To Separate or Not to Separate? Religious Differences Among Couples

I became observant during the first year of marriage. My entire lifestyle changed within a short period, and from being a completely secular person, I became God-fearing and halachically observant. My return to observance, which I presented to my wife as a fait accompli, struck her like a lightning bolt. My routine, my behavior—so much about who I am—underwent a sudden and dramatic change. Predictably, a crisis in our relationship ensued. My transformation and our newly divergent lifestyles led to painful turbulence, deeply threatening the survival of our young family.

God was good to us, and we could ride out the crisis. Today we are both Torah-observant. Yet, while filled with anguish, those painful years taught us how important it is to cultivate and maintain good relations within a family and between spouses even when serious differences arise. Though the gap can seem unbridgeable, our experiences demonstrated that a strong relationship remains possible. Moreover, we believe it is also desirable.

Those painful years taught us just how important it is to cultivate and maintain good relations within a family and between spouses even when serious differences arise

Our journey and the lessons we learned en route led to the founding of our organization, Hitkashrut—Joining Ends at Home. We support couples experiencing similar crises to our own, whereby one spouse becomes observant, or when the opposite happens—one spouse loses his or her faith. We help such couples deal with this complex challenge; with God’s help, we have assisted in salvaging many families and relationships.

During our organization’s early years, our services were primarily sought by secular families in which one spouse became observant, as well as by religious Zionist and Chabad couples wherein one spouse moved in the other direction. But we have recently seen growing numbers of mainstream Charedi couples coming to us for support. Our encounters with such families underscore a major issue facing them, one especially acute in the Charedi community. When a parent decides to leave religion, Heaven forbid, it is common in Charedi society to distance him or her from the children as much as possible. This approach, while intended to protect the children’s spiritual welfare, is deeply harmful, often mortally so, to the fabric of the family. Certainly, the couple’s relationship is compromised beyond repair.

In the present article, I will explain why we object to this approach. I will also suggest an alternative path to navigating these complex situations.

 

Live a Lie or Sever Ties?

Many readers may recall the tragic suicide of Esti Weinstein, which made Charedi headlines in 2016. Weinstein grew up as a Gerrer Chassid and married at 19. Alleging abuse at the hands of her husband, she later left religion and her family. Weinstein was not allowed to see her daughters, who were told their mother had abandoned them.

In the aftermath of the Weinstein affair, several similar stories emerged. For example, Aviva David, a mother of six, claimed she had been kept away from her sons because of her decision to leave religion. Similar cases abound, involving both men and women, where the price of leaving religion (or a specific religious group) can be permanent separation from children.

Today, it seems that a Charedi parent who leaves his or her religious path has limited and tragic options: to stay with his or her family as part of a Charedi community, essentially living a fraudulent or “double” life, or to divorce and be cut off from the children. The latter option entails immense hardship for the remaining spouse and children, who grow up without a father or mother. These children may one day identify religion as a source of tragedy and trauma in their lives and as the reason for the loss of a parent.

Additionally, extreme social and economic difficulties face those who leave the Charedi community, often leading them even further from religion and intensifying the perceived “threat” they present to the family. Most enter the secular world entirely unfamiliar with its culture or language, often finding themselves lacking the basic skills required to provide for themselves and integrate into a new society. These individuals are forced to build their lives from scratch.

The choice is devastating: remain as a “fraud” within a Charedi community or cut ties with it completely

With few resources available, some reach out for support to the Hillel Organization (Ha-Agudah L’Yotzim L’Sheala). Ostensibly, this group lends assistance to individuals facing the challenges outlined above. Yet, its involvement often makes matters worse. Hillel, perhaps meaning well, tends to encourage people who left religion to sever all ties with their old life. Needless to say, this augments the level of friction and deepens the rift between those who leave religion and the families they left behind.

The choice is thus devastating: remain a “fraud” within a Charedi community or cut ties with it completely. Each path leads the individual in question, alongside his or her family, with a life of pain and suffering. Our proposal is that there is another way, a third option. This middle path allows a complex process to unfold while keeping the family unit intact. We envision a future in which the Charedi community will be secure and self-confident enough to include such “mixed families” in its ranks. This will avert much pain and suffering, leave the door open for further healing and strengthening of bonds, and enable the possibility of rediscovering religion for those who left it.

 

The Common Charedi Approach

Before I outline the balanced approach I think can be beneficial, I will first describe the position I am objecting to. We disagree with the view—often the default position in Charedi society—that rejects the possibility of a healthy spousal and family relationship with those who choose to leave religion.

A religious life, writ large, rests on an absolute commitment to Torah, Mitzvos, and halacha, as handed down from previous generations. Throughout our communities and from the youngest age, our children are inculcated to live a life of deep religious observance. This way of life does not consist merely of texts and prescribed or proscribed activities; it represents an intricate fabric encompassing both body and mind in a mesh of values, stories, songs, sensitivities, and more. These, collectively, form the “life of sanctity” we strive for.

Sooner or later, the religious community confronts the following question: How does one navigate the sharp contrast between a devout community that cultivates the aforementioned values and a host culture that does not? This is where the various religious communities diverge. In Israel, the starkest differences are seen between (the greater part of) Charedi and (the greater part of) religious-Zionist society; in the US and elsewhere this may be characterized as Charedi/Yeshivish versus Modern Orthodox. In the Charedi mindset, the optimal (or exclusive) strategy by which to ensure spiritual growth and prosperity is a controlled environment that keeps out the harmful influences of the modern world.

Charedi society thus places great emphasis, often at significant cost, on maintaining a metaphorical fence between the community and general culture. Under such ostensibly pure conditions—it is becoming constantly harder to maintain them—Charedi individuals go about their religious lives with the absolute sense that theirs is the most natural and normal state of being. Conversely, anything different is deficient, misguided, and wrong.

For the Charedi approach, the optimal (or only) strategy that ensures religious growth and prosperity is a controlled environment in which harmful influences of the modern world are kept away. […] [A]nything different is deficient, misguided, and wrong

The Charedi way of life has great advantages: it enables a focused and intense religious experience, one that sees no need to justify itself to its secular neighbors. It provides for complete confidence and pride in a life of Torah. A Charedi Jew views the compromises his modern religious neighbor must accept with great alarm. He believes that exposure to secular culture and thought comes at too great a cost to a life of holiness. His resolve to remain insular and protected is only strengthened by his awareness of the price non-Charedi communities pay for their openness.

But from a different perspective, and among other challenges, this insular approach can cause families to be destroyed when spouses’ religious observances diverge. In my work with such couples, I have witnessed the real pain often experienced in such situations. The common Charedi attitude is that children of the newly observant should avoid contact with their non-religious family, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. Likewise, when one parent abandons religion, a concerted effort is made to cut off the newly secular (or non-Charedi) parent from his or her children.

This approach is backed by a simple rationale: relations with the non-religious parent or relative will harm the child’s religious innocence (and, indirectly, that of his friends and acquaintances). As the Rabbi of Modi’in Ilit, Rabbi Dan Sharvit, explained, “I see before me only the good of the child. If a child grows up as a Charedi his entire life, it is illogical to confuse him just because his mother decided to become secular. Children need stability.” A similar position was expressed by the city of Betar Ilit:

The policy of the city’s welfare department regarding custody is based on concern for the good of the children, to provide protection and stability for children already in a shaky emotional state.

In my opinion, however, such decisions are motivated more by communal fear and insecurity than by the best interests of the child, the family, and even society as a whole. Aspiring for a fully integrated life of holiness, Charedi communities attach great importance to preserving their integrity. One result of this is delegitimizing other ways of life, even those subtly different. By this outlook, acceding to a level encounter with people who live differently, including a parent who is not religious, could grant a degree of legitimacy to other lifestyles. To a culture whose central premise is the preservation of its own integrity, such exposure is dangerous in and of itself.

But will separation from a newly unobservant parent truly protect the stability and mental health of the children? Is such trauma truly for the good of the child? Many cases we are familiar with indicate the exact opposite: Not only does separation not benefit the children; it actually leaves them with deep, enduring mental scars—injuries that ultimately extend to their spiritual futures.

I am convinced that a child raised in a religious community and educated in a religious school will not be harmed by contact with a parent who does not share his way of life. This is certainly the case if the parents are divorced and primary custody is granted to the religious parent. Any loss of innocence resulting from contact with the non-religious parent is well worth the profound psychological benefits such a relationship affords.

[A] child raised in a religious community and educated in a religious school will not be harmed by contact with a parent who does not share his way of life

Below I will propose an alternative approach, one that neither requires compromises in religious observance nor grants legitimacy to secularism but which nevertheless allows for a healthy human relationship between parent and child. Our approach calls for an appreciation of the difference between spiritual and human relationships, distinguishing between the positive attributes and values of every person and those behaviors we wish to disassociate from.

 

Eat the Fruit, Discard the Shell

The Gemara tells us the story of Elisha ben Avuyah, who rejected Torah and became known as Acher [lit. Other], turning his back on God and holiness. Despite this radical (and highly uncommon) departure from the religious straight and narrow, his student Rabbi Meir continued to study with him:

Our Rabbis taught: Acher was once riding a horse on Shabbat, and R. Meir was walking behind him to learn Torah from him. Acher said to him: “Meir, turn back, for I have already measured by the paces of my horse that thus far extends the Shabbat limit.” He replied, “You, too, should go back!” [Acher] answered, “Have I not already told you that I heard from behind the partition, “Return wayward children—except Acher.”

Elisha ben Avuyah is publicly desecrating Shabbos by riding a horse. Rabbi Meir, who loves his former teacher and owes him much, does not reject or ignore him, much less stone him for his transgressions, but rather follows him. Even more surprisingly, he does so “to learn Torah” from him. Rabbi Meir knows and believes that there is still Torah to be learned from his former teacher, even if the latter openly rejects a life of Torah observance. And indeed, we see that Elisha ben Avuyah remains conscious of his Torah, noticing that the two have reached the techum, past which one may not travel on Shabbos.

Rabbi Meir senses in his teacher’s statement a subconscious desire to return to observance. He goes so far as to say this out loud, echoing back to Acher the hidden implication of his instruction. He does not succeed. Acher clings to his apostasy. But the story demonstrates Rabbi Meir’s efforts to remain connected to his former teacher.

Of course, not everyone is Rabbi Meir, and one cannot compare him to a young child who lacks critical faculties and for whom a parent is an influential source of authority. But not everyone who leaves religion is Acher, either. I take a more general message from this story. To me, it embodies wonderfully how a relationship can exist between those who are faithful to religion and those who for whatever reason have chosen to leave it.

Rabbi Meir does not grant legitimacy to his teacher’s way of life. He is of course careful not to violate Shabbos himself. At the same time, he does not avoid contact with Acher. He even sees it as a Mitzvah—if he cannot rekindle his teacher’s Jewish spark, who will? The story also demonstrates that the relationship is not “conditional” on Elisha Ben Avuyah returning to observance. After the story, Acher remains a heretic, but Rabbi Meir also remains his companion.

Preserving one’s connection with his or her parents […] is critical to the emotional foundation upon which one builds a healthy life of Torah and sanctity.

Maintaining a relationship with relatives—siblings, parents, children—who have become distant from God is not important only for those who departed, if only so they do not become entirely detached from their own Jewish world. It is also vital for their observant relatives and for the religious community in general. Our sages taught that derech eretz kadma l’torah, accepted and appropriate worldly conduct precedes Torah. Preserving one’s connection with his or her parents and with our Jewish brothers and sisters, whatever their attitude towards Torah and Mitzvos, is critical to the emotional foundation upon which one builds a healthy life of Torah and sanctity.

 

A Complete Family Life—Including the Gaps

We are proposing a middle path, one that views the crisis at hand as the individual’s personal hashgacha. As believers, we are to see the circumstances facing this family not as a “bug” or “mistake” on God’s part but rather as a challenge beckoning us to further spiritual growth and personal development. Our communities should recognize that a healthy relationship with non-religious relatives is important, not despite the potential threat to the religious person’s avodas Hashem, but rather as a crucial part of it.

We have seen this approach succeed for many who came to us for assistance. One such case involved a Charedi family, both spouses Charedi from birth, in which the father, unfortunately, decided to leave religion. His departure was slow, and he struggled at length with his hesitations, primarily out of fear of hurting his wife and children. This man understood well how significant such a decision would be for their family life.

The couple, who lived in a Charedi neighborhood in Jerusalem, had six small children at that time. On the one hand, the father, not wanting to drag his children into his personal conflict, had no idea how to explain his decision to them. Of course, he also feared losing them entirely. At the same time, he was debilitated by the feeling that he was living a lie, as part of a society that imposed a lifestyle he did not desire. As a Kollel student, he felt the walls of his world closing in on him. His wife had sensed her husband’s faith weakening and knew he was changing. Finally, they confronted a life-changing crisis when he decided he could hide no longer and chose to share his struggles with her.

[T]he father, not wanting to drag his children into his personal conflict, had no idea how to explain his decision to them. […] At the same time, he was debilitated by the feeling that he was living a lie, as part of a society that imposed a lifestyle he did not desire

The couple told us about their uncertainty regarding themselves and their family. Even after he had lost his faith, social pressures and norms were pushing the husband to lead a life that had become a prison for him. His only alternative appeared to be acknowledging his change, which would mean cutting himself off from his wife and children so as not to harm their religiosity and accepting the tragic consequences.

It was clear to both spouses that neither option was right for them. Preserving their family was a supreme value neither was willing to sacrifice, while the prospect of perpetual social deceit was likewise untenable. With these limited choices, the father approached Hillel for assistance, but their proposed solutions only addressed his need alone while entirely ignoring those of his wife and family. Eventually, with God’s help, the couple made their way to us and began the difficult process we propose to couples.

The couple relearned each other, recognizing the other’s changing needs. They understood that they could no longer live a secret life and decided to share the father’s decision to change his lifestyle with their children. They chose not to change anything about their children’s education, keeping them in the same religious frameworks, and the home continued to be Shomer Shabbos at the same level as before. To address the challenge of social pressure, they moved to a mixed area, in which they would have more space to live their complex life.

 

How to Cope

One of the most significant challenges facing couples who approach us is how to raise children. The Charedi approach seeks to “protect” children by detaching them from the parent who has strayed. And while we encourage families to stay intact, we understand this impulse and acknowledge that this is a significant challenge. But we maintain that parents are responsible for their child’s wellbeing; they must provide strength, stability, and emotional health, thereby building a platform for the child’s ethical and religious life.

Our alternative proposal is to preserve the existing family framework. Ultimately, each adult individual must choose his way of life, his community, and his internal beliefs. The more respectful and inclusive the religious environment, such that the children experience it as a natural and safe space, the more likely they are to choose it even as adults, despite diverging worldviews of parents. On the other hand, if children sense that religion caused the family to break up and a parent to disappear, their odds of remaining in the fold are slim. Such children are likely to go through a major religious crisis, beyond the expected turmoil associated with growing up in a dysfunctional family.

It is important to clarify that the spiritual path of the family’s young children must be jointly decided by both parents. Parents must learn, through the crisis, to work together as a cohesive unit vis-à-vis their children, and need to jointly decide the family’s religious level. A choice to continue living a Charedi lifestyle, which is natural for a Charedi family unit, must earn the full commitment of even the parent who left religion. By analogy, a parent who smokes knows that his small children cannot.

If one parent turns on a light on Shabbos it must be clear to all household members that this does not mean the children can do so. If they do, God forbid, both parents are responsible for stopping them

The parent may not keep Shabbos himself or herself. This is his own choice. But when it comes to the children, it must be clear that they will behave in accordance with a joint decision made by both parents. If one parent turns on a light on Shabbos it must be clear to all household members that this does not mean the children can do so. If they do, God forbid, both parents are responsible for stopping them, even if one of them acts otherwise for him- or herself. In our experience, this does not confuse the children but rather the opposite: it defines very clear boundaries for them.

We’ve also seen our approach succeed in the opposite situation, where the father of a secular family became observant and Charedi. In one case the spouses, secular from birth, were raising their family in North Tel Aviv, a thoroughly secular bastion. When the father became religious, the mother refused outright to take their children out of the secular schools they attended. However, both parents understood that keeping their children detached from religion would distance them from their father.

To resolve this, they enrolled the children in religious enrichment classes after school. The children’s experience became a combined reality rather than a dichotomous one: on Shabbos, they heard kiddush at home and joined their father to attend services in Shul, but they were permitted to go to parties and not keep Shabbos. For the children things were clear. Their mother was not observant while their father was, and they saw how each parent looked out for the needs of the other. Given this clear yet nuanced understanding, the couple was able to create a healthy space for their children.

The son’s independent choice was also very exciting for our organization, a clear demonstration that our approach can indeed lead to a child’s conscious and informed choice

When the time came for their son’s mandatory army service, he had an opportunity to recreate himself, as it were. Whereas his social circles previously knew him one way, as a secular boy, he could now enter his new environment on different terms. Indeed, that son chose to join the army as a religious person, with a kippa on his head, heading in a new direction he had chosen for himself. His father and mother both supported him with great love and full acceptance.

The son’s independent choice was also very exciting for our organization, clearly demonstrating that our approach can indeed lead to a child’s conscious and informed choice. Having grown up with religious exposure in an inclusive, loving, and accepting home, the son could freely choose religion even though he was raised in secular surroundings.

***

As noted above, Charedi society’s fear of the secular world is well justified. However, living a life of fear and suspicion exacts a heavy toll, especially in situations where one spouse changes how he or she lives. One can scarcely overestimate the importance of shalom bayis, of preserving domestic harmony and happiness. The cost of breaking up a family, let alone separating children from one of their parents, is enormous and painful. In their most extreme forms, these lead to tragic stories like that of Esti Weinstein.

Charedi society presently confronts several complex issues, all of which call for communal introspection and thoughtful consideration of its future path. Technological advances, alongside aggressive social change worldwide, are beating down its doors. These issues, alongside the (not unrelated) crises of recent years, cannot be ignored.

With all these changes and the clear desire to maintain the religious and halachic character of our community, we must not forget that our children’s emotional well-being is at the very core of our responsibility. We are entrusted with our children. They are not our private property, and we have no right to harm them in any way, shape, or form. Our role as parents is to provide our children with strength, stability, and mental resilience. The first step to accomplishing these is building and maintaining a strong relationship with our spouse. And lest we forget, there are never any guarantees: a child who grows up with two devout parents may leave religion, and children who grew up in entirely secular homes have found their way back to religion.

Our role as parents is to provide our children with strength, stability, and mental resilience. The first step to accomplishing these is building and maintaining a strong relationship with our spouse

If a parent chooses to change his or her course in life, this does not necessarily mean their child will also do so. If the ensuing crisis is viewed as the growth opportunity it is, the child will ultimately make the decision that is right for him or her. As Jews who believe that the best choice for every Jew is a life of Torah and Mitzvos, we have no reason to think the child will choose something else.

The departure of a parent from religious observance is a major challenge. But we must see even such traumatic events as part of God’s plan for us. Life lessons are not always easily learned, but we must embrace them and not escape the classroom. This is true of many life issues; I hope that I have succeeded in highlighting one of them, the capacity for couples to stay together despite divergent religious standards.