A Guten Chodesh!
I hope that you are enjoying, the gorgeous summer weather and pace!
I have a real weakness for buying books. If someone merely mentions a book they enjoyed, there is a good chance I’ll be ordering it before the conversation is over; adult books, or children’s books. My favorite children’s books are the ones that quietly weave an important life skill into the story, and I try to use those lessons in my own life, with my students, and with my grandchildren.
One children’s book that I have come to love is The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld. (And just to be clear, I know there are newsletters that recommend books and products and earn a percentage when readers purchase them. This is not one of those newsletters!)
The book tells the story of a little boy who builds a magnificent tower out of blocks, only to have it come crashing down. One by one, his animal friends arrive with advice, encouragement, explanations, and solutions. But the boy is too heartbroken to hear any of it, It’s not just that the suggestions don’t resonate with him, it’s that he isn’t in a place to hear suggestions.
Then the Rabbit comes.
The Rabbit simply sits beside him. No advice. No pep talk. No attempts to make things better. Just quiet companionship, warmth, and presence. And when the boy is finally ready, he rebuilds.
I had an opportunity to put this lesson into practice yesterday.
After her class put on a spectacular play for the mothers and the rest of the school, I noticed a fourth-grade girl—let’s call her Ahuva—sitting alone and crying. I sat down next to her and gently asked if there was anything I could do to help.
Between sobs, she explained that when it was time for her solo, the class accidentally sang along. Instead of having her special moment, her solo was no longer a solo at all. Beyond missing the opportunity she had been looking forward to, she felt embarrassed. She had walked confidently to the front of the stage to sing alone, only to find herself accompanied by the entire class.
As she spoke, all the wrong responses came rushing into my mind.
“It wasn’t such a big deal.”
“Everyone thought you were wonderful.”
“Nobody even noticed.”
“You’ll laugh about this one day.”
Then I remembered the Rabbit.
So, I simply sat with her.
After a few moments, I quietly said, “I get that.”
Nothing more.
A minute later, she stood up and joined her friends for recess.
Imagine, I almost ruined a beautiful moment with my bright ideas, helpful advice, and clever solutions. What she really needed was to be heard, understood, and respected in her disappointment.
I am hoping that this experience will give me the strength and discipline to sit beside someone else’s pain—whether it belongs to a child, a friend, or an adult—and resist the urge to immediately fix it. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give another person is the dignity of allowing them to feel what they feel, while quietly letting them know that we are there.
Wishing you a wonderful month.