“Chinuch does have to be personalized al pi darko”

No Easy Solutions [Words Unspoken / Issue 927]

I want to respond to the Words Unspoken written by a student challenging her principal for being more flexible with at-risk students. This issue of only giving kids the leeway they need when they start exhibiting signs of rebellion isn’t limited to school. I grew up in a home with some older siblings who were struggling on their own paths of Yiddishkeit. As part of my parents’ approach toward this, a lot was allowed in our house that wouldn’t have otherwise been, but only for those that had successfully reached “OTD.” I recall venting to a friend when I was in eighth grade saying, “Do I have to go off the derech, too, to be taken seriously?”

As an adult now, I know I can’t judge my parents for how they handled their incredible nisayon. We’re all now back on our derech, with a lot of help from Hashem. But your letter rang true for me. I wish there were an easy solution, but I’m afraid not. Chinuch does have to be personalized al pi darko. So yes, uniform and attendance rules should be enforced in school, and children should be expected to do their chores and be respectful at home. However, some children will need modifications, which is very hard for the “normal” children to watch without feeling jealous.

Anonymous

After the Fall [Words Unspoken / Issue 927]

With respect, to the letter writer “Frum Student,” your letter rings true. I feel your pain.

I’m a parent with a house full of children. As a parent, I’m a teacher 24/7, not just the 40 or so school hours a week. My children not only vary in age, but also in looks, taste, feelings, and attitude. My children aren’t all the model students the schools expect. For years I’ve been screaming to anyone who would listen, asking for teachers or rebbeim to display some emotional caring to children — not just mine, but all children, for every child is a whole world. Every child deserves a chance, a wholesome upbringing, a feeling that somebody sees me, somebody understands me, is there for me. If this would happen, troubled children would most likely be closer to the school’s ideal student.

Parents can’t do this alone.

“Frum Student,” I know life seems unfair, it probably is unfair. But that’s life. Yes, the schools should spend less time dissecting pesukim and more time teaching students that Hashem loves each one of them, irrespective of the numbers on their report card, irrespective of how much their clothing cost or where it came from. They need to tell them that each one of them is a unique soul handmade by our Creator and it’s perfectly okay not to be perfect. Just so you know, there’s no word for fair in Lashon Hakodesh. Life isn’t fair. But Hashem is always there, in every breath and every test, and loves you unconditionally. It would be nice if the schools could convey this message with love.

The schools will tell you that they don’t have the manpower, therefore they only chase those who are already slipping. That’s probably true.

A word of encouragement though. I’d like to share with you a Rashi from Vayikra (25:35). To paraphrase what Rashi is saying: A single helping hand before someone falls is far more productive than five helping hands after someone falls. Five people trying to get an object out of the mud can’t do what one caring person could have done before it fell into the mud.

Don’t schools learn Rashi?

May Hashem send you, and the great many who need it, a visible helping hand.

A Parent

Not in Control [To Be Honest/ Issue 927]

Thank you, Rivka Gold, for sharing your experiences with dealing with a medical crisis, and how you worked so hard to get to the other side with your family as intact as possible. It was quite painful to read, and I marvel at the strength and fortitude it took to get through such difficult periods in your life.

As someone who has gone through my own share of crises and now works with an organization called Kochavim to help others navigate the challenges unique to their families, I wanted to comment specifically on your advice to those who ask you how you managed. You said, “Look into the future. How do you want this crisis to end? Not what outcome do you want — that’s never in our control — but what do you want your family to look like when this crisis is over?” And then you recommend people make choices based on that future vision.

May I respectfully note that just as we’re not in control of the future outcome, we’re equally not in control of what our family will look like when the crisis is over. We’re actually never in control of what our family will look like in the future, even without a crisis.

What Hashem does give us is renewed daily strength to deal with what lies in front of us. Decisions ought to be made with hadrachah and based on what the family and patient need in the here and now.

What Kochavim is trying to implement in our communities is the emotional resources to ease the strain from parents who are drained and can’t think past surviving, let alone what the future will look like.

From my own experience, being home for the rest of the children every day wasn’t always the correct answer. Like you mentioned, there are times that you physically “really, really do collapse.” You can be physically home, but your brain and heart are completely offline. You can’t give one more drop of yourself. Mothers have to learn to be kind to themselves. Outsource emotional help. Let your teens join groups or speak to an adult who can hear them and hold their hand through this. There are after-school programs for siblings that have an adult on site who is trained to speak to the children, to give them extra attention, and notice if there is a need for more extensive intervention.

It took a few years post-crisis to notice how each of my children were affected in their own way, and how I was affected emotionally. And there was no foreseeing the future. There is taking one day at a time, with the help of the community and the emotional support available.

And yes, never stopping to daven to the One Who holds and guides us, past, present, and future.

A Kochavim Staff Member

It’s Part of His Plan, Too [To Be Honest/ Issue 927]

I’m writing in response to last week’s article about a mother’s foresight in maintaining normalcy during a medical crisis. She showed tremendous strength and clear-headed thinking in the face of gut-wrenching trials.

I’m sure I’m not the only reader dealing with an entirely different crisis, one with unavoidable trauma for my other children, since the matzav has been playing out in the home and not out of sight. Out of necessity, most of our energy has been put into the “patient,” and watching the other kids suffer collateral damage isn’t easy. Yes, we’ve offered therapy and tried to give one-on-one time to siblings, but that only goes so far and can’t erase it all away.

Here are three things I’ve learned, which I hope others can use to give them strength:

1. Hatzur tamim pa’alo. Hashem’s ways are perfect. When He gives a test to one individual, every person in the individual’s orbit that’s affected is part of the cheshbon, too.
2. Kids are so much more resilient than we think. My daughter wrote me a beautiful letter expressing how proud she is to be our daughter and how she knows that we will do anything it takes to help a child after watching the way we helped her sibling.
3. The words of Hallel jump out at me every month: even ma’asu habonim haysah l’rosh pinah, the stone the builders despised became the cornerstone. Perhaps we can read bonim, builders, as banim, children. Here, the even, the boulder of a nisayon, so despised by the children, will be the cornerstone of a stronger better family.

A Mother Just Like You

Hashem Knows Your Pain [Lifetakes / Issue 927]

To the writer of the Lifetakes, “Tomorrow,” about the stress of attending ultrasound appointments when you experience multiple miscarriages: I can feel your heart beating wildly as you walk down the familiar hallways of the OB office. I’ve been there, too. Not as much as you, though, so I can’t begin to fathom your pain. I had four miscarriages within four years, and each time I felt like my heart was being ripped out again.

I was yearning for a baby so deeply, only to be told, “Sorry,” in that hushed tone by the technician.

I do have five healthy children, baruch Hashem, and I can say I mostly healed from that pain. But know this: You’re not alone, even if it looks like most of society has healthy babies so easily. In reality, each one is truly a miracle. And know that Hashem is very aware of you and very aware of your grief and heartache. He has a plan for you!

With deepest wishes for you to have an adorable baby soon, and for Mashiach to come soon so we can reunite with those neshamos we lost on the golden streets of Yerushalayim, crying and laughing together.

Name Withheld

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 929)