When I arrived home this afternoon, my niece, who has been staying with us, was waiting at the door. “Uncle,” she announced in a peremptory tone, “I want a piece of chocolate and I want it now!”
Cognizant of my responsibilities as her caretaker, I expressed my empathy but explained that, speaking cognitively.
She interrupted this peroration by demanding, this time in a dark and truculent manner, “Uncle, give me a piece of chocolate ? or else!”
“Or else what?” I inquired.
She looked at me with a young defiance. “Or else I will go to my room” – then she spat out the following words with a frightening vehemence – “and I will pick up my toys and dolls!”
“But dear,” I said, “although I hesitate to distress you, please consider” – but she swirled about and stalked to her room, from which, moments later, I heard the sound of toys and dolls being cast into their containers.
I wandered into the den, where my wife sat gazing at an article in The Jewish Press. “What’s going on with Rivka?” I asked in a dazed voice.
My wife looked up. “Oh,” she said. “She’s just imitating what she learns.”
“What is she learning?” I inquired as I sat down heavily.
My wife tapped on a page and turned it around for my benefit. “Sharon Threatens to Dismantle Settlements.”
I drew a sharp breath. “I hate it when a Israeli leader threatens the so-called ‘settlers.’ “
“He isn’t threatening the settlers,” my wife informed me. “Actually, he’s threatening the Palestinians.”
I couldn’t understand this. “You mean, there are Palestinians who want Israeli Jews to live in Yehudah and Shomron, and Sharon is threatening them?”
“No,” said my wife. “Sharon is saying that if the Palestinians do not cease murdering Jewish children, women and men, he will dismantle forty settlements.”
“But I don’t get it. Why is that a threat?”
“He’ll be engaging in the peace process without them, which will make them look silly.”
“I would think that will make him look silly. But what does he get out of it?” I couldn’t figure it out. “He’s only doing what the terrorists”
My wife shook her finger at me.
” ‘ I’m sorry – what the militants want. Excuse my language, dear – I know that one man’s murderer may be Colin Powell’s freedom fighter.”
“Sharon is doing it for a very good reason,” said my wife.
“What?”
“He promised the Americans.”
“But isn’t he breaking his promise to the Israelis?”
“Yes,” my wife replied, and, indicating the article with a nod of her head, added, “but he is taking into account profound geopolitical considerations.”
“What, pray tell, are these profound considerations?” I queried.
“He can’t tell us.”
“Why not?”
“He can’t tell us why not. If he told us why not, then we would know why not.”
This perplexing conversation was interrupted by my niece rushing into the room. “OK,” she said to me. “I’ve put away my toys and dolls. Now give me that chocolate” – and she growled, “or else!”
“Or else what?” I asked her.
“Or else – or else – I will sweep my floor!”
“Listen,” I said, “studies show a definite correlation between chocolate eating and tooth decay” – but she was gone, and a few moments later, we could hear the unmistakable sound of a broom being taken down from its hook. In the ensuing silence, we heard the brushing of the broom against the floor, and a loud, “And I’ll use a dust pan too!”
“Mmm, darling?” I said.
“Yes, my sweet potato?”
“I don’t get it. When Rivka puts away her toys and sweeps her floor because I won’t do what she wants, I don’t feel any more inclined to give her chocolate. In fact, she is training me not to do so. After all, each time I refuse, she rewards me.”
“I can understand that,” my wife said. “Incidentally, I have hinted to her that taking out the trash is also something that she can do.”
“Splendid!” I exclaimed enthusiastically. My mood grew pensive. “But since you have read this article explaining Mr. Sharon’s policy, how is his strategy any different from Rivka’s? In other words, how is it that when he responds to terror”–
“Dear” – my wife said disapprovingly.
“When he responds to militant activism by giving the militant activists what they want, they won’t see this as a reward and engage in even more attacks?”
“Well, you see, dear,” said my wife, “the reason is – I mean, it’s complex – you know, global strategizing is not something we can all understand – the mind of man is a wondrous thing” – her words trailed off in confusion. “To tell the truth, I don’t understand that detail,” she admitted. “But the prime minister of Israel can’t be fool enough”–
My wife’s attempts to explain this policy were interrupted by the dramatic re-entrance of my niece. Folding her arms across her chest, she announced, “I have swept my floor. Now, give me chocolate, or” – she paused in indecision. My wife whispered something to her and she brightened up. “Or I’ll take out the garbage!” she announced.
I leaped up. “Ow, ooh, ow, ooh!” I yelled. “Please stop! I can’t stand it any more. Stop and I’ll give you all the chocolate you want. But please, please, don’t take out the garbage!” And I broke into desperate sobs. When I fell silent, I noticed my wife and niece gazing at me in a fascinated manner.
“No,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone, shaking my head. “I’m trying to make your strategy work, Rivka, but I’m not succeeding. I don’t feel a driving need to give you chocolate. In fact, I’m thinking of not giving you any chocolate until you give me back my scissors.”
“It’s George Bush!” my niece burst out in a wail. “George Bush is making me do this!”
My wife spoke up. “Curiously enough, that’s exactly what Sharon says.”
I pondered this. “But Rivka is a little girl and Ariel Sharon is a grownup. Isn’t he supposed to stand up and proclaim, “No, I will not engage in behavior that encourages the murder of innocent Jews?””
But I had lost my audience. Rivka had run out of the room in search of the trash can, and my wife had settled back with The Jewish Press. “I’m going to read Morris Mandel’s ‘Human Emotions,’ ” she declared. “That at least I can understand.”
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