IN every marriage, it occasionally becomes necessary for one spouse to voice displeasure at something the other spouse is doing. It is virtually impossible, therefore, to live with a spouse without ever having to express disapproval. And one of the keys to a successful marriage is knowing how to give that constructive criticism. Delivered incorrectly, marital mussar can have devastating consequences.

Consider the case of Dov. A soft-spoken, successful sofer, Dov approached me one day after Minchah quite a few years ago.

“Could I please talk with you for a minute… privately?” Dov meekly asked.

I stepped out into the hall with Dov to hear what he had to say.

“I know you speak publicly, at times, on shalom bayis,” Dov began. “I would like to tell you my story so that you can share it with others, without my name, of course. It is painful for me to tell you about this now. But if it will help one other couple, it will be worth my discomfort.

“For the first ten years of our marriage, my wife suffered from chronic depression. We consulted some of the best doctors and psychiatrists. No one was able to help her. As a result, she was incapable of functioning as a proper wife and mother.

“Then, after some serious soul searching on my part, I came to the realization that I was the cause of her problem. I had been short-tempered and critical of my wife, much more than I realized. It was an extremely painful revelation. But I finally understood that if I didn’t get control of myself, no one would be able to help my wife.

“It was the most difficult challenge I ever had to face in my life. But I succeeded in turning myself around with the help of a very supportive, patient, and caring mentor. And as you can probably imagine, that had a dramatic impact on my wife, who gradually recovered from her depression and finally became the wife and mother she had always been capable of being.”

In my years of advising couples how to effectively communicate criticism, I have developed four guidelines. Dov’s case offers a perfect lead-in to the first.

1. Never in Anger

When Shmuel Hanavi was instructed by Hashem to anoint the next king after Shaul, he was only told to anoint one of the sons of Yishai. Upon arriving at Yishai’s home, Shmuel was struck with the regal stature and appearance of Yishai’s oldest son, Eliav. Surely, thought Shmuel, this must be the son Hashem intended to be the next melech.

But Hashem told Shmuel, “I have rejected him” (Shmuel I 16:7).

And Rashi explains why Eliav was rejected: “Because he is an angry person.”

If Eliav had not suffered from anger management issues, he would have assumed the exalted place in Jewish history that his younger brother Dovid now holds. Royalty is not the only treasure forfeited by one with an uncontrolled temper. When criticism is conveyed to a spouse in anger, shalom bayis is another casualty, and a much more common one.

2. Praise First

In parshas Vayeitzei, we learn how Yaakov Avinu acted when he arrived in Charan (Bereishis 29:4–8). He saw a group of shepherds lollygagging around, and he criticized them for it. Instead of tarring and feathering him, they respectfully explained the reason for their inactivity.

Why, asked Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky ztz"l, did the shepherds respond so civilly to a total stranger’s criticism? He explained that Yaakov began speaking to the shepherds by addressing them as “Achai,” my brothers, which is a term of endearment. We learn from this that whenever one needs to criticize, he should be sure to preface the negative words of disapproval with some positive words of praise.

In my work with couples, I always make a point of explaining this fundamental principle of effective marital communication. Of course, complimenting before criticizing doesn’t mean that any negative feedback must be immediately preceded by a positive comment, as in, “Thank you for helping me yesterday. And, you know, I really can’t stand it when you always….”

Rather, it means that you should be banking your praise well in advance of your criticism. Just as you make sure to maintain a proper balance in your checking account, because you never know when you will need to make a withdrawal, so, too, you must be sure to make deposits of compliments in your marital “account” to cover any “debits” of criticism that you may need to make in the future.

3. Behind Closed Doors

In parshas Ki Seitzei, the Torah describes the mitzvah of the ben sorer u’moreh (Devarim 21:18). Included in that description is the condition that the son is “einenu shomeia b’kol aviv uv’kol imo” — that he doesn’t listen to the voice of his father and the voice of his mother. Why does the Torah take care to repeat the word “voice”? Why not simply state “the voices of his father and mother”?

The Gemara answers that it comes to teach that the voices of the father and mother must be equal (Sanhedrin 71a). From this Gemara, Rav Shamshon Rephael Hirsch extrapolates that the Torah is teaching us that a child is only held responsible for extreme misbehavior if his parents have been unified in their parenting. If, however, there has been any dissention between mother and father, the child cannot be held accountable for the misconduct of a ben sorer u’moreh.

Of course, parents may disagree at times, even on critical parenting issues. What Rav Hirsch is teaching, however, is that those disagreements should never be aired in the presence of their children. Whenever it may be necessary to criticize your spouse, therefore, it should only be done behind closed doors.

A rav who is heavily involved with gittin and related matters once shared with me that he met a matrimonial lawyer who was a US army veteran. The former soldier had the build of a football player and was heavily tattooed. And he confided to the rav, “While on active duty, I was shot and wounded. I saw some of my buddies die in front of me. I also needed to shoot and kill people. But in spite of all that, the most traumatic experience of my life was lying in bed at night as a child and hearing my parents yell at each other.”

Besides traumatizing your children and violating the prohibition of halbanas pnei chaveiro b’rabim, when you criticize your spouse in the presence of your children, you virtually guarantee that your spouse will dismiss, disregard, and discredit whatever you have to say. In addition, you will be giving your spouse ample ammunition to use in criticizing you.

4. Criticize without Attacking

When an insult, a negative characterization, or a disparaging comment is directed at a person, that is a verbal attack. And attacks usually provoke defensiveness and counterattacks. On the other hand, however, when one expresses how his feelings were triggered by someone else’s behavior, that is not an attack.

For example, if you say to your spouse, “You are selfish, self-centered, and narcissistic,” that is an attack that will surely fail to improve anything. If, however, you say, “It makes me feel so hurt and disregarded when you make your plans for Sunday without including me,” then there is a much greater chance you will be heard, which could lead to positive, meaningful change.

When you criticize your spouse, therefore, disparaging the whole person, painting with large brushstrokes, you decrease the chances that your words will have the desired impact of changing your spouse’s behavior. If, however, you limit your criticism to describing the feelings triggered in you by your spouse’s behavior, it stands the greatest chance of being effective.

And you may even get away with it.

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice, with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1022)

The post How to Criticize Your Spouse (and Get Away with It)     first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

A few years ago, Baruch and Pessy were totally baffled by their bright, personable youngest son, Yanky, and his unexplainable symptoms. For a little over a year, this ten-year-old seemed to be overly sensitive to loud noises, especially sirens and alarms. And paradoxically, he would practically have an anxiety attack if he heard the relatively low sound of a smoke alarm chirping due to a low battery.

Baruch, a mesivta menahel, and Pessy, a social worker, were both sophisticated parents who anticipated my questions and answered them without my even having to ask.

“He never had strep,” Pessy volunteered. “So we know it can’t be PANDAS [pediatric autoimmune neuropsychiatric disorders, associated with streptococcal infections]. And even our pediatrician is at a loss to explain why Yanky is acting this way.”

“He also has not been bullied at school or victimized in any way,” Baruch added. “But just to be sure, we have asked him directly, more than once. And each time he assures us that he has not been mistreated by anyone. We have discussed these things openly with all of our children. So we are pretty sure that if someone had started up with him, he would have told us about it.”

I took a standard developmental history of Yanky, asked about all of his four older siblings, and explored some of the family dynamics looking for clues. After coming up empty-handed, I shook my head and validated their confusion. Then I explained that the next step would be for me to meet with Yanky for a couple of individual sessions.

Finally, I asked, “How do you think Yanky will feel about coming here to meet with me?”

“Oh, he’ll be happy to come,” Pessy reassured me. “Before we came here, we asked him how he’d feel speaking with someone who might be able to help him with his fears. And he was totally on board.”

When I met with Yanky, he was as intelligent and charming as his parents had described. After conducting an initial clinical assessment for my first two sessions with Yanky, I was still clueless regarding the origin of his anxiety symptoms. And when I asked him why he thought he was so bothered by loud noises, he just shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and told me he had no idea.

In the third session, I decided to try to take advantage of Yanky’s precociousness. I began by explaining the concept of associations — when someone has similar emotional reactions to two totally unrelated experiences because of one point of similarity. And I gave him the example of someone hearing a song he hadn’t heard for a long time and then experiencing the same emotions as the first time he heard it. When I saw that he grasped the concept, I asked if he ever had an experience of hearing loud noises and/or sirens at a time when he was also feeling somewhat worried or frightened.

The post Two Childhood Traumas first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

O

ne day last year, when “Yanky” was in the fifth grade, he came off the school bus in tears.

“What happened?” his father, “Eli,” gasped, with a note of urgency in his voice.

“I hit a boy in my class,” Yanky wailed. “And that means that now I’m a rasha.”

“Hold on a minute, here,” Eli said, trying to soothe his distressed son and unpack the day’s events at the same time. “Why did you hit someone in the first place? And why does that mean you’re a rasha?”

“There’s a boy in my class who’s always poking and pinching me,” Yanky coughed out between sobs. “I don’t know why. But he’s always starting up with me!”

“So why didn’t you tell your rebbi about this?”

“I did! But it didn’t help.”

“Well, what did the rebbi say when you told him?”

“He said he’d speak with the boy. But it didn’t stop.”

“Then why didn’t you just go back to the rebbi again and tell him that the problem wasn’t solved?”

“I did that, too! But it still didn’t help,” Yanky insisted, trying to catch his breath. “So, um, so when he laughed and stuck out his foot today, tripping me in the hall, I punched him in the chest and knocked him down on the floor. And my rebbi taught us that any Yid who raises his hand to hit another Yid is a rasha!”

Eli wrapped his arms around his son and explained to him that the rebbi was correct. However, he was referring to a case where someone initiates violence, not where someone is trying to defend himself.

Eli and his wife had been consulting me about one of their other children. During one of our meetings, they reported the episode with Yanky described above and then asked for my take on how Eli had handled it. Here is some of what I told them.

When Dasan and Aviram were quarreling with each other, the Torah relates that Moshe Rabbeinu tried to intervene by addressing the instigator of violence, whom the Torah labels a rasha (Shemos 2:13). And yes, Rashi on that pasuk does cite the Chazal that if one even raises his hand against a fellow Jew, without hitting, he is termed a rasha (Sanhedrin 58b).

Furthermore, the Torah makes it clear that physical aggression is considered a non-Jewish trait. For example, the malach foretells Hagar that her son, Yishmael, will be someone whose “hand will be on everyone” (Bereishis 16:12). And Yitzchak Avinu declared, “v’hayadayim yedei Eisav” (Bereishis 27:22). Only non-Jews typically resort to physical violence.

Nevertheless, the Torah does not expect us to be wimps who “turn the other cheek” when we are attacked or even threatened with an attack. The Mishnah, for example, states that someone who tunnels into someone else’s home to burglarize it may be killed by the owner in self-defense (Sanhedrin 8:6). The Gemara elucidates this mishnah as follows. “The Torah says haba l’hargecha, hashkeim v’hargo, if someone is coming to kill you, preempt him and lethally attack him first” (Sanhedrin 72a).

When parents are confronted with the dilemma of how to help their children deal with assaults from their peers, they need to distinguish between verbal and physical attacks. In the case of insults, name-calling, and teasing, the old “sticks and stones” refrain will not be very effective. What is helpful is when parents empower their children by giving them the tools they need to cope with these verbal onslaughts. And these are the same tools that parents automatically use themselves, often without even realizing it.

Discredit the source. The insulter is the one who should be embarrassed, not his victim. Insults demean the insulter more than his target. Children need to be reminded that bullies reveal their weakness and insecurity when they attempt to exert power over others.

Dilute the sting with the balm of support. We are surrounded by so many friends and relatives who care for and think highly of us that the insult should be batel b’shishim. Children need to learn to nullify the minor negativity of an affront with the soothing embrace of a loved one.

Catalogue your strengths, talents, and positive qualities. When we are verbally put down by others, we comfort ourselves by focusing on our past accomplishments and successes. Children can and should be taught to do the same.

When children are physically attacked, however, concrete and practical protective measures are needed. Certainly, if these attacks take place in school, children can be instructed to inform their rebbi or morah. And if the attacks persist, this can still be brought back to the attention of the faculty by the child and/or the parent. However, that does not mean that children should be taught never to defend themselves. When push comes to shove, literally, children should be taught to stick up for themselves. And Eli acted correctly by explaining this to his son.

In fact, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach ztz”l was asked if a child is being hit by a classmate, should he be instructed to inform his rebbi, or should he hit back to defend himself? And he responded that the child could hit back, but only to prevent further attacks, not to take nekamah (Shal’mei Moed, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, Pirkei Chinuch, p. 521).

As a teenager, I don’t think I could have been described as a wimp. I did feel somewhat intimidated, however, around some of my more aggressive peers. And I wondered how I would fare if I ever faced a physical confrontation.

One day, I shared my concerns with my father z”l. In a gentle, tender manner, he asked if I might be interested in taking a few self-defense lessons. I rejected the idea outright when it was first suggested. Upon further reflection, however, I came back to him later and accepted his offer.

All told, I took about half a dozen lessons, which gave me some basics of self-defense. And baruch Hashem, I never had the need to put what I had learned into practice. The lessons, however, did increase my self-confidence and reduced my sense of vulnerability around the tougher boys in my yeshivah and in camp.

My father, it should be noted, was no stranger to physical confrontations. He was born and raised in the rough-and-tumble Lower East Side of Manhattan at the turn of the century. The neighborhood was multiethnic and included more than an ample supply of anti-Semites.

One day, my uncle Yehudah, my father’s younger brother, came home from cheder all bloodied up by an encounter he had with a Jew-hating non-Jewish bully named Dutch Shultz (not the infamous Dutch Schultz) who was much older than both Wikler boys. In the frontier justice of that era, my father felt obligated to protect his kid brother from further assaults by confronting his attacker.

The next day, my father encountered Dutch Shultz on the sidewalk and stood up to him, telling him to lay his hands off Yehudah. Instead of responding verbally, Dutch Shultz simply glared down at my father. And then the chase was on.

My father took off into a nearby store, ran through the store, and jumped out a back window, with Dutch Shultz in hot pursuit. Then my father bolted across the backyard and vaulted a wooden fence. And he made it home before Dutch Shultz was able to catch up with him.

The next day, my father prepared himself and his brother with shortened bamboo sticks from someone’s discarded sechach, which they hid in their shirts in case they should be confronted by their nemesis. And for the next few days, they walked to and from cheder together, looking out in opposite directions so that they would not be caught off-guard.

These protective measures did not need to be continued for very long because Dutch Shultz was put away a couple of weeks later. He had taunted a policeman and then escaped into an apartment building. Unlike today, in those days, police exacted retribution for disrespect, especially from children. As the policeman walked toward the apartment building, Dutch Shultz raced to the roof, grabbed an empty steel milk barrel and threw it down on the policeman, hitting him as he was about to enter.

No, children should not be taught to settle disputes by hitting. However, they should also be taught that they need not become other children’s punching bags, and that self-defense is not only permitted by the Torah, it is actually encouraged.

Oh, and just for the record, I later learned that after Yanky fought back, his classmate never again repeated his vicious attacks.

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice with offices in Brooklyn, New York, and Lakewood, New Jersey. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com. The author would like to thank his friend and colleague, Dr. Benzion Sorotzkin, for his assistance in the preparation of this article.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 989)

The post Wimps No More first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

“V

elvel” said he was calling about a marital issue, but he requested an individual appointment for himself, “at least to start.”

When Velvel sat down for the initial consultation, the furrows in his brow were deeper than those of an Iowa cornfield. And I could see he was carrying the burden of a considerable weighty matter.

“My wife is an excellent mother and housekeeper,” Velvel began, as if he suspected me of believing otherwise. “I’m very fortunate to be married to her. And we don’t really have any shalom bayis problems, baruch Hashem.”

Then Velvel took a deep breath and haltingly revealed what had prompted him to reach out to me. “Unfortunately, however, she doesn’t enjoy the things that I like to do.”

“What kind of things are you talking about?” I asked.

“Look, I work in the finance industry,” Velvel replied, defensively. “And when I have time off on the weekends, or when we’re on vacation, I need to really unwind. But my wife is unwilling to join me in the things I like to do.”

“I still do not understand what exactly are the things you like to do,” I said, gently.

“Okay,” Velvel relented, “I’ll give you a couple of examples. I enjoy the outdoors. I like to go ice skating in the winter and hiking in the woods during the summer. And I would love it if my wife came with me. But since we’ve been married, I have to either go with a friend or do these things alone.”

“Do you discuss this with your wife at home?” I probed further.

“Are you kidding?” Velvel asked, rhetorically. “We talk about it all the time. She says she’s not comfortable doing these things.”

He threw up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. Then he went on to elaborate on his feelings of disappointment and frustration with what he saw as his wife’s stubbornness about not wanting to try new activities.

“How would you feel if I meet with your wife to get her take on this?” I asked toward the end of the session.

Velvel was very receptive to my suggestion and appeared hopeful for the first time since he had walked into my office.

The following week I met with Velvel’s wife, “Ita.” And without hesitation, she got straight to the point.

“Velvel has been nagging me about joining him for hikes in the woods and ice skating ever since we got married almost a year ago,” she said, softly. “Look, I’m a regular Bais Yaakov girl. My idea of a good time outdoors is to go for a walk in the park. I also enjoy going to museums. But Velvel says that museums are boring and he has no patience for them. You know, I haven’t changed since we got engaged. I never pretended to like outdoor sports. In fact, the only outdoor activity we did while dating was playing miniature golf on our last date before Velvel proposed.”

“How would you feel if the three of us discussed this together?” I asked, looking for some wiggle room.

“I just wish Velvel would accept me as I am,” Ita replied. “But I’m willing to have a joint session if that would get him to stop harassing me about this. I’ve told him I don’t mind if he goes out with his friends. But I was never into sports, even as a single girl.”

I met a few times after that with Velvel and Ita together, until it became clear to all three of us that since Velvel was unable or unwilling to adjust his expectations and Ita refused to move out of her comfort zone, their impasse was insurmountable.

Apparently, Velvel and Ita never learned what the baalei mussar teach us: that, along with learning Torah, performing mitzvos, and seeking opportunities to benefit others, one of the main reasons we are in this world is to work on and improve our middos. And one of the main institutions HaKadosh Baruch Hu created to assist us in our task of perfecting ourselves is marriage.

R

av Shamshon Raphael Hirsch, in his commentary on Chumash (Bereishis 2:24), clarified the reason for the issurei arayos, the laws of forbidden marriages.

A man, in the choice of a wife, is to go away from the parental home, accordingly not to look for a wife amongst too near [relatives]… Because the wife is to be the eizer of her husband, she must be k’negdo; because she is to complement him, she must have different characteristics [from] his. If they are nearly related, they would perhaps have the same virtues, but also perhaps the same faults; the same perfections, but also the same deficiencies; their union would only strengthen and intensify the characteristics in both directions, good and bad, but they would not complement each other. Only more distant grades would… produce the perfect being… and achieve more purely and completely the one great human task [of perfection].

A while back, Rav Mordechai Dolinsky z”l, the late mashgiach of Yeshivah Torah Ore in Yerushalayim, shared with me that many years earlier, when he was a bochur on the cusp of entering into shidduchim, he decided to first consult with various gedolim to receive their hadrachah. Upon meeting with Rav Chaim Pinchas Scheinberg ztz”l, the late rosh yeshivah of Torah Ore, the young Reb Mordechai asked what he should be looking for in a shidduch. Rav Scheinberg then made the following personal disclosure.

“Before I tell you what to look for,” Rav Scheinberg began, “let me tell you what not to look for. You should not look for a clone of yourself, someone who is just like you. After I married my rebbetzin, I realized how privileged I was to have married her. You see, we have very different personalities. I am a deep thinker, an intellectual type, while my rebbetzin is very sociable and outgoing.

“Had I married someone like myself instead of like my rebbetzin, every day in my home would have been Tishah B’Av, with two such serious people. But since I was fortunate enough to marry my rebbetzin, there was joy and liveliness in our home, which created a much more conducive atmosphere for raising children.”

The point here is not that “opposites attract,” or that one should look for a spouse who is totally different. Rather, what Rav Shamshon Raphael Hirsch and Rav Chaim Pinchas Scheinberg are trying to teach all the Velvels and Itas of the world is that if the Master Matchmaker has placed you together with your spouse, it is for the purpose of helping you grow. And if your spouse does not enjoy what you do, your job is not to launch a crusade to find someone to change him or her for you.

Rather, you should try to respect your spouse’s preferences and think more about pleasing your spouse than about your spouse pleasing you. Then you will be using your differences as an opportunity to build your character by working on your middos, which is one of the primary purposes for which HaKadosh Baruch Hu has put you and your spouse together in the first place.

A sobering thought for us all.

Now some readers may be wondering, when spouses differ in what they enjoy doing, as Velvel and Ita did, can the conflict ever be resolved? Who should do the conforming? And should the other spouse be making any concessions at all?

Principle or Preference

To my way of thinking, there are only two methods to resolve such marital conflicts. I call these “principle” and “preference.” Let me explain.

Principle refers to correct and incorrect, or the way things ought to be. Using this approach, spouses try to convince each other, “I am right and you are wrong.” To bolster their arguments, they may cite Torah or, l’havdil, secular sources. They may point to family, friends, or neighbors who support their point of view. Or they may seek a third party to serve as arbitrator to indicate who is right and who is wrong.

In my clinical experience, however, I have found that discussions based on principle frequently descend into heated debates and even arguments, with no resolution of the conflict. In spite of the futility of this approach, most couples turn to it first, for two very good reasons.

First, if a spouse wins a dispute based on principle, he or she owes the other spouse no debt of gratitude. After all, the other spouse is now seeing the light and just agreeing to do what is correct.

The second reason the principle approach is favored is that once the other spouse accepts the principle, the issue never has to be raised again. It is now finally put to rest.

The principle approach fails so frequently, however, for the same two reasons. If one spouse yields, he or she cannot look forward to any gratitude for the concession. Furthermore, he or she loses any chance of revisiting the matter and is now locked into the concession until 120.

The other approach, preference, which I always recommend, refers to the process of negotiation. In other words, both spouses come to the bargaining table with mutual respect for each other’s feelings and preferences, without judging them. And each spouse is entitled to want whatever he or she wants. Then they discuss their differing preferences, looking for opportunities to compromise. No one gets everything he or she wants. But both spouses get more from each other than they would have by remaining stuck in the stalemate.

Returning to Velvel and Ita, both would not budge from their penchant for the principle approach. Velvel believed that a wife should always try to conform to the wishes of her husband. And Ita believed that she should never be asked to move out of her comfort zone.

Had they been willing to consider the preference approach to their conflict, however, they might have been able to resolve their differences. For example, Ita might have proposed that they try going on an outdoor picnic. Or at least she might have asked Velvel how he would feel if she accompanied him to the skating rink and sat in the stands.

Furthermore, Velvel might have suggested they experiment with a visit to a sports museum. Or at least he might have challenged Ita to another round of outdoor miniature golf. In other words, had they accepted the legitimacy of each other’s preferences, they might have been open to exploring compromises.

And when spouses make concessions in order to please each other, they are refining their middos, achieving true shalom bayis, and thereby fulfilling the ultimate purpose of their Heavenly orchestrated union.

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice, with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 969)

The post Ice Skating and Miniature Golf first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

“Baruch” and “Shevi” were professionals in their thirties, tall, and very self-assured. They seemed comfortable with each other and quite at ease consulting me about their eight-year-old son, “Nachy.”

“We would like you to treat our son,” Baruch began, getting straight to the point. Both parents agreed that Nachy was bright, athletic, and well behaved at home and in yeshivah. He also got along well with his two younger siblings. Their concern, however, was that Nachy was somewhat socially withdrawn and appeared to lack confidence. As a result, he had few friends, and the few he did have were not close friends.

“We’re looking ahead,” Baruch explained. “And we don’t want him to continue this way for the rest of his life. If possible, we would like this cleared up while he’s still young. We want you to help him overcome whatever it is that’s causing him to be this way.”

I spent the rest of the consultation looking for possible clues that could shed light on the source of Nachy’s difficulties.

“Is this a recent development, or has he always been this way?” I asked.

“He’s always been this way,” Baruch replied.

“Was he ever victimized, bullied, or abused?” I asked.

“Not that we know of,” Shevi responded.

“Have you tried talking to him about it? And if so, what does he say?” I probed further.

“Yes, we’ve tried,” Shevi said, with a heavy sigh. “But he just shrugs his shoulders and walks away.”

It was toward the end of the session that I gave one final stab at trying to identify at least an angle for future exploration. “Does Nachy have any particular fears or phobias?”

“No, not really,” Shevi answered, shaking her head. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Well, once in a while, he wakes up from a bad dream. But then he climbs into bed with his father and falls right back asleep.”

I sat up straight and asked, “Approximately how often does that happen?”

“Only once or twice a week,” Shevi replied matter-of-factly.

I told Baruch and Shevi there was no reason for me to see their son. If he was spending the night in his father’s bed that often at eight years old, that was at least a major contributing factor in causing his lack of confidence and social withdrawal. At eight years old, he should have been mature and independent enough to spend the entire night in his own bed. Being unable to master this developmental task is enough to undermine the confidence of any eight year old, I explained. Furthermore, by allowing this prolonged, age-inappropriate dependence, his parents were actually perpetuating the problem they wanted me to solve.

Baruch appeared almost relieved by my assessment. Shevi, on the other hand, practically took umbrage at it. “I’m absolutely unwilling to let him cry through the night,” she declared, drawing a line in the sand. I offered to work with them to help them gradually achieve the goal of Nachy spending every night in his own bed, but she flatly refused.

I thought that was the end of that, but I received a call from Baruch a few weeks later. He told me his wife would soon be going to Florida for two weeks to visit her parents, and he wanted to know if it would be possible for me to work with him alone to help him teach Nachy to sleep in his room throughout the night before his wife returned.

I agreed to guide Baruch for the next two weeks, and by the time Shevi came home, Nachy was no longer coming into his parents’ bedroom at night. Three months later, Baruch called to inform me that Nachy seemed to have “come out of his shell,” and was making friends in yeshivah.

Rabbi Jonathan Rietti gave a lecture a few years ago in which he quoted the pasuk, “And the boy grew up and was weaned” (Bereishis 21:8). He then asked the following question: Why does the Hebrew word for withholding nursing by weaning, vayigamal, have the same shoresh as the word for giving, gomel, which is just the opposite?

He explained that when a mother weans her child, she is actually giving him the priceless gift of independence.

My dear friend and colleague, Rabbi Yaakov Salomon, was in the audience and approached Rabbi Rietti after the lecture. The word for camel, gamal, also has the same shoresh, Rabbi Salomon pointed out. What was the significance of that? he wanted to know.

Rabbi Rietti was delighted by the question. A camel, he explained, can be given water and then travel for days and days in the desert without receiving any more, providing yet another example of how giving and withholding are connected.

The late Lakewood rosh yeshivah, Rav Shneur Kotler ztz”l, also addressed the vital importance of fostering independence in children. “There are those people who instead of being mechanech their children when they are young, they train them to fulfill mitzvos [as one would train an animal]. Not once do they allow the child to choose and use his own judgment. People like that are lacking in [basic] humanity.” (Binyan Habayis p. 180)

Another friend of mine has a son who was learning in an out-of-town yeshivah. After an off-Shabbos, this son asked and received permission to take the family’s second car to drive back to yeshivah. Although he’d been driving for some time already, this would be the first time he would drive such a long distance.

A neighbor of my friend was incredulous when he heard about this plan. “Aren’t you nervous to allow your son to drive out of state for the first time?” he asked him.

“Of course, I certainly am nervous,” my friend retorted. “But that shouldn’t prevent me from allowing him the independence he’s entitled to have at his age.”

Parents have a natural urge to give to their children. If, however, they can resist that urge and when necessary, hold back from giving in order to promote their children’s independence, they will be giving them the greatest gift of all.

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice, with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com 

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 954)

The post The Camel and the Car first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

“A

vi” and “Shaindy” walked into my office with slumped shoulders and heavy hearts. When I asked what I could help them with, Avi spoke first.

“All of our five children are well-behaved, doing well in school, and have plenty of friends,” he said almost defensively. “The reason we are here is that our nine-year-old son seems to be — I really hate to say it, but — he seems to be a chronic liar.”

Avi went on to give me detailed examples of his son’s falsehoods, even in situations where he and his wife had concrete evidence that their son was not telling the truth. In short, they were coming with two questions. Is this something they should be concerned about, or should they simply dismiss it as childhood immaturity? And, if not, what should they be doing about it?

Responding to their first question, I assured them that they definitely should be concerned about their son’s dishonesty. The Torah warns, “Mi’dvar sheker tirchak.” (Shemos 23:7) And the Seforno adds that this prohibition even includes anything that could lead to or cause dishonesty. I then shared with them a brief encounter I had had a few years ago with Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky shlita.

“I was at a chasunah and noticed a golden opportunity,” I began. “Rav Shmuel was standing alone, with no one speaking with him. So I rushed over to him to take advantage of the moment. I greeted him and told him that I was scheduled to speak on parenting the following week. Then I asked if he recalled any episode from his childhood that I could share with my audience about the parenting of his illustrious father, Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky ztz”l.

“Rav Shmuel thought for a moment. Then he shook his head and replied that nothing really stood out in his memory. ‘He pretty much let us raise ourselves,’ he said.

“When I gently pressed him, however, he added, ‘One thing I do remember is that while he never seemed concerned about our behavior, he took our middos very seriously. And one thing he would never tolerate in any form was sheker.’ ”

I then went on to explain to Avi and Shaindy that, as Rav Yaakov taught by example, parents can and should convey their disappointment and disapproval in no uncertain terms whenever they learn that their child has been untruthful.

Before offering any additional recommendations, I first explored how Avi and Shaindy handled various situations at home, such as when their children admitted wrongdoing.

“Well,” Shaindy replied indignantly, “if children misbehave, they have to suffer the consequences. Otherwise, they’ll never learn to correct their misbehavior.”

“That’s true,” I concurred. “But if they are punished for misconduct after confessing, you may be unwittingly teaching them to lie next time they are questioned.”

Now some readers may be wondering, when can you punish a child for doing something wrong without having to worry that it will encourage him to lie?

In order to answer that question, we need to turn to the wisdom of the Torah as interpreted by Chazal. The Torah teaches that if a thief is caught, he is to be punished by paying a fine equal to the value of the stolen item, in addition to making restitution to the owner (Shemos 22:3). On this halachah, the Gemara elaborates that one who confesses to his crime before being found guilty by a beis din is freed from paying the fine (Bava Kamma 75a).

A thief committed the heinous aveirah of stealing. And yet he is excused from having to pay the fine and is only required to make restitution, because he came forward and admitted his wrongdoing. If, however, he was proven guilty before confessing, he is punished with the fine. The same guidelines can be used by parents.

More specifically, if parents observe their child misbehaving, they can certainly impose a suitable consequence. If, however, the child needs to be questioned and then admits his wrongdoing, then his parents should follow the ways of Rav Yaakov by teaching their child that the middah of emes trumps the misdeed.

Of course, the parents can express disappointment and displeasure at the misbehavior. And in most cases, that will serve as a sufficient deterrent. But they should follow the guidelines of Chazal by not imposing any punishment. Otherwise, they may be teaching their child to lie.

My meeting with Avi and Shaindy reminded me of an incident from my childhood when I was about five or six years old. And the only reason I recall it so clearly is that I have retold it so many times.

Around the corner from where we lived, there was a boy, “Levi,” who was a year older than me and a year younger than my older brother, Yosef. And since Levi had no brothers, his mother often brought him to our home to play.

One hot summer day, when Yosef and I were getting bored, our mother a”h offered to take us to a nearby creek to go fishing. And since she felt sorry for Levi, she invited him to join us. After a while at the creek, none of us were catching any fish. Looking back on it now, I suspect that there were not really any fish in that tiny stream. The three of us, however, assumed the reason we were unsuccessful was that we were not getting our makeshift lines far enough out into the water.

As we stretched out to lean over the creek, my mother was concerned that I might fall into the water. So she grabbed my belt from behind to secure me on solid ground. Yosef was older and bolder, enabling him to plant one foot on a rock in the water and thereby lean further over the creek. Levi was not as agile as Yosef and had no mother there to hold his belt. Consequently, when he tried to copy Yosef’s example, he eventually lost his balance and plopped into the shallow, waist-high water. Although he suffered no injuries and easily walked out of the creek, Levi was soaking wet from head to toe.

It was time to head home.

All the way back, Levi was bemoaning the fate he would meet when his parents saw him.

“When I get home, I’m going to get a good licking,” he fretfully repeated to us in no uncertain terms. And he was inconsolable.

My mother, Yosef, and I felt terrible for Levi. My mother even offered to go in with Levi to explain to his parents that it had been an accident.

Levi, however, declined emphatically. And he stoically replied that he was prepared to accept his punishment. As he walked up the path to his home, he hung his head low as if he were a condemned man approaching the gallows on the way to his own execution.

The next day, my mother met Levi’s mother at the grocery store and was burning with curiosity to learn what had transpired when Levi came home the day before. But she had too much sensitivity and tact to ask. Instead, she greeted Levi’s mother warmly and engaged in small talk, waiting for an opening. And she did not have to wait long.

“You know, that was so generous of you yesterday to invite Levi to join your boys fishing,” Levi’s mother gushed. “He was really getting bored before you called.”

“Oh, it was a pleasure,” my mother replied. “Levi is such a well-behaved boy. I was happy to have him with us.”

“And wasn’t that a brave thing Levi did yesterday?” Levi’s mother asked, rhetorically. “He told us all about it when he came home. And we were so proud of him when we heard what he did!”

“What exactly are you referring to?” my mother gently probed.

“Oh, Levi told us how Meir fell into the creek. And he had to jump in to save him from drowning.”

As I told Avi and Shaindy, if you punish children after admitting wrongdoing, you may be teaching them to lie.

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice, with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 947.

The post Teaching Children to Lie first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

W

hen my children were in elementary school, Chol Hamoed trips always presented a challenge to me as a parent. And whenever Yom Tov approached, I dreaded my children’s semi-annual question, “Where are we going on Chol Hamoed?”

Generally, to stall for time and get myself off the hook, I gave my standard default answer. “I’ll have to discuss that with Mommy.”

One year, after seeing an amusement park advertisement that announced, “All proceeds going to tzedakah,” my wife and I came up with the unique and creative Chol Hamoed plan to spend a day at that park. When the day arrived, our children were brimming with excitement and glee.

The amusement park was unexpectedly hot and overcrowded. Apparently, we were not the only ones who had this unique and creative Chol Hamoed plan. Nevertheless, we took the long waiting lines in stride and persevered for about five hours. When our supply of drinks and patience was depleted, my wife and I agreed it was time to head home. And that was when the impassioned protests burst forth.

“I didn’t get to go on the Whirl-a-Twirl!”

“The Super Slide is the best ride. And I didn’t even get to go on it once!”

“Nobody else is leaving. Why do we have to go home now?!”

My wife and I were exhausted, thirsty, and totally ready to leave. It took all the resolve we could muster, however, to coax our children out of the park and into our car for the half-hour ride home. With long, unhappy faces, our children reluctantly chose getting into the car over the other option we offered: “Or you could stay here and find another ride home…”

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced into the other cars that were leaving at the same time. In many, I couldn’t help noticing long faces on all the occupants and, in some cases, what appeared to be angry words being heatedly exchanged.

During the silent ride home, I was struck by the contrast between the cold atmosphere in the car and the warm, joyous mood I had anticipated. I thought my children would gush with happiness, making all the time and money we had spent to give them a memorable Chol Hamoed outing seem worthwhile. I wondered where had we gone wrong, as I sulked behind the wheel.

By the time we got home, I believe I came up with the answer. As parents, we had failed to fulfill our responsibility to manage our children’s expectations before our Chol Hamoed excursion. Obviously, they had expected much more than we delivered. As a result, they were understandably disappointed. In order for children — or any people, for that matter — to be happy, or even just satisfied, they have to keep their expectations more in line with what is really possible.

In my mind, I distilled this formulation into the following equation:

Disappointment = Expectation – Reality

More specifically, reality, by definition, is something we cannot change. It is what it is. If we want to reduce or eliminate disappointment, therefore, we must manage our expectations by trying to keep them as close to reality as possible. In other words, the greater the disparity between expectations and reality, the greater is the disappointment. And since children have an inherently difficult time managing their own expectations, parents have to step up to the plate and help them with that task.

Chazal offer scant guidance for entertaining children on Chol Hamoed. The Shulchan Aruch tells us only the following: “How does one bring joy to children [on Yom Tov]? [He] gives them parched corn and nuts” (Orach Chayim, Hilchos Yom Tov, 529:2).

I don’t know what the children were like during the time of the Mechaber. But you don’t have to be a child psychologist to know that children nowadays would hardly feel satisfied with “parched corn and nuts.” On the other hand, perhaps Chazal were really on to something here and trying to hint to us that when children’s expectations are reduced, disappointment is eliminated, allowing them to truly experience simchas Yom Tov.

Approximately six months after our Chol Hamoed fiasco, I had the opportunity to test out my theory, as another Yom Tov was right around the corner. Putting my newfound insight into practice, I announced that for our Chol Hamoed excursion, we were going to another amusement park. This time, however, I firmly stated that each child was going on only four rides. We were going to bring nosh from home. And we were absolutely not buying any souvenirs. To my surprise, these limits did not trigger any pushback from any of my children, who were all delighted to be taken again to an amusement park.

When the day arrived for our trip, I repeated the guidelines, which sounded to my children like old news. At the park, each child chose his or her rides carefully, mindful of the four-ride limit I had imposed.

As the day wore on, my wife and I reevaluated our guidelines, which began to feel a bit draconian, even for a kargeh Galitziyaner like me. Then we announced that we were lifting the “no nosh” restriction slightly by allowing each child to purchase a can of soda. The delight this produced was dramatic and most gratifying.

Then, after our children completed their four-ride limit, my wife and I noticed that it was still quite early. Moved by a sudden surge of generosity, we decided to relax the guidelines again by allowing each child to go on “one more ride.” The squeals of joy this pronouncement elicited were sufficient proof that my hypothesis was correct.

When we finally did leave the amusement park, the ride home was much different from the same ride we had taken six months earlier. Instead of long faces and palpable disappointment, we had a back seat full of happy faces. And, as a bonus, we were treated to sincere, spontaneous expressions of hakaras hatov.

The takeaway from our Chol Hamoed fiasco was that the most important thing parents can do to ensure their children are successfully entertained on Chol Hamoed — or any time throughout the year — is to exercise due diligence in managing their children’s expectations in advance, in order to avoid disappointment. In short, the recipe for a successful Chol Hamoed outing is to promise less and deliver more.

Try it this year yourselves. And then let me know how it works out.

A gutten Yom Tov.

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice with offices in Brooklyn, New York, and Lakewood, New Jersey. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 930.

The post Managing Expectations first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

One of the occupational hazards of the mental health professions is hearing horrendous, heartbreaking stories of man’s cruelty to his fellow man. And some of the most egregious examples are cases of parental alienation.

Parental alienation refers to the situation wherein one parent deliberately attempts to cause his or her children to become estranged from the other parent. Most often, this occurs during or following a contested, messy divorce. In some cases, it can take place even within intact families. Generally, perpetrators harbor intense hatred for their ex-spouses, which they justify with the irrational belief that any contact with the ex-spouse would be psychologically and emotionally damaging for the children. As a result, the perpetrators will use any and all means to manipulate support for their diabolical and, at times, demonic tactics.

Of course, whenever a parent is physically or emotionally abusive to their children, it is a matter of pikuach nefesh for the other parent to do whatever is necessary to protect the children. That is not called parental alienation. What makes parental alienation so complex and difficult to recognize, therefore, is that perpetrators often attempt to portray the other parent as abusive, when that is simply not the case.

Take the “Steins,” for example. Whenever the family was together, such as at the Shabbos table, Avi often made disparaging remarks about his wife, Gitty, to their children. He then would encourage the children to speak similarly to her and even purchased gifts and treats for them when they did so, literally rewarding them for disrespecting their mother.

After almost twenty years of this mistreatment, Gitty begged Avi to join her for some long overdue marital counseling. Avi flatly refused and told her that if she felt she needed help, she should consult a therapist on her own — without him.

The following year, Gitty went to a beis din seeking a divorce. Six months later, no hearing had yet been conducted. In desperation, Gitty contacted another beis din. The second beis din did not want to take on her case, because her file was still open at the first beis din. She did learn, however, why the first beis din had been so unresponsive; because prominent askanim, whom Avi had somehow deceived and then enlisted, convinced the dayanim that he and Gitty were “working on making shalom,” as if they were engaged in conjoint counseling, which was not true. During all of this time, Gitty moved out with her four children, who were all, except the baby, gradually lured by Avi to live with him and cut ties with their mother.

Perpetrators of parental alienation usually rationalize their animosity toward their spouses by claiming that their actions are taken to protect their children. In reality, however, there is little they could do that would be more damaging. Children who have been subjected to parental alienation suffer such long-term anxiety and depression that they often require years of medication and therapy to help them recover.

What these misguided individuals fail to understand is that children need to be allowed to have a relationship with both parents. As Chazal (Kiddushin 30b and 31a) have taught, “There are three partners in [every] person: HaKadosh Baruch Hu, his father, and his mother. When one [is allowed to] honor his father and mother, Hashem considers it as if He dwells among them and they [the parents] honor Him… However, if a someone causes pain to his father or mother, Hashem says, ‘It is good that I do not dwell among them, because if I had, they would be causing Me pain.”

Parental alienators are not only fathers. Mothers can also attempt to separate the children from their fathers, as the following case illustrates.

Many years ago, I received a phone message from a lawyer whose name I did not recognize. That is usually not good news. I was, therefore, understandably apprehensive. Nevertheless, I braced myself and returned his call.

When we spoke, the lawyer explained that he was representing a divorced man whose ex-wife had filed a lawsuit trying to rescind his visitation rights with their six-year-old son. He then asked if I would be willing to conduct an assessment of the father’s suitability as a parent and then submit it to him in writing.

“I want your honest opinion,” the lawyer instructed. “If you feel he is not a suitable father, I want you to say so.”

I accepted the assignment and told the lawyer to have the father call me to schedule an appointment. I met with the father once alone and once together with his son. I also met with the boy alone for one session. As part of my assessment, I reached out to the ex-wife in order to hear her point of view. She declined my invitation, saying only that her lawyer had advised her not to meet with me.

Shortly after I began conducting my assessment, I received a phone call from my dear friend and colleague, Rabbi Yaakov Salomon. He was uncharacteristically irate.

“You won’t believe what just happened,” he began, almost breathlessly. “I just got off the phone with an anonymous caller who told me you’re in the process of conducting a custody evaluation. And since he knew we are close, he wanted me to try to influence the way you will write your report. I told him he did not know you very well. ‘First of all,’ I said, ‘Dr. Wikler would never write anything other than what he believes, regardless of who was asking him to do so. And, secondly, if you think I would even consider trying to influence him, you don’t know me at all.’ And with that, I hung up the phone.”

A few days later, I received a call from a rav with whom I had somewhat of a connection. He asked to meet with me.

When I came, he asked, “You are working with the ____ family and conducting some kind of evaluation?”

I replied that by law I am prohibited from confirming or denying that I am working with someone without their explicit permission to do so.

He went on, “That’s okay, you don’t have to reveal anything. But I don’t really know anything about the case, nor do I want to know anything about it. I just wanted to tell you that the father of the ex-wife is a former landsman of mine. And he came to see me last week. He knows somehow that I know you. And he told me that you’re working on his daughter’s case, so he wanted me to sort of... put in a good word for him, which I agreed to do. And so I am. That’s all.”

With that, he thanked me for coming, and I left.

Later the same week, I was about to start learning with one of my chavrusas, Rabbi Dr. Aaron Twerski, but my head was not into it. Before we opened our Gemaras, I told him that there was something I had to get off my chest. I told him that I was in the process of conducting a child custody evaluation. And on two separate occasions, one of the sides attempted to influence the outcome of my report by contacting someone with whom I had a relationship.

“It wasn’t twice,” Rabbi Twerski said in all earnestness.

“What are you talking about?”

“It was three times — someone called me, as well, knowing that we learn together. I told the anonymous caller that not only would I not try to influence you in any way, but I would also not even tell you about the phone call. But since you mentioned this to me now, I thought you should know the full picture.”

I completed my assessment of the father, finding him to be a more than adequate parent. Then I sent my four-page report to the lawyer. A few weeks later, the lawyer called to inform me that the other side had withdrawn their suit. And he shared his belief that my report, which he had submitted to the court and to the lawyer for the other side, had a lot to do with the withdrawal of the lawsuit.

The paradox of parental alienation is that it often backfires, in that when they grow up, the children reunite with the alienated parent and have less to do with the perpetrator. One final example will illustrate that outcome.

“Mendel” and “Shayna” divorced after almost twenty-five years of marriage. The beis din awarded custody of the couple’s three boys to Mendel and their four girls to Shayna, giving each parent weekly visitation rights with the children living in the other’s custody. Dutifully and religiously, Shayna sent her daughters to visit their father every week. Her sons, however, never seemed able to make the trip to her home. Some weeks they were “not feeling well.” Other times, Mendel claimed they were unwilling to see their mother. Five months passed from their parents’ separation and the boys had still not seen their mother.

Shayna finally put her foot down and insisted that the boys come for a visit. The boys, aged nine, ten, and twelve, came into Shayna’s home and terrorized her and their sisters. They overturned furniture, taunted and teased the girls, and made disrespectful comments to their mother. When the visit was over, Shayna told her sons that if this was the way they conduct themselves, they should not return.

Shayna then consulted her rav, who referred her to me for guidance. “I’d like to call my sons and tell them what their father is really like and how he is poisoning their minds,” she vented, seeking my endorsement of her plan.

“No one could blame you for wanting to do that,” I said. “But I would not recommend it. Children need a relationship with both parents. And your sons are living with their father. If you bad-mouth him to them, you’ll just be making their lives harder, not easier. The best thing you can do is to be patient and wait until your sons become more independent. Then you’ll have a better chance to reconcile with them.”

Fast-forward six years. The oldest boy tearfully called his mother from a pay phone in his yeshivah dormitory to apologize for his behavior. Sobbing over the phone, he begged her for forgiveness, which she readily granted. Then he asked if he could come to her for Shabbos, which she eagerly agreed to. Over Shabbos, he reconciled with his mother and revealed what she had suspected all along, that his father had put him and his brothers up to acting the way they had the last time they came to her home.

One by one that story repeated itself with the other two boys. And when the oldest became a chassan, he asked his mother and her new husband to lead him to the chuppah.

Looking back, Shayna was grateful she had asked before she acted.

Dr. Meir Wikler is a psychotherapist and family counselor in full-time private practice, with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 919)

The post Little Could Be More Damaging first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

“Chaim” was a thirty-something turbo-charged real estate developer with a posh home in an upscale neighborhood. All his children were doing well in school. And he had no health issues on his plate. Why, I wondered to myself a few minutes into our initial meeting, was this highly successful, confident young man seeking my help?

Without my having to ask, Chaim answered my unspoken question.

“Basically, my wife and I have a pretty good marriage,” he assured me. “And we both care a lot for each other. But the real sticking point in our relationship is that my wife seems incapable of giving compliments.”

Chaim went on to explain that his wife “comes from a home where compliments were never heard. Both of her parents demonstrated their approval just by not criticizing. To be fair, therefore, I understand why this is challenging for her.

“I, on the other hand, come from a very dysfunctional home where neither of my parents was emotionally supportive or nurturing in any way. My father was, and still is, so self-absorbed that I often feel as if he looks to me to parent him. And my mother was always putting me and my siblings down. As a result, I suppose I have a greater than average need for the comfort and closeness I would feel if I could just hear a compliment once in a while from my wife.”

Unfortunately, Chaim is not alone. Many spouses today feel literally starved for a word of praise from their life’s partner. And this hunger simply cannot be satisfied by friends or other relatives, including children.

Some readers might shake their heads and think, “Why doesn’t Chaim just grow up, move on, and accept that his wife is simply not the complimenting type? Why is he insisting on chasing this modern, goyish, romantic fantasy of his, which is undermining his shalom bayis?

If you are one of them, you might be surprised to learn what Rav Avigdor Miller ztz”l had to say on the Torah’s injunction for spouses to “cling” to each other (Bereishis 2:24).

Among the details that are included in the principle of v’davak [cling] is the necessity to encourage and praise each other as much as possible. A husband should always be praising his wife — it’s never enough… A wife too should compliment her husband — she should make it her business to find ways to show her appreciation to her husband... Think of different things to say, different ways to praise him… Encouragement and praise are very important elements in a home — it’s a way of constantly strengthening the bond of loyalty. And therefore, even when it’s difficult, even when it doesn’t seem so natural, as much as possible, lavish your spouse with kind words. (Toras Avigdor, Parshas Bereishis, pp. 10–12)

Not only women can be compliment challenged; men can also. I recall, for example, one couple with whom I worked a while back. Before either spouse raised a complaint in my office, I encouraged them to preface it with a compliment. Each time the husband spoke, he would begin with, “The cholent was very good this week.” Given his wide girth, it was easy to see that his compliment was offered with utmost sincerity.

As the weeks wore on, however, all this man was able to come up with was a positive assessment of the cholent his wife prepared each week. To the wife’s visible relief, I finally called out her husband on his repetitiveness. I then offered them both a crash course on crafting compliments correctly.

In order for a compliment to hit its mark, it should include as much detail as possible. Instead of, “You did a great job,” for example, say exactly what your spouse did that impressed you and what you found so special about it.

In addition, whenever possible, try to include some expression of personal feeling. For example, instead of just saying, “You’re really good at that,” add that you feel proud and fortunate to be married to someone who has that skill or talent.

Finally, the best compliments are evidence based. In other words, if you are praising your spouse’s parenting, do not simply say, “I think you are a wonderful father/mother to our children.” Try to provide a concrete example to back up your positive assessment such as, “Yesterday, when Chani was kvetching nonstop in the car, I thought you had so much patience and compassion. You calmed her down much better than I ever could have done.”

The need to hear a kind word from one’s spouse is universal. And the obligation to praise one’s spouse is definitely Torah based, as Rav Miller so explicitly pointed out. The powerful impact of a positive comment, however, was dramatically driven home to me some time ago by one particular couple who had an exceptional marriage by all standards.

Both husband and wife had a deep respect and admiration for each other. When speaking to me about each other, they both lavished such praise on each other that I almost blushed hearing it. The wife lauded her husband’s Torah scholarship. And the husband extolled his wife’s management of all household affairs. The high esteem in which they held each other was undeniable. Why, then, were they coming to see me?

The husband was the child of Holocaust survivors who never complimented their children or each other. He found complimenting his wife to her face to be an insurmountable hurdle. And his wife was so desperate to hear the words he could not utter that she once took what she considered a drastic step. She wrote out, “You look beautiful,” on the back of a shirt cardboard. And then to remove all doubt, she added the following prompt in parentheses, “Read out loud.”

The wife waited until they were ready to attend their next simchah. Before they left the house, she handed the preprinted praise to her husband and asked him to say it.

The husband, who sincerely wanted to please his wife, took the cardboard and said, “You look beautiful. Read out loud.”

By including the directions, he was not being facetious. Rather he was being somewhat concrete and temimusdig in fulfilling her wishes. And she took it as such.

When describing the episode to me, the wife smiled and disclosed, “Even though he just read what I had written out for him, and even though he thoughtlessly added the instructions, ‘Read out loud,’ — believe it or not, it still felt good to finally hear that compliment!”

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice, with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 892)

The post Compliments for Dummies first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

“Adina” spun her chair to face me directly, practically glaring at me. I had just raised an eyebrow (or two) after her husband, “Ben,” had complained that she often confronted him at their Shabbos table.

“So what if we disagree in front of the children?” Adina challenged me. “Is that a crime? Look, when I was growing up, my parents often quarreled with each other out in the open. I think it’s healthy for kids to see that parents can disagree and still survive. How else are they supposed to learn that? Some children never see their parents argue. And then, when they grow up, get married, and have their first fight, they’re so bent out of shape that they run right off to the beis din for a get.”

Tilting her head toward her husband, Adina continued her harangue. “Ben, however, comes from a home where his parents only disagreed behind closed doors. To him, ‘conflict’ is a dirty word. I guess that’s why he gets so hypersensitive whenever I just express a different point of view.”

Ben and Adina were not coming to me for marriage counseling, although they certainly could have benefited from a few sessions of that. Instead, they had come for parental guidance in dealing with more than one problematic child. And in the course of describing for me what their Shabbos table was like, Ben had slipped in a charge that Adina often embarrassed him by harshly criticizing him in front of their children.

Trying to maintain a balanced approach to this couple, I looked for points of agreement with both of them. Turning first to Adina, I acknowledged that children do need to learn not to avoid conflict like the plague. They also need to learn how to negotiate their differences with others. And the best way to learn those skills is by observing the adults around them, especially their parents.

Then, looking at Ben, I added that all of those negotiations, however, must be conducted without raised voices, in a civil tone and with undeniable mutual respect. And if, as he had reported, Adina often used defamatory, insulting, and demeaning language in her criticism of him, then her conduct did not quite meet that standard.

The Torah commands us to execute a ben sorer u’moreh (Devarim 21:18–21). In describing the necessary conditions that must be met, however, before this harsh punishment is meted out, the Torah states that the parents must first testify that their child “does not listen to our voice” (singular). Note, the Torah does not say “our voices” (plural).

Commenting on this anomaly, Rav Shamshon Raphael Hirsch ztz”l wrote the following.

Only if… the father and mother have one voice, both deal with him in equal authority, in equal dignity, and above all, in the same agreed-upon ideas and wishes, only then can they say to themselves that it is not their fault if their son is a failure. If any one of these factors is missing, where, above all, there is not complete agreement between parents in bringing up their children, then the failure of the child is no proof of the moral badness of his nature.

According to Rav Hirsch, therefore, “complete agreement between father and mother” must be the “preliminary factor in bringing up children.”

The corollary, of course, is that open rancor, raw conflict, and hostile dissention between parents are extremely toxic for children of all ages and the cause of many of the psychological and emotional problems that wind up in any therapist’s office.

A dayan at a prominent beis din in Lakewood recently shared that, as a result of his official duties, he often comes into contact with lawyers, both Jewish and non-Jewish. Not too long ago, he met a matrimonial lawyer who had served as a US Marine in Iraq. This war veteran really looked the part, with numerous tattoos and a physique that could intimidate even a professional football player. During an informal down-time conversation, he made the following personal disclosure to the dayan.

“During my tour of duty in Iraq,” the lawyer began, “I was shot and wounded. I witnessed buddies of mine die in front of me. And I even had to kill people. In spite of all that, the experience that traumatized me the most in my life was when I was lying in bed at night as a young child and hearing my parents fight with each other.”

Not too long ago, I was working with a twenty-something single man who suffered from such serious depression that, at times, he felt suicidal and would even cut his arm with a razor. Among the many challenges he faced growing up were the divorce of his parents, and later, after his mother remarried, the open discord between his mother and stepfather.

Attempting to demonstrate my empathy for this man’s struggles, I repeated to him what the Iraq War veteran had to say about his own childhood. The following week, the young man reported to me that the previous week had been his first in many months in which he did not feel suicidal. And he attributed that renewed sense of hope to the validation of his own challenges he felt upon hearing the account of the veteran Marine at our previous session.

Yes, Adina’s point was well taken. Children do need to learn how to deal with conflict by observing their parents negotiate their differences with each other. But Ben was also correct in wanting to shield his children from the devastating, long-lasting, destructive impact that open displays of parental strife and hostility can have on the children’s sense of security and emotional well-being.

Bottom line — if the disagreement between you and your spouse will not be addressed in a mutually respectful manner, then be sure to keep it behind closed doors. Otherwise, your children will suffer more than you can ever imagine.

Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice, with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 884)

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