Dear Mrs. Bluth,
I am not good at expressing myself in general and was never one for writing down my thoughts and feelings. I am by no means the life of anyone’s party and have become an even greater introvert due to my own sad life experiences. But I am taking a chance on writing this letter, hoping that even though you advocate for agunot, you will give equal time for the few abused and beleaguered husbands who suffer comparably at the hands of stone-hearted, selfish women. We may not be statistically relevant to all the women who make up the agunah cartel, but we do exist, with no voice or champion to stand for us.
Fifteen years ago I married what I thought was the girl of my dreams. She wasn’t a beauty (nor was I), but I saw things in her that perhaps weren’t really there, because I was desperate to get married. I was nearing the ripe old age of thirty-seven and was seen as a lost cause by almost every shadchan, family member and friend. So, when Sima came along, I cleared my mind of all else and forced myself to focus on finding the traits in her that I could live with. Sima was almost thirty-five and just as desperate as I was to find someone to marry and beat her ticking biological clock (I found out only later). So, the geek became the prince and vice versa.
It is said that love is blind, well, the two of us chose hysterical blindness over deep insight and, grabbing what we saw as the last straw in our bag of chances, we married. The wedding was low-key, as most of our friends were married with older children and some of our immediate families had already passed away. We didn’t even have a proper sheva brochos week as both our jobs prohibited our absence during that time. Our life together started out on an uneven footing.
And it only got worse. As I said, Sima saw me as her last chance, but her die had been cast before we even met. It seems she had decided that even if I turned out to be a troll with horns and a tail, she was going to marry me. What she saw was even better, a geeky guy who was soft-spoken, attentive, and who could be easily controlled with a smile, an occasional compliment and a rare kiss. Someone that she would drive with an iron fist and nerves of steel to do her bidding, who would tolerate her vile temper, cutting words and never leave.
Someone who would father her children, so she could claim they belonged to her alone and would fabricate all sorts of terrible things that I supposedly did to her and them and sue me in court… and ultimately win.
It has been four years now that I have not seen my three children, not because I didn’t keep my visitations with them but because she always found a way to keep them from me. She has poisoned their minds against me, and now they choose not to come of their own accord – and I will not force them. We maintain a short and hollow connection through the weekly phone calls I make to them.
There it is in a nutshell, Mrs. Bluth. I know I’m not alone and that there are men suffering from physical and emotional abuse much worse than I, but the heart is an organ that cannot separate pain from pain. We all hurt the same. I am hoping you are fair enough, unbiased enough and caring enough to publish this letter, if for no other reason than to assure others in the same situation that they are not alone. Life goes on and we need to just put one foot in front the other until Hashem sees fit to put an end to our mortal misery.
Dear Friend,
Thank you first and foremost, for finding the wherewithal to share your story with us. Misery is an equal opportunity employer, gender-blind, age insensitive and can be found anywhere and everywhere where tears can be shed. Only a fool will believe that abuse is strictly a “man-thing” and that only women and children suffer it. I know that there are men who suffer just as greatly at the hands of callas, cruel and narcissistic women who rely on crocodile tears and falsehoods to vindicate them. I am truly sorry for your suffering.
What I hear most is found at the end of your missive. The loss of contact with your children, if I understood correctly, is the focal point of your pain. However, it does sound as though you’ve given up hope and closed the door on ever having a relationship with them. Don’t! Keep calling and telling them that you love them and miss them and that you’ll always be there for them, no matter what. Send them letters and cards on their birthdays, without posting a return address so as not to alert your ex that they are from you. Try to “accidentally” bump into them in places that they hang out after school or where they daven, in a public place where you can talk with them face to face without fear of her screaming that you tried to abscond with them. One day they will be old enough to see more clearly where the truth lies and make their own choices. One day, you may find your children returning to hear your side of the story and to get to know their father.
One day, Moshiach will appear and make every injustice vanish, every illness disappear and every broken heart joyously whole again.