Guide for the Perplexed

More, More, More

You get a new toy car.
You love it.

Then you see a red car.
Now you want the red one too.

Then you see a gold car.
Now you want that one.

More, more, more.
Say it with me: more, more, more.

Here is a funny thing.
The more cars you get,
the more cars you want.
That wanting never says, enough.
More, more, more.

Now think about what you really need.

You need air.
Air is all around you, right now.

You need water.
Water comes right out of the tap.

You need food and a warm coat.
Those are not hard to find.

The things you need most are easy to find.
The gold car is hard to find.
And you don’t need it at all.

Wanting a toy is okay.
Everybody wants things.
You can still ask for the red car.
Just notice when the wanting goes
more, more, more.

So let’s try something.
Take a big breath of air.
That’s the thing you need most.
Now pick one toy you already have,
and go play with it.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: This comes from Maimonides’s Guide for the Perplexed (III.12), which sorts human troubles and finds that most come from chasing what we don’t need: whoever wants silver dishes soon wants gold ones, then sapphire, and that wanting has no limit. The book’s own illustration is that the more necessary a thing is (air, then water, then food), the easier and cheaper it is to find, while rubies and emeralds are rare and, except as medicine, unneeded. The cars stand in for the dishes. The primer keeps wanting itself allowed, since the book faults only the endless appetite for extras, not ordinary desire.

Flash!

Have you seen lightning at night?

Flash!
You see the whole yard.
The tree, the fence, the swing.
Then it is dark again.

Flash, then dark.
Say it with me: flash, then dark.

Big ideas can come like that.
Flash! You understand.
Then it gets dark,
and you’re not sure anymore.

That happens to everyone.
It happens to grown-ups too.
It happens to very wise grown-ups.
Flash, then dark.

When you’re not sure, you can say so.
You can say: I’m not sure yet.
That is a true thing to say.

Making it up is not true.
Saying you’re not sure is true.

Not sure doesn’t mean stop.
You can keep looking.
You can ask someone.
You can try again tomorrow.
The next flash might come.
Flash, then dark, then flash again!

So next time you’re stuck,
say it out loud:
I’m not sure yet.
Then keep looking for the flash.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: The lightning image is the book’s own, from its Introduction: we glimpse the truth in flashes and then return to darkness, and only the greatest prophet saw flashes so often that his night was nearly day. Maimonides applies it to knowing God; the primer widens it to understanding in general, and pairs it with his own habit of saying plainly when he could not prove something (II.24) or did not know a reason (III.47). The saying often credited to him about teaching your tongue to admit ignorance is not from this book.

Copy the Kind Things

How did you learn to wave?
You watched someone wave.
Then you copied.

How did you learn to clap?
You watched someone clap.
Then you copied.

Watch the kind thing.
Copy the kind thing.
Say it with me:
watch it, copy it.

God is kind.
God is fair.
God does what is right.
So we can copy that.

Kind is sharing your snack.
Even with a kid who didn’t share.
That is extra kind.

Fair is taking turns on the swing.
Everyone gets a turn.
And you get a turn too.

Right is fixing what you broke.
Even when no one saw.

Watch the kind thing.
Copy the kind thing.

You don’t have to fix everything.
You don’t have to be kind all day.
One kind thing is real.

So today, pick one.
Share one snack.
Or let a friend go first.
Or help someone who is stuck.
Watch it, copy it.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: Maimonides’s Guide teaches that we can’t know what God is, only what God does, and that the point of knowing those ways is to copy them: as the rabbis put it, he is merciful, so be merciful (I.54). Its last page names the three ways to copy as loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness (III.54); loving-kindness, in its sense, is kindness to someone with no claim on you, hence the snack shared with a kid who didn’t share. Left out on purpose: the book ranks knowing God above good conduct, and scholars still argue about how far its final chapter turns that ranking toward action. The primer claims only the copying, not which comes first.