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BUBKES

What’s a vegetarian, Jewish mom to do?

I recently fetched my twelve-year-old from a party and he was telling me all about it – the friends, the favours, the games… then he told me he’d eaten a hot dog.

“That’s nice,” I said, turning into our road. “No, mom,” he said, his tone ominously serious. “I mean a real hot dog. Made of meat.” Internally, I started screaming and flapping my hands. Wrenching my garments. Why? WHY would you do that??? I yelled in my heart. Outwardly, I simply smiled. “What made you make that choice?” I asked, trying to come across more curious than interrogative. “I wanted to see what it was like.”

I wanted to show him PETA’s hidden-camera videos from feedlots and slaughterhouses. But I knew that he already knew the facts involved – we’ve had plenty of calm, rational discussions about these issues while browsing the plant-based shelves at the supermarket.

The next weekend he came home from a friend and told me he’d tried a wors roll (“could this get any wors?” I thought). It could, apparently. He tasted steak. And chicken. And fish.

Meanwhile, my fourteen-year-old is raging against God and religion. He refuses to wear a yarmulka at shul or participate in the family Kiddush for Shabbat. At religious events – to which he comes only because there’s no one to leave him at home with – he sits in the foyer and reads his novel. If he weren’t vegetarian (small mercies), he’d no doubt be eating cheeseburgers.

This may be typical teenage rebellion, or it could be that he’s a particularly sensitive little soul and he’s grappling with the big issues of faith. I’ve tried to broach the subject delicately, but he turns every attempt at meaningful discussion into a series of off-colour jokes (some of which, I’ll grant, are hysterically funny, though I would never laugh at them out loud).

So my sons are going off the derech (life path), in their different ways. What’s a vegetarian, Jewish mom to do? I could shout and scream. I could send them on a guilttrip.

I could forbid Shai from eating animals. I could force Ari to sit inside shul. But I fear that would do far more harm than good. If I push them too hard, they will just back away further – from the beliefs, and from me.

I’d rather they trust me enough to have difficult conversations. If we keep the lines of communication open, they might come back on the derech. Or not. But at least I won’t have lost them completely.

They’re both experimenting with things that are new to them. I can’t shake an image of them in a spiritual laboratory – Shai’s lab coat splattered in red, and Ari blowing up religion in a test tube. Because that’s essentially what all this is: a test. They’re testing the waters… testing their own boundaries… testing my patience, sometimes… but testing nonetheless.

And that’s good. Because we can’t know what works or what is worth valuing unless we test it. I’ve tested lots of things over the years – political stances, fashion choices, alcohol tolerance, alternative remedies, personal relationships. It’s a natural part of figuring out who we are.

Warren and I support our kids making their own decisions, but they must be informed decisions. One can’t reject something without understanding the reasoning behind it. You’ve got to know the Torah before you can dismiss it. You’ve got to know the truth about the meat industry before you rebuff vegetarianism. You can’t simply bury your head in the sand because something is inconvenient. It’s about keeping those lines of communication open. I’ve always been a Jew, and for as long as I’ve been able to control what goes on my plate, I’ve been a vegetarian.

I believe in these values, so I wanted to raise my kids this way. But we can’t force children to believe in God, or vegetarianism, or socialism, or singing crystals. We can show them the pros and cons. We can model the values. We can keep the discussions open. We can pray. And we can love them harder than ever.

Kids don’t always behave the way their parents hope they will. Adam and Eve probably weren’t thrilled when Cain killed his brother, Abel. I’ll bet Isaac wasn’t jumping for joy when Esau sold his birthright. Jacob couldn’t have been impressed with his brood when he realised that they’d sold their little brother into slavery.

We’re not always going to love the choices our kids make. But as long as we’ve raised them to think and to question and to be able to understand WHY they make the choices they do, we’ve got to respect that they are their own people with their own values and life missions.

It came to me while I was preparing my mid-column refection (this is a routine occurrence; writing is hungry work). Children are like kneidlach – you need to hold them lightly, or you’ll crush them. Also, like matzah balls, kids take ages to “cook”, and you never really know how they’re going to turn out until they’re done. Sometimes they’re big, sometimes they’re small. Sometimes they’re salty, sometimes they’re bland. Sometimes they’re firm, sometimes they’re fluffy. But they’re always delicious in soup. Not children. It seems I digress.

Back to the topic, our job as parents is to give our kids the knowledge and experience to make their own informed choices. At the end of the day, it’s their derech, and we need to take a deep breath, step back, and let them walk it. And be waiting with open arms and hearts if they want to come home. Until next time.

"We're not always going to love the choices our kids make"


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Content for class "past" Goes Here	BUBKES What’s a vegetarian, Jewish mom to do? I recently fetched my twelve-year-old from a party and he was telling me all about it – the friends, the favours, the games… then he told me he’d eaten a hot dog. “That’s nice,” I said, turning into our road. “No, mom,” he said, his tone ominously serious. “I mean a real hot dog. Made of meat.” Internally, I started screaming and flapping my hands. Wrenching my garments. Why? WHY would you do that??? I yelled in my heart. Outwardly, I simply smiled. “What made you make that choice?” I asked, trying to come across more curious than interrogative. “I wanted to see what it was like.” I wanted to show him PETA’s hidden-camera videos from feedlots and slaughterhouses. But I knew that he already knew the facts involved – we’ve had plenty of calm, rational discussions about these issues while browsing the plant-based shelves at the supermarket. The next weekend he came home from a friend and told me he’d tried a wors roll (“could this get any wors?” I thought). It could, apparently. He tasted steak. And chicken. And fish. Meanwhile, my fourteen-year-old is raging against God and religion. He refuses to wear a yarmulka at shul or participate in the family Kiddush for Shabbat. At religious events – to which he comes only because there’s no one to leave him at home with – he sits in the foyer and reads his novel. If he weren’t vegetarian (small mercies), he’d no doubt be eating cheeseburgers. This may be typical teenage rebellion, or it could be that he’s a particularly sensitive little soul and he’s grappling with the big issues of faith. I’ve tried to broach the subject delicately, but he turns every attempt at meaningful discussion into a series of off-colour jokes (some of which, I’ll grant, are hysterically funny, though I would never laugh at them out loud). So my sons are going off the derech (life path), in their different ways. What’s a vegetarian, Jewish mom to do? I could shout and scream. I could send them on a guilttrip. I could forbid Shai from eating animals. I could force Ari to sit inside shul. But I fear that would do far more harm than good. If I push them too hard, they will just back away further – from the beliefs, and from me. I’d rather they trust me enough to have difficult conversations. If we keep the lines of communication open, they might come back on the derech. Or not. But at least I won’t have lost them completely. They’re both experimenting with things that are new to them. I can’t shake an image of them in a spiritual laboratory – Shai’s lab coat splattered in red, and Ari blowing up religion in a test tube. Because that’s essentially what all this is: a test. They’re testing the waters… testing their own boundaries… testing my patience, sometimes… but testing nonetheless. And that’s good. Because we can’t know what works or what is worth valuing unless we test it. I’ve tested lots of things over the years – political stances, fashion choices, alcohol tolerance, alternative remedies, personal relationships. It’s a natural part of figuring out who we are. Warren and I support our kids making their own decisions, but they must be informed decisions. One can’t reject something without understanding the reasoning behind it. You’ve got to know the Torah before you can dismiss it. You’ve got to know the truth about the meat industry before you rebuff vegetarianism. You can’t simply bury your head in the sand because something is inconvenient. It’s about keeping those lines of communication open. I’ve always been a Jew, and for as long as I’ve been able to control what goes on my plate, I’ve been a vegetarian. I believe in these values, so I wanted to raise my kids this way. But we can’t force children to believe in God, or vegetarianism, or socialism, or singing crystals. We can show them the pros and cons. We can model the values. We can keep the discussions open. We can pray. And we can love them harder than ever. Kids don’t always behave the way their parents hope they will. Adam and Eve probably weren’t thrilled when Cain killed his brother, Abel. I’ll bet Isaac wasn’t jumping for joy when Esau sold his birthright. Jacob couldn’t have been impressed with his brood when he realised that they’d sold their little brother into slavery. We’re not always going to love the choices our kids make. But as long as we’ve raised them to think and to question and to be able to understand WHY they make the choices they do, we’ve got to respect that they are their own people with their own values and life missions. It came to me while I was preparing my mid-column refection (this is a routine occurrence; writing is hungry work). Children are like kneidlach – you need to hold them lightly, or you’ll crush them. Also, like matzah balls, kids take ages to “cook”, and you never really know how they’re going to turn out until they’re done. Sometimes they’re big, sometimes they’re small. Sometimes they’re salty, sometimes they’re bland. Sometimes they’re firm, sometimes they’re fluffy. But they’re always delicious in soup. Not children. It seems I digress. Back to the topic, our job as parents is to give our kids the knowledge and experience to make their own informed choices. At the end of the day, it’s their derech, and we need to take a deep breath, step back, and let them walk it. And be waiting with open arms and hearts if they want to come home. Until next time. "We're not always going to love the choices our kids make"