“A curse,” she hissed. “Akiva, people commit murder for that kind of curse. People have betrayed their own brothers, done horrible things, for that curse. There are jails filled with people who couldn’t control themselves around that curse. And you want to throw it all away. Just, ‘Oh, no thanks, I’m good,’ and hand it back?

“I honestly feel like you’ve lost your mind. Your mind,” she emphasized darkly. “You have no idea what it’s like to go without, Akiva. To watch all the other girls on your block get a scooter for afikomen while you get another book. Or see everyone show up with patent leather Mary Janes to Bnos while you’re wearing hand-me-down loafers from two older sisters.

“How selfish are you that you think it’s okay to take it all and throw it away? Have you ever seen your mother get teary-eyed while discussing bills with your father? Or watched your brother do every little odd job he could find for years so he could have a quasi-normal bar mitzvah?

“For all your fancy, commitment-to-excellent-achievement education, you’re clueless, Akiva Frankel. Clueless.”

She stopped listing memories from her childhood, mainly because she could go on forever, and also because in their 14 years of marriage, she had never shared these parts of her life. And ranking out her husband while he stood shell-shocked in the doorway wasn’t exactly a scene she went for.

She tried to rise off the couch in a dignified manner, but the tears rolling down her cheeks ruined the effort. She started walking toward the stairs.

“Libby,” Akiva said hoarsely.

She didn’t turn around.

She texted him later, when he still hadn’t come up, and she’d recovered slightly from her breakdown.

Let’s go to Rav Richter together.

His reply was instantaneous.

Of course.

Rav Richter had been sandek at Akiva’s bris. Sometimes, Akiva felt closer to the rav, with his horn-rimmed glasses and Homburg, than to his own father.

The rav welcomed them into his office, eyes gentle.

“Akiva, Rebbetzin, come sit.”

They sat in the seats they’d occupied so many times before. A montage of previous sh’eilos filled Akiva’s mind. Health questions, life choices, maaser deliberations, brachos before big deals. Had it all been leading here?

He’d spoken to the rav before he dropped the bombshell on Libby. But she needed to hear this with her own ears.

“Rebbetzin, Akiva came to me last week.”

Akiva sent up a silent Thank You, Hashem that the rav was starting the conversation because he had no idea where to start.

He looked at Libby sideways. She looked frozen and flawless and very, very angry.

The rav continued.

“Akiva… he’s a good boy. He’s carried so much on his heart, so much that was weighing him down. He shouldn’t be so weighed down.

“Wealth is a brachah. Until it’s not. Once it feels like a stone that you’re carrying on your back, something has to change.

“It shouldn’t be this way. I know of all the tzedakah you give, the twenty percent to maaser. If those things don’t lift you up, then something is off,” he said, putting each word down carefully.

“Rebbetzin, what Akiva is proposing is not wrong. It can be very right, actually. But only—” He paused, his gaze gathering them both in, “—only if it doesn’t create machlokes. Almost nothing in the world is worth a lack of shalom.”

Libby jumped on this like a drowning person.

“But how can it not create machlokes?” she asked.

“How can you take someone’s entire world and say I want nothing to do with it, but this isn’t personal? It feels personal.

“And Akiva’s parents are going to be so, so hurt. They’re good people, they do their best. Why should we make them feel like we don’t appreciate them? Especially if some of us do?”

Akiva felt the anger, the indignation, and most of all the helplessness, radiating from his wife. He felt like the smallest person in the world. Was he selfish? Was he taking everything away from his wife and children? Was he just running from extreme to extreme?

“I really do believe in what Akiva wants,” the rav said quietly. “But it’s going to take a lot of seichel, not to mention finesse, to ensure no one gets hurt, like the Rebbetzin pointed out.

“Akiva? What were you thinking?”

Akiva felt himself turn pink. He wasn’t used to talking about things like this.

“Uh, my overall plan was to communicate openly with my parents. Everyone says that’s the key to success, right? In marriage, the workplace, peers. So… that was my plan. To just tell them, outright, that I love them so much, appreciate them so much, but now it’s time to go out on my own.”

The rav nodded. “And if they yell or hurl insults?”

Akiva looked startled. These were his charming, dignified parents they were speaking of. The rav knew his parents! But he answered.

“I’ll try to remain silent and just repeat how much I love them.”

The rav’s face was unreadable, and then he nodded, slowly.

Akiva felt peace settle over him.

“But the rebbetzin needs to be at your side.”

Libby looked at him, silently.

The rav addressed her directly. “You need to see the benefits. Akiva mentioned making your own Yom Tov meals. Buying the children clothing on your own. Sending them to schools you research and believe in.

“Making the dozens of choices and decisions that come with being in control of your own lives. It’s part of being an adult. It’s time now.”

Akiva wiped his forehead. Libby was going to hate the insinuation that she wasn’t an adult.

But to his surprise, she gave a weak nod.

And there, amid the overflowing seforim shranks and the worn-out couch in the rav’s office, their new life began.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 975)