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t’s no secret that one of the most effective tools in a kiruv professional’s kit is the Shabbos table. With its family warmth, zemiros, and mouth-watering cholent, it’s an emotional draw for many. But for every husband-and-wife team hosting at the Shabbos table, there are often several children, who may not have signed up at the recruitment office. While kiruv rechokim is among a Jew’s most sacred callings, growing up in a home dedicated to outreach is both a privilege and a challenge, say the children from kiruv professionals’ homesiruv homes often reverberate with the joy of Torah, passion for mitzvos, and the thrill of discussing life’s deepest truths.

“Torah and mitzvos were really alive, never taken for granted,” remembers Yocheved Wechsler, whose parents Rabbi Rashi and Rebbetzin Ruthie Simon have been doing kiruv in London for nearly 30 years, who today lead Kesher, a personal-development-focused community shul in Golders Green. “It was something we were so proud of, we just had to transmit it. It wasn’t a pressure, but simply an expectation we wanted to live up to.”

In a kiruv home, kids imbibe answers to life’s tough questions along with their mother’s milk; the knowledge awaits them even before the questions occur to them.

“Growing up in a kiruv house is amazing because you know why you’re doing things. There are questions teens don’t think of asking, but we heard our parents discuss these things with students,” says Shira Klatzko Freedman, who spent much of her childhood on the UCLA campus, where her father, mekarev Rabbi Bentzion Klatzko, was a campus rabbi. “I never felt the desire to go off the derech or wondered where Hashem is, because I knew the answers to all the hard questions. I could deliver the class to myself in my sleep!”

The chinuch isn’t only intellectual, though. There’s no better real-time education in ahavas Yisrael than seeing your parents spend their every waking moment giving to the community.

Daniella*, whose family lived on the outskirts of their midwestern town’s Jewish community, credits her parents’ open home with teaching her to interact positively with all kinds of people. As an ambassador of Torah, she had to be especially careful to make a welcoming impression on visitors. “When you talk with less-religious guests, you show them you’re normal — not crazy people who eat gefilte fish.”

A watershed moment for Daniella was when she realized what an important role her family played in dispelling misconceptions. A family they hosted had never met any frum people. After about three years, one of the guests asked, “Wait, you’re Orthodox? I had no idea.”

In addition to sharing the beauty of our heritage with the less-knowledgeable, children in kiruv homes get to see its luster through newcomers’ eyes.

“Frum kids going through the system find it cool to see people who are successful, financially comfortable, living the complete American dream, but are nevertheless seeking more,” says Mrs. Ruchi Koval, who founded Congregation JFX, an innovative kiruv center in Cleveland. “They find it very inspiring, they’re thirsty for stories like that. It can bolster their emunah when they see that the people we attract are accomplished, intelligent, and successful — they’re not coming because something’s not working in their lives.”Shira experienced this first hand. “We got the advantages of being baalei teshuvah without ever being off the derech. We saw there’s nothing better than what we have. People from outside are choosing to spend their Friday nights in our dining room — they’re coming here, this is clearly the place to be.”

Being the kiruv kid came with other perks, too. Daniella and Yocheved both have fond memories of the lavish birthday parties their fathers’ students hosted, the munificent bas mitzvah gifts bestowed on the rabbis’ kids, the pools wealthy donors would let them use, and Aish HaTorah trips to Israel for the whole family. When their families would host events for the community, the kids always got to partake in the fun.

“My earliest memory is coming home from school to find a program going on, and getting to choose pastries,” says Yocheved. A small thing, certainly, but these little things can help kids see their parents’ roles as a privilege rather than a burden.

Far From the Familiar

Reaching out to unaffiliated Jews on their home turf often entails living arrangements that can be hard on both kids and adults. Isolation and distance from an established frum community take a toll on families.

“The hardest part was not having Jewish neighbors,” recalls Shira. “Our closest frum neighbors were miles away.”

On the plus side, the Klatzko family contained many built-in playmates, even if they were boys. “We played with each other. If I heard someone saying she’d fought with a sibling, I’d think ‘How can you fight with your siblings?’ If you fought, there’d be no one to play Monopoly with.” Even now that the Klatzkos live in a bustling Jewish community, the family remains unusually tight-knit, which Shira attributes to their years of being there for each other.

With no frum families around, not only did the Klatzkos have no playmates, they also had no minyan. Shira remembers walking three miles each way on Shabbos morning to shul in LA, from as young an age as seven or eight. “We’d walk straight through Hollywood sets, cameras rolling, while my father would tell us insanely imaginative stories. I was always very impressed by how devoted he was to coming up with his plots — he almost treated it like a job.”

Only later did Shira realize that her father invested so much in the stories in order to distract the family from the immodesty and Shabbos desecration they passed. “In a way, we were very lucky that the closest shul was so far away, because we cherished the walk with my father,” she reflects.

Access to appropriate schools is among the greatest challenges faced by parents in the kiruv field. When the Simon children were young, the family spent seven years living in trendy Little Venice, far from the established frum community, running the JLE, a 24/7 kiruv organization they’d founded. When faced with a choice between a local school with lower religious standards, or an arduous commute to schools more in keeping with their values, Ruthie says her parents made the choice to drive the distance. They preferred to model acceptance of all Jews at home rather than have the kids pick up the values of tolerance and diversity from their friends — along with other dubious outlooks, pastimes, and topics of conversation.

Does having neighbors who lead a far more permissive lifestyle breed jealousy or resentment?

Most found that it did not. Despite being surrounded by irreligious or non-Jewish peers, Shira does not remember coveting their freedom; her parents had worked to imbue their children with appreciation for the richness of their own heritage. “We had it better than them — they had a knock-off version,” she remembers thinking. “We didn’t think of their lifestyle as more permissive because there wasn’t anything we wanted that we weren’t getting. I noticed that they weren’t particularly happy. I was aware that my life had much more purpose.”

Occasionally, it was the kiruv families who were the object of others’ envy. Ruthie remembers a lighter moment when her daughter was invited to play at the home of a student who lived in a wealthy area, with loads of toys and material abundance. Since the host family’s kashrus was not yet up to the Simons’ standards, Ruthie sent her daughter with an instant noodle soup for lunch. The mother later called Ruthie with an urgent request: Her kids were clamoring for soups like that, and she had no idea where to find them. “A home that had a sous chef and the finest of everything wanted our noodle soups!” marvels Ruthie. “Not our healthiest influence, but I like to think we provided more lasting nourishment for the soul.”

Room for All?

Whether in an established community or an outpost in the religious hinterlands, most kiruv families host regularly, and that can be challenging for growing kids.
Because she’d often had to forgo her space and privacy for guests, Shira didn’t intend to go into kiruv. “I felt like I’d had enough, I’d spent enough time giving up my space and privacy, sometimes at the last minute. Being displaced was especially challenging during those crucial teen years when you’re so self-conscious.” Ironically, Shira is the only one of her siblings currently active in kiruv.

Maybe that’s because she remembers the many positive moments, too: “We’d have groups getting stranded on their way upstate, and all of a sudden we’d need to whip up Shabbos for 60 people in an hour and a half. It was a lot of fun. At times I thought I wanted peace and quiet, but then I’d be like, ‘Where are the guests?’”

Aside from sharing space, kiruv families share an even more important commodity: their parents’ time. “I didn’t resent it as a kid, but we were quite aware that our parents’ time belonged to the tzibbur. Even though ‘family first’ was the ideal, it wasn’t always possible. Sometimes, someone needed help now,” recalls Yocheved. But her parents made sure to make it up to the family. “If Shabbos was busy, we’d do something as a family on Sunday. And we sat down to family dinner almost every single night.”

Tali*, whose father was a rabbi in a Jewishly remote city, feels her family’s exposure to lower standards of modesty was unhealthy for her siblings. University students who felt at home with her parents used to come around for kiddush Shabbos day, then stay for a meal, then hang around and shmooze, creating a mixed-gender mingling that her parents wouldn’t have tolerated under other circumstances.

Ruthie acknowledges that striking the delicate balance between being welcoming and but simultaneously shielding your children can be tough. “It’s not always a rosy situation, and things you never dreamed of exposing your kids to can come stealthily through your door,” she says. “Open communication, rather than ignoring or even denying something a child inadvertently heard, saw, or was exposed to, is so important.”

Shira remembers this as something her parents excelled at. “My mother sheltered us in terms of media, entertainment, and what we read and listened to, but she couldn’t shield us from what went on literally outside our door. When we saw something, we were very open and told her everything. If we saw a couple behaving inappropriately, she’d explain, ‘That’s not something frum people do. There are Yidden who weren’t taught like you were. You were lucky grow up like you did — now Tatty will teach these people.”

Kiruv At Home

Carving out private time for family is the single most important thing kiruv professionals can do.

“Raising our own family is kiruv too: They’re the next generation, as much as our students are,” says Ruthie. “We’ve embraced a catchphrase we heard from an early kiruv maestro, about the importance of the EFES Shabbos. Families need periodic Shabbasos with EFES (zero) guests, which is also an F. S.— Family Shabbos. Also, even when hosting guests, it’s your family’s Shabbos table. Children still need attention, parshah questions, and time with their parents. Talk with your kids. Plan together. A busy kiruv home also needs to be a safe haven for the children.”

Shira agrees that clear communication can be a lifeline for kids who find their parents’ role challenging. “Ask what your kids can handle. Up to 30 guests, but more than that is too much? Or maybe you don’t mind guests for three or four weeks, but then you need a Shabbos off? Children need to know they come first,” she says. If a child says he doesn’t like a specific guest, she encourages parents to pay attention, even if he won’t specify a reason. If a guest behaves inappropriately, children may feel embarrassed to repeat the specifics, so parents need to be alert to their children’s unspoken cues.

Guarding that sacred family time can be challenging, especially in the beginning, says Mrs. Koval. She remembers how difficult it was during her early years in kiruv to cancel a weekly class that came out on Erev Yom Tov. “It was hard to say ‘I can’t, my kids are home.’ I’d think, “Oh no, for them it’s a weekday, they won’t get Torah!’” With time, she realized it was an opportunity to act on her priorities, which could also be a teachable moment.

There is a certain unintended hubris, Mrs. Koval has come to believe, in worrying that someone won’t become frum if you decline a particular hosting or teaching opportunity. “Everyone travels their own journey; you’re only a messenger. No one’s journey will be made or broken because of you — they have bechirah and other influences.” Along with this understanding, she’s practiced saying no without feeling guilty when a certain activity is not right for her family.

Putting family first in a practical way sends a clear message to children that they are their parents’ priority. But actually living this idea is crucial; children can sniff out the faintest whiff of hypocrisy. A mekarev Mrs. Koval knows once took his son to task for missing a minyan. “Tatty, I don’t understand,” protested the teen. “When a guy puts on tefillin once in his life, you make such a party — but when I miss minyan once, it’s a tragedy.”

“Mekarvim should think about the unconditional acceptance they give to kiruv clients, and whether they’re giving their kids the same,” says Mrs. Koval.

Similarly, children of mekarvim need to be treated with the same respect and warmth that their parents extend to guests and students. While most of us have the occasional bad day, but can still summon up a smile when an outsider knocks, the in-home nature of kiruv can accentuate the disparity. “Because of the integration of home and work, they watch you access your good mood for everyone else, but not them. Kids will notice if when you have guests for Shabbos, you go all out with your best food and decor, but on weeks when you don’t have guests you’re grumpy and don’t prepare the same way. They’ll feel it’s a show,” warns Mrs. Koval.

Finally, while taking care of their guests, students, and families, mekarvim must not neglect their own needs. A vibrant, fulfilled parent will uplift the whole home.
“Fill your tank,” says Mrs. Koval. “When you’re happy, in your zone, confident that you’re doing what Hashem wants, the happiness will spill over into the home. But if you’re burnt out and resentful, you need to get out of that job. I don’t care if you’re saving Klal Yisrael, your kids will drink in that bitterness. You might think you’re not radiating the negativity, but kids are psychic. They know and feel everything.”

The Simons made a point of staying strongly connected to the Torah world, with Rabbi Simon heading to the beis medrash every morning after bringing the children to school, and hosting visiting rabbanim when the opportunity arose. Ruthie would use the extensive car time to listen to shiurim, switching to The Marvelous Middos Machine once the children got into the car. Yocheved felt that was an important component in her family’s success in raising committed children. “It helped us remember that even though we’re the rabbi’s family, we’re not the be-all and end-all. We need to stay connected, not just keep giving without replenishing ourselves.”

Apples and Trees

“All of our kids are in kiruv in one way or another,” reflects Sheryl*. “Whatever their current roles — one is a lawyer, another a teacher, and others are in kollel — they go out of their way to explain things to people who know less than them about anything Jewish.”

Observing the trajectories of her peers, Shira notes that the single biggest indicator of whether someone would continue in their parents’ footsteps was their relationship with their father. “If they were close with their fathers, they often wanted the same for their kids. If not, they felt their fathers gave to the whole world except for them. It’s easy for a kiruv father to walk into the trap of giving to the tzibbur and thinking, ‘For sure my child can see how important this is!’ But you still have to take her out for lunch.”

Daniella agrees that it’s the relationship with the parents that determines whether the kids will love or hate kiruv. She remembers being a guest in a different kiruv home, and watching in silent disapproval as the father roughly pushed away his three-year-old, who was interrupting his devar Torah. That three-year-old, Daniella worries, may never see the beauty of reaching out to fellow Jews.

Mrs. Koval points out that children doing the opposite of what their parents do is a pretty common occurrence. Once, when a disgruntled child asked her why they hosted constantly, she told him, “When I was little, I didn’t have many guests and I wanted to.”

“Well, I won’t!” he said defiantly.

“That’s fine, then your kids will,” said Mrs. Koval.

“By and large, the kids are very proud of what we do, even if they personally won’t choose the kiruv lifestyle,” she adds.

Tali, who is now participating in Ner L’Elef’s harbatzas Torah training program, reflects, “Weighing the good and bad, the hard and the difficult, I’ve chosen the same lifestyle for myself and my children. Would I have preferred if some things had been done differently? Yes. A different home? No.”

However, when children don’t follow their parents into the field, it’s often not an ideological statement, Yocheved points out. Kiruv professionals need to stay very current to work with young people, and not everyone can sustain the pace. It’s also not always financially feasible to make kiruv a career; many kiruv organizations prefer to hire only young people, to avoid having to support large families.

In her own family, Yocheved says her siblings used the strengths their parents cultivated in them to blaze their own trails. “All my siblings have tremendous talents for spreading knowledge of Judaism. We’re all comfortable sharing with other people, like my parents taught us. But my parents never pushed that agenda, they just ingrained in us that whatever we do, we need to make a kiddush Hashem.”

Ultimately, whether a person is in a formal kiruv role or simply going about the mundane tasks of everyday life, our role is to embody the Torah’s values and bring credit to the Torah with our every interaction, whether at home, with friends, or among unaffiliated Jews — or any combination that brings those elements together.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 619)

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