‘Respect and Friendship’ Approach – A Look at the Attitude Toward Those Who Leave the Faith (Column 490)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

A few days ago I received a video presenting Rabbi Gershon Edelstein’s approach to the proper attitude parents should take toward children who abandon faith and/or religious commitment (and in particular those who leave Haredi life). I was quite surprised to hear his words, and they stirred several reflections on this topic that I thought to share with you.

General Background: The Attitude Toward an Offender and a Secular Jew

Several halakhic and conceptual principles underlie this discussion. First and foremost is the assumption that a person is obligated to observe halakhah. There is also an obligation on every Jew, and especially on a parent (by virtue of the duty of education), to see to it that every other Jew does so. It is forbidden to assist another in transgression (“lifnei iver,” placing a stumbling block before the blind, and “mesaye’a,” aiding a transgressor); one is obligated to rebuke him if he commits them (“hocheach tochiach”), and even to prevent him from sinning (“afrushei me’issura”). It is therefore clear that a parent who sees a child abandoning the path of Torah and halakhah feels uneasy. He is obligated toward the child in all these respects as toward any Jew, and all the more so as a parent. On the other hand, there is a sense that his human obligations as a parent do not always sit well with these duties. It is no wonder that it was customary in the past, and in many cases to this day, that a parent is not expected to accord such a child a respectful attitude.

The question of the attitude toward the secular—among them those who leave observance—has been extensively discussed in our times. In this context people raise arguments of compulsion (ones), assuming there is compulsion in matters of belief; that is, if someone thinks in a certain way, that too is a kind of compulsion. In the background lies the assumption that this thought is indeed coerced, for he truly believes his views. Another assumption is that none of us knows how to fulfill “hocheach tochiach” properly, and therefore one cannot fault the one who leaves observance for not heeding rebuke. Others apply here an expansive definition of the category “tinok shenishbah” (a child captured among non-Jews), which already existed in the Talmud but was said of children who grew up among gentiles and had no idea. Applying it to a secular Jew who grew up in Israel is clearly an expansion, though to my mind a very straightforward one. Applying it to those who left religious observance after growing up in a religious home and receiving a religious education expands it even further, but even in those cases, if the child truly holds these views, applying the category of “tinok shenishbah” seems warranted on logical grounds. Note that if we accept all these expansions, then the only one who is not a “tinok shenishbah” is one who knows his Creator and rebels against Him—that is, a believer who simply fails to keep his halakhic obligations.

Already in the Talmud there is a dispute about the status of a “tinok shenishbah”: is he coerced (anus) or inadvertent (shogeg)? But in practice, even though the law rules he is a shogeg, it is clear that there is a difference between a “tinok shenishbah” and a regular shogeg or even a typical anus. This is a deeper form of compulsion (it is reflected, among other things, in the number of sin-offerings incurred compared to a regular shogeg). I discussed the underlying logic of this in my article “Causing a Secular Jew to Transgress.” My claim there was that for one who does not believe, his “mitzvot” are not mitzvot and his “transgressions” are not transgressions. Not only is he exempt from punishment as one coerced, but even if he wants to, he cannot truly fulfill mitzvot. In short: even according to those who hold that mitzvot do not require intent, all agree that mitzvot require faith.

A further step—more far-reaching—is to grant legitimacy to halakhic transgression. From time to time one hears voices speaking of a pluralistic religiosity, according to which even if I have a religious-faith position, I cannot demand it of others. I must respect their choices and recognize that my view is neither necessary nor unique. The claim is that I should recognize other positions as legitimate; therefore there is no justification for coercion or sanctions against those who hold positions different from mine. I have often objected to this view, for believing X means that one who thinks “not-X” is mistaken. If I do not think he is mistaken, then I do not believe in X. Pluralism is simply nonsense.

But there is a more moderate stance: I must respect the autonomy of the other, even though he is not correct. This is tolerance (as opposed to pluralism). If he thinks differently from me—especially if he has done what he could to weigh the arguments pro and con (see my article on “The Price of Tolerance”)—then in my view he is indeed mistaken, but he has the right to err and the duty to form his own position and act accordingly. Again, I cannot coerce him—not because he is as right as I am, but because I respect the different positions of other people, even if they are mistaken.

The Attitude Toward Those Who Leave

Returning to the attitude of parents and of society at large toward those who leave observance, it is not surprising that the classic response was total negation—from ostracism and sitting shiva to cutting ties, or at best a cold attitude. It was certainly self-evident that even if one accepts the child as he is, one expects him to respect the norms of the home even if he himself does not believe in them—both so as not to hurt the parents and family and out of concern for the educational impact on the other children. If that did not happen, it created considerable tension and conflict between the child and his parents. Such an attitude practically follows from Haredi norms: beyond the parents’ own difficult emotions and the halakhic injunctions regarding sinners, and beyond the social sanctions on the one who leaves and on the family (marriage prospects), the attitude itself serves as a deterrent to others who might contemplate this path.

Alongside all this, we must recognize that for over a century secularism has not been an aberration (most of the public is secular to one degree or another, certainly not halakhically observant). It is clear to everyone that this is a reality that cannot be treated as a passing anomaly destined to disappear. It is plainly wrong to assume, as was once assumed, that every secular Jew—and certainly one who has left observance—is in a temporary state, an object for outreach (he will, or at most his children will, return to the warm embrace of faith and religious commitment). In recent years the matter has deepened: the phenomenon of children leaving the path of Torah has greatly expanded, both in the national-religious sector and in the Haredi sector. In the Haredi world everything appears later and more slowly, and is less openly placed on the table for discussion, yet it is still clear that the phenomenon has greatly expanded. As is well known, there is denial of the phenomenon in Haredi society, so the data are not entirely clear. It is also hard to define who counts as Haredi for this purpose, so it is almost impossible to measure the phenomenon accurately. In addition, there is a phenomenon in the Haredi world of transparent departure, sometimes called “the coerced ones” (anusim): people who inwardly leave Haredi life and even religious commitment, but outwardly (sometimes even within their families) continue to appear and behave as Haredim. For such phenomena, there can of course be no clear data. In any case, various surveys indicate thousands of Haredi leavers every year.

The broadening and deepening of the phenomenon could lead to two opposite processes: either intensifying the severity of the response to halt the phenomenon, or reconciling with it and recognizing it—at least for lack of choice. Already in the Talmud we find that the Sanhedrin chose exile so that capital punishment would be suspended once murderers multiplied (see Avodah Zarah 8b and elsewhere). In the past, the first path was taken, but at least in our time the dominant trend seems to be the second. Over the last years, parents’ attitudes toward a child who leaves have been warming, each according to his circumstances. Today one rarely hears of ostracism and sitting shiva, and even in the hard Haredi core, in most cases children who leave receive a far better attitude than was once customary. Despite differences between communities and individuals, the trend is clear. The halakhic anchor for this is not clear—certainly when it is not sharpened and discussed openly—but in practice this is what is happening.

Rabbi Edelstein’s Words

Returning now to the video: Rabbi Edelstein there lays out very far-reaching guidelines regarding children who have left the path. Among other things, he permits and even obligates buying them immodest clothing, hosting a son with his partner who is not married to him, and allowing them to do in their room what they wish without objecting (the questioner notes that sometimes this may involve prohibitions for which one must give up one’s life rather than transgress, though I am not sure that is truly the case). At all times and in every context one must accord the child “respect and friendship,” and it seems that this pairing has become an established formula. This is unusual—not only the willingness to address the phenomenon explicitly and publicly, but certainly the liberal and embracing approach itself (though in his reasoning it is somewhat veiled; he attributes it to an effort to bring the child back—see below).

We should remember that although these words were spoken some years ago, today Rabbi Edelstein is regarded as the successor to the late Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky—that is, the leader of the main Lithuanian (non-“Jerusalemite”) faction. Thus his words carry considerable weight in at least two senses: the influence of his statements and approach, and what the statements reflect. In terms of influence, such directives from a central leader can have significant ramifications for the conduct of his community. In terms of what they reflect: if the leader of the central Lithuanian faction speaks this way, it indicates a recognition there of the changed reality, the proliferation of cases, and the need to change the mode of response and formulate an appropriate anti-Zionist response. The courage to go against the politruks of Yated Ne’eman is not just a personality trait; it likely also reflects recognition of a situation that requires treatment and can no longer be ignored or swept under the rug.

A Note on the Conceptualization: The ‘Respect and Friendship’ Approach

For those familiar with the idiom of that world, coining a phrase to describe an approach—here called the “Respect and Friendship approach”—also says something. It means this is not a local directive for a specific individual, but a general public policy that ought to be adopted as the default. In contrast to what had been customary until now, at present anyone who does not act thus must justify and explain why.

To the person who sent me the video I replied that in my mind’s eye I already see how this term becomes a halakhic category like “tinok shenishbah,” “mit’asek,” and the like; that is, the name of a normative duty and a distinct ideology. We tend to think that if there is a unique name for our conduct, then it is justified. As in: “I am acting thus by virtue of ‘Respect and Friendship’,” or “One who does not do so is actively nullifying the duty of ‘Respect and Friendship’,” and so on. Coining the term inserts this directive into the social-religious-halakhic arsenal.

In general, we tend to relate differently to defined concepts. Once conceptualized, they can be used as foundational principles on which to build further behaviors and principles. It reminded me of remarks by my dear son, Yosef, may he live (toward whom I have acted with “respect and friendship” even before R. G. Edelstein’s directive, though I am not sure he would agree with that description). He likes to mock the names of the labors (especially those beyond the 39, like “smearing” which incurs liability as “smoothing”), and the halakhic use we make of such concepts. Anything you do or refrain from on Shabbat you justify by saying, “This involves mishum __”—fill in the blank. He extends this cynically: if someone jumps or walks on Shabbat, there is “mishum mekapetz,” “mishum mehalech,” “mishum kore,” “mishum ‘lifts the knife’,” “mishum ‘speaks to his left side’,” and so on.

If you listen carefully to the conversations in the video, you will hear the use of the term “respect and friendship” as if it were an ancient concept whose meaning is already clear and whose basis is solid. Now all that remains is to clarify its parameters and practical ramifications. At least to me this appeared rather amusing, as if it were a Talmudic concept or at least an explicit Rambam. The coining of a concept is a distinctly political act.

Doubling the Arguments

Returning to Rabbi Edelstein’s content: the video brings only conversations between him and people who come to ask. But in the course of his words he explicitly addresses halakhic aspects and offers a halakhic rationale for his directives. Therefore, although it is difficult to analyze oral remarks said to a questioner in a YouTube clip, I will allow myself to analyze them briefly—especially since, in my opinion, they contain something beyond what is said there explicitly.

Let me begin with Rabbi Edelstein’s rationales. At first glance, one might think he is speaking of a leniency on the grounds that the child is a “tinok shenishbah”—that is, some expansion of the category of compulsion. He even mentions the terms “ones” and “tinok shenishbah.” Yet in addition he ties it to the parameters of “lifnei iver,” and seemingly these two tracks do not sit well together. Arguments based on compulsion or on “tinok shenishbah” rest on the claim that even if you are not strict with the son, it will not be considered causing him to sin or assisting in sin, because he is an offender by compulsion (or a “tinok shenishbah”). But it is hard to accept this as a standalone rationale, for in halakhah there is no license to transgress “lifnei iver” even when the one tripped up is coerced. I, as the one causing, am still under prohibition. There are opinions that in such a case the transgression is even attributed to me (see Rashi at the beginning of Parashat Mattot and Rambam, end of the Laws of Kilayim).[1]

It seems inescapable to conclude that in Rabbi Edelstein’s view such a sinner is in a state worse than compulsion; that is, his “transgression” is not a transgression at all, and therefore regarding him there is no meaning to “causing” and no prohibition of “lifnei iver.” Something like this I wrote in my aforementioned article on causing a secular Jew to sin. If that were truly his view, it would be sensational: a central Haredi leader agreeing with the radical positions I presented there (which generally have not been accepted even by non-Haredi rabbis).

However, on closer inspection this does not seem to be what his words imply. If you listen carefully, you will hear that he argues a “mamei nafshach” (heads-I-win-tails-you-lose) claim: if you fear “lifnei iver” and therefore are strict and try to prevent him from sinning, you will find yourself transgressing “lifnei iver” in the opposite direction: such a policy will distance him from the path of Torah because he will come to loathe it due to the treatment he received from you. That may reduce the chance that he will return to the path of Torah; therefore, again, we have tripped him up and violated “lifnei iver.” He likens this to one who strikes his grown son—even in circumstances where it would be justified—for whom the Talmud says he thereby violates “lifnei iver,” since the son may strike back and violate “He who strikes his father and mother.” In any case, one can infer that he does see such facilitation as a “lifnei iver” issue; only the “mamei nafshach” consideration is decisive. In other words, in his view, at most the child’s act is a coerced transgression, but not less than that; therefore, in principle, causing it would be “lifnei iver.” The license to treat the child with “respect and friendship” rests on the “mamei nafshach” calculation, not on his being coerced.

If so, the foundation of the license to act with “respect and friendship” in such a case rests on comparing two scenarios: whether you are strict with him or accept him as he is, you must fear “lifnei iver,” and therefore he concludes that you must draw him close and accept him. Yet even if each of the two paths may lead you to “lifnei iver,” a justification is still needed for choosing specifically the path of closeness. If they are equivalent, then seemingly the laws of doubt apply (perhaps one should adopt a policy of “sheb v’al ta’aseh adif”—abstention is preferable—and one must discuss what that would mean here).

I think his conclusion can be understood in several ways:

• The concern for sin if he is pushed away is greater than if one is not strict with him. On the face of it, it is hard to see the basis for this.
• If he will transgress because he has come to loathe the path of Torah, the chance he will return is smaller. You lose not only the present (the sin he commits now) but also his entire future. Hence the directive to draw him close—“violate one Shabbat so that he will keep many Shabbatot.” This is a far-reaching license (an expansion of that logic), and I would have expected him to state it explicitly.
• If he will transgress because he has come to loathe the path of Torah, those transgressions will be deliberate (mezid) and not inadvertent or coerced; thus you cause a graver offense. Here too the justification is unclear. Why should there be a difference between the sins in the two scenarios?!
• The two paths are indeed equivalent, but the default is not to push away one’s own son—one’s very flesh—even if he sins and does not act as “your people.” To push away one’s son requires a reason, and when no reason stands, a doubtful prohibition does not uproot a certain obligation: the certain duty to draw one’s son close versus a doubtful concern that this may be forbidden. Therefore the conclusion is to draw him close and not fear.

One implication of the last rationale concerns a difference between one’s son and other people. Rabbi Edelstein discusses the attitude of parents toward their children, but he does not explicitly mention the duty specifically toward one’s children or the need not to sever ties with them. He speaks only of the duty to maximize the chance that they return to “the stronghold of Torah” (to use the Rambam’s wording, Rebels 3:3). Seemingly this is true regarding any person, not only one’s son. But it is hard to shake the feeling that this directive was stated primarily regarding one’s own children and not generally. According to the last explanation, the license indeed appears to be only with respect to one’s son and not others. One can ascribe this to the law of education, but I tend to think he is not speaking of formal halakhah so much as of the human attitude a parent owes a child. It seems he is seeking a halakhic way to anchor—or, more precisely, to enable—the human duty to continue relating to one’s child as a parent.

Uri Zohar

Some time ago I was also sent a video of the late Uri Zohar speaking about raising children. He too addresses the attitude toward children who do not follow his path, and he, too, says similar things. The resemblance to Rabbi Edelstein’s words does not seem accidental; perhaps this was also Zohar’s source. But he does not speak there of cooperating with transgressions, and even says one must not grant legitimacy to transgressions (the child will not accept it as authentic). Yet he insists that one must grant a child unconditional love. He does not enter halakhic reasoning there, but from his words it seems he speaks of the very obligation of a parent toward a child (as in the last explanation above). He mentions defining the child as coerced, but also emphasizes considerations about the chances of future closeness. In that clip, the dependence of this policy on recognition of the changing situation in Haredi society is stated explicitly: the phenomenon of children deviating from the path is growing. I get the impression that behind it lies the human duty to treat one’s child as a parent beyond all the halakhic and Torah-based considerations.

The Fundamental Difficulty

Another question now arises regarding Rabbi Edelstein’s rationales. If the foundation of his words is the discussion of “lifnei iver” (the “mamei nafshach” claim), why does he need the element of compulsion or the category of “tinok shenishbah”? Why mention them at all? To sharpen the difficulty: let us assume—if only for the sake of argument—that such a son counts as a full-fledged deliberate sinner (mezid). The “mamei nafshach” claim is still relevant. By Talmudic law, as codified by all the halakhic authorities, “lifnei iver” applies to causing someone to sin deliberately as well. Thus the claim would apply equally to a son who is a deliberate sinner. If so, the “ones/tinok shenishbah” element seems superfluous and unnecessary to ground his ruling. Put differently: that same license, seemingly under all the explanations given above, exists even if we see the son as a deliberate sinner. If you do not accord him “respect and friendship,” he will be distanced and not return; the same “mamei nafshach” logic applies to him as well.

By comparison, Uri Zohar does not mention “lifnei iver,” and the concern for future estrangement seems part of the parent’s duty to the child. That is, for him this is about the action of a parent and his duty to ensure that his child ultimately comes to keep mitzvot. It is doubtful he would say the same about other people. In any case, with him the combination of rationales between compulsion and future return is clearer: because the child is coerced he is not wicked (rasha), and therefore there remains a duty to restore him to the right path.

Some Possible Explanations

It is possible that Rabbi Edelstein intends a combination of the two rationales, as two converging supports. One must extend “respect and friendship” both because he is coerced and because of “lifnei iver.” But that does not sound like what he says; he uses these rationales alternately.

Incidentally, “returning to the stronghold of Torah” is a Rambam expression (Rebels 3:3), and there, too, he says it specifically about “tinokot shenishbu.” It may be that the foundation is that one who is not a “tinok shenishbah” likely will not return, and then there is no point in treating him with “respect and friendship.” Perhaps Rabbi Edelstein relies on this, and therefore he needs both rationales. But even that does not sound convincing to me: if the child grew up in a Haredi home and drew other conclusions, why should that change in the future?

A third possibility is according to the final explanation above: if the son is not a “tinok shenishbah,” there is no duty to treat him with respect and friendship; therefore, if the two options are equivalent, the default is not “respect and friendship.” I doubt that this is his intention.

And One More Explanation: Below-the-Belt Paternalism

It seems to me that perhaps Rabbi Edelstein intends something quite different—though it is certainly possible even he himself was not fully aware of it. I think he means that nowadays a child who has made different choices generally does not do so as a deliberate sinner—from criminal motives—but because he genuinely thinks otherwise. He abandoned his faith, or at least his religious commitment, because he reached different conclusions. He now holds a different outlook, and we must respect that. In my terms above, this is a tolerant view grounded in respect for the other’s autonomy.

In the background, such an approach presumes a difference between the sinners of Hazal’s time and sinners today. In Hazal, the assumption was that their acts stemmed from criminality and the evil inclination: they know their Master and rebel against Him. The assumption there was that belief in God and commitment to His commandments were self-evident, and no one philosophically denied them. This contrasts with sinners today, who sometimes simply reach different conclusions (in our world, faith is not self-evident to all). My impression is that this is the meaning of “tinok shenishbah” or “anus” in Rabbi Edelstein’s words: in effect he is saying that the child holds another outlook, and is not sinning “to provoke” or out of appetite. In Talmudic times such a phenomenon was very rare; hence they did not address it within their conceptual framework. The closest concept is “tinok shenishbah,” which is why Rabbi Edelstein employs it.

If I am right, then although his overt words deal in technical halakhic rationales—compulsion, “tinok shenishbah,” and “lifnei iver”—the subtext is respect for the child’s autonomy and outlook. I doubt a Haredi rabbi can truly articulate such a position explicitly—not even entertain it consciously—and therefore I am not certain Rabbi Edelstein himself was aware of these rationales (what the heart knows the mouth does not reveal). But in my estimation this is what underlies his words, consciously or not. This, of course, leads me to the question of interpretive paternalism.

When Is It Justified to Use a Paternalistic Interpretation?

I will point to Column 279, where I discussed Rabbi Steinman’s view of providence. I tried to show, from his explicit words—which seem to employ the usual Haredi religious jargon—that beneath them lay another subtext: he implicitly assumes that God is not involved in the world. Again, I am not sure he himself was aware of this, but—what the heart knows the mouth does not reveal—in my view that is what lay at the foundation of his words.

Such an interpretation seems far-reaching, even paternalistic. How can I tell someone what is in his heart, contrary to what he explicitly says? In both cases I infer it from what they themselves said. Between the folds of the standard discourse there are hints of something else, and therefore one may draw conclusions that may look “paternalistic.” This of course means that additional ideas from the contemporary world—known for championing respect for others’ autonomy and views—are beginning to penetrate current Haredi discourse. This is the spirit of the times (the zeitgeist), and it seems to me that ultimately the Haredim are influenced by it, whether they admit it or not.

This is essentially a kind of “past nisht” argument (see Columns 447–448 and the series on Modern Orthodoxy, especially 476). There I argued that it is inconceivable to destroy idolatry in our time—not only because we lack power, but for a moral-ethical reason: just as we expect others to respect our views and religion and not burn our books, so we are expected to respect other views and religions—and rightly so. There are behaviors that may not have clear halakhic justification, but it is clear they are required in today’s reality. It past nisht (is simply not fitting) to act otherwise. In such cases, poskim sometimes resort to standard halakhic arguments—interpretations of this or that source—to justify that behavior, since it is difficult for them to rule in open deviation from halakhah. Even so, in my view, their subtext at times is different.

Let me note that to use a paternalistic interpretation of a posek’s words—or anyone’s—two conditions must be met: (1) There are indications in his explicit words (contradictions, inconsistent rationales, or other hints) pointing to this subtext. (2) The substantive rationale likely could not have been stated openly by him (past nisht considerations), and yet it is reasonable that at least subconsciously he identified with it (admittedly hard to determine; here I argued it from the spirit of the time—the zeitgeist).[2]

I will just add that this whole discussion of paternalism, at least according to my own approach, is not very significant, since in any case I do not see a posek’s or rabbi’s words as a source of authority to hang my hat on. What practical difference does it make whether he intended it or not? If it is correct, I will adopt it even if he did not intend it; if it is incorrect, I will not adopt it even if he did. But here my discussion is sociological, not halakhic, for my aim is to point to a trend in Haredi policy, not to justify the approach itself. In such a situation there is room to engage in a paternalistic interpretation.

[1] Admittedly, in context they speak of a case where I literally feed him with my hands, not mere facilitation.

[2] Here is the place for a partial repentance for a critique I wrote of Rav Rosh Rosenthal (his words were cited by Rabbi Benny Lau and by Prof. Menachem Kahana in two different articles). With a paternalistic argument, he assumed an interpretation of the Hatam Sofer and others who permitted desecrating Shabbat to save a gentile’s life. Rav Rosh Rosenthal ascribed this to moral reasons, even though their discourse and rationales were entirely halakhic (we lack power, “ways of peace,” eivah, etc.). The practical difference, of course, is regarding saving a gentile’s life on Shabbat on a deserted island (when there are no concerns of hostility, ways of peace, or danger to other Jews). I criticized him then for a paternalistic interpretation detached from the explicit rationales (as far as I recall, the Hatam Sofer wrote explicitly that the license does not exist on a deserted island).

Today I think such an analysis is certainly possible and legitimate. A posek’s discourse does not always reflect his substantive rationales—especially when “past nisht” considerations are hard for him to state explicitly (even to himself). Of course, in the background stands also a change in my own stance on the very issue of saving a gentile’s life on Shabbat (then I thought it was forbidden; today it is clear to me it is an obligation).

Why is my repentance only partial? Because above I set out two conditions for when one may employ a paternalistic interpretation: there must be textual indications in the posek’s own words for the proposed subtext, and the real rationale could not have been stated openly by him but is reasonably one with which—at least subconsciously—he identified. I think the first condition did not obtain in that case. They ascribed this to the Hatam Sofer without evidence from his own words. As for the second condition, I am not sure either, for the spirit of the time then was not what it is today; therefore I think there is no solid basis to assume that the Hatam Sofer identified with equal treatment of gentiles as is accepted in our time. True, even if he thought so he could not have said so openly—certainly as one of the leaders of the struggle against Reform and the Haskalah (the father of the maxim “Hadash is forbidden by the Torah” in that context).