Parenting The (so called) “Wicked Child”- A Blessing, Not A Burden

Several years ago, a few days after Pesach, one of my close friends called me. I couldn’t answer the phone at the moment so instead she left me a message saying that she has something urgent to discuss and that I should get back to her as soon as I can. The moment I got a chance, I returned the call. After the usual pleasantries, I asked what was going on. She said she needed to discuss with me something that happened at her Pesach seder. 

“What happened at the seder?” I asked. 

She said, “I was reading the Haggadah, really enjoying it, and then I got to a certain section and I froze.” 

“Oh, that one,” I responded knowingly. “The Shfoch Chamatacha piece, where we ask God to pour His wrath on ALL the nations, anyone who is not Jewish. Yeah, it is really a challenging prayer,” I concluded. 

She reacted with an emphatic NO. “Not at all, Ysoscher! That’s not the one I’m talking about. I mean the piece where the Haggadah talks about the four sons, the different types of children.” 

“Ah, that’s what you’re referring to,” I responded, a bit perplexed. “What’s so bad about that section?” 

And that is when she broke down crying. Choking back tears, she said to me, “It hit me this year that the wicked son described by the Haggadah is actually my child. The questions that child is asking are exactly the kind of things my own son is struggling with. He, like the fictional son in the Haggadah, feels alienated and estranged from Judaism and for several years now has ‘checked out.’ It is not his ‘thing.’ 

“But,” she continued, “I nevertheless love him dearly, no less than any of my other children.” Sounding even more agitated, she continued. “But, if I understand the Haggadah correctly, that is not what I am supposed to do. According to the author of the Four Sons midrash, I am supposed to not love my child but instead ‘knock out his teeth.’ I found this suggestion so painful,” she said, still crying. 

She went on. “If the ‘knock out his teeth’ suggestion was not painful enough, the author goes on telling us that if this wicked child (i.e., my son) had been in Egypt during the time our ancestors were freed from their enslavement, he would not have been among them. He would have been left behind, living in bondage in perpetuity. 

“This,” she said to me, “enraged me so much that I could not hold back. I declared at the seder table, in front of my family, friends, and other invited guests, that if I were alive during that time and my child was singled out for rebelliousness and deemed unworthy of redemption, I would have chosen to stay behind in Egypt, too. I would never abandon my own ‘wicked’ son.”

As she finished her heart-wrenching story, she was barely audible. Struggling to hear her final words through the sobbing, I heard her say, “I can’t really speak further and am not even sure that I know what I want from you, but I just needed to get it off my chest, let out some of my pain. Thanks for listening, Ysoscher,” she concluded. And then she abruptly hung up. 

As you can imagine, I was shaken and deeply pained by this conversation—and also stumped. I did not have a good answer for my pained friend. She is right, the Haggadah does seem to have little tolerance for those kids we are all aware of, either because they are our own children, or the children of relatives, neighbors, or friends. They are, so to speak, “wicked.” They ask probing questions, they express discomfort with aspects of our tradition, and in some cases those questions loom so large for them that they feel they have no choice but to leave the fold, reject and abandon classical Judaism. And we, the parents, are stumped. We try every which way possible to “bring them back into the fold” and we fail. Repeatedly. Their questions have been too big, their philosophical conflicts irreconcilable, leading them to the only possible conclusion: they need to get out! And out they’ve gone. They have abandoned observance and no longer see themselves part of the community in which they were raised, the religious home of their family, their neighborhood, and their circle of good friends. 

Such a move leaves parents wondering: What now?! How does and should such a drastic move on the part of our progeny impact our relationship with them? Especially in light of the Haggadah, are we indeed supposed to blunt their teeth or perhaps even worse, knock them out, either physically or metaphorically? Along those lines, is the Haggadah suggesting that the “rebellious” child forfeits membership in the community? As a rabbi, I was particularly interested in seeing what light can be shed on these vexing questions by our traditional sources. I was not expecting to find a lot of sources, but thought that perhaps here and there something does exist that can help guide us. 

After searching for a while, I was immensely surprised by what I found. Turns out that my assumption was wrong. Our tradition, in fact, has a lot to say on the topic, exploring the issue from a variety of angles and looking at different aspects of this complex phenomenon. 

This is not the venue to share all the sources I came across; instead I will share two highlights that can help us navigate this difficult terrain. (I, in fact, am also working on a more extensive teshuva on this topic, exploring the issue from a variety of halakhic angles.) 

The Haggadah commentator Livyat Chen points out something extremely fascinating. The section in the Torah that, according to the Haggadah, is discussing the “wicked” child is introduced with the word והיה (In Shemot 13:14 it says והיה כי ישאלך בנך ), and that is rather surprising because the word’s unique etymology would seem to make it the wrong word choice, based on the gemara in Megillah (10a) 

The Rabbis there tell us that the Hebrew word ve’haya implies simcha and joy. (אין והיה אלא לשון שמחה) Most often, in the Torah the word ve’haya functions as an introductory word, introducing an event, usually something that will happen in the future, and according to the Rabbis, this word choice implies that the event about to be described is a happy one.  

While in general this seems to be a fairly mundane postulate, on the surface, our parsha seems to belie it. According to the Rabbis, Shemot 13:14 is telling us that one day in the future some of us will have to grapple with “wicked” children who will cast doubt upon the parent’s religious first principles, challenging their subservience to God. (“מה העבודה הזאת לכם”) How, then, does it make sense that this rather painful forecast is introduced with the word ve’haya, which implies the opposite of pain? It suggests a rosy future bringing about joy and happiness.   

The inescapable conclusion, suggests the Livyat Chen, is that in its decision to use the introductory word (“והיה”) here, the Torah is trying to convey an important and very subtle message. It is telling us that there is an element of joy embedded in the rather challenging prediction that some of us will have to grapple with a “rebellious” child. Yes, having “rebellious” children who challenge our foundational beliefs can be very hard, but if the parents are willing to look deep beneath the surface, they will find that there is something joyous about it, something worthy of celebration. A “rebellious” child is a curious child; a thoughtful child; a courageous child; a child who is guided by a deep sense of honesty and integrity; and, most importantly, a child who feels loved enough as to be unafraid to present them with tough and hard questions.  

Given all that, the Torah rightfully hints that our “rebellious” children should be a source of joy, not sadness and disappointment: והיה כי ישאלך בנך indeed לשון של שמחה. When it happens, there is much to rejoice and be thankful to Ha’kadosh Baruch Hu for. 

While rejoicing in the journeys of “rebellious” children might be difficult and take some time, being angry at them for abandoning their parental path is definitely not justified. Nothing in Torah or halakha obligates a child to follow a parent’s choices lock, stock, and barrel. The mitzvah of kibbud av va’eim does not require children to be subservient to their parents. The Rashba in tractate Yevamot (6a) expresses this idea very bluntly. He writes that בדבר שאין לו לאב הנאה אין בו מצווה כלל. In a few pithy words he radically changes the way we understand the mitzvah of kibbud av va’eim. According to him, this mitzvah does not obligate children to adhere to every whim, wish, or desire of their parents. The mitzvah merely requires them to take care of their material “needs” (“כיבוד”) and to treat them with dignity and respect (“מורא”). Once those criteria are satisfied, there is nothing that obligates a child to acquiesce to their preferences or desires. 

The Rashba’s demarcation of the parameters of kibbud av va’eim is also codified in Shulchan Aruch (hilchot Kibbud Horim Se’if 25). Some of the examples given by the poskim are quite noteworthy. One example is when the adult child and the parents differ about which yeshiva/school the child should attend. Another example is shidduchim, when the adult child wants to marry someone and the parents disapprove of the union—they just don’t LIKE him or her. In both cases, the halakha is that the child should try to accommodate the parental preference, but there ultimately is no absolute obligation. 

The bottom line is that making significant life choices about one’s education or one’s future life that are not in line with parental preferences should not in any way be seen as a dereliction of children’s basic religious duty toward their parents. The commandment of kibbud av va’eim was never meant to force children to negate their own will in favor of the will of their elders. They are not obligated to forfeit their autonomy and independence, which should in no way be seen as a rejection of the parents or of their duties toward them. 

Moreover, not only is this point halakhically true, it is also a psychological and sociological reality. 

Dear reader, I hope you can excuse my bluntness here, but this is an important point that needs to be stated clearly and unequivocally: Being disappointed when our children choose a different religious path than ours carries a whiff of arrogance, because it assigns to us a greater role in our children’s major life choices than we in fact have. We tend to inflate the degree to which we shape their future and influence the trajectory of their lives.  

Of course we play a role in the direction their lives take, but it is crucial to remember that we are just one factor among many. The trajectory one’s life takes is influenced by innumerable variables: friends, school, teachers, education, the larger Jewish and non-Jewish culture, and many, many more. Tucked away among these myriad influences are also the parents; we are only one variable among so many. Consequently, beating ourselves up for the choices our children eventually make is misguided and somewhat arrogant. We are not the major players in this drama that we may think we are. Our role in this unfolding tale is relatively small.

Consequently, to be disappointed in ourselves for “failing” as parents is simply incorrect and belied by the children’s psychological and social reality. So many emotional and social experiences other than you led them to where they eventually arrived. 

It’s therefore very important not to let that misguided sense of failure inform the way you embrace and support your child’s unique and different path. 

You didn’t fail! 

It is not your fault! 

In no way is it a reflection on you whatsoever!

It is exclusively about them and has almost NOTHING to do with you! 

___________

There is so much more to say here, and as I mentioned, I am in the middle of writing up a more comprehensive treatment of this vexing issue that quite a few among us are grappling with—each in our own way. For now this will have to suffice. And as the saying goes: ועוד חזון למועד, the topic is not going away so soon and there will be other opportunities to further explore various angles of this rather widespread phenomenon. 

For now, though, I want to circle back to the dear friend I mentioned in the beginning: She was absolutely justified in being hurt—nay, insulted—by the Haggadah’s attitude toward the “rebellious” child. The Haggadah definitely takes a hard and uncompromising line toward them. But as I have tried to show, that is not the only voice in our tradition. In fact, there are many voices that suggest the exact opposite: that these hyper-individuated children should be loved, cherished, and even celebrated. 

In fact, I would suggest that we need to make sure that they feel our parental love even more than their siblings, because they suspect that we love them less. God forbid they should feel less loved as they pursue their journey toward wholeness and optimal self-fulfillment. 

Wishing you a chag kasher ve’sameiach, where you are sameiach with the whole family, those who are in complete lockstep with your own religious journey and also those who have chosen to embark on their own unique and independent journey. 

(This essay was originally published as part of the YCT  Pesach Reader found here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1IsOmdDrUrwtXM81JiBes67Ta4DZuUJE2/view?usp=drive_link)