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The Happiest Man Alive

Two months before our wedding, I got a call from a woman who introduced herself as a therapist. “I’m seeing your kallah,” she explained

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T here was nothing unusual about my shidduch. At least I thought so when I got engaged.

I was a regular chassidish bochur Rivky was a regular chassidishe girl. I was 19 she was 18. We had two beshows and drank l’chayim immediately after the second.

The first sign I had that something was wrong was when my mother told me that my kallah had gone to live with her brother and sister-in-law. My parents found this strange and they began making some subtle inquiries.

Two months before our wedding I got a call from a woman who introduced herself as a therapist. “I’m seeing your kallah” she explained “and I think it would be beneficial that we meet.”

Completely bewildered I called my parents and asked them what was going on. “Apparently there are some issues in your kallah’s family” my father told me. “We didn’t know any of this before you got engaged but we think it’s a good idea for you to talk to this therapist.”

I didn’t realize at the time how concerned my parents actually were. I was on a high from being a chassan and nothing had the power to burst my bubble.

When I met with Rivky’s therapist she gave me a whole shpiel about how a person has to be warm and accepting in marriage. “Not everyone receives acceptance and love as a child” she explained. Then she quickly added “I’m not saying this specifically about your kallah it’s just important that you know how to be loving and sensitive to a wife’s needs.”

Ohhh-kay I though. This is weird.

That was about all the thought I gave to it at that point.

The problems started immediately after the wedding. During sheva brachos Rivky did not eat or sleep to the extent that on the third day of sheva brachos she fainted. Hatzolah had to come down and work on her for two hours.

After sheva brachos her eating and sleeping schedules stabilized but her behavior was bewildering. She refused to go out to either set of parents for supper or for Shabbos and on the rare occasions when she agreed to visit my parents she wouldn’t sit down she wouldn’t eat and she wouldn’t talk. She just stood in a corner mutely.

If I bought Rivky flowers or gifts she would stare at me coldly not even uttering a thank you. She was constantly complaining about having to cook and clean and wash the dishes — even though she had nothing else to do. She did actually take care of the cooking laundry and housework but the amount of kvetching along the way was totally out of proportion. If she needed to go to the doctor she would tell me to make the appointment. If we were out of milk she would look at me wide-eyed like a little kid as though she had no clue how to get more milk. If I showed her any affection she would start to shiver and cry. I was baffled.

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