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It Is His Turn

It Is His Turn

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It's his turn.

The world lies before him as untread, unspoiled wilderness. He sees it all as pristine forest waiting to be explored. None of the pieces yet fit. There is no meaning. He is driven by the force of innate curiosity. He has been provided with enough energy to explore and experiment with everything that falls in his path.

His path constantly expands. It winds and twists with surprises, delights and dangers. He is thrilled. He is delighted. He knows no fear, only courage and energy that drive him forward, forward…

Meaning comes slowly, but in his own singular way he begins fitting pieces together to create a puzzle, a picture of the world that is uniquely his. Though the pieces are familiar to us, he will fit them together in a way we would never imagine, in a way that will give unique meaning not only to his world, but to ours as well.

And this will be his contribution, his creative urge in fruition: revealing a world that was heretofore unknown, yet lying always in potential awaiting his emergence.

Unfettered, he will charge headstrong — yet calm and assured — into the universe that awaits him. It is his time, and he emerges fully prepared. We unknowingly have prepared his way and bequeathed him every tool and map for his appearance on the stage of his life at the time uniquely marked for his entry.

And while he does not know this, he feels it. The excitement that surges through his blood, his heart, his every organ and vessel, his every thought and impulse, carries the assuredness of his rightness, of his necessity, of his essentiality, of his indispensability, of his inevitability, of his potential and his destiny.

He is prepared and delighted. Bursting. Captivated. Enchanted. Continually surprised. Always fascinated. Enthralled.

He carries in an invisible basket canvass and palette, pen and paper, poetry and prose, the dance of musical notes and tones, phrases and rhythms that flit spontaneously through his mind.

He searches for means of expression. The breath in his lungs and the sound it makes passing through his throat and mouth. The lines that appear in the dirt as he scratches with his fingers. The movements of his body in sync with emotions surging under his skin, causing first-felt sensation and impression and strange vibrations throughout this vessel that his soul has so recently entered.

This child.

It is his turn.

He has earned and deserved it in ways we cannot understand. He has been endowed with this right of discovery.

It is his time.

He has been bequeathed and promised his place long, long ago.

It is his right.

G‑d gave it to him.

It is his obligation, his responsibility, not yet felt as burden or confusion.

He has his mission.

If not, he would not be here at all.

He is no accident.

He knows this.

He was taught this by G‑d prior to his descent into this world. No matter that too soon he will forget, only to begin his arduous journey to remembrance.

And all the while, we are his parents. And it behooves us to know the full miracle of near boundless energy and soul that lies in our laps. It is for us to search our memories, the memories that lie deep, deep within the recesses of our being and try to remember the newness of life and delight that is now his.

And whether or not we are fortunate enough to now feel within ourselves this boundless soul that is his and ours as well, still we must know, in some way, that this is his life and it is holy. It is sacred and we must treat it as such.

And if we are to intervene, how carefully we must contemplate our interventions. How much time must be given to each act of guidance lest we be guilty of spoiling the very purity of soul that has been placed in this body given to us to nurture.

How fortunate we are to have been provided guidance by our Sages who have come before us. How lucky that we are not adrift in our attempts to care for this young being who now demands the place and space reserved for him in the universe. How grateful to our forefathers we need be for having tread a path that is now proven and provides instruction for the awesome responsibility of guiding and educating this being who has been given to us. Our history and tradition provide confidence to be not only diligent, but spontaneous, playful and courageous, as we support and encourage his exploration of the world that is now his.

It is his time. G‑d gave it to him.

Allowed to emerge into his full potential, he will one day stand in praise of his Creator, filled with gratitude to the Holy One Blessed Be He, endowed with humility, in touch with the soul that is his true essence and reality.

And, to be sure, we will share in G‑d's delight.

It is his time.

Written in honor of the birth of my niece's son, Yitzchok

Jay Litvin was born in Chicago in 1944. He moved to Israel in 1993 to serve as medical liaison for Chabad’s Children of Chernobyl program, and took a leading role in airlifting children from the areas contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster; he also founded and directed Chabad’s Terror Victims program in Israel. Jay passed away in April of 2004 after a valiant four-year battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and is survived by his wife, Sharon, and their seven children. He was a frequent contributor to the Jewish website Chabad.org.
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PYL September 7, 2015

? sweating and pain, truth escapes me... Reply

tavosky foreman midwest, ok October 10, 2010

very beautiful to say the very least it would help if we as parents would be ever mindful of this poetic epilogue Reply







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