Dear Mrs. Bluth,
I would like to share with you a story of great heartbreak; I am not looking for a viable solution, as I don’t believe one exists, but I do believe there is merit simply in the telling of it.
I know how hard you have worked for abused women, how you have championed their cause in batei din, however, I wish to shed some light on the plight of the handful of decent men, the male counterpart of the agunah parsha, that is hardly ever discussed.
Eighteen years ago my younger brother, who was twenty-two at the time and newly out of college, and whom we will call Sam, met a young lady through a shaddchan. The only boy in a family of six girls, he was the apple of my parents’ eyes, a promising young man who excelled in both Torah learning and his chosen field of business. After a courtship with this young woman, whom I will call Dora, they became engaged. My parents asked them to wait so they could have time to get to know each other better, but to no avail.
My sisters and I met our future sister-in-law for the first time at the l’chaim and none of us were enamored with her. Yes, she was tall and thin; a dark haired and blue eyed beauty with great presence and who impressed everyone in the room. However, we all agreed that there was something cold and calculated lurking behind that genteel façade.
The first validation of that feeling came when my brother presented Dora with her engagement ring: a ¾ karat diamond ring with a white gold setting – the forced smile and steely stare she gave him was hard to miss. Needless to say, the evening went downhill from there and after the last guest departed, we all could hear her berating my brother for giving her such a small and ugly ring when she had pointed out the one she was expecting. My brother tried to explain that he was just starting out in the business world and couldn’t afford the huge diamond she had fallen in love with, but in time, he would hopefully be able to afford it. The handwriting was on the wall, and all of us girls could feel nothing but pity for him and a foreboding of what the future held. The next day, when she came with her parents to discuss wedding plans with my parents, we noticed the in place of the ring my brother had given her was a massive diamond rock surrounded by baguettes and smaller stones. At Sam’s pleading our parents had helped pay for the ring Dora wanted.
Sam was smitten, and in spite of pleas from our parents, family and friends, wedding plans moved along. Dora’s parents were simple people who tried to give their only child whatever she wanted to keep her happy. Our parents, with seven children to raise and marry off, were stunned at the demands Dora set forth in her quest to see her grandiose vision of her wedding day become a reality. Two of my sisters were already happily married, Baruch Hashem, but neither of them had aspired to such ridiculously lavish trappings or had the audacity to demand such backbreaking expenditures of our hardworking parents. There was no reasoning with Dora and, to our surprise, Sam went along with all of her demands. We were all beginning to feel the stress and there was a feeling of gloom and doom that overshadowed what should have been a beautiful time of simcha. Our parents were swamped in bills for rent for a three-bedroom apartment in a new building complex, furnishings and appliances both large and small and everything that went along with the pre- and post-wedding preparations. Even though Dora’s parents were equally involved in the expenditures, they only had this one child to support and so weren’t as overwhelmed with the expenses.
The wedding was the talk of the town, but not in a complimentary way. My parents tried to put on happy faces, but we saw tears and worry. As our father walked Sam down to the chuppah, we noticed his bent shoulders and trembling hands. My mother, no longer able to hold back her tears of anxiety and fear, let them roll freely. And we could do nothing but watch. It was the longest night of our lives and then came the long week of sheva brachos.
Over the next two years Sam’s wedded bliss began to sour. None of us had seen Sam and Dora for more than a few hours at a time since their wedding, and in truth, no one missed being around Dora, although we were concerned about Sam. But we thought all was well with them and that they were busy building their home together. One evening, after their third anniversary, Sam called and asked if we could meet for coffee. I had just put my baby to sleep and my husband had gone to shiur, so the house was quiet. The Sam that came for coffee was someone I didn’t recognize.
As he sat staring into his cup, ashen-faced and nervous, he started to tell everything that happened since the wedding that he was too embarrassed to tell anyone, because he had been forewarned. He was working two jobs as Dora had many credit cards and an insatiable need for new clothing, jewelry and shoes. Sam had given up his shiur because he was so tired at night and he was constantly being berated for not doing enough at home. Dora was not interested in seeing a marriage counselor; as far as she was concerned Sam just needed to do more. Finally, just as he began contemplating the possibility of divorce, she informed him she was pregnant.
I tried my best to comfort him and offer him any assistance I could, but did tell him that he would have to stick it out, what with a baby coming; it was not the time to think about leaving.
They had a little boy, but in my brother’s eyes all I saw was dread and defeat. They had two more children over the next few years and I heard less and less from Sam, but each time we did speak, his monotone, one-word responses left me fearing for his health. When I spoke to my family, they all admitted that Sam had reached out to them as well, but had stopped coming by or calling altogether. As worried as we all were, there was little we could do.
Time passed and we were not invited to their son’s upsherin, a “quickly thrown together” affair in a catering hall with a live band and entertainment, or to the kiddaishim for their younger two daughters; this took a great toll on my parents’ health and well-being. My three younger sisters all got married, but my brother and his family did not attend the weddings. It was almost like a death in the family that kept recurring, enveloping us in an everyday mourning.
About three years ago, we started hearing that my brother was abusing his wife and children, that he was a drug addict and didn’t support his family. My sisters and I went to see him and were shocked at what we found. He was a shadow of his previous self, gaunt and unkempt, a broken man who wept as he told us of the cruel and inhuman treatment his vicious wife subjected him to. After a long day, he was required to take over the nanny’s job of caring for the kids, picking them up from school, preparing their supper, doing homework and cleaning up after them. She was either out with her friends or attending classes. When he didn’t do what she wanted, she would lash out at him with vile language, vicious acts and spread lies about how he abused her and the children. And the whole world believed her. She even hired a lawyer of questionable repute and with whom Sam suspected she was involved with, to threaten him with legal proceedings. Sam was stretched to the limit financially and couldn’t afford an attorney. He was under a doctor’s care for stress and anxiety issues and Dora jumped at that to promote the notion that he was on psychiatric drugs to step up her campaign of self-pity. We were at a loss for what to do, but we contacted as many professionals and friends in the legal field to try to get him help.
Things went from bad to horrible. Sam was hospitalized because he tried to commit suicide. We managed to get him out of the hospital and into therapy. But all the dirty laundry she hung out in public to blacken Sam and our family took its toll. My father died of a broken heart and my mother has withdrawn into her own world. We have tried to support Sam as best we could during his divorce ordeal but it is beyond manageable. Each time he goes to court, he ends up losing more time with the children whom Dora has poisoned against him.
At this writing, Sam has lost almost everything, including his will to live. Looking back, I see that we should have supported our parents more when they objected to Sam’s getting engaged so quickly; perhaps things would have been different. Hindsight is 20/20 and we were blind sighted.
I know that Sam can’t be the only man who suffers at the hands of an evil, narcissistic, physically, emotionally and verbally abusive wife; I feel compelled to speak for him and those others who find themselves in the same nightmare but are too embarrassed and broken to come forward. If you have any words of hope or help, now would be a good time to reach out.
Sister of the groom
Dear Sister,
You are absolutely correct in your assessment that brutality and abuse is not exclusively a female issue. I champion the cause of these women because, statistically, they and the children they try to protect are most often the victims.
But there is a silent minority of men who suffer just as much. Sadly, they opt not to discuss their situations because of their proud male image; they choose to suffer in silence. And they do indeed suffer just as much as their abused female counterparts – they just garner less attention. I have always encouraged those in need of support or intervention to reach out to the many organizations and individuals who are ready, willing and able to extend the help and emotional support necessary to rebuild a broken life. Kol Yisroel arayvim zeh lozeh. There is help out there for any person who needs it.
As for your heartbreaking letter, all I can say is that looking backwards will keep you in that quagmire of pain. No situation is every totally devoid of hope, as long as there is a desire to get out of the darkness. The way out will become apparent, but you have to first tap into your faith in Hashem to help you find that path.
First, your brother needs to see that you are determined to support him, wherever his journey leads and however long it may take. Knowing that his loving family is supporting him, will give him the impetus to pick himself up and become an active participant in his recovery. The glue that fixes a broken heart is lots and lots of love.
Your father left this earth because he couldn’t bear your brother’s suffering, but I am sure that he is a meilitz yosher for your entire family and is pulling strings in Shamayim to help your family heal and become whole again.
There are many people who stand at the ready to reach out and grab the hand of the drowning and pull them to safety. From a bad choice once made in the heat of youth, there can be a return to a life of happiness and joy. The choice is always ours. I hope your family chooses life.