Tirza's Cookies

Tirza was a very good cook.  She went into the kitchen one day to bake.  She decided to make something entirely new, a brand new cookie.  She thought of all the things she especially loved and how wonderful this flavor and that would be together.  She added her ingredients gradually and tasted until she had it just perfect.  As they baked they smelled wonderful and they looked even better than she had imagined when they came out of the oven. 

Tirza thought of her sister Shoshana.  She had lost a prize she had worked hard to win and was feeling blue.  Tirza decided to give Shoshana a plate of her cookies to cheer her up.  She took them up to Shoshana’s room and presented them to her with pride.  She was so happy to see the smile on Shoshana’s face. 

Soon after that Shoshana left the house to go to a meeting, and Tirza went down to clean up the kitchen.  Her mother came home and asked what she had been doing.  “I baked the most wonderful cookies, Tirza said.  Come taste one.”  And she went up to Shoshanna’s room and took two of the cookies from the plate – one for herself and one for her mother.  Then her father came home and she went back to Shoshanna’s room to get a cookie for him, and another for herself and her mother. 

When Shoshana came home with friends, she protested:  “What happened to my cookies?”  “But they were my cookies,” Tirza protested – “I baked them, I invented the recipe.”  “No,” Shoshana said.  “They were your cookies, but you gave them to me.  I’ve invited my friends to share them, and now there aren’t enough.” 

“I’m sorry, Shoshana.  You are right.  I guess I gave them to you, but I didn’t let go of them.”  “So why don’t you bake us some more now?”  Shoshanna asked.  “Because I have to go to class,”  Tirza replied.  “But I wrote the recipe down.  You can bake them yourself.” 

Hours later Tirza came home to find a plate with a couple of cookies on it and a note from Shoshana.  “We saved two for you.”  Tirza went upstairs to find her.  “These aren’t my cookies,”  she protested.  “Mine were shortbread.  I liked the way they melted in your mouth.”  “Well, Tom suggested that we used chopped ginger instead of ground, and then Tammy wanted to be sure the sugar crystals stayed crunchy so we cut back the liquid some.  But they still have the great blend of flavors you came up with.”  Tirza laughed.  “I’m doing it again.  I gave you the recipe, but didn’t let go of it, did I?” 

That night at supper, after Papa said the motzi over the bread, he began the dinner discussion:  “Tirza learned an important lesson today about our responsibility to care for the earth.”  “I did?” Tirza said, looking mystified.  “Yes, you did,” her father said.

“We were made betzelem elohim, in the image of God.  And what does God look like, Shoshana?”  Papa asked.

“God doesn’t look like anything we can comprehend,” Shoshana said.  “Any image we make of God limits our understanding of the truth of God, which is why we are forbidden to make images of God, even in our own mind,”  Shoshana said. 

“Exactly,” Papa said.  “So how can we be made in God’s image?” 

“We are images of God because God is a creator and we are creative,”  Tirza said. 

“And what did you learn about being a creator today?”  Papa asked Tirza.  “Well,”  Tirza began, mulling it over and thinking out loud at the same time, “I guess I learned that the creator doesn’t get to control her creation.” 

“Yes,”  Papa said.  “God, the creator, gave us control of the earth in the garden of Eden.  We were asked to tend the garden, but we were told that we were free to destroy it, and if we did there would not be another.  How hard is it for God to see what we are doing to the creation, do you think, Tirza?” 

“Very hard,”  Tirza said.  “Why did God give us such power, do you think, Papa?” 
“That is a question many people have asked,”  Papa said, “and no one has an entirely satisfactory answer.  You will have to think about that and come to your own conclusions, Tirza.”