The Jewish people have suffered a terrible, tragic loss this week. I am too overwhelmed with new work (which I love), first days of school and impending Rosh Hashanah to blog. I am too upset about what has just taken place in Israel to write about anything else.
Please read this post. I am pasting it here, but please visit the original and let her know you have read it. http://www.crossingtheyarden.com/2010/09/lives-not-statistics/
This is from Crossing The Yarden. Yashar Koach Yarden Frankl.
Real people, not statistics
This morning, one of our friends here in Neve Daniel sent me this e-mail:
Hi – I am sitting here crying because one of the women murdered tonight was my son’s gannenet. Yehuda is six and is mentally retarded – his teachers are our world because they bring him such joy when the world is such an overwhelming and confusing place. Cochava was an angel, and we were with her an hour before she died – she was on her way home from the gan welcome back orientation when she was murdered.
Here is how Israeli National News reported the terrorist attack:
Yitzhak and Talya Imes were the parents of six children, the eldest one being 24 years old and the youngest one being a year and a half old. Talya Imes was nine months pregnant when she was killed by the terrorists.
Kochava Even Chaim was a teacher in Efrat. She left behind her husband and an 8 year-old daughter. Her husband,one of the first Zaka first aid volunteers to arrive at the scene, discovered suddenly that his wife was among the victims.
Avishai Shindler had only recently moved to Beit Haggai with his wife.
Meanwhile, the New York Times and most of the Western media reported that four “settlers” had been killed and discussed if this might disrupt the “peace” process.
Just the other day, Palestinian Authority President Mauhoud Abbas said that “Israeli security does not justify continued occupation.” While I may take issue with the term “occupation,” I would say that the life of a kindergarten teacher justifies a hell of a lot.
How ironic that for days leading up to this heinous murder (I should say heinous murders — four people were killed, including a pregnant woman) the media was filled with stories about how wonderful a job the Palestinians were doing in terms of security. Yeah, great job. I feel much safer.
The mosques in Gaza let us know how Palestinian really feel. “Praise be to G-D over this heroic act” was blared out all night over the mosque loudspeakers. “Mosque?” Isn’t that supposed to be a term for a religious establishment?
Here is the Palestinian’s definition of “heroism.” A car with four people was fired upon by a passing vehicle. To make sure that these men and women — returning from school orientation for their children — were dead, the “heroes” stopped their car, aimed their rifles at point blank range and fired repeatedly into the bodies. The “heroes” then fled the scene satisfied that their “heroic” action was a success.
Meanwhile, the PR firm working for the PA gave the following statement to Palestinian Prime Minister Salam Fayyad to read:
The attack, and its timing are meant to harm the PLO’s efforts to garner international support for the success of the peace process and its demands, in order to bring about an end to the occupation.
Sounds like he’s all shook up, right?
You know something Salam? Not really interested that you feel this attack has hurt the PLO’s interests. Because at the end of the day, we are people — not talking points or statistics.
Our lives are not concessions. When you complain that the murder of a kindergarten teacher should be regretted because it hurts your interests, it simply shows how little you understand about the concept of peace. (Ironic considering your name, Salam.)
When you can look at this act with same gut wrenching horror as a six year old who just lost his teacher, you will be ready to make a real peace.
But until then, spare us the rhetoric while we bury our dead.
The e-mail I received concluded like this:
I wish I could scream out to the world how unfair this is, how senseless to waste such a beautiful giving life, but I have no outlet to tell everyone. Then I realized maybe you will be writing about what happened, and so perhaps you can include this part of the story, to put a person behind the story.
So please, if you also feel like screaming any crying, forward this article and tell the world that kindergarten teachers, pregnant women, fathers, mothers, husbands, and wives are real people, not just statistics.
Again, the link to Crossing the Yarden is: http://www.crossingtheyarden.com/
I had a parenting moment this morning that still fills me with consternation. We have one child who loves animals. I mean REALLY loves animals. He wants to run a zoo (the Jerusalem one, of course), he won’t eat any meat, and will cry upon encountering any animal death from road kill to survival of the fittest, live or on video.
I have encouraged his love of animals, and I have indulged his choice to be a vegetarian. I believe strongly in encouraging his passions and beliefs, and I am glad that he has such a respect for and love of Hashem’s creation.
However…..
This morning there was an ant in our kitchen. Our current houseguest, I don’t mean the ant) a 12 year old young lady, asked me to kill it. Which I would have done happily, had I been wearing shoes. : )
At being alerted to said ant, animal-loving9 yo and his twin proceeded to try and catch it. They used a morning cereal bowl at which point their 10 yo sister declared that she would never eat breakfast out of the purple bowl ever again as long as she lives. I wonder to myself if she knows that her uncle and I used it as a water dish for his dog a few weeks back… but I digress.
They were entirely unsuccessful at the trapping of said ant. At which point DH walks into the room, unaware of all that has transpired, and simply steps on the ant so we can get back to our morning.
9 yo animal lover stomped up the stairs in complete outrage and despair. He cried in his room until I told him that if he didn’t come down for school he would miss his ride and have to walk. So he agreed to go with the ant-murderer to school, but only after much yelling about the horrors of his homicidal and cruel parents.
I told him: “It is an ant. It isn’t a creature with a large brain that understands what is going on and is feeling lots of pain. It is an ant. Get over it, and go to school.”
Well then. What a sensitive Ima, right? I mean, it isn’t like there are another five kids about to be late to school, and a career in the balance needing to be tended to that matters as much as the boy’s love for the ant, right?
Outraged 9 yo went to the car, as did most of the rest of the troops. And that is when I got it. 9 yo’s twin turned to me and said:
“I thought you said that when someone is upset it is important not to make them feel worse, Ima. Isn’t that what you just did?”
Um, yeah. Isn’t that what I just did? I actually told 9 yo twin that there are times when in the process of educating and raising our children, parents have to have different rules than their kids. Which is true. And is also a total cop-out, and I can’t believe I said to him the equivalent of “do as I say not as I do.”
At the same time, at what point is it my job to stop being sensitive to one’s feelings and teach him to get over the death of one ant and get back to a rational level of reaction to the bumps of life and go to school already!?!?!?!?
I wish I knew the answer, because they have forgotten all about it, and I am left feeling like I gave a super bad response.
Gee, I wonder where they get their overreacting from?
We had an interesting experience in our family this week, which turned into a learning experience for many of us, mostly me, of course.
My twins were very upset over what they perceived to be a gross injustice. It seems that while most of their class believed that they were invited to stay at an event for a certain amount of time (past their bedtime), two out of a very small class had parents that for whatever reason had a different understanding, and allowed their children to stay later.
My children would never have been allowed to stay any later than they did, invitation or no; we take bedtimes pretty seriously around here.
There was lots of drama and even angry tears, exacerbated by staying out late, of course. The umbrage had two sources: 1. The idea that there were two different sets of rules for kids in the class “isn’t fair”, and 2. The other children, they complained bitterly, will come to school and brag.
I decided to address the two issues separately. First of all, sometimes parents make exceptions for their kids. I can’t tell my children why other people do what they do or why. But I never spend a lot of time on the “it’s not fair” complaint. In a house of seven children what does come out fair? Not much. I remind them for the billionth time that Hashem wants us to appreciate what we have, that we are given what is best for us, not for someone else. And in this case? For them to feel that it isn’t fair that someone else got invited to stay out later than I would ever let them seems a bit theoretical. So life isn’t fair, kid. Done.
When my kids complained about the bragging, (which was still just being anticipated by tired, angry kids) something resonated with me. I really understood their anxiety.
I remember kids bragging in school, don’t you? I remember how much it bothered me. I remember feeling jealous and angry. I also remember my parents telling me that the kids who brag do so because they don’t have x or y and need to make themselves feel better. I remember thinking that once again my parents just didn’t get it, and that they couldn’t possibly see how much better that other kid’s life was than mine. Clearly if they heard what I did, and saw what I did, they would be jealous of that bragging kid too.
The mother cub in me opened my big (consistently big) mouth and let these two parents know that the other kids in the class were upset. I thought they might be able to give some anti-bragging pep-talks to their children. Not really my place, and I don’t think I made my point well. Regardless, it didn’t seem to help much later.
Before school, we had a talk about the ever-so-feared bragging. This always of course starts with the reminder that we can’t control what other people do, only how we handle it. Not something my 8 year olds ever seem to want to hear. Apparently, I am supposed to knock sense into everyone else’s children, or at least instruct their parents on proper child-rearing.
Some kids aren’t actually bragging. Sometimes, I explain, kids are genuinely happy about something they got or did, and they want to share the news with their friends. Their goal isn’t to make anyone jealous, and part of being a good friend is being able to be happy for someone else you care about when they receive or experience something good.
“Yeah Ima, we know. We aren’t talking about that. Kids do brag, they are mean and show off. ”
Sometimes that is true. The children who do that don’t feel superior to you. If they did, they wouldn’t have to brag, I say. They feel like they have to show that they are as good as you, as lucky as you… and they do that through bragging.
And what did my son say? “Ima, you just don’t get it! You don’t know how it feels…..” And that was when I got to explain to my kids that I know exactly how it feels. I realized in their surprised eyes that I don’t tell my children often enough that it was hard for me to be a kid too!
What was interesting was when I demonstrated to them that there are times that they may make other kids jealous of them without bragging, and for that other child, bragging may make them feel better.
For the child that sees you playing so nicely with your brothers – but he doesn’t have any brothers. Or the child who barely sees his father – and sees Abba choosing to spend so much time with you. Or the child who wishes her parents would observe more Judaism, and sees the traditions in your home. (Or maybe the opposite?) Or the child who struggles so much in school and watches you do so well with so little effort. Those kids will never come to you and tell you straight-out how lucky they think you are…. but they might say things to make themselves feel better that are hurtful to you.
And I know it stinks, because I do remember…. but you can choose to not let it bother you. If you knew how much that child hurt inside for some of the things you take for granted, then you wouldn’t feel jealous. You would feel happy for him or her that they also have something that they know you wish you could have.
The next thing that happened really surprised me: one of the twins looked at me as said “I know what you are saying is true, and it makes sense, it just doesn’t feel like it.”
So his head got it — isn’t that most of the challenge?
…………………………………. I had to wait until school was over to find out what happened:
“So, no one bragged, right?” (I was still holding out for my mama bear talk the night before having had some impact).
“No, Ima you are wrong! There was a LOT of bragging. And one of the kids kept saying what a GREAT time they had after we left!”
“So, nu? How did you handle it? ”
“It really didn’t bother us so much. ”
“Did our talk help”
“Yeah, it did. I told (this child) I was happy for them.”
That’s when it hit me. I could have spared them the big talk and told them that if you tell a braggart that you are happy for them, there really isn’t anywhere to go with the bragging, is there? I could have just given them a strategy.
But I think the conversation was an important one, hence this blog post. And it meant more to me than them. Because until this incident I really hadn’t remembered how much the bragging had bothered me. And I hadn’t remembered what my parents said, or that they were right, in the end (again!). I hadn’t looked back at my own painful memories of other kids’ behavior looking through the prism of adult comprehension of broken families and financial struggles and all of the many other issues that children hide away while at school.
I hope they remain better able to withstand bragging. As third graders, I would venture to say that they are far from out of the woods on this issue. I also hope that I become more sensitive to bragging without meaning to. To being tzanua, modest, in my blessings.
And I have to remember to tell my children much more often that sometimes I found being a kid really tough too…….
Real people, not statistics
