Is it rude and close-minded? Or is it something else?

We’re walking to a friend’s house on Shabbos afternoon through the tree-lined streets of Brooklyn. 

A black SUV passes by, blasting music from its wide-open windows. 
I’ve lived in the city all my life; I hardly even notice it. 

Not so my children. 

My four year old son is the most vocal about it. “Mommy I’m covering my ears – it’s goyishe music!” he pronounces. 

For a second I don’t know how to react. I glance around quickly, grateful that no one seemed to have heard. Should I tell him off for his rudeness? Where did he get this from?

What an Oholei-Torah’nik! My friend’s laughing comment flits through my mind. 

Yes, that’s definitely what she would say. 

But he’s hardly been in school for a few months. And I’m quite sure he didn’t have an interaction with non-Jewish music while he was there. 

He’s not even interested in my reaction, and keeps his ears covered as the car drives on and the music fades away. I have time to process. 

Nobody taught him to do that, of that I am sure. 

So where did it come from? 

I remembered another incident, when a play mat that I borrowed for my baby turned out to have non-kosher animals on it. They hardly even looked like animals, but they were a cartoony version of dogs that you could make out if you tried. I didn’t have another play mat, so I simply covered it with another blanket so the baby could enjoy the toys hanging from the arches.

One day it happened the mat wasn’t covered, and my three-year-old daughter was checking it out. “Mommy, why do we have non-kosher animals in the house?” she asks. 

Then too, I was caught off guard. How does she even know? 

I never educated her on the non-kosher animals that exist. They’re simply a non-topic most of the time. We don’t have pictures or toys of them per the Rebbe’s instructions, but beyond that, I’m quite sure it never came up. 

But she knew, just like her brother.

He felt that the sound of the music wasn’t for him. 

She knew that images of dogs didn’t fit in our home. 

But how? Why? And why didn’t I share their reaction?

And it struck me.

One of us was confused over here.
And it wasn’t them. 

I was living a double standard. 

On one hand, my home is filled with holy Jewish things. Seven bookcases heavy with seforim proudly dominate our dining room. Our walls feature photos of tzadikim and Jewish-themed art. We begin each day with modeh ani and negel vasser, end with shema, and even our two year old is fully proficient in all of the blessings on food. Our lives revolve around Shabbos and Yom tov, the parsha, and the alef-bais. And that is the world that my children live in.

But I have one foot in another world. 

In a world of confusion and duplicity. A world where all religions are alike, where there’s your truth and my truth, his truth, and her truth, and where all behaviors are acceptable, even if they aren’t your personal choice. Everything goes, and acceptance is the ultimate virtue.

And I discovered yet another tremendous gift of parenthood. 

My children are pure. 

Pure, not because of anything I did. 

Pure because there is such a thing as G-dliness, and there is one Truth which is Torah. 

Pure because a Jewish soul is literally a part of G-d. 

Pure because the beautiful soul that fills their little body still feels its source, where it lived just a few short years ago.

For now, their soul hasn’t been exposed to the falseness and confusion of the world, but only to one consistent message: Hashem is One and the Torah is our life. 

And so their soul shines brightly. 

Music, pictures, animals can seem totally neutral to us. We, who have one foot in the other world. It’s pretty, we think. It’s educational. It will expand their horizons. 

We forget that our children are not like all others. 

Our children are holy and pure, and they know the difference. 

Without even learning about other cultures and ideas, they sense when something doesn’t belong. 

And it’s our choice to validate that truth they feel so strongly. Validate it, strengthen the connection between their lives and their souls, and place them on a foundation of connection to G-d and his Torah. 

Or we can deny it, quiet their “rude” feelings of exclusivity, and invite them in to the confusion and struggles that we live with, trying to find truth in the world when in fact it lies right there in our hearts. 

I, for one, won’t be shushing my children. I will be listening to them more closely, holding them tighter, and absorbing the light and the truth that radiates from their faces. 

And I’ll be thanking G-d for these precious souls who bring me back to where I belong.