I don't know if anyone can compete with our Libby Lazewnik -
in any manner, especially as a prolific writer. But Menucha
Fuchs is a close runner up, with a few dozen books to her
fame and as a columnist. As far as style and message, each to
his unique own!
Menucha Fuchs writes children's books in Hebrew. Some of them
have been translated into English, like her "Chessed",
"Little Scientists", "Hand in Hand", and probably others in
the making.
But why wait? Why not read her captivating, charming books in
the original?
Hebrew is not only our mother tongue, it is THE mother tongue
of all languages, and becoming fluent in it can surely enrich
the vocabulary of any woman or child who does any home study,
be it in Shemiras Haloshon, Parshas Hashovua, Mussar,
Kitzur Shulchon Oruch etc.
One reason is for getting into the habit of familiarizing
yourself with the written language. And another reason, as we
have pointed out time and again, is to close that generation
gap of Anglo-Saxons who are raising an Israeli-born
generation, or the gap created by a shrinking Jewish world
with Eretz Yisroel at its hub.
Menucha Fuchs is simplicity itself. It takes hardly any
effort to get into the book, which revolves around Chagit, a
very normal, average babysitter, like you once were, use
right now, or want your daughters to become. The age level
target is probably from seven upwards, but there are subtle
messages radiated all the time, the kind that children pick
up subliminally and internalize best, since they are so
natural. Which is the hallmark of a good writer.
One of the best examples might be Chagit's problem with
elevators. An elementary case of claustrophobia which had its
onset when she got stuck in an elevator as a child. This is
treated in a very forthright manner with a head-on encounter.
I don't know how a secular writer would go about resolving
this knotty psychological block, but Menucha Fuchs does it
admirably through the medium of bitochon. How?
Case history: A traumatic experience in an elevator. Everyone
can identify with this.
Development: Babysitter finds a job with a family, the
Appelbaums, who live four flights up. The children are
accustomed to using it with adult accompaniment, and expect
the babysitter to provide it. Chagit is afraid.
The crisis: The turning point comes when Chagit returns home
from an outing with the three exhausted children, the
youngest of whom has fallen asleep on the bus, in her arms.
Chagit is knocked out, herself, and capitulates to the
majority demand. In they go.
Chagit presses the button to get to the fourth floor. And
then it happens. Again. Repeat performance of the elevator
stopping midway and the light going out.
How does the author proceed to handle the initial problem?
Perhaps she learned this trick from the tshuva
process, where one is finally cured of a bad tendency only
when one has relived the temptation - and overcome it.
All is pitch black, as it can only be in a hermetically
sealed compartment like an elevator in an elevator shaft in
the evening. "Help! Help!" scream the children.
From hereon in, we will translate, as it appears in the
book:
I almost shouted along with them.
Suddenly, I gave myself a good shaking. `Wait a minute. How
can I stand and scream when these little children are
depending on me? I'm the big one here and I must manage,
somehow.'
"Quiet, now. Hush up, girls!" I begged, futilely. The
screaming kept up in spite of my pleading.
`I've got to do something to calm them down. Right away!' I
said to myself.
`If I shout to get their attention, it won't work, because I
can't outshout them. I'll have to do something different.'
`So what should I do?' Without thinking twice, I began to
sing, `Eso einai el hehorim, me'ayin yovo ezri...'
The song succeeded in getting the girls quiet. They stopped
screaming and looked at me questioningly. [By now, their eyes
were accustomed to the dark.] Soon, they joined me. We sang
one song after another, songs they knew. Then I suggested
that we say Tehillim. I recited one verse, and they repeated
it after me. Even little Ruthy repeated word for word.
I didn't stop to think what would be the outcome. I knew that
there was Someone Upstairs Who made all the decisions and
didn't need my help at all.
Then, just as we finished one chapter, the light went on and
we began to move. The elevator went up slowly. It seemed like
forever.
The door opened and a man entered. He didn't look like one of
the residents.
"I'm the electrician," he said to me. "There was a power
failure and I was called in to fix it. You got stuck in here,
right? Poor kids! Now you'll probably be afraid of elevators
for the rest of your lives!"
I couldn't help laughing. "I've BEEN afraid of elevators all
my life," I told him. "But from now on, I feel that I'm not
afraid any more at all. I don't know why. Maybe you can tell
me?"
The electrician did not reply. I knew that if he were to
answer, he would probably say, "I know about electricity and
not about things like that," and he would continue to connect
wires...
The messages here, as our adult readers will agree, are
subtle and create a long lasting impression on impressionable
young minds.
And if you connect the right wires together, you'll see that
the same lessons can apply to us, too.
One of many elementary lessons in this fine book. Recommended
for ALL ages.
