"To perceive is to suffer", Aristotle wrote. Yet, in the Orthodox world, often, to be perceived is to suffer. There is much to be said about the beauty of commonalities in the Orthodox community, but with that comes the great pain of those who are so clearly out of sync with the uniformity of their community. Nowhere is this pain more profound than in the world of Orthodox childlessness.
In a world so centered around generationally, family life, and raising children–often in large families–the feeling of stinging exclusion of those who are childless so felt often in the limelight, which only adds to the burning pain it comes with. Raising a family with children in the big city can be challenging; being single in suburbia where everything runs around schools, plays, and soccer practices can also be difficult–yet nothing is more difficult than being childless in a society that is socially, religiously, and logistically centered around having children.
The loneliness of being childless is often compounded by its discrete nature. As some people choose to have children later in life or choose not to have children at all, it is hard to know when someone has chosen childlessness and when they struggle with the pain of childlessness. Suffering silently is most often the way in which people go through infertility and childlessness. If loneliness compounds the pain of childlessness in the general population, it multiplies it a thousandfold in the Orthodox community, where the topic often discussed less openly and where the uniformity of lifestyle can automatically single out those whose lifestyle differs from the majority.
Five years ago, after multiple pregnancies lost with all the devastation that comes with those, a Harvard-trained specialized doctor told my wife and me there was nothing they could do for us. They would be wasting our time and money if they told us there is a way for us to successfully have children.
It goes without saying this was a soul-crushing moment on many levels, but unlike the passing of a loved one or other losses we experience in life, this was not one that can be shared. The pain, fear, anxiety, and devastation of such news, coupled with it’s discrete nature, brought upon us pain that had no place to go.
We were not the only ones.
Countless Orthodox couples and singles find themselves navigating the soul-crushing pain of childlessness on their own. While we have seen the positive developments of support groups like Bonei Olam and other organizations bringing people together and giving them a place to discuss the challenges of childless lives, but much of this path remains a lonely path to travel.
The pain of Orthodox childlessness is not only a path of emotional loneliness; it is often a path of physical isolation. Those who do not fit into Orthodox suburbia, bustling with its carpools, parents-child learning, play dates, and multi-family Shabbat meals, find themselves choosing to live away from their peers and families just to avoid the pain and contrast of being recognized for not having children. They are not attending the same family-oriented events, lifecycle events, and other social gatherings they would have been attending otherwise. At a Simcha, they may be seated at a table with the single friends of the bride and groom, and often, they may not be invited and forgotten altogether.
Sometimes, this exclusion is something childless people prefer and enjoy more. Avoiding the pain of judgment, intrusive questions or judgy looks may feel better than being included. Yet being cognizant of this and going the extra mile to make sure those facing childlessness are either taken into more consideration, given more options, or knowing that we are thinking of them, is far more important.
Many might wonder what the right thing to say might be, but it is impossible to give a precise version. Much of it echoes what First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt has said: “nobody cares how much you know, until they know how much you care.” The line between comments that show genuine care, love and respect of boundaries and what might be seen as synthetic sympathy, intrusiveness, and insensitivity is a fine line. It often depends on the recipient of the message, or the person giving the message.
Sometimes not saying something might be the most appreciated message, while at other times, showing love and care might be better. As a whole, the approach of including, caring, and thinking of someone without saying anything that might be interpreted as relating to their state of childlessness is probably the best one. Most importantly, communal, familial and societal shows of consideration, if done tactfully, are those that impact most people in the most positive way.
Orthodox Jews going through the process of childlessness cannot rely on communal responses to their situation. Sometimes, seeking out support groups, being mindful of the unique societal circumstances that might compound their pain, and connecting with those who might be able to help them through this process are among the things that can be done to help.
Will this alleviate all the pain they are experiencing? No. That pain is too immense. Despite the physician who told us we cannot have children having been wrong and going on to be blessed with a family, that pain remains etched in our soul. Yet knowing what might be causing us so much pain might help alleviate it.
Rabbi Elchanan Poupko is an author, a rabbi, and a teacher. Rabbi Poupko has published hundreds of articles in three languages and is the author of several books. He lives with his family in New Haven, Connecticut.