D ear Rebbi I deeply appreciate the extra care you give my son Duvi. I know you keep an eye out for him and he feels it too.

You called me yesterday at work to ask me to please get Duvi to school on time. You said his chronic lateness isn’t doing good things for anyone. I told you I’d try to get him there on time today.

I’d like you to understand why that didn’t happen. Let me give you a bit of a glimpse into what my last 36 hours looked like.

It’s 11 at night and I’m exhausted. I spent the better part of the day trying to find the right person to help me in beis din. My papers are full of scribbles: the pros and cons of one to’en a connection to get me into a big askan warnings about another the schedule of that rosh yeshivah. There’s no end to the information and no end to the decisions I have to make. Decisions between one horrible option and another.

Should I agree to my husband’s demand that the kids have their own smartphones so he can Whatsapp them whenever he wants? Or that they not be allowed to go for therapy without his approval (which he’ll never give)? Or that I receive written permission from him any time I take the kids out of the city even for a few hours? Or that I give up all claim to child support in exchange for the get?

These conditions are so obviously unreasonable how can I agree to them? But then I’ll still be shackled to this man who from day one was been obsessed with controlling every aspect of my life. Now he’s trying to control every aspect of his children’s lives in retaliation for my trying to break away. But if I don’t agree to this new set of conditions everyone is going to tell me it’s my fault I still don’t have my get — which is what they tell me all the time.

You know the term “stuck between a rock and a hard place?” Welcome to my life. I live here on the edge of a cliff wedged between some sharp rocks and a steep fall. And too often the ones who absorb the fallout of my decisions are my children seven-year-old Duvi and his three sisters.

I would love to go to sleep now but I have to wait up until one a.m. That’s when the rav said I should call him back. Anyway there’s still so much to do. The kids have no clean clothes for tomorrow I’d better do laundry. And I didn’t eat yet today. But how can I put effort into such mundane problems when I have so many real problems in my life? I’d better say Tehillim I didn’t get to daven today! Is Hashem going to help me when I don’t even daven? So I say Tehillim — but I can’t concentrate on a single pasuk. Now I really don’t feel good about myself.

Maybe I should make some supper for myself. I long ago stopped feeling hunger. My turbocharged mental state doesn’t allow such unimportant messages to filter in but I know it’s a good idea for me to eat. Not chicken I have to save that for the kids. I’ll eat something cheaper like avocado or crackers. I have n’t eaten chicken on a weekday in two years since the custody case started. I’ll eat chicken again after I pay off the lawyer. Whenever that will be.

Oh, I found some vegetables. I’ll sauté them and make a soup, that should last me a few days. As I chop I call my sister. It’s so good to talk to a sane adult who’s not trying to help me with my get! But two minutes into the conversation I find my mind wandering to the kids’ therapy session tomorrow, and I can’t remember Bubby’s cookie recipe that my sister wants even though I used to make it all the time. Then her husband comes home so she hangs up and I’m left still craving someone to talk to.

I’d better remember to ask the therapist how I should handle Duvi’s screaming. The problem is that she doesn’t believe anything I say. Not that I blame her, with all the rumors my husband — with no get, I can’t even call him my ex — has spread about me.

Even if you don’t believe the rumors, just hearing them makes an impression. I can’t forget the time a cousin of mine called and asked if I’d gotten my get. “No,” I answered. “I’ll make sure to let you know when I do.”

“But I heard you did get it, and you’re telling everyone you didn’t just to make him look bad,” she answered.

I can’t blame her for believing the rumor, but it still hurts. Once, I was with an acquaintance and a friend of hers who didn’t know me. In the course of the conversation it came up that I was waiting for my get. Immediately my acquaintance started rambling to her friend in front of me, “She’s really so normal and she’s from such a good family and I even know her parents and they’re such nice people and she’s so not the type to get divorced....” Just another confirmation that the instant reaction to my situation is to think there’s something wrong with me.

I constantly have to prove to people that I’m “normal.” Every year, before the kids start school or camp, I find a connection, a friend or relative who knows the new teacher or counselor, and ask that person to vouch that I’m really not crazy even though I still don’t have my get. Each time I meet with a new rav or askan, I first have to get over another hurdle, by having someone else call to convince them that I’m normal so they’ll try to help me. Even then I feel as though I’ve been already condemned before we meet. I tell them information about my situation and then they respond in a way that totally disregards what I just said!

Waiting for a get is so degrading. Everyone knows everything about my life and everything I ever did wrong — or at least they think they know. I’m at the bottom of society. A widow, they feel bad for, they know she’s mourning. They don’t realize that I’m mourning, too. Or I would be, if I had the time and headspace to process my traumatic marriage and its explosive aftermath.

The one thing that helps shore up my self-esteem is that a choshuve rav, who told me to leave the marriage, said, “You don’t have to be ashamed, because you are doing the right thing.” I repeat that to myself countless times every day.

Oh! It’s 1:15! Can I still call the rav? Will I be waking him? I call, my insides quaking, but he doesn’t pick up. I’ve been trying to get through to this particular rav for three weeks now. Please Hashem, please, please! I can’t take the stress anymore! I was supposed to give the lawyer an answer days ago about whether I agree to the new set of conditions. What do I do now?

My phone rings. It’s the rav calling back. Thank you, Hashem! I spend 20 minutes trying to present all my questions the right way, trying to understand his answers, and trying not to let my panic show through. But I hang up with no more clarity than I had before. Just more information, more questions, more decisions. Somehow, every time I believe that this email, this call, this contact will bring the yeshuah. But then it doesn’t.

I remember that I was supposed to eat something. Soup, I was making soup. Oops, the vegetables burnt. Good thing my neighbor sent over brownies. I don’t think she realized she was giving me supper for the week.

I’d better go to sleep if I want to be able to work tomorrow. Last week I started a new job in a big accounting firm. To say that my boss isn’t happy with me is an understatement. Not that I blame him; on the first day I had to run out twice to take calls from the lawyer. And I’m so unfocused, it’s embarrassing. I come with a nice resume and a long list of credentials as a CPA, but my work performance just doesn’t match. Will I ever get my concentration back? I really need this job. My financial situation is frightening, and it was hard to find a job that fits into the hours I have childcare. But I have to pay the bills. And the lawyer.

It’s three a.m. I’m sleeping. Then the screaming starts. I run into Duvi’s room shaking from the sudden awakening. He’s banging his head hard against the wall. No, no, no! I’ll hold you! But the screaming doesn’t stop as I drag him to my bed. Two hours later we’re both much calmer and I’m counting how many hours of sleep I might still get. Then comes the daily question: “Am I going to Tatty today?” Even before I answer yes I move my son away from the wall to protect him, but instead he turns on me, hitting and scratching me as the screaming starts again.

So my son will be late to school today. Again. His rebbi is really going to think I’m dysfunctional. And then my husband will call him down to court to testify against me… Help!

I can’t think about this. If I let my mind dwell on what people think of me, I’ll snap. Instead, I have a coffee before getting dressed, another before getting my kids dressed, and another to take along with me to work.

By the time I drop everyone off, all I want to do is crawl back into bed. “I can’t work!” “Yes, you can.” “I’m not getting through the day in one piece!” “Yes, you will. You always do. Anyway, you don’t have much choice.”

Why does the yetzer hara always speak in my own voice?

Finally the workday is over, after only one urgent get-related call in the stairwell, plus the rebbi’s call that Duvi needs to start coming on time. It would be a good idea to go grocery shopping now. But both my younger daughters desperately need new Shabbos outfits. I’m not going to get to two stores. Groceries or clothes? A quick call to my friend confirms that she has some hand-me-downs from her girls. Great. I feel like a beggar but I’ve gotten good at pretending I don’t care.

I head to the grocery, but then my lawyer calls to tell me that I must print out some forms immediately. I haven’t bought ink for my printer in months; it’s not high on my list of priorities. So I start knocking on neighbors’ doors, the younger kids in tow, until I find a working printer. Should I offer to pay for the copies? How can I not? But for that I might as well buy ink!

At this point I know the groceries aren’t happening. It would be nice to have food in the house, but either way I never have the time and energy to make Shabbos. Same for cleaning, even before Pesach; same for errands and clothes shopping. Medical and dental appointments don’t happen unless they’re urgent. Last year, my oldest daughter, Miri, turned bas mitzvah, and I didn’t have the head to think of making a party, so my neighbor made her a quick party in her house.

The mental and emotional burden is so crushing that I feel it physically, and though I used to be energetic and upbeat, now I feel old and worn. Sure, I work on my bitachon all the time, but I feel like I’m pushing against a stone wall. I know Hashem wants me to keep trying, though, so I do. One day this will all be over and I’ll be back to my capable, happy old self. If she still exists.

It’s hard to remember what life was like before I got myself into this mess of a marriage. I used to be so different. I was the one who could handle anything. But now, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get past the barely functioning state. The burden is just too heavy.

Back home it’s suppertime. Eggs for the kids, that’s the quickest and the cheapest. I don’t eat, as usual. Feeling guilty that I never have time for my kids, I play with each of them for a few minutes before bedtime and I try to calm my raging mind enough to focus on them.

Especially Duvi. He’s the only boy, and he’s the one that suffers the most. He’s so cute and he’s getting so big, but I barely notice. I’m missing out on his childhood. I really have to work on giving him more time, but when? Chasing after my get is a round-the-clock job. Amazing how my husband is still able to control my life.

After the kids are asleep I think about what I should do first: clean the house, go through the bills, or fix the broken porch door. It’s almost winter, so I do the door first. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I try to follow the instructions the guy from Home Depot gave me. Essentially I’m taping up my porch door instead of replacing it (for obvious reasons), though it means I won’t be able to open it anymore. Oh well, minor detail.

At 11:30 a call comes that my uncle got me an appointment with a rosh yeshivah who might be able to help. For midnight tonight. Doesn’t anyone realize I have kids? But I can’t be ungrateful, so I say thanks, I’ll be there. Should I wake Miri to tell her she’s babysitting? Or should I just slip out quietly and hope no one wakes up? In the end I decide to wake Miri — what if Duvi starts to scream and no one knows where I am? I spend the next half hour trying to assure her that everything’s fine, she shouldn’t worry. So I get to the rosh yeshivah 15 minutes late.

I usually manage on my own, but I have no close family living nearby, and there are times I just need another adult. Like when Miri once needed medicine in middle of the night. I was scared to go out myself but I didn’t have any other option. I woke a friend at two a.m. to stay on the phone with me while I drove to the 24-hour drugstore with four crying, half-asleep kids.

When I’m sick it’s the worst. It doesn’t matter if I’m throwing up or fainting or burning up with fever; there’s no one to pitch in. Once, I fell in middle of the night and injured myself badly. I needed to go to the hospital, but I didn’t have anyone to leave the kids with, so I waited until the morning to call an ambulance.

Now it’s 1:30 a.m. I have some new leads from the rosh yeshivah that I have to follow up on ASAP. Brownies for supper again. I can finally go to bed — at least until Duvi wakes up screaming that he doesn’t want to go to his Tatty.

And I told the rebbi I was going to try to get him to school on time this morning.

***

And so, esteemed Rebbi, now you know why Duvi is late again.

But you know what else? As crazy as my life is, I know that the place I’m in is exactly where Hashem wants me to be. I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel and some people tell me I never will, but it’s not my job to worry about that. I just have to worry about doing the right thing right now and cling to the belief that my yeshuah can and will come. It’s almost like waiting for Mashiach. It’s been so long and we’re so lost in it that we can’t picture getting out. But I know I will and we will.

In the meantime, please accept this late note.

Sincerely,

Duvi’s mother

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 683)