Dear Mrs. Bluth,
Years back, when I was fifteen years old, I did something unspeakable – because I was angry with my parents, hated my school and my teachers and because it presented itself at the worst point in my life. Until then, I was, for the most part, a good, respectful and respectable Bais Yaakov girl, with ordinary misgivings and daydreams. However, I did argue with my parents about my friendship with a neighbor girl whose family was not observant. All my other friends came from ultra-Orthodox homes but I enjoyed hearing about “Dora’s” friends in public school, what she was doing and with whom. Dora had a boyfriend! Needless to say, for a sheltered Bais Yaakov girl like myself, this alone was what fantasies were made of and, at fifteen, what dreams were made of as well. Dora would tell me what her friends wore, what parties she went to, and what she and her boyfriend would do when they met in the park. I was mesmerized by her life, so very different than my own, even wanting to experience what Dora was living, knowing that this would never happen to me.
One Sunday afternoon, after spending time with Dora sitting on her stoop (I was not permitted to go into her house even though she lived only three houses away from mine) I could see I was in for another argument. My mother was standing with her hands on her hips (a stance she took when something terribly wrong was about to happen) and told me that I was no longer allowed to speak to or be seen with Dora, as I was getting older and she was a bad influence on me. What brought this on, I found out later, was that my principal had said that my attending school in good standing was contingent upon this. As always, a full-blown argument ensued, accompanied by tears, loud interchange of words and slamming of doors. In the end, I was allowed to call Dora on the phone to tell her that I could no longer be her friend. As I spoke to Dora, through sobs, and explained that in my heart I would always be her friend, she said she always knew this day would come. She also told me about a party at the home of one of her friends who lived nearby. It was scheduled for a few weeks later on a Sunday afternoon and she invited me to come. Feeling this would be my last chance to interact with Dora, I agreed, and we hatched a plan and an excuse to thwart any suspicions my parents would have.
The day of the party, I told my mother I was going to study with friends as we were preparing for finals. Since I hadn’t fraternized with Dora for some weeks, my mother did not suspect anything and simply asked me to call in regularly to let her know where I was. I put some “trendy” clothes in my book bag and left to meet with Dora who took me to a 7-11 where I changed in the bathroom. She laughed at my version of trendy and said I still looked “nerdy” but she had some make-up with her that would make me look more like her friends. I had butterflies in my stomach from excitement, I was about to step into Dora’s world, a place I only fantasized about but could never experience. Until now.
The party was in full swing when we got there, boys and girls dancing and having a wonderful time. Dora introduced me to her boyfriend who introduced me to his best friend “Andy,” and suddenly I got this queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I had thought this would be a girl’s party and was beginning to feel very out of place. Andy got me a drink of what appeared to be orange juice, and I drank it in gulps trying to squelch the nausea and light headedness I was feeling and only tasted the bitterness in the last swallow. I said the juice was spoiled and that I was dizzy and not feeling well. He led me downstairs to the basement, where it was cool and quiet, but I could barely walk and collapsed near the wall. The room seemed to spin around me as I heard Andy laughing. The last thing I remember before passing out were his hands tugging at my clothing. I came to as Dora splashed cold water on my face and asked me what I was doing in the basement with Andy and did I have a good time? Slowly, it dawned on me what had happened and I threw up all over myself, horrified at what I had done.
I cleaned myself up as best I could, changed back into the clothes I had left my house in and on rubbery legs, walked home, never to be the same again. I told my mother I got sick after drinking bad orange juice while studying and I just wanted to go to my room and rest. Although concerned, my mother swallowed the explanation without question and even displayed sympathy. In my room, the evidence was plain, I had done the unthinkable. Having no one to talk to or confide in and knowing my life would be over if I told my parents what I had done, I remained silent, burying the incident so deeply that I even convinced myself it never happened. And life resumed as before.
Fast-forward seven years. I graduated, went to seminary and am now working as a teacher in my old school – I am also engaged to a wonderful young man. My mother is insisting that I go for a routine check-up with a female gynecologist and suddenly, everything I have suppressed has come to the fore. Surely the doctor would be able to tell that I had been sexually active and the wedding would never take place. I would be disgraced and shunned; my chances of ever marrying anyone would be zero to none. Mrs. Bluth, is there any chance to salvage my life, or am I doomed for a mistake I made as a child?
Dear Friend,
I am trying to find consoling words, words of comfort and hope, words that will erase what is inevitable, but none present themselves. I will say that you must speak with a rav you trust and relay everything that happened. It seems to me that as you were plied with liquor and passed out, thus making you unable to fight off your violator and not a willing participant but a victim, the situation is not as cut and dry as you think.
In addition, please make an appointment with a doctor; he or she will be prohibited from sharing information with anyone, including your mother or father, without your consent.
The pain you carry comes through in every word of your letter as does the fear that has you convinced that there is no chance for you to ever know happiness. That is why I urge you to speak with a therapist as soon as possible. You do have a chance at a great life filled with joy and simcha.
I hope that your letter, filled as it is with pain, will help young people understand that, for the most part, our parents love us and want what is best for us.
Never think its possible to try something “just this once,” and not suffer the consequences. For every action we take, every choice we make and every thought we convert into reality there are grave consequences as well as great rewards, depending on the good or the evil behind those thoughts and actions. Let that be the barometer that guides you and you will stay on the right path. Sometimes, a misguided moment of fun and pleasure can be the ruination of an entire life.
