I hope you’ve all had a chance to take a look at our beautiful new playground equipment just outside here. We had the ribbon-cutting ceremony last weekend, and our kids have been having a blast ever since. Our new equipment reminded me of the following story, which, as far as I know, is true, even though it starts like this:

           Once upon a time, in 18^th century Vilna, a little boy named Elijah went outside to play. All the kids in town were fascinated by the community’s newest acquisition – a wooden see-saw. But within five minutes Elijah was back at home. His father was surprised. “What’s the matter, Elijah?” he said. “Don’t you want to play on the see-saw with the other children?”  Elijah said, “I can’t play on that thing.”  “Why not?” asked his dad. “Because I can’t make myself go up by putting another person down,” Elijah said. “That would be violating our most important mitzvah: love your neighbor as yourself.”

            As you may have guessed, Elijah was no ordinary little boy. He grew up to be the Vilna Gaon – Gaon, a title given to the greatest Torah scholar of a generation, from the Hebrew word “to be high or exalted.”  Had little Elijah lived in our time and place, most likely his parents would have gotten him into therapy for failure to interact properly with other children on the playground, and a giant of Jewish history might never have emerged.

            The story about this little boy and the see-saw is about several things, but one of the things it’s about is that parenting is hard. Being a mom or dad is an extraordinary challenge. Parenting always tests us. It tests our energy and creativity; it tests especially our capacity for generosity, patience, unselfishness, steadiness and stamina. All of which is another way of saying that having children tests our ability to love.

            You’re tested in ways you never expected when you are the parent of a child who is unusual in some respects. Maybe a child who doesn’t interact so easily with others on the playground; a child who is angry or sad; a boy or girl who has trouble sitting in class, learning to read, understanding math, controlling behavior, making and keeping friends.

             “Special needs” is a term we sometimes use to describe children who have learning differences; diagnosed conditions such as autism or obsessive-compulsive disorder; or differences in physical, intellectual or emotional development. I understand the term as a useful and non-stigmatizing label. But because these children are not in some separate category of humanity, tonight I want to talk about the special needs of all children. And my words are meant for those who are not parents as well as those who are, because all of us play a role in meeting the special needs of the kids in our congregation.

            Periodically a new parenting book comes out to address our concerns and anxieties about how to raise our children well. One came out last year that I recommend to you – in fact, I’d like to see us read and discuss it as a community. It’s called “The Price of Privilege,” and it’s written by Madeline Levine, who has been a practicing clinical psychologist in Marin County for the past 25 years.  She writes about a curious phenomenon: the adolescents she sees in her practice who are bright and personable, reared in loving, financially comfortable homes, who are nevertheless deeply unhappy, and often behave in self-destructive ways.  

            Dr. Levine writes about the particular dynamics of affluent communities, and how they can create teenagers who look good on the outside but feel troubled and empty inside.  In effect, she describes a different kind of “at-risk” kid; not a boy or girl growing up in violence or poverty, but one who has had all the advantages money and conscientious parents can buy. Yet many studies show that this population of kids is experiencing “epidemic rates of depression, anxiety disorders, and substance abuse – rates that are higher than those of any other socioeconomic group of young people in this country.”

            I recognized a lot of the kids Dr. Levine describes in her book – I think you would, too. And I recognized the culture of privilege she writes about so eloquently, and the families struggling within that culture to raise good, responsible, self-reliant children.            

            I want to focus on just one of the risk factors in our culture that Dr. Levine identifies. She calls it “The Poison of Perfectionism.” Here are her words: “Affluent communities are full of people who are very talented, determined, skilled, competitive, self-centered and successful – and we, not just our communities, may be prone to some unhealthy values and behaviors. Nowhere is this more true than in our tendency to be perfectionistic” [p.178].

Dr. Levine identifies the special pressures on young women to excel according to both traditional “male” standards (academic and career success) and traditional “female” standards as well (being pretty, thin, popular and well-dressed); she describes the misery that can come from trying to meet unrealistic expectations. And she writes about the pervasive sense of not measuring up that is so often conveyed by her young patients of both sexes:

“‘Not good enough’ is a phrase that rings in my office day after day. It bounces off the walls, spoken by teary, athletic twelve-year-olds who don’t make the ‘A’ team, by discouraged high school students with admirable but not outstanding grades, and by exhausted mothers engaged in the useless exercise of trying to make their homes and their children perfect….But ‘good enough’ simply isn’t enough in communities where….working parents toil to reach the pinnacle of professional success, and kids toil to be the best and the brightest.” [p.179]

Dr. Levine writes about how we parents cultivate perfectionism in our kids by praising them in a way that shows “our love and acceptance are conditional on outstanding performance” [p.143]. She points out that extracurricular activities, which should be a source of fun and relaxation, become just the opposite when we critique our kids’ performance in them. She catalogs the ways we can batter down our children’s sense of self with our well-intentioned suggestions, which often reflect our own insecurities:

“ ‘You would be so cute if you just lost ten pounds so you could wear those little tank tops all the girls are wearing.’ (Said by a size-four mother with eating problems herself who can’t bear the idea that her daughter’s body type is stocky, not svelte)….’Why in the world would you think about taking physiology instead of AP chemistry? You’re smarter than that.’ (Said by a physician dad who is struggling to acknowledge that his son is average-bright, not superior.)” [p.146].

           This doesn’t mean that parents shouldn’t have standards and expectations, or that we shouldn’t be involved with how our kids are doing. Dr. Levine is describing something much more intense, intrusive and pernicious in its effect on our kids. “Maladaptive perfectionism,” she says, is “driven by an intense need to avoid failure and appear flawless. It has its roots in a demanding, critical and conditional relationship with one’s parents” (p.180). Perfectionists fear that revealing anything short of perfection will earn them rejection rather than support. 

           Some of us will recognize this quality in ourselves. It may have been the engine that made us work so hard to get where we are today. But it’s one thing to drive yourself. It’s another thing to drive your children. And anyone who has grown up with the sense that our mother or father never quite understood us, wanted us to be different, was somehow disappointed in us, knows what a painful lifetime legacy that can be. 

           So here we are, living in a culture of privilege that is the very air we breathe, wondering how to avoid its harmful fallout.

           Fortunately we Jews have another culture to draw on – a tradition of wisdom developed over millennia. This tradition of ours has done a pretty good job of producing people who are strong and resilient, able to surmount setbacks and maintain laughter and hope in the darkest possible circumstances. It’s shown itself capable of fostering enduring marriages and strong families, as well as intellectual creativity, moral seriousness and a sense of life’s ultimate value and purpose. So I think it’s worth looking at what this tradition of ours has to say about being good parents to our children.

           That would be a book, not a sermon, so tonight let me just mention three brief bits of advice for Jewish parents.

           Number one: Teach your children that they are here for a reason. You all know the story of Reb Zusya, who said before his death, “When I reach the world to come, God will not ask me why I wasn’t more like Moses. He will ask me why I wasn’t more like Zusya.”

           Jewish tradition wants us to understand and cherish the uniqueness of every human soul; to know that if there were anyone else exactly like us in the world, there’d be no need for us to be born. So our life’s task is to discover our own particular gifts and talents, and then to use them responsibly and with joy.

           Viewed this way, education is not about grinding away to earn top grades and build a resume; it’s about searching for what we love and are good at. You have to know yourself to find fulfilling work that is right for you; the path that draws your own heart and mind. To do this requires an inner sense of freedom – the freedom to take all kinds of courses and try new activities without being afraid that you’ll fail. And to do this requires letting go of narrow, elitist definitions of success, and respecting all honest work, not just professions that earn you high status and high salaries.

           Second piece of advice: show your children that it’s nice to be smart, but it’s more important to be good. One medieval work on Jewish ethics says that an intelligent person who does not possess moral virtues is like a donkey carrying a big load of books [Hovot Halevavot]. The scientists of Nazi Germany provided ample proof that intellect without moral integrity is a dangerous force in the world; and we all know brilliant people who are cynical, unscrupulous, arrogant or self-centered. Our tradition is clear in its hierarchy of values: good character comes above everything else.

           So Jewish tradition teaches us to cultivate in ourselves specific character traits, or middot, in Hebrew. Qualities like humility – the ability to make room for the other; kindness; openness of heart; self-discipline and self-control; patience; slowness to anger; keeping one’s word; and generosity of spirit – the ability to take pleasure in another’s good fortune.

           There are many more; one list I found has 30 such qualities. The deliberate, day-by-day effort to develop these qualities is called “working on oneself.” There are how-to books, and, in traditional Jewish communities, support groups so people can work on character improvement together.

            This orientation towards musar, lifelong moral growth, teaches kids not to compete with anyone but themselves. It helps them build up a solid sense of self that is not dependent on external rewards or praise from others, as so many perfectionists are. But can these midot, these moral virtues, really prepare our kids to survive in today’s fiercely competitive economy? I’m convinced that they can. They teach kids to live and work with others, to build solid personal relationships, to develop within themselves the strength of character necessary to meet life’s challenges.

           Third and last piece of Jewish parenting advice: help your kids by working on your own character. The first paragraph of the Shema reminds us that parents are the most important teachers their kids will ever have. The Talmud comments that a child says in the marketplace what he or she hears at home [Sukkah 56b]. We teach constantly, whether we want to or not. Infants are born with an innate propensity to imitate adult behavior. Babies only a few hours old already mimic adult facial expressions.

           Children hear what we say; and they especially watch what we do. Studies show that the possibility of a child’s smoking doubles if one parent smokes and increases fourfold if both parents smoke. Similar associations exist for eating a high-fat diet, alcohol consumption, wearing seatbelts and doing exercise.

           Kids learn the most from our everyday interactions, the things we share with them when we’re walking by the way, when we lie down and when we rise up. When we tell them to get enough sleep, to eat well and to control their temper, they watch to see if we practice what we preach. They observe how we talk about other people. How we react to frustration and disappointment. The compassion or honesty we demonstrate.

           Thinking of ourselves as role models for our kids can force us to ask ourselves some hard questions: are we over-involved in their lives because our own emotional needs aren’t being met – in marriage, for instance, or in close friendships? Are we so exhausted and depleted that we lack the emotional resources to respond to our kids with patience, understanding and love?

           When it comes to perfectionism, here’s what Dr. Madeline Levine has to say: “Listen to how you speak to yourself. If you’ve forgotten to do something, do you think, ‘What an idiot I am,’ or are you more likely to use a gentler voice – ‘It was a busy day, guess I can’t remember everything’? Is the voice that runs commentary on your day a harsh and critical one, or does it treat you kindly?

           “This is the same voice that our children hear every day of their lives. Were your own parents critical of you, and if they were, do you continue to ‘hear’ them talking to you in denigrating, belittling ways? If so, then you need to work on developing a new and softer voice to guide you through the day, and also to talk to your children” [pp.151-2].

          Perfectionism hurts all of us, parents and children alike. It keeps us from accepting and enjoying our kids as the unique individuals they are: separate from us, not made in our image, not vehicles through which we fulfill our own dreams, or naches machines whose success, appearance and popularity reflect on us.

           The simplest Jewish teaching may be the most important of all. Psalm 127 says, “Children are a gift from God.”  All children. Prodigies and C students; those who play nicely on the playground and those who stand on the sidelines, yearning for friends. Sweet-natured six year olds and surly teenagers struggling to find their way to independence. All bring their own blessings into the world; all face their own challenges; all yearn to be understood and loved for who they are.

           Children are a gift from God. We could live this teaching here at Congregation Beth Am. We could plant ourselves in the nourishing soil of our own traditions. We could drop the façade of perfection, trusting that in this place we’ll find support for our problems, not rejection and shame.

           We could show, in the way we talk to one another, that we value and appreciate all kinds of kids. All of us -- parents, grandparents and non-parents -- could find ways to mentor and guide our young people.  We could help each other with the hardest and most significant job of our life: raising a generation of healthy and happy kids. 

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Congregation Beth Am
26790 Arastradero Rd
Los Altos Hills, CA 94022
Phone: 650-493-4661
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