Every parent of more than one child knows the sound. It usually arrives mid-dinner, mid-car-ride, or right when you finally sat down: “That’s not fair!” One child got five more minutes of bedtime story. Another got a new pair of shoes. Somebody got “more attention” today, and the accounting department in your eight-year-old’s head has already filed a formal complaint.
Most parents respond the way they were taught to respond: by trying to make everything equal. Same bedtime, same toy, same number of minutes, down to the second, so nobody can complain. It feels fair. It feels like justice. And according to Rabbi Lawrence Kelemen, teaching Rav Shlomo Wolbe’s approach to chinuch, it’s actually teaching your children the wrong definition of fairness entirely — one that will keep them competing for your love instead of resting securely in it.
The Definition of Fair Your Child Was Born With
In Israel, Rabbi Kelemen points out, there’s a phrase children reach for constantly: “zeh lo fair” — that’s not fair. And when you listen to what a child actually means by it, the definition is simple and universal: fair means everyone gets the same thing. Same portion, same amount of time, same gift, same everything. It’s the most natural accounting system in the world, and nearly every child arrives at it on their own.
The problem is that it’s not how good parenting — or good relationships of any kind — actually work. Rabbi Kelemen offers a different, deeper definition that he says parents need to actively teach their children, because it doesn’t come naturally: fair means every child gets what they need, when they need it.
Think about it in concrete terms. One child’s shoes develop holes. That child gets new shoes. Nobody else does, because nobody else needs them — yet. And here’s the key: the other children aren’t resentful, as long as they trust one thing completely — that when their shoes get holes, they’ll get new shoes too. The security doesn’t come from identical treatment today. It comes from confidence that their turn, their need, will be met when it arises.
Why This Matters So Much More With Attention Than With Shoes
Shoes are the easy example. Attention is the real test. Every family goes through stretches where one child needs dramatically more from a parent than the others — a hard year at school, a medical issue, a new baby who simply cannot regulate itself without being held. In those seasons, the other children will notice. They may even say it out loud: “You spend more time with him than with me.”
Rabbi Kelemen’s answer is not to engineer artificial equality — to set a timer and give each child exactly the same number of minutes regardless of what’s actually happening in their lives. His answer is to give generously, child by child, according to what each one needs right now, while making sure every child in the house knows, bone-deep, that this is simply how the household runs. When they are the one going through something hard, they will get the extra time. That’s the deal. That’s the security.
And he adds a correction that’s worth sitting with. Parents and teachers often dismiss a child’s bid for attention by saying, “She’s just doing that because she wants attention” — as if wanting attention were a character flaw to be managed or ignored. Rabbi Kelemen points out how strange that framing really is. It’s the equivalent of saying, “She’s just doing that because she wants oxygen.” A child who doesn’t get attention doesn’t shrug it off — developmentally, attention is as close to a survival need as food and shelter. Needing it isn’t manipulation. It’s childhood.
What This Looks Like on an Ordinary Tuesday
Picture two siblings, ages six and nine. The nine-year-old is studying for a big test and needs forty-five focused minutes with a parent each evening this week. The six-year-old, noticing the extra time, announces that it’s “not fair.” Under the “same for everyone” model, the tempting fix is to carve out exactly forty-five minutes for the six-year-old too, whether or not there’s anything particular to do with it — just to keep the peace.
Under Rabbi Kelemen’s model, the parent instead says something closer to: “You’re right, your sister is getting extra time with me this week because of her test. Last month, when you had your performance coming up, you got extra time too — remember? And next time you need something big, you’ll get it.” Then, separately and just as generously, the six-year-old still gets his own real, present, undistracted attention — just not identical minutes stacked up against a spreadsheet. The goal isn’t to make the ledger balance today. It’s to make the relationship trustworthy over time.
Three Ways to Put This Into Practice This Week
1. Retire the stopwatch. If you’re currently tracking minutes or dollars between siblings to keep things “even,” try naming the real principle out loud instead: “In our house, everyone gets what they need when they need it — not the same thing at the same time.” Say it calmly, say it often, and watch how quickly children absorb a rule once they hear it repeated without apology.
2. Narrate the pattern, not just the moment. When one child gets extra attention or a new pair of shoes, briefly remind the others of a time they received the same generosity. This is what builds the trust account: not a single reassurance, but a visible track record a child can point to.
3. Never dismiss a bid for attention as “just wanting attention.” The next time you’re tempted to use that phrase, swap in the oxygen test: would you say a child is “just” breathing because they want air? If the answer makes you smile, you’ve found the more honest response — give the attention, rather than naming it as a flaw to be outgrown.
The Security You’re Actually Building
Children who grow up under the “everyone gets the same” model often grow into adults who keep score — in marriage, in friendships, in the workplace — because that’s the only definition of fairness they were ever taught. Children who grow up trusting that their needs will be met, even when someone else’s needs are being met first, grow into adults who can wait their turn without feeling erased. That’s not a small difference. That’s the difference between a household that runs on anxious competition and one that runs on quiet trust.
The next time you hear “that’s not fair” from the back seat, you don’t have to scramble to equalize the scoreboard. You just have to make sure the promise behind it — your turn is coming — has always, always been kept.
If you’d like more of Rabbi Kelemen’s teachings on raising secure, resilient children straight from the source, join the inner circle at lawrencekelemen.com.
This blog was co-written with Artificial Intelligence.