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The Challenge of the Wise Child By Rabbi Elyse Winick
I only remember two of those buttons, though I owned many. One was a 60s’ era caricature of John Lennon and the other a tiny one, smaller than a quarter, which said, “question authority.” Don’t draw any conclusions. I was no radical peacenik and I don’t know that I ever questioned authority, except perhaps on one occasion when I asked if the teacher had forgotten to assign homework. That one didn’t make me particularly popular. I think, though, that what attracted me to the button was the emphasis on question rather than authority. If you’ve ever paid close attention to the Pesah seder, you’ll note that the Four Questions, highlight of a child’s evening, are never truly answered. And no one seems to care. It’s a bit ironic, because if you look at the “questions” themselves, they are really statements. There’s no inquiry. Either the Mah Nishtanah phrase is the only question and the remainder constitute the Four Answers, or the word Mah in and of itself is a statement of wonder: How different this night is from all other nights! The remaining four comments would then be subsets of the initial statement. That debate in and of itself could add some color to your seder table! But back to my initial concern, that the questions go unanswered. While the haggadah itself is replete with information, it’s hardly intended to be the sum total of the seder experience. It’s a template with which to begin, a springboard for discussion. Somewhere along the line, someone, no, everyone at the table needs to contribute to answering those questions. Not for the children, or at least, not for them alone. But for each and every one of us, trying desperately to recreate the memory of an event we didn’t really see. Together we create the sum total of the answers, many of which are simply further questions. When asked how he came to scientific greatness, Nobel prizewinning physicist Isidor Rabi credited his mother. While all the other immigrant mothers would ask their children if they had answered well at school, upon his return at the end of the day, his mother would want to know if he had asked any good questions. The key to knowledge is not what you know. It’s what you ask. That’s the challenge of the wise child. To know that each step we take in our journey of learning reveals only how much we do not know. To accept that at times our questions go unanswered but not be disillusioned. To continue to quest and find out more and not be satisfied with someone else’s answer until and unless we can claim it as our own. Answers provide comfort, but illusory comfort at that. It’s the questions, as unsettling as they may be, which are where the action is. The problem with my button, “question authority” was not that it suggested something radical. It was that no one understood that it wasn’t radical at all. Even me. Wishing you a hag Pesah kasher v’sameah (a happy and kosher Pesah, when it comes) and a fulfilling search for meaning.
[Posted 3/4/03]
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Growing
up in New York, I remember quite vividly a high school fad to cover your jacket
(preferably denim) and/or backpack with decorative pins. Some had graphics,
but most had quotes, making social statements that we felt were best expressed
on our persons, though not necessarily on our lips or in our actions. The
acquisition process in and of itself was an activity. We’d ride the “D” train
to West 4th St and walk the streets and alleys of Greenwich Village, looking
for tiny, obscure stores which carried the wares we sought. We’d cluster in
front of the glass counters, looking for exotic, yet inoffensive statements,
the more vivid the colored background the better. We were on a mission.