Truth and consequences: white lies, white sauce

The little white lie, definition: A minor, polite or harmless lie, fib. How many of us have told a little lie? White lies are usually excused because it doesn’t do any great harm, and most are used to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. We’ve all lied, and if you say you never have, you’re probably lying.

We start early on: “Mommy I didn’t do it,” then when we’re older, “The check is in the mail,” “I just turned 35 (again),” “Honey, you look great in that outfit,” “No, really, I love the chicken dried out.”

While I would never promote lying, I do strongly believe in the little white lie to stop someone from being hurt or insulted and especially in the case of a child, to keep him from having to deal with adult issues prematurely, or in the case of safety.

Unfortunately, my husband Jerry doesn’t agree with me. He is one of the most honest people I know. I tried in the past to explain that it’s meant to be beneficial to the recipient, but he has a hard time with it, though lately he has learned that he needn’t confess to everything he does. As in when he’s an hour late, he leaves out the part that he was in the gym, or that he has ordered another dozen two foot water guns for the grandchildren and nieces and nephews, although we have at least three dozen already. He would never lie if I asked him, but he doesn’t always let me know if I don’t, though, in the end I always find out, right Jerry?

Talking about white lies, when I was sitting shiva for my mom, a”h, my adorable step grandchildren called me. Ben, the oldest, age 8, said he was so sorry that my mom had died and he was sure that I would miss her. Then he handed the phone to his cousin Nadav, almost 5. Now, it was pretty crowded in the room and it was hard to really hear him on my cell phone because in the best of situations I have awful service in my house (hear that, Sprint?), but it sounded like he said “I’m sorry your mom died, I saw her in the box dead, I’m so sorry. I was sure I just misunderstood him, thanked him for calling and told him I loved him.

The next morning I was telling my son it was so noisy at shiva last night it sounded as if Nadav said he saw my mother dead in the box. My son said, “Nope, you heard right, I was standing right next to Jerry and Nadav when Nadav asked, ‘Is Judy’s mom in the box?’ Jerry responded ‘Yes.’ Nadav asked ‘Did she die in the box?’ ‘No, you have to go into the box to get to Hashem. The only way to get to Hashem is through the box. Judy’s mom was a very special person and she will be with Hashem and he will take care of her’.”

Just then Jerry walked into the kitchen and I said, “You told Nadav my mom was in the box and she was going to Hashem in the box???? Why??? Even for you Jerry, that was really not the right thing to tell him.” “Well,” said Jerry, “I wasn’t going to lie to him, he asked me.”

“Really,” I responded. “He’s going to think my mom and everyone else that dies gets sent parcel post or via Fed Ex to G-d.” I immediately called my step-daughter-in-law Esther and warned her if she saw Nadav putting his little sister or any friends in a box, he might be planning to send them to Hashem.

This past Shabbat, Nadav, his younger sister Lia Rose and his parents, Yoni (Jerry’s son) and his mom Esther spent their last Shabbat in America with us, before making Aliyah. Jerry is a very hands on grandfather. He can and does spend hours at a time playing with them and engaging them in all sorts of adventures. I love to see the delight in their eyes and squeals of laughter when he walks into a room.

But, a few months ago, when he brought home what looked like real guns with ammunition to go along with it, I put my foot down. “You cannot give those to the kids to play with,” I said, “their moms won’t be happy.” Then I spotted three rifles or as he called them Tommy guns. He said those were for him. He tried to appease me with the three authentic magnum looking pistols, which Jerry thought would be perfectly suitable for the under five crowd.

The weekend started with the conventional stuff, non-stop playing, swimming, giggling, story telling and bonding. Then the guns came out. I watched my daughter-in-law’s face and, although I knew she wasn’t happy with them, she said nothing and went along, trying to make this weekend a fun one for all. Jerry explained there were soft rubber bullets, but they couldn’t open the package on Shabbat.

Hoping Nadav would forget the bullets by the time Shabbat was over, I hid them. Of course bright and early Shabbat morning Nadav was already counting down till Shabbat was over. Forget about my daughter-in-law, I didn’t think it was safe. The bullets, although soft rubber, could still be dangerous if hit at close range and in the face. I had a brainstorm.

“Jerry,” I said, “look, they sent you the wrong bullets.”

“No, I’m sure they’re the correct ones,” he said. I then said with great exaggeration, “No, Jerry, come look the numbers don’t match, these are for a different gun.” I know what he was thinking, “How can I lie to a child?” Again he said “I’m sure they are the…”

He stopped short when he saw the look on my face was the same one when he bought his car without asking what year it was or the price. Trust me folks, it’s not a good face. Sheepishly, he agreed and Nadav was just happy to have the chance to play with them, bullets, or not. Not sure how happy Esther was when we (yes, even me) snuck the big gun sans bullet into the car when they left for the last time. You should have seen his face.

Talking about white, here is a wonderful creamy white wine sauce to go with pasta, fish or vegetables.

Dairy White Wine Sauce

Ingredients:

Makes 12 servings

1-1/2 cups heavy whipping cream

1 cup and 2 tablespoons white wine

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1-1/2 teaspoons salt

1-1/2 teaspoons parsley

Directions:

In a saucepan, over medium heat, combine the cream, wine, flour, salt and parsley. Stir all together. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer until thickened.