Last week I told you a story. It took place on a Friday night, and was repeated on many Friday nights. Here’s the part where dad got involved:

Shloime started to sing Shalom Aleichem in a silly voice and Danny told him to stop, but he didn’t, so Danny pushed him and he fell back into the table, knocking over the Kiddush cup that had just been filled with wine. Mom went to get napkins while fighting back tears. Dad said, “Danny, how many times have I told you not to do that? Why did you do it again?”

Danny said, “I don’t know.”

Dad has a problem with Danny’s behavior, so Dad asked Danny a “why” question. Asking a why question doesn’t usually lead to solutions. Why not? Because, when you ask someone why they did something, they are expected to justify what they did.

There is nothing that Danny can say that his father will consider a valid justification. That’s the problem with asking “why.” It is a question that sets a child up to fail because there’s no acceptable answer. The alternative is to ask better questions.

Time and place matter, too. Your child is not going to undo what just happened, that’s not possible. It is important to you that you prevent it from recurring; important, not urgent. Wait until the emotions have subsided and your cooler heads will prevail.

The two questions that would be more helpful are:

What happened? and What else could you do?

The dialogue will then sound like this:

Dad: Danny, you pushed your brother into the table so the Kiddush cup ended up spilled. What happened?

(Note: Dad just described what happened. His question implies “what happened to you that you were so upset, Danny.”)

Danny: I didn’t mean to knock over the Kiddush cup, Dad, and I really feel bad that Mom started to cry. I just get so angry at Shloime when he makes fun of mitzvos. I know I shouldn’t have pushed him but I can’t stand it when he does that.

Dad: So it really bothers you, Danny, when Shloime sings Shalom Aleichem in that silly voice. It’s like he is making fun of the mitzvah. You really wish he would sing it in a more respectful way.

This time, dad waited to hear what Danny had to say. Dad did not tell Danny that singing Shalom Aleichem isn’t really a mitzvah, and he didn’t explain to Danny that since Shloime is very young we have to be more tolerant of him. Dad didn’t tell Danny anything. He just made it clear to that him that he was listening carefully to what Danny was saying. Then dad sat quietly, patiently waiting while Danny thought about what he wanted to say next. Thirty seconds feels like a very long time when you’re sitting silently, respectfully allowing someone to gather their thoughts.   When Danny finally spoke, dad knew it had been worth the wait.

Danny: I guess I shouldn’t get that upset with him, he’s a little kid. I understand that we’re singing Shalom Aleichem to greet the Shabbos malachim, but for him it’s just another song. You know what dad; I’m going to cut him a lot more slack. I’m really going to try to focus on what Shalom Aleichem means to me, and then I won’t even notice how he’s singing it. And dad…this was a really good conversation; thanks for helping me figure this out!

How did dad help Danny figure it out? Dad listened, acknowledged what he heard, and waited quietly while Danny pondered his dilemma. For the most part, Dad was silent and his silence spoke volumes. Dad wordlessly conveyed concern, interest, patience, and respect for Danny’s desire and ability to figure out a better way to respond to his younger brother. Danny’s confidence grew as he realized that his father trusted him to analyze his problem and identify solutions rather than needing to be told what to do.

Dad gave Danny two vital tools with which to work on his problem: time and confidence. Dad provided Danny some quiet, relaxed time with no interruptions and no distractions, enhanced by his father’s patient, soothing presence.

Dad invited Danny to think about Shloime’s behavior, and Danny was able, on his own, with dad’s support, to think about Shloime’s behavior in a more favorable way.

The mishna in Avos says, al t’hi dan yechidi, usually translated as, “don’t judge a case by yourself.” The Ben Ish Chai writes that this also means when you see or hear something, don’t assume that your first interpretation is the only possible one. Think about what else it could mean, what else could be happening. If you aren’t able to judge someone else’s behavior in a favorable light, don’t assume there isn’t one. Ask them, “what happened,” in a curious tone of voice, rather than, “why did you do that,” spoken critically.   Dad didn’t tell over this mishna. He modeled it, and Danny learned it.

The story, B”H, has a happy ending:

It was the new version of a typical Friday night seudah. Baila asked her father to sing Shalom Aleichem slowly so she could keep up. Devoiry whined that it’s going to be boring, he should sing it fast. Shloime started to sing it in a silly voice. Danny didn’t tell him to stop. He smiled at his little brother, knowing that someday he too would understand how special it is to welcome the Shabbos melachim to their home.

How young a child can you expect to work with this way, to invite them to identify alternatives and solutions instead doing it for them? I have found that teenagers, adolescents, and young children, given the opportunity, come up with wonderful ideas and solutions. One mom told me she was pleasantly surprised when she presented her 3 year old daughter with a dilemma, and her child came up with an idea that worked really well. Why not try it with your child?

Slow down. Give your child a chance. He’ll appreciate your confidence in him, and you’ll enjoy the nachas.

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.