Part I
"How greatly did Chazal emphasize the virtue of truth and
said, `The seal of Hashem is truth' (Shabbos 31a).
Hashem created everything but the trait of faleshood and the
trait of injustice." Each of the negative character traits is
sometimes necessary, but the trait of falsehood would be
unnecessary, were people not to sin.
Chazal were strict with the punishment of the liar and said,
"Whoever substitutes falsehood for truth is considered as if
he worshipped idols" (Sanhedrin 92a).
*
We suddenly discover, to our horror, that our child is lying.
What will be? It's shocking. And it is a sensitive and loaded
issue. Why?
On the one hand, lying is terrible. We are neither able nor
ready to come to terms with it under any circumstances. On
the other hand, the label of `liar' for a child is like
placing a heavy weight around the neck of a drowning person.
It is liable to drown any good child into the depths of a
putrid swamp. It is akin to a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Lying is a very sensitive issue; we become frightened when we
come across a child who lies. And yet, at the same time, the
adult world is punctuated with lies, white and dark gray and
even black ones. The allowance of "altering the truth for the
sake of peaceful relations" is subject to the most flexible
interpretations.
"How much did your daughter's jumper cost you?" my frugal
sister-in-law asks. She herself sews everything with her
industrious hands and only from materials bought on sale. Can
I tell her the truth that I paid 120 shekel? She'll faint.
And what's worse, she'll start to lecture me. "How can you be
such a spendthrift?" And so, from the outset, instead of
fighting with her when she asks, I simply answer, "I paid 40
shekel at Itzkowitz."
Or: "I'm sorry, but I really can't let you have our apartment
for Shabbos. We've already promised it to somebody." Of
course, we haven't, but it really is difficult for me to give
them the apartment and they just wouldn't understand. They'll
be insulted. So isn't it "in the name of peace"? Besides,
someone told me ceremoniously that "if there were no lies,
there'd be no shidduchim." And someone else told me in
complete confidence that "for the sake of livelihood, it's
allowed..." Which is absolutely untrue.
"I give up," one educator told me. "It's already impossible
to believe anyone." (He was speaking, I must note, about a
very specific, touchy area.) How can anyone under these
circumstances demand complete honesty, with no compromise
from children? But this is the level we need to attain both
for our children and for ourselves.
The truth is that even the existing concession of changing
the truth for the sake of peace has its limitations. For
example, what Chazal permitted to change for the sake of
peace does not allow for saying an outright lie. One must use
ambiguous language so that the other person will draw his
conclusions.
There is an expression, "A crack in the wall invites the
thief." Perhaps the time has come to mend the cracks and not
only those that beckon, but also those which require a person
to lie to a certain extent. In other words, together with
upholding the truth, it would be worthwhile to build better
interpersonal communication and to acquire more correct
patterns of behavior.
For example, perhaps it isn't a good idea to ask someone,
"How much did it cost?" when there may be sensitivity to the
subject. Perhaps it would be better to refrain as much as
possible from sticking our noses into someone's personal,
sensitive business!
Perhaps it would be wise to recognize the fact that it's a
person's right not to give their apartment for Shabbos even
if it seems to us that they have no good reason to refuse. It
doesn't make them evil, and there's no reason to judge them;
really, it's none of our business.
It might also be a good idea to become a bit more assertive
and answer uninvited questions pleasantly and without
embarrassment. "Don't take it personally, but I prefer not to
tell you -- How much I paid for the jumper / What sum we
committed ourselves to for our daughter's apartment / How
much I weigh at the moment."
It goes without saying that when we're asked nosy questions
about other people ("Tell me, what's with Shoshana / Tzippy /
Dvori? Isn't she having problems with her children / work /
health?) that answering these questions constitutes forbidden
gossip at best and loshon hora at worst.
Sometimes, it seems that we're between the devil and the sea.
Telling the truth can be loshon hora while altering
the truth, as we're aware, constitutes lying, which is an
abomination before Hashem. There is, however, the simple and
natural alternative -- our prerogative to say, "It isn't a
good idea to talk about her personal matters. We wouldn't
want others to talk about our personal matters."
And in the same vein, I have the right to pleasantly say
without a trace of guilt that it isn't convenient for me to
lend my apartment for Shabbos and I don't have to give a
reason. If that's my decision, I can uphold it without having
to resort to lying.
The honesty of adults is the foundation for the honesty of
children. Rivka tells us what it was like being educated
to complete honesty a generation ago. (Were people more
honest then?)
"I was a girl of five," Rivka relates, "and I had received a
beautiful purse as a present from my parents. According to
the standards of those times, of course, which were days of
austerity, getting a purse in those days was something
special. As a young happy girl, I decided to take my new bag
on Friday night to `shul,' that is, the square in front of
the shul, to show off to my friends.
"`Absolutely not!' my father adamantly declared. `One doesn't
go with a purse on Shabbos.' I waited a few minutes until
Abba went off to daven and my mother lay down to rest.
I took the new, wonderful purse and went out in celebration
to show my friends. After davening, my father came out
and saw me with the bag.
"`What is this?' he demanded to know in a severe tone. `Ima
let me,' I answered with childish naivete, not thinking that
Abba would surely ask her if she had given permission. When
we got home, that is exactly what happened. It naturally
became clear that I hadn't asked and she hadn't given
permission. In other words, I had lied.
"I will never forget the punishment I received from my
father. I was a good girl in general and I was almost never
punished. But for this lie, I got the maximum penalty. The
punishment was not meted for taking the purse, it was made
clear, which was bad enough since I had defied my father.
Rather, it was given because of the lie. Abba emphasized
again and again that it was because of the lie! He could not
condone that; he could not remain silent. He reacted from the
depths of his soul, and my feelings as a result were engraved
deep inside me for the rest of my life."
[Final part next week: Insights on Truthfulness from
Educators in Chadorim]
