From a Seed, a Tree

Yom shlishi, 19 Sivan 5773.

I've neglected this little blog.  I think I'll try to give it a little water (and, no doubt, a bit of fertilizer), and a little TLC, and try to revive it.

I woke up this morning thinking: What exactly are we working toward, now that our kids are grown?

The nearly immediate answer: We're now in the phase of working toward healthy, happy and standing-on-their-own-four-feet married children.

I'm not sure that I thought about this phase much while I was bringing up my boys, except to say to them and anyone who'd listen that "I'm not raising sons.  I'm raising husbands."  And, of course, I acted on this philosophy, praising the qualities that I hoped my future daughters-in-law would love, and working assiduously to eradicate behaviors I thought would make my future daughters-in-law crazy.

So I didn't realize how pleasantly active this phase of their (and our) development would be.

We (the boys and I) converse a lot more now.  When they were small, it seemed I never shut up.  Talking, teaching, soothing, lecturing, cajoling, yelling, bargaining, repeating, repeating, repeating...  I often went to bed tired of my own voice.

Like a tap that won't stop dripping, once the wrench of maturity was applied, that torrent of my talk finally has slowed to a drip...      drip...               drip...                            drip...                             dr.......

Now I am privileged to listen more than talk, to applaud more than advise.  It is truly an honor to listen to the men (and husbands, or future husbands) they've become.  They have achieved so much wisdom!

I've never done well raising plants.  But I imagine that it must be very special to put a seed into earth, feed and water and tend it, and then just see it taking off, doing all of the growth you had imagined when you saw that picture on the Burpee's seed packet.  Or maybe this "raising crops of boys" is more like farming, after all. It's not just the watering and feeding, but the protecting of the little tender shoots throughout terrible storms, droughts, invasions by all manner of locusts or creeping things, doing everything in their power to devour the budding leaves and blossoms...

My boys came through so much, like any children, like any teenangels.  And (with a little guidance and protection from their father and me) they've made themselves into fine, sturdy, capable men.

I'm going to enjoy watching the trees grow taller and stronger.  I'm not quite ready to sit in their shade yet.  But I can see that it will be prodigious.

For my wise children

Yom shishi, 4 Nisan 5771.

Another genius article by Rabbi Moss.

Question of the Week:

One thing I never understood in the Haggadah of Pesach. What's so wise about the Wise Son? He asks his parents, "What are all the laws that our G-d has commanded you?" He seems no better than the Wicked Son, who is criticized for excluding himself and asking "What is this Pesach service to you?" - to you and not to him. Does the Wise Son not also say "commanded you" and not him, thus excluding himself?

Answer:

The Wise Son and the Wicked Son are not similar at all. They are opposites. The Wise Son asks a question. The Wicked Son isn't asking, he is mocking. He doesn't ask questions of his parents. He belittles them.

It isn't his fault. He is a child of post-modern parents. Such parents don't ever tell their children what to do. Instead of giving thier kids direction, they ask them questions.

"Do you want to go to bed now gorgeous?" 

"What would you like for lunch tomorrow princess?"

"Are you ready to stop poking your sister's eye out cutey-pie?"

Parents who constantly ask their children questions and give them choices are putting their children into a position of authority that they are not ready for, while undermining their own authority. More than anything else, children need boundaries. They need to be lovingly told what is right and what is wrong, what is allowed and what is forbidden. These ethical lines have to be clear and unequivocal, set down with sensitivity but without room for debate.

But to give clear boundaries you have to be an authority figure, you have to carry moral weight in the eyes of your children. A parent who caves in to their kids' desires and cowers to their demands, who consults their children's opinion on everything and always gives them options, will never command the respect needed to lay down the law for their children. Kids of such parents see themselves as the know-it-alls, and their parents as silly old people who haven't got a clue.

This is the wisdom of the Wise Child. He recognises that his parents are the source of wisdom, not he, and so he needs to ask them questions, not the other way around. He looks to his parents for guidance, he seeks their input and their point of view, knowing that when it comes to life skills, his youthful energy and idealism are no match for the experience and mature insight of the older generation.

A wise child doesn't come from nowhere. He comes from wise parents. Ask your children too many questions and they will stop asking you any. Give your children clear direction, and they will become wise too.

Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Moss

 And a joyful Pesach to you and your families, my wise children.

Love,

Ema

Ema's Pearl Necklace

Yom rishon, 4 Shevat 5771.

While you were growing up, I made no secret of the fact that strings of pearls are my favorite jewelry, just in case any of you would ever have a fairly significant chunk of change lying about on my birthday.  (I think women should not expect men to read their minds.  Such a ploy is doomed to failure, in countless highly imaginable ways.)

There was a side benefit to sharing this knowledge: in your childish minds, pearls were a pretty big deal to Ema.

So when we were confronted with the usual parenting question of how to create a Petri dish filled with family harmony to grow and thrive in an environment usually laden with sibling rivalry, we had the perfect tool.

When you would come to us and "rat" on each other for some injustice -- real or imagined -- we weighed carefully whether we ought to get involved.  We truly believe some fights should be left between the participants.  We watched closely to see when a bigger kid might be playing the bully, or a little kid might be playing the manipulator, or anyone might be playing us.  We would ask you if you really wanted us involved.  Our involvement would mean getting to the bottom of the dispute, which usually meant nobody would walk away completely clean.  And we made it clear that anybody trying to make himself look good by making his brother look bad gained only our deep disappointment.  You learned to work things out among yourselves most of the time, without dramatic displays that didn't net you much profit.

But my favorite way of instilling brotherly love in you was via "Ema's Pearl Necklace."  When one of you would do something really nice -- or even better, when one of you would "tell on" his brother for doing him a kindness -- I would write with Magic Marker on a white paper plate a short sentence.  "Josh helped Dovid with his homework."  "Aryeh shared his candy with Dani."  "The brothers did the dishes, without being asked."  I taped the plate to a string of twine Abba had run around the top of the wall, where people put fancy borders these days.  Our dining room was a constant reminder that doing nice things, and saying nice things about each other, paid off "big time" in dividends of parental pride.

Today, you are all men I like very much.  And Abba and I often remark to each other that if we gave you nothing else, the environment that allowed you to be very good friends (for life, we hope) was worth its weight in pearls.

On Marriage: The True Meaning of Yichud

Yom sheni, 19 Tishrei 5771.

When Abba and I were first married, we shared a luxury "time share" apartment for a weekend with three other couples.  For the evening's entertainment, one of the couples introduced the new game, "Trivial Pursuit."  The object of the game is to answer questions based on all kinds of trivial facts about literature, history, science, popular topics, and so on.  I suppose it is a way to show off how well-educated or "up on current topics" one is.

It was agreed that we would play in husband-and-wife teams.  What could have been a fun evening turned into a strange lesson in marital harmony, and its main enemies.

We watched as two of the couples, married longer than we, tore into each other in what we assume was supposed to be good-natured teasing.  It was really a way to distance one teammate from his or her partner's apparent stupidity.

We never asked the other non-abrasive couple what they were thinking.  But Abba and I kept looking at each other in horror... and later promised each other that we would never, ever publicly humiliate each other.  P.S.  The two couples who attacked each other all night are no longer married.

Here is similar wisdom from a rabbi to whom my Dutch friend, Isha Smoles-Assis, recently introduced me.

These questions and answers are posted weekly by Rabbi Aron Moss of "Nefesh" at 54 Roscoe St Bondi Beach, Sydney, Australia:

Question of the Week:

My wife has no sense of humour. She says I make fun of her in public (and she's always happy to tell me just how bad I am - even in public). Shouldn't she be able to take a joke?

Answer:

Jokes are serious. The line between a friendly jibe and a humiliating stab is often a fine one. You have to question whether the laugh you may get is worth the pain you may inflict. But between husband and wife, humiliation is simply criminal. It goes against everything that a marriage is supposed to be: an exclusive oneness.

In the Jewish wedding ceremony, after standing under the Chuppa, the bride and groom are taken to a private room, known as the Yichud room. Yichud means oneness and exclusivity. By entering this room, a secluded place where no one is present but the couple, they create a sacred space that is theirs and theirs alone.

The newlyweds leave the Yichud room after a few minutes, but in a way they should never leave it. The privacy and oneness of the Yichud room must be taken with them in their marriage. The relationship between husband and wife is a sacred and secluded place, and should stay that way. Any word or action that jeopardises the privacy and unity of a marriage must be erased from our repertoire.

When you make fun of your wife in front of your friends, you have momentarily stepped out of the Yichud room. You have abandoned your soul-partner, leaving her alone and isolated just for a few cheap laughs. To make a joke is fine, but never at the expense of your oneness.

When your wife publicly criticises you, she has allowed strangers into the Yichud room. She is inviting others into a moment that should only be between the two of you. There is a time and a place for criticism in a relationship, but not in the presence of others.

These mistakes are so common that to many they have become acceptable. But it is these little things that can erode a good marriage. For a relationship to thrive it must always remain an exclusive oneness. Once you get comfortable in the Yichud room, you'll never want to leave.

Good Shabbos and Good Yomtov,

Rabbi Moss

To subscribe email rabbimoss@nefesh.com.au

Chapter One. Small Kindnesses, and Gratitude.

Yom sheni, 17 Shevat 5770.

As I sit cuddled up after my nice hot bath, awaiting the arrival of Abba's bonsai tree, while putting the finishing touches on an editing job about marriage...  I am compelled to write to you, my dear sons and daughters-in-law, about what makes marriage work for Abba and me.

You see, it's these very things that make me feel the need to write.  

In the marriage article, written for people whose marriages are "on the rocks," bonsai trees and heated dressing rooms are suggested, as means to save the marriage.  

Not exactly these details, mind you.  But taking care of each other, in ways Abba and I are blessed to have figured out, so as not to need the "couples retreat." So here for you are suggestions One and Two:

When your wife gets out of the bath, surprise her with a small space heater set up in her normally 10-degree Celsius bathroom.  (Wifey, when you snuggle into your nice, warm bathrobe, be sure to remember to mention his kindness!)  

Dear DIL, (forever after referred to as kallah, for reasons I will discuss later), when he mentions a passion he's always had -- such as a bonsai tree -- try to make it happen, when financially feasible.  (Son-of-mine, when your dear wife goes to the bother and expense, be sure to say "Thank you!" with full eye contact.)  

These suggestions may seem overly simple.

But they are good starters; and judging from what the therapist had to say in the small book he asked me to edit, there are many, many people for whom these ideas are not intuitive.  And I want so much for you to be survivors, in this Era of Divorce.

Adore each other.  You have my brachot for success!