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January 22, 2017 / 24 Tevet, 5777

Posts Tagged ‘Yomim Noraim’

Not God’s Messenger

Wednesday, November 15th, 2006

         It was one of those cold, rain-soaked evenings – the kind that make you look forward to a hot drink, a good book and a soft couch to curl up on. With those happy thoughts in mind since I was close to home, I proceeded to cross to the other side of the street.


         Luckily I wasn’t too pre-occupied with my images of impending comfort to not look around at the traffic. Sure enough, as I was half way across, I quickly realized that I was going to be competing for the space ahead of me with a woman in a mini-van who was making a left turn.


         Now as a pedestrian I have the right of way – that is undisputable. But as the saying goes, “might makes right” and I wisely ascertained that in this particular situation, I would not come out on “top”. My 120 lbs. (writer’s license here) body would be no match for thousands of pounds of steel and if anything I would end up “under”.


         And so I yielded my right of way to her – an act of “chesed” that I’m sure she wasn’t even aware of. How could she be? Her neck was tilted to the left, allowing her to sandwich her cell phone between her chin and her shoulder, causing her face to be sideways and her eyes pointed downward.


         Situations like this tend to make me philosophical at times, so I asked myself. “What if Hashem decided as He looked at my name in the Book of Life/Death during the Yomim Noraim that the ‘honor of my presence was requested in Shomayim‘ and that I would be getting to The Good Place” sooner than later? The “sooner” being as I crossed the street that night?


         Should this lady – animatedly yakking on her phone as she made a left turn on a rain-slicked road – feel guilty and tormented for running me over and causing my soul to depart? Or should she instead be b’simcha and insist on a kiddush in shul for being deemed worthy enough to be personally chosen by Hashem to fulfill His will? After all, the Almighty decrees all that happens and she would simply have been His messenger. Why lose any sleep over the fact that she had sent me to the Next World when, in fact, the Heavenly Judge gave her this koved?


         Why should she be punished by either her conscience or any other entity – like the judicial system? How responsible would she be for an event that had been heavenly ordained?


         That question of accountability and punishment/reward has come up frequently in Jewish philosophical and religious discourses. One that quickly comes to mind deals with the suffering inflicted on the Egyptians prior to the children of Yaakov’s emancipation from slavery. Was it not God’s will that the descendants of Yaakov be enslaved for hundreds of years? Why were the Egyptians so severely penalized for just doing God’s will?


         I believe the answer lies in the Judaic concept of free will. Events may be ordained from Above, but the role one plays in implementing them is totally up to the individual. The sages state that the Egyptians were punished for doing what they were heavenly mandated to do – enslave the children of Yaakov – because they did so with such relish and enjoyment. They chose to be brutal and delighted in the pain they caused.


         Which brings us back to the yenta on wheels. Obviously God in His infinite wisdom had decreed that this particular day was not my departure day. However had God decided otherwise – the blame would have been on her shoulders – because she had the choice and the free will not to drive in a way that put others at risk. Yenta chose to flout the law of the land – the obeying of which, by the way, is a halachic requirement. This law forbids using a cell phone while driving unless it is a hands-free set. The woman had the option of acquiring/using the hands free set, but did not.


         Was it arrogance, “I’m above the law, I’m better than everyone” or overconfidence, “I can safely and competently drive, talk on the phone and even change my kid’s diaper – all at the same time” or laziness that influenced her free will and led her to engage in risky behavior? It doesn’t really matter – the fact is that she chose her course of action.


         God doesn’t need a messenger to do His work. If He had decreed that it was time for my soul to return to its original home, I could have tripped on the wet street and hit my head instead.


         So no kiddish here. No pride in “doing God’s will.” Just a vehicular manslaughter – but for the grace of God.

Cheryl Kupfer

Chronicles Of Crises In Our Communities – 3/24/06

Wednesday, March 22nd, 2006

An Agunah’s Wrenching Cry For Help

At the tender age of 18, I came to these shores from Eretz Yisrael for the Yomim Noraim. A shadchan insisted I meet a bochur from a well-connected family, who was about ten years older than me. We met a few times, and he made a good impression. The references I had were closely tied to the family, and they naturally gave glowing reports. My mother was still in Israel, taking care of my younger siblings.

When I agreed to marry this young man, my future in-laws promised to cover all the expenses of the wedding and to furnish our apartment. Right after sheva brachos, my father-in-law called and asked, “How many chairs do you want?” I told him that since I liked to have many guests, ten would be nice. He answered, “Okay, I’ll go down to the basement and find some chairs for you.” His basement was used as a shul and was furnished with whatever he could salvage from the street. Whenever I went to my in-laws’ house, all they offered me was bread and margarine. When my mother-in-law came to visit, she would inspect my kitchen and give me the third degree about my food purchases.

But having stingy in-laws was the least of my problems – for I found out soon after the wedding that my wonderful, most special chosson was a fraud. Patiently and willingly, I worked to support us. My husband, who had been out of school for many years, had not yet found an appropriate profession. Had he spent his time learning our holy Torah, I would have accepted the situation. But that was not the case. Five years and four children later, he was still sleeping much of the day away and was constantly “too tired” to attempt anything. Meanwhile I was working full-time, whether pregnant or with little babies at home.

I begged our local Rav for help. I begged my husband’s illustrious family for help. They owned a business in town yet never offered to help in any way. The few times my husband was hired as a mashgiach, he would turn every penny he’d earn over to his parents – supposedly because they supported him when he was a child.

Eventually, I resigned myself to being the breadwinner. When the Rav advised my husband to stay home and baby-sit for his children, there wasn’t too much objection on his part – he could stay home and sleep all day. I would return home to find my babies crying in their cribs, in the diapers I had left them in many hours earlier. He’d paid no attention to their special needs: one was allergic to milk, another could not have soy, etc. They were always getting the wrong formula. I prepared food that only needed warming up, but he said that was too much work for him. To say he neglected our children is an understatement.

There was no shortage of verbal abuse. Everything I did was criticized. My husband was not ashamed to curse and threaten me in front of the neighbors. Though he was unwilling to support our family, he had no problem dictating how I should spend the little salary I received.

After a couple of meetings with our local Bais Din, a divorce was agreed upon, and we were instructed to go to a certain Rav in Flatbush who would arrange the Get. I showed up, but he didn’t. At this point, my Rav gave me permission to change the locks on my door and lock him out of the apartment, in order to shake him up and make him submit to the Bais Din’s ruling.

That evening, he and his three brothers-in-law broke down the door with a crow bar, and then called the police. This was their way of making Shalom Bayis. These three “helpers” are all business owners, and in five years not one offered my husband a job or financial help. When my oldest son needed shoes and my mother-in-law had promised for ten months to buy them, it was a neighbor who finally did – not bearing to see him hobbling in the courtyard with shoes three sizes too small.

My husband then sued me in court, listing all kinds of outrageous accusations. I couldn’t afford a lawyer and had no one to advise me on how to arrange visitation. I kept getting court papers which I didn’t understand and kept missing court appointments. It was all I could do to continue working and taking care of my children, alone.

Meanwhile, my husband regularly showed up at our children’s schools to take them to stay at his parents’ house for days on end. My second child, a daughter who was just beginning to speak, wouldn’t speak for five days following a visit with her father. On top of this, my in-laws regularly took the time to call and harass me about my spending habits (for food to feed my children, mind you).

At some point, my husband picked up our son from kindergarten and did not bring him back for a few months. No matter how much I begged my in-laws to return my son to me, they wouldn’t let him come home, even for a visit. He was being held hostage.

Following five years of misery with no one to help, and now despairing of ever getting my son back or my life in order, I made the decision to return to my mother in Eretz Yisrael. At least I’d have family supporting me while I worked at getting my son, and a Get, from my husband.

Without consulting any Bais Din, my husband reported me to the authorities with the claim that I had kidnapped his American-born children and left the country. For the next four years, he did not allow my son to contact me, nor did he visit or contact our other three children. At about that time, my husband received an inheritance from an uncle who had passed away in Europe. He squandered much of it on private investigators to find me and have me extradited to face kidnapping charges. He paid them to stalk and hound my mother, a poor almanah (widow). The phones were tapped, mail was traced, and all her activities were monitored. Needless to say, I have had to avoid seeing or contacting my mother and my siblings. So, even here, in the Holy Land, I am once again alone, without support.

To this day, I have had no contact with my oldest son. He celebrated his bar mitzvah without me. What kind of celebration was it for him without his mother? All the while, my husband’s family continues to support him, covering up his failings. They place all their energies into finding me, to make sure I will be put away for a very long time.

Over the years I have appealed to the Bais Din and leading community members, asking people to speak to my in-laws and pressure them to convince my husband to give me a Get and to cancel the arrest warrant. My family and friends have been continuously begging the Bais Din to at least issue a letter stating that they agree with the decision of a Bais Din from Eretz Yisrael.

I also have spoken to the heads of an Israeli Bais Din, who investigated the matter and even traveled to New York to meet with my husband and with the Bais Din here in America. Promises made at those meetings have never materialized. The Israeli Bais Din, however, sent letters out to the local community, requesting that anyone in a position to influence my husband to give the Get and to cancel the State Department’s action should take steps to do so.

My friends – for nine years I have gone from one solitary-confinement situation to another. Is this called living? My future is bleak. Please, please help me!


Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/family/chronicles-of-crises/an-agunahs-wrenching-cry-for-help/2006/03/22/

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