Sometimes It Takes a Child

Last Erev Shabbos, I found a voicemail message on my cell phone from one of the women in my community that I am friendly with. After apologizing for waiting until the last minute to invite me (it was 3:00 pm on Friday), she admitted that she had been meaning to call me for quite some time. My mind rewound back to a thread on Hashkafah.com about "fake Shabbos invites", but more profound is the "behind the scenes" scenario she unwittingly admitted to me.

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Back when Hurricane Wilma had just left the scene, I took the rare opportunity to invite myself over to a Shabbos lunch meal. I usually don't do this, but with the loss of power, and food, and social activity - I just really couldn't bear the idea of spending Shabbos afternoon alone. So after shul, I approached this friend (one of the few in my community I feel comfortable just going to - we'll call her "Rebbetzin R."), for lunch and she graciously said that I could join them. However, early into the meal, I could see that perhaps this wasn't the best of times. We all were in the process of restocking our kitchens and she realized they didn't have wine or grape juice for kiddush. After running to the neighbors, and getting the kids settled for the moment, she seemed especially apologetic about the simpleness of the meal. Her youngest (who is 3) was on a bit of a rambunctious side - and when he started fussing about sitting at the table, the consensus was to let him go. He promptly ran to his toy car (the type that you sit in), and crashed it full speed into the dining table! The rest of the children were lamenting that he should be put in his room, the Rabbi didn't agree, and Rebbetzin R. just sort of let them all have it.

Now even in the midst of all this, I never felt as if my Shabbos had been ruined; quite contrary. I know what it's like with young children. I also am not so naive as to think that just because you are frum, does not mean that you don't get cranky or frustrated when things don't go your way, or that there may be oversights, or that sometimes you can't afford to make a 7 course meal for yontif or Shabbos. Afterward, Rebbetzin R. apologized for the lunchtime mayhem, and I let her know it was perfectly fine. And I truly meant it.

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Fast forward 4 months later and I'm talking to Rebbetzin R. about Shabbos. She told me that she had been meaning to "make up" that meal to me, but the whole thing escaped her mind; until her 11 year old daughter admitted that she was a little embarrassed to ask a friend over for lunch. When her mother asked her why, she responded, "Because of what happened when Rishona came!" Yikes. Rebbetzin R. explains, "Yes, I admit it wasn't a good day for me, and all of us were stressed..." so her daughter says, "Well we have to invite her again so that she doesn't think we're all crazy!". Now Rebbetzin R. didn't have my number at the time. One of the other children suggested she call Mrs. B. Mrs. B., doesn't have my number but suggested they ask Mrs. L. So one of the R. children asked the L. children and that's how Rebbetzin R. got my cell phone number. And that's how I found a whole new appreciation for the R. children.

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More remarkable to me than the thoughtfulness of the Rebbetzin, was the memory and consideration of the children - although I don't why. I did not bond, or seem incredibly/especially likeable to them when I met them. I walked two of the girls to Shabbos youth group events - but that's nothing too special. Not to take any credit away from the wonderful acts of the Rebbetzin, it was the children who spoke up and sort of brought an issue that we adults saw as insignificant, and put it to the forefront. This is not really the first time I've seen this. The other day, while picking up an order in the pizza shop, the 12 year old daughter of some friends saw me, and asked if I wanted to come and sit with them at their table (which was full of other 11/12/13 year old girls and one of their mother's). I declined. I had my order to go, and even so, it would have been a bit awkward, but she didn't hesitate to ask. So also didn't get bummed out with my answer and sort of skipped off and said, "Ok, see you around!". In another instance, I was walking with 4 siblings from a family where I only knew the older two boys. The youngest girl noticed a menacing dog in someone's yard and would only pass the yard holding tightly to my hand and hiding behind my left side. Such trust from a 5 year old who met me only 15 minutes prior.

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In this way, I feel that frum Jewish kinderlach radiate all that is good about how the Torah tells us how to regard others. While it's true, you do have Jewish children who have stared me down like I had to heads or something (if it happens in shul though, I just smile back, and 9 times out of 10 they smile back, and that breaks the ice), they are the exception rather than the norm, however once the person becomes 18+, friendliness seems to be the exception rather than the norm. And that is incredibly sad.

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What happens to us when we grow up? Why does this "wisdom" that seems to come with age bring along with it the growing inability to trust and be considerate of others. I remember being a child and looking at grown-up and thinking that they were so incredibly lucky. They knew so much, they could do what they want, and they could express themselves just how they wanted. But now I look at envy towards children; they can see people for what they are so much better than adults can. Is it because they feel they have nothing to lose? I remember going over to my mother's house a couple years ago and one of my sister's friends were there. She must have been 7 or so, and I didn't even see her sitting over on the steps while I was waiting for my mother to emerge from the kitchen. All of a sudden I feel these small fingers tapping me and she says, "Who are you? You are so pretty! Your clothes look so nice! Do you live nearby?" When meeting a new Jewish family, the children are usually my outlet for "relaxed" conversation; like the one son of a family where we talked about football teams, or a young teenage girl of another family where we talked about the latest specials at Payless. Early on, I usually can't have such conversations with the adults of the family. I have to get my "interview brain" into gear and get ready to answer "the questions" like, "Why are you converting?", "What does your family think?", "What kind of work do you do", "Why do you do that kind of work and not what you went to school for?", "Have you been to Israel?", etc. I have no problem with answering these questions. However, they turn the situation into a scene where I'm a subject or curiousity and not a person. I'm not at your table to share a meal with you, but rather strategically placed for you to find out information from me. Even if this is not your intention, that what it usually feels like [for me].

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When you are a child, what does it take for someone to be your friend? Although, I realize the Orthodox Jewish world is a stark contrast from how I grew up, I would think that this line of thinking in children is universal. Usually you see that another child is playing a game that you like or you think you will like. If you are nice, and they are nice back, then "Boom!" You are friends! Most children don't ask, "Hey, where are your parents from", "Why doesn't your natural father live with you?", etc., before they'll engage in that first game with you. As you start growing closer, then you find out the answers to some of these more personal questions. As far as how children view those from other races and backgrounds; I don't think the bias is their naturally, but rather mimicked from the parents or society. That's why I think that Jewish children are so comfortable around me. While racist attitudes are present in the Jewish community, it's something that a religious Jew won't parade around. I think it's quite rare for, chas v'shalom a Jewish parent to casually refer to minorities as "niggers" or "spics", so if racist attitudes are held by the parents, it's something a Jewish child would pick up much later (but hopefully never!).

But something happens where when many frum people turn 18 (or get married I guess), they start scrutinizing all that they see around them. They are weary of trusting other non-Jews or strange-Jews ("strange" can be different depending on the individual but can range from new-age Reconstructionist Jews to chassidic Jews of a different sect {even though you are also chassidic}). The start kvetching a lot. Now this is not all frum Jews, but a few too many.

I look around shul and wonder if any of these people remember being children - what it was like? I changed schools a lot, and never did I go to school regualarly for a month and no one talked to me (like can happen in some shuls). Is it because they become parents young and choose to have "selective amnesia" in regards to their childhood? I say this because I notice that with the frum female friends I have who are between the ages of 21-30, they are all unmarried with no children. The ones that I know who are in the same age range and married or with children, it switches to the "curious mode" type friend, instead of the "hey let's get to know each other" type friend.

I fully understand that when you have children, it changes you. You see all the bad stuff out there and you try to protect your little ones from it. You do you best to create an atmosphere in which they can grow without fear and confusion. But maybe we should take some lessons from these children every once and a while? Maybe we should just say, "Hey, they like to play the same game that I like, that's good enough for me right now!", except we should replace "Torah observant Judaism" in place of that game. Watching how naturally trust and caring and sharing come to these children is such potent fuel in my desires to become a mother (if Hashem wills it to be). Imagine, the inspiration that can come from living with these young humans who, in general, just don't know how to be pretentious.

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At the end of my conversation with Rebbetzin R., I commented to her that she should be proud of her daughter and the good middos she has. She paused and sighed, "Yes, bli ayin hara, she does." I could hear the embarrasment in her tone slip off into satisfaction. When Shabbos came and we sat around the table; we adults engaged in our usual banter while the children endured us; being careful to mind their manners and exchange the occasional comic relief among themselves and entire table. You may think that their presence was only cosmetic, but truth be told, that Shabbos table would look incredibly different if it wasn't for them. Who knows which dishes they suggested to make? Who knows the prodding and coaxing they gave to their parents that brought that invitation to fruitition? Who knows the inspiration these children leave on those new to frumkeit in seeding their desires to one day have a frum family of their own. You have to admit, one of the most obvious treasures that Torah observant Judaism has going for it is the stellar character of frum children. By highlighting this, you can see that the frum world is not all that far removed from it's greatest potential.