She calls frantic.

“I’m in the mall” she states. “You have a minute?” she asks out of breath above the noise behind her.

“Okay.”

“We’ve been shopping for two hours and haven’t found a thing that looks nice.”

I understand.

“And my daughter found a shirt that has a splash of bright red in it.”

Pause for breath.

“Finally the one thing we find has to have a red splash?”

“How big is the splash?” I ask.

“It’s not a tsunami but not raindrops either.”

I’m quiet.

“It’s just that I’ve said no to about 20 other things already and I feel like I’m turning into one big ‘No’ sign. And I’m afraid this will have the opposite effect.”

I hear.

“There are five other mothers sitting on the side of the dressing rooms that look like me; exhausted and confused. Actually not all the mothers. There’s one that just says no with a small shake of her head without a flinch. But I’m definitely not alone in this dilemma.”

“So what goes through your head when the other mothers’ daughters come out with something below their bar?”

“Torn.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a lot of different messages flying around in my head.”

“Like?

“Like if I trample too hard I’ll kill the whole thing kill my daughter’s self-worth. She’s picking nice tzniyus styles and I want to give her support and the appreciation that she’s in a good place. On the other hand she does have this thing for color and I’m afraid to make her feel like she lives in a depressing black-and-gray life.”

I think to myself how hard clothes shopping is if we’re not sure who we are. It’s as if every part of our soul has to be defined each time we walk into a store.

I don’t remember now who was saying this to me the other day how it’s so important — as opposed to the outside world’s consensus — to give our children a very sheltered life. How it makes them stronger and more secure.

I see it here and now in this scenario.

Maybe the sheltered girl doesn’t have a question about the splash of red. She doesn’t go into panic about it. She just doesn’t have to get as far as passing it by on the hanger.

People have a lot to say about the Torah’s fences. One says: “That’s not a halachah.” The other says: “That’s only a minhag.” But boy am I happy there are fences before fences before fences before the cliff.

It’s not easy to put all the bones back together and heal the wounds after someone falls off a cliff.

And you’re not always so smart before then. Our yetzer hara really works overtime to pull down these fences especially through the airwaves. With a huff and a puff he blows us down.

We need a ton of siyata d’Shmaya Divine assistance. A lot of davening to Hashem to help keep us safe. Our tefillos are the way we use the airwaves to fight back.

The other day a woman who has serious shalom bayis issues got a blessing for clarity. Suddenly it came to her: Why did it work better in the olden days? What was different? She thought about what women used to do — cook and clean and make their husband a priority. Was she really prioritizing hers? She came to the honest conclusion that no she wasn’t.

At that moment she made a serious decision to make him her number-one priority.

When she got home that day — before she even had a chance to put her new thought into action — her husband’s greeting was already completely different.

The next day the woman from the mall calls back.

“Did you buy the shirt?” I ask.

“Nope. My daughter decided it didn’t look right. She must’ve heard my thoughts.”

Airwaves.