Whether you agreed or disagreed with Allison, there was so much to learn from the ensuing conversation. The final round of responses is below

Allison Josephs’s piece “Healing from Within,” which posited that children grow distant from Yiddishkeit due to a lack of secure parental attachment, drew sustained and impassioned feedback. Whether you agreed or disagreed with Allison, there was so much to learn from the ensuing conversation. The final round of responses is below

Because She Gives Them Solace //  E. W.

I was interested in reading Allison Josephs’ article on healing the hurt felt by OTD kids. I have tremendous respect for Allison and the good work she does. My comments are not intended to detract from her incredible success and life full of chesed.

I was looking forward to reading how we, as a society, could reach out to those who were raised in Orthodox homes and currently feel alienated from Orthodox Judaism. I was dismayed to see the presentation of anecdotal evidence to support a hypothesis regarding the reason why people stop practicing Orthodox Judaism. There are many reasons why children do not follow their parents’ paths or remain observant Jews. While I don’t doubt that some people leave Orthodoxy because of a mother’s (or father’s) emotional neglect, it would be unfair to those who feel religiously ambivalent or alienated and to their families to point to a single cause. It invalidates all those who identify other reasons behind their choices.

There are many reasons why people feel disenfranchised, those reasons we know about and probably some we have yet to discover. I know several young adults who are no longer frum and have always enjoyed and continue to enjoy very close relationships with their emotionally present and attentive families. Psychologists who have worked on cases with me have mentioned the incredible bond between some parents and their religiously uncommitted teens and young adults. Those teens were not, by any stretch of the imagination, victims of parental emotional neglect or weak attachment. Mothers have been described as their daughter’s best friend, rock, or anchor by their irreligious teens and adult children as well as by therapists of the teens.

I wonder whether Allison’s ability to exude warmth attracts those who may be craving emotional connection. Instead of assuming that all people leave Orthodoxy for the same reason, perhaps we should consider the possibility that people who have left Orthodoxy because of attachment issues or parental emotional neglect find solace when talking to Allison and her team.

On a different note, I would like to suggest that we stop using the term OTD to describe people who are no longer Torah observant. While it’s convenient to label groups, in this case, the label further alienates the people we are trying to bring close to us and Torah observance.

This idea came directly from a relative who is no longer frum. It makes her feel “othered” and not part of religious society. It is a clear and easy way to create categories of “them” and “us” instead of “all of us.” If we really care deeply about someone’s religious (or irreligious) path, what would be most effective to build connections — placing them in a separate group or recognizing that they are very much a part of Klal Yisrael and keeping them as close as we can?

Haven for a Seeking Soul // Name Withheld

IT was past 1:30 a.m. when I went into the holy room of the Skulener Rebbe zy”a, together with my esteemed wife. The whole city was enveloped in a deep sleep, but here, with the Rebbe, there was no difference between night and day. The Rebbe was busy with his holy work, and as usual, he welcomed us with his saintly and bright smile that in and of itself was enough to infuse our broken hearts with strength.

With loads of patience and an open heart, the Rebbe listened like a devoted father as we told him about the difficulties we were going through with our beloved daughter who has, unfortunately, strayed from the path of Torah and mitzvos.

We told the Rebbe about the tremendous heart-warming love that we shower upon her, the support we show her, and how we make it clear at all times that she remains our daughter despite her outer appearance. All of this takes place amid tremendous hardship, with oceans of tears, continued heartache, and also countless obstacles placed in our path by our family and our friends who question and criticize our mehalech.

Tears streamed from the Rebbe’s eyes, but his essence, his smile, shone upon us like the warm glow of the sun. The questions we placed before the Rebbe were “Why? Why us? What does the Eibeshter want from us parents? Why did the Ribbono shel Olam determine that we must endure the worst of pains, the most horrific physical and emotional torment that a father and mother can possibly endure?” (For those who don’t know, yes, it is by far, much, much worse, than having a child with the worst physical sickness.)

The Rebbe’s smile didn’t leave his radiant face and the tears didn’t stop flowing from his eyes. His warm, silk-like hands held my own hands and he shook his head lightly while my wife poured out her broken heart.

The Rebbe is in his elder years and his voice is weak, but his holy answer came forth strong and clear, piercing our hearts, which glowed and flickered like burning coals.

“The Bashefer knows whom to choose for this holy task,” said the Rebbe. “Geb a kik, take a look, these neshamos come down to this world for a role that is unknown to us. We don’t understand it. The calculations are from above, among the final nisyonos before Mashiach’s arrival. Never before was there such a phenomenon that thousands of children from the most beautiful homes, from parents who gave them the best upbringing, the best chinuch, should fall away like this. But we believe that Hashem has an exact calculation and a goal. He wants it to be this way.”

The Rebbe continues: “Hashem’s ways are hidden, but it is possible that Hashem derives more pleasure from these children that are in the deepest of places, than from any of our spiritual work. Even little things that these children give away for Hashem in their low situations, even a thought, a krechtz [a sigh] to Hashem, can cause a big effect above, a pleasure before Hashem, a nachas ruach, even more than our davening Ne’ilah and our eating matzah!”

The Rebbe then reveals the shocking truth. “Hashem doesn’t trust these holy neshamos to just anyone. Before they come down to this world, Hashem carefully chooses parents He can trust, parents who will protect this soul that he gives them on loan even though it will come accompanied with so many difficulties, both material and spiritual.

“Sadly, not all parents have the strength to withstand this nisayon, this test, and we can’t judge them. The pain and emotional agony are very, very strong. Sometimes, there are people from the family or from the community who make the test even harder, and sometimes it is the other children in the house who make it hard for the parents to do the ratzon Hashem, the will of Hashem.

“But how good it is for you, now and forever, that you are the ones Hashem chose. He looked down from above, before this neshamah came down to this world, and He looked for a father and a mother He could trust with this child, and He chose you! He knew that you will have the strength to guard this neshamah, and you are providing it with such strength.”

And then the Rebbe looked me in the eye and said: ‘’I’m jealous of you!”

The Rebbe gave us his holy brachos and we went out of his room. We hadn’t yet properly digested the Rebbe’s deep words when the gabbai called us back, saying that the Rebbe wanted to add something.

We went back into the room and the Rebbe smiled and said:

“You shouldn’t think that my words were just to give you chizuk, just to strengthen you in your difficult situation. This is the whole truth, and I will prove it to you. What would your parents have done if chas v’shalom one of their children had strayed from the Yiddishe path?”

I answered the Rebbe that my parents would surely have thrown this child out of their home and cut off all contact.

Then, the Rebbe turned to my wife and asked, “What would your parents have done if chas v’shalom one of their children dressed like your daughter dresses today?”

My wife replied that her parents wouldn’t have been able to survive and they couldn’t have kept the child home.

“And would your siblings go out into the street with a daughter who doesn’t dress modestly?” the Rebbe asked further.

“Surely not,” my wife answered.

The Rebbe continued: “So you have the answer yourself. Surely your parents are very fine Yidden, but they wouldn’t have been able to pass this nisayon, this test. They don’t have the strength for this specific test, and therefore Hashem didn’t give it to them — but not because they raised their children better than you, not because they davened for good children better than you, this is not the reason that they don’t have such a child. Hashem has chosen you because He trusts you. He knows that you have the strength to pass this test and guard this precious loan that He gave you, and shower it with love and support it with devotion, despite all the hardships.”

Silent but Toxic Impact // Raizy Jotkowitz

AS the sister of a number of OTD siblings, I was fascinated by Allison Josephs’s Counterpoint piece and the responses to it.

The line from this letter — “Our own parents were second-generation Holocaust survivors… and they were not perfect parents. Neither are we. We each bring with us unideal patterns of behavior and significant character flaws” — touches on something that isn’t talked about enough: the impact of the Holocaust on the emotional health of the subsequent generations, especially in the framework of the family.

I believe it would be of tremendous benefit to the frum community if resources were dedicated to researching this impact and developing interventions specifically geared to improving the emotional wellbeing of second-, third-, and even fourth-generation survivors, and providing us with tools to help us handle stress better, to make us better parents, and to help us process the difficult stories we grew up hearing.

When Love is not Enough // Name Withheld

I was saddened to read Allison Josephs’s op-ed piece attributing the phenomenon of OTD kids to attachment trauma. Saddened because Mishpacha, which has championed deeper and more compassionate understanding of so many stigmatized causes such as addiction and mental illness, veered into victim-blaming. Saddened because Allison, who has crusaded for nuanced representation of Orthodox Jews in the media rather than stereotyped portrayals, engaged in a prejudiced generalization. Saddened because a multifaceted, complex, and painful issue was addressed as having one obvious cause.

Developmental or attachment trauma is a real phenomenon and I don’t want to minimize it — and it surely is one of the causes of the OTD phenomenon (maybe one that organizers of reparative attachment experiences like Makom encounter most commonly). But the reality is that there are many other children struggling due to other factors.

Some children will face challenges even the most loving attachment cannot shield them from: challenges like mental illnesses, learning disabilities, social deficits that result in severe bullying, high-functioning autism or other presentations that make children feel like misfits. There are children who can’t thrive in but actually suffer in our school system. There are those with inborn negative or depressive tendencies that make the child unable to fully recognize the love they’re receiving. There are family challenges and stresses that parents cannot fully prevent or shield their children from, and of course the big one — trauma.

And let’s not forget the impact of the era we live in: Even as emancipation, haskalah, and lack of shomer Shabbos jobs lured thousands from Yiddishkeit in the past, technology is stealing children today.

Parents of children with these issues have typically tried desperately to advocate for their children, have schlepped their children to therapies they could barely afford even while exhausted and busy with myriad responsibilities, spent hours on the phone trying to seek solutions, spent sleepless nights worrying, cried bitter tears into their siddurim.

It’s tempting to feel that we can control our children’s life choices and force specific outcomes with our own behavior; it’s humbling to admit that we need tremendous siyata d’Shmaya to raise good children. Parents of vulnerable or traumatized children try everything but, sadly in some cases, their love is not enough.

Have you seen an eidel, Bais-Yaakov-type mother walking lovingly and unashamedly on the street with her teenage daughter, who sports piercings and tattoos all over her (way-too-exposed) self?

Have you seen a father lovingly give a Friday night brachah to his teenage son whose hair is bare of a yarmulke, who smells of drugs, who has a phone in his pocket?

Have you seen a mother desperately try to wake her depressed teenage son day after day after day, even though she knows that when he wakes up, he’ll go to a setting she’s distraught that he’s in, and then come back from work and smile through her tears for an afternoon attempt — because it’s clinically important for him to have structure in his day?

Have you seen a father bestow gifts and presents and love on his not-frum daughter, even though she’s hurting him on a visceral level?

You may call these parents attachment failures; I call them attachment heroes.

 (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 935)