Parshas Vayeitzei 5785
It would be difficult to conceive of two individuals from the past hundred years who lived their lives more fully than the Lubavitcher Rebbe and the Chazon Ish. The Rebbe’s influence can be felt in the vibrancy of Jewish life in the most far-flung communities across the globe and in the many thousands of lives dedicated to Jewish observance as a result of the outreach movement he launched. One cannot find a yeshiva that does not prominently display the works of the Chazon Ish nor identify a single area of halacha in which his incisive halachic decisions do not carry enormous weight in practical observance.
Two great sages, two great leaders, two great lives. Yet both lived without children. So did they really live at all?
To walk by her sister’s tent was to take a stroll into an abyss of agony and despair. The baby’s cries clearly audible, the sound of young children reciting their morning brachos, the tricycles and scooters strewn about the yard. And all the while, Rachel has no children of her own.
Rachel finally turns to her husband, Yaakov—perhaps after he announced he had to head out for a bit to learn with Reuven, or take Shimon to mishmar—and cries, “הבה לי בנים ואם אין מתה אנכי—Give me children, and if not, it is as if I am dead.”
Over the top? Melodramatic? Rashi doesn’t think so.
Quoting the Gemara in Nedarim, Rashi cites this pasuk as precedent that someone without children is considered dead.
Which is really mean.
Does a man or woman without children have nothing to live for? Is their Torah or Tefilah or Shabbos or Chessed somehow cheapened in Hashem’s eyes because they have no ability to share those experiences with progeny? If they live lives dedicated to the Jewish People, to just causes, to upholding decent values, have their lives had no meaning?
Can anyone doubt the enormous contributions made by the Lubavitcher Rebbe and the Chazon Ish to the Jewish People? Can it actually be said of men of such astounding accomplishments that their lives didn’t matter because they never had children?
Why be so mean?
There are two answers. The first is offered by Tosfos in Nedarim 64b, the Gemara cited by Rashi referenced above. Why give the infertile such a harsh label? Tosfos answer, it’s not for them, it’s for us. “ונפקא מיניה למבעי עלייהו רחמי—The practical difference it makes is that we must know to pray for them.”
To be excessively optimistic about a person’s plight and to incessantly look on the bright side of things in an effort to cheer them up, is to simply ignore the plight itself. “They don’t have children, but they have each other.” “She’s not married, but she enjoys her independence.” “He’s been in shidduchim for years, but he has such freedom to learn.” “You know the Lubavitcher Rebbe didn’t have children, neither did the Chazon Ish. And they lived full, productive lives.” In making the attempt to see another’s pain only through rose-colored glasses, we can become callous to that pain. We can presume they’re fine. We can forget they’re hurting. We can forget to daven.
There are incredible organizations dedicated to helping those struggling with infertility. How much of the engine running each organization is fueled by the very harsh assessment that living without children is something less than life? By Chazal’s raw and real declaration that life without children is like death, regardless of the myriad ways that one can still a hugely productive life? If we pretend there is no problem, would we bother trying to find solutions?
And there is another reason why characterizing childlessness in such harsh terms is critical. Not only for the onlookers, but for those potentially facing the issue themselves. A teaching of Chazal that equates childlessness with death is undoubtedly uncomfortable for those mired in that very situation. But it may well also be somewhat responsible for the successful marriages and family lives of countless others.
Ours is a culture that places an enormous value on marrying at a rather young age, starting a family quickly, and having many children. And that culture is partially shaped by statements such as this one. To say that to be without children is something less than true life creates pressure to marry and have children. And while that pressure can indeed be painful for those trying to do so but have not yet cleared the hurdles set along the course, it is that very pressure that helps motivate many others towards the finish line.
If Chazal hadn’t spoken of childlessness in the most dramatic of terms, it would ease the pressure not only off those who can’t get married or can’t have children, but also off those who simply don’t get married or won’t have children. The culture that places having children as the highest value could easily give way to one that says, “It’s really your call. There are lots of ways to find happiness and fulfillment. Do what feels right to you.”
Which means that we need to be able to do both. To continue to maintain the standard of getting married young and having large families, with all the attendant pressure it creates on those facing enormous challenges doing so, while also sensitizing ourselves to the plight of those who want nothing more than to be married and have children, but have not been able to do so.
On a communal level, this means forging ahead with the sort of programming that emphasizes children and highlights married couples—youth groups, Shalom Bayis classes, couples’ nights, family events, and the like—recognizing that it is that very emphasis that helps to create a culture that encourages marriage and having children to the greatest degree possible.
But simultaneously, to recognize the pain that individuals and couples experience when they feel that so much of the frum world revolves around what they don’t presently have. It means following the approach of Tosfos, that onlookers recognize the acute pain felt by those attempting to have children but have been stymied in those efforts. It means attempting to help through prayer and through concerted efforts to help them achieve their goals.
But it also means increased sensitivity in other ways. By giving space to a couple without children to not attend a bris or hakafos on Simchas Torah without being badgered with mindless comments like “Where were you? How could you miss it? Everyone was there!” It means being careful not to make too much of a spectacle of giving children brachos on Friday night or allowing the conversation at the table to be monopolized by topics like carpool and after-school clubs when there are those in the room who simply cannot participate.
The equation of childlessness with death is shocking, but it’s not mean. We are meant to be shocked. Shocked out of our obliviousness and take note that there are people around us suffering mightily. So that we can be more sensitive towards their needs, help them achieve their goals, and daven for them. And also to shock those whose decisions about marriage and children still lay before them. That rather than be lulled to sleep by a society increasingly apathetic to the responsibility of procreation, to instead be keenly attuned to the Torah’s demand that for life to be lived to the fullest, it is to be shared with children.