Parshas Haazinu 5784
“Helicopter Parent” is a pejorative term. It refers to the incessant presence of a parent who just won’t go away, won’t give their child the space to independently grow and develop. A micromanager. A bubble wrapper. It seems that Hashem is a hovering parent, too. But He keeps just enough distance.
In one of the most beautiful allegories in all of Tanach of the relationship between ourselves and Hashem, Parshas Haazinu describes:
כְּנֶשֶׁר יָעִיר קִנּוֹ עַל־גּוֹזָלָיו יְרַחֵף יִפְרֹשׂ כְּנָפָיו יִקָּחֵהוּ יִשָּׂאֵהוּ עַל־אֶבְרָתוֹ׃
דברים לב:יא
Like an eagle rousing its nestlings, he hovers above his young, he spread his wings to take them, to bear them upon his pinions.
Devarim 32:11
The pasuk sounds like it’s describing Hashem as a helicopter parent. But Rav Tzaddok Hakohen explains that the intention of this metaphor is actually not to convey how close Hashem is, but how distant.
The reality of the hovering bird, explains Rav Tzaddok, is that its wing will briefly graze the body of the baby, but then retreat the very next moment. There is a constant back-and-forth, or up-and-down, that the bird hovering above the nest is engaged in. We touch the parent’s wing one moment, but in an instant it departs.
Rav Tzaddok notes that this is the fundamental state of Hashem’s interaction with the world He created. So much so, in fact, that we find the notion of His hovering presence referred to as early as the very first stages of the creation of the universe. In just the second pasuk of the entire Torah, we read that, “ורוח אלקים מרחפת על פני הים—The spirit of G-d hovered upon the surface of the water.”
There is a natural ebb and flow in the connection we will feel with Hashem, and it’s critical that we be aware of that from the outset. The nature of an omnipotent being interacting with a finite world means that there will be distance, that being acutely conscious of Hashem’s presence will be sporadic at best.
What difference does that all make? A colossal one, actually. How often do we feel that we’ve sensed Hashem, became fully aware of His presence in our lives, only to find that that feeling has dissipated but a moment later. And where does that leave us? At best frustrated that we couldn’t hold onto the feeling, that there must be something wrong with us. And at worst, doubting if the experience was even real in the first place. It departed so quickly, was I just imagining the whole thing?
We can begin to question our own spiritual aptitude and ability to properly connect with Hashem at all. And if we’re so bad at it, why bother in the first place?
It is crucial that we realize that this is just the way it is. That it is meant to be this way. The reality of our relationship with Hashem—by its very nature—is that one moment will feel His feather upon our cheek, feel the air from His beating wings upon our face, and the next moment we can’t detect Him at all. If we start to define the health of our relationship with Him by the constancy of feeling His presence, we’ll soon feel disheartened.
We must always be of this mindset and have this awareness about our interaction with Hashem, but even more so during this time of year. The Gemara in Rosh Hashana 18a notes that the ten days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is the period of time referred to by the pasuk in Yeshaya (55:6), “דרשו ה׳ בהמצאו קראוהו בהיותו קרוב—Seek out Hashem while He may be found, call out to Him while He is close.” This is a time of year when Hashem is closer—more accessible—than any other time of year.
Have you felt that? Have you felt Hashem’s hand upon your shoulder, guiding you towards teshuva, towards a better path, giving you opportunities for spiritual growth that have come more easily than they usually do? Have you felt His embrace while davening on Rosh Hashana, convinced that you were closer than ever?
Consider yourself fortunate if you have. There’s nothing more blissful than feeling close to Hashem—it is quite literally a taste of Paradise here on Earth—but know that it won’t last. It can’t last. It’s the nature of the world Hashem Has constructed—He hovers, but He doesn’t land. If you believe that you’ve reached a new plateau in your relationship with Hashem, when the earth gives out beneath you you’ll be completely unprepared for the landslide that follows.
The key is to find those things now that will keep your feet planted even when the rug is swept out from beneath you. Define your relationship with Hashem by the mitzvos you perform, the Torah you learn, and the sacrifices you make, not by feelings alone. Feelings are fleeting. They’re supposed to be. It’s part and parcel of the system He devised.
And what if you haven’t experienced those feelings? If you haven’t felt Hashem’s wing brush your side? Not every baby in the nest necessarily will. Hashem’s presence is constant, but the feeling is elusive. Did you daven on Rosh Hashana in earnest? Are you using the Aseres Y’mei Teshuva to develop better habits and put more distance between yourself and the bad ones? Then you’re close. Very close. Staying in the nest is a win, whether you feel the father bird or not. And, by the way, the longer you stay in the nest, the more likely you’ll feel Him at some point.
On this note, there’s one more startling observation Rav Tzaddok HaKohen makes. When we recite a bracha, we vacillate between referring to Hashem in the second person and the third person. We begin a bracha with “Baruch Atah—Blessed are You,” speaking with Hashem as though He is directly opposite us. But it immediately devolves into “Shehakol nih’yeh b’dvaro—For everything was created by His word.” Not “Your word,” but “His word”! This, explains Rav Tzaddok, is just how quickly we can go from feeling Hashem’s Presence to not, from sensing Him palpably to not. From the beginning of a sentence to its end, we can see Hashem before our very eyes, to not being able to discern Him through the haze.
If we know this, we can act accordingly. We can cut ourselves slack for not always feeling the way we believe holy and spiritual people are supposed to feel. Indeed, for not always feeling how we ourselves felt during moments of intense spiritual clarity. We can operate with the knowledge that Hashem hovers just above our heads, even if we don’t always feel it.