“A talent is a gift from Hashem, and could (should) be put to its own Torah use”

Is It Always Either/Or? [Stars Aligned / Issue 873]

I was intrigued to read the story describing the lives of Nili and Daniel Bendelman.

They are clearly very inspirational people who have a deep drive for authenticity and giving, and I appreciated the chance to read about their lives and to take inspiration from it.

However, I am struggling with the line where Daniel pledges to Hashem to give up his career and devote himself to Torah learning, if he meets his bashert.

Learning Torah is of course priceless, and our number one priority in life. A career in secular modern art is probably not conducive to a life of kedushah, and his sacrifice for this is unimaginable and should be publicly applauded. Daniel’s decision is truly admirable.

For the general public though, does it have to be so drastic — either/or?

A talent is a gift from Hashem, and could (should) be put to its own Torah use. (And later on in the article, the narrator does express his dream to fuse Torah and art together.)

We hear stories from baalei teshuvah who fully disconnected themselves from their former lives and delved headfirst into full-time Torah learning, only to find themselves years later feeling burned out and unfulfilled from suppressing their natural talents and creativity. They then start to question their life choices. Would this have happened if they’d brought their skills with them into a Torah framework?

In individual cases, attempting spiritual growth by rejecting our inborn need for self-expression may be counterproductive, and a rav should always be consulted.

D.B.,

New Jersey

He’s in Pain, Too [Crying It Out / Issue 873]

A couple of years ago, my 11-year-old had corona and was put into quarantine. We can debate if the guidelines were correct, but this isn’t what this is about.) The first couple of days were weekdays, so he kept himself busy with schoolwork and computer games. But then came Shabbat.

I came to my son’s room before candlelighting to put away the electronics, and I think the reality of the long 25 hours hit him. He started crying. I felt so bad that I couldn’t hug him or do much at that point. I sat outside and cried, and then realized that maybe on some level, this is what Hashem feels watching us in galut. I don’t know why He can’t just redeem us already but I know He’s in pain, too, and so I sat and cried for Him.

Over the months, I tried to capture these feelings into words but never succeeded. Russy Tendler, in her piece about how hard it is for her to withstand her baby’s cries, did such a great job expressing exactly what was in my heart and head and I’m so grateful.

Name Withheld

There’s Another Way [Crying It Out / Issue 873]

I wanted to thank Russy Tendler for her beautiful piece about understanding Hashem’s love for us through our own love for our children. It’s such an important concept.

I just wanted to point out that there is another way to get a good night’s sleep, without crying it out, while sticking to all the (very important) aspects of attachment parenting. It’s easier on the parents and much gentler on the child. Most importantly, it doesn’t harm the child or his/her trust in the world in any way, which leaving a child crying, alone, frightened and feeling abandoned, will generally do.

This works best if both parents are on board and the father can help out — it’s certainly the easiest and quickest way to do it — but I’ve also done it on my own when my husband couldn’t.

I’ve used this method successfully on several children between the ages of 12 months and 27 months, depending on how well the baby/toddler and I slept together and on how much sleep we were all getting or not getting.

It doesn’t involve ignoring or leaving a child to cry, but there is firm boundary setting declaring that this isn’t nursing time, this is sleeping time.

Toddlers can understand this concept. I always introduced it during the day. We played with dolls and put them to sleep, explaining that, “After night-night, there is no more nursing. We go to sleep.” At night, when the inevitable requests come, you (or the father because the baby knows s/he isn’t going to get what s/he wants from him) go to the child and repeat the phrases used during the day. You’re gentle, firm, loving. There will be no more night feedings, and that is sad for the little one. But YOU ARE THERE.

Every time the baby cries, you come, and you remind him/her that there’s no nursing now. And you remain gentle, firm, and loving.

This generally works within a few days. For my more stubborn ones, it took longer, though it did get better — the frequency and intensity of the wakings and screaming dropped within a week, and then eventually stopped. Yes, there were rough nights, but “crying it out” comes with that, too.

They all slept through the night in the end, and they were all “trained,” but they weren’t alone in their upset, not frightened, and we were able to maintain attachment parenting while ensuring that we all got the rest we needed.

Wishing you and everyone peaceful, restful nights,

Tali Edelstein

Goodbye Guilt [Crying It Out / Issue 873]

Dear Russy,

Thank you for your moving article on our relationship with our children, and how it mirrors our relationship to Hashem. I’m so impressed by your commitment to raising emotionally healthy children!

I know this isn’t really the point of the article, but I do want to share a recent epiphany that I had, in case it benefits anyone else.

Disclaimer — I’m not a child-rearing expert (although I do read Sarah Chana Radcliffe’s articles religiously!). But, like all Jewish mothers, I’m no stranger to guilt. We push ourselves to the limits to be the best parents we can be. Our children are barely walking, and we’re already reading articles about raising troubled teens and make mental notes what to do to try to avoid this in our own children, chas v’shalom. We know the theories, the statistics. Our children cry, and our hearts break — what if this is the moment that could chas v’shalom scar them for life? If I would just push myself now, then I could be saving myself from much larger difficulties in the years to come!

But recently, I had this epiphany: My parenting will never be perfect. Whatever I do, however I raise them, my children are going to find fault with something I did. (Although hopefully I’ll have raised them well enough to either voice it politely, or keep it to themselves.) I will never get it 100 percent right, so that gives me permission to just do the best I can, without attempting the impossible.

This has been the most liberating realization. With this in mind, each time I feel pulled in two directions as a mother, I know and accept that I can’t do both. And instead of the usual feelings of guilty and inadequacy, this gives me permission to just assess which is more important right now, and then do it. I feel bad of course — I’m still a mother — but the guilt is no longer overwhelming.

For example, my baby is crying, but supper isn’t yet on? The baby can cry for a few more minutes while I throw something in the oven. He’ll feel sad for a few minutes, but the other children won’t have meltdowns when they come home hungry and the table is bare. And I will be calmer and more present the rest of the day, rather than feeling overwhelmed and resentful when the house descends into chaos.

And so if my baby is crying, but I’m so sleep-deprived I’m snapping at the rest of my family and struggling to be a positive parent to the rest of my family? Logic dictates that a present and cheerful mother will probably be of more use to the baby — and the rest of the family! — during daylight hours, than constant responsiveness in the wee hours.

We must of course strive to be happy, loving, and responsive in our interactions with our children. That being said, we’re also allowed to be “good enough” mothers. We can’t see the future, and we can’t know exactly which of our actions will unintentionally cause our children to feel resentment.

Some babies may feel deep hurt at being left to cry, others will be fine. We can’t know. We just have to do the best we can with the tools we have at the time, and trust in Hashem that He will help us make the right decision in each moment. And we can let go of the guilt. When our children im yirtzeh Hashem become parents themselves — they’ll understand us then.

Wishing all of Klal Yisrael siyata d’Shmaya and nachas from our children,

Gila Werner

It Shouldn’t Affect Her [Inbox / Issue 873]

I’m responding to the letter writer who objected to the publication of the article Much Ado About Stuff  because she didn’t think it was appropriate for her teenage daughter to read. I was mystified by that. I think she’s either overestimating or underestimating her daughter.

I, too, have worked hard to make mine a home filled with simchah. And my children don’t own or request name-brand products. But that isn’t because they don’t know how things work; it’s because they are confident enough not to care. They have, I think, absorbed my belief that name brands are preposterous at best and almost akin to avodah zarah at worst. If your daughter is “smart, kind, funny, and has a tight-knit group of close friends,” friends, I assume, who are like-minded, why would you worry about her exposure to the concept of brand names?

Beyond raising happy children, we must inculcate them with strong convictions. If you keep kosher only because you don’t know cheeseburgers exist, what happens when you pass your first McDonalds? If your daughter is smart, it’s hard to believe she’s unaware “that there are arbitrary rules in our society.” I doubt the aforementioned article would teach her anything new. On the other hand, if her self-confidence is fragile enough to fall apart from an article discussing our society’s (outrageous) obsession with brand names, how strong is her self-image really?

(As an aside, the surest way to get most kids to read an article? Tell them not to.)

I.K.

The Gift is Irrelevant [Inbox / Issue 873]

The letter to the editor “My Marriage 101,” where a reader says “it is demeaning for the woman to be asked to wear a bauble in public that does not reflect her look or style.

“Worse yet, it is yet more demeaning to assume that the man will not be able to handle the disappointment of having selected a necklace that is not his wife’s taste. It is infantilizing the husband,” begs a response.

Using words like “demeaning” makes me wonder how many other indiscretions this poor woman (sic) has been asked to suffer. And saying that it is “infantilizing” because it implies he can’t handle the disappointment — entitlement oozes through these words.

There are three components to this scenario: The Gift-er, The Gift-ee and The Gift itself. Honestly, The Gift is irrelevant.

This young woman (the Giftee) was presented with a gesture of love and affection by her husband (the Gifter).

THAT is what this is about.

If she feels demeaned by being asked to publicly wear the gift her husband bought her, she has more to learn about marriage than these pages can teach her.

Gitel Moses

Baltimore, Maryland

Touched [War Diaries / Issue 872]

I was moved to tears by the article “To My Fellow Tehillim Sayer on Our Tehillim WhatsApp Group” by Rebecca (Feldbaum) Steier. Since our lives turned asunder on Simchat Torah, we Israelis have faced a horrifying reality in which our loved ones are in mortal danger. The safety of my own six soldiers now in the IDF — and those of every other mother (and grandmother) — fill my every thought and tefillah.

Reading of the prayers and passion that Mrs. Steier and her fellow Tehillim group, half a world away, are offering for Israel’s sons and daughters at war touched my heart. We all believe in the power of tefillah. In these dark days, knowing that so many Yehudim are fervently davening for the safety of our courageous children is a powerful weapon of strength. Thank you, Rebecca (Feldbaum) Steier and your Tehillim WhatsApp group, and to all those who daven for peace in Eretz Yisrael. May the Almighty hear our prayers.

Miriam Leah Rosenberg

Jerusalem

Note:

The War Diaries “To My Fellow Tehillim Sayer on Our Tehillim WhatsApp Group” in Issue 872 was written by Rebecca (Feldbaum) Steier. We regret the omission.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 875)