c. 1997 Religion News Service

(Rabbi Rudin is the national interreligious affairs director of the American Jewish Committee).

UNDATED _ When I think of entertainer Bill Cosby and media executive Gerald Levin, two prominent and powerful men whose sons were recently murdered, the anguished shriek of King David, another prominent and powerful man who lost a son, echoes inside me:”O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would that I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!” Even though the Israelite monarch uttered this cry more than 3,000 years ago, his howl of fatherly grief remains painfully fresh. In his lament, David expressed what every mourning parent feels:”Why am I alive when my beautiful creation, my child, is dead?” In a bittersweet coincidence, both murder victims, Ennis Cosby and Jonathan Levin, were teachers, a profession greatly admired by their fathers. When Cosby first heard his son had been murdered while changing a flat tire on a Los Angeles freeway, the world famous entertainer said,”He was the hero of my life.”These words will surely outlive Cosby’s clever TV scripts and comedy routines.

And when Levin, the chairman and CEO of Time Warner Communications, learned that his son Jonathan, a 31-year-old New York City high school English teacher, had been tortured and murdered for his ATM access number, the grieving father brushed aside the dominant influence of Time Warner’s movies, magazines, TV networks, books, tapes, and CDs. The powerful media executive simply said:”What my son is doing is more important than what I have done.” Just as a mighty king could not protect his son from violent death, so too, the Cosby and Levin tragedies are harsh reminders that even extraordinary wealth and privileged status provide no guarantee against the murder of a child.

A child’s death, especially a violent one, challenges our basic religious beliefs. In addition to David’s loss of Absalom, the Jewish tradition is filled with poignant stories of illustrious rabbis and their wives who buried their children. Generally, the bereaved parents found solace by strengthening their faith through intensified prayer and Torah study.

Interestingly, it was often the wife who spiritually instructed her rabbinic husband when confronting the death of a child. Beruriah, the wife of Rabbi Meir, a second-century Galilean scholar, reminded him:”We are required to restore to God, our children’s Owner, what has been left to us only in trust.” Believing that God has temporarily lent us children who may be”restored”at any time is a comforting theological position. However, as a parent, I am haunted by the uncontrollable rage and anger of King David, who cannot understand why he has been permitted to live beyond the lifetime of his son.

David’s piercing cry is more genuine than the soothing response of a saddened parent reconciled to a child’s death. Perhaps with time David came to terms with the loss of Absalom, but that could not happen until he ranted and roared in pain. David’s tormented words were probably recorded precisely when he heard of his son’s death. The explanation offered by Rabbi Meir’s wife seems to have evolved long after the death of their children.

As I walked to my office the day following Jonathan Levin’s funeral _ filled with empathy for the Levins and the Cosbys _ a Father’s Day window display at Bloomingdale’s caught my attention. I saw”dad”mannequins decked out in fancy athletic garb and mumbled,”Anyone for tennis?” But the other displays upset me. One”window dad”was standing amidst crushed light bulbs and another was covered with cake mix ripped from empty boxes.

The windows’ meaning was clear. Fathers are good only for leisure-time activities because they are otherwise clumsy oafs who cannot successfully install a light bulb or follow the simple directions of a cake mix.

But why the need to depict fathers as hapless incompetents who care only for sports and recreation? The King Davids, Bill Cosbys, Gerald Levins, and all the other loving fathers of the world deserve something better than buffoon-like stereotypes.

Why not portray a father who calls his son”a hero,”or a father who believes his son’s work is”more important”than his own? Or how about a father who murmurs:”My son, my son, would that I had died instead of you.” Now those are real fathers, not dolts who can’t replace a light bulb or bake a cake.

MJP END RUDIN