“It is crucial that we cultivate the kind of belonging that does not come with a price tag”

Our recent cover story about the pressures of materialism and shifting definitions of “normal” is still generating ongoing, thought-provoking, and passionate responses. Below is a sampling.

BACK TO BASICS › Esther Kurtz, creator of Emunah for Non-Rebbetzins

The entire discussion of people extending themselves financially and how people need to cut back, stop looking at others, live within their means, say no to their kids, etc., are dollar-store Band-Aids that fall off at the slightest friction.

When someone is told this, you’re essentially telling them they’re a loser. You’re cutting to their core identity, what it means to be successful in this world, telling them they haven’t made it, and they should stop pretending to. Why would anyone stop pretending if their identity was at stake?

The solution needs to go a lot deeper. Why are externals and materialism markers of success? What are our society’s values (not what we’re supposed to think, but what our actions reflect)? We live in a frum culture (culture is the key word. Don’t confuse culture with Torah and Yiddishkeit) that is infused, overtaken really, by Western values.

We need to go back to basics. Why did Hashem create the world? Why are we here? What is my individual role and tachlis? When someone can clearly articulate these answers for themselves (after much reflection and work), then a lot of societal pressure falls away.

Learning and internalizing classic seforim on mussar and bitachon can help people recalibrate themselves to Torah values. The allure of “more” lessens through learning, and when we feel ourselves beckoned by the latest “everyone is…,” chazarah puts us back on track. Mass solutions rarely work; we all need to take ownership of ourselves, develop our own true “zich,” and the problem won’t need solving — it will resolve itself.

DON’T FIT IN, BELONG › Shmueli Goldman

When I was greeted by a familiar plastic-wrapped package on my front steps three weeks ago, I found myself immediately drawn to the bold cover text: “The Price of Belonging.” In just four words, Mishpacha’s all-star team managed to convey the seeming impossibility of a pressing societal conundrum.

On the one hand, we humans are wired with a deep and powerful drive to belong. And on the other, so many of us desperately pursuing that very belonging find it inextricably bound to financial overwhelm.

I expected to see this angle addressed inside the magazine, and I was excited to see how it would be approached. But after reading through the engaging, informative, and insightful articles, I was disappointed to find that the topic of belonging didn’t quite find its place beyond the succinct text on the magazine’s cover.

While the first two rounds of responses and follow-ups added much clarity and context to this multifaceted communal challenge, they did little to alleviate my festering disappointment. So I decided to share my thoughts.

I believe that as long as we accept the possibility that belonging can wear a price tag, we are making the tragic mistake of confusing belonging with fitting in. The way I see it, belonging means earning my place by showing up as myself, connecting to others as myself, and contributing to the group in a way that is uniquely me. This kind of belonging is deeply satisfying and builds strong connections and communities.

Conformity, or fitting in, demands that I earn communal approval by silencing my true self to be like everyone else and sacrificing meaningful connection in favor of superficial comparison. When I’m finished silencing and sacrificing, I’m left with no unique contribution to offer, plus a painful ache to be different in some way.

When we travel this path to fitting in, the only way to be different is to be better. And when that path starts getting crowded, it triggers a never-ending competition carousel, sending communal standards into orbit.

The road to belonging, on the other hand, allows us to be accepted as ourselves — not despite our differences, but because of them. The successful and the struggling can coexist calmly. They can like each other. They can happily attend simchahs that are far above or below their own financial capacity without feeling pressure or derision.

Fitting in is about performance. Belonging is about people.

The best way I can illustrate this is with my experience as a staff member in sleepaway camp. Every summer, there are boys who come to camp trying to fit in. They are closed, anxious, sometimes defensive, and often negative toward other kids. Slowly, they realize that nobody is judging them, and that in camp, we embrace and celebrate individuality. They start to relax and let themselves out of the tightly sealed cocoon they arrived in. They begin to flourish and thrive — laughing easily with their friends, belting out zemiros on Shabbos, and excitedly participating in activities and performances. Watching this metamorphosis take place is one of my absolute favorite parts of being in camp, and it’s a perfect example of this subtle yet transformational shift from fitting in to belonging.

Crunching the numbers is obviously a part of this process (not my forte). But if there are families among us who struggle to say no simply because they have no other way to belong, it is crucial that we cultivate the kind of belonging that does not come with a price tag.

JUST SAY NO › Anonymous

Regarding the frum community’s relationship with money, one point often brought up is the idea that “you don’t want your kid to be the only one without xyz…” or “If the whole class has it….”

Do you think that children who know that their parents will give in when that say, “the whole class has it,” will magically mature into adults who can live within their means?

It’s a Stanley when they’re in fifth grade. It’s a Canada Goose coat when they’re in tenth. And it continues on to lavish simchahs and vacations when they are adults, whether or not they can afford it.

If you constantly give in to your kids, then you teach them that fitting in is more important than being financially responsible. I think most people can agree that there is a time and place to invest money in making sure your child fits in, in order not to make them resentful, but that doesn’t mean all of the time. Every mature adult has the duty to responsibly live within their means. Saying “I have no choice,” “This is what’s done,” “All my friends…” is an acceptable excuse for a five-year-old, not a 50-year-old.

That means that if we can’t afford to go to Florida for midwinter break, we won’t (and we will still do something fun and make great memories). Raising kids without a backbone, without the ability to say no to themselves, and without the concept of “some people are rich, some people are not, and that’s okay,” is just asking for failure.

WHAT YOU CAN’T BUY › A Mother

Thank you for the courage it took to publish your recent feature article, “Unsustainable.” It if makes people pause, that pause alone can change a trajectory. Even for those not yet ready to make different choices, you offered something just as important: permission and space to question.

Your feature stirred a memory I’ve carried for over 30 years. I attended Bnos Chava Seminary, and at the start of the year our school hosted a Simchas Beis Hashoeivah for several seminaries. When we returned to class after Succos, we met Mrs. Birnbaum, our Chumash teacher, for the first time — with a Ha’amek Davar in hand. She told us her opening would be different this year than her standard classic.

She had noticed something striking: At the Simchas Bais Hashoeivah we were all wearing the same vest, the same headband, the same jewelry, the same skirt. This was long before seminaries had uniforms — though in that moment, it felt like we did....

Then she said something I think of far more often than many teachings I learned that year: Tzniyus is not conformity.

In trying so hard not to stand out, she explained, we had all disappeared. Yet we were trying so hard to be noticed in a sea of sameness that drowned out our individuality. She shared how sometimes, when we attempt to define ourselves by appearance and possessions, we don’t expand who we are — instead, we actually limit it.

The pressure today is real, weighing on parents and children alike. And often, without realizing it, parents move from giving with a full heart to giving in.

Permit me to share a story of possibility — and reality.

We are not in a league to compete. We are struggling with basics. And in some ways, the struggle others feel may be even heavier when one can afford something but must ask whether one should.

Camp, for example, is not a given for us. We cannot send all our children every year. Different children have gone in different years. They wish it were otherwise — but they accept it, and are happy for the sibling whose turn it is.

We share what we can. Luggage. Fans. The major expense was the first year. We give a budget and invite our children into the conversation: more Shabbos outfits, fewer weekday ones; pricier T-shirts, but fewer overall. Camp clothes get ruined anyway. Stripes still look like stripes from last year — but that’s a separate discussion.

When I picked my daughter up from the bus at the end of the summer, she was the only girl not wearing the camp sweatshirt. I joked that it must be in the laundry.

She looked at me and said quietly, “No, Mommy. I understood you couldn’t get me one.”

I was confused. I had ordered one.

She explained that when she arrived at camp, she was the only girl who didn’t have one. She never asked the camp for it — because she wasn’t questioning us and had accepted.

That was a hard year for our family. My husband’s business had closed. I would have loved to shield her from that reality, but some things can’t be hidden. I cried — not for what we didn’t have, but for what we did. It must have been incredibly hard for her to see what everyone else had. And yet she carried something many girls her age don’t: understanding.

If everything we went through gave her that sense of self, that steadiness, that ability to hold complexity without resentment — then it was worth it. She’ll take that with her for life. By the way, she still had the most incredible summer.

I didn’t choose financial difficulty. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I do wonder — can we teach these lessons when things are going well? Can we model values before hardship forces them?

Thank you for opening this conversation. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give our children isn’t what we buy — but what we show them about who they are without it.

DON’T CLONE › Tehila Lipschutz, Denver, CO

Understandably, the typical communal response to escalating standards is to tamp them down by enacting takanos for simchahs and rules for schools and camps. While this well-intentioned reaction brings short-term relief, I believe it strengthens the mindset that encourages people to live beyond their means.

One benefit of living out of town is that there is less of a need for such rules. Families vacation where they want, birthday and bas mitzvah parties are allowed, and bar mitzvahs can range from a home-cooked seudah to a destination getaway. And rather than feeling pressured from the wealthy kids in the class or from attending an upscale party, kids are introduced at a young age to the concept of a socioeconomic spectrum, and that each family chooses to spend differently. This sort of lived experience, coupled with parenting that is neither bitter nor judgmental towards other people’s lifestyle choices, inoculates kids to some extent from “keeping up with the Joneses” and prepares them for real life.

Conversely, imposing equality (for example, by requiring a camp “uniform,” banning bas mitzvah parties, etc.) unintentionally reinforces the perception that “if everyone else has it, I should, too.” When girls look nearly identical in camp, we haven’t taught them sensitivity and simplicity. We’ve simply kicked the can down the road. Why, then, are we surprised when young adults have expectations of pushing luxury strollers and dressing kids from expensive boutiques since “everyone does it,” even if that standard is disconnected from their financial reality? After all, we’ve taught them (through the best-intentioned rules to alleviate social pressure) the expectation that all families should live on the same standard, and that they aren’t reasonably expected to not buy into a trend unless someone makes a rule rejecting it for them.

May all of Klal Yisrael have the strength to raise families with clarity, confidence, and common sense.

STRETCHED TO THE LIMIT › Anonymous

For the past few weeks, I’ve been following some of the conversations in your publication revolving around the financial challenges that the frum community faces today. I would like to point out one recurring theme: the concept of stretching ourselves to spend more money on our teenagers so that they “fit in.”

While a teenager’s confidence is certainly important to consider, it is important to realize the inherent message we’re giving our children. The message is: “I am willing to stretch and put myself in an uncomfortable situation so that you can be happy.”

If you think this sounds altruistic, please consider what these teenagers will look like a few years down the line. These teenagers turn into the young adults who expect their parents to support them regardless of their financial abilities, girls who expect their husbands to come up with money for an eternity band because “everyone else” has one, or young men who go into credit card debt to host a kiddush that will impress the neighbors. When you spend more on the shoes that you cannot really afford, you’re teaching your child that it’s okay to spend money on the wig that she cannot really afford. It’s our job to make sure that our children are respectably taken care of, but it’s also vital to teach our children how to be emotionally healthy adults regardless of their material status.

OPEN THE DISCUSSION › M.K., England

Thank you for covering the “elephant in the room” that we’ve all tiptoed around for far too long — the unsustainable financial pressures we seem to perpetuate rather than remedy. Permit me to add a bit to the mix:

Just because we have done something doesn’t mean we have to continue to do so if it no longer makes sense. (For example, chocolate chips have risen dramatically in price so I’ve been using recipes that don’t call for them.) Times change, and we have to change accordingly. The price of a portion of food per person at a wedding has risen dramatically, so who says we have to hold big dinners? Perhaps it’s time to look at alternative structures for these events (e.g., different categories of guests such as neighbors or coworkers invited to sheva brachos rather than the seudah). Weddings in 1926 looked one way, as per the needs of the time; now, in 2026, is it not time to change things again in line with the actual circumstances on the ground?

I know of at least one UK community in which the majority of families receive hachnassas kallah assistance in making a chasunah. Does that make sense? Help should be available for the few who cannot manage — once this becomes the majority, it means the system is no longer working.

But how do you make your child be the one who cuts back on their chasunah or doesn’t begin married life in Eretz Yisrael, which is an expense most parents can little afford? Is it fair? Will it affect their chances of shidduchim? These are extremely relevant questions for an issue too big and problematic to leave as is.

Perhaps parents can begin the discussion with their children before they enter shidduchim, letting them know what recourses are available and showing them, for example, how they could give more for a down payment if they configure the wedding differently.

As for bochurim and sem girls: If you’re reading this, know that your parents love you so much that they’re reluctant to open the discussion. So how about you turn the tables and approach your parents with what you are willing to do differently? Removing an enormous financial burden from your parents is something you’ll only be more and more grateful that you did, as you mature and appreciate the ramifications of such a gesture.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1095)