Judging from the response to my recent columns “Zaidie Is Not Here” (parts one, two, and three), the story of a family torn apart over money issues following the death of the family patriarch struck a chord in many hearts.
The young woman whose letter I shared three weeks ago hoped to stop the deadly hemorrhaging in her family and asked me for guidance. Over the past two weeks I offered her some suggestions and this week I would like to do the same for parents and grandparents so that they might avert a similar situation.
As I’ve often written, the obsession with money has become frighteningly common in our society, affecting individuals and families from every walk of life.
I once heard a real Yiddishe bubbie bewail her fate. “If only I wouldn’t have been blessed with money,” she cried, “I would have been spared from seeing my family destroyed.”
How sad to think that blessings can so quickly turn into curses. When there is money involved – and not necessarily a large amount – the jockeying for position can very easily destroy the unity of a mishpachah.
Obviously I do not have silver bullets that can guarantee results, but just the same we must do whatever is in our capacity to head off disaster.
Here is one rule I would urge every family to adopt: All matters pertaining to inheritance should be clarified while parents are still alive so that there is no room for ugly litigation.
But if we are to act wisely we need to step back and consider the larger picture. G-d created us with a soul – a neshamah – as well as a physical body. Let us to take stock of our lives and determine how much energy we expend on our physical needs and how much we allocate for our spiritual requirements.
If we are honest with ourselves we will quickly discover that while our physical needs are over-indulged, our spiritual side is totally neglected. In our contemporary society, most of our souls are undernourished to the point of “neshamah anorexia.” The matters of the body become all consuming –– gyms, spas, makeovers, etc. – while the neshamah is consigned to starvation.
Consequently, there is a restlessness that comes from living meaningless lives.
It is a simple law of nature that every vacuum must be filled, and in our world the greatest vacuum of all – the hole in a man’s soul – is filled with junk (drugs, alcohol, the worship of money, the commission of immoral acts). And just as a diet of junk food wreaks havoc on the body, a diet of “neshamah junk” can lead to a diseased soul.
As if this reality were not bad enough, our times present us with new challenges that require a revamping of our approach to education and life itself. I was out of town for a speaking engagement and went to eat dinner at one of the local kosher restaurants. At the next table a couple sat down with their child, who was no more than two or three years old. The parents handed him an iPhone so that he could keep himself busy while they enjoyed their dinner undisturbed. I heard them reassuring themselves: “With the iPhone he’s quiet; we can enjoy a good night out without paying a babysitter.”
And there was more. Watching their toddler, they congratulated one another. “Look how smart he is. He really knows how to use the iPhone.”
How sad life has life become. Mom and dad no longer feel a need to talk to their little one. He’s busy, so there is no reason to tell a story or engage him in conversation. The child is totally occupied with the phone.
I’ve seen similar scenarios unfold in many other public places. In our society there is no longer a need to tell children stories, to make them laugh, to hug and kiss them. The gadget does it all and parents can “relax.”
I grew up in a world with no iPhones, no smart phones, no personal computers. What we did have, though, were moms and dads who showered us with love, told us amazing stories, and sang songs that entered our hearts.
Our parents were committed to making us smile, and when we laughed it wasn’t because we pushed a button and viewed some inane cartoon but because we were confident in our parents’ love.
When we went to sleep at night our mother or father – sometimes both – would come to our bedside and say the Shema and the other nighttime prayers with us.
As long as I live I will never forget the sweet voices of my father and mother singing to me those holy words, “B’shem Hashem – in the name of G-d on the right side is the angel Michael on the left side is the angel Gabriel and in front of me is the angel Uriel and behind me the angel Raphael and above my head is the Shechinah, the presence of Almighty G-d.”
I don’t think parents today realize the destruction they are choreographing with their own hands, their own words. Parents are so anxious to make every opportunity available to their children, from karate and music lessons to the latest phones and laptops to ski trips and specialty camps, that they are unknowingly consigning them to the greatest depravation of living a meaningful and purposeful life.
When we came to the United States after the Holocaust we were penniless and homeless, but one thing we – my two brothers and I – had was the knowledge that our parents were always there for us. We in turn always wanted to be there for our parents. We would never think of aggravating them, kvetching that we wanted this or needed that.
I distinctly remember my older brother trying to make life easier for our parents. He came up with a good idea. He would get snacks on commission and sell them in the yeshiva to his peers. I, on the other hand, took on babysitting jobs. I never considered the money I earned to be mine. It was for the family, and without even thinking I would put it in the drawer where our family’s money was kept.
Nowadays I hear children telling parents, “You owe me money!” or “You didn’t give me my allowance this week” or “I cleaned up the kitchen and you didn’t pay me.” And with the passage of time the stakes get higher. It’s not “buy me this” but “give me my own credit card,” “give me a car,” “give me an apartment.”
These are the new deprived children. Children who are never given the opportunity to give or to know the joy that comes with giving. Children whose family members are capable of killing each other over dollars.
When you think about it, in a sense it all goes back to that iPhone scenario. How can one experience and learn loyalty and love from gadgets? Such feelings had until recently been reserved for the most precious people in our lives – our mothers and fathers, bubbies and zaidies, brothers and sisters – in other words, the people who together comprise that magical word: family.
(To be continued)
