The OU study identifies several key factors that may play a role in Orthodox attrition. It also sheds light on the many different ways people leave, and the very different meanings leaving holds for participants of the study. In this issue, we focus on one theme that played a role in the lives of all the “leavers”: misalignment.
Fully 100 percent of the study’s interviewees described some form of serious misalignment while growing up, whether religious, social or political. Many of these misalignments were centered around family and were especially salient when families experienced religious shifts or the family’s religious observance differed from communal and school norms. We hope to explore various aspects of misalignment—specifically related to home and school—in this cover story.
The article that follows explores a rather radical form of misalignment between parents’ form of religiosity: when one parent is religious and the other is not. It also illustrates how some couples choose to navigate such marriages and preserve their family life despite their dramatic religious differences.
Parental religious misalignment—when a husband and wife have varying levels of observance and faith—is not exactly an unknown phenomenon in the Orthodox community.
Some couples are already on different spiritual pages when they marry. But most of the time, the misalignment represents a shift that catches one spouse off guard when the other alters his or her commitment to Yiddishkeit—either by becoming more religious or less religious, or by abandoning religion altogether. Whether that change happens gradually or suddenly, it inevitably transforms the landscape of a marriage that began on common spiritual ground.
Tzippy B. was in shock when her husband revealed, soon after their second child was born, that he no longer believed in G-d. The couple had been religiously in sync when they wed in their early twenties and started a family in their Upstate New York Chassidish community. She recalls, “I worried I’d lose control over my kids’ spiritual life if we divorced, that they would end up eating treif with him. But we’ve stayed together because, baruch Hashem, our relationship is loving and solid and we want to be a whole family.”
In the OU study on attrition, conducted by the Center for Communal Research (CCR), the OU’s research arm, various types of misalignments—including parental religious misalignment—stood out when they appeared unexpectedly among “several key factors that may play a role” in Orthodox attrition.
Dr. Moshe Krakowski, professor at the Azrieli Graduate School of Jewish Education and Administration at Yeshiva University, is the lead researcher in the study. His team interviewed twenty-nine people ages eighteen to thirty-four with backgrounds spanning the Orthodox spectrum to identify the roots of their decision to leave the frum community. A forthcoming quantitative study of 3,000 participants will help determine which factors are representative of the broader community of “religious switchers,” which is how the study refers to those who leave Orthodoxy.
“More than half of the study participants identified some type of religious shifting—either sudden changes in family observance or parental misalignment—as an element in their life journey,” says the principal researcher at the CCR, Dr. Rachel Ginsberg. Quite possibly, experiencing religious shifting created a small fissure in their religious life. Still, she wonders. “Since they themselves may not know the answers, it’s hard to say exactly how or why the misalignment led them to question their beliefs.”
Rarely does one single reason sway an individual to abandon Orthodox Judaism. Multiple experiences, not all dramatic or harrowing ones, precipitate the act of leaving. When people do attribute it to one particular factor, it’s usually abuse or trauma, including educational trauma [see the sidebar entitled “Making A Place for All Children” in the article “When School and Family Don’t Match” by S. Schreiber], and sexual, physical, emotional and religious abuse.
“There’s no absolute causality either,” notes Dr. Krakowski. “No if X, you will go off; if Y, you’ll stay. There are teens who stay frum despite abuse or trauma or whatever else the world throws at them. And there are those who have a safe home environment and loving, religiously aligned parents who nonetheless leave religion behind. Humans are complicated. It’s never a simple story.”
Rabbi Yitzchak Breitowitz, senior lecturer at Yeshivas Ohr Somayach in Jerusalem and Jewish Action’s rabbinic advisor, believes that on its own, parental religious misalignment does not have to result in Orthodox attrition. “It is possible to raise religious children in these circumstances, if you’re modeling for them how to love a different kind of Jew. It conveys that Judaism is a system for real life.”
A spiritual mentor to thousands of Jewish women worldwide and founding director of Core Torah, an organization that supports women who engage in klal work, Aliza Bulow is open about the fact that she has struggled with this kind of divergence in her own marriage. After she and her husband, Ephraim, suffered the tragic losses of a son and two grandchildren, he felt he no longer believed in G-d, nor could he practice as a frum Jew. “Still,” she says, “we are honest and accepting of one another. I understand his pain and look for my religious fulfillment elsewhere. We work well together despite our differences because we have deep respect and love for each other, and we made a choice to continue that.”
Rabbi Breitowitz believes that these factors—a healthy marriage and stability in the home—are key. “They make it more likely the children will stick with Yiddishkeit than abandon it when they grow up,” the religious misalignment notwithstanding.
Family Ties
We humans may be complicated, but it comes as no surprise that we thrive on love, connection and security. Conversely, we struggle in their absence.
The OU study confirmed that a parent’s rapid religious transformation often results in tension, confusion and feelings of disjointedness that can upend the atmosphere at home. In one example, a participant recalls the dramatic change in his mother’s behavior after a weeklong kiruv experience. “She’s wearing a snood, she makes my dad stop off to pick up chalav Yisrael milk. She basically came home a different person.” One that her husband and children didn’t recognize. That sudden religious shift caused an irreversible strain between his parents, who eventually divorced. And yet not all such marriages dissolve. Quite a few of those interviewed for this article are committed to preserving their unions and maintaining a healthy, secure home environment, despite the extreme religious differences between spouses and the significant challenges involved.
But how does their decision to make it work impact their children?
Over a forty-year period, social psychologist Dr. Vern Bengtson conducted the largest-ever lineal study of religion with 2,400 individuals across multiple generations. In Families and Faith: How Religion Is Passed Down Across Generations (Oxford University Press, 2013), he shares his conclusion that the preservation of faith lies in the strength of family ties.
It follows, then, that “Mesoras haTorah is not passed down through rules or a book,” states Rabbi Shimon Russell, a therapist well known for his work with young people who leave the Chareidi world, generally as a result of some kind of trauma. Although there is no data-based evidence that healthy ties with a parent can compensate for the religious confusion that arises when one parent is religious and the other is not, Rabbi Russell feels that “the transfer of mesorah happens via relationships and healthy emotional attachment” and that “a strong kesher with frum people can inspire you to want that life, too.”
Take Zehava, for example, a Chareidi mother of five living in Israel, who says that accepting what is beyond her control has been the core strength of her misaligned marriage. While struggling with several personal challenges, her husband, Zvi, slowly lost his faith. Instead of giving up on their relationship, however, the couple committed to working on it—for themselves and for their children.
“It’s definitely getting trickier as our kids get older and ask harder questions about why their father doesn’t learn or daven,” she says. “But they see how important Hashem and frumkeit are to me, and I hope that will make up the difference. Zvi appreciates the Torah values that center on family, so we avoid the negatives and focus on creating a warm, stable home.”
Leora grew up in a home where the opposite was true. She was twelve when her parents’ marriage fell apart after her mom became disenchanted with Yiddishkeit. Her dad was given full custody because of the presumed support they’d have from an established frum community, while her mom moved hours away to start over.
“My father lacked the emotional capacity and financial resources to care for me and my siblings, and no one stepped in to help,” Leora recalls painfully. “What he did have was a temper, which evolved into neglect and abuse. Our visits with Mom felt lavish, though she also had little money. We’d eat at Wendy’s and she’d dress me in clean, new pants and I felt so loved. From that perspective, the non-frum life looked wonderful, and Hashem didn’t smite me down as my father threatened He would. As soon as I could, I left the community, too.”
Rabbi Russell has counseled many families like Leora’s that experience dramatic religious misalignment, most often with one parent remaining frum and the other leaving Orthodoxy entirely. Yet he, too, believes it is not inevitable that the offspring will follow the parent who abandons Yiddishkeit. He asserts that “the misalignment itself won’t cause attrition, though it can destabilize the home environment if the parents are fighting over religion—especially if the marriage is already rocky or there are compounding challenges, like trauma or mental or physical illness. Instability makes it terribly difficult for a child to develop the healthy emotional attachment critical to establishing real connection in Torah.”
Dr. Benzion Sorotzkin, a clinical psychologist who works primarily within the Orthodox community, sees many individuals who have left observance behind. “For those who may attribute their exit in part to their parents’ religious misalignment, it’s really the anger and negativity erupting around it. They conflate G-d and Torah with those tensions, which destroys any longing to be a part of that system. Yet few can make that connection on their own.”
The Role of Trauma
Sara, who came from a Chareidi family, suffered serious trauma as a child. She grew up with a brother who had a challenging mental illness and terrorized the whole family. “Shabbos and yom tov were especially hard because my brother would get out of control . . . my mother and I had to leave the house as we were afraid he would hurt us.” Sara endured ongoing trauma as her parents’ marriage unraveled and she served as a “parentified child,” a child who takes on parental responsibilities, in this case caring for her mother mentally and emotionally. Today Sara no longer considers herself Orthodox.
Psychologists who work with the Chareidi community tended to point to “trauma” as a leading factor in Chareidi attrition. One professional working with this community noted that in his experience, “sexual and learning trauma” (difficulty with school) were the two biggest factors leading to attrition.
“Understandably, the therapists we spoke with are seeing high instances of trauma because those who suffer from trauma tend to seek out therapeutic help,” says Dr. Rachel Ginsberg, principal researcher at the OU’s CCR. “So, it makes sense that those are the cases they are seeing. However, at this point we can’t say with certainty that trauma is a key factor only in Chareidi attrition [as opposed to other parts of the Orthodox community]. We need data from a representative survey to understand the prevalence of trauma among the different Orthodox communities.”
Making Misaligned Marriages Work
Rabbi M., who requested anonymity because of his sensitive work with families in crisis and “religious switchers” of all ages, posits that in his experience, “religious misalignment plays a relatively minor role in a marriage if there is mutual understanding between spouses. With the investment of much hard work, the couple can even thrive, despite the fact that one spouse has walked away from Orthodoxy.”
In about 20 percent of the cases of religious misalignment Dr. Sorotzkin sees, the partner who is emotionally disconnected from Judaism continues to practice on some level for the sake of the family and to remain in the community. He describes it as “a decision not to sacrifice relationships for a lack of faith.” For example, a no-longer-frum father might stop putting on tefillin, but will continue taking his children to shul on Shabbat.
Though Chaim, who lives in Israel with his wife Shaindy and their three children, is no longer frum, he says, “It’s what our kids know, so I play the role. I value Yiddishkeit for them, and I believe they’ll be happiest living a beautiful Torah life. I admit, though, that it’s especially hard for me now, during the war, not to feel G-d pulling the strings.”
Shaindy says they’ve chosen to put the health of their family and relationships above their religious differences. “When I light candles, I daven for three things for my husband, children and myself: mental and emotional health, middot tovot and the strength to be ovdei Hashem—in that order because you need the first two to have a genuine relationship with G-d.”
Not everyone is comfortable going through the motions. Should a non-religious partner choose not to practice at all, the arrangement can still work if he or she invests in the non-theological benefits of the system. Rabbi M. says, “They may no longer observe, but if—out of love—they commit to what they signed up for under the chuppah, that’s teaching the children the frum value of menschlichkeit.”
Rarely does one single reason sway an individual to abandon Orthodox Judaism. Multiple experiences, not all dramatic or harrowing ones, precipitate the act of leaving.
Either way, unity among the parents is critical. So is recognition of their individual and shared challenges, though if it is tolerance, not support, the kids will pick up on the difference. Couples therapy is recommended for help in mapping out (and over time, revising) and implementing a family plan. The family might also want to consult with a rav.
Rabbi Breitowitz encourages couples to participate in community events together. To the non-frum parent he recommends attendance at school programs. “Show up because it’s your spouse or child, even if you don’t feel it spiritually. They’ll remember how good it made them feel.”
When Things Fall Apart
Aliza Bulow maintains two private WhatsApp support groups for frum women who choose to remain in their religiously misaligned marriages. Some stay because they still have loving relationships with their husbands. Others make do in “pareve” marriages after weighing the risks of divorce.
A traditional fifty-fifty custody split can be extremely confusing for kids who attend yeshivah or day school and know only one way of life. They might end up shuttling between a shomer Shabbat environment and a non-kosher one with a Christmas tree in the living room.
OU Board member and former Jewish Action Editorial Board member Deborah Chames Cohen, a family attorney who has seen many cases of religious misalignment in her practice, strongly recommends that if the couple separate, they maintain the kind of upbringing the children are used to. “But the non-frum party is often so angry with Judaism, they grab the freedom to do their own thing instead. Today’s legal system tends to let parents make their own independent religious choices. It’s considered better for the kids to experience diverse lifestyles.”
Bulow posits, “A frum parent doesn’t want their kids exposed like that, nor do they like the idea of them ping-ponging back and forth between homes. If everyone is safe and there is no hostility, it’s easier to provide religious consistency and general stability when the family is all under one roof.”
As for couples who cannot make it work, Chames Cohen says, “An all-out religious war often breaks out after they file for divorce. Where will the kids go to school? How much orthopraxy is required of the non-frum party when the kids are with them?”
Ari D. and his now ex-wife, who both live in Florida, were happily married for a decade when he discovered she was no longer religious. “She had a breakdown, and I learned she’d been living a double life.”
Their divorce dragged on for three years, during which he took full responsibility for all aspects of their children’s lives—tuition, therapy, their spiritual upbringing. “I don’t know what exactly goes on when the kids are at their mother’s house,” Ari says. “But at home, I show them the beauty of Judaism, keeping it light and fun. I want them to see that they aren’t missing out on anything, that being Jewish is a joy and a privilege.”
In cases of misalignment, Chames Cohen usually advocates for collaborative law, a dispute resolution process that lets the parties reach a settlement without going through a lengthy battle in court. “Because it’s solution-based, not winner-based, it sends a message that both parents are prioritizing the needs and emotional well-being of the children. Sometimes you can bring in a rav so the religious decisions aren’t left to the whim of a judge who doesn’t know the nuances of Jewish life.”
Mastering Return
As the rav of an outreach, kiruv-oriented community, Rabbi Yitzchok Oratz, director of the Monmouth Torah Links community in New Jersey, often engages with couples where only one spouse becomes a ba’al teshuvah, yet another kind of parental religious misalignment with its own set of challenges. It, too, can be a huge jolt to the family system.
The transition is smoother when it’s the mother who becomes frum, since she tends to set the tone for the household. But Rabbi Oratz says in his experience it’s more often the father, who is suddenly busy with his religious obligations while asking for huge changes at home. The other spouse and the children may feel confused, left out, resentful and overwhelmed, especially if the spiritual shift was not undertaken by degrees.
Rabbi Oratz invests a lot of energy in helping ba’alei teshuvah navigate this new world in a way that safeguards a functional family with healthy emotional attachments. He strongly suggests that the person undergoing change be extremely sensitive to the family members who aren’t. “I tell them that sometimes it’s better they stay home with their wife and kids than to show up to every minyan at shul.”
There are teens who stay frum despite abuse or trauma or whatever else the world throws at them. And there are those who have a safe home environment and loving, religiously aligned parents who nonetheless leave religion behind. Humans are complicated. It’s never a simple story.
Rabbi Oratz cautions how important it is for a newly frum parent to remember how immersed in the secular world their kids are. “Frumkeit is a culture shock for them, so give them space. Make Yiddishkeit geshmak. Show love. When that happens, I find they often join the parent or parents on their spiritual journey. But don’t force them to do something just because you suddenly do. You’ll suffocate them and turn them off entirely.”
Another thing he recommends is to model the sociological benefits of Torah life. “If religion is stressing you out, you won’t win it any new fans. Demonstrate how it makes you more patient, kinder, more understanding. The point isn’t to make the other family members frum, rather to preserve, even strengthen, the relationships.”
Case in point. Rabbi Oratz likes to share the story of a father in his community who became a ba’al teshuvah. The daughter followed; the wife did not. Yet he made every effort to consider her feelings and value her concerns. He never compromised their marital relationship for the sake of a halachic stringency. The happy outcome was that when their daughter married last year, it was her mother who proudly took the kallah sheitel shopping.
Love, in fact, can make all the difference.
When Ronit and Steve got married, neither was religious. Yet they decided to send their eldest daughter to a Modern Orthodox day school, more for the benefits of Jewish identity and community than religious education. At the age of four, she refused to get into the car on Shabbat. Ronit recalls, “We knew that for her to succeed in that environment, we’d have to change our lifestyle.”
Ronit took to it more easily. It’s been harder for Steve, although he loves what having a shomer Shabbat home has given their family. “Our girls read Hebrew, are comfortable in their Jewish skin and frum in their own way.” After thirty years of living an observant life, however, Steve still struggles with aspects of it, like the high cost of tuition, and not being able to go places on Shabbat, especially since he now works from home and feels stuck in the house all week.
“He might just get back into the car on a Saturday morning once our youngest is out of the house,” says Ronit. “Even if he does, it wouldn’t break our marriage, because I have so much gratitude for all he’s done to create this life for our family.”
A Starting Point
There is no easy, one-size-fits-all solution to the challenge of attrition from Orthodoxy.
While there is no data on this just yet, experts who work with “religious switchers” believe that love and its attendant middot—respect, sensitivity, patience and understanding, in enormous quantities—are the starting point. They open a door to resolving whatever personal crises led them to leave the community, to healing, to solid emotional intelligence and healthier neshamot.
Bulow reminds us that “there have always been Jews on their own path, choosing to observe or not. Yiddishkeit is a multigenerational story of people weaving in and out of their relationships with G-d and halachah and one another.”
Think about the surge in Jewish pride among non-observant, assimilated Jews in the wake of October 7. Then there’s Leora, who, twenty years after giving up Shabbat, returned to Yiddishkeit and made peace with her father when she was ready to marry and start her own family.
Or look at the history of immigration to the US at the turn of the century, when Jews tossed their tefillin into the harbor by the thousands. Bulow says, “I’ve met a lot of their great-grandchildren in my work. Some are frum. Some even lead Pesach kiruv programs to bring disconnected Jews back to Yiddishkeit. And yes, others are absent from the Seder table entirely, though we pray they will find their way back.”
Dr. Ginsberg points out that “we usually talk about the switching crisis in terms of in or out, attrition or connection. But our study has also shown us that while our respondents have left Orthodoxy, many of them haven’t severed their connection with Judaism.”
Indeed, our story is not over.
Merri Ukraincik has written for Tablet, the Lehrhaus, the Forward and other publications, including Jewish Action. She is the author of a book on the history of the Joint Distribution Committee.
In This Section
Leaving the Fold: The OU’s New Study Provides Insights Into Attrition
Why Study Attrition? by Dr. Moshe Krakowski
Parenting on Different Pages by Merri Ukraincik