By Rebecca Kalmar, Social Media Manager and Staff Writer
“I’m a rabbi’s daughter.”
Hearing this phrase never fails to bring a smile to my face. Finally, someone who gets it. Being the child of a pulpit rabbi and rebbetzin is often an honor and a blessing, as these positions are focused outward on the needs of the community. There is a great deal of beauty and pride in living a life of passionate service to others, but the fact remains that unlike their parents, the children of rabbis and rebbetzins are born into a life they did not choose. Despite the honor, this life can also come with a lot of responsibility and baggage.
The term “preacher’s kid syndrome” is another phrase I hear often. Being the child of a clergy member, while extremely meaningful, can also be difficult. There is a tendency for the children of clergy to rebel against religion and other societal norms. We face many difficulties and stressors unique to our position.
From a young age, there was a noted difference between myself and my peers. While they were largely left to their own devices, I spent time in conversation with congregants, simply because I was the rabbi’s daughter. I formed communal relationships which I still treasure, but there was no denying that because of who my parents were, my siblings and I were frequently in the public eye. Children of clergy may find it difficult to make a name for themselves within their community separate from their connection to their parents.
The social nature of shul can at times be intimidating for everyone. Judgmental conversations about a person’s college degree or career path, or passing comments about a person’s weight may unfortunately seem par for the course for many teenagers and young adults. But for rabbis’ children, the public nature of their families can increase such interactions.
While I have experienced these uncomfortable situations, I have also witnessed the exact opposite scenario. I can vividly remember times when a group of people stopped talking mid-conversation because the rabbi’s daughter was there. The awareness of the impact my presence had on other people’s behavior reinforced my feeling that I was not the same as those around me. While this difference sometimes made me feel special, it also set me apart from others in a way that can be quite isolating.
Children of clergy also often have additional responsibilities to help their parents in their roles as communal leaders, and while some tasks may be small and inconsequential, these children also have an inside perspective on the complexities of communal life. They can potentially become involved in complicated situations which they have no training to navigate. I can guarantee that every rabbi’s child can think of a time they learned something they never wanted to know, or were stuck in a problematic situation most other people would never have to face.
For every decision a rabbi and rebbetzin’s child makes, they must think not only about how the community will view them personally, but also how it will impact their family. Everything from the outfit I choose to wear to shul to what time I show up is noted and reflects on the whole family. This added pressure and lack of independence is something that weighs on me. I even struggled when writing this article to strike a balance between where I could be vulnerable and also how to avoid hurting my community or my family.
The roles of shul rabbi and rebbetzin are ones which require a great deal of time and investment, but this comes at a cost. The decreased privacy and family time can be hard for pulpit rabbis’ families. I grew up knowing that at any moment, something urgent could come up which could impact my parents’ availability for me and my siblings. Anything from a phone call, to an issue with the eruv, to a sudden tragedy could and has changed our schedules as priorities had to shift.
I remember once as a little girl, my father came to pick my siblings and I up from school and ran into someone who wanted to speak with him. While they were talking, I tried to get my father’s attention, yelling “Dad,” “Abba” and “Papa,” but to no avail. Finally I realized how I could get my father to listen to me, and I loudly called out “Rabbi!” Sure enough, my dad turned.
While Shabbos and Yom Tov are seen by many as time to be spent with family, these are the busiest days for families of the rabbinate. My family rarely leaves home for Shabbosim, and never leaves the community for Yom Tov. Not only is a family vacation on Yom Tov out of the question, but Yom Tov meals at my house often involve hosting many guests. We do still get time to just be together as a family, but I sometimes find it hard to put on a smile and be a gracious host when I just need some personal space.
Despite these and other hardships, I was incredibly blessed to grow up in a warm, welcoming community, where I was primarily exposed to the wonderful aspects of being a rabbi’s daughter. Others were not so lucky. Some rabbi’s children and their families face consistent communal politics and strife. It pains me to hear their struggles, and how isolated they are in those experiences.
The jobs of rabbis and rebbetzins are incredibly difficult, but there is a built-in support system. Conferences, mentors and even WhatsApp group chats all provide tools to help rabbis and rebbetzins guide their communities. No such infrastructure exists for their children. While our roles are understandably quite different, it is undeniable that children of clergy are impacted by the roles of their parents. Workshops for rabbis’ children to provide them with coping mechanisms for particular scenarios, sessions for clergy emphasizing understanding and helping their children or events for rabbis’ children to be able to connect with their peers may go some way to help to address some of these struggles.
I don’t have all the solutions, and it’s true that some problems may not be solved, but I hope children of clergy who may feel lost or invisible can know they are not alone, and that there are people who care. While “preacher’s kid syndrome” may not be real, preachers’ kids certainly are, and there is more that must be done to support them.