A lengthening of days and the gift of a long life

There are two mitzvoth for which we know the reward; the reward of “long life” is promised for shiluach ha’kan (sending a mother bird from her nest before collecting her eggs) and kibud av va’em (honoring one’s father and mother). The fact that these two mitzvoth share the same reward, has stirred much controversy in Jewish history, some because shiluach ha’kan seems easy but kibud av va’em is much more difficult, but much of the controversy is because of the Talmudic story of Acher—Elisha Ben Abuya. While out for a walk, the Talmud recounts, Acher observed a father send his son up a ladder to shoo away a mother bird, and as Acher walked away, the son fell from the ladder and died. Convinced that this event was in direct contradiction with the Torah’s promise of “long life” for the two mitzvoth the son was performing, Acher turned to heresy and had his name forever changed in Talmudic lore. Of course, this is a simplistic explanation for Acher’s heresy; many have puzzled over his personality for the past two thousand years. In our reality, though, there are many experiences that can shake a person’s faith; and while mitzvoth are supposed to bring us closer to Hashem, sometimes the challenges they present become springboards for doubt, discouragement, and dissent. One such mitzvah that could turn someone away is the mitzvah of kibud av va’em—especially as one’s parents’ behaviors become harder and harder to tolerate, let alone honor.

This is an issue of growing concern, not just for our community, but for our generation the world over. As people live longer and the costs of healthcare rise, more and more members of the Baby Boomer generation (born 1945-1961) are forced to care for their aging parents as they reach ages of 85, 95, and even 105 and beyond. The commandment to honor one’s parents is relatively easy when one’s parents are in their prime of health—both mentally and physically. A child may idolize his parents and see their actions as always good and always worthy of honor. But what happens when a parent’s mind loses its sharpness—due to age, dementia, or Alzheimer’s? What happens when a once-proud parent’s body deteriorates to the point where a daughter has to change her mother’s adult diapers? When a parent’s mind and body cease to do him honor, how does a child’s duty change? These questions terrify many of my compatriots who are living with, planning for, and caring for aging parents. Sometimes Jewish teachings provide guidance; other times, they do not. In fact, when I approached a trusted rabbi for guidance on the issue of providing dignified care for my aging father, I was told “lu’lei he’manti…” (Who can I trust in…); basically he was saying not to rely on other people to do what was clearly my job.

There is actually an interesting reinterpretation of the phrase “long life” as it is promised in the Torah as the reward for kibud av va’em. The phrase can be read, instead, as “lengthened days.” Now, the Torah doesn’t mince words—“lengthened days” does not mean the same thing as “long life.” Lengthened days may refer to the 24-hour-a-day mental marathon one runs as she thinks about all her ailing parent’s needs. Or the late-night conversations with an aging father about living in his home versus moving to a nursing home facility. Of course, on a more positive side, lengthened days could also refer to days becoming more meaningful; this could mean one’s days become filled with valuable lessons and experiences—such as uncovering untold stories from a parent’s early life. This is one of the issues that boggle the minds of even the most learned Torah scholars: the nuances of interpretation for Lashon HaKodesh (ancient Torah Hebrew) are sources of debate and divergence. Acher’s heresy in the Talmud may have stemmed from his inability to reconcile conflicting philosophies—such as Torah Judaism and ancient Hellenist philosophy, for example. But for us, the balance of honoring our aging parents while caring for their ailing bodies and minds, raises much contention.

I recall hearing a thought from a speaker—a menahel at a high school—about how a person’s purpose changes. We may know that our lives have purposes, but we never know just what those purposes are. The speaker was talking about a student with profound special needs whom he admitted to his high school, and when asked by other parents whether this student would lower the school’s rigor and ability to teach at a high level, this menahel responded that this student was not there for himself to grow; instead, his admittance’s purpose was to challenge his classmates to grow in their acts of kindness and tolerance. This is a striking idea, and a bit of a frustrating one. How can one say that the reason a person exists is to teach others a lesson? Doesn’t each person have his or her own intrinsic value and his or her own distinct purpose? Well, Jewish teachings reveal that one may have both—a distinctive purpose from him or herself, as well as a message for others; certainly this has been the case for biblical prophets, so why not modern individuals, too? Maybe, as our parents age, their purposes become slightly altered, too. When we were children, our parents served one purpose; as we raised our children, they served a slightly different purpose; and now, as they age and our grown children watch us care for them, our parents’ purposes have shifted to the last stage—the educative stage where their lives become lessons for others.

Meriting a lengthening of days, for me, comes to mean filling my time with meaningful lessons, both for me and for my children. Caring for my father and actualizing the mitzvah of kibud av va’em, even as it becomes harder and harder to do, fills my days and my evenings with teachable moments that I share with my family. My children sometimes joke about the lessons I teach them day-in and day-out, but how I show honor to my father and maintain his dignity at this late stage in his life is one way my actions speak louder than my words; it is one way that my commitment to Torah and mitzvoth becomes cemented in the minds of my children, so that when the cycle apexes and I need to be cared for in my old age and infirmity, my children will not be like Acher, who turned away, but will instead turn toward me and model for their own children the importance of perpetuating this mitzvah.