Writings from Rabbi Glickman

"[The Second Century Jewish Sage] Ben Zoma said: Who truly wise? The one who learns from all people, as it is written, 'From all my teachers, I grew wise. ' (Psalms 119:99)"

-- Babylonian Talmud

Once when I was a boy, I tried to throw a star to the sky. I was in kindergarten; my teacher, Miss Pelling, told us that every apple had a star inside it. All we had to do was cut one open across the middle, and right there in the center, we would find the star-shaped core that held the seeds.

I ran home, told my mother what I’d learned, and insisted that she get the star out of an apple for me right away. There was a smile, an apple, and a “grown-ups only” knife. Within two minutes, I was holding the lumpy apple-star in my hand. My heart raced, but I was disappointed to see that the star didn’t twinkle. Perhaps, I thought, this was because it wasn’t in the sky yet. Stars, after all, aren’t supposed to be in a kitchen, they’re supposed to be twinkling from up above the moon so high! A housebound star presented a situation that needed a remedy.

I ran outside and found a spot on the driveway that provided good sky access. After all, I couldn’t have my star getting caught in a tree on its way to the heavens! Clutching that oozing star in my fist, I took a deep breath, reached back, and hurled it upward with all my might.

I guess I expected a comet-tail, lots of wind, and a loud swooshing sound as my star rocketed skyward. Alas, the suburban afternoon remained quiet. I watched it go about as high as the roof of my house, turn around, and plop back down at my feet. Looking at the kitchen window, I thought I saw something move in there, but I knew that Mom was cooking dinner, and that she saved that “isn’t he adorable” look for when she spied on me in my classroom at school. I tried throwing the star several more times, but then I realized that Scooby Doo was about to begin, so I left my star out for the birds and went inside.

Growing up, I quickly moved on to other pursuits - career, family, bills, lawn mowing. I often think back to that frustrating star-day, and smile at my childhood innocence. I had been so optimistic as I tried to perform that impossible task. How cute! Now I am more of a realist. I can find joy in little things rather than big ones - an afternoon walk with my kids, reading a good biography, seeing a third-grader at Temple learn a new Hebrew letter. Life still has of frustrations, of course. But now I can accept them; they help make the little joys seem even better.

One night last fall, 6 year-old Jacob, 4 year-old Shoshana, and I sat down for dinner together. We were all tired, and the general mood wavered between quiet and cranky.

Suddenly, Jacob’s eyes lit up. “Dad, at school Mrs. Lee taught me a cool thing you can do with an apple. All you have to do is cut it open in the middle.”

Was I in a time warp? A smile, an apple, a “grown-ups only” knife…a timeless star. I smiled and tried to blink away the tears.

Jacob was bouncing with excitement. “Daddy, why are you looking at me like that? Look, Shoshana, a star!”

“Wow…!”

“There’s a seed in the star. I’m gonna go out and plant it!” Before I could say “Jacob Appleseed,” he was in the yard digging up the flowerbed. Moments later he returned, trying to wipe the dirt off his hands and failing miserably. He looked triumphant and ready to watch Rugrats.”

But then Shoshana said, “Daddy, “I want to plant an apple seed too.”

“I’ll help you Shosh,” said Jacob. “I’ll dig the hole, and you put in the seed.”

Forgetting their sibling rivalry, they ran outside together. This time I watched through the window. In the late afternoon sun, they both crouched over a little hole, speaking words I couldn’t hear. Jacob confidently did his work, and Shoshana looked up at him from under her curly bangs.

Long ago, I tried to throw a star into the sky. That star never got there, and now I think I know the reason. Somehow, that star must have made its way into another apple, and was now in the hands of my own children. Instead, it was me who was soaring through the heavens, my teary eyes twinkling.

We all grew a little that evening. Jacob planted a tree to make future stars, Shoshana learned from her big brother. As for me, I saw that, with patience and love, the frustrations of yesteryear can be what makes life worth living today.

Ben Zoma, if you’re reading this, I want you to know that I do try to learn from all people - Jacob, Shoshana, Miss Pelling, Mrs. Lee, and many others. They are my teachers. I treasure their presence in my life, and I pray to be worthy of the wisdom they have taught me.

[back to top]