"Bringing Hashem into our homes isn’t only about teaching our children to see Him. Sometimes it’s about allowing our children to remind us how."
— Yaffa Palti
“Mommy! Look! A ladybug!”
If you’ve ever spent time with a young child, you know that almost anything can
become the highlight of the day. A butterfly is front-page news. A puddle is an
ocean. A perfectly shaped cloud deserves everyone’s immediate attention. And
somehow, a tiny ladybug can bring life to a complete standstill.
Children have a remarkable ability to notice what the rest of us have long since
learned to walk past.
Somewhere along the way, though, we become very busy. We hurry from one
responsibility to the next, mentally planning dinner while folding laundry,
answering emails while reminding someone—for what feels like the fifteenth
time—to please put on their shoes.
(Which, by the way... where do children’s shoes actually disappear to? I don’t
think science has fully answered this yet.)
Our children, meanwhile, are still stopping to notice. And perhaps one of the
greatest gifts they give us is reminding us how to notice the world again.
Bringing Hashem into our homes isn’t only about teaching our children to see
Him. Sometimes it’s about allowing our children to remind us how.
There are few things more beautiful than watching a child slowly discover
Hashem. Rarely does it happen during one profound conversation or a perfectly
planned lesson. More often, it happens quietly, almost unnoticed— somewhere
between picking flowers on the walk home, helping set the table for dinner,
pointing excitedly at a rainbow, or whispering Shema before bed. Without even
realizing it, a child begins to understand something extraordinary:
Hashem isn’t only in the siddur or the stories we tell. He’s here too.
As parents, we spend so much time thinking about what we should teach our
children. We teach them brachos. We teach them mitzvos. We teach them the
stories of the Torah. We remind them to say “thank you,” to share, to apologize,
to help, to daven.
Those things matter deeply.
And yet, the more I think about it the more I realize there’s something equally as
important as teaching our children about Hashem.
Helping them discover what a relationship with Him can feel like.
Because children don’t only learn from the lessons we teach; they absorb
the atmosphere we create.
Long before they understand Hashem with their minds, they experience Him
through the way our homes feel. They notice whether gratitude is part of
everyday conversation. Whether kindness is celebrated. Whether we turn to
Hashem only when life falls apart, or whether His presence weaves itself into
ordinary Tuesday afternoons.
Before they can explain what emunah means, they’re already living inside
whatever version of it we’ve created.
The conversations change as our children grow, but the atmosphere they’re
growing up in continues to shape them every single day.
I’ve come to realize that’s both the privilege and the responsibility of
parenthood.
The moments that seem the smallest are often shaping something the biggest.
So what does that actually look like? How do we actually help our children
experience a relationship with Hashem?
Thankfully, it doesn’t require adding six more things to an already overflowing to-
do list. (Because if one more article tells mothers to “create one more meaningful family ritual,” someone is going to read it while standing over a pot of pasta that’s boiling over.)
More often than not, bringing Hashem into our homes isn’t about doing
more.
It’s about seeing the moments we’re already living through a different lens.
It all begins with something children seem to do almost effortlessly.
They notice.
The more I watch children, the more convinced I become that one of the
greatest gifts we can give them isn’t more information.
It’s teaching them how to pay attention.
Before we teach a child to say “thank You,” we can first help her notice what
she’s thanking Hashem for.
The warm cookie waiting after school.
The friend who saved her a seat.
The butterfly that landed nearby.
The hug she didn’t know she needed.
The magnificent sunset on the drive home.
The parking spot that opened up just when Mommy was already five minutes
late.
The fact that everyone made it safely through another ordinary day that wasn’t
ordinary at all.
Because gratitude doesn’t begin when we say thank You.
It begins when we learn to notice.
That’s why children are so quick to stop and admire a ladybug.
They’re not distracted from life.
They’re paying attention to it!
I’ve started to realize that noticing is a skill. And like every skill, it grows with
practice.
The beautiful thing is that it doesn’t require setting aside another hour in our
already full days. (Because if someone could also tell us where that extra hour is
hiding, we’d all be very grateful.)
It simply asks us to become a little more awake to the moments we’re already
living.
It’s also why children are such wonderful teachers.
They don’t rush past beauty. They stop for it.
They don’t need a reason to stare at a butterfly or collect a funny-shaped rock or
proudly bring you a flower that, if we’re being honest, has seen better days.
To them, it’s a treasure.
And as I sit with that thought, I realize that’s exactly how a relationship with
Hashem begins. Not with extraordinary moments. But with ordinary moments
that someone took the time to notice.
As parents, we have the privilege of helping our children develop that way of
seeing. Sometimes that looks like pointing out a spectacular sunset and simply
saying, “Look how beautiful Hashem made the sky tonight.”
Sometimes it’s pausing after a long day and asking, “What was one gift Hashem
gave you today that you almost missed?”
I love that question because there isn’t a wrong answer.
Maybe it was the friend who saved them a seat.
Maybe it was finally understanding the math problem they’d been struggling
with.
Maybe it was hearing their baby brother laugh so hard that milk came out of his
nose.
(Parenting really is glamorous like that.)
The point isn’t the size of the gift. It’s learning to recognize that our days are
filled with them.
And little by little, something begins to shift.
Children who learn to notice Hashem’s gifts naturally begin to thank Him
for them.
They don’t need to be prompted or reminded; their hearts just notice it
instinctively.
"Gratitude doesn’t begin when we say thank You. It begins when we learn to notice."
— Yaffa Palti
