Dear Mrs. Bluth,
I just recently read your column for the first time, and was floored. The particular letter addressed a situation that seemed to describe my childhood. Sadly, when I was a child there was no column like this to turn to. I am so happy that there is now a place where those young and old can turn to for comforting, practical advice.
I’m a grown man now, well into late middle age, married to the woman I cherish and for whom I thank Hashem every day. I am the father of four wonderful children and grandfather of sixteen, k”ah. Unfortunately, my own childhood was the complete opposite of how our children were raised. I remember, as a child of five or six, coming home from yeshiva to find my father screaming at my mother for either not preparing the evening meal to his liking or for having made too much or too little food. He demanded fresh food every night, which required her to shop on a daily basis, even though she had to work full-time to make up for the lack of money he gave her.
We kids didn’t mind eating leftovers, as long as it meant that mom could spend some extra time with us. My mother was a kind, loving and giving person with a permanent smile on her face that belied the misery she was forced to endure; my father rarely missed an opportunity to ridicule and degrade her at home or in public. She saved her tears for the wee hours of the morning in her darkened kitchen thinking no one could hear her – but I saw and heard.
As my mother grew frail and sickly and tried to avoid my father, he sought to satisfy his ever-present anger and dissatisfaction onto us. If we so much as looked at him the wrong way, he would take off his belt and beat us until he was spent. Many nights I lay whimpering in my bed after a beating, wishing my father would die and we would finally be left to live in peace. While I loved my mother with all my heart, I was furious at her for putting up with this abuse and not fighting back.
When I was in my teens I would often stand up to my father and step between him and my mother or him and my younger siblings so that I could take the beating for them. By then, my mother had developed a terrible cough but wouldn’t go to the doctor because it was not in the “budget” and every penny she saved after she stopped working was for us. I remember how her hacking cough left her so weak, she could barely get off the couch, but even then, my father wouldn’t let up on her. He kept verbally tormenting her until I would defend her and my father and I would end up beating each other.
My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer soon after that and died a short time later. My father had succeeded in killing the one person I loved most in my life – his chain-smoking caused her lung cancer.
I couldn’t stay in that house anymore as I was already on a downward spiral, questioning my faith in Hashem for allowing such misery to exist. But Hashem and my mother, a”h, never left my side, eventually guiding me to Yeshiva Neveh Zion in Yerushalayim. With the love and guidance of caring rabbeim and their families, I slowly found my way back. They helped me understand that good and evil are human choices and that my father would answer to Hakodosh Boruch Hu when his time came. When I expressed fear that I would turn out like him, they assured me that such behavior is not hereditary and that I could choose not to adopt my father’s evil ways. The Torah way is a way of loving kindness. And that indeed is what I chose.
Your column woke up so many memories and assorted emotions, but most of all, what gave me the most peace of mind was that there are now people such as yourself, ready and willing to help those who cannot or do not know how to help themselves.
Dear Friend,
Kol hakovod to you for turning your life around after such horrible experiences. It is obvious that you succeeded in rising above all the painful and abusive role modeling that you might have normalized and transferred into your own marriage and child-rearing.
I am also thankful that our community has recognized, for the most part, the need to deal with the dysfunctions and abuse that have made their way into our home. Tragically, the Torah does not exempt us from mental illness, shield the defenseless against deviant or abusive behavior. As far as we have come, though, there is still much more work to be done.
No matter how old we grow, that little child that we once were still lives within us. If one has missed out on the most integral and basic growing experiences needed to evolve into healthy adulthood, that little child still searches and longs to feel complete.
It might serve you well to consider a few sessions with a therapist so that you can find closure with the past and ease the burden of pain and anger that has grown with you. Even though you view yourself as completely disconnected from the effects of your father’s behavior, there is much left unresolved that must be weighing heavy on your heart and may be impeding the quality of your life. I know it will give you great menuchas hanefesh.
I’m glad you found the column and that it resonated with you. Perhaps, someday soon, you will be able to think back in time and find some happy memories that will dull the ache and pain of the ones you have shared with us here.