“I’m leaving.”
—AMISH GIRL
“Tell me something,” a friend from my church said as he stopped me in the foyer of our church building soon after my first visit to Amish country. “How can Amish parents justify telling their teenagers to go out and do whatever they want once they turn sixteen? How can a parent do that?”
This was a loving father and grandfather. His question was sincere.
“What makes you think that happens?” I asked.
“There was this program on TV that said that during something I think they call rumspringa, Amish kids are allowed to do whatever they want to do and their parents just sit around hoping they’ll eventually come back to their church.”
After watching some so-called documentaries, I have to admit, that had been my impression as well. That was before I actually got to know several Amish parents who were raising teenagers. Rumspringa looms large in the Englisch view of Amish life, and television shows and movies that depict Amish teenagers drinking, doing drugs, smoking, and having wild sexual encounters have taken root in the American consciousness.
From the time Amish children turn sixteen, they have to wrestle with the decision of whether or not to accept the faith of their parents and community. It is not a decision easily made, and the ramifications either way are enormous. During this period of decision forming, they are allowed to experience many of the things forbidden in the church, and many of them do get things like iPhones or driver’s licenses. But the TV shows and movies have not always given an accurate depiction of what rumspringa is really like. This is meant to be a time where children are allowed to decide whether or not the Amish life—and the Amish faith—is for them.
If, at the end of their rumspringa, a person chooses to become Englisch instead of being baptized into the Amish church, he or she will be allowed to leave the community. They will still be allowed to have some fellowship with their Amish family, but they will not live within the community, and the relationships are never quite as tight-knit from that point on.
However, if a young person decides to stay Amish, they must stand by that choice. After enjoying a few years of driver’s licenses, cars, radios, cell phones, Englisch dress, movies, the internet, and even the freedom to pursue more education, an Amish youth has to face—if he or she is going to remain Amish—putting all that away, selling the car, climbing into a buggy, dressing plainly for the rest of their life—and presumably never look back.
Once a young person is baptized into the Amish church, they cannot leave it without the possibility of being shunned. This ban, or shunning, is stricter in some sects than others, but the possibility is always there.
In other words, becoming Amish is not a superficial choice that one can wander in and out of. It is a deadly serious commitment and one that no Amish person takes lightly.
To make sure they know what they’re getting into, teenagers are given a bit more freedom to find out about the outside world. “It isn’t that we allow them to just go out and go crazy,” Mary tells me. “They are given more freedom, yes, just like your Englisch teenagers are given when they are old enough to drive. But we worry and pray, just like you, that they’ll stay away from alcohol and drugs. It isn’t as though we push them through the door and tell them to go be as sinful as they can be.”
I’m no expert on Amish teens, but when I see them, they are usually working: Naomi’s girls, washing dishes, doing chores, going to their outside jobs, cooking, sewing, bringing home their paychecks. Mary’s sons, going off to their jobs as carpenters before daybreak and working hard around the family farm in what spare time they have in the evenings. These are not the out-of-control teenagers you see on some of the television shows. These are polite, reasonably contented kids who are hardworking, respectful to their parents, and kind to one another. This is the reality I see.
So, in order to talk about Amish teenagers for this book, I turned to Paul, the expert, who ran with Amish boys during his Mennonite youth.
“Tell me everything you know about rumspringa,” I said.
We were sitting in the Victorian front parlor of the Hotel Millersburg with a pot of coffee between us. This was where we pounded out most of the plans for this book, and we were no longer a curiosity to the staff, as we sat there with our computers and notebooks and stacks of notecards.
Paul took a sip of coffee, then carefully set it back down and stared at the table without answering. I assumed he was simply taking the time to gather his thoughts. Paul has been an easy coauthor with whom to work. We’d been able to weigh and discard various ideas about this book without either of us taking offense. If anything, I’d had to caution him, with his pacifist Mennonite background, from being too nice to contradict me. I didn’t want a coauthor who agreed with everything I said.
Therefore, I am surprised by the anger that flashes in his eyes when he finally looks up at me.
“Whoa,” I said. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Paul answered. “It’s just that I despise the word rumspringa.”
I was caught completely off-guard. “What is wrong with the word rumspringa?”
“It is a term that was coined by the media for exploitive purposes,” he said. “The Englisch media has given non-Amish people the idea that at age sixteen, Amish parents basically throw up their hands and give their children permission to do whatever they want whenever they want to do it with the idea that when they do come back to the church, they will have gotten worldliness out of their system.”
I admitted that was pretty much the impression I had before I actually knew the Amish.
“You and your husband are part of a conservative church, Serena,” he said. “When you were raising your sons and they turned sixteen, did you throw in the towel and let them do whatever they wanted?”
“Of course not,” I said. “They had curfews. We expected to know where they were, what they were doing, and who they were with. We tried to give them enough freedom to grow up, but they knew we’d be paying attention and would put up some barriers if we saw them abusing their freedom.”
“Exactly,” Paul said. “That’s what my wife and I did with our children. That’s what most Amish parents do as well.”
“Then how did the idea of rumspringa being a deliberately wild and crazy time get started?”
“Rumspringa simply means ‘running around,’ ” Paul said. “If you went to an Amish friend’s house and asked where one of their teenage children were, the parent might say, ‘Oh, he’s out running around.’ Those few years after age sixteen, before one formally joins the church, are an especially social time for young people. They go to one another’s homes, attend singings, play games, and check out other youth from other Amish churches. It is primarily a time for finding someone to marry.”
“So you’re saying the drunken barn parties are a myth?”
“No.” Paul shook his head. “They happen—but they certainly aren’t condoned by the church, and not all Amish kids participate. My experience is that the large percentage of Amish teens don’t really step all that far outside the lines of how they were raised. They might cut their hair and buy some Englisch clothes for a while. Many get driver’s licenses and carry cell phones. Most of them are too busy working a full-time job to get into much trouble at all. The main thing I want people to realize is that Amish parents aren’t pushing their teenagers to go out and experience every possible vice just so they’ll get it out of their systems. That would be foolish, and the Amish are not a foolish people.”
A few weeks later, I dropped in and found Naomi and a younger daughter cleaning out the upper section of their barn. The barn is huge, and practically empty. A dairy business had been tried and abandoned. The only thing the barn is used for now is housing one cow that provides milk for the family’s needs, a multiplicity of barn cats, and the family dogs.
While Naomi and I talked, the younger daughter became bored and asked permission to go back to the house. Naomi surprised me by letting her daughter go before the work was finished. The minute the girl was gone, I realized why. My friend had bad news and wanted privacy to talk to me about it.
A light rain had begun to fall and the sound of rain on the tin roof made the top story of the barn feel comfortable and cozy. I spent a great deal of my childhood playing in barns much like this one. The smell of hay and the sounds of pigeons roosting in the rafters brought back good memories, and yet there was a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I was afraid I knew what Naomi wanted to talk with me about.
“Have a seat.” She arranged two stray bales of hay close together to create a comfortable place for us to sit while we talked.
“Fanny is leaving,” Naomi told me. “She’s leaving the Amish church.”
I closed my eyes, absorbing the impact of this statement. I love this family and am impressed with the life these parents have given their children. To so many people, the life this girl has lived would seem ideal. In my eyes, she has had all the love and nurturing a daughter could possibly want.
But I had been seeing the signs. Her “running around” period had lasted longer than most. She was of marrying age and there was as of yet no young man asking her to marry. For several years she had worn only a small, black, lace head covering instead of the white prayer kapp of her mother and younger sisters. She owned a car, used an iPhone, and had a job in which she “worked out.”
“I’m so sorry, Naomi.”
I waited for tears. For anger. For hurt to show in Naomi’s face. I knew how deeply she valued the heritage she had been raised with and tries to preserve within her family.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I am,” Naomi assured me. “My husband and I have done our job. We have taught her well. She knows the Lord. She values the scriptures. She is a grown woman and it is time for her to make her own decisions. I have peace that she will make good ones.”
There was a stoic acceptance in Naomi’s voice. I was astonished and impressed. Fanny was leaving the church of her forebears and Naomi was at peace?
I did not know if this behavior was typical or not. I’d never been through this before.
A few days later, I found myself alone with Fanny for a few minutes.
“I hear you’ve made a big decision,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m leaving.”
“It really isn’t greener on the other side of the fence, you know,” I said, thinking of all the people I know who wish they could have been raised in such a nurturing environment. “You might be losing a whole lot more than you realize if you go through with this.”
“I know what I’m doing,” she told me.
“Where will you go?”
She looked around at the big, old, honest house where she and her siblings had grown up. “I think they’ll allow me to stay here for a while. I have not been baptized into the Amish church yet, so I can’t be shunned, but I’m not sure what to expect.”
I didn’t know, either. Her parents are kind and compassionate people, but the church and their family is their life. In spite of Naomi’s acceptance, I know this daughter’s decision had to have been difficult.
“When you have a family of your own,” I said awkwardly, “you will be giving up much that is good for your family. Are you sure having electricity and a car is worth it?”
In my opinion, this girl was taking a huge risk.
“I’m not leaving because I want to have electricity in my life,” Fanny said. “I’m leaving because I want more spirituality in my life. I’ve found a church that I really like.”
“What kind of a church?”
“We don’t really have a name. We’re not very big. Just a few of us who study the Bible together. I’ve learned so much.”
“What do they teach?”
“The Bible.” She smiled. “And they have a band!”
“A band?”
“One of the girls I’ve become friends with in the church plays guitar.”
I knew that Fanny also played guitar and wrote songs. Now that she had an outlet for her music, I doubted that she’d be coming back to the Amish church anytime soon.
A couple months later, I saw Fanny again. She had not wavered in her newfound freedom. She was wearing blue jeans and her hair was down. She looked stunning, as well as happy.
“I realize that driving a car or having electricity will not necessarily send a person to hell,” Naomi told me later. “But I also know it is possible to lose our culture entirely within one generation. I would hate to see that happen. I believe the life we have is a good and rare thing.”
And yet, the Amish still let their children choose.
Why? Because in spite of all the teaching they give their children, in spite of all the prayers, and all the church services, they do not believe it is possible to inherit or impose faith. Each individual must choose. This freedom to choose is rooted in the very beginnings of the Anabaptist movement. Five hundred years ago, they rejected the practice of infant baptism because they believed becoming a Christian had to be an individual decision and commitment. They have not changed in that belief.