Showing posts with label Fiddler on the Roof. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiddler on the Roof. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Lent Photo a Day: Poor

“Poor” and “rich” are such relative terms. An American teenager in a wealthy town considers himself poor if he owns a secondhand car. An African teenager in a remote village considers himself rich if he owns a secondhand pair of shoes. The former sees himself as having less than those around him, and therefore poor. The latter sees himself as having more than those around him, and therefore rich. One man’s poor is another man’s unspeakably rich.

Sometimes how poor or rich we feel is based not on a comparison to others, but on a comparison to where we’ve been at other stages in our own lives. My senior year of college, I bought my first car: a tiny, beat-up Honda Civic hatchback with a lot of miles on it. I loved that car. I felt like a millionaire driving that car. That car made me feel like I owned the world. Owning that car made me feel anything but poor. And yet, if I were to own that car today, I’d feel anything but rich. I’d feel inadequate. I might even feel ashamed that I hadn’t become financially successful enough to afford a nicer car. I would absolutely, positively feel poor.

But aside from the financial meaning of the word “poor,” we often use the word “poor” to describe our emotional status. A person who is socially isolated and lonely feels poor; a person who has close bonds with family and friends feels rich. A person who is fulfilled and who finds meaning in his own life feels rich, no matter how poor he is financially. Perhaps one of the best examples of this is found in the lyrics of the song “If I Were a Rich Man,” from the musical Fiddler on the Roof. Tevye the milkman begins the song by lamenting his poverty, but goes on to dream about having the time to spend at the synagogue in prayer, and realizes that his faith makes him rich, rather than his poverty making him poor. He opens with “If I were a rich man, all day long I’d ‘biddy-biddy-bum,’ if I were a wealthy man. I wouldn’t have to work hard, if I were a ‘biddy-biddy’ rich man.” But by the end of the song, he states the true richness: “If I were rich I’d have the time that I lack to sit in the synagogue and pray, and maybe have a seat by the eastern wall. And I’d discuss the holy books with the learned men, seven hours every day – that would be the sweetest thing of all.”


As a stay-at-home mom, I sometimes struggle with feeling poor. I don’t have any income of my own to speak of, and even though our family has shared finances, I can’t help but feel personally poor at times. But then I look at the treasures I have the privilege of caring for every day, and I realize that I am anything but poor.


Poor.

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Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Que Sera, Sera

Doris Day is probably more famous for her recording of the song “Que Sera, Sera” than she is for anything else she did in her long and illustrious career. And why not? It’s a lovely and unusual song. How many other popular songs are about talking to your mother about what you want to be when you grow up? Not very many, that’s for certain.


In case you happen to be the one person in America who is not familiar with this song, let me share some of the lyrics: When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, “What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?” Here’s what she said to me: “Que sera, sera: whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see, que sera, sera. What will be, will be.” Other verses go on to see the girl falling in love and asking her sweetheart if their future will be perfect, and then her children asking her the same question she asked her own mother, with the same response.

My children aren’t quite old enough yet to ask that question, but I often wonder it on their behalf. Will my son be an athlete? Will he be tall? (OK, that one I actually do know the answer to – that would be a resounding “yes!”) Will he be musical? Will he be into computers or cooking or cars? Will his hair lose its curl and darken up? Will he have a whole series of girlfriends or just one or two long, serious relationships? And what about my daughter? Will her hair always be that baby buttery blond? Will it gain some wave in a few years? Will she be tall and straight like me, her older sister, and my mother-in-law or shorter and curvier like my mom, my sister, and my sister-in-law? Will she be a gymnast or a chess whiz? Will she be a poet or a field hockey player? Will she be a social butterfly? Will she be a scholar? Will my husband and I totally hate her first serious boyfriend? Will she want to pierce some strange body part or get a tattoo?

And the only answer I can give myself is, “Que sera, sera”: What will be, will be. I can guide them toward making wise decisions and taking advantage of opportunities, but they will be what they will be. I can’t force either one of them to love reading or football or French. I can make them do their homework but I can’t make them love it. I can require them to take piano lessons and practice but I can’t make them be good at it or enjoy it. I can feed them healthy foods, encourage them to exercise, teach them self-discipline, and give them lots of opportunities to try new things, but I can’t change their basic builds or personalities. I can support them and cheer them on, but I can’t change who they are. Nor would I want to.  I love who they are, and I will love whomever they become as adults.

That’s not to say I expect to agree with or love all their choices, or even be proud of those choices. But even when my heart is breaking, I will accept who they are and what they choose to do. I think of a scene from “Fiddler on the Roof”, when Tevye’s daughter Hodel is taking the train to Siberia to marry the scholar, Perchik. She says to Tevye, “God alone knows when we shall see each other again.” Tevye replies, “And we will leave it in His hands.”


Not such a bad way to look at it, that.

Que sera, sera.


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