If we see someone with a bad middah, that means we also need chizuk to work on this trait

“And the asafsuf (mixed ones) among them had desires. And the nation also sat and cried.” (Bamidbar 11:4)

A young child was crying at the bus station. When a passerby asked him why, the child said he didn’t have money to buy a bus ticket. The man had rachmanus and gave him exact change for a ticket. The child bought the ticket but continued crying. “Why are you crying now?” the man asked. The child replied, “When other people buy a bus ticket, they get a ticket plus change. But I only got a ticket.” All too commonly, people tend to lose sight of all the good they have.

A newspaper never writes: “Thousands traveled safely on the highways today,” or “Fifty percent of the population successfully earned money today.” The newspaper focuses only on the one percent, the problems.  People are the same. (Rav Elimelech Biderman, Torah Wellsprings)

Y

ou know the drill. It’s Sunday afternoon and your kids are whining again. “I’m sooo bored. Why can’t we go somewhere? We never do anything!  Ma, he’s bothering me again! Tell him to stop!”

Raise hands if you can relate.

Thankfully, in Eretz Yisrael Sundays are regular school days. But comes a double Rosh Chodesh, and I’m smack in the whining world. My boys only have half-days on Rosh Chodesh. (If Rosh Chodesh is a women’s holiday, why do they send my boys home early?)

In Bamidbar 11:1, the pasuk states that Klal Yisrael complained and that was bad in Hashem’s Eyes. What did they say? They’d just left Har Sinai for the desert and they were scared. What would they eat or drink? When would they leave the desert?

The Imrei Emes notes that immediately afterward, they experienced cravings and demanded, “Who’ll give us meat?”

That’s how things progress. First comes dissatisfaction and complaints. Then one falls prey to temptations, instead of recognizing all the good Hashem does for us.

This past Rosh Chodesh Iyar was difficult. The kids had just gone back to school less than a week before, and now here they were again, so we could spend more quality time together!

The weather was hot and dusty. I’d pulled out the kiddie pool only to discover it had a hole. I was not schlepping out in this heat to buy a new pool. Ice pops as bribes — I mean, treats — weren’t working, and the air was thick with discontent.

“It’s sooo hot. What are we going to dooo all day? Pizza again? We always have pizza for Rosh Chodesh. Can’t we have cotton candy? Why don’t we buy a cotton candy machine?”

I counted to ten. Then gritted my teeth and counted to 20. I offered French toast instead of pizza. (What kind of entitlement was this that pizza’s no longer good enough for a Rosh Chodesh lunch?) I suggested a water fight. (I was truly desperate!)

And finally… I (almost) whined: “Why do you kids always complain? Can’t you appreciate the efforts I make to makes things nice for you? All Pesach and now two days of Rosh Chodesh, and still, all you do is complain!”

Rashi writes that it was just the Eirev Rav demanding meat. The rest of the nation believed in Hashem, realizing if they didn’t have something that meant they didn’t need it. So why did the nation cry, too?

The answer is that when Bnei Yisrael heard the Eirev Rav complaining, their initial thought was, where’s their emunah?

But then they realized that noting someone else’s bad middos provides a mirror to our own, and that apparently their emunah was lacking as well. Thus, Bnei Yisrael began crying and doing teshuvah.

I’d like to think my kids were shocked. I really try hard not to complain in front of them. (Don’t I?!) But I’d had enough. Everyone’s allowed a bad day, no?

“Mommy, you’re probably hot,” Shloime tried to comfort me. “Drink water.” (One of my favorite solutions for him.) “And you’re probably tired. You should go to sleep earlier tonight.” (That’s my husband’s go-to solution for cranky kids.)

“We don’t always complain,” defended Avi, “just when there’s something to complain about!”

It was sweet, this back-and-forth discussion between us. But it left me wondering. Was there a potentially genetic component in this whining habit? I’ve got to do a cheshbon hanefesh.

After all, they say it takes one to know one.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 947)