The black puffer jacket, pristine Nike Airs and Jewfro are now de rigueur. But the question people keep asking is: Where is the respect?
Before you assume this is a diatribe about the behaviour of today’s youth, please read on.
Because it’s easy to point the finger at them, to shake our heads in disapproval and rue days gone by when everything was perfect – when youngsters supposedly doffed their caps to their elders and everyone spoke the Queen’s English!
But nostalgia is a very selective historian.
Every generation believes that the one after it has somehow lost its way. The clothes, the language, the music are all wrong. And of course we’re told that technology is ruining everything, social media is toxic and attention spans have disappeared.
Yet here is the uncomfortable truth: If the next generation isn’t inspired, if they aren’t engaged, if they don’t feel connected, the first place we should look isn’t at them but at ourselves.
Human nature doesn’t change, and young people today aren’t indifferent to meaning. They’re not allergic to values. They aren’t incapable of respect. What they are, perhaps more than any generation before them, is extraordinarily sensitive to authenticity.
They watch far more than they listen and they remember what they see. Which means the most powerful teachers in a child’s life aren’t always in the classroom but certainly in the home. Children learn life skills not from lectures, but from watching the adults around them. That’s why we must recognise that Jewish education can’t be outsourced. A school can teach knowledge. but values – the feeling for what matters – are absorbed from people, passed naturally from one generation to the next. From the conversations around the table. From the way Shabbat is treated. From whether parents see Shul as a burden to be endured or a privilege to be embraced.
So if we want children to show respect, they must see it modelled by us. Respect for people. Respect for places. Respect for moments that are meant to be different.
A Shul isn’t just another building. It’s a holy place. A shiva house isn’t a social gathering. It’s time for solemnity and reflection. And what we wear, how we behave and the way we speak should reflect where we are and why we are there.
Dropping children off at Shul and expecting someone else to supervise them isn’t engagement. It’s delegation. Belonging grows when parents are there too, when families come together, when children see that this is something their parents value enough to be present for.
Coming to Shul should be understood, not as an obligation imposed from outside, but as a responsibility and an opportunity. An opportunity to share something special across generations. An opportunity to celebrate joyous moments together.
Because every generation doesn’t just inherit Judaism – it learns how to live it by watching the one before.
So the next time we see the puffer jackets, the trainers and the hair that defies gravity, we could sigh and complain, or we could ask a harder question. Not what’s wrong with them?
But what are we showing them?
Because in the end, the generation we raise will reflect the example we set.