When a child drops out, the parental heart is filled not only with sorrow, but also with burning social shame and self-flagellation. We analyze every step in the past and ask where we went wrong, convinced that we have grown moldy fruit in our garden. But does the boy's choice really indicate a parental failure, or should we learn to let go of the guilt in order to save what is left and give love? • Rabbi Ami Baram in a special article
The day after the discovery of the rift brings with it a heavy cloud of immense pain, but alongside it arises an equally destructive emotion, which is the emotion of shame. Haredi parents, whose entire lives were founded on building a home in the manner of Yisrael Saba for the glory of the family and the community, suddenly find themselves walking down the street with downcast eyes.
Does the difficulty of walking into the teachers' lounge or entering the synagogue stem solely from the child's regret? Not always. Often, it stems from the difficult feeling that we, the parents, have failed in our greatest mission in life.
We begin to rewind the tape of our lives, and every event, argument, and educational comment is examined under a magnifying glass of self-flagellation. We ask where we went wrong, did we push him too hard to learn, and did we not show enough warmth and love?
This guilt gnaws at our souls, and it is fed by the false social cliché that the apple never falls far from the tree. We torment ourselves with the feeling that we have grown "fruit of despair," and that we always bear full responsibility for the rebellion of the boy who changed his ways.
But here, precisely at this painful point, we must set a clear psychological and religious boundary. The therapeutic concept of "separation" teaches us that our child is an independent being, with desires, passions, experiences, and choices that are beyond our control. This can be supported by the words of the sages in the well-known rule that states that "everything is in the hands of Heaven except the fear of God." When the sages said these words, they also meant the fear of God in our children.
We can and should provide the best education, sow the seeds, water and nurture, but the final choice of which path to take lies solely in the hands of the adult child.
Imagine a very dedicated gardener who has invested all his strength, wealth, and energy in cultivating a rare fruit tree, providing it with the finest and best fertilizer. One day, suddenly a fierce storm breaks out, an evil wind that is not found, and uproots the tree from its place. Was the gardener's work careless and can we accuse him of failure? Of course not, because the storm is actually a superior external force or a very strong current that overpowered the tree despite his dedication.
This is exactly how we should view our investment in education. After all, we gave it our all with all our heart, we tried with all our might, but the turmoil of the mind, traumatic life events, a corrupt society, and the other temptations of the generation simply overwhelmed and swept everything away.
But does releasing guilt mean complete exemption from mental calculation? Of course not. There is a huge distance between paralyzing and tormenting guilt and courageous and sober reflection. Removing the burden of shame is precisely intended to free up our mental resources to examine honestly: Was there something in our upbringing or in the quality of the relationship that contributed to this distancing? Have we sometimes fallen into excessive strictness, uncompromising rigidity, or insufficient attention to the child's unique emotional needs?
Such an inquiry is not intended to deepen despair, but rather the opposite – it reminds us that the foundation of Judaism is that as long as the candle burns, it is never too late to make amends. Amendments are not history, they are the present; and we can choose a new path at any moment that will change the face of the future.
The great danger of parental guilt is that it shifts the focus from the child to us. When we act out of shame, we respond out of a wounded ego rather than out of the emotional needs of the hurting child. We may take out our frustration on him, become angry with him for ruining our family image, humiliate him, and further distance him from connecting to tradition and the sweetness of Torah.
Self-flagellation is not a measure of pure piety, but a corrupting tool that saps the mental strength we need now more than ever. We must release shame in order to free ourselves for love.
To save the relationship, we must make a complete separation between our identity as worthy parents and the path the child has chosen to follow. We are good parents who have tried, given our lives, and we still love him very much. Once we remove the heavy bag of guilt from our backs, we will be able to look into our child's eyes from a clean place, a place that is forgiving, non-judgmental, and not defensive at all. Only from this liberated and loving place can a channel of true 'connection' and honest dialogue be created at eye level.
The importance of creating a responsible, balanced, and close-knit dialogue with the child is the cornerstone in rebuilding the bridge - and we will address this important topic, which requires in-depth study and practical tools from both sides of life, in the following articles.
Our home must continue to be a safe haven of acceptance and inclusion for him at all times. Let us not let social shame lock the door of the house, and leave it wide open, because deep love that does not depend on anything is the only medicine and the only bridge over which he will be able, one day, to walk back to your home without any fear or apprehension.
Always remember that even when the child leaves our community, he remains part of the family. Hold on to this love always. It is the only key to the long-awaited correction for which we pray every day with all our hearts.
• Rabbi Ami Baram is the founder and CEO of the association 'Connection - Believers Together'.
