By Esther Mann, LCSW
Dear Esther,
I have three children: My oldest son and my daughter both live out of town; my youngest son, whom I’ll call Ben, lives in New York. A number of years ago, he fell in love with someone he met at work. We’ll call her Caren. Ben had a lot of issues with Yiddishkeit growing up, and I wondered whether he would remain frum. It was a scary thought, but I was hopeful that he would straighten out eventually and all would be good.
What I had never, ever considered was the possibility of him getting involved with a non-Jew. When he first told me about Caren, who is not Jewish, I felt my world was coming to an end. Any Orthodox Jew would be more than devastated. But for me, as the daughter of Holocaust survivors, the pain went deeper. To lose a Jewish neshamah, after all the loss that our people sustained, was beyond my comprehension. It made me ill.
I hoped and prayed that Ben would eventually tire of Caren and that it would be just a passing phase. But after a year of dating, he got engaged and quietly married. I walked around for a while as if I was in the Twilight Zone. I couldn’t believe this could happen to me and my family. I had always been especially close to Ben, and at some point, I decided I should meet Caren and get to know her. I was surprised to find myself liking her and eventually enjoying her company. I brought up the idea of converting, but Ben and Caren were staunchly against it. There was no talking to them on this matter. The door was shut.
Fast-forward a few years; they now have the most adorable child you can imagine, and Caren is pregnant again. I love my granddaughter, but if I take a moment to think about it, I have a hard time believing that this grandchild of mine isn’t Jewish. I try not to think about it. I have made a decision to move forward. What choice do I have? I could walk away from my son, exile him from my life, and never see him or his family again. Maybe some parents would do that, but I just couldn’t. So we have remained close and I focus purely on the relationship and nothing else. If I stop to think about the seriousness of the matter, I could easily fall into a deep depression. I have learned not to go there. Call it denial. Call it acceptance. Whatever it is, it works for me.
Caren and Ben come over for dinner every Friday night and I serve a typical Shabbos meal. Since my other two children live out of town, it’s wonderful having them around. I’ve grown to look forward to their visits and am able to be in the moment and have a great time.
I’m proud of how I’ve been able to work with the hand I’ve been dealt, but there is still one area that I struggle with enormously. As with most people of a certain age, I find myself invited constantly to b’risos, barmitzvahs, basmitzvahs, and other simchas from my friends who are also grandparents and busy with such things. Some of them have particularly large families and it seems like every day there is something going on. I’m so happy for them and truly share in their joy, but it’s at such moments that I have serious pangs of sadness, as I can’t seem to help myself from thinking about the simchas that Ben will never have.
As Caren is now pregnant, I think about how if she has a son, it will be a non-event in terms of celebration. No b’ris. No public acknowledgment of the simcha. No opportunity for my friends to share the event with me.
Thank G-d, I have nachas from my other two children, and have enjoyed numerous simchas with them, but it’s always out of town and rarely do I have a friend at my side to cheer me on and support me in my happiest moments. So it’s really hard!
I’m not sure what you can say about all of this to lighten my load during these painful times, but I just felt I wanted my story to be heard and maybe create some awareness amongst your readers that these issues exist. I suspect there just might be a few other people out there going through a similar struggle.
Struggling
Dear Struggling,
Thank you for sharing your story. It’s a tough one. And perhaps you are correct that there are few people who can relate to your specific experience, However, what I think many people may be able to relate to is the notion that life often hands us scenarios that are so challenging, so mind-boggling, so beyond our wildest expectations, we find ourselves faced with gut-wrenching dilemmas that in the moment often seem unsolvable.
Furthermore, it eventually comes down to deciding whether we can find the strength within ourselves to go with the program—despite what we think of the program—or spend the rest of our lives feeling bitter, hopeless, or paralyzed.
It sounds as though you’ve made some difficult compromises within yourself and within your belief system, as you put love and family above all else. Since this column does not deal with halachah, I am not here to comment on your decision, and I request that readers of this column refrain as well from any judgment. My purpose is to listen, validate, and offer support and understanding.
In that vein, I can surely see how attending your friends’ simchas triggers feelings in you that are uncomfortable and even painful. Yes, if Caren has a son, it will feel like a sterile occasion, without any of the pomp and circumstance we surround such events with. Plus, it is what we know, what we value, what makes up the fabric of our lives.
When we choose compromise and acceptance over resisting a situation, we want to believe that we’ve conquered the enemy and we can go on our merry way. But that’s rarely the case. Yes, acceptance certainly puts us in a much healthier place and ultimately a happier place. But there are no free rides, and deep within we still live with some sadness. In your case, it is triggered when you attend your friends’ simchas. This pain, which you thought you successfully dealt with in order to have a working and loving relationship with Ben and Caren, apparently still lingers on.
As a human being having human experiences, you’ve made it work. Many people would applaud you for that. But the sorrow about what could have been and should have been will always exist inside of you. That doesn’t mean there isn’t enough room in your heart to hold both the pain and the joy that Ben and Caren bring into your life. But both emotions need to be respected and accepted. The fact that you are able to focus on the good stuff most of the time says a lot about you. But no matter how successful you feel you’ve been in making peace with your circumstances and moving on, expect that there will always be nasty sparks flying when the setting is right.
You probably can’t make it go away. It too is part of your story. However, by anticipating what you are likely to feel, you can prepare yourself and minimize the severity of your reaction. And on those days when you feel like you’re not up to it, give yourself permission to take a pass. If you’ve chosen to confide in good friends about these feelings, they are sure to understand and not be upset by your not attending their simcha. And if you miss the simcha of a casual acquaintance, it certainly isn’t the end of the world.
Bottom line: you didn’t ask for this situation to come your way and define your life to the degree that it does. We all want easy, normal, and mess-free lives. Many of us often don’t get that. You are doing the best you can. But there are moments, and they are to be expected. Thankfully, the moments come and they go. In between, we seek happiness.
Esther
Esther Mann, LCSW, is a psychotherapist in Lawrence. Esther works with individuals and couples. Together with Jennifer Mann, she also runs the “Navidaters.” She can be reached at mindbiz44@aol.com or 516-314-2295.