Motivating the second generation?

From time to time, I hear from self-described baalei teshuvah - people who grew up in non-observant homes, and then came to observance of halachah in adulthood - that their children have left that path. Indeed, it seems to me that I hear it more from that demographic than from people who grew up observant.

The sample I have been dealing with is not statistically significant, and I have not been keeping score, so my observations are irrelevant. Still, the conversations have made me wonder: Might it be easier or harder for baalei teshuvah to raise children in observance?

[Just to note something I have written on other occasions: All parents, regardless of background, must recognize that their influence on their children's chosen paths is limited.]

On one hand, I could contend that baalei teshuvah would have an easier time -
* Baalei teshuvah have thought through a broad range of religious options, and chosen observance. Their religious practice could be more heartfelt and authentic than that of someone who is motivated by peers and family;

* Baalei teshuvah can speak with their children from the experience of a range of lifestyles (although really, who accepts the word of a parent who says 'I've been there'...?);

* Self-aware baalei teshuvah can understand their children's need to chart their own path, and address it in a way that does not drive those children further away.

On the other hand, I can think of several reasons why it might be more difficult for them:
* Not having been raised in such a home, the baalei teshuvah might have greater difficulty finding a good balance between openness and restriction, which is necessary to encourage healthy observance;

* Baalei teshuvah may be psychologically disposed toward breaking with the previous generation, and their children might absorb that - consciously or subconsciously - from their attitudes and behaviour;

* The absence of observant grandparents for the children may be a factor;

* The next generation might feel that just as their parents had the opportunity to sample different lifestyles, they should be able to do the same (and the baalei teshuvah themselves may think likewise);

* Baalei teshuvah, having come to Torah and learning late, may not have the knowledge to properly address their children's questions;

* The religious catalysts of baalei teshuvah may not inspire their children. Baalei teshuvah may be motivated by specific personal experiences they had as teens and adults, while others may be motivated by the more transmittable motivations of family tradition, community, role models and years of religious instruction.

I don't know; what do you think?

Avoiding the Menorah fights

[Post I'm mulling: What are the schools serving? at Conversations in Klal]

With Chanukah starting tonight, I'm thinking about a perennial problem: The Menorah Fights.

It's been a family tradition among my children for years, and I remember doing it when I was their age, too. At some point during the menorah lighting, one child or another will become upset that her menorah isn't up front, or that his menorah doesn't have a fair share of purple candles, or that he didn't get to light tonight, or that she lit first, or that she stepped on his foot when we started dancing during Maoz Tzur, and so on. All while I'm trying to have a religious as well as pedagogic experience...

So what can we do to head this off? My first rule in parenting - at least theoretically - is to plan ahead. Whether in managing kids in shul, or in dealing with chinuch issues, or anything else, I find I am awful at handling things on the spot. I need to work at it in advance. But how?

So I've been thinking about the Pesach Seder model. Thank Gd, we don't see the same problems at the Seder, even though it's late at night, the food doesn't come until late, and so on. Why does the Seder work?

A few thoughts, which may be practical for Menorah-lighting as well -

1. The Seder is unique; it comes twice, and that's it for the year. Perhaps we need to find ways to make sure each night's menorah lighting is unique, so that they won't become bored, or too familiar with it.

2. The Seder has dedicated time, when all of us are devoted only to the seder experience. Contrast that with Menorah lighting, which takes place while dinner is in the offing, there are shiurim to prepare/deliver, the phone is ringing and so on. Having dedicated time takes some of the pressure off of both adults and children.

3. At the Seder, our children have unique, dedicated space at the table, and unique, dedicated tasks (reading, targeting a specific afikoman, and so on). Probably a good idea to assign space, personal menorah and personal role (holding the berachos card, for example) when we light the menorah.

4. The Seder has a clear educational component, which is individualized in its focus. Perhaps it would make sense to design individualized education for each child during the lighting, itself.

All things to think about. All things I should have thought about last week, of course, if I were truly planning ahead. Ah, well. Happy Chanukah, חג אורים שמח!

Wow

Now, this is a powerful piece of artwork, by Jacqueline Nicholls:




The artist's comment from her website:
This piece is possibly one of the most personal things I have done. It comes from my years experiencing the monthly niddah rituals, checking and preparing to go to the mikveh, while also experiencing fertility problems. The monthly cycle being one of disappointment (sometimes despair), a private grief, and then as it approaches the time of immersion, a week of quietly building hope. Maybe this month it will work, maybe this month I will get pregnant, maybe this month, maybe.... The different ways of writing the text 'maybe this month' relate to different emotional states that the monthly hope 'maybe...' is whispered. It is embroidered in white on 15 white niddah examination cloths, but sewn together in red.

For other women, the monthly preparations for the mikveh perhaps contain other hopes and dreams, other things that maybe this month things will be.... this has been my process during the niddah cycle. A cycle that has taught me about my body, and made me aware of the passing of time and the emotional roller-coaster of family life.

I don't even begin to know what to say.

I feel quite ineligible to comment, as a male. A man can certainly know what it is to hope, and to hope for children, and to be disappointed, and to experience physical barriers to fertility, but the biological element involved for women is in a league of its own.

So I post it sans comment.

h/t A Mother in Israel.