Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

Last week I told you the story of a young couple who decided they wanted to watch the sunrise.  They got up very early in the morning and stood very still facing the night sky.  There was a beautiful, clear, bright sunrise, but they didn't see it.  The next day, they rose earlier and walked briskly toward the night sky.  There was a glorious sun rise, and they missed it.  They were determined to achieve their goal.  So the next day, they rose even earlier, and they ran toward the night sky.   The magnificent sunrise that day eluded them once again.  Clearly they hadn't learned from their mistake.  They repeated it with greater enthusiasm, and got the same dismal result.

I told you that had they spoken to themselves, and to each other, they might have realized that doing the same thing they had been doing, no matter how diligently, consistently, and carefully, would never get them the outcome they desired.

How can that be?  How can it be that even with sincere, concerted effort, achieving a goal as seemingly simple as watching the sunrise on a clear day, can be so elusive?  And given that it is so elusive, how can stopping to talk to yourself about it make a difference?

Because when you stop what you're doing and listen to what you're saying to yourself, you will hear what you're thinking.  Or you'll hear that you hadn't been thinking at all, just doing what you've always done, by rote.

Had the young couple in our story stopped long enough to listen to their thoughts, they might have realized that their thinking was flawed.  That flaw in their thinking, that unexplored premise upon which all of their actions were based, was rendering their actions futile.   No amount of diligence, no level of consistency or sincerity or effort could possibly bring them to their goal of seeing the sunrise.  No matter how still they stood, how far they walked, how early they rose, how fast they ran; they did not and would never see the sunrise.  Until they examined their thoughts.

Here is how Aviva and Shmulik examined their thoughts to discover the flaw in their thinking that was preventing them from helping their daughter Li-el.

Me:  You've told me that one of the most frustrating things for you is when Li-el tries to carry more groceries into the house at one time than she can and she ends up dropping and sometimes spilling things even though you've told her numerous times not to.

Li-el's mom: That's right.  I don't know how many times we've said to her, "you should have learned by now that every time you take too many groceries you drop something.  How do you not realize that it's going to happen again?"

Me:  I believe you that you don't know how many times you've said that to her.  I'd like you to take a guess.  Would you estimate that you've said that to her seven times or maybe ten times; maybe more than ten times?  What do you think?

Li-el's dad:   Between Aviva and me, we've probably said it took her more than ten times, but what's the difference?

Me:  I was about to ask you the same thing.  What's the difference?  What difference have you made, what have you accomplished by saying the same thing to her repeatedly?  I would ask you to consider being roe-eh es hanoelad of your saying the same thing to her over and over again.  You keep telling her to look at the results of her trying to take too many groceries at the same time.  I'm asking you to think about the results of what you're doing.  She keeps doing the same thing and you keep saying the same thing and nothing has improved.

Li-el's mom:  So what should I say to her to get her to stop taking too many groceries?

Me:  We'll get to that in a minute.  First I want to know what you say to yourself when you see her carrying too many groceries.

Li-el's mom:  I don't say anything to myself.

Me:  I would like you to.  I would like you to picture in your mind, right now, Li-el carrying too many groceries.   Imagine that you're about to tell her something, and tell me, out loud, what it is you're hoping to accomplish with what you're going to say to her, knowing that what you've said to her up until now hasn't helped.

Li-el's mom:  I don't know.  I don't know what else to say to her.  I still want her to know that she's taking too many groceries.   Shmulik, what else do you think I should say to her?

Li-el's dad:  I don't know either.

Me:  I don't know for sure, either, but I would like to suggest that before you say anything to Li-el, you first say to yourself, "I wonder how many groceries Li-el would be able to carry safely.  She apparently doesn't know how to gauge that."  Then you could help her figure it out, perhaps starting by carrying very few items, and gradually increasing the number.

The flaw in Aviva and Shmulik's thinking was that Li-el could do better if they kept telling her she was failing. 

She already knew she had taken more than she could carry as soon as she dropped something.   Telling her about her failure more consistently, or more promptly after she failed, or louder, didn't help her do better.  When they listened to themselves, they realized that their goal wasn't to show her that she had done poorly; she already knew that.  Their goal was to help her improve.  They did that by slowing down, and inviting her to think with them about how to improve.

What about the young couple yearning to see the sunrise, and expending much effort in what continued to be a fruitless quest?  What was the flaw in their thinking?  

They thought if they worked hard and long enough they'd be able to see the sunrise even though they were facing west.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor with specialties in marriage, relationships, and parenting.  He works with parents and educators, and conducts parenting seminars for shuls and organizations.  He can be reached at 718-344-6575.