A Blessing On Your Head

We put our hands on our kids all the time. A hug, a kiss, a shoulder tap, a Band-Aid, a fresh diaper, adjusting baseball caps, fitting on socks and shoes, washing hair, holding hands, inspecting a bruise, bump or scratch. All those things happen, mostly without us even paying attention.

 

Every Friday night, though, there’s a different kind of touch. Right before Kiddush, we place our hands gently on the heads of each of our children and murmur the traditional blessing for children: “May God make you like Ephraim and Menashe” (for boys) or, “like Sara, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah” (for girls). Some also add the Biblical verse we use for the priestly blessing. “May God bless you and keep you. May Hashem make His face shine on you and be gracious to you. May God turn his face toward you and give you peace.”

I have found that spirituality occurs in small moments. (Not “Judaism.” That, often, occurs in big, flashy moments, like Friday night dinners or cleaning for Pesach or building a sukkah.) But spirituality, actually connecting to God, happens in small, ordinary moments. I don’t have time for lengthy prayer sessions in synagogue, but when I light candles every week, I spend a few extra seconds “in conversation” before I uncover my eyes. When I make a “shehechiyanu” (blessing on something new), I reflect for a moment on how profoundly grateful I am to have reached this point, to have this experience.

 

And one of “small moments” happens during the weekly blessing of the kids. It’s short and quick and humble and not always picture-perfect—sometimes we have to chase the kids (depending on age and mood), sometimes the 3-year-old eyes us distrustfully and throws the blessing back at us. Sometimes the sulky tween refuses to come to the table. But we do it, we bless them, every week. And every week, I look forward to it. To having just a few moments—really, no more than seconds—to connect with each child on a different, primal level. We’re not talking to each other. In fact, we’re not even looking at each other. I’m simply touching them—barely—breathing them in and being grateful that they are here, that they exist, gratified that God has given them to us, praying we won’t mess them up too badly and hoping that, like the prayer says, He continues to keep them and give them peace.