When We Misbehave

One of the most enjoyable moments of the week is Friday night dinner in honor of Shabbat. The family sits down together with guests; at the dinner table, words of inspiration, Torah thoughts and more are discussed; Jewish songs and scrumptious food are shared.

So you can imagine how I felt when, on a recent Friday night, my son threw a little “negative chutzpah” my way during our Shabbat meal. Then it turned into more than a little negative chutzpah. In fact, things reached a point to where I had to give him an ultimatum: either he apologize and change his behavior or leave the dining room and go to his bedroom for a time-out. I should have expected his decision – he chose to go to his room. After all, escaping into the solitary confines of a book (reading is one of his favorite activities) is certainly preferable to forcing an apology and sitting, embarrassed and ashamed, at our dinner table! The latter path may have been the right one to take, but “right” paths like that one can seem awfully steep to a ten year-old boy.

Meanwhile, I sat there. “Hold your ground,” I kept telling myself. The louder those words rang in my mind, the more disappointed I felt in my heart. Maybe I should have used a different tactic. Maybe I knew I had lost this battle because, instead of recognizing his bad behavior (which was what I had wanted), he had simply trotted off to the freedom of his room. As the meal went on, without him at my side, I started to miss his presence. The same thought kept digging at my mind: “I really did not want to banish my son from the table, all I was trying to accomplish was to teach him a lesson.” Finally, I climbed the steps to his room. But what would I say to him? If I simply told him to come back to the table, I would be undermining myself and the lesson that I had tried to teach. When I spoke to him, I reviewed the sequence of incidents that had led to his having been sent upstairs. I tried to explain that my requests were an expression of my affection for him, my desire for him to succeed and not to fail. He finally acknowledged that his behavior may have been out of line. A half-hearted apology fought its way out of him. Together, we went back downstairs to the Shabbat table

This whole incident kept me thinking. I sensed that there was a lesson in it, not only for my son, but also for me, and maybe in a way for us all. Then it hit me. Is this what G-d feels like when we, His children, misbehave? Does He too not know what to do when He is trying to get our attention and we simply sidetrack ourselves with our various distractions and entertainments?

It is true that we dwell in a world of exile. G-d may have banished us there, but at the same time He has not forsaken us. He wants us to know that He is in the room there with us. All we need to do is to wake up, recognize our mistakes, and take that first small step back towards togetherness with Him. We don’t even have to say “I’m sorry” with all our heart and soul – that first step is what counts.  

Even if that apology doesn’t pass our lips right way, we also must remember that G-d doesn’t just turn His back on us and leave. G-d waits, lonely for us, maybe hurting for our suffering. He has followed us into exile. He is in that room with us. The moment He sees a glimmer of regret on our part –  sometimes through His probing, sometimes through our own – He seizes the opportunity and helps us rise to the occasion of refining our spirits. Although our recognition of our need to “return” may initially be only half- hearted, it makes no difference to G-d. He invites us back into His universe. He takes our hand and walks us back downstairs to the sweetness of His table.

For every message of exile in the Jewish faith, there is a corresponding message of redemption. “I will deliver My people,” G-d continually promises. All we have to do is to open our eyes, to take that step towards Him, and to trust. Even in our darkest moments of confusion, of misbehaving, G-d is there with us. We may not be able to see him. But He is in our room.      

Waiting.