In the three-and-a-half years since I’ve started this blog, I’ve written about issues from the Chinese, American, and Jewish perspective, but I’ve never yet written about what it’s like to be Chinese in a Jewish community.  I didn’t feel ready, since identity is an ever-changing phenomenon, but an article in this past Friday’s New York Times on a summer camp for Jews of color as well as its on-going series on race in America, made me stop to reflect on my experiences.

      While I’ve heard of incidences of prejudice both overt—  a family not wanting their daughter marrying into a family with a giyoret (female convert) or a Kallah teacher abusing a young bride with non-Jewish parents— and subtle, I’ve been incredibly fortunate.  Maybe, it’s because I am of Chinese heritage--  one generally regarded positively by the Jewish community— or that I was already an educated adult who could choose my own community and establish a network of friends.  One cherished comment came from one of my oldest friends in the Jewish world, who told me that it would be alright with her even if I didn’t go through with the conversion process (as the Orthodox bet din is more strict than others).  (As I’ve written earlier, I have a personal mission to eradicate the term, “Chinese auction,” but its usage stems not from outright racism, but rather from the insularity of some Jewish communities.) 

      Another important fact is that to the Orthodox, the only badge of membership that matters is one’s observance of the mitzvot (commandments).  A secular Jew might have other means of identification, including having Jewish grandparents, or sillier ones like understanding the kind of blended Yiddish (Yinglish) spoken by most American Jews.  The journalist, Samuel Freedman, wrote: “As the largest group of Jewish immigrants to the United States, those from Eastern Europe have set the cultural tone since the early 1900’s.  Their folkways— bagels, Yiddish, New Deal politics, Borsht Belt jokes—became a virtual religion.  Which meant that nobody from outside could ever get completely inside.”  Fortunately for me, my religion is Yahadut (Judaism), not cultural folkways.  Besides, I love the subtle spiciness of Sephardic cuisine over Ashkenazic gefilte fish and brisket, which I don’t eat anyway because I’m a vegetarian.

     The children attending Camp Be’chol Lashon (In Every Tongue) felt marginalized in their home communities.  For a while, I’d worried about how my children fared, in cultivating both of their dual heritages.  Recently, I was startled to learn that my college-graduate daughter does not think of herself as “white,” being as she’s been raised by Chinese and Jewish parents.   On the college campus, she experienced more quizzical looks and inquiries into her ancestry:  Mexican?  Filipina?  Puerto Rican?  She was more than pleased by the country having its first mixed-race President.  My conviction is that the only heritages that matter are the ones that you honor by your values and the customs you maintain.

     So, just as the first wave of Korean adoptive children benefitted from the Korean culture camps created by their white American parents— this tradition is continued today amongst the Chinese adoptees— maybe these Jews of color do need a camp of their very own.  Maybe one day, they too will feel comfortable negotiating the dualities of their life.  The Torah has 70 faces, teaches my Rabbi, so no one Jew has to feel or do exactly as the next.  As the world gets smaller with world travel and Internet communication, a Jew should feel comfortable within her own skin.  We too can feel as if we’d stood at the foot of Har Sinai where Moshe delivered the Ten Commandments.

            Today I walked into my neighborhood Catholic Church to attend the funeral mass of a family with multiple points of connection with my own.  The only other time I’d attended a mass was during college with my Irish girlfriend, but this was a vastly different affair from that low-key service in a non-denominational chapel.  This was a service with an organ, both male and female soloists, and incense, which caused some non-Catholics to cough but I was fine because I had been responsible for lighting the incense for the family altar as a girl.  All this was in a devotional space with stained glass windows, a vaulted ceiling, and numerous statuaries.  The combination of organ music, superb vocals, and fine acoustics is spine-thrillingly exquisite. 

            An unusual aspect of this funeral was the decision of the deceased to be cremated, so a simple wooden box with her ashes was on display, but which I was not cognizant until the recessional in which the son carried out her box of ashes.  After a few weeks at home, her ashes will be buried in Valley Forge to join other members of her family, which dates from the American Revolution. 

            This was a funeral in which the only personal reference to the deceased was that she was the only girl in a family with six sons and that she sang.  There were no eulogies, with her husband reading two selections from the New Testament.  There was a partaking of the Communion wafer in which the grieving husband and son and ready members of the Catholic community participated  (some accepted this by mouth from the Monsignor’s hand, others accepted it in cupped hands).  Afterwards, the family lead a procession to their nearby home, where refreshments were offered to the visitors.

            This was so different from the Jewish funeral and shivah rituals as well as the Buddhist funeral I’d attended for my grandmother.  Jews love to talk, so their eulogies can be lengthy and emotional, but everyone gets to hear details from the deceased’s life.  I guess Catholics focus on the afterlife, not the life on Earth.  Buddhist funerals are also relatively quiet, with silent rituals expected from the male children and grandchildren.

            The grieving process is very detailed and prescribed for observant Jews.  For a period of a week, they neither work nor serve themselves, letting members of the community tend to them and show loving compassion.  I’m told that the shivah period is crucial for coming to grips with the death; a friend reported  that her non-observant siblings did not cope as well as she did, attributing her resilience to her observance of shivah.  Then for the next 11 months, a mourner recites Kaddish, the tefillah (prayer) of words of praise for God, and not a reminder of the human loss.  I’ve read that this focuses the mourner to the life here, one that may be bereft of a loved one but that we’re still here by the grace of God.

            After my grandmother’s funeral, I asked my Rabbi if I may recite Kaddish for my parents when they die (as I’m a convert to Judaism).  He said yes, but he asked if there was another way to honor my parents, who would be bewildered by a ritual foreign to them.  This reminded me that funerals and mourning rituals are as much for the mourners as for the deceased.  Since then I’ve told my husband that upon my death, he and our girls may mourn me as they wish and dispose of my treasures as they see fit.  Our diverse religious customs help us manage our grief and steer us to life anew.

           This weekend, my father-in-law startled me by saying that the assistance that I provide to my refugee clients may not be in their best interest, that it may even hamper the development of their own independence.  He urged me to interview my parents and ask them about the difficulties in their first year in the United States as immigrants.  No one helped them, did they?  No, no one or any agency did.  He continued: This country is great because of the immigrants who’ve come and succeeded-- on their own.  We do a disservice to them when we pamper them to the extent of inhibiting their own initiative. 

            I was so perturbed by this conversation that I sought out my Rabbi for a perspective based more on ethics than on Darwinism.  How could I be doing wrong by my refugees?  His teshuvah (halachic response) is that there must be a balance.  Historically, the immigrants who have succeeded the most-- the Jews, the Irish, the Koreans-- did benefit from the assistance of their own communities.  They did not wait for government handouts.  Their brethren provided valuable resource in the guise of networking, interest-free loans, and employment opportunities.  Everyone had to undergo the agony of cultural assimilation and the foibles of alienation.  A family tale: My husband’s aunt came to visit her daughter in New York and because her Israeli accent was thick, the driver (who may have also been an immigrant and burdened with an accent of his own) did not understand her stated destination of Roosevelt Island, so he drove her to Riker’s Island, where the main prison is located and from where no taxis can be hailed!  No, no agency could have helped her with her situation. 

            During this graduation season, I am witness to the different kinds of parenting among my friends and acquaintances.  A woman from my shul told me she was renting a van to drive her daughter to Chicago and would I need anything brought home?  No, I don’t want anything brought back home!  Then, a dear friend told me she’d brought her housekeeper along to clean her son’s quarters upon graduation.  By dint of unusual circumstances as well as personal choice, my daughter left for college by herself with only two bags and she has never asked us to drive her to or back from Chicago.  She will be moving to her new apartment without our assistance.  Her father has given her money for her living expenses, but we have friends who told their children that they are on their own after college (or they could move back home).  I'm glad our daughter is motivated to being independent. 

            Babies thrive best when they have a safe and stable environment with nurturing caregivers.  We endow our children with the resources of our families.  They proceed to negotiate with the outside world on their own terms, drawing upon the family capital but also drawing on their own strengths and talents. 

            Immigrants are motivated for success by choosing to leave their families, their people, their land.  You could say that they are pre-selected for success.  However, as my Rabbi has noted, even individual hard work needs the benefit of si'ata d’shmayah (Heavenly assistance).  So, I am relieved to conclude thus: my refugees do need help while they are learning the language and mores of our culture (and more than the 180 days that HIAS is contracted to provide).  The Social Worker had cautioned me about not beguiling them with American generosity, however, she's met refugees who came off the plane with so few possessions that they filled only two rice sacks!  So, I’ll try hard not to pamper them needlessly.  They will land on their feet and succeed, and I serve as their Advocate, the “angel” (if I could be so bold to say so) who could give them some assistance along the way.    

             The headline, “Buffet and Gates Prod India’s Wealthy to be More Philanthropic,” in this past Friday’s New York Times got me thinking about societal differences in compassion and charity.  The reason for my interest is personal (as always).  Back in the fall, I was honored by HIAS for my volunteer work with refugees and I was introduced by the Executive Director as a convert to Orthodox Judaism.  Then last week, I spoke at a HIAS meeting and it came up again.  I bristled somewhat and thought that my religion does not define me or my work.  So, why am I the way I am?

            The Chinese Buddhist world view is one of acceptance.  Social status and quality of life is pre-determined.  People do give alms, as the monks are totally reliant on daily offerings.  However, there isn’t a tradition of social services—  the reason the Chinese have historically favored boys is that sons serve as social security in one’s old age—or of philanthropy.  From the NYTimes article, it seems India does not either.

            What about the American values?  Carol Adelman of the Hudson Institute has lead research on the generosity of the American people which is far more impressive than that of their government.  According to the latest estimates, Americans privately give at least $34 billion overseas, more than twice the U.S. official foreign aid of $15 billion [www.globalissues.org]

            The economist Arthur Brooks has identified four predictors of charity: religion, skepticism about the government in economic life, work, and strong families.  [You could read the full arguments in his 2006 book, Who Really Cares: America's Charity Divide - Who Gives, Who Doesn't and Why it Matters.]  He found a strong causal link between faith and charitable giving.  Note: religious liberals give as much as do religious conservatives, but they are fewer than one-third in number as compared to religious conservatives in the United States.

            So, I come to my third heritage: the Jewish faith.  Jews are commanded to observe the mitzvah (religious legal commandment) of tzedakah ( righteousness or justice but usually translated as charity) more carefully than for any other positive mitzvah.  According to the Jewish sage, Maimonides, there are eight levels of tzedakah, with the greatest being giving a person a gift, a loan, a partnership, or a job, so he can be self-sustaining (and give tzedakah of his own).

 Traditional Jews practice ma'aser kesafim, tithing 10% of their income.  There are other forms of tzedakah required during specific times of the year (Purim and Pesach) and milestones in life (by the bridal couple at their wedding).  My favorites are the laws of tzedakah tied to the land, such as peah (the corners of the field are left for the poor, the needy, and the stranger), leket (dropped grain is left in the fields as gleanings for the poor) and shikchah (forgotten sheaves of grain are left for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the stranger).  By the way, the commandment to not oppress the stranger in our midst is mentioned 36 times in the Chumash, Jewish Bible, a fact much beloved at HIAS.

            This analysis has brought me to the conclusion that my faith is the guiding motivation for all that I do for HIAS.  While my Chinese heritage has instilled in me a strong work ethic— I proudly admit to being a Tiger Mom— it is the Jewish faith that compels me to my engrossing work with my refugees.

            Schoolchildren of the early 19^th century were punished for speaking any language other than English.  We’ve come a long way in our tolerance of differences.  (My mother-in-law says that someone who speaks English with an accent knows at least one other language, a dig at the monolingual Americans.)  We’ve changed our perspective in cultural assimilation and the iconic image is no longer of the melting pot, but the salad bowl, in which the ingredients are separate and distinct.

            A running series in the New York Times on racial identity in America highlights the growing comfort that young Americans have in declaring a multiracial background.  According to the Pew Research Center, one in seven new marriages is between spouses of different races or ethnicities.  The latest installment in the series looked at how different institutions tally these racial data.  In contrast, I’ll ask the question from the other end: what does it mean to the person when she identifies herself as being of “Peruvian, Chinese, Irish, Shawnee, and Cherokee” descent (a college student in the 2/10/2011 article).  How does she honor each of these heritages?

My Rabbi said in passing in class this week that the fancy new Jewish museum in Philadelphia is very good at depicting how successful Jews have become in America, but it fails at telling how Jews in America are Jewish.  A critic from the New York Times asked at the time of its opening, if this country needed another monument touting the success of Jews (which is better, I say, than another monument about the death of Jews).  So, my friend asked me, are there any U.S. museums that does what my Rabbi thinks the one in Philly should?  Well, the Yeshiva University Museum puts on exhibits that highlight aspects of Jewish history, but it's an institution that's not well-known outside of the Orthodox Jewish community. 

At least once a year, I love to visit the Museum of the Chinese in America (MoCA) in a tenement building re-designed by Maya Lin, the Chinese-American architect who established her reputation while still at Yale with her design of the Vietnam War Memorial.  It has an extensive permanent display of notable Chinese-Americans, with more details and more personages than in any other setting or book.  There are other informative displays from American history, which are unsettling because of the prejudice the Chinese have faced.  There is also a replica of the historical Chinese store, which once served as a community center for its compatriots.  The current traveling exhibit is on Chinese puzzles—tangrams, linked rings, sliding block puzzles, and Burr puzzles (see www.ChinesePuzzles.org).  The museum succeeds in educating visitors regardless of their background.  The books available for purchase in the gift shop are of particular value to me, as these titles are not promoted in the mainstream media.   

The difference between MoCA and the National Museum of American Jewish History— or rather the difference between what the latter museum is and what it could be-- may lie in the difference between ethnicity and religion.  The donors and board of trustees of the Jewish Museum chose to depict Jewishness as a cultural trait.  My Rabbi defines Jewishness as Yahadut, a religion.  Ergo, it's a difficult balance to reach out to a wider audience.  My husband noted that the donor list of MoCA included corporate and government sponsors, who were comfortable with the idea of a cultural museum about the Chinese.  Similarly, it seems the sponsors of the new Jewish museum wanted to tell the cultural story of the Jews in America.  

Finally, what is the difference between a Jewish American and an American Jew?  It lies in the value the person places on the relative labels.  Someone who declares herself an American Jew says that being Jewish is more transcendent than being American.  And such as person identifies as a religious Jew.  So, the National Museum of American Jewish History needs to live up to its chosen name.  It needs to also educate the public about the religious history of Jews in America.

          This is not a polished essay, where I can report on something I’ve learned.  But, I’ve decided to write about an issue that troubles me.  As a Chinese-American, I am neither white nor black and I am privileged to observe the nuances of race relations in this country as a bystander (except when my own racial heritage is a source of grievance).  I wonder if an academic awareness of an issue allows one to appreciate the inherent complexities?  

             I read Kathryn Stockett’s The Help and I was riveted but very perturbed by its central issue of race relations.  Set in 1962 in Jackson, Mississippi, a young white woman interviews and edits the painful narratives of black maids about their relationships with their white employers.  A Jewish friend who’d grown up in the South shared her experiences with me, including the memory of being called a “nigger lover” because she did not exhibit racist behavior.  But I also wanted to identify a black perspective.  Another friend cautioned me that I cannot generalize to all blacks, as African immigrants and people with Caribbean roots do not share the same experience as those descended from slaves brought to America.  No, indeed, but I was sure that a black person would respond differently to the book.

             I spoke with a black staffer at my local library, someone whom I’ve known for the past 21 years that my family has lived in this community.  She did not enjoy the book as did the white readers who have praised The Help, launching it onto the bestseller lists.  She could forecast how the plot would go, and she skipped over parts.  Her niece was bored by it and never did finish the book.  I asked her if it would have been a better book if it had been written by a black author, but she demurred at that.

             Could the difference lie in perspective?  Events resonate more when they become personal, as Jews are instructed to imagine that they themselves are leaving Egypt during the Passover seder.  Issues become more painful.  It took me a few years before I could follow a friend’s recommendation for Anne Fadiman’s The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, because the central character, a child, dies from an epileptic seizure and my child has the same disorder.

             I’ve read that people like horror films because they find it cathartic, a vicarious experience that leaves them relieved to be safe and ordinary.  I wonder if readers of The Help become more understanding?  Are some readers smug that they are not racist and do not harbor any prejudicial intent?  Or do they have a renewed sensitivity to insults to human dignity?  Do they speak out in protest?

              My Rabbi has noted that we do not feel pain to the same degree when a tragedy, a violation, happens to someone else.  However, the challenge is in the striving to maintain sensitivity and that is a hallmark of a compassionate person.

             It is customary for the Chinese to settle their debts for the Lunar New Year.  This year, I thought that I owed Amy Chua for some lively discussions about what it means to be Chinese.  Then, I read her memoir, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother and I realized that I owe her an apology for jumping to conclusions about her and her family.

             Studies have shown that people base their first impression of a person on the initial 30 seconds of an encounter.  Readers make judgements based on book covers and the first words they peruse and if repulsed, would not attempt another reading.  Such was the outrage provoked by the Wall Street Journal article titled, “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior.” 

             Early in the controversy, a friend asked me if it was good for the Chinese?  I told her that it was a Jewish concept and that there’s so much in the media anyway, that it didn’t matter.  Then, I followed some of the posted comments and was unnerved by the heat of the discussions and by some blatant racism.  So, it does matter and I’m not sure it is good for the Chinese.  For me, it culminated with the improbable over-the-top debate at the Davos economic summit last week between noted economist Larry Summers and Amy Chua on the best parenting style for the economic future. 

            While the WSJ piece was provocative, it does not convey the intent of Chua’s memoir, whose preface states: “This is a story about a mother, two daughters, and two dogs.  This was supposed to be a story about how Chinese parents are better at raising kids than Western ones.  But, instead, it’s about a bitter clash of cultures, a fleeting taste of glory, and how I was humbled by a thirteen-year-old.”  Certainly, this is a more palatable message than racial dominance.   And, much less arrogant.   

It also made for lively reading.  There were funny scenes such as when Chua taunted her husband about what were his dreams for Coco, their dog?  She learned to accept their Samoyeds, with their stubborn, disobedient genetic streak, without demanding that they learn to count or do the Heimlich maneuver.  There was the episode when Chua introduced the man she would later marry to her parents and mentioned that he’d been in Juilliard’s drama program.  While “there’s something about insubordination and getting kicked out that Americans love,” her Chinese parents were horrified by such behavior.  However, by the time Chua contemplated Julliard’s teen program for their younger daughter, her parents had learned to love her husband, Jeb Rubenfeld, who’s now a law professor at Yale and the author of two acclaimed mystery novels. 

            One friend marveled that Chua must have a supportive husband, for her discipling approach to take hold.  Yes, she’s right, and Chua’s husband always sided with her in front of the girls in an united-front strategy.  Despite some misgivings, he “tried his best to balance the family, making us go on family biking trips, teaching the girls to play poker and pool, reading them science fiction, Shakespeare, and Dickens.” 

As extreme as was Chua’s parenting, it was not the most extreme discipline.  When Lulu was brought to meet an esteemed violin teacher, she was told that “while she had the advantage of being naturally musical— something that couldn’t be taught—she lagged behind in technique…it wasn’t good enough to spend six months on one movement of a concerto.  ‘My students your age can learn an entire concerto in two weeks—you should be able to do that too.’” 

            Still, I was perplexed, why would someone write such a revealing expose’ of their family life?  It doesn’t sound Chinese to me.  However, it seems that Chua’s family, who read each draft of the book, considered it as therapy for her.  So, it can be regarded as a cautionary tale, not as a prescriptive how-to book.  When the results of her parenting style bore fruit— such as a solo performance at Carnegie Hall— she wondered if people knew the truth of how hard it was to achieve that level.  When one singer advised that she not let her daughter quit, “because she’ll regret it for the rest of her life,” Chua wrote ruefully, “That’s how it always was when Lulu played the violin.  Listeners were gripped by her, and she seemed gripped by the music.  It’s what made it so confusing and maddening when we fought and she insisted she hated the violin.”             

            Chua noted that the “Chinese parenting approach is weakest when it comes to failure; it just doesn’t tolerate that possibility.”  However, Chua had witnessed flexibility within her own family when her youngest sister was born with Down’s syndrome.  Her parents did learn to help their child to her fullest potential. 

So with trepidation, I dare to dispute Leo Tolstoy who opened Anna Karenina with “All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”  Families are happy in many different ways.  At the end of her memoir, Chua asked her younger daughter if she resented the time spent on music and the girl surprised her by replying: “Don’t be ridiculous.  Of course I’m glad you forced me to play the violin.” 

        In our relatively enlightened times, it is the heedless individual who utters a blatant pejorative term, be it a racial, sexist, or any other challenging aspect of life.  We have sensitized ears and it is unseemly to appear prejudiced.  There is even an attempt to erase past grievances in the misguided campaign to replace the word, “nigger,” with “slave” in Mark Twain’s classic The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, although the climax of the story would be lost on the reader when the character of the black man, Jim, realizes that he’s been free all along.  Good teaching requires putting history and culture into context with all its flawed and malignant chronicles.

       There is a companion shadow world of indirect slurs, in which terms are coined with the negative traits attributed to a particular ethnic group.  Amongst linguists, this usage is called “ironyms,” a compound word representing “lexicalized irony.”  Researching this sordid aspect of language development, I came across the fairly unfamiliar terms of Dutch courage (bravado under intoxication), Welsh rabbit (a cheese dish made without meat), and Irish twins (siblings born within the same year).   The more familiar ones in contemporary usage are notably all about monetary use: to gyp (cheat) someone, to welsh (renege) on a bet, and to jew someone down (bargain hard).  The terms incorporating Chinese— Chinese ace, Chinese anthem, Chinese cigarette, Chinese fire drill, Chinese handball, Chinese landing, Chinese puzzle, and Chinese whispers— all connote items or events that are confused, disorganized, or difficult to understand, according to the British usage of the adjective during World War I. 

       I have long known that Chinese checkers were not really Chinese, but I have since learned that it is a game developed in Germany, whose original name referred to its star-shaped game board.  When the Pressman company introduced it in the United States in 1928, they initially called it Hop-Ching checkers, later settling on Chinese checkers, presumably to refer to the erratic hopping allowed of the gaming pieces.  Other usages of ethnic terminology are maybe less benign, but you could be sure no Frenchman would call his fried potatoes, French fries, (derived from the presumed custom of poor French-speaking Belgians who served fried potatoes instead of fried fish when the rivers were frozen) nor would a Dane refer to the breakfast pastry as a Danish (in actuality, of Austrian origin).

        As an immigrant to the United States, I did not encounter Chinese auctions until I came into the Orthodox Jewish community.  It seems to be a popular low-cost fundraiser amongst churches and synagogues.  Not Chinese and not even an auction, it is a lottery in which the bidder purchases tickets for specific prizes within different categories.  It has become my campaign to lobby against its usage, but by the time I hear of such events, the organizers have already spent money on the publicity and are loathe to change the wording.  It’s inconceivable to me that any organization would allow itself to be perceived as prejudiced these days.  Prejudice when it becomes commonplace is even more insidious, because well-meaning people become complicit.

            My brother alerted me to an article in the Wall Street Journal over the weekend about parenting styles.  Titled “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior,” it was apt to provoke emotional reactions from its readers. 

            Most American readers would be aghast to read: “even when Western parents think they're being strict, they usually don't come close to being Chinese mothers. For example, my Western friends who consider themselves strict make their children practice their instruments 30 minutes every day.  An hour at most.  For a Chinese mother, the first hour is the easy part.  It's hours two and three that get tough.” 

            Furthermore, the concern that American parents have for promoting a child’s self-esteem is moot for the Chinese mother, according to Chua.  “If a child comes home with an A-minus on a test, a Western parent will most likely praise the child.  The Chinese mother will gasp in horror and ask what went wrong.  If the child comes home with a B on the test, some Western parents will still praise the child.  Other Western parents will sit their child down and express disapproval, but they will be careful not to make their child feel inadequate or insecure, and they will not call their child "stupid," "worthless" or "a disgrace."  Privately, the Western parents may worry that their child does not test well or have aptitude in the subject or that there is something wrong with the curriculum and possibly the whole school.  If the child's grades do not improve, they may eventually schedule a meeting with the school principal to challenge the way the subject is being taught or to call into question the teacher's credentials.”

             This is a pertinent assessment of the two styles of parenting and an encapsulation of assignment of responsibility—whether it lies with the individual or with others.  I am also reminded of my childhood, in which I indeed once brought home a score of 98 and was queried by my father about the missing two points.  Upon told this, my husband asked if my father was joking.  My father does not joke.

             Malcolm Gladwell in Outliers: The Story of Success devoted an entire chapter on the amount of time required to achieve mastery of an art: 10,000 hours.  His profiles were of the Beatles, who’d played eight hours a day, seven days a week in Hamburg before returning home to Liverpool, and Bill Gates, who’d been programming “practically nonstop” for seven consecutive years before he dropped out of Harvard to start his own software company.  Amy Chua writes: “What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it.  To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences.  This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up.  But if done properly, the Chinese strategy produces a virtuous circle.  Tenacious practice, practice, practice is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated in America.”

            The difference lies in the motivation.  Gladwell wrote about individuals who were motivated to devote hours and hours to their craft because of an innate love.  Chua writes about enforcing discipline in an often-unwilling child.  The Venezuela Youth Orchestra is renown for its national music program, wherein children are introduced to instrument learning at an early age, and without any financial barriers.  Its star graduate, Gustavo Dudamel, is one of the world’s youngest conductors of a major orchestra, the Los Angeles Philharmonic.  When asked how to motivate a student to practice, Dudamel said that one has to love it.  My daughter’s orchestra teacher told me that she practiced hours as a child because she knew she wanted a career in music.  Music technique can be taught, but how many children have abandoned music because it was forced upon them?

 Chua made strong assertions about the Western value of self-esteem and she denigrated the harm of a bald rebuke or outright insult.  The historical context is that traditional Chinese give their children contrary nicknames that would confuse the gods that might be jealous of a brilliant or beautiful child, hence appellations such as Fatty or Dumb-One or Ugly-Face.  However, her denial of any lasting effect of the negative comments by her own parents does not convince me of this approach.  How many others were hurt?  Mental disease is not socially acceptable by the Chinese, so any psychological impact of a hurtful relationship wouldn’t even be acknowledged.

 Raising children in America with a partner who is not Chinese has shown me another perspective.  During my elder daughter’s tumultuous teen years, my husband cautioned me that we only have about 18 years of her life, so how do I want her to remember me, her mother?  That guiding light tempered my approach.  Yes, we allowed her to give up the violin, but the school orchestra wasn’t any good.  She knew we cared about her schoolwork and we were willing to sit with her through assignments.  We were not grade-grubbers and we did not pay for SAT-prep classes.  She was a Honors student by her own motivation and got accepted to the university of her choice.

 Our younger child needed another approach, because she had different needs.  I have insisted that she continue playing an instrument— the cello--- not for my own ambition, but because she does have a good ear for music and I wanted her exposed to this kind of multi-faceted learning during her teen years while her frontal cortex is still developing.  No, we do not insist that she practice even for an hour.

 The major difference is that we do not insult our children and we do not use negative inducements.  I have learned that a positive environment is healthier for us all.  Chua’s story is a sad one and I would neither wish to live in her household nor choose to be her child.

 Regular readers may wonder about the third perspective of this blog: What is the Jewish perspective on parenting?  I have not read enough to give an academic answer, but my observations are that Jews in this country tend to behave as educated, middle-class Americans.  However, I did pose my concern to my rabbi (now Rabbi Emeritus) about my younger child’s apparent lack of studiousness.  He knew of my immigrant story (in fact, he calls my conversion to Orthodoxy my second immigration— to a new culture) and advised me that it need not be replicated in my child.  He cautioned patience and love.  He said that she would blossom in her own time.  And, indeed, she is…        

“Why Chinese Mothers are Superior” [Wall Street Journal, 1/8/2011]  is excerpted from Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua, to be published by the Penguin Press.