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Jewish World Review March 25, 2008 / 18 Adar II 5768 Looking through the two-way glass By Libby Lazewnik
Sometimes friends need to be seen as others see them
http://www.JewishWorldReview.com |
What do you do when you have a problem that's not really your problem?
Thinking it over on my way home from school that windy Wednesday afternoon, I decided that I had two options: to ignore it (after all, it wasn't my problem), or to do something about it (because isn't my friend's problem mine as well?)
I wasn't sure of the answer to this last question. Was my friend's problem my own? I felt as if it was, but what if I was wrong? What if I was nothing but an interfering busybody who went around minding everyone else's business?
On the other hand, what about the Torah (Bible's) directive to rebuke a friend who's doing wrong.
On the third hand (is there such a thing?) who was I to rebuke anybody? I had plenty of faults of my own. My friend — I'll call her Aliza — would have every right to come back at me with a list of all the ways I slip up in the course of a day. That could lead to a big fight, right? So I should just mind my own business and not rock the boat, right? Or… wrong?
Not an easy bunch of questions to have as companions on my walk home. I kept my head down against the wind, glad that none of my friends were walking with me. I needed time to grapple with this problem… Aliza's problem, which was beginning to feel more and more like a child I'd adopted for my very own. In other words — my responsibility.
Let me describe what happened in school that day, and you'll see for yourself what I mean when I say that Aliza had a problem.
A group of us were seated around a table in the lunchroom, eating our sandwiches and chatting about this and that, when Aliza suddenly pointed at Malky's lunch.
"Ewww! What's that?"
Malky looked down at her lunch. "It's tuna fish, in a pepper." The pepper happened to be bright orange.
"Gross! You mean you actually like that stuff?"
"Actually" — Malky blushed — "I do."
"But it's so… healthy!"
We all laughed, and Aliza's laughter was the heartiest of all. Malky's blush deepened. "Well… I've always liked tuna, but I'm not crazy about bread… so I thought maybe in a pepper…"
I felt indignant on Malky's behalf as she sat there apologizing for her lunch. Aliza, on the other hand, was basking in the laughter she'd produced. I wanted to rush to Malky's defense — not because I'm a particularly healthy eater myself (it was plain macaroni and a slab of chocolate in my lunch box that day), but because of the way Malky's face looked: as if she were trying to pretend she was enjoying all of this, when just the opposite was true. But before I could figure out what to say, Aliza glanced over at Simi and asked, "So how'd you do on the math test, Simi?"
"Uh — okay, I guess." Anyone could read from Simi's expression that "okay" meant "just missed failing"…
"That bad, huh?" Aliza grinned. Her half-comical, half-sympathetic tone elicited smiles from some of the other girls at the table. "Actually, I had the surprise of my life when I got my test back. The highest mark I got in math all year — 96!"
There were murmurs of admiration. Again, I was conscious of a feeling of outrage — this time, for Simi's sake. Aliza could just have let us know that she'd aced the math test. Why did she have to go and drag Simi through the mud first?
The bell ended any chance I might have had of saying something, either to comfort Simi or to chastise Aliza. As the afternoon wore on, I began to entertain the troupe of questions that would walk me home later: Should I or shouldn't I? Ought I? Must I? And if the answer to any or all of the above was "Yes" — then what, exactly, was I supposed to say?
And if I did speak out, what would happen then? I was afraid of sticking my neck out, afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing and hurting Aliza's feelings or making her mad at me. Having no answers, I took the time-honored way out for the confused and the cowardly. I decided to wait.
There was no need to rush into anything. I would bide my time.
If I'd been hoping that the problem would just go away, I was doomed to disappointment.
The following afternoon, some of us went over to Aliza's house after school to start working on our Science project. We were supposed to make a diorama and write a report. Each of us had made some preliminary notes at home, and today we were supposed to start putting it all together.
We were kicking around ideas for the diorama when Aliza's older sister wandered by, cell phone glued to her ear. According to Aliza, it was her sister's first cell phone, and the two were inseparable.
"Hey, Michal!" she called. "I hear you're scheduled for surgery next week."
With a startled, "Excuse me," into the phone, Michal spun around. "What are you talking about, Aliza? What surgery?"
"To separate the cell phone from your ear. They look like they've grown attached…" Aliza laughed at her own wit, and some of her friends laughed along with her. Michal frowned.
"Personally," Aliza declared, "I think people overdo the cell-phone thing. I don't even want one."
"Well, goodie for you!" Her sister flounced away to resume her conversation. She looked annoyed, and I didn't blame her. Here was another example of Aliza's problem… But I couldn't very well accuse Aliza of embarrassing her big sister right in her own home, could I? "It's none of your business," she would say — and wouldn't she be a hundred percent correct?
"Let's look over our notes for the report," Aliza suggested. Simi produced a messily-folded wad of papers and passed them over. Unfolding the pages, Aliza began to scan the scrawled lines with a scrunched-up face that made us laugh. Even my lips twitched, though I had a feeling I knew what was coming…
Right on cue, it came. "Remember when we had Penmanship, back in the third grade?" Aliza murmured, rolling her eyes at the chicken-scratch that was Simi's handwriting. "I guess you weren't paying too much attention in those days…"
More laughter. Flushing, Simi mumbled, "Well, we're going to type the report anyway, right?"
"I typed my notes!" With a flourish, Aliza produced a beautifully legible page and held it out for the rest of us to admire.
There it was again. Aliza had a bad habit of making herself look good at someone else's expense. There's a Hebrew term for that kind of thing, though the exact words escaped me at the moment. She'd say anything to get a laugh, or to puff up her own qualities — even, it seemed, embarrass her own friends and family…
It wasn't insensitivity. Aliza could be as sensitive as the next person when she wanted to be. She just seemed to have an enormous thirst for attention and respect. But the way she chose to go about getting them was — I realized now with complete certainty — all wrong.
Along with that certainty came another, equally painful, realization. If my friend had a problem, then it was my problem. I couldn't go on witnessing this thing, day after day, and not do anything about it. That wasn't really being a friend at all. If I saw someone about to fall off a cliff, would I just saunter away? Of course not! I owed it to Aliza to set her straight about this glaring fault. Never mind that I had faults of my own. Never mind that she might get mad at me. I had noticed this thing, and I couldn't ignore it. It had become my responsibility…
"Earth to Shira. Earth to Shira… Are you there?"
I woke from my thoughts with a start. With a sheepish grin, I said, "I'm right here. Sorry… What are we up to?"
"Boy, you have been in dreamland," Aliza declared. "It must be past your bedtime, Shira. I've got a nice, comfortable bed upstairs if you need it…"
The others giggled. I felt my cheeks turn hot pink. Ever since Aliza discovered, during a sleep over at my house, that my parents insist on my getting eight hours of sleep a night, she'd found all sorts of opportunities to kid me about it.
"I'll wait for my own nice, comfortable bed," I managed to say with a creditable attempt at a smile. "Thanks anyway, Aliza."
She waved aside my thanks. "Don't mention it. What are friends for?"
What are friends for? I wondered, as I climbed into my nice, comfortable bed a few hours later. Were they just people to have fun with, to walk home from school and eat lunch with? I was beginning to believe otherwise. I was starting to understand that a friend just might have a different job, in addition to all of those… A job that I was not going to be able to put off much longer.
Shabbes (Sabbath) afternoon. I would go over to Aliza's house on Shabbes afternoon and tell her what was in my heart. I would find a nice way to say it and hope that it didn't lead to bad feelings.
Having made the decision, I had an even harder task ahead of me: to somehow find the courage to carry it out…
As I woke up Shabbes morning, my eyes flew to the window, hoping against hope that it would be raining and I'd have a reasonable excuse for putting off my visit. But the sun had other plans. It blazed down with all its might, urging the spring flowers to grow and the tiny new buds on the trees to burst into bloom. "I'm doing my job," the sun seemed to say. "Now, get up and do yours!"
Early that afternoon, that's just what I did.
I won't pretend it was easy. In fact, it was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. As I started down the block toward Aliza's house, I felt as though I were about to walk right up to a fire, or along a dangerous precipice. Would Aliza react to my criticism the way I hoped she would — or the opposite way? Was I about to mortally wound a friendship?
As I walked along, I hardly felt the sun, though it shone extra-bright as though to encourage me. I was busy with my thoughts — and my prayers.
"G-d", I whispered, "please give me the right words to say to Aliza. Words that will touch her heart. Words that won't push her away. Please be with me when I talk to her. I can't do it alone…"
Feeling slightly braver, I turned up the path in front of Aliza's house and knocked on her door.
Nobody answered.
I knew that someone was home, because I could hear voices on the other side of the door. Someone shouted something, someone else answered, and two other people spoke at once. As a steady backdrop to all the voices was a baby's loud wailing. That would be Aliza's baby sister, only two months old. If the commotion was loud enough for me to hear, it must also be loud enough to prevent anyone from hearing my knock.
I hesitated, half inclined to turn around and go home. I decided to give it one more try, and knocked again, louder this time. To my surprise, the door swung open almost at once, as though someone had been standing right next to it when I'd knocked.
"Oh!" It was Aliza's older sister, Michal, obviously on the point of leaving the house. "Did you knock? I didn't hear you."
The voices, and the baby's wailing, were still making a lot of noise behind her. "If this is a bad time…" I began.
"No, you can come in. Aliza's here. In fact," she added wryly, "all this ruckus is about her…"
Curious, I followed her inside. "Aliza!" Michal called. "Your friend's here." Then, with a murmured, "Good Shabbes," she walked past me and out the door.
Aliza's mother appeared, holding the squalling baby and looking harassed. She wished me a good Shabbes. Two of Aliza's brothers, who had contributed much to the commotion I'd been hearing, quieted down when they saw me and clattered down the stairs to the playroom. Finally, Aliza came in from the kitchen, hastily rubbing her cheeks. Her eyes looked as though she'd been crying a little, too — and very recently.
"Shira!" Her expression was chagrined. Then it turned wary. "Uh, sorry about all this. Things are a little crazy around here right now…"
"I'll say they're crazy!" This came from a third brother, who had remained in the living room. "What else do you call it, when someone puts a two-month-old baby on the dining-room table and leaves her to roll right off?"
I gasped. "Is the baby all right?"
Aliza's mother jiggled the infant in her arms, and the wailing lessened slightly in intensity. "She'll be fine. But it was irresponsible of Aliza. I'm sure she'll never do a thing like that again…"
"I sure won't," Aliza agreed dolefully.
I eyed her in surprise. "Why'd you leave the baby like that, Aliza?"
"I just wanted to run into the kitchen for a drink. I knew I wouldn't be able to pour myself a drink if I was holding the baby, so I just put her down on the table for a second. How was I to know that she'd manage to fall off?"
"It's a good thing she wasn't hurt," I said gratefully.
"Thank G-d, we just had a scare," Aliza's mother agreed. She started upstairs, with the baby snuffling softly against her shoulder. We followed her as far as the upstairs landing, then turned left for Aliza's room.
Aliza closed the door, gave her cheeks a final rub, and turned to face me. "You — you won't tell anyone about this, will you, Shira?"
I'd asked Hashem to put the right words in my mouth, but He had done better than that. He had arranged for me to walk in at the perfect moment… I looked Aliza in the eye and asked slowly, "Why don't you want anyone to know?"
"Isn't it obvious? I'd be so embarrassed if people knew I did something so dumb! They'd never stop making fun of me for being so irresponsible."
"Not everyone makes fun of other people's faults, you know."
"I know. I —" She stopped. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean what I think you think I mean…" That sounded far too complicated, so I started over. "I mean that other people sometimes feel embarrassed, too. Especially when a friend or relative makes a habit of embarrassing them in public, just to get a laugh or some attention…"
Aliza's face wore an uncertain look. She could go either way now. She could become stubborn and angry in defense against my criticism — or she could listen, really listen, to what I had to say. With another silent prayer, I hurried on. "Imagine it, Aliza. Imagine how embarrassed you'd feel if we were sitting with a group of our friends, and I started talking about what happened with the baby just now."
She imagined it, and winced. "Okay, okay. Don't rub it in!"
But I wanted to rub it in. I wanted her to really feel it. "Imagine how you'd blush, and not know where to look. And imagine how hurt you'd be if I — who am supposed to be your friend — mortified you like that, just to get some attention with a good story."
Slowly, she nodded. "Boy, can I ever imagine that…"
"Well, it's two-way street, know what I mean? Like — like one of those two-way mirrors that lets you see your own reflection if you look through it in one direction, but lets you see straight through to the other side from the other. Maybe it's a good idea to stop focusing on our own reflections for a while, and look through the glass to see — really see — how the other person feels when you point out their weak spots in front of other people…"
I'd run out of steam. What else could I say? I'd made my point; the rest was up to her.
There's a reason I chose Aliza as a friend. When crunch-time comes, that's when you see what a person is really made of. Aliza had stumbled and made mistakes — lots of mistakes. But when confronted with them like this, her better self rose up and met the challenge."I haven't been… so nice, have I." It was more a statement than a question.
"Not all the time. But it's never too late to change." I hesitated. "Sorry about this, Aliza. Believe me, it's no fun... Next time, it'll be your turn to criticize me!"
I'd hoped to raise a smile, and it worked. With a pale grin, she said, "I'll get to work on the list right away…"
Looking through the two-way glass, I saw that she was feeling mortified, remorseful, uncomfortable and a little shy after our talk. So I suggested a game of Risk, and she gratefully agreed. We were soon immersed in the game, trying our best to conquer the world.
Whichever of us won the game, I knew we'd make the same discovery: that being master of the whole world is nothing at all, compared to conquering a single bad habit. Because that makes you master of yourself. And isn't that what it's all about?
JewishWorldReview.com regularly publishes uplifting and inspirational stories. Sign up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here. Libby Lazewnik, the highly acclaimed juvenile author, writes weekly for the Monsey, New York-based Yated Ne'eman. Comment by clicking here.
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