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Home
and Family
On Parenting Moshiach
by Risa Rotman
Twenty years or so ago, I was lucky to have come to Israel on
a teenage tour. In the evenings they'd often start one of
these open forums. They said it was to make us think. One
particlar night I wasn't in a thinking mood. The idea behind
the program actually had a valuable purpose but I wasn't
feeling so cooperative. We were asked to write our own
obituary the way we'd like to see it. Obituary? I was a
teenager touring Israel. This was not my idea of fun. It
seemed too macabre. I must say, that overall, I did present
myself as a quite mature young lady, but I wasn't planning my
death. Of course, what they really wanted us to do was to
plan our life.
Not being overly rebellious, I would go along with the
program in my own way. I decided to reach high. What could be
higher than being the wife of Moshiach? But then I thought of
Tzipora, wife of Moshe Rabbenu — The Godol Hador. It
didn't sound like she had it so easy. No, if I was going to
do this right, I would also have some fun. Then I thought
back to a certain relative who felt she had really climbed
the social ladder when her son became a doctor. I'm being
totally serious when I say that every other sentence of hers
was punctuated with, "My son the doctor." That gave me a
great idea for writing this obituary, "I Mothered
Moshiach."
I went on to write such nonsense about myself. How I had the
best parenting skills, gave to my children selflessly day and
night and had the finished product to prove it. Admittedly,
not really participating in the program properly, I probably
lost an opportunity to examine in which way I'd like my life
to go. So twenty years later I began to think about parenting
and Moshiach. What an awesome responsibilty it would be for
the parents who would be privileged to be assigned such a
task. They themselves would have to be people of such
superior caliber. After all, Yishai, father of David
Hamelech, was a perfect tzaddik, himself. This is
something that I have absolutely no claim to.
In our mishkabobul society, one wonders how one would
go raising such a child. Would any cheder, yeshiva
ketana, or gedola be good enough? Not to mention
friends. Would Moshiach have to grow up in a rural setting as
opposed to the hustle and bustle of city life? After all,
Dovid, the Ovos and Moshe Rabbenu were all shepherds.
What would be the equivalent today? Certainly not a used car
salesman. How could anyone in today's generation of
billboards and flashing lights ensure the purity of such a
lofty soul. Then, again, isn't that the task of all parents?
Perhaps I have missed the point altogether. Perhaps every
child should be raised as if he had the potential to be
Moshiach. After all, who knows what greatness is in store for
any Jew ever?
A friend recently mentioned to me that she gave birth to her
second son on Tisha B'Av. Someone suggested they call him
Moshiach, who, tradition has it, is born on that date. This
suggester thought it would sound quite authentic as my
friend's husband's name is Dovid; thus their son could be
known as Moshiach Ben Dovid. My friend and her husband
declined the idea. (They did give him the beautiful name of
Shalom Eliyahu.)
Probably the most touching story about someone potentially
parenting Moshiach happened when I was newly married and
expecting our first child. Friends had just had their second
child and first boy, born just after Tisha B'av was over.
Everyone teased them how they had lost out. Now their son
couldn't be Moshiach. At the baby's sholom zochor, the
father said one of the most thought-out things I'd heard.
This new father said he was glad to know that his son
wouldn't be Moshiach. He didn't want to wait that long.
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