Seven readers share a sacrifice they made — and the reward they were granted

Leaving the Door Open

S. Cohen

O

ur daughter’s marriage had gotten off to a rough start.

The young couple was deliriously happy, but we saw warning signs that worried us. There was a subtle tension between them, between them and us, between them and their siblings… Something just didn't look right and we were worried stiff.

We reached out to professionals and rabbanim to get direction, asking how we should be handling this issue and help our couple become more emotionally grounded. But no one could give clear guidance, and the consensus seemed to be that without the couple on board it would be impossible to figure out what was going on.

One winter Friday as I bentshed licht, I felt vaguely disquieted. I realized I’d spoken to all of my children that day, except this one daughter. As Shabbos progressed, my uneasiness intensified. I somehow knew  something wasn't right.

She didn’t call Motzaei Shabbos either, and by Sunday afternoon, I was very worried. I hadn’t spoken to my daughter in more than three days, and perhaps more alarmingly, something in our relationship had shifted, and I didn’t feel comfortable just picking up the phone to call her.

Eventually my feelings of alarm won out, and I dialed my daughter’s phone number. No answer. I tried twice, then a third time, and this time I left a short message.

She didn’t call back, but a few hours later, our son-in-law did.  But that brief call plunged us into a maelstrom of betrayal, hurt, and sorrow.

“We’re asking you not to try to talk to her or be in contact with us,” he said tersely. In total shock, my husband pressed him for more information, but all he said was that we could reach out to our family’s rav for clarification. And “thank you ahead of time for not bothering us anymore.”

Devastation is too small a word to express what we felt. My world crumbled at that moment. Sleep escaped me that night as I wet my pillow trying to figure out what went wrong, what we did wrong.

A short visit to the rav the next day, and many blurred visits more, told a sorry story of a health condition, emotional instability, and an altered consciousness that somehow led my daughter to blame her father for all that wasn't right in her life.

I listened wide-eyed as the rav recounted the misinformation he was given about my husband’s relationship with my daughter. Somehow, my husband had become the villain in a story we knew nothing about and had no power to change. We pleaded our case, begged for our daughter back, for someone to sort out this mess, but the case was closed.

The hurt consumed us. We were so ashamed, and also so angry. How could children tell complete lies about their parents and get away with it? We'd raised her, provided all her needs, guided her and led her to the chuppah with hearts full of prayer. Was this her gratitude?

It was a dark and miserable winter.

We hoped they would have a change of heart, and while we slowly realized it might never come, we never stopped davening for the nightmare to end.

The greatest test of all was yet to come though. We'd committed to supporting the young couple, and while they didn’t want anything to do with us, that didn’t stop them from sending a message asking for the next payment.

I couldn't believe their audacity. Furious, we went to our rav yet again, asking if we were halachically bound to our commitment.

The rav supported our understanding, that no, we weren't obligated to give them a penny. But, he added, it would be wise to consider the whole picture before cutting them off totally.

Until now, the disconnect in our relationship was one-sided, he explained. We'd remained loving, caring parents, davening for our daughter and her husband, awaiting their return to our family. If we would decide to cut them off financially, he said, we would be furthering the split and make a future reconciliation less probable.

My husband left the decision up to me.

That night I couldn’t sleep again, and I soaked my pillow with tears. But ultimately, I made one of the hardest decisions in my life. I decided that my daughter’s welfare took precedence over my own, and the next day, I wrote the check.

It didn’t take a day, a week, or even a month. But after many months of more tears, patience, and desperate hope, our children have slowly made their way back into the family fold.

Just as the rav said, keeping the disconnect one-sided held the door wide open for their return.