DATING FORUM
By: Baila Sebrow
Question
When I was little, my parents went through a bad divorce and though my younger siblings and I should have been able to live with one of our parents, the rasha judge decided that it was in our best interest to live with foster families. As a result, we suffered a lot, but B’H we survived. I’m now in shidduchim and I have a job and apartment and I’m close with my parents. Do you think I should tell a shadchan that I was in foster care and everything about my childhood? Would it be considered that I’m holding back important information if I don’t?
Response
First and foremost, I want to tell you how much I admire your resilience. Reading your letter, what struck me was that despite an unimaginably difficult childhood including time in foster care, you built a productive life. You have a career, your own apartment, healthy relationships with your parents, and now you’re looking to get married. That says far more about your character than anything that happened decades ago.
Your question is not really about disclosing that you’ve been in foster care; it’s about whether you’re obligated to define yourself by decisions that a family court judge made when you were a child. My answer is that you are not. You didn’t ask to be placed in foster care. You didn’t choose the circumstances surrounding your parents’ divorce. You weren’t the litigant. You weren’t making legal decisions. You were simply a child whose future was determined by a judge in a courtroom. That distinction is incredibly important.
I want to acknowledge something important. Your story is not a story of failure. It’s a story of survival. You were a child caught in the middle of what appears to be, according to your letter, an extremely painful divorce. You did not choose the conflict between your parents. You did not choose to enter Family Court. You did not choose where you would live post-divorce. You were the one who had to live with the consequences of that decision. That was unfair to you because you were not the person on trial. You were a child whose life was decided by adults and a family court system. And that’s what makes Family Court so different from almost every other form of arbitration.
Family Court is unlike any other court in our legal system. It’s unlike criminal courts, where a person has the constitutional right to presumed innocence and have a jury hear the evidence before deciding the consequences. In Family Court, a person’s life can be permanently altered by the decisions of a single judge. The judge determines credibility, weighs conflicting testimony, evaluates reports from experts, and ultimately decides where and with whom children will live. The authority entrusted to Family Court judges is enormous. So are the consequences when a decision is wrong.
No judicial system is perfect because no human being is perfect. Judges can misinterpret evidence. Witnesses can be mistaken. Experts can disagree. Reports can be incomplete. Memories can fade. Parents can be poorly represented. Financial disparities can affect the quality of legal representation. Ultimately, a judge can never fully know what happens behind closed doors in a family. All of these factors influence the outcome of a case.
When mistakes occur in Family Court, children are the ones who bear the greatest burden. A judge who makes a decision that he believes will protect the child can unwittingly create a different kind of harm. A child removed from a loving home cannot recoup those lost years. A parent separated from a child cannot recover birthdays, school plays, graduations, or bedtime stories that were missed. Even when relationships are eventually restored, the passage of time cannot be reversed. That is why Family Court decisions carry such extraordinary weight.
Perhaps one of the greatest indications that Family Court deserves examination is the level of public frustration and distrust that exists around the system. Across social media, there are countless groups, websites, podcasts, and advocacy communities created by parents, foster children, grandparents, foster parents, and professionals who believe they or their families were harmed by Family Court or the child welfare system.
Some Facebook groups even use titles such as “Family Court Horror Stories” or “Family Court Corruption” and other similar names because members feel that their experiences were traumatic and no one heard their side. The existence of these groups does not mean that every story is accurate; nevertheless, every case should be examined individually. But the sheer number of people who say the system failed them should not be dismissed. When so many individuals from different states describe feeling unheard, powerless, and devastated by Family Court decisions, it raises important questions about transparency, accountability, and if children are being protected from the results of some of these decisions.
Family Court is also unique because so much of it takes place privately. Confidentiality exists to protect children, but it can also make it difficult for the public to understand what happens when mistakes occur. There have been tragic cases where children were removed from homes and found later to have been harmed as a result.
To be clear, there are certainly situations where foster care is necessary and saves children’s lives. There are children who genuinely need protection from abuse and neglect. Judges, caseworkers, attorneys, and foster families work tirelessly to protect vulnerable children. But acknowledging that reality does not mean every decision is the right one.
History has shown that courts sometimes make mistakes. Cases have been overturned. Families have been reunited after years apart. Investigations have uncovered errors in assessments and procedures. These cases remind us that judicial decisions, while deserving of respect, are not infallible.
Unfortunately, society often treats a Family Court order as though it is a final verdict on a family’s worth. The fact is that it isn’t. Being placed in foster care does not automatically mean your parents were bad parents. It does not automatically mean your home was unsafe. It does not automatically mean the judge reached the best decision. It simply means that, at a particular moment in time, a court made a decision based on the information it had. The real tragedy is what happens afterward.
Children frequently carry the label of “foster child” long after they’ve grown into responsible, successful adults. People hear these words and unconsciously fill in the blanks on matters that may have nothing to do with reality. They assume instability, dysfunction, and emotional damage. Those assumptions are unfair. Children do not choose divorce; children do not choose litigation; children do not choose foster care; children do not choose judicial rulings. Yet tragically, they often spend years carrying the consequences of choices made by adults. That’s why, as a shadchan, I believe we need to stop defining people by what happened to them as children and start looking at who they have become.
Let’s look at you now. In your case, what defines you? You work and you support yourself. You maintain relationships with your parents. You have demonstrated perseverance, maturity, and independence. Those are the qualities that matter in building a marriage. You have created a life for yourself despite circumstances that could have broken you. That’s what defines you. Regarding shidduchim, I do not believe that you’re obligated to tell every shadchan that you were once in foster care or had a painful childhood. There’s a difference between concealing information that materially affects a future spouse and believing you owe someone every chapter of your life’s most painful moments before they’ve even gotten to know you. A shadchan’s purpose is to determine whether two people may be compatible—not to conduct a forensic examination of someone’s childhood.
As trust develops and a relationship with a compatible match, iy’H, becomes serious, there may come a time when sharing your story is appropriate. In fact, I think honesty about one’s life is an important part of building a marriage. But timing matters. Vulnerability belongs in the context of trust. You deserve to be known first as the person you are today—not for a court order years ago when you had no voice and no say in your life. There’s a difference between sharing your story and being forced to defend yourself against a label. Your past is part of your story; it’s not your identity.
Sometimes the people who have endured the greatest challenges develop the greatest compassion, strength, and resilience. A childhood hardship does not predict someone’s ability to create a beautiful home and future. You are not the child that was placed in foster care; you are the adult who overcame it. And the right person will not see your past as a reason to reject you. They will see your strength, courage, and the character it took for you to become the person you are today.
Baila Sebrow is president of Neshoma Advocates, communications and recruitment liaison for Sovri-Beth Israel, executive director of Teach Our Children, and a shadchanis and shidduch consultant. Baila also produces and hosts The Definitive Rap podcast for 5townscentral.com, vinnews.com, Israel News Talk Radio, and WNEW FM 102.7 FM HD3, listenline & talklinenetwork.com. She can be reached at [email protected].
