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Date Posted: 02:25:42 10/18/12 Thu
Author: d
Subject: worth sharing

source: chabad

B"H

Sivan 10, 5766 * June 6, 2006

===========
V O I C E S
===========

A Marriage of Pain
The Tragedy of Spousal Abuse
By M.K.
----------------------------

The night that should have ended my marriage, but didn't, was a
mid-winter night about six months after my wedding, during my senior
year in
college. I don't remember why my husband and I started arguing, or
when
the fight escalated. I do remember getting thrown against the wall
repeatedly, punched in the arms and torso, then slapped to the floor,
my
glasses shattering. This continued for a while until my husband went
to
bed.

I didn't know how to respond to getting beaten up by my husband for
the
first time. I put on my coat and boots and trudged out into the
snowstorm. I made my way to a phone booth and dialed information.
When I asked
for the number to a women's hotline, the operator asked if I had been
raped. Lacking the vocabulary to even describe what had happened, I
said
"no." The operator responded that the only number he had was a rape
hotline and he hung up. I went home and crawled into bed.

The night that did end my marriage wasn't particularly violent by
comparison. After more than two years of being beaten up semi-
regularly, of
covering bruises, lying to my co-workers, and being distanced from my
family and friends, I came to my senses through three simple
realizations in one night. First, I found myself lying to my husband
to placate
him, telling him that I was on the phone with his mother rather than
my
grandfather. How wrong, I realized, to have to lie about a simple
phone
call to my grandfather.

Later that evening, my husband slammed on the car brakes seconds
before
crashing through the garage door. Our infant daughter, strapped
tightly
into her car seat, was jolted and began crying. I was shocked to
realize that my husband's anger towards me knew no bounds and that he
might
harm this innocent little baby he claimed to cherish. Lastly, as our
heated argument continued up the stairs and down the hall of my
parents'
house, my mother asked us to lower our voices. I watched in horror as
my
husband tried to push my mother aside. For the first time, I turned
on
him. "How dare you," I said, "slam a door on my mother in her own
home?" Late that night I stared at him sleeping peacefully despite
all that
had happened and knew that I had to leave him.

I am often asked why I stayed in an abusive relationship for so long.
The sad part is that statistically speaking, I left several years
earlier and with fewer children than most Jewish women in the same
situation.
The misconception is that educated, intelligent women would never
stay
in such a relationship. But the truth is different. I am college
educated, I come from a loving family, and I have and had a strong
network of
friends.

My husband and I were high school sweethearts, dating for five years
before we married. Our friends, centered in our Jewish youth group,
recognized us as a unit. It was hard to walk away from that, even
though we
should have separated after high school. In hindsight, there were
signs
of his violent behavior even then, but he always had a convincing
excuse for losing his temper, and I idealistically believed his
promises
that he would change. I was also reluctant to let go of someone who
claimed to love me.

The diary I kept back then reveals my attempts to rationalize his
behavior. In many ways, it was easier to have an excuse to be in the
relationship than to admit that I was being abused by my own husband.
Typical
entries include statements like these: "He may not be perfect, but
who
says anyone more perfect is out there?" "Isn't the point of marriage
to
bring two very different viewpoints together?" I also believed what
he
had told me over many years: that my parents were "messed up" and
didn't know what I needed in life, and that he just needed an equal
chance
to succeed in life.

There was also tremendous pressure to make a marriage work. In my
community, shalom bayit, making peace in the home, was of utmost
importance.
I can't imagine that anyone would have suggested that I remain in an
abusive relationship, but, young and naïve as I was, I kept telling
myself that if I were just more patient, more loving, more this or
more
that, then we could have the shalom bayit I so desperately wanted. As
I lit
candles every Friday night I would pray that I would be worthy of
having a "faithful Jewish home." Divorce seemed unthinkable, a
rejection of
the family values I lived by, as well as an admission of failure.

Fortunately I had friends who noticed, who pulled me aside and
said, "I
don't like the way he talks to you." Colleagues who saw the bruises
and
didn't buy my excuses. I also had the good fortune to befriend
someone
who is a social worker. At the time she was working with victims of
domestic violence. One night when our husbands were out, she slipped
me
the business card of a colleague. I denied needing it, but tucked the
card away where my husband wouldn't find it. Six months later I
called the
number on the card.

My parents supported me, emotionally and financially, as I finally
broke away from my "high school sweetheart" and came into my own as a
single mother, working and going to school. Countless friends
babysat,
listened to my tears, and stood by me in every way.

Unfortunately, others believed my husband's tales and shunned me as a
crazy woman who broke up a happy home. Too many didn't want to
believe
it, insisting that "it must be a misunderstanding" or "he's not that
kind of guy" or even "he just needs more exercise to release his
energy
and frustrations." For too long I had listened to those unhelpful
remarks, but once I had faced the truth, I couldn't go back to that
kind of
wishful thinking. My husband was abusive, and there was nothing I did
to
cause it and nothing I could have done to prevent it. For my sake,
for
my daughter's sake, I just needed to leave.

Today my daughter and I live in a different state from my ex-husband,
happily settled into our life with my second husband and three more
children. Thankfully, my daughter has no recollection of the horrors
that
her father committed, and is surrounded daily by healthy, loving,
supportive relationships. However, she is gradually sensing her
father's
uncontrollable rage and she too is learning to appease him or pay a
price.

When I divorced more than ten years ago, the state where we lived
would
only take away a man's right to be with his child unsupervised if
there
was concrete evidence that he had abused the child as well as the
mother. Since I had no formal evidence that he was a threat to her --
no
medical records, no 911 calls, no photographs, no proof that he had
ever
abused her – I had no legal option but to let her spend long,
unsupervised visits with her father.

My daughter asks difficult questions about why we divorced and if I
hate her father. For now I lie, but it is only a matter of time until
she
learns the truth about our marriage. I only hope that through
education
and awareness activities, girls of her generation will know how to
recognize the warning signs and behavior patterns involved, and be
able to
avoid the trap of abusive relationships that are so common today.

I pray my daughters will find men who respect them and their
individual
identities. Men who will live by the words they recite under the
chupah, the marriage canopy, "harei at mekudeshet li" "Behold you are
holy to
me." For that is what marriage is supposed to be about. And that is
what every woman deserves.


- M.K. lives in California with her husband and four children.

(To view this article on the Web, or to post a comment, please click
here: http://www.chabad.org/391233)

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