Mishneh Torah, Foreign Worship and Customs of the Nations 6

Insight

Parenting often feels like we are constantly trying to divine the future. We look at our children—their meltdowns, their milestones, their sudden shifts in temperament—and we find ourselves desperate for a glimpse into the "why" and the "what next." We want to know if they will be happy, if they will be kind, if they will be successful. The Maimonidean prohibition against ov and yid'oni—practices of necromancy and seeking forbidden knowledge—speaks to a primal human impulse: the desire for certainty in an uncertain world. In the ancient world, people turned to these practices because the terrifying vulnerability of existence was too much to bear. They wanted a voice from the earth, a sign, a shortcut to knowing the unknowable. As parents, we are tempted by our own versions of this. We scour parenting forums for "the secret" to a child’s behavior, we obsess over developmental charts as if they were prophetic scrolls, and we sometimes treat our intuition as a mystical power rather than a fallible, human tool.

The Torah’s firm boundary here is not just about avoiding "magic"; it is a lesson in radical presence. By forbidding these inquiries, the tradition pushes us away from the obsession with the "future child" and forces us to engage with the "current child." When we try to control the future through anxiety or ritualistic helicoptering, we are essentially trying to bypass the messy, holy work of building a relationship in the here and now. The prohibition against passing children through the fire to Molech—a practice that, while ancient, serves as a metaphor for sacrificing the child’s well-being for the sake of an ideology or a rigid expectation—reminds us that our children are not pawns in our life’s design. They are individuals who belong to God and themselves. When we treat them as extensions of our own fears or ambitions, we are "passing them through the fire" of our own insecurities.

True Jewish parenting, as Maimonides implies by emphasizing the sanctity of the Temple over the "kneeling stones" of idolatry, is about recognizing that holiness is found in the intentionality of our actions, not in the performance of external rituals that promise control. We don’t need to whisper to the earth to understand our children; we need to sit on the floor with them. We don't need to fear the future if we are cultivating a foundation of trust today. The "micro-win" is the realization that we can let go of the need for total control. We are not the masters of our children’s destinies, but we are the architects of their current safety and belonging. When we stop looking for the "voice from the ground" and start listening to the actual voice in front of us, we break the cycle of anxiety. We accept that "good-enough" is not a failure; it is the human condition. We are not stone-faced idols; we are parents who make mistakes, apologize, and try again. And in that, there is more holiness than in all the ancient rituals combined. We accept the mess, we accept the unknown, and we commit to being present, exactly where our feet are, on the ground of our own home, not on the forbidden stone of our fears.

Text Snapshot

"Do not turn to the ovot or the yid'onim. Do not seek them out, to be defiled by them: I am the Lord your God." (Leviticus 19:31)

"There shall not be found among you one who passes his son or daughter through fire." (Deuteronomy 18:10)

"It is a universally accepted custom among the Jewish people to place mats, straw, or hay in synagogues... to separate between their faces and the stones." (Mishneh Torah, Foreign Worship and Customs of the Nations 6:7)

Activity

The "Grounding" Connection (10 Minutes)

Because this text focuses on the dangers of searching for hidden answers and the importance of how we physically interact with our space, we are going to do a "Grounding" activity with our children. This is designed to pull us out of our heads and into the reality of our shared space.

1. The Set-up (2 minutes): Find a clear space on the floor. If you have a rug or a soft mat, use it. If you are on hard wood or tile, place a blanket down. Explain to your child, "We are going to do a 'reset' to show that we are present right here and now, instead of worrying about 'what if' or 'what’s next.'"
2. The Connection (5 minutes): Sit face-to-face. Ask your child to tell you one thing they can see, one thing they can hear, and one thing they can feel (like the texture of their shirt or the floor). Do the same. This shifts the brain from "future-tripping" or "anxiety-searching" into sensory reality.
3. The Blessing (3 minutes): Take their hands and say a simple, non-formal blessing. It doesn’t have to be in Hebrew if that’s not your custom. Try: "May we be present with each other today. May we find enough in this moment. May we trust that we are safe and together."

This activity mimics the Maimonidean idea of separating ourselves from the "stone" (the cold, rigid, or anxious parts of our parenting) and choosing instead to connect with warmth and intention. It teaches children that they don’t need to perform or be "perfect" to have your attention; they just need to be there.

Script

The Awkward Question: "Are you scared of what will happen when I grow up?"

Parent: "That’s a big, honest question. You know, sometimes I do wonder about the future, because I love you so much and I want the best for you. But you know what? I’ve learned that when I spend all my time worrying about who you’ll be in ten years, I miss out on who you are right now. And right now? You’re pretty great. My job isn't to predict the future or make sure everything is perfect. My job is to be your safe harbor today. So, instead of worrying about the 'what ifs,' let’s focus on the 'what now'—like, what are we having for snack?"

Habit

The "No-Future" Hour

Pick one hour this week—perhaps Friday afternoon before Shabbat or Sunday morning—where you commit to zero future-talk. No discussion of grades, no talk about the next school year, no "what are you going to be when you grow up." If the child brings it up, gently pivot to a current, sensory topic: "That’s a long way off! Right now, I’m really interested in this LEGO set/book/drawing you’re working on. Tell me about this part right here." This builds the muscle of staying in the present.

Takeaway

The ancient prohibitions against necromancy are, at their heart, warnings against the anxiety of trying to control the uncontrollable. By grounding yourself in the present moment and prioritizing your child’s current well-being over your internal "what-if" narratives, you practice a form of holiness that is both ancient and deeply practical. You are enough, your child is enough, and right now is the only time you truly have. Bless the chaos, keep it simple, and breathe.