac Newton and that the creation of new ideas and technologies would not have been possible without those who came before. But ask anyone who has had to replace a dishwasher or a telephone in the last few years, and they will tell you: they don’t build ‘em like they used to! It’s an open secret that our economy runs on planned obsolescence: products that are not intended to last forever, so that we will always be looking for replacements or upgrades, creating consumer need where there is none. We regularly throw away, or hopefully recycle, much of what we have, to make room for the next best thing.
What, exactly, is built to last? What lessons and artifacts from the past and from our own experiences are worth being passed down l’dor vador, from generation to generation? Without a looking glass into the future, how can we know which of the lessons and things that have served us will be relevant for our children and our children’s children?
In this week’s Torah portion, Vayeilech, Moses grapples with his legacy, sharing teachings with the priests and elders of Israel to hand down to the men, women, children, and strangers living in their midst. No one is exempted from this legacy, and he is at pains to make sure that the “children, too, who have not had the experience, shall hear and learn to revere the Eternal your God as long as they live in the land that you are about to cross the Jordan to possess.”
I find the choice of words in this translation very interesting; it seems to me that Moses is acknowledging that beliefs cannot be imposed on children, but that children are invited to the Sh’ma, asked to listen and hear, with the understanding that learning will follow. Not blind faith, not mindless obedience to a covenant devoid of personal investment, but learning, which is fundamentally a personal experience, a creative one, even when done in a communal setting…
We do not get to decide what our children will hear in the words that we say, what they will see in the actions that we take. All the same, as we share with them what we have learned and gleaned, we are inviting them to weave their own part of the tapestry, to use the colors and the threads of their own choosing, to add their opinions and experiences. In telling our stories we model how we transmit heritage and thus we help them to develop their own voices, to give them solid shoulders to stand upon as they find their own might, knowing that they, too, will one day be charged with transmitting a personal and community legacy to children hungry for foundation while still eager to create change.
Rebecca Abbate
