“Chaim V’Chessed, a nonprofit in Jerusalem that helps English speakers navigate the oftentimes confusing bureaucracy in Israel”

No Longer Guilty [Words Unspoken / Issue 860]

Dear Woman in the Corner,

Thank you for writing this letter, validating my experience, and quieting the incessant guilt I have since I’ve had children baruch Hashem.

I’m not the woman you wrote the letter to; I’m one of the other young mothers in your shul, the one who times herself to get there for shofar, but not a minute earlier, and leaves as soon as it’s over, even if the kids are calm and it really, really looks like I can “chap arein” a Shemoneh Esreh.

I do that because I know that it could be a matter of seconds between “all the kids are calm” to a noisy meltdown that will tip the whole balance, as you so aptly described.

But still… every year as I hurry out as soon as the tekios are over, I’m consumed with guilt. After a decade spending Yamim Noraim inside shul from beginning to end, first as a restless preteen, counting the pages and watching the clock tick… and slowly, growing into a teen and adult, who looked forward to and savored the experience… it’s really hard to be firmly shut out on the other side of the door, heading home or to the park while the shul is aflame with tefillah.

As much as I know that I’m blessed to have a good reason to be on that park bench at that moment, and nowhere else, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder longingly toward the shul and thinking, What are they up to now? Did I really have to leave? The kids are so calm… maybe they would have behaved until after Unesaneh Tokef?

The voice in my head doesn’t stop until the men come home, and it continues on a loop in the back of my mind throughout the Yamim Noraim. Could I try harder to spend more time in shul? Make better arrangements? Bigger nosh bags? Are my Shemoneh Esrehs worth anything, when they’re davened at home with a constant ear out for the numerous mini-crises that can come up over a 20-minute span?

But I can’t bear the idea of having to face the irritated stares if my kids would act up in shul, and I’ve been taught repeatedly that it’s not the time or place for them, outside of shofar blowing… and so I leave, guilt in tow.

As I scurry out to the sounds of Ashrei all around me, I can’t help but notice the ones who are staying and settling their kids down with toys and treats. In my mind, they’re judging me for not making the effort to stay, as they do. Of course, I’m not around to know what actually plays out minutes later, so all I’m left with are the voices in my head and the frustrating feeling of groping for meaning that is just out of reach.

So, thank you for sharing your perspective. For a change, as I left shul this Rosh Hashanah, I noticed not the other young mothers who stayed, but the people like you eyeing me thankfully and supportively.

Gut yahr to all!

Name Withheld

Laid-Back Parenting Is Neglectful [I’m Stuck / Issue 860]

The article about the mother who’s stuck because her husband’s household rules are just too hard for her to implement really caught my attention. But none of the rules she gives as examples — such as no shoes on furniture, no eating outside the kitchen, proper mealtimes and bedtimes — seem extreme. They’re just common sense.

Children do need a framework and basic house rules. Not rigid rules, but structure with flexibility. All the examples here — no shoes on furniture, no eating outside the kitchen, proper mealtimes, and proper bedtimes — just show a parent who wants to bring up his children with some sort of healthy basic structure.

Without structure, children could go to bed at two in the morning. And then when and how will they get up for school or cheder? Without regular mealtimes children could go without adequate nutrition or live on snacks. And if they’re snacking because no foods and no proper meal has been prepared for them and they eat all over the house, that means the house gets extremely messy. If the atmosphere is to be laid-back, no one is going to clear up that mess, so it’ll be a mess upon a mess... If children come in walking with muddy shoes and put their feet on the furniture, there’s going to be more cleaning to do, which laid back people won’t do.

Indeed, the mother even admits she sees the value of his approach, but it’s very hard for her to implement it. She says, “I know it’s my job to uphold my husband’s priorities. I simply don’t feel capable of doing so....”

Most children who grow up in a house where there are no basic structural rules, where people eat when they want, what they want, where they want, and go to bed when they want, will be children who regularly arrive late to school because they’ve gone to bed far too late, arrive without their hair combed, without clean clothes, with unmatched socks, and sometimes even smelling bad since they haven’t had a shower for several days.

Being too laid-back can be called neglectful parenting.

Bringing up children requires making effort to care, love, clothe, and feed them properly. Children also need proper sleep in order to function and grow. Left to their own devices, they may not make the right choices in what and when to eat and sleep.

This mother needs help to acquire tools to run a home that is healthy for children to grow up in. For children to grow up healthy, they do require certain basic house rules explained firmly, but with lots of love. This will give them confidence and security.

Z.C., Maale Adumim

Help and Hope [In the Balance / Issue 860]

I read with a mixture of sympathy and regret Batsheva Berman’s horror story about the Israeli medical system. Sympathy because I went through a very similar story recently, and regret that she didn’t get the help that I did.

Batsheva’s story clearly happened years ago; the medical system, and the bureaucracy surrounding it, have both improved immensely, and these sort of situations thankfully don’t happen anymore. I’ve lived in Israel for the past four years. Recently, I too was dealing with an undiagnosed disease, for which I needed an MRI desperately. I was also told by my medical practitioner that the test wasn’t available for three months. When you’re afraid, having nightmares, three months waiting time is a luxury you can’t afford.

A friend of mine told me about Chaim V’Chessed, a nonprofit in Jerusalem that helps English speakers navigate the oftentimes confusing bureaucracy in Israel, including the medical system. I don’t know what strings they managed to pull, or how, but within two days I had an appointment for the scan I needed later that same week. They handled my case with such sensitivity, never passing on my name to anyone, even within their own staff, without my consent, and unless it was necessary to expedite the process.

I wish for all of Klal Yisrael that no one ever needs to be helped in this way. But I hope that for those who do, they know that help does exist. I learned from my own experience how much this amazing organization wants to help people, and wish everyone in Batsheva Berman’s situation knew who to turn to, instead of being left hanging, fending for themselves.

Chaim V’Chessed can be reached at 072-CHESSED (243 7733) or medical@chaimvchessed.com.

Judith R.

You Can End This [Words Unspoken / Issue 859]

Dear “Friend,”

What a heartbreaking letter you wrote about being dropped by those friends you helped.

It’s so painful to invest in relationships, only to see them fade, especially if it keeps happening. You believe this is an inevitable cycle, but reading between the lines of your letter may help you see a way out, if you’re willing to be honest with yourself.

You’re clearly a perceptive and empathetic person, since you’re able to identify the “broken baby birds” and you reach out to them in a way that they can trust you.

And for a while they do.

“So I let you into my life, too, share tidbits of the things that have shaped me into who I am, discuss the humdrum of day-to-day existence and the things that bind us in humanity,” you write. But that isn’t really sharing. Broken people are sharing their most painful parts with you, but are you being vulnerable in return? I don’t mean that when someone else is falling apart in front of you, you should also fall apart. Two people falling apart wouldn’t be good for anyone.

But life is cyclical. We all have ups and downs, and if you’re able to relate to these women as well as you do, surely you know what it means to fall apart. But you may be sharing that part of yourself in only the most superficial way, and there may be a power differential in play. You’re the strong, resilient hero. Consciously, you really want to help them, but sometimes, there’s a part in us deep down that wants to feel like a savior. A part that wants people to be “digging deep down and telling me things you’ve never told anyone else,” and “calling me so many times that you start feeling beholden,” not because they need to, but because it makes us feel good about ourselves.

You say almost as much yourself: “Before you tell me that this is my fault — it’s a messianic complex, I must get high on doing this.” If you have to keep reassuring your “clients,” if they’re all coming to the same conclusion, I don’t think it matters how many times you’ve consulted with professionals; that’s something to be examined seriously. Even the most competent therapist can’t read your mind and motivations, and if you’re as perceptive as you sound, you know what to say and what not to say to gain their seal of approval.

Lastly, while it occasionally happens that someone who’s had to be dependent is embarrassed and avoids the people that have helped them, that is very indicative of a one-sided relationship. By setting yourself up as the ultimate giver, the people you’re trying to help are positioned as the ultimate takers.

And that doesn’t make anyone feel good.

Yes, when they were desperate, you were there for them, but the moment they’re just a little bit stronger, that’s humiliating not because you gave them so much, but because you created an atmosphere — not at all consciously, I’m sure — in which they were desperate and could trust you. And now they feel used. Used to let you feel like a hero.

If you can be brave enough to see one of the professionals you often consult with and examine that empty part of yourself that needs to rescue others to feel worthy, you can end this painful cycle.

And the next broken baby bird you see, you will reach out to as an equal and not as a superior — someone who not only has been there, but will be there again, because life is circular and sometimes, we all break and need to heal — and that bond won’t be so easily broken after you’ve helped them heal.

Anonymous

Dote on the New Mother! [Beyond Blue / Issue 856]

I know that this article only described two women’s experience with severe PPD, but there was one thing that stood out for me (and for my sisters — we all thought the same thing): That a woman must be spoiled, pampered, and taken care of after birth!

This is true about all births, but especially true after a first. It may sound very idealistic and “romantic” to go home straight from the hospital and manage as a “family,” but I say, “No!”Im yirtzeh Hashem, you have many years ahead of you to cherish as a family. Right now, the priority is to take care of the new, perhaps vulnerable mom (and dad?). This is irrelevant to whether you had an easy, uncomplicated birth experience or not.

If you’re due to have a baby and are unable to have it near family, make sure you have a system in place to surround you with care. (Food packages are great, but not enough.) But if you can, there's nothing like going home to have your baby.

After I had baby number two, I called a dermatologist to make an appointment for my baby’s older sister. During the conversation, the doctor heard I had a three-week-old baby and literally yelled at me that under no circumstances was I to come to her (she paid me a home visit), and told me that it wasn’t for naught in old Yemen that the new mother wasn’t allowed to leave her mother’s house for 40 days after birth, and was doted on by all.

In my mother’s day, she was in the hospital after (regular) births for between 10 and 14 days, in beautiful rooms with dedicated staff who guided and helped her acclimate to each new addition to the family. Today, most of us are “thrown out” of the hospital (ready or not) after two days.

Dear mothers: You’re all superwomen! I salute you! But give yourselves that vital time of love and support so you can start your new baby’s life as a healthy and strong mother.

M.K.

Beit Shemesh

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 862)