The story of Naomi: God is everywhere -- even in Macy's

My oldest daughter, Naomi, recently turned 18 years old. She also recently was accepted into her two top choices for University next year; and so begins the inevitable parental anxiety of anticipating our daughter's entrance into adulthood, and into a life at college where we will depend on her to make good choices.

Having our oldest son leave for college two years ago was difficult, both spiritually and for our family dynamics, and the fact that it was a year abroad in Israel made it even a little more stressful. Not because we weren't thrilled to have him in Israel, but because we couldn't simply see him whenever we wanted. Yet, perhaps I felt a father's own sense of ease and confidence with a child of the same gender when Simon left for college; I knew that when I left home, I was confident that I could look out for myself, and thus, had the same expectation that my son would follow in my footsteps. But as a father, I am also learning that it is different with daughters: I am certainly experiencing a stronger feeling of distress with my Naomi's becoming an "official" adult.

My Naomi existed in spirit years before her birth. When I was growing up, the eldest of four boys, I knew that my mother had always wanted to have a daughter to name after her mother, Naomi z'l, who passed away from cancer several years before my birth. With my parents' third male child, they decided to give up on the "Naomi" naming opportunity, finally taking the "N" and naming my brother Noah. But the desire for a child named Naomi persisted. In fact, when my youngest brother was born, I think there was a legitimate consideration of emulating the song "A Boy Named Sue," and giving my brother the name Naomi regardless of his gender.

It was always an assumption on my part, even when I was a child, that if -- someday -- I had a daughter, I'd name her Naomi. Fortunately, this "assumption" was permitted by the kindness and generosity of my soul-mate Roseanne. The Hebrew "Naomi" means "sweet," and this is what I have called our daughter as a nickname since her birth.

I always thought the naming of my Naomi was significant because of what I knew it would mean to my mother, but as circumstances presented themselves, when my daughter was born, she arrived three weeks early. My father happened to be visiting us in New York City. When he arrived at the hospital and saw that he had a beautiful granddaughter, he wept uncontrollably to finally have "his Naomi." Then he promptly went out and bought multiple dresses that would take our baby girl many years to grow into.

Naomi's arrival made me the father of one perfect little boy and one perfect little girl, and as a young father, I felt deliciously blessed with my two babies. And yet, like many parents, one day, I faced the terror of being a father in the most frightening of scenarios.

When Simon and Naomi were very little, Roseanne and I decided to take our young children to check out the original Macy's on 34th Street for the first time, about a week before Christmas. I was watching the two toddlers. Something caught my eye; I turned away for a moment, and by the time I refocused on the children, Naomi was gone. I grabbed my son like a football and ran with him around the store, like a madman among the crowd, screaming her name. A little more than twenty terrifying minutes passed, with the most horrific, panicked thoughts tumbling through my mind, and then to my incredible relief a smiling, skipping "sweetie," holding a kind gentleman's hand, was delivered back to me.

There is a Torah verse that, for me, most often comes to mind when reflecting on this terrible experience. It is that of Jacob, declaring after a night fraught with dread, struggle and then, ultimately, blessing and deliverance: "God was in this place and I, I did not know." (Genesis 28:16) For me, God was present in that store, in my worst and most terrifying moment of fear, but not in the way that I ever could have imagined. I never thought about God while my child was missing, and didn't even think about God when my baby was finally returned to me. All I felt was uncontrollable panic, and then absolute relief. But in retrospect, I am certain that God was present because there were perfect strangers in the store, busy with their holiday shopping, who stopped everything they were doing to help another in need, sharing the empathy of a parent facing the ultimate fear. But I think about the verse "God was in this place, and I, I did not know," because in that moment, in the clouds of my own fear and terror, I couldn't see the Godliness of outstretched arms or the kind hearts of "angels" whom, like Jacob, I would never again encounter.

When I look at my children, I behold the presence of God; our God of miracles, marvels, and wonders. I have beheld God's divine spark within each of my four children, from the miracle moment of their birth, to the marvels of their achievements as they have grown up, and to the wonders of the kindness and blessings they continue to share and pursue. My Naomi, my "sweetie," is 18 years old, and I'm a bit distressed; but she has taught me that "God is in this place" -- and because of her, I must know it.

As a father, and as a member of the people Israel, who struggles to understand the miracle of my daughter's life unfolding before me, I'll do nothing mindfully except count my blessings every day, and look forward to the continued blessings that I will share with all of my family. And thus, may we, like Jacob, prevail in the struggles with our own angels -- especially when those angels are our own children -- and be blessed with the ability to know that God is present, transforming every place, and every life, into a holy one.

B'Shalom U'vracha (With Peace and Blessings),

Rabbi Mitch

Rabbi Mitchell M. Hurvitz is senior rabbi at Temple Sholom of Greenwich, co-founder of the Sholom Center for Interfaith Learning and Fellowship and a past president of the Greenwich Fellowship of Clergy. He can be reached atrabbimitch@templesholom.com, and a collection of his columns may be found on the temple website at www.templesholom.com.