At the age of 5, we moved to a small village, near Jerusalem.
We lived in a large house, with an arch at the entrance peeking into a beautiful kitchen, two steps led to the living room with a wood-burning fireplace and bedrooms (I remember lots of bedrooms but there must have been 3 or 4) one of which was just mine.
The chimney from the fireplace went through my bedroom, and between the closet and the wall with the chimney, there was little space to hide, especially for me.
I loved this house, even though we lived there for a short time, I have beautiful and good memories from there.
One day, my mother asked me to go get eggs from the neighbor.
With my back straight and a lot of pride, I went to carry out the task.
I remember walking through the gate, with the eggs.
I remember myself from the outside - looking at myself,
falling,
And all the eggs crash on the floor, 30 broken eggs on the way,
And I go back to my body and start crying.
It was the first time I remember an experience of "I messed up", ruined, Mom would be angry, what do I do now?
I guess my mother saw what was happening from the window or was outside in front of me, I don't remember,
But I remember looking up and in front of me there was a big smile and hands spread, and she announced:
"What a beauty! Let's make a witch soup!!!"
While I was standing there, still crying and in shock, she came into the house with a cutting board, two knives, two carrots, and a bucket of sponge.
She sat down next to me and let me cut carrots while she cut too.
The carrots went into the bucket, and then we collected all the broken eggs into the bucket.
Mom brought a hose and we filled the bucket with water...
A large wooden stick came in and we danced around the bucket while singing witch songs.
It's been 36 years since then.
36 years since the first time (I remember) I messed up.
Not every time I've messed up since then I've received such an inclusive and enabling response, but this experience has been with me ever since and I find myself doing the same thing more than once.
We screw up.
That's how it is when we do! Sometimes you succeed, sometimes you don't, and sometimes the failure is glorious.
So what?
Is the exception of the food destroyed in this case (and I'm not underestimating it, but a wounded soul is still more precious to me) really worth entering a dance of anger, blame, punishment, and pain?
Wouldn't it be better to make the situation embracing, loving and caring?
A few years ago, Dorin, my daughter, called with a crying video and told me that the pot I made with beetroot soup had fallen out of her hands, the whole kitchen was red and there was no soup left.
She was afraid that I would be angry, but I started laughing.
I laughed so much that she calmed down and joined in laughing too.
I asked her to clean as best she could and promised that whatever was left dirty I would clean and make a new soup in the evening. (And yes, I also sent it to my mom to eat :), after all...).
My daughters say that "Mom is never angry about big things," so they tell and receive support and help without fear. I think the seed for that was then.
At that point in time, 36 years ago, the memory could easily have been painful and punishing, but I got a memory of a fun experience full of laughter and play. My mother taught me that spring day such an important lesson in love and leadership, and I thank you, Mom, for that, and for many more lessons and love that you have given and given over the years.
Comments