I would never be able to fashion my husband into the man I had hoped to marry, a man focused on serving Hashem and being a family man. But I could be his friend. And maybe, he would be mine

As told to Leah Gebber

L

ast month my ninth and youngest child got married. We accompanied her to the chuppah where her chassan — a fine man a mensch — waited and something inside me burst open.

I’ve never told my story but I felt that the time had come.

There’s a reason I never shared before: it was too hard. I had to keep my story shut inside me tight. Controlled. If I took it out and examined it if I grieved and was aggrieved then I was afraid I’d be unable to continue.

But now it’s time. And it’s a sweet triumph for me that all my children are married that they are all building Torah homes of their own. It’s a vindication of the years when I kept my feelings locked inside when I was mevater and strong. The years when I was queen of a stick.

Our fifth child was born when I was 24; I’d been 18 and my husband 19 when we married and we had to grow up pretty fast.

It was a complicated birth during which my son was deprived of oxygen. He was handicapped physically and mentally. I agree that this was a turning point but I get uptight about it as well. Lest someone blame my Pinny when it wasn’t him at all. No one else causes another’s inner demons I’ve learned.

Overwhelmed with caring for my brood and emotionally off-kilter from my son’s condition I barely noticed that my husband wasn’t coming home in the evenings.

Ah so it’s the wife you think while clucking your tongue. It’s the wife’s fault for not providing a warm sheltering cocoon. After all didn’t she promise when she circuited him seven times under the chuppah that she’d be a wall for him? A protecting wall that would be a barrier to the outside world?

I’ve been through these thoughts this guilt.

And I’ve come to realize that it was his choice. His choice to ask for what he needed — or choose to assuage his pain in the glitter the outside world offers.

As I said I didn’t even notice. I did notice that wads of cash were floating around: falling out of the pockets of his pants which I checked before sending to the dry cleaner. I’d see bills peeping out the pocket of his shirt. I wondered about it but the thought didn’t become a question because there was always something more pressing to ask.

I got used to going to sleep without him home. I was nursing a newborn; no surprise that I crashed at the end of each day. Until one night I woke up at 3 a.m. and he wasn’t home. I called the police. They laughed at me and told me that if he hadn’t turned up in 24 hours I should call again.

I didn’t have to. Half an hour later I heard his key in the front door.

He stumbled up the stairs wearing clothing I didn’t recognize: a gray T-shirt and tight black chinos.

“Where have you been?” I demanded.

“None of your business ” he said roughly.

I was afraid but I stood my ground. I picked up the phone. “Unless you tell me where you were I’m calling the police right now.”

He jeered but I glared at him. “They already know you’re missing.”

That seemed to knock some sense into him. “I was at a casino.”