Miracles of the Soul(s)

What thirty years have taught me about difficulty, community, and blessing

I am fortunate to have two wonderful chevrutah (learning) partners: Mark, a rabbi, and Roger, a retired Methodist minister. Recently, we chose to study the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac, using Avivah Zornberg’s The Murmuring Deep: Reflections on the Biblical Unconscious as our guide. No one ever said we didn’t know how to have fun.

One phrase from Zornberg’s book struck a nerve. At the moment God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, and he agrees to do so, “He has an untroubled future behind him.”¹

For parents and family members, at the moment their children are diagnosed with physical, developmental, or cognitive differences, it is hard not to feel that “their untroubled future is behind them.”

And that is certainly how we felt in the early days of our son’s autism diagnosis. I felt as if I were asea, unmoored from the world around me, and unable to think of anything except the dark days that awaited us. The biblical story of the Akedah came to life with painful poignancy.

But we were fortunate: we found a remarkable clinical team and played active parts in his therapeutic intervention. As I wrote in our recent book, A Miracle of the Heart: A Father and Son’s Autism Journey, perhaps God had a hand in our good fortune.

Thirty years later, I now know that the days that awaited me would be far richer and more meaningful than I could ever have imagined. Over the years, I have come to realize that, while often difficult and painful, our challenges have opened my eyes to life’s blessings or, if you will, to God’s blessings.

As our son Jacob said in one of his recent speeches:

“I’ve learned that there are two major things that enable you to feel that you are a part of something: having a history and having a community.”

When families or individuals receive painful news or difficult diagnoses, the community can play a meaningful role. We need to listen, to witness, to be there in the moment.

The early days of learning that a child or other family member is facing physical, cognitive, or developmental challenges are not the time for platitudes. Don’t tell me that God only gives you challenges you can handle, or that when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade. And I’ve heard the one about thinking I was going to Italy and landing in Holland.² I don’t want to be in Holland; it hurts too much.

But there is discovery and comfort in the passing of time. In preparing to write his magnificent book Far from the Tree, Andrew Solomon interviewed hundreds of families who faced difficult challenges. He writes:

“As such parents look back, they see how every stage of loving their child has enriched them in ways they never would have conceived, ways that are incalculably precious.”³

We have learned that there can be a spiritual awakening in reflecting on painful times. Again, in the words of Andrew Solomon, “Life is enriched by difficulty, love is made more acute when it requires exertion.”⁴

As we heal and find space for spirituality and meaning, our Jewish community continues to offer a place to further our spiritual journey. In addition, each of us has a role to play in sharing our journey and all that we have learned.

1. Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg, The Murmuring Deep: Reflections on the Biblical Unconscious (New York: Schocken Books, 2009), 175, Kindle.

2. Emily Perl Kingsley, “Welcome to Holland” (1987).

3. Andrew Solomon, Far from the Tree: Parents, Children, and the Search for Identity (New York: Scribner, 2012), 47.

4. Ibid., 43.