There is animal therapy, horse-riding therapy, gardening
therapy, art therapy, and today I saw an ad for sailing boats therapy. Oh, now
I know what we did in camp in Kiev (Mahane Shuva, for those who remember). We
did boat therapy.
This is not to undermine the vast body of knowledge and
extensive research that went into those disciplines. Or the people who invest
time and considerable amounts of money to study and qualify as
whatever-it-is-this –time therapists. But rather to question the society I
watch in my neighbourhood yet again. Forgive
me for exaggerating a bit, but here goes:
A baby is born. Mommy needs to go back to work… after 3
months he’s off to the mishpachton. Where the lady has him and 10 more babies
aged 3 months to a year. She turns the prams face to the wall, props a towel
under the chin, and places the bottle on it. Dear baby, get used to not crying,
because there is no point anyway. Even if your little butt is smoking in that
dirty diaper. He will spend his early
childhood without essential interaction babies need to form a secure attachment
to a primary caregiver, a functioning language, ability to understand emotion,
to empathize and intellectualize, to trust and expect love and safety.
Time passes and the kid grows. He is now 4. He’s about to
have braces fitted for the teeth destroyed by those bottles, he can’t pronounce
half the consonants because he’s lacking facial muscle, which simply never
developed. His muscle tone is low. He learned to walk at 2, to say his first
words at 3. His vocabulary is barely existent. Not a month passes without a
bout of illness, with antibiotics, steroids, hospitalization. Every illness
throws him back in his development. He will grow into an extremely limited
adult, who will either fail to provide for his family, or work in menial jobs
all his life, barely scraping by. The cycle of poverty perpetuated…
Shall I carry on?
And this is where therapies come in – one to help him walk
steadily, one to address his emotional issues, one to help him speak in a way
that people will understand… somehow the parents must find the time and the
resources, even though usually have none. The system has got the conveyor belt
rolling with those children. The stronger ones manage, the weaker ones roll
from one knowing professional to another.
I’m an old cynic. I am of the opinion that if certain evils
are allowed to exist, means someone is benefiting from them.
So, I would like to make a suggestion. Or rather, to patent
a therapy. It’s not an entirely new kind, we had it growing up.
When I was a kid, I had a cream-and- blintzes therapy with
my grandma, reading therapy with my mom… in other words – they gave me their
time, presence, attention, what kids tend to interpret as love. I had art
without therapy at the local kids’ club, boating at camp, swimming at the pool,
dancing at the Jewish centre. We learned to read, sew, hammer nails and make up
stories. We walked barefoot on the sand and rolled down the hill on fresh green
grass. It was called having a childhood.
It wasn’t supported by volumes of research, but it seemed to work. Why doesn’t
it work now? Have Jewish grandmothers run out of blintzes? Why can’t family give those kids the love and childhood fun they
need, and instead they get it in limited doses, as a medication, through their
health fund? From trained professionals, who are total strangers to them. I don’t have an answer to that question… but seeing the empty eyes
of those children hurts my heart anew every time.
Do you think I'll be a millionaire if I patent blitzes and cream therapy?
