March 24, 2011 | 10:48 am

Thursdays at the Playground in Jerusalem

Posted by Yael Malka Farzan, student in Masa Israel’s Me'ohr Bais Yaakov Teachers Seminary

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“To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.” The idea of tikkun olam applies not just to fixing the world at large, but also to dedicating oneself to one small cause and making the world a little bit more complete. I’ve learned from experience that the latter is no less great than the former.  And so this year on my Masa Israel program, I took upon myself one “small” cause: An American-Israeli family residing in Jerusalem.

It feels strange to push an occupied baby stroller down Rechov HaPisga in Bayit Vegan, Jerusalem. The scene, with four kids by my side, is reminiscent of my kindergarten days.  If my memory serves right, I used to love playing “house.” I would wear my mother’s heels and prance around my living room pushing my doll in a little plastic stroller.

Except now, in 2011, I’m not pretending. The two-year-old girl, with hair the color of sunshine, sits sweetly in the stroller as I push her along and shrieks, “Chatula!” every time we pass a cat—approximately once every 3.5 seconds. The 8-year-old boy wears a classic Israeli all-knowing expression. The middle child asks me for money to buy candy. And the younger boy, who wears an eye-patch and has a slight speech defect, loves to bake. 

Every Thursday I walk from my seminary in Bet HaKerem to the family’s top-floor apartment in Bayit Vegan.  The mother is, to put it in just a word, busy. She works an hour away in Tel Aviv and needs the extra help.  She is not bashful to admit it and I gladly assist her. I dress the children and take them to the park while their mother gratefully calls, “Thank you!” and starts cleaning.

In the park, I join the children in going down slides and playing hide-and-seek. The park is the social scene for mothers and their children: mothers chatting on the benches, kids playing on the slides. I watch the children play, argue, talk, and grow before my eyes. Unlike many other volunteer babysitters, I break up fights, compliment good behavior, hug, smile, and pat on the back. I teach the children to throw away candy wrappers, be nice to others, stop throwing rocks at the girls, and wait by the crosswalks. I don’t give them anything unless they say, “bevakasha” (please) and “todah” (thank you). 

Like a mother, I feel an overwhelming sense of pride and love for the children I care for on Thursday afternoons. I see them follow my instructions and learn to respect one another.  When we go to the library, I pick out age-appropriate books and teach them patience. (“Let’s not push!”)

When I bring them home, it is usually dusk. The house is clean and the mother is relaxed. We bake cookies or a cake with the kids and I peel vegetables for her Friday night chicken soup. Throughout the day, I make sure to speak English to all the children, in accordance with their mother’s request. Although the children have American-Israeli parents, the younger the child is, the more the English-speaking level declines. The mother wants her children to speak and understand both tongues, and I help complement the children’s English classes in school.  I also work privately with the youngest son by facilitating conversations with him, teaching him how to speak clearly and in full sentences. “What are we doing to the cake now?” I ask, smiling. “Mixing it!” he replies. “Ok, so let’s say, ‘we are…”” And he answers, “We are mixing the cake!” I read books with him and do coloring exercises to develop his hand-eye coordination as well.

She gushes praises at me when I leave. Although I always try to refuse, she gives me a bag of my favorite Pamelits or the fresh cookies we baked to take home.  She tells me, “You did so much for me today. I don’t know what I would do without you. You give me the gift of peace and quiet every Thursday.”

“I did nothing!” I protest. Truthfully, I enjoy every Thursday so much that I forget that what I am doing is called chesed or tikkun olam.

But I realize that it is not the effort involved that determines the level of kindness, but instead, the amount of need and appreciation on the receiver’s end.  The mother thanks me sincerely, not out of etiquette, but because she really needs the space and relaxation one day out of the whole week.

“To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.”

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