Searching for My Father

When I was around five years old, I began shopping out of the JC Penny Catalog – the gigantic edition that came in the mail every year around October/November. It had a huge section of toys – pages and pages of colorful toys. Armed with my big blue marker, I ruffled through the pages, weighing decisions, and circling every toy I thought the jolly man in the red suit ought to bring me. My favorites were an electric train set, Matchbook cars, a skateboard, boxing gloves, and the infamous Hippity Hop. You might say I was a bit of a tomboy.  I was also extremely confused about how the jolly red-suit man, the elves, and the guy hanging in his underwear on the church wall were related. I concluded that if toys came out of this strange equation, it couldn’t be all bad.

As important as the toys were to me, my heart was set on even greater sights. Taking the 10 pound catalog under my arm, along with my flashlight, marker, and a pair of scissors, I stealthily slipped into my closet. I knew within these pages, Mr. JC Penny, had hid a treasure more valuable than the Hope Diamond. Turning to the men’s clothing section, I began the painstaking process of unearthing this buried treasure. As I carefully perused each page, my hand glided along, crossing out most of the men with a big “X”, collecting a few maybes, until finally reaching my decision. I circled the man in the blue sweater. I had no doubt that he would make the best daddy. He had chocolate brown eyes, dark curly hair, a kind smile, was muscular enough to protect me, nice enough to never hurt me, and cuddly enough to pick me up and hold me. I reached for the scissors, extricated my daddy from the catalog, folded him up and put him in my pocket. I knew one day he would show up like the Million Dollar Man, beat up my captors, and take me to Hollywood to live with him.

It was a very happy day when I discovered Little House on the Prairie. Charles Ingalls, played by Michael Landon, had me at “hello.” In my opinion he was the best possible dad on the planet, and Laura Ingalls was the luckiest girl. She called him “Pa.” I decided to set the catalog dad aside, and inserted Pa into my imaginary world. Pa did all sorts of things with me. When I was alone all day, I pretended he made me lunch, that he read to me, and he even played Monopoly with me. I just had to roll the dice for him and move his race car around the board. He also watched me practice my pitching when I threw tennis balls against the back of the house. At night when I was terrified about what might happen, I wrapped my arms around my big teddy bear and pretended Pa was holding me.

At 11 years old, when I entered 6^th grade, I was given the gift of Mr. B. He taught English, and I adored him. Not only was he sensitive and kind, but he was also a surfer with a VW Van – the coolest car ever! Still carrying the deep hole inside me, an aching crater in my heart where a father should be, he was a salve that comforted me a great deal. Often our assignments were to read poems and interpret their meaning. He gave me an “A” on every assignment, wrote encouraging words in the margins, and complimented me in front of the whole class. He was the first teacher to see something worthwhile in me. The other kids teased me, saying I was the “teacher’s pet.” It made me smile. Sometimes, as a reward, Mr. B took me and a few other students out to lunch. I thought I was in heaven cruising in his VW Van, sitting shotgun, eating French fries and topping it off with a chocolate milkshake. I was perplexed and amazed how he never tried to hurt me.

When I went on to 7^th grade, I became his class helper the last period of the day. Often I would stay after class, and he would sit down and talk with me. One day he looked at me very serious and asked, “Are your parents abusing you?” I froze…. terrified out of my mind. “You know,” he said, “If they are, you can come live with me and my wife. We would love having you.” That was one of the most magnificent moments of my life as well as the most tragic. I was being offered the dream of a lifetime. But more importantly, he was saying to me, “Hey, kid, I care about you so much, and I really like you. There is something good in you that is worth saving.”

In those moments he was opening the door of my prison. Oh, how I wanted to run out, but instead, I sucked in all that desire and swallowed it like a very bitter and gigantic pill. I looked him straight in the eyes, “No,” I said and ran. I knew, as much as I wanted to go with him, it could never be. The people who called themselves my parents were powerful. If I told him the truth, I had no doubt, with all their connections, they would destroy him.

A new level of resentment started to form in me. I no longer saw my captors as just the people that hurt me. Now they became the people who were blocking me from a happy life with a real family. I hated them for murdering my soul and trampling my dreams. I could no longer believe that something was inherently wrong with me and it was my entire fault. Mr. B had seen something good in me, and now I saw a glimpse of it too.

It’s amazing how no matter how many years went by, the pain of not having a real father, never left. Sometimes it created such a huge ache in my chest, I could hardly breathe. I did my best to bury it, but it would emerge later in my adult life. I found I wasn’t really angry with my abusers… to me they were non-entities. I was angry with G-d. In my mind, He had His favorite children whom He gave happy lives in safe, loving homes. I was a child He didn’t like, and, in fact, hated. Most of the time this was an unconscious belief, but when I was pressed into a desperate place, this belief would emerge.

As I discovered the teachings in The Garden of Emuna and The Garden of Gratitude, I began to open myself up to the possibility that the difficult things that happened in my life were for the very best, and they came from a loving Father who had my best interests at heart. It was not easy for me to open myself up to this possibility. I still wanted to fight and keep the hard, protective shell around me. But the more I read about emuna, listened to the emuna CD’s and did personal prayer, the more I softened.

I started to thank Hashem when anything difficult happened. I thanked Him for the abuse I survived, I thanked him for not having a father, and all the pain around not having real parents that loved and protected me. I thanked Him for all the years of darkness, and I thanked Him that, even if I didn’t understand it, I knew He had done the best for me. At first they were just words forced out of my mouth, but eventually I really did come to believe it. When that happened, I was able to start seeing the many tremendous gifts that came from the circumstances of my life.

During one of my sessions of hitbodedut, Hashem reminded me of Mr. B. I had completely forgotten about him and the gift he had been in my life. It turned out there were many times that Hashem brought someone or something into my life and cared for me, even if it was only for a moment. It all planted seeds and insured my survival. I had never really been abandoned.

It would have been tragic had I been given an easy life. I would have never had the deep yearning that lead me home to Judaism. I would have never read the teachings of the sages and tzadikim. I would have lived completely unaware of Rebbe Nachman, Rebbe Natan, the Baal Shem Tov, the Lubavitcher Rebbe and other rebbes. It is said when we read their teachings, we connect with them, and they become a part of our lives. Through their teachings, they guide us just like a loving father. When our Torah teachers, rabbis and spiritual guides have pure hearts devoid of self-interest, they join them in shepherding us, and it is said we become like their children. Their only desire is to bring us closer to Hashem.

Whenever we sing the words “Avinu Malkeinu,” may we all be blessed to really know and believe that Hashem truly is our loving Father, and He is our King, and there is nothing sweeter on earth than that.