Bad Children, Lying Addicts, and Peanut Butter Sandwiches

“The height of therapy is repair.” - Kevin Barry Heaney

 Before my first summer as a sleepaway camp counselor, I asked my grandfather, Rabbi Dovid Price z”l, for some guidance.

This is what he said: Whenever a child is misbehaving, there is always a reason for it. Find out the reason, and address the problem. Don’t punish; you gain so much more by understanding.

My grandfather, the principal of Prospect Park Yeshiva Elementary for forty years, lived by that ideal. One of my favorite stories is of a little girl who was caught eating in class (gasp!) and was sent to the principal’s office. Instead of reprimanding her, my grandfather asked if she had eaten breakfast. She hadn’t, and the next thing she knew the principal was taking her down to the dining room to make her a peanut butter sandwich (no allergies in those days!).

As a camp counselor, and (much later) as a trained mental health professional, I found this “seeking to understand” to be a game-changer. Trying to understand why people do things can be a challenge. Some behaviors, like violence,  lend themselves too easily to judgement. But when we try to understand, openly and kindly, we can begin to empathize.  And only then can we begin to heal.

Here’s a joke that I don’t like. How do you know when an addict is lying? When his lips are moving.

Ugh.

How about trying to understand?

When I first meet with an identified addict, I say something like this:

“When you’re using drugs, and also trying to be a functional human being, you need to lie. You have to. It’s a prerequisite. There’s no other way to survive. Now you’re starting treatment, and that’s great! But the lying is not going to magically go away. It’s going to take some time to feel like you can open up and trust other people. And you’ve already taken some steps in that direction.”

This approach works wonders with addicts, their family members, or anyone, really. It’s validating, empathic, and understanding. It opens doors instead of closing them.

And isn’t that what we want, at the end of the day?

To keep our lines of communication open and clear so that our warmth and love can hold, and can heal?

To show others that we’re not judging, that we get it - this life is hard, no one is perfect, now let’s see how we can move through this?

To show the scared little child inside the misunderstood adult that it’s finally safe to come out now?

Seek to understand. Turn angry fists into outstretched arms, and in doing so begin to repair.