These days I dread going to buy milk.

I’ve been managing without my morning coffee. When I get really desperate I ask my son to pick up a carton of milk.

The supermarket has become a painful place. I step into the fruit section and women I thought were friends pretend they don’t see me. I walk toward the nosh aisle and neighbors I’ve lived next door to for decades scurry away praying they won’t bump into me.

These days I am a leper. I’m a social outcast a community pariah — through no fault of my own. My husband once a respected balabos was recently arrested on serious charges; he is sitting in jail and my marriage is on the brink of dissolution.

But the details of my personal life (and whether or not I stay married) are immaterial. My husband has made egregious mistakes; I have not. I did my best to guide to help to encourage but ultimately the wrongdoing is his — and his alone.

I think I’ve faced enough shame already labeled “the woman whose husband…”

I held my family together through it all. I raised beautiful Torah-true children despite unthinkable life circumstances. And yet I am routinely ignored in the street. My heart cries “I’m suffering! Acknowledge me! Validate my pain!” but you pass right by suddenly very busy examining your receipt.

Some days I get angry. I endured unspeakable pain in my tumultuous marriage I think. Must I now be branded for life by the deeds of a very ill man?

I know you don’t mean to be hurtful. When you avert your eyes when you walk the other way you don’t want to sting me. My situation is terribly awkward and you don’t know what to say.

Let me give you some options: “Mindy I feel so bad about what you’re going through.” “I’ve been thinking of you.” “I will always cherish our friendship; nothing has changed between us.” “May Hashem give you strength.”

Please don’t take the ostrich approach — pretending nothing has happened that my life hasn’t been shredded by recent events. Don’t give me a breezy cheery “How are you?” When you do this you convey “You have something to be embarrassed about. We won’t go there.” I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ve done the best I could and I stand proud.

So acknowledge — with just a few short words — that I’ve been through a traumatic ordeal and then we’ll move on. Don’t worry; I’m a private person and have no interest in sharing details with you.

And if the thought of speaking these lines face-to-face makes you cower send me a text or e-mail. Just show me that you care. Empathize.

Our community is steeped in giving: We boast extensive chesed networks impressive organizations that coordinate helping initiatives of every form. If I’d been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness if a close relative had passed away surely you would have reached out. I’d have been bombarded with meals phone calls well-wishes.

So when the news is past nisht when the circumstances are too shocking must I — and many other women like me — suffer alone? After a harrowing travail must we be denied the most basic bein adam l’chaveiro: a plain old smile a warm hug or a sympathetic “I’m thinking of you”?

I wish upon all neshei Yisrael healthy stable marriages G-d-fearing husbands who make good choices. I for one was not zocheh.

When you extend your hand in friendship when you embrace me warmly when you show me I am valued and loved you mitigate my sorrow — and give me the strength to move on.

Sincerely

Your Suffering Neighbor