If you are reading this, then it means that it has made it through several portals. As I am writing it, I am not at all sure what its final resting place will be. I may decide that it is nothing more (and, at the same time, nothing less) than an entry in the diary that I do not keep. On the other hand, I may decide to show it to Bernice, and then to discuss with her whether it should go any further. Separately, and together, we will probably discuss whether it will be shared with two other pairs of eyes. We may even, although that will be a huge step, both feel that it is appropriate for a general audience. In that case, you will be reading it…indeed you are reading it, which, I suppose, means that both Bernice and I felt that was the way to go.

Our story begins on Monday afternoon, when we were, as usual, in Zichron. Maayan asked me a question about bringing bikkurim to Bet Hamikdash (bringing first fruits to the Temple), and, after I had answered, Raphael then asked her what Bet Hamikdash was, a question that Maayan passed on to me.

(Both of my daughters-in-law often ask questions connected with Jewish religious practice. Since they both come from secular homes, but both grew up in the Israeli mainstream, their questions are difficult to predict, and, often, challenging to answer. This was not something I realised I had signed up for until it started happening, but it keeps my on my toes.)

I should explain that Bernice was, at that point, in the bedroom, attempting to persuade Adam that it was in his best interests to go to sleep. (He tends to be, during the day, a catnapper, believing that 10 or 15 minutes is all the sleep he needs.) If Bernice had been available, this would have been a question for her. She, after all, was a ganenet for decades, whereas I don’t have a lot of experience explaining such concepts to four-year-olds. Still, needs must when the Devil, or, indeed, God, drives, so I took a deep breath and a step back.

I began by asking Raphael whether he knew anything about Hashem, and, from his response, I decided that needed to be my starting point. Both of our children, and their partners, are respectful of our religious beliefs, and also welcome us exposing our grandchildren to their Jewish heritage, so there was no tension of any kind in my talking to Raphael about God and the Temple. I presented Hashem as the Prime Mover and Creator of the universe and everything in it (not quite in those terms, but you get the idea), including the mechanisms by which the universe continually recreates itself. I then explained that Hashem loves everything he has made, but has a special relationship with the Jews, and has given us the Torah, to explain to us how we should behave, treating everyone and everything kindly, and thanking God for all He has provided us with. The Jews built the Temple as a place where they could come to meet God and thank Him for all the wonderful things He has created and provided for us.

This seemed to satisfy Raphael, and the conversation soon turned to whether it was time yet to eat something sweet. I found myself revisiting this conversation this morning. I started the day by harvesting the last of our loquats and the first of our nectarines. On the kitchen table, I set out the fruit in order to take trumot and ma’asrot, the tithes that, in Temple times, would be given to the priests. As I went through the ritual that is, over the years, starting to feel familiar, I suddenly found it refreshed and invested with its full meaning by the explanation I had given Raphael the previous day. I was struck by the thought that we need to see the world more often through the eyes of a four-year-old, to guard against our becoming jaded, and taking the everyday world for granted. As one of the sayings of the day offered me by my computer this week put it, in a phrasing attributed to Einstein, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

I can attest that in setting aside the tithes this morning, I was far more actively conscious than I usually am of how minor is my role in producing the fruit that our garden yields, and how much it is a gift from God. I was very grateful to Maayan for having created the opportunity, and yielded me the place, to think, at a fundamental level, about our relationship with Hashem.

Later this morning, I found myself reflecting on the life choices that our two children have made. I recognise now that, when the children were growing up, whenever I visualised their adult lives, I always imagined them growing up to become much better versions of myself. As I write that last sentence, I am appalled by the egocentricity it reveals.

As things turned out, both Esther and Micha’el, in their very different ways, made life choices as they matured that brought them to very different places from the ones I might have chosen for them. Along the way, there were moments when my egocentricity made it more difficult for me to be entirely happy in their happiness. But I realised, very quickly, the rightness of those choices for them. Each of them has found a life partner who truly completes them. Each of them has built a wonderful family. Each of them is shaping a life of meaning, commitment, purpose and values.

Above all, of course, each of them has grown into not a better version of me (what an awful idea), but, rather, a better version of themselves, which is, at bottom, what we are all put on earth to achieve. The precious time that Bernice and I spend with our family is an opportunity to enjoy watching not only our grandchildren grow up, but also our grown-up children build a meaningful life. I relish the prospect of many more years of watching those adventures unfold.