T

al and Karmit both grew up in traditional Shabbat-observing Sephardic families in Ashkelon.

They officially met each other through Karmit’s older brother, although their grandmothers had been friendly in Algeria half a century earlier. The two were talking about getting married before Tal joined the army as a paratrooper.

By the time he’d been in for a year or two, Tal had picked up a few bad habits like smoking and missing davening. After his three-year service, he had stopped keeping Shabbat, but Karmit still wanted to marry him — as long as he’d agree to quit cigarettes.

Their wedding was officiated by the rav of the local shul and they moved into a small apartment down the road from her parents. No one in the extended family liked the fact that Tal would text his friends on Shabbat or watch a movie at home after Shacharit. But he was a good guy and worked hard as a fireman to support his family while Karmit studied for her law degree. It didn’t take Karmit long to pick up his bad habits though, and soon she wasn’t afraid to turn off the lights after Shabbat dinner. They figured that they still loved Am Yisrael, so what did it matter if they used a bit of electricity on Shabbat... it was a new generation after all.

And then their first child was born, a baby girl named Tehilah after Tal’s grandmother Hameeda (“praiseworthy”). For nearly a week, life seemed perfect until little Tehilah developed a fever and was rushed to the children’s emergency room with what might have been a seizure. During the ensuing stressful hours, Karmit received a phone call from Boaz, a cousin who had become a baal teshuvah and who was learning at a yeshivah run by a mekubal who was a grandson of the Baba Sali ztz”l.

Boaz had heard what happened and had rushed to his rebbe to get a brachah. Hearing the story, the mekubal told him that there was a decree in Shamayim because Tal and Karmit had given up observing Shabbat. He also told Boaz that if they would start keeping Shabbat again, the baby would be fine. Karmit listened to her cousin’s words as she waited outside the neonatal intensive care unit. Tears streamed down her face and she yelled out, “I am making a neder to keep Shabbat again!”

And then, miraculously, everything was fine. Tehilah was discharged from the hospital and Karmit returned home to keep her part of the deal. The only problem was that Tal wasn’t too interested in being religious anymore. Sure he was glad, and grateful, that the baby was fine, but he had found a new life now and couldn’t be bothered with rebbes and segulot anymore. Plus, who knew if Karmit was serious or if this was just a phase that would peter out?

But Karmit was serious, and a few months later she wasn’t just keeping Shabbat, she was covering her hair, checking all her produce for bugs, and reciting a daily quota of Tehillim. Tal was okay with his wife’s religious practices — he knew the women had always been the spiritual bedrock of his family — but the fights started when she demanded he stop fiddling with the lights on Shabbat and start leading a proper Shabbat meal.

Before long they’d had a few bad arguments and Karmit had gotten some advice to leave her husband if he wasn’t going to be religious. After one extraordinarily lonely Shabbat, where Tal had disappeared in the morning and left Karmit alone with the baby until long past Havdalah time, she packed a bag, took the baby, and left to go stay with her sister — who happened to be my neighbor. She asked me if I could talk to Karmit.

Karmit and I schmoozed for a bit about the pain of trying to enforce Tal’s religious practices when he had no interest, and thus dealing with the fallout of an angry, embittered husband.

“I can only imagine how tough it must be to try and keep Shabbat and to have a spiritual home when your husband isn’t into it,” I said.

“Isn’t into it? He’s actively against it! I spend hours cooking a beautiful Shabbat meal, and he just wants it to be over so he can watch a soccer game. I work so hard making sure our food is completely kosher, and then he’ll go out to buy himself something treif!”

“Sound frustrating and complicated,” I sympathized, “but you can’t just expect him to change overnight. Remember that you got him to quit smoking before you agreed to marry him. So you see, he is capable of change. But change can’t be forced on a person. He has to see that it’s for his own good.”

Karmit was silent. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, and I don’t want to oversimplify your tough situation,” I continued. “I’m just reminding you to keep things in context. You know that he’s a good man and underneath it all, he respects tradition. He’s a devoted father, he cares about you, and he hasn’t stood in the way of your observance. Is he a person you can grow with and build with into the future? I can’t tell you that. Maybe this marriage isn’t meant to be, but you don’t want to torch the fields until you’ve exhausted every option.”

“Nice words, Dr. Freedman, but how can I raise a family with a husband who behaves like a goy?”

“How can you sign up your baby for life without a father knowing you didn’t give this a proper chance? If your husband is allowing you to keep mitzvot and teach them to Tehilah, that’s a pretty good indicator that he’s not as anti as you think. If you can cut down the antagonism, there’s a chance he’ll soften.”

Karmit sighed. “So what do I do now, go home and live like a chiloni?”

“Well, first you need to speak to a rav and get detailed guidance. This isn’t an easy or straightforward situation, but if your husband respects your commitment to Torah, you have what to work with. Once you have your marching orders from a rav, I’d recommend that you go home and cook up another one of those amazing meals. And before you serve it, remember why you married Tal, remember all those good qualities you saw in him. Make sure the time he spends with you doesn’t feel like a blistering lecture about everything he’s doing wrong. Show him that life with Torah can be sweet.”

“And what do I do when he’s mechallel Shabbat?”

“You stay calm and realize that the only chance you stand to turn him around is to show him how beautiful our Torah is and how it brings peace to individuals and to families. Right now all he sees from Torah is your angry face packing up and leaving.”

“You really think things can change for us? That I won’t be eating Shabbat meals alone for the rest of my life while my husband is out at a soccer game?”

To which I countered with a question of my own. “Do you really think Hashem saved your daughter in order to watch her parents’ marriage fall apart less than a year later? If Hashem could pull Tehilah out of the NICU then believe He can pull Tal back too.”

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 712. Jacob L. Freedman is a psychiatrist and business consultant based in Israel. When he’s not busy with his patients, Dr. Freedman can be found learning Torah in The Old City or hiking the hills outside of Jerusalem.  Dr. Freedman can be reached most easily through his website www.drjacoblfreedman.com.