"Loo-oook what I have! Look what I-I have!" greeted me from
the door. Shevi whirled into the kitchen, excitedly waving a
colorful package wrapped in curled ribbons.
"Hi-i-i!" I welcomed my eldest daughter. "How was gan
today? Wow! You had a birthday party today. How lovely!" I
said enthusiastically, and inside I thought, There's
nothing wonderful at all about these `peckelach.' Yesterday
Esti had a baby sister and the day before last, the entire
class behaved nicely and tomorrow will be the weekly Kabbalat
Shabbat and on Sunday, we will discover, apparently, another
link in the never-ending creative chain of sweets. Who needs
all this? Because here we are beginning a story that starts
off happily and sweetly but whose end is arguments and ill
feelings.
*
"Hey, Shevi, give me some, too!" The little three-year-old
holds out his hand and now the celebration really gets
underway.
"No, it's mine!" Shevi tightens her fist and quickly hides
her package behind her back. Mendi runs after her into the
children's room, tears streaming down his face.
"What do you care? Nu, let him have some. You have such a big
bag. Give him one lick. Just one!"
"Can't. It's got germs!" she says importantly, sitting down
on the floor and burying her treasure in the depths of her
skirt. Tova'le, one-and-three-quarter-years-old, toddles
after them quickly. "Choco! Choco!" she enthuses, clapping
her hands. However, when the queen of the candy doesn't get
the hint, she starts yelling in a demanding voice, "Me, me
choco!"
Having no choice, Shevi takes out the chocolate lollypop from
the bag. With her sticky hands, she takes out two shiny
candies and profers them slowly, one to Mendi and one to
Tova'le.
Tova'le swallows her candy quickly, and without missing a
beat, puts her hand out again directly into Shevi's face with
a broad smile. Mendi waves the orange candy that's in his
hand and yells in frustration, "Just this? You're so greedy!
I won't give you any more, either. You didn't give us
anything! I gave you a big bite from Tzviki Herman's Crembo
and you're just greedy!"
He wags his finger at Shevi who has just downed a handful of
candy from her filled candy cane.
"What do you mean `a big bite?' " Shevi answered. "I don't
owe you anything. You said that the Crembo was squashed and
that's why you let me have some. And anyway, you hardly had
any left. You ate most of it. Say `thank you' that I gave you
any."
"Fine, thanks!" yells Mendi. "But what do you care if I have
some of the chocolate-banana bar?"
"No, the bananit is mine. Whoever listens to me can
get the pretzels."
"Pretzels aren't even candy! Big deal!" mocks Mendi.
"So, nothing!" answers Shevi indifferently.
"Okay, so I'm telling Ima. I-i-i-m-a-a! Shevi isn't
giv..."
"Okay, okay! I'll give you some more candy," Shevi offers
with sudden generosity. "Tattletale! You have to tell Ima
everything!"
Mendi swallows the compliment in silence and holds out his
hand. Shevi pours some little candy sprinkles from her candy
cane. Two minutes of silence and then again, "Good, now let
me have some Bamba."
"That's it." Shevi's verdict. "No one gets any more. Take a
bit of the bananit." I could just imagine the
miniscule bit she had pinched off. And here's Mendi's
feedback:
"You're so greedy! Greedy! Greedy!"
"Don't call me greedy. I'm telling Ima."
"I'm also telling that you don't share anything with us, so
there! I-i-i-m-a- a!" And I hear them approaching. The plea
to the high court is en route.
What a pity! What a shame! What do I do now?
To find another compromise between the contradictory
interests of the one with the treasure and the oppressors
from the internal revenue service? To calculate with
scientific precision just how much more Shevi has to give up
so that it be considered giving in?
Enough! I'm tired. I don't know what's worse, anymore, that
she eats everything at kindergarten and misses lunch or that
she brings home this mess.
*
Pity these children, especially the smaller ones, when they
sense the shadow of a candy or sweet. And we're not even
talking about children who've been deprived. On the contrary.
I'm beginning to think that they have shares in a candy
company, contracts for surplus or that they get a percentage
from our dentist, no less.
I feel sorry for Shevi, actually, or whoever's turn it is to
hold the treat bag. From the moment they enter until the last
crumb of candy is gone, they don't stop bugging her. She
hardly has a minute of pleasure in all the fuss.
But all this aside, they have to learn to share, that one
can't remain indifferent when the hearts of those around you
yearn for a bite of wafer or a chocolate-covered-banana-
flavored bar. When explanations don't work, I simply
arbitrarily demand, "Shevi, now you give to Tova'le half a
wafer (she has two)," or "Share your crayons with Mendi. You
have to!"
But why do I have to force them? Why can't they do it as a
favor, out of the goodness of their heart? Will that happy
day never come when Mendi or Shevi will come home with a big
smile and say, "Tova'le, sweetie, take all the lollypops."
Okay, maybe not all, but that they should give of their own
free will, as I give to them. The same way I have no problem
depositing our maaser money into my brother's account
since he is still renting and has no income outside his
kollel. Why doesn't it happen? What makes the
difference?"
Oho! My brother. I remember how we used to fight. I didn't
used to be over-generous when it came to him. For example,
when he came home for Shabbos, I would say to my mother, "Why
did you give him my bed? Let him sleep one night on a fold-
away." Today, I think it was ridiculous. A whole year I sleep
on a box spring mattress. So what if one night I sleep on the
couch?
Wait a minute. How did the turnaround happen? Today, I'm
ready to clear out the children's room so that he and my
sister-in-law will do us the favor of coming for Shabbos. But
even before, when he was still a bochur and we were a
relatively young couple, I gave him support wholeheartedly.
When he dropped by, for a Shabbos or just like that, I would
say to him, "Avremi, consider this your home. Open the
fridge, take cookies, help yourself to the candy cupboard.
Take whatever you like!" How do you explain this?
Don't tell me. We grow up. We learn. Life changes us. Why,
before I was married, I considered it doing him a big favor
to let him study in my room for a couple of hours. And only
three months later, I was offering — without his even
having to ask — to let him leave his Bar Mitzva gifts
in cartons in our spare bedroom. What brings about the
difference?
You know what it is? There are two reasons. First of all,
because after the wedding, I became the lady of the house
(with a partner, of course). Everything is mine. If I feel
like it, I can give and if I like, I can withhold. So what do
I care if I lend my things to someone else? I'm the boss.
And the second point: when my salary is in the thousands (not
too many, don't get excited), what's thirty shekel, anyway?
So ruin the new tape I gave my sister — it's not the
end of the world. How much does a tape cost, anyway? Once,
when my pocket money was dependent on Chanuka gelt and
birthday money, babysitting and the like, I made a big deal
out of a tape. But today?
Well, I'm the boss, not my kids. If I decide, let's say, to
force my Shevi to give her entire goody bag to her siblings,
can she decide whether to obey me or not? Of course not. Ima
said: you have to do it. And what does that mean? That the
goody bag is not really hers. So they are children with
nothing. They have a lot but they don't own anything; they
don't have a piece of the pie.
They receive chocolate or stickers and until they've
finished, they have no way of knowing how much of it will
really be theirs.
And what would we do in their place? Exactly the same thing.
We would fight to the end for the last crumb. To give up
willingly? What? They should starve? Starvation for sweets,
games, privacy or attention. For anything that they're not
sure of getting.
So what are we supposed to tell them? Kinderlach, the
place is yours entirely. You decide. You set the guidelines.
Is that what they need in order to give of their own free
will? Absolutely not! The house belongs to Ima and Abba and
they make the rules. You decided that the 10-year-old has to
let her sister jump rope with her? It's your right. You think
that the little one has to let his brother who just came from
cheder have a turn on the bike? Absolutely. The
children don't always understand why. Many times they don't
want to and they don't have to understand everything.
But this kind of giving is not surrender. You can say, "You
have to give her," not "You have to give in to her." Coercion
teaches obedience, not giving up your will for another. Shevi
can't give tzedoka to the `poor' of her house if she
doesn't have her own money. She has to give from what's hers.
Therefore, she has to have some private property over which
she has sole ownership. What is it worth if she gives from
what's mine? We are not discussing here the educational act
of getting her used to giving.
So this is what we've decided: most of what is in the house,
read: games, furniture and places (even over this they
fight), belongs to ev-ery-one. But besides this, we give each
one of them some autonomous private independence that they
each decide upon for themselves. Without help, without
advice, without accusations.
Then when I say to Mendi, "This is her goody bag. If she
wants, she can give you some, but she doesn't have to. You
can ask once and that's it." Suddenly, she's not under
pressure. The restraining order from the high court stayed
the threatening attack, and the property remains hers. She
has a piece of the pie, her own piece. And anyway, she has
the common sense to understand: really what are two thirds of
a lollypop, half a chocolate-covered wafer and all the Bamba,
compared to the rest of the goodies that remain by her.
She'll live even if she doesn't eat them.
And the compliments she received for her generosity! "Shevi,
you shared?" I asked, unbelieving, the first time it worked.
"You're wonderful!" I hugged her.
"Shevi the Sharer, who gives everyone, without anyone telling
her to. You know how much nachas you've given to
Hakodosh Boruch Hu now, Shevale?"
And the titles she was awarded encouraged her to share
quicker in the future. She gave more and more, and the trait
of generosity took permanent root in her heart. Even when she
only had a little, she shared. They all did. They learned
that surrender isn't a war for life-giving territory but a
good character trait that is worth developing.
To tell you the truth, it isn't always easy. Children are
children and they always want more — the ones who ask.
On the other hand, the one sharing doesn't always do it
automatically and the others become bitter. But that's also a
part of life, knowing that you don't always get and nobody
owes you anything. And you can pass by something sweet or
salty and not get any in return.
One more point in conclusion: With the really little ones,
this doesn't work. Until a child is two and a half, give or
take, don't try this. Not that they're stingy, G-d forbid.
It's just a question of age and maturity. And then when the
big one cries, "Why do I give Tova'le and she never gives me
anything?" you can stroke his cheek, sometimes also taking
out something from the candy cupboard while saying, "She's
still little and she doesn't understand like you do. When you
were one and three quarters, you also didn't give anyone
anything. Now you like to give, right? She will, too, when
she's three."
Not to worry. She'll share in the end. They all do.
