A few years ago, during breakfast in Shul before learning, a very relaxed parent named Ben said the following to me:
Riddle me this: Why is bein hazmanim like Tisha B'Av?
Because you're not allowed to learn, you walk around in slippers all day, and you put on your tefillin in the afternoon.
I describe him as very relaxed because he calmly waited while his son, just back from Israel for Pesach, spent two days acting as though it were Tisha b'Av. By the time this dad told me the riddle, his son was back to dovening on time, and had set up sedorim for the times when he wasn't helping his mother prepare for Pesach.
As Ben and I continued to eat, I decided to be playful.
So Ben, how did you get you get Eli to get up on time for minyan?
I didn't get Eli to do anything. He knows that I prefer that he doven with a minyan, and I know that when he is able to he does. He was pretty badly jet lagged this time and it took him a while to get back on track. You know what else he told me? He said he really enjoyed dovening outside on the porch feeling the sun and hearing the birds singing along with him. I thought that was really cool, especially coming from a 19-year-old boy. And I thought you always tell people not to try to "get kids" to do stuff, so why are you asking me how I got Eli to go to minyan?
I was just kidding with you Ben. I know you know better than that.
A few weeks ago, during a family therapy session in my office, a rather tense parent named Yechiel said the following to me:
Why is bein hazmanim so difficult for us? Since he came home from Bais Medrash in Israel last week our home is a constant battleground. Sima and I have enough to do to get ready for Pesach. You would think Hershey would offer to help us, or at least keep the littler kids out of our way, but instead he sleeps late and then wants to hang around with his friends the rest of the day.
I looked over at Hershey. His face had the contorted look of a 19-year-old boy who was ashamed to cry and was too respectful of his parents to yell. He looked at no one, and we all waited in silence, his parents, his two brothers, his sister, and me, until, after what must have been a full minute, he spoke.
I had been looking forward to coming home cause I've missed you. But I was also afraid that it would turn out this way, that you were doing better with me away and that my coming home for three weeks would just make life difficult for all of you. I have been sleeping late because I can't fall sleep at night when I go to bed on New York time. I don't know why it's taking me so long to adjust. I haven't seen my friends since last summer, so yes, I do want to spend some time with them, but I did offer to help you, mom, and you said, "if you can't get up on time to go to minyan, could you at least not doven on the terrace at 11:30 in the morning in front of all our neighbors." I figured you didn't really want me around so I arranged to learn with my friend for a couple hours, then we went and got some lunch, then we were just kind of hanging out the rest of the day. But I really don't understand what's such a big deal if somebody sees me dovening on the terrace. It's quieter out there and I can focus better.
Mom began to explain what was embarrassing for her about her son being seen dovening at 11:30 in the morning. Dad interrupted.
This is just one example of what happens when we try to explain anything to Herschel. He just tries to explain back why what he thinks is right and what we think doesn't make sense, or he'll tell us that we have no reason to be embarrassed, disappointed, frustrated, or whatever else we tried to tell him. How can we explain things to him so that he'll understand what we're saying?
I think he understands very well what you're saying, and he disagrees with you.
This mom and dad don't only want Hershel to understand what they're saying, they want him to agree with them. Hershel understands that his mother is embarrassed by his dovening outside late in the morning. But he doesn't accept it. He doesn't agree that there's a good reason for his mother to be embarrassed. I'm not at all sure he ever will. I am sure that that's the wrong conversation for these parents to be having with their son. That's because it isn't a conversation; it's an argument. A conversation would sound something like this:
Herschel, I hope you'll be able to get back to dovening with a minyan soon. In the meantime, please doven somewhere inside the house.
But it's nice outside, and I enjoy dovening out there, why don't you want me to?
I would really prefer that you doven inside when you aren't able to make it to shul.
But you're not telling me why.
That's right. I'm asking you to do something that I would prefer. And I hope you will.
Will he? I don't know. I do know that this would be a calm, brief conversation. If I thought that a lengthy exchange of reasons and explanations, challenges and counter arguments would result in Herschel's compliance with his parent's wishes, I would heartily recommend it. I think it's more likely that such a debate would result in frustration for both parties, and a decreased likelihood of Herschel's cooperation with his parent's request.
I am not suggesting that you tell your child to do something, "because I said so." I am suggesting that you ask your child to do things because you would like him to. If your child asks you why, say to him that you would like him to do what you asked and that later you'll sit down and talk about why you asked it. Or tell him that you prefer not explain your request, and don't.
Sometimes explanations are helpful. Sometimes, they're counterproductive. Next week, G-d willing, we'll see some examples of each, and I'll explain how to tell the difference. We won't get into an argument. Ageed?
Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor with specialties in marriage, relationship, and parenting. He works with parents and educators, and conducts parenting groups for men and women. He can be reached at 718-344-6575.