Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

One of my oldest friends called me the other day. Lazar said he was preparing for an interview, and he knew he was going to be asked how he, were he appointed to the senior position for which he had been recruited, would handle conflict resolution. He wanted to know how I would answer that question.

Let's imagine that someone who is comfortable critiquing my work read the preceding paragraph. The following is a fictitious conflict which ensued. I offer it as an example of conflict addressed poorly, to be followed by a more efficacious alternative.

Reader: Why did you refer to Lazar as your "oldest friend?" That's such an unflattering expression even if it were true and it's not. Quite a few of your friends are older than he is. And he's not your oldest friend in terms of how long you've known him because you have friends you've known from the time you were two years old and you only met Lazar when you were both in high school.

Me: Nobody who reads this article is going to think that Lazar is old. People understand that it's an expression; it's a way of describing someone as an old friend in terms of the duration of our friendship, not about how old he is or how old I am. You just get some perverse pleasure in nit picking at anything I write that is not concrete, literal and devoid of any idiomatic color or style.

Reader: I guess you can empathize with that like you do with everything. You know about perverse pleasure; like you get from telling me that my writing has all the flair of a thesaurus entry.

This example of an argument ends here. Before we look at how this could've been a productive conversation rather than an argument, I want to clarify something.

The above argument as I recorded it is fictitious. But it is closely based on actual expressions and ways of speaking that I hear all too often in my practice. There are expressions bordering on contempt and ways of speaking that are extreme.

"Nobody who reads….People understand" are extreme ways of speaking. Few things in all of human experience apply to no people or all people. All People are born, breath, and die; that's about it. Everything else is most people, some people, many people, not "People." Broad generalizations like these are attempts to demonstrate that "you are wrong and I am right because this is the way everyone sees it." But it's not. Not everyone sees it the way you do, and not everyone sees it the way I do, so lining up the entire world on my side or yours is extreme and inaccurate.

"You just get some perverse pleasure" is a contemptuous accusation. Ad hominem attacks usually signal a shift between a disagreement and an argument. In a respectful disagreement, the discussants decide what they are willing to do, considering that they disagree. In an argument, they decide what they won't do because the other party's thoughts aren't worthy of consideration. The rest of the discussion is an exchange of derogations to justify and inflame the contempt.

In the above example, the discussion is no longer about the propriety and felicity of the term oldest friend. It has devolved into an ugly diatribe. I will no longer seek this reader's comments and this reader will no longer offer suggestions. We both lose.

Here's alternate version of our conversation.

Reader: Why did you refer to Lazar as your "oldest friend?" That's such an unflattering expression even if it were true and it's not. Quite a few of your friends are older than he is. And he's not your oldest friend in terms of how long you've known him because you have friends you've known from the time you were two years old and you only met Lazar when you were both in high school.

Me: I don't mean to imply that Lazar is old. I think many people understand that it's an expression, it's a way of describing someone as an old friend in terms of the duration of our friendship, not about how old he is or how old I am. Besides, how else could I word it?

Reader: How about "Lazar, my friend of long standing?"

Me: I don't know. That just doesn't sound right to me. How about, "Lazar, my friend since we were teenagers."

Reader: I like that better, too.

Why am I giving examples of adults in conflict in an article on parenting? Because the most effective way for you to teach your children how to disagree respectfully and resolve conflict is by showing them how you as husband-and-wife , their parents, listen to and work with each other.

My answer to Lazar's question was this.

Ask respectful, open-ended, forward looking questions, and give few or no answers.

Spend very little time on what happened last time, and a lot of time on what each of the participants would wish to see happen next time. When one person answers, ask the other one, "what do you think about that?" If they don't agree yet, ask, "what would you like to add to, change, or exclude from his suggestion." Invite them to build on each other's ideas, not tear them down.

Help them decide what they will do, not what they won't. That's a triumphal conflict.

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 groups for men and women. He can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

The Nachas Notebook™ which I created many years ago has proven to be a powerful tool in building more effective parents and more successful children.

The Nachas Notebook™ is based on the principle of hakoras hatov, noticing and acknowledging when your child does something well. There are at least three benefits to building your habit of hakoras hatov by using the Nachas Notebook.™

1. You get to appreciate how effective your parenting already is. This can be very helpful at those difficult times when you wonder if you have accomplished anything with this child at all. You can refer back to the Nachas Notebook™ and reassure yourself that you have.

2. Your child will come to think of his doing something well as a big deal because you're making a big deal of it. The Nachas Notebook™ helps you remember to make a big deal of his successes, and make sure you're doing it right. A review of your Nachas Notebook™ entries at the end of a week is a tangible measure of your success at acknowledging your child's successes.

3. You will gradually and steadily become better at noticing and acknowledging success. You will model hakaros hatov more often and more effectively when you follow the specific structure of the Nachas Notebook.™ Over time, you will introduce a new pattern of conversation in your home, a pattern of yishuv hadaas, that comes from realizing that even though you wish things were better, they're already, more often than you've realized, good.

These are some of the benefits that parents have told me they have seen from their work with the Nachas Notebook.™ They've told me that it requires serious effort until it becomes a habit. And they've told me that it is well worth it.

I explained all this to Lana and Lipa Lefkowitz.* They both looked skeptical. He looked at his wife and asked her if she was willing to try it. She said she was if he would do it also. With a modicum of enthusiasm, he acquiesced.

Okay, we'll try it. What are we supposed to do, how do we do it?

You begin by each of you buying a notebook and writing on the cover "Chana's Nachas Notebook." Over the course of the next week I want each of you to write at least four nachas notes in your notebook. Each nachas note has two components. The first component of each note is what Chana did that you considered a success. The second component is what you said to her to acknowledge her success. You write down what you saw her do and what you said to her when you saw her do it. Let's practice right now. Give me an example of something that Chana did over the past few days that you considered a success and tell me what you said to her.

Okay, Lipa, go ahead, tell him something that you praised Chana about recently.

You tell him something, Lana. You spend a lot more time with her than I do.

You're right, I spend a lot more time telling her to stop doing things she knows she shouldn't be doing, and trying to get her to do the things she's supposed to do. I don't have much energy left to praise her about anything.

What do you think about that, Lana? What you think about having no energy left to say something positive to your daughter?

It's terrible, I know it is, and it has to stop.

Lana, I would rather you think about it as something else you wish to start. A very good start would be to work at doing a Nachas Notebook™ for Chana.

I understand how it could be helpful. I just can't think of anything particularly successful that Chana does that I could write a nachas note about.

Let's start the other way, Lana. Tell me some examples of things that Chana does that are unsuccessful, that you do comment on.

Where do I begin? If I ask her to clean up her room, she'll put her clothing away but there are still books and papers all over her desk. If I ask her to set the table, she will forget the glasses, or the dessert forks, or something. I've tried not commenting on it to see if she'll figure it out on her own and get the job done, but she never does.

Lana, what does Chana's face look like when you comment on her failing to complete the jobs you just described?

She looks unhappy.

I suspect that when you're telling her that she didn't complete one of those jobs your face also looks unhappy.

Yes I suppose it does.

You're both unhappy. When you develop the habit of hakoras hatov by using the Nachas Notebook.™ you will both be unhappy less often. Here is how you would formulate nachas notes in each of the two situations you described. When she has cleaned her room to the extent of putting her clothing away, you would tell Chana that she did a great job of hanging up her skirts and folding her sweaters and putting them in the drawers. Then you would ask her to put away the books and papers from her desk as soon as she gets the chance to. When you notice that the table is set without glasses, you would comment on how carefully she placed the flatware next to the plates and how neatly she folded the napkins. And then you would ask her to put out the glasses. I think you and Chana will not look unhappy when you express yourself this way. What do you think?

I think I would feel and sound better about the situation, and I guess she would too. But what would I write in the Nachas Notebook?™

You would write, "Chana set the table very neatly. I said to her, 'you set the table really carefully, Chana. Please put the glasses on the table, too.'"

If you want to add "I'm proud of you," that's fine as long as it is secondary. The primary message is that Chana has done something well.

And never turn her Nachas Notebook.™ against her.

How could that happen?

It could happen if the following week she didn't set the table as carefully. If you were to say to her "last week you set the table neatly, why didn't you this time?" you would be using her nachas note against her.

But she did set it carefully last week so obviously she could have the next time, also. Why shouldn't I point that out to her?

Because you risk teaching her to be afraid to do her best. Here's what I mean. I want you to teach her that good performance is worthy of acknowledgement and excellent performance is even better. If you wield her Nachas Notebook™ the way you described you may teach her that her that any excellent performance will become the minimum you expect from her and any less is a failure. That may teach her to fear success.

You thought nachas notes are innocuous? They're actually quite powerful, and like most powerful things, they can be harmful when used improperly. Use them well, and you will learn how to notice nachas that's already there, and motivate your child to achieve even more.

*Not their real names.

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 groups for men and women. He can be reached at 718-344-6575.

"Why?" - NOT Part 1

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

As Pesach approaches, I am reminded of the perhaps apocryphal but nonetheless amusing story of the knighting ceremony for Sir Moses Montefiore. When Queen Victoria touched the sword to his shoulder and dubbed him "Sir Moses," the expected Latin response escaped his mind. Panic stricken, he blurted out, "mah nishtana ha-layla hazeh mikal ha-lailos." The puzzled Queen turned to her aide and asked, "why is this knight different from all the others?"

I guess we shouldn't be surprised that Queen Victoria translated the Hebrew sentence the way that she did. Many of us were taught to translate it this same way. I'm not sure this is an accurate translation. I am sure it can be a problematic one.

Mah tovu oholecha Yaakov clearly does not mean, "why are your tents good, Yaakov?" In fact, it isn't a question at all, it's a statement of observation: how wonderful are your tents, Yaakov! It would appear more accurate, therefore, to also translate the famous expression "mah nishtana" as a statement of observation: how different this night is from all other nights!

The following so-called "four questions" are actually the observations that explain the exclamation, "how different this night is!" In fact, the Hebrew/Yiddish term for these examples is not "the 4 shailos," or "questions." They are called "the 4 kashyos," four things that are unusual or difficult to understand.

That's why I believe the translation "why is this night different" is not as accurate. But even if it isn't as accurate, what's the problem? Is there any harm in translating it this way?

On all other nights, maybe not. But the Pesach seder is the quintessential chinuch opportunity and it's important that we do it right. Everything about the Pesach seder informs parents how to teach our children. Let's look at three fundamental lessons that the Seder teaches us about how to teach our children.

1. Teach by example. The Rambam tells us that we have to show ourselves that we were freed from bondage. We do this by all of the behaviors we engage in the course of the Seder, and we invite our children to join us in what we are doing, rather than telling them what they should do.

2. Make sure that expectations are concrete, and celebrate success. We drink specific amounts of wine, and eat specific amounts of matzo and maror. Then, knowing that we have succeeded because we knew what the expectations were, we celebrate our success with chasal siddur pesach.

3. Talk about the elephant in the living room. When things are different, invite children to express their surprise rather than hoping they won't notice, or saying to them, "because I said so." Teach children how to express themselves appropriately when they don't understand something.

Which brings us to my problem with the word "why." When a child looks at the anomalies of the Seder night and says, "why are you doing all this?" the haggada labels him the rasha. That's because the word "why" demands explanation and justification and puts the recipient on the defensive. While it is clearly inappropriate for a child to put a parent on the defensive, it is seldom helpful for a parent to put a child on the defensive. When instead, a child expresses puzzlement at the unusual foods and format of the Seder, and asks for additional information to help him or her understand it, chinuch begins, and you teach him everything right through the laws of the afikomen.

Similarly, when a child disappoints us, it is seldom helpful to ask the child why he or she did what they did. Often, their answer is, "I don't know." G-d willing, in a future article, we will explore what they really mean by that answer, and how to avoid getting it.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, is the Director of Parenting Mentor for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

"Why?" - NOT Part 2

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

It was an all too 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 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 asked Danny a question he'd asked many times before, and he got the same answer.

Danny, why did you do that?

I don't know.

First, let's analyze this futile exchange. Then we'll explore the veracity of Danny's answer, and finally, with the help of a mishna in Pirkei Avos, help dad to identify a different question that will get both of them a better outcome next time around.

Dad asked Danny a "why" question. Why questions seldom lead to good conversations, because they put the recipient of the question on the defensive. When you ask someone why they did something, they are expected to justify what they did. That works out fine if the questioner is curious about the justification and the recipient of the question has one. For example, "why did you just drive the car across the street?" "Because of alternate side of the street parking tomorrow." "Oh, okay."

It doesn't work that well when dad asks Danny "why did you do that?" Think about it. What is the answer that Danny can say to his father, to which his father would reply, "oh, okay." Don't think about it too long. There is nothing that Danny can say to his father in response to the question "why did you do that" that dad will consider acceptable. That's the futility of the exchange.

What do I mean by "the veracity of Danny's answer?" Danny's answer is truthful. Danny is not saying that he does not know why he pushed Shloime. In fact, not only does Danny know why he pushed Shloime, dad also knows why he pushed Shloime, which is the second problem with dad's question. Not only is there no acceptable answer; dad already knows the answer: Danny pushed Shloime because he was upset with him! But that's not acceptable. Therefore, Danny truthfully said, "I don't know," meaning, "I don't know what to say to you that you will find acceptable." What else does dad wish he would have said?

Does dad wish Danny would say, "I'm sorry, I should not have pushed him?" I guess that dad might be content with that once or twice, but I suspect after a while dad won't want to hear that either. At that point, Danny will still be getting upset with Shloime, and dad will still be annoyed with Danny and we are all ready for some help from the mishna.

Al tirazeh es chaveracha b'shas kaasoh. "Do not attempt to soothe someone when they are angry." The Tiferes Yisroel says that this applies not only to anger but to any intense emotional experience, and he writes that attempting to help someone too soon not only will not help but will make things worse. However, the pasuk says, panay yaleichu v'hanichosi lach, "when my anger subsides I will help you," implying that while we can't help someone when they and we are very upset, we should seek to help them when we've all calmed down.

Here's how the mishna would apply in our situation. The next time that Danny pushes Shloime, dad would realize that both he and Danny are now upset about something, and therefore this is not the time to work on it. Dad takes a deep breath, reminds himself that no one is in any danger, and says to Danny, "I would like to speak with you, IYH, Shabbos afternoon." It would be even better if dad could make a specific time and place to have this conversation with no one else around and no other topics. In other words this conversation is about what Danny can do when he is upset with Shloime, and not about cooperating with clearing the table or hanging up his dovening jacket or anything else. No gilgul shavua, just one topic at a time.

During this conversation, rather than lecturing, explaining, or correcting, dad will ask a different question that will get both of them a better outcome next time around.

IYH in a future article we will discuss how to formulate and express that question.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, is the Director of Parenting Mentor for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

"Why?" - NOT Part 3

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

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.

Dad knows what NOT to do at this point. He knows not to ask Danny why he pushed his brother. First of all dad already knows why Danny pushed his brother; he pushed him because he was upset with him. Secondly, dad knows that there is no acceptable answer to the question, "why did you do that?" It would not be at all helpful to ask Danny why he did what he did.

Interestingly, dad and Danny share the exact same predicament. They're both trying to address something they don't like, they both know what not to do or say, and they both don't know what to do or say instead! Children very often repeat behaviors that parents don't like, even after they've been told not to do it again. Sometimes, this is because they don't know what else to do, and it's very difficult to do nothing. Every Shabbos morning we say the posuk, sur mai'ra v'asaih tov, "turn from evil and do good." I believe this implies that the way to turn from evil in a lasting way is to do something else that is good. That's because if you just turn from evil and you don't replace it, sooner or later you'll probably end up there again.

The role of a parent is to discipline children. The word "discipline" is derived from the Latin discipere - to grasp intellectually, analyze thoroughly. So the primary role of a parent is not to make children turn from evil by punishing them. That might make them turn from evil but it doesn't analyze what is drawing them to the evil and it doesn't help them grasp intellectually what to do instead the next time they are drawn to it. So they return to it, they make the same mistake again, or apologize again, and perhaps get punished the same way again. That's what's been happening to Danny, and both he and dad would like to stop going around this circle.

Let's see how to help dad to break out of the vicious cycle of punishing Danny for inappropriate behavior only to have Danny repeat the same behavior again. Then we'll see how dad can help Danny with Danny's frustration over Shloime's behaviors. The goal here is to reverse the direction and nature of the flow. Danny becomes frustrated and annoyed when Shloime refuses to stop singing his silly song. Then dad becomes frustrated and annoyed with Danny for pushing Shloime. It's a flow of frustration and annoyance proceeding from Shloime through Danny to dad. In order to reverse the flow and the tone, dad will slow down long enough to analyze the situation, and use his intelligence to identify an asiah tov, a better alternative for himself when he is does not like what Danny did, rather than asking "why did you do it." In this case, the analysis is that Danny probably doesn't know what else to do. The obvious alternative is to use dad's intelligence to figure out what Danny should do instead. But I have a better one.

I would prefer that dad present his analysis to Danny, and invite Danny to use his intelligence to come up with an alternative that is acceptable to dad. I am often impressed with the ideas that children come up with, and they are more likely to be invested in an idea that was their own.

Remember, this conversation is taking place when both dad and Danny are calm.

Here's what it sounds like:

Danny, you seemed really upset with Shloime when he was singing that silly way and you asked him not to and he kept on doing it. What could you do next time you're upset with him for singing that way, instead of pushing him?

I don't know.

Yes, I hear you asking me, so what did we accomplish, that's the answer we got when we asked "why did you do that."

There is a very big difference. This time, Danny does not have any answers to dad's question, but given time, he'll probably come up with some. Instead of racing around the same circle and going nowhere, when dad and Danny slow down and listen to each other, they will eventually get much further. What does dad do in the meantime? IYH we'll explore that in our next article.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

"Why?" - NOT Part 4

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

Dad, I didn't mean to knock over the Kiddush cup, 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. I told him to stop but he just ignored me. I hate that!

This conversation is taking place in a sunny corner of the dining room on Shabbos afternoon. The other children are out playing with friends, and mom is taking a nap. While calmly sipping on their lemonade, Danny and his dad are working together to move from frustration to success, and from disappointment to nachas, respectively. Danny has been frustrated with Shloime and dad has been disappointed in Danny. Let's listen to more of their conversation.

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.

At this point, 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.

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!

Dad really did help Danny figure it out. 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 dad's patient, soothing presence. Then, dad listened, acknowledged what he heard, and waited quietly while Danny pondered his dilemma. Dad was silent. Danny heard him loud and clear, and his 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.

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 did you mean by that," in a curious tone of voice, rather than, "why did you do that," spoken critically.

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.

It was a typical Friday night seudah, yet better in a way. 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.

I have never identified Danny's age. That's because I have found that young children, adolescents, and teenagers, given the opportunity, come up with wonderful ideas and solutions. One mom told me she was stunned when she presented her 3 year old daughter with a dilemma, and her child came up with an idea that worked really well. Give your child a chance. He'll appreciate your confidence in him, and you'll enjoy the nachas.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Worth It

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

Have you ever been to a psychotherapist?

I don't hear that question very often when standing around at a kiddush or sitting around at a sholom zachor. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever heard that question in a social setting.

Here's a conversation I don't think I've ever heard:

You know, I'd been having a lot of discomfort with my daughter. It was really painful for a while so I decided to see a therapist about it and she really helped us.

That's so interesting. About a year ago I was having a lot of pain with my son, and after only eight sessions with a therapist, we're feeling a whole lot better. And my sister-in-law told me, she had the same kind of thing a few months ago, and she and her husband worked with a therapist for a few months, and she says they're still doing much better.

"Well of course," I hear you saying to yourself, "nobody talks about that kind of thing." You're right.

And we'll come back to this. But first, let's look at another hypothetical conversation.

You know, I'd been having a lot of discomfort with my left knee. It was really painful for a while so I decided see a therapist about it and she really helped me.

That's so interesting. About a year ago I was having a lot of pain in my right knee, and after only eight sessions with a therapist, I'm feeling a whole lot better. And my sister-in-law told me, she had the same kind of thing a couple of years ago, and worked with a therapist for a few months, and she says she's still doing much better.

Have you heard that conversation? I know I have.

"Yes, but that's different," I hear you saying to yourself, "you can talk about that kind of thing." You're right, again. But something's very wrong.

It's wrong for a child, and a parent, to suffer because they're ashamed and afraid to tell anyone that they're hurting. What are they ashamed of? That it's their fault? That they'll be blamed for not doing better than they did, and not knowing how to fix it? Are they afraid that it will be hard for them to learn how to do things differently?

And are you sure there is no room for shame and fear when your knee hurts? Here's one more conversation to think about:

Orthopedist: "It's a good thing you came when you did, Eli. You're only 41 and you have the knees of an 80-year-old. What have you been doing?"

Eli: "I know I should've been stretching before I played basketball all those years, and then I started putting on weight, so I got a treadmill. I read some articles that I should walk fast rather than jogging cause the jogging could hurt my knees, but I get my miles done faster if I jog, so I jog. What can you do for me, doc?"

Orthopedist: "To replace both knees is a five-hour surgery. You can expect to spend about two weeks having inpatient rehab, and then probably a few months outpatient. You're going to have some pain for a while, but in the long run you're going to be a lot more comfortable"

Eli: "Yeah, I guess it's worth it."

It sounds like Eli is ashamed that he didn't take better care of his knees, and he's probably afraid of the surgery and the lengthy rehabilitation. Yet he decided that it's worth it to overcome his shame in order to tell someone that he is hurting. Even though the surgery and recuperation are daunting, he's managing to conquer his fear because it's worth it. And six months later, standing around at the kiddush, he'll tell anybody who's listening about what he went through and how it was worth it. He's not telling it over so people will know how brave he was to overcome his shame and his fear. He is telling it so that other people will hear how it was worth it, and maybe they'll be encouraged to get that kind of help, too.

Eli, despite his embarrassment over not doing better than he did in taking care of his knees, and despite his fear of what it would take to heal them, sought help, and then told others of his experience so they can learn from it and be encouraged. Because it was worth it.

It, his knee, was worth it, because it was hurting and he wanted it to heal, and he didn't know how to heal it so he reached out for help. And then he told others so they'd be encouraged by his experience.

When a child and a parent are hurting, hurting each other and hurting inside, there may be a lot of shame, and the healing process might be lengthy and painful.

They're worth it.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, created The Nachas Notebook ™ , and has been working with parents for over 30 years. He can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Getting to Know You

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

Someone once asked the Vilna Gaon why he napped so briefly on Shabbos afternoon, even on a long summer day. After all, the questioner continued, don't we say the word Shabbos is an acronym for shaina b'Shabbos taanog, sleep on Shabbos is a pleasure? The Gaon responded by saying yes, that's exactly why I rest for just a short time. Taanog is something to enjoy in small doses, not to indulge in at length.

What's a good way to spend some time on a long Shabbos afternoon? I suggest taking a cue from the wording in the afternoon Amidah: Yaakov u'vanav y'nuchu voh. Share some menuchas hanefesh with your children!

I once suggested this to the father of two teenage girls, ages 16 and 14 at the time. He responded with the classic "deer in the headlights" look which gave me yet another opportunity to not jump to a conclusion even though I had a ready reached one. I assumed that he really didn't want to give up his time sleeping, learning, reading, and doing whatever else he had been doing to spend time with either of his daughters, let alone both. I was really pleased to discover that I was mistaken.

Benjamin, what does that look on your face mean?

It means that I'd love to spend some time with Dina and with Aviva, but I have no idea what to say to them. I think if I actually sat down with the two of them, all that would happen is that they would talk to each other and I would sit there listening and have no idea what to say, so I don't even bother.

Then how does Dina know that you'd love to spend some time with her?

I am sure she has no idea.

I assume that's also true for Aviva, she also has no idea that you'd love to spend some time with her?

Rabbi Ackerman, I feel very funny saying this. I would like to spend some time with Dina, but I'm not so sure that I would enjoy spending any time with Aviva at all. I suppose you want me to tell you more about that.

Actually, I'd rather hear more about what you imagine will happen when you spend some time with Dina.

Dina is talkative, she's fun. She'll probably tell me all kinds of things that are going on in her life, and if I don't say anything, she'll just keep talking. But Aviva is not like that. She's a sweet girl, and she's not depressed or sad; she's just quiet. I think I would feel very pressured to come up with something to say, and then even when I did, she might say three words in response and then the conversation would stop again. I think it would be really awkward.

You think silence is awkward?

Well, yeah, are we just supposed to sit there looking at each other?

Are you sure that's worse than not spending any time with Aviva at all? And maybe there's another alternative here. What would you think about inviting Aviva to go for a walk with you on Shabbos afternoon? Where could you go that you could talk about the things that you are seeing and hearing around you as you walk? Or just walk together silently.

It turned out that Benjamin knew his daughter Dina quite well. After a slightly truncated Shabbos nap, he asked Dina to share a pitcher of lemonade with him on the patio. When he asked her what's been going on in her life, she treated him to a delightful recounting of her activities over the past week, and enthusiastically described her plans for the week to come.

As Benjamin had predicted, Aviva was less effusive. They went for a Shabbos walk.

So how are you Aviva. How have you been?

Fine, Boruch HaShem.

You're a junior counselor in that day camp, right, how's that going?

Yes, it's good.

What kind of activities do you do with the girls?

Dodge ball, punch ball, and swimming.

And so the conversation went, just as Benjamin had projected.

Until they got home.

And Aviva turned to her father, kissed him on the cheek, and said, "thank you, ta."

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LHMC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

A Model Parent

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

I don't know how many happy endings you hear, but here's one. My son is blooming, he's a top bachur in his yeshiva.

I'm calling with tears of gratitude in my eyes.

He had been on a slippery slope.

There is no statute of limitations on gratitude. The last time I had spoken with Henoch was nearly 4 years ago. He called me back then because he was concerned about his son Mendy. Henoch and I worked together for about five months. When we ended our work together, he seemed more optimistic than when we had begun. He had become more confident in himself as a father as a result of learning some new skills.

The first time I had spoken with Henoch he sounded nothing short of distraught. He had found a letter his son, then an 11^th grader in a well known "main stream" yeshiva, had written to a girl, saying she should call him at yeshiva, and say she's his sister. He told me that Mendy had always been a good student, had good friends, had a good relationship with both of his parents, that he's a "really good kid." And then Henoch asked me what he should do.

As a rav, my answer to that question is to follow the guidance of the Ha'ksav v'Hakabala on the mitzvah of giving admonishment. He writes that you should not say "why did you do that?" You should instead describe what you observed the person saying or doing, and then ask them what happened. As a therapist, I also asked dad what he thinks will happen when he does that. The reason I asked him that question, was that I was pretty sure that he was not going to do it. I wanted to help him figure out how he possibly could. This was the first of the new skills we worked on for dad.

My conversation with Henoch went something like this:

What do you imagine will happen when you sit down with Mendy, tell them you found the letter that he wrote to this girl, and ask him what's happening?

I can't do that! I can't tell him that I found the letter. He's going to want to know why I was snooping around in his room.

That sounds like a reasonable question. What are you going to tell him?

I don't know! What am I supposed to tell him?

I'm not sure I understand the problem here. When he asks you why you were snooping around in his room, I would assume you would simply tell him why you were snooping around in his room, no?

I can't tell him that!

You can't tell him what? Why were you snooping around his room?

Because I'm his father, I have to know what he's doing.

All right, so you were doing what you believe is appropriate, yet you're not willing to tell your son what you were doing even though you believe it was appropriate. I'm not sure I understand that.

He is not going to understand that it's appropriate and he's going to get very upset with me.

You're probably right. And, you're concerned about him. So what would you like to do here?

I'd like to tell him that I don't want him writing to letters to girls, and I don't want him talking to girls at all. But I can't tell him that without telling him that I found his letter, and I couldn't have found the letter if I hadn't been snooping around in his room. It's not like he left it on the dining room table. Rabbi Ackerman, just tell me, did I do the right thing or not?

So I sat back, took a deep breath, and taught Henoch a new skill. I told him that unless something is in the Shulchan Aruch, you don't always have a clear "right or wrong." A lot of things in life come in shades of gray. That doesn't mean they're unclear. It means there is clearly something good about it and clearly something not so good about it. Parents are often left with choices that are less than perfect, and the skill is to make what you think is the best available choice, rather than wishing there was some perfect alternative. This is the skill of accepting uncertainty and moving forward despite it.

The second skill I taught Henoch was how to explain to his son what it was like for him to tell his son the truth, knowing that his son might resent him for what he did. This is the skill of humility, to do the best you can and accept the fact that someone else might think you should have done better.

And the skill of being a "model parent?" I didn't teach that to Henoch. Every parent is a model. Children do learn by osmosis, almost exclusively.

B"H Mendy is now a top bachur in his yeshiva. I would like to think that he has earned that status by the quality of his learning, and by excelling in the middos of humility and gratitude he sees in his father.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LHMC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Noteworthy Children, Part 1

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

Shock and awe are rare for me these days. Over the course of more than 30 years of working with families, I've heard almost everything. But every now and then someone says something to me that leaves me speechless, albeit briefly.

This was about a year ago. I was meeting with a mom who had come to me to talk about her concerns about her 14-year-old daughter. Miri, the mom told me, had lied to her. As I recall, our ensuing conversation went something like this:

What gives you the impression that Miri lied to you?

I know for sure that she lied to me, it's not an impression. Her teacher called me and said that

MIri hasn't brought in her homework for a full week. This was three days after I had asked MIri why she wasn't doing any math homework, and she had said to me that the teacher let them do all of their work in class so she could check it right away.

I see. So the teacher called, and then it was clear that Miri lied and then what happened?

Nothing yet. I came here to ask you how to punish her.

Most of the above dialogue is approximate. Those last 10 words are exactly what she said to me, and I was speechless.

I have often spoken on what I believe is the role of parents. I think the primary role of parents is to help children succeed at meeting their parents' expectations. I do not believe that it is the role of parents to punish children for failing unless that punishment will result in future success. Much of the time, punishment does not help children succeed; it just helps them get better at hiding their failures so they won't get punished again.

Miri did lie. What was mom's reaction? What did mom hope to accomplish by punishing MIri? When we take a very close look at mom's reaction, we'll know what mom was hoping to accomplish.

So far, all I knew about mom's reaction was that she wanted to punish Miri and that so far she hadn't. I needed more complete and accurate information from mom, who, when I asked her what had happened after the teacher had called, said, "nothing yet." My impression was that a whole lot had happened for mom, but she hadn't said anything about it to Miri yet. Impressions are fine as long as you don't mistake them for certainty. I proceeded to ascertain where mom was up to with this.

And after you got off the phone with the teacher, what did you think about what you had heard?

I thought that Miri lied to me to get out of doing her math homework.

And when you thought that, what was that like for you?

I felt like she was trying to get away with something.

Yes, and when you thought she was trying get away with something, what was that like for you?

Well I really felt that she can't just ignore homework, and I felt that she should be punished for trying to.

Right, you thought that she should not ignore her homework, and you wanted to punish her for trying to deceive you about her homework. And what was all that like for you, I mean were you disappointed in Miri, resentful that she would try to do something behind your back, worried that she didn't tell you the truth, angry at her for lying, what was it like for you?

Up until now, mom had been quite animated in our conversation, speaking rapidly and without pause. Now she was silent. I was speechless again but this time out of respect for her, as I waited for her to organize her thoughts and her feelings, and decide what to share with me.

I think at first I was resentful. I took it as an affront that she would lie to me, but now that you made me think about it some more, I feel bad. I wish Miri had come to me when something was bothering her rather than lying to me about it. I know she's not lazy, she does all her other homework. Why didn't she tell me that she was having trouble with math, why would she hide that from me?

Those are good questions. What do you think Miri will say to you when you ask her?

I don't know. I don't even know how to confront her with the fact that she lied to me.

G-d willing, next week we will see how to express mom's questions and "confrontation" with Miri.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LHMC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Noteworthy Children, Part 2

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

Miri did lie. She told her mother that she hadn't had any math homework for the past two weeks. When her eighth-grade math teacher called to ask why Miri's homework hadn't been completed, Miri's mother said she would be sure to discuss it with her daughter. First, she discussed it with me.

At first, she said she wasn't sure how to punish Miri for lying to her, and wanted me to help her figure that out. Over the course of our conversation, mom decided that punishing Miri might not be the most helpful thing to do.

I know she's not lazy, she does all her other homework. Why didn't she tell me that she was having trouble with math, why would she hide that from me?

Those are good questions. What do you think Miri will say to you when you ask her?

I don't know. I don't even know how to confront her with the fact that she lied to me.

How do you confront a child who lied to you? Equally important, when and where do you confront a child who lied to you, and what's the single most important question to ask the child?

Let's do the short answers first, then we'll elaborate.

How? Gently. When? When you're calm and not time pressured. Where? Someplace where you will not be interrupted or distracted by anyone or anything.

It may not be that hard to figure out where to go for some private time and to carve out those few minutes. It can be very hard to be gentle and calm when you're feeling betrayed and aren't sure whether you should have trusted this child before and can ever trust her again. This mom had not misunderstood anything or jumped to some inaccurate conclusion. She had asked Miri clearly and specifically about the sudden lack of math homework, and Miri told her she didn't have any. When the teacher called, it became equally clear that there had been math homework. It's not a matter of interpretation; it's clear that Miri lied. How can mom ever know how many times Miri has lied before and gotten away with it? And as long as mom doesn't know, how can mom gently talk with Miri about lying? I wanted mom to think about what she wanted to accomplish given the situation right now.

It sounds like you want Miri to tell you about all the times she has lied to you in the past. If she were to tell you, what would you say to her?

I would tell her that I'm disappointed in her, and that I thought she knew better. I would tell her that she shouldn't have lied because now I don't trust her.

And what you think she'll say to you when you tell her that?

Knowing Miri, she'll probably say that now that I don't trust her anyway, why shouldn't she lie?

And what will you say to her then?

I don't know. I feel so stuck and confused.

Let's think about that. Mom says she's feeling stuck. That means she doesn't know what to do. There's a reason for that; the reason is that she's confused about what she wishes she could accomplish. When you don't know what you're trying to accomplish, how can you possibly know what to do? I'm sure mom wishes that Miri had never lied to her in the past. I am equally sure that mom can't go back in time to undo that. I explained to mom that it might be very helpful for her to express her disappointment and resentment, but to express it in terms of how bad she feels, not how bad Miri is to have lied. Then, I offered mom the single most important question to ask her child.

What do you imagine Miri will say to you when you ask her "Miri, what do you think would've happened had you told me the truth?"

I never thought of asking her that. I don't know what she would say.

That's fair. Please let me know what she says to you. I think it'll be very helpful for both of you.

But what if she answers me and I don't know what to say back to her?

I would suggest that if that happens, you say to her, "Miri I'm not sure what to say to you. Let me think about it and G-d willing we'll continue our conversation later."

G-d willing, we'll continue our exploration of this topic in next week's article.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LHMC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Noteworthy Children, Part 3

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

Miri said that she thought that if she told me the truth, I would criticize her, and that's why she lied to me; so I said, "and that makes it okay to lie?" And she said, "just like you're criticizing me right now, that's why I don't even try to talk to you, and I wish you wouldn't try to talk to me."

After recounting this to me, Miri's mom looked me in the eye and said, "can't I ever criticize her when she does something wrong?"

The answer to that question is "yes," it's not wrong to criticize a child. And there is a right way to do it.

There's also a Torah guideline for the ratio of praise to criticism. And, no I did not just change the subject. Praise and criticism are not just opposites, they are actually closely interrelated. For example, when you say to a child, "you did very well on that test, but if you had studied a little more you could have done better," the critical part of the sentence canceled out the praise that preceded it. That happened because of the word "but" which serves to minimize or eliminate the value of what came before it. The way to give praise and add hope that your child will do even better next time is to say, "you did very well on that test, and if you study a little more you might do even better next time!" Try saying those two sentences out loud and you'll hear the difference.

The other way in which praise interacts with criticism has to do with the title of this series of articles, "Noteworthy Children." When you criticize a child, even in a constructive manner, you are pointing out something that you wish the child would do better than she did it last time. There are two different ways your child can interpret that. One is to say to herself, "I am still not good enough." The other is to say to herself, "I am good and my father would like me to do even better next time." How do you know which one of those your child is going to be thinking?

Rashi points out that the correct ratio of praise to criticism is 500 to 1. Every time you praise your child, you inform him that he does things well. When you criticize him, you imply that he sometimes does not do things as well as you wish he would. On your child's internal balance sheet, each praise is added to his asset list, and every criticism is recorded as a liability. If you criticize him more often then you praise him, his balance sheet shows a net liability. You can't see his balance sheet, but you can see his look of discouragement and apprehension when you begin to say something to him because he's afraid he's going to get criticized again. If you praise him more often than you criticize him, he has a safety net of assets which serve as a cushion against the pain of failure. The higher the ratio of praise to criticism that he has experienced from you, the larger and stronger that cushion will be. The child in whom you have built has a strong cushion of praise will hear criticism as a way to do even better next time, not another reminder of how poorly his usually does.

Now that we have seen the value of praise, you'll understand why I was as prescriptive with Miri's mom as I was.

I think Miri finds it very painful when you criticize her, and that does not mean that it not okay for you to ever criticize her. I want you to help Miri become less uncomfortable with your criticism and the way to do that is to praise her more often. I would like you to buy a notebook, and on the cover I want you to write, "Miri's Nachas Notebook." Over the course of the coming week I want you to notice at least two things that Miri does or says that you can perceive as successful. Each time Miri does something well, I want you to praise her by saying, "you did that really well," or "Miri that was so very thoughtful of you." Sometimes, be more specific. Say, "you set the table for Shabbos really nicely!" Each time you notice and acknowledge her success, I want you to write in Miri's Nachas Notebook what she did that was a success and how you acknowledged her success to her. What do you think about that?

I think Miri is going to make a face like she thinks it's weird.

Okay, I would like you to tolerate that and continue to praise Miri and record the nachas notes in her notebook.

One week later:

I really thought Miri didn't like my praising her and writing down her successes in the Nachas Notebook that she insisted that I show her. She rolled her eyes on Monday, and sighed loudly on Tuesday, so on Wednesday and Thursday when I acknowledged some things that she did, I didn't write anything down. On Friday, Miri gave me a shy smile, and said, "mom, you're not writing notes about me anymore? It was actually kind of nice."

I've learned that most children (and adults), even 13-year-olds like Miri, enjoy being noteworthy.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LHMC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

What do you do when you've explained something, made it perfectly clear; you're quite sure that what you've explained is reasonable and appropriate, but they talk back to you?

That's exactly that happened to me, recently. At first, I was exasperated. "How am I supposed to deal with this," I wondered aloud, which I could get away with because everybody assumes I'm talking to somebody on my cell phone. Then I got a little nervous. I started to wonder if maybe something in my logic or presentation was not quite right. "That would be really awful if I wrote something that wasn't entirely correct for every situation," I fretted, this time keeping my thoughts inside of my head. I had no idea what to do, and I have learned that when that happens, the best thing to do is what my wife suggested to me a long time ago when I matter-of-factly informed her that I was completely stuck and had no idea what to do. She calmly looked at me and said, "What would you say to someone who walked into your office, described the situation that you're describing now, and said "I don't know what to do?"

I know what I would say to them. I say it very often. "What do you wish you could do? What would you like to see happen?"

The "backtalk" I'm referring to right now didn't come from children. It came from you, my dear readers. How am I going to deal with you and your comments? How am I going to deal with my exasperation and nervousness? I'm not going to deal with you or with me. I'm going to help me and then see if I can help you to understand my point of view.

You're invited to listen in on my self-talk:

What are you so exasperated about? Did you think that everyone would understand everything you wrote, the first time you tried to express it? And what if some people understand it and don't agree. What's so exasperating? And to be nervous about replying? What's the frightening outcome here that's to be so nervous about? I'll explain it over again, or in a different way, and some of my readers still won't agree with me; and then what'll happen? Am I positive the world will come to an end?

You'll be relieved to know that I decided that if some of you don't always agree with me, the world will probably not come to an end. Having figured that out, I'm no longer exasperated and nervous about responding to you. Now that I helped myself, I can attempt to help you by addressing some of your thoughts, comments, and questions.

You wrote:

I think there has to be a time where the parent says, "Listen kid, just cut the garbage."

If that, in the long term, were helpful (meaning that the child never made the same mistake again) I might consider saying it, albeit a bit more gently. However, I've found that even when it puts a stop to an undesirable behavior temporarily, worse behavior takes its place. That may be partially "pay back," and partially because you didn't ask your child what seems to be hard for them, so you don't know what's getting in their way. And I'm not condoning "pay back." I'm just commenting on how things tend to play out.

In my humble opinion, there are a large number of little monsters around (and they grow into big monsters). Some of them, I agree, are made by either bad parenting or circumstances, but some of them are born that way.

I think it's a relatively small number, some of whom do seem to be born that way. Parents can make it worse, or they can learn how to contain and limit inappropriate behavior. "Containing behavior" means intervening in a way that might make things better, sooner, and probably won't make things worse. "Limiting behavior" means identifying triggers, seeing how to prevent them from happening as often, and helping your child behave differently when the trigger does occur. And, of course, no child is a monster, even when their behavior is monstrous.

I do not believe that most kids (nor most adults) reason all that well.

I believe that they do. When you, as a parent, are able to provide a calm and patient presence to your child, you can help them sort through their emotions. Let your child express herself. Listen. Don't try to help your child see it differently, or explain to her why she needn't get so upset. It's true that while she is so upset, she is not going to reason very well. That happens to me too. After you have listened to her, she'll probably be a lot less upset, and she will be able to reason much better. Then you can help her to explore alternatives and potential outcomes. Even very young children do this better than their parents expected they would, when given the opportunity.

When it comes to bringing new people into the world, you never know just who
is going to show up. And if that new personality doesn't mesh well with the parental
personalities, then let the games begin.

I think that one of the most rewarding experiences in life is to discover new ways of approaching problems, different ways of perceiving things in this world. People don't always mesh. Sometimes you need to let some sparks fly in order to weld something new onto yourself.

All the best, and keep up the good work.

Thanks, and the same to you!

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LHMC, is the Director of Parent Mentoring for Agudath Israel's Project YES. He has worked with hundreds of parents from around the world.

He also works with educators in 18 schools offering guidance on how to connect with children.

Rabbi Ackerman has a private practice specializing in family, couples, parenting, and pre-marital counseling, and can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Motivation

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

I just got off the phone with my son's rebbe for the new school year. He said that he is very much looking forward to having Shlomo in his class this coming year, and that he is sure that Shlomo will live up to his potential. You would think that I would have been very encouraged by what the new rebbe said, but I was actually somewhat concerned. I have heard the "live up to his potential" expression before, and I have a real problem with it. Six or seven times last year, Shlomo's rebbe called us to say that Shlomo is a very sweet and bright fifth-grader who could do better if he tried harder, he just wasn't living up to his potential. I admired the rebbe's concern and his willingness to take the time to call me. Every time the rebbe called, I sat down with Shlomo and explained to him that his rebbe really likes him and knows that he could do better, so I would like him to try harder, to study more, and to live up to his potential. But by the end of the year, Shlomo was still getting 80s in all of his limudei kodesh subjects. So my problem is, how do I motivate Shlomo to reach his potential? I'm afraid I'm going to get the same phone calls all year again, and I'm not going to know what to do just like I didn't know what to do last year.

Therapists struggle with the issue of self-disclosure. Is it appropriate to talk about your own experiences when they seem in some ways similar to those of a client? One interpretation of the Mishna al tadin es chaveircha ad sh'tageah limkomo is that you can never really be in someone else's place so you should never judge them. I know it's never helpful to a client for me to say, "I know exactly what that's like," because I don't know exactly what it's like for them. But when is it helpful to say, "I went through something like that once and here is what it was like for me?" There may be some value in my telling them that I've had a similar experience because it "normalizes" their experience; sometimes it's reassuring to know that other people have had similar challenges in their lives. But I think it would be much more helpful if I were to go a step farther.

I'm sitting here, Yoni, and not saying anything because I'm thinking about these phone calls you've been getting about your son. You've really struck a nerve here, and it's not about phone calls that I got from my children's teachers over the years. It's about phone calls my parents, aleihem hashalom, told me about when I was in school. I'm going way back here, all the way back to first grade when Mrs. Levy told my parents that I needed to work on my penmanship. There are two things I remember from 1957. One was my parents getting a brand-new, two tone blue, Ford Fairlane 500. The other was sitting with a pencil and a lot of pieces of paper, practicing writing in what turned out to be a futile effort to improve my handwriting. As I think back on that, I wonder what my parents could have done to "motivate me" to improve my handwriting. And you know what, Yoni? I figured it out. There were all kinds of things my parents could have said and done that would've motivated me. Chances are they did say and do lots of very nice things and I felt very motivated. And my handwriting didn't get the least bit better.

But I don't get it. If you were really motivated why didn't you do better?

Because, Yoni, when you propose a solution before you figured out what's the problem you probably haven't solved anything. To this very day, I am motivated to have nicer handwriting. I have tried cartridge pens, gel pens, ballpoint pens, thicker and thinner, wider and fatter grip pens; I've tried writing faster, slower, larger, smaller, and angling the paper in various ways, all to no avail. And you know what I figured out? I am not lacking motivation. I'm lacking skill. And you can stand there all day and tell me that if I tried harder I'd be able to write more legibly. All that would happen is that I would feel as frustrated and resentful as I did over 50 years ago.

Was it helpful to Yoni that I self-disclosed all of that? Not yet. Here's the part that helped him.

Nobody thought this way 50 years ago but maybe now if it were really important to help a child with his penmanship, the teacher or parent would begin by sitting down with the child and seeing if they can help him. If they can't, they would arrange an evaluation of his manual dexterity to see if there's something that's making it hard for him to write as nicely as they wish he would. If remediation can help, provide it. If nothing can help, if it's just the best he can do, then understand that no amount of motivation can possibly help him do any better.

It seems to me that it's much easier to measure skill than to measure motivation. I'm really not sure how parents or teachers ever know that "you could do better if you would try." I do know that sometimes hearing that really hurts.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, created The Nachas Notebook ™ , and has been working with parents for over 30 years. He can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

I am never good enough for my mother, Rabbi Ackerman. You heard what my mother just said.

Chana, I never said you're not good enough. What I said was, it is good that you got an 86 on your midterm, but if you'd study more, you could get 90s.

That's what my mother always says to me. A few weeks ago, I got a 97 on a math test. She looked at my test paper, and said, "This is good Chana, but look at this mistake. If you had been more careful you could've gotten 100." No matter what I do, it's always, "yes but you could have…"

Look at the power of that one little three letter word, "but." It took away the success of a 97 and turned it into a failure for not getting 100, and although that's not what mom intended, it is what Chana heard.

It's Chana's fault for not understanding what mom meant. It's mom's fault for not expressing herself in a way that Chana would know what she meant.

Here we arrive at the precipice of the blame game. There is no value in assigning blame. This does not mean that when something goes wrong you should ignore it or pretend it's okay. When something goes wrong there are some very specific steps to take if you're hoping to see it go right next time. Affixing blame is not one of them. Assigning responsibility is.

Here's the difference between affixing blame and assigning responsibility: when you affix blame you usually reduce a child's self-esteem, when you assign responsibility you often build it.

Here's how Chana's mother affixed blame, (notice how subtle this can be):

but look at this mistake. If you had been more careful you could've gotten 100.

Please join me on a journey into Chana's mind to see how she processed her mother's words: I did something wrong I was careless and I lost three points because I was careless and it's my fault that I didn't get 100 when I could have and I should have and it just proves again that I'm not as smart as my mother wishes I were and no matter how careful I try to be I always manage to get something wrong

Remember, all of this is happening inside of Chana's mind, it is not what her mother said and it's not what her mother intended AND that doesn't change the fact that it's how Chana heard it and how it has reduced her self-esteem. Incredibly, this all started when she brought home a 97!

How did mom go from celebrating the 97 to blaming her for the carelessness that cost her those three points? By using the word "but."

But Rabbi Ackerman, I think she could do better than the 86 she got on her midterm and I think if she had been more careful she would have gotten 100 on her math test; why can't I tell her that?

Mrs. Blitkin, how do you think it will sound to Chana when you say, "I see you got a 97 on your math test. I think that's good, Chana, what do you think of it?" What do you think Chana will say to you?

Mrs. Blitkin (turning to Chana): I do think you did really well to get a 97 on your math test, Chana. What do you think about it?

Chana: I thought it was really good. I just wish I could get 100, sometimes.

Mrs. Blitkin: Yes, I also wish sometimes you would get 100. I think you could. What would you need to do differently, Chana?

Right there. Did you see it? Mom just shifted from affixing blame to assigning responsibility. Let's go back into Chana's mind and see how she processed mom's words this time: I did something really well, and mom thinks so too! Wow, if I could do that well maybe I could do even better. And my mom thinks I could, too! I'm going to think about this, and see if I can figure out a way to get that 100 next time.

When children perceive that kind of message from you, you can almost see their self-esteem growing before your eyes.

But what of Ben Azzai's dictum al ti maflig l'chol davar? If we translate this as "don't discount any word," how can I justify my exhortation to expunge the word "but" from your vocabulary? But if we don't expunge it, isn't it always harmful?

As usual, "always" is not accurate. Here's an example of the use of the powerful word "but" in a way that is heartening.

U'mosar ha'adam min habahaima ayin, ki hakol havel; aval anachnu … BUT!

The words of this tefila, echoing Koheles, remind us that despite all that is vain, we can be a source of nachas to Hashem, and merit much nachas from our children.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, created The Nachas Notebook ™ , and has been working with parents for over 30 years. He can be reached at 718-344-6575.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC

I am your daughter, sister, niece, cousin, friend...

I am a teenager studying in a [mainstream] High School in [city name].

I am writing this article in the first person for I feel so deeply about this issue. Watching & hearing friends, relatives, & peers struggling with some or all these feelings I felt compelled to write about it.

Have you ever walked down the street and seen a teenage boy or girl from a family that you may know dressed in an inappropriate manner? Perhaps acting in a non-frum way? Have you talked about a friend's child that went "off'?

Have you any inkling of how they ended up here?

I will try to explain.

Imagine the seventh or eighth grader who is normally unobtrusive & on the quiet side finally works up the courage to raise her hand in Navi class and asks "But if we have Bechira, how does Hashem decide everything on Rosh Hashanah?"

The teacher explodes in a fury of words telling the girl how such questions were Apikorsis and anyone asking such a question was an Apikores. The once pale student becomes redder than a crayon. She lowers her eyes and tries to ignore the snickers of her classmates wishing she were back home alone in her room.

But, her embarrassment soon turns to anger and then ferociousness at the teacher who dared to shame her in front of her class.

Not possible you say? Unfortunately, such situations are not uncommon, and the victims of these scenarios are my friends and peers. More often than not, they end up feeling wounded and worthless and these feelings frequently lead to behavioral problems.

This courageous and eloquent young woman gave me permission to share her article as I wish. I chose to omit the information about her school and her city, not only to protect her identity, but also because what she describes has happened in many schools and many cities. G-d willing, over the next few months I hope to discuss additional excerpts in which she gives poignant examples of how children and teenagers come to feel wounded and worthless. For now, let's ponder how a young woman's piercing challenge was addressed many, many years ago.

Our matriarch Rivka A'H could not understand why the pregnancy she and Yitzchak Aveinu A"H had dovened for so fervently was so painful. We might imagine that given the extraordinarily high spiritual plane on which she lived, she would have said to herself, "this is the will of G-d; I must accept it without question." But that's not what happened. Rivka did have a question. And she didn't chide herself for having a question and shamefully keep her question to herself. She trusted that if she went to a teacher, she might get an answer to her question and she surely wouldn't be harshly criticized for daring to ask.

There are many good reasons to not answer a child's question. Perhaps there isn't enough time to answer the question adequately, and to answer it incompletely might leave the child even more confused. It may be that the answer would lead to a discussion that would break the flow of the teacher's presentation. It could be that the child's question is vague. I would think that in these situations a parent, or a teacher, would say to the child that they don't have time right now to address the question adequately, or that they don't want to address that topic right now, or that they would like the child to make the question more precise. I think they would express that to the child calmly and gently.

So there must be some other reason for not answering a child's question. A reason that can trigger an explosive fury of words rendering a child embarrassed, anger and shamed. A reason that justifies leaving a child feeling wounded and worthless.

What reason, what opinion, feeling, or thought could justify causing a once pale student to become redder than a crayon. Many of us know the expression malbin pnei chaveiro, which literally translated means to cause someone's face to turn white. When someone is feeling shame, we usually see them turn red, not white. The explanation is that you notice the whiteness before and after the redness during their intense shame. Many of us know the severity of the prohibition of malbin pnei chaveiro. But what about the term chaveiro? Does this limit the prohibition to peers or superiors? What is the scope of the prohibition, to whom does it apply?

I have heard the opinion that shaming a child can be an appropriate technique of chinuch.

Rav Pam, zt'zl wrote the following (my translation of Atara LaMelech, pg. 90):

There is no more permission for parents or teachers [to cause a child to feel shame] than for anyone else, unless it is for the purpose of chinuch or musar for the good of the child. But it is far more common that the damage caused by this is greater than the benefit. [emphasis mine]

Rav Pam adds that because of the magnitude of the issue, careful deliberation and tranquility must precede a parent or teacher's words to a child.

We all want our children to think carefully before they speak, and have yishuv hadaas.

So we're back to modeling. We always are.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, has been working with parents for over 30 years. He can be reached at 718-344-6575. Men's and women's groups now available. Call for details.

A comment from a reader of my column:

One more thing I personally need to learn, and a point you may want to bring out in a future article - to take our children's questions seriously and not brush them off by using humor to make light of it or by being dismissive. Their questions are real and they need to be answered respectably.

Can you remember a time when your child asked you something, and you looked her in the eye and said, "You must be kidding!" What happened next? Did she say, "yes I was just kidding," and you shared a laugh? Or did she look confused or disheartened.

Many children have a wonderful sense of humor, and I hope you enjoy joking with your kids when you both know it's a joke.

I don't enjoy it at all when I ask something seriously and someone looks at me like I'm from Neptune and finds it quite amusing that I asked such a question.

The Talmud says that the intensity of humiliation depends on the stature of the victim and of the perpetrator. I guess that's why sometimes I feel confused when someone dismisses my question, and sometimes I feel disheartened.

I feel confused when someone whom I don't really know responds to my question in a way that is discourteous to me and dismissive of my query. I tend to wonder why they would behave so inappropriately towards me, and I feel bad that they are so socially inept. I know that they don't know me well enough to be rendering any type of judgment about me that could have any basis in reality, so I don't feel bad about myself.

It's a very different situation when I ask a question of someone whom I know very well, whom I respect and admire, and who, I believe, thinks well of me. When she responds to me as though my question were inane, I feel disheartened. I wonder if I've asked something foolish, so that now she thinks less of me. I feel disheartened, perhaps even humiliated, and yes, I get over it.

Children also get over being humiliated. And they learn to be real careful to avoid it in the future when they don't trust someone who has hurt them in the past.

I think there is a connection between two expressions in a Mishna in Avos. The first expression says that a person who is a baishan cannot learn. The next expression says that a person who is a kapdan cannot teach. Taken by itself, the second expression doesn't seem to make sense. Just because you are inflexible and harsh, why can't you impart information?

I think the second expression is telling us that someone who is a kapdan, who makes a child afraid to ask questions, turns that child into a baishan who cannot learn. Learning requires a level of trust that the person who is teaching you will answer your question if he's able to, and have the humility to tell you if he can't, rather than humiliating you for asking a question to which he couldn't immediately respond. Which brings us to a common expression that includes a form of the word kapdan: to be makpid on your kovod.

The greatest commentator on the Torah and the Talmud, Rashi, had the humility to write, on more than one occasion, that he didn't know what something meant. Rashi wasn't makpid on his kovod. Yet he has earned the kovod of generations by becoming the quintessential teacher to us all.

What Rashi teaches us as parents is that it is okay to say, "I don't know." The alternative is to think that you must know the answer to every question, feel humiliated when you don't, and react with derision to fend off the perceived slight. That results in children who are afraid to ask questions and afraid to trust you with their concerns and doubts.

That's truly sad.

It becomes dangerous when your child expresses those concerns and doubts to someone else who may address them in a way that could be harmful.

A comment from another reader of my column:

In my humble opinion, one of the most important reasons that people behave badly is a
feeling, rightly or wrongly, that they have been humiliated.

The corollary is that children whose questions are respected, even when we can't answer them, more often behave well.

Rabbi Yitzchak Shmuel Ackerman, LMHC, has been working with parents for over 30 years. He can be reached at 718-344-6575. Men's and women's groups now available. Call for details.