On Succos, we gather our crops, reflect on our harvest. In life, we gather our experiences, appreciate what we’ve gained

It started subtly. I watched it unfold with a pit in my stomach. One of my children seemed to resent davening. Whenever he reached for the siddur on Shabbos, it was like watching my seven-year-old reaching for her homework assignment.

Then came the comments. “Davening is soooo boring” or “Uch, the chazzan went so slowly today.” The words stung. But perhaps, I tried to reassure myself, my son had more kavanah than the others and was frustrated at not being able to fully express the emotions within.

But then things got worse. His siddur was treated so roughly, I was afraid it would fly out of his hands. I tried to give him chizuk: “Yes, I know it’s hard, but davening is how we talk with Hashem. You can ask for anything you’d like!” My words were barely met with a nod.

I felt broken. Not having grown up in a frum home, I couldn’t sprinkle my divrei Torah with quotes from mefarshim, and I’ve never even opened half of the seforim my children learn in school. The one thing I felt I could offer my children frumkeit-wise was a close, personal relationship with G-d. I prided myself on my spirituality, imparted by my parents and grandparents; I could hold a conversation with Hashem as well as the best of ’em. So what was happening with my son?