Seth's good mood lasts for seventeen months, and he plunges into the worst depression yet. This time it is aimed at the children. He’s hitting all of them, whenever he’s home.
Navigate to other chapters of Homeless... at Home by Shlomit Weber
Homeless... at Home
Table of contents
Prev: Chapter 3 - Alive
Next: Chapter 5 - Flip-Flops
"Ere I forget ... all the joy that is mine ... today."
My sister Kay and I have sung 'Today, while the blossoms' as the finale of our campfire sing-alongs since the summer it was popular. But it never seemed more fitting than last night. "You know, Kay," I said, "right now, now in my life, I'm completely happy. Everything is so good. I have everything."
Kay put her Martin away and closed the case with the shumm of felt on felt. The crickets and tree frogs that we had been drowning out started up their songs. Voices from other campsites filtered through the trees. From Jeanie's tent, the four big children squealed and giggled their reactions to the ghost story she was telling. Little Rafi squealed and giggled along with his siblings and cousins. Jeanie was great to entertain the children so Kay and I could finally have a chance to talk. One benefit of having a sister so much younger that she doesn't have children of her own yet.
This summer that I'm not 'working', I'm spending a nice long time in the US with the family. We've had a dream of a vacation. Eli and Leora joke that "Ima walked across the Atlantic ocean!" I paced the aisles the whole flight over from Israel, so my post-DVT legs wouldn't puff up from the immobility and the low pressure.
We all had two weeks in the east with Seth's family, being spoiled rotten, and then we flew out to Ohio. Seth flew back home to Israel after a few days, and the children and I have had three more weeks at Mom and Dad's big house and yard, and with Kay's boys - aged five and almost four. The ages of Eli and Leora. Three weeks of smiles and compliments and picnics and the zoo and nature center and walks and playgrounds and swimming and old family jokes and recipes. Paul and Nancy were down for a long weekend, and now this wonderful camping trip with both sisters. Kay and I had shared smiles across the smoke as we realized that the two sets of cousins - her children and my older two - know all the songs Kay and I learned at Girl Scout camp. The children last saw each other two years ago - half a lifetime for them.
"You certainly look happier than I've seen you in years, Shlomit. We're all so glad to see you ... alive." She bit her lip. "A year ago when you were so sick and there was setback after setback, and we were so far away and so helpless - it seemed that you might not … get better." We hugged.
"That's part of why I feel so euphoric," I said, picking at the edge of the tattered beach towel we had around our shoulders, "I really feel that each day is a gift. Coming face to face with death changes your perspective on life. Sometimes I'll be stuck in traffic or sitting in the dentist's chair - some situation that would normally make me feel sorry for myself, and I think, 'Hey! I'm alive! No IV needles, no pain, and I can breathe freely. I could stand up and walk around. Tonight I'll take a shower!' Life's small treats!
"And these children! Oh, Kay, each cute, funny, loving thing the children do or say - I might not have been here to see it. Each thing I do for them - I might not have been here to do it!"
The children had quieted down and Jeanie had joined us by the dwindling fire.
"Little Rafi is such a sweetie pie," Jeanie pointed out, "I'm so glad to meet him, finally!"
"Third-child good," I sighed. "Poor Rafi. He's eating more easily the past couple of months, but he's still way under weight for a year and a quarter. During his first year, mealtime was so frightening. Either he would swallow air and vomit, or he would breath in food and choke. I'm so glad I took this time off from work to raise my last baby. Eli and Leora are the products of day care. Kay, why didn't you try harder to convince me to stay home with them?"
"But you always liked your job so much."
"Only because I had no idea how it would be to really be with my children. The day care staff always say they love the children as much as the parents do. I thought they were just trying to impress me. But it's the time you spend with a child that makes you love them. Who has been answering all the questions they ask? And how?"
"So you'll stay at home?" Jeanie asked.
"No. For the year, and then we'll see. I'll become outdated if I stay away from computers for too long. I'm keeping my hand in, writing those educational games I showed you."
I paused. My sisters know when you have left something still to be said, and they just wait. "Seth seems much happier now that I've stopped working. He never liked me to work. Even before we had children. Especially then. I guess it's because his mother worked long days when he was little. He seems to want me to be home."
"Seth did seem more pleasant this visit than I've ever seen him," Jeanie pointed out hesitantly.
"Yeah," I looked away, "That's a big reason my life is so calm, now. That he's on an even keel."
Another pause. Then Kay asked, quietly, "Shlomit, what was going on last year? It didn't sound good, from your few letters. During your first two pregnancies you were so happy. With Rafi you seemed sad. Frightened. Was there something going on … with Seth? Did he get … bad again?
"Did I mention him in my letters?" I hadn't meant to.
"No, that's it exactly. When a woman is pregnant and her man is supportive, it's 'we did' this and 'we're planning' that. You seemed very much on your own with the pain and the problems."
The old sisterly ESP, kicking in again.
"Maybe he was worried that the pregnancy was endangering me. Of course, by not helping me, he caused exactly what he feared."
"Sounds like too much Psych 101 on your part, Sis. How 'bout 'Maybe he's a creep'?" Kay offered, uncharacteristically.
"Well, whatever it was, if it had anything to do with the pregnancy, it won't happen again," I sighed. Both sisters, simultaneously, placed a hand on my shoulder in silent commiseration over my having lost my womb. "He was very nice to me in the hospital ..."
"How can you not be nice to someone who's in the hospital?" Jeanie giggled.
I didn't tell Jeanie about the scenarios that had swirled through my mind during the months before Rafi was born. That Seth would continue to ignore or deny the fact that I was pregnant and in danger. That I would start bleeding and have to get to the hospital on my own, and I would be stranded there, not knowing whether he was too taking care of Eli and Leora. I planned that I would call Jessica and Yehuda or maybe Malki next door, and ask them to go to the house and check if Eli and Leora were being cared for. If the children knew where I was, and that I would come back to them. Maybe Jessica could call my parents and tell them where I was.
I shuddered, staring into the dying fire. Spooking myself with those memories as Jeanie had spooked the children with her ghost stories.
"Well, no great loss without some small gain," I said. Jeanie and I grinned at each other; I was quoting the Little House books we both love, "I think Seth finally realizes that his actions have consequences. He's been so nice ever since. I'm trying really hard to do what he wants so he doesn't have anything to get upset about. Every afternoon at 4:00 the children and I clean up the house so everything will be nice for Abba."
"So he lets you have more freedom?" Jeanie asked, "More say in decisions than before? Is that what you mean by 'nice'?"
"Well, no. Hey, I'm not looking to upset him. I just want him to be pleasant and not get angry."
Jeanie looked doubtful. "What is Seth's explanation for the way he treated you when you were carrying Rafi?" she asked.
"We don't talk about it. I don't want to rub his nose in it."
"It seems to me that he would want to explain, Shlomit." Kay said quietly, "Or at least apologize. To make sure you know you don't have to worry about anything like that happening again. You're just going on guesswork. How do you know he won't just snap back when you least expect it?"
"He's never been big on apologies or heart-to-heart talks," I protested, "You know Seth."
Here, I had started out telling my sisters how nice things are at home lately, but I see I was only comparing Seth to his bad times.
Kay had been getting out her guitar, and played a few chords I recognized as the introduction to 'Lean on Me'. As we three women sang, I regretted that I hadn’t leaned more on my sisters who are always ready to support me.
"Do you play your guitar much?" Jeanie asked, "I used to envy you two with your guitars when I was little."
Kay was waiting for my answer. She knew Seth had squelched my guitar playing, years ago. "When Seth's not home, sometimes ..."
"Well, I suppose you don't have time - with three little ones," Jeanie guessed.
"Best baby-sitter there is," Kay declared, challengingly, patting hers. "When we all get cranky, I get it out and we sing silly songs. Shlomit, why not just play once in awhile and see if he minds."
"It's just not worth it, Kay," I said quickly, panicked at the thought, "I'm trying to just keep everything calm. I don't know if he still minds my playing, but I don't want to take any chances."
"Hey!" said Jeanie, after too long a silence, "I missed 'Today while the Blossoms...' - can we do an encore?"
The phrase, "...what tomorrow shall bring..." rang ominously through my mind, later, as I drifted to sleep in the tent.
One of the first things I did when we got back from the US was to get my bicycle down from the attic.
The bike is great. I can just put Rafi in the baby back pack, and off we go to do errands. Faster than walking, and way better than having to find parking. (This town has hills I never knew about!)
And I'm glad to get Rafi up out of the fumes. One day when Leora was little, I squatted down to talk to her in the stroller, and realized that what they breathe down there is mostly car exhaust.
I hadn’t realized how boring it is for a child in a stroller. In the backpack, Rafi is right up here where the action is. When I go around looking at Eli and Leora's drawings on the wall of the kindergarten, he's peering over my shoulder, reaching, hearing and seeing my reactions. When I stand in line at the post office, or window shop at the hardware store, he’s involved. Not just staring at people’s knees.
I put my foot in my mouth, last night, though. I was so high with this efficiency and exercise - Rafi and I had ridden around some interesting old neighborhoods that morning - that I said to Seth, "You should get your bike down from the attic!" I realized the unfortunate phraseology as soon as it was out of my mouth.
"I don't HAVE to do anything, Shlomit," sprang from his mouth before I had finished the sentence. It was just a figure of speech, of course, "Yum! You've got to try these cookies!" I wasn't, heaven forbid, trying to tell him what to do!
Seth doesn't drive because of his eyesight. A bike would be a good way for him to get around. We could even go on family bike hikes once Leora gets rid of her training wheels.
But he’ll never get that bike down now. Because he can’t bring himself to do what someone else suggested. Ah, well. Gotta watch that phraseology!
Another thing that makes life so nice, now, is that I have a friend.
Let's see - it all started in Seattle, three years ago. Seth had a conference there, and I went out with him. Eli and Leora stayed in Cleveland with my parents. We were waiting for the opening program to begin. Digesting the taco chips and salsa and guacamole and beer they'd had for the reception, I was telling Seth about the little plastic roller skates Mom bought for the children. Describing the clutch that only lets the wheels roll forward, so the child can go forward instead of just sliding his feet back and forth. I looked down over the crowd in the auditorium, and said, "Hey, there's someone else here wearing a kipa! That tall guy in the blue shirt and tan pants. Just starting up the center aisle. He's got the orientation packet under his arm. Hands in his pockets." Seth doesn't see well, and I've gotten into the habit of pointing out things he might be interested in but wouldn't notice.
A couple of days later, Seth said they had introduced themselves to each other. "That guy with the kipa? His name is Sam. He's finishing up his degree and will be looking for work soon. I told him I could get him a job at the lab."
When we got back to Israel, Seth would call Sam a couple of times a week and they would talk about their work. When Sam finished up his degree, he started working for Seth. I met Nora when she was pregnant with Gali, and I was pregnant with Rafi. Seth obviously wasn't in a sociable mood during that period, but later, after the babies were born, and after I had recuperated, the families started eating meals with each other on Shabbat.
Nora suggested several times, at Shabbat lunch, that she and I get together during the week, after I got home from work, but I didn't take her up on the suggestion. Seth was in a good mood and I didn't want to do anything to ruffle it, so I just did the 'yes, wouldn't that be lovely...' thing. But then Seth, himself suggested that I get together with Nora. "She doesn't know anybody in town,” he said reproachfully - as though I was too selfish to see that someone might need a friend!!!
Now that I'm taking this year off from working, Nora and I get together a couple of mornings a week with the babies. It's so nice! Women with children have all the important things in common, and we find plenty to talk about.
I told Nora that I'm “Jewish by Choice”, even though Seth doesn't want anybody to know. As though it will just go away if we don't mention it.
So except for Naomi at the absorption center, who guessed, and Ruthi who knew me from before, and Seth's relatives, nobody in Israel knows. But I just can't feel close to somebody if I'm hiding this central thing from them. I can't relax if I've got to be on guard so I don't say something that would blow my cover. And I feel I'm being dishonest with people. People sometimes say things they wouldn't say in front of me if they knew. This is unfair to them. I guess it doesn't bother Seth to be dishonest with our friends.
I try not to chatter non-stop about 'Nora this' and 'Nora that' but it does give me something to talk about with Seth. Over the years, even though I tried to keep conversation going with him, most of the time there was literally nothing to talk about. He didn't want me to talk about work, and except for that, before we had children, we did everything together, so he already knew anything I would have mentioned.
And I have to be a little careful what I say to him about the children, because he tends to see any comment as a statement of a problem.
But now I can tell about trips to the park or downtown with Nora and the children. It's nice. I feel so normal.
I know this is getting boring, diary, but it's wonderful to really be with my children for the first time, now that I'm not working. Not to rush-rush-rush in the morning so I can get rid of them in time to get on that 7:10 bus. To flow with the rhythm of a day. Picnics. To say "yes" when they ask if we can make cookies, or if they can help wash the floor, or if they want to stop to look at something.
It's so nice to be able to take care of my responsibilities properly. Children, correspondences, the house and household matters. When something needs to be done, I can do it right away instead of adding it to an ever-growing list. Life is in control instead of being a losing battle. I'm writing a program to help the children learn numbers and colors. I'm typing my novel in to the computer - the one that came to me as a hallucination when I was delirious with Mono seven years ago. This is definitely the best period of my marriage - maybe of my life.
I'm a really good mother. When you haven't got all the time constraints, and aren't exhausted by work and by the ever-growing mountain of unmet obligations, you can be patient and loving. Being with them all day, I have fallen in love with them. For the first time, our home is a real home for the children. The center of their lives. A place to have fun, not just to eat one meal a day, and take baths.
And I love being able to really participate in Eli and Leora's kindergarten. I've mended toys, and made a birthday gate for the children to march through at their party. And for every holiday, Eli and Leora and I decorate a fancy cake. For Jerusalem day we made a Western Wall out of sugar cubes. For the week when they learned about Noah, a Noah's Ark cake with animal cookies marching in pairs below a chewing gum rainbow. The graduation cake last year was an array of smiley face cookies and a blackboard with letter and number cookies, presided over by Barbie with a toothpick pointer taped to her hand. Of course, my Eli and Leora and Rafi also get fancy cakes for their birthdays.
When Rafi and I drop Eli and Leora off at kindergarten, I have time for them to show me their projects, instead of pushing them in the gate and rushing off. Their teacher has come to think of me as a creative, willing parent. I know the names of the children in their class, and can match up the children with the mothers. This is the way it should be. Some continuity between their home and their school. When something comes up, like a birthday or holiday or visitors from abroad, I look forward to it, instead of worrying about how I'll fit the preparations into my schedule.
I finally feel like a real mother.
We went for a picnic today in the carob orchard up the street. Rafi had trouble walking through the tall grass, even holding the big children's hands, and I was carrying the guitar (thanks, Kay!) so Eli asked Rafi if he wanted a piggyback ride. When we sat down, and the children were sorting out the food, I found the song "He Ain't Heavy" in the song book Kay gave me, and started to play and sing.
Eli and Leora asked what the song was about, and I told them the story of the orphan who made his way to the Boys Town orphanage with his younger brother on his back. The priest said, "Here, let me take him! He must be heavy!" And the boy replied with what became the motto of the orphanage and a symbol of brotherly love, "No, he ain't heavy, Father. He's my brother!"
I could barely get the quote out around my cracked voice. Leora said, "Ima's crying!" and came over to pet me on the back. "You don't have to worry, Ima - we would take care of Rafi if we were orphans, right Eli?"
Eli had his arm around Rafi.
All those years that I rushed off to work each day and missed real life.
The children and I are enjoying life. But something seems to be bothering Seth. More often than not, lately, he's silent and remote when he comes home. The children seem to annoy him. Not anything specific they do - just their presence.
Is he going back to the way he was two years ago before Rafi was born? Or six years before that, before we had children. It won't be so bad, this time, of course. I've got the children now. If he gets withdrawn and depressed, at least I won't be totally alone with it. I won't be dependent on him for companionship as I was then, or for assistance as I was when I was expecting Rafi.
The last few evenings I've been giving the children their supper before Seth gets home. I get them started on some activity upstairs, and only bring them down to be with him if he seems to be OK.
Then I play with them upstairs while he watches TV. I think we can weather this. I'm older and healthier than I was the other two times.
Seth's annoyance with the children is getting worse.
He has started hitting them. It's not that he didn't before, but till now it was only if they did something. For the past couple of weeks he just seems to hit them for recreation.
I always feel sorry for the skinny stray mother cats scrounging the garbage for food so they can feed their babies. I had assumed that nothing short of a disaster of international proportions could leave me with nothing to give my children when they're hungry.
But here I am. Seth has been in this depression for over a month, and - he doesn't buy food. It's worse than back when he only restricted fruit and vegetables. Then it was only me, and I could go to the dining hall at work when there wasn't a critical series of tests in progress. Now there are four of us.
Seth gets a hot dinner at noon - soup, meat, vegetables, salad and dessert. (My mouth is watering!) So for him, a cheese sandwich for supper is enough.
If he weren't so out of it, I would remind him that everything the four of us eat, now, comes from what he brings home. It was different when the children were in day care where they got a hearty breakfast, hot dinner and afternoon snack. Back then, a sandwich or some instant soup and yogurt was plenty for their suppers.
Now, I've got to feed them all their meals, and I don't have with what.
I manage pretty well, considering. There are usually eggs, so we make eggs all different ways. Pancakes alot. And I invented 'Ima's Chinese food'. There's usually rice and onions. If there's also cabbage, I stir fry the vegetables, add egg, and serve it with rice. Topped with soy sauce and soup nuts if there are any.
The children like it, it's good for them, and we're all getting quite skilled with chopsticks. It turns out that Rafi doesn’t gag when I feed him with chopsticks.
Chinese food is like stone soup. Tastes much better if there's any celery or green peppers. (I'm not above picking celery and peppers out of any salad left over from Shabbat.)
Seth is so out of it - so angry and preoccupied with whatever is wrong with him - I wonder if he even realizes that we're all here for lunch this year.
When Seth is on a rampage, his verbal abilities disappear. He can't tell us what we did wrong - just grunts or growls. If there are snatches of verbalization, it's often phrases like, "Get away from her!" or "Don't bother her!" or "Leave her alone!" and he'll swat the child away from me, even if I'm talking to them, or helping them with something. Sometimes he knocks them off my lap, "Get off her!"
Seth is their father, and he has a right to decide how they'll be brought up. So I go along with what he tells them to do, and how he treats them. I usually don’t know why he's hitting or pinching or shoving them, and they don't know either.
Maybe he and I should discuss what is acceptable behavior.
We never talk even in the best of times – I’m surely not going to try to discuss anything with him now, while he’s so irritable.
It's Friday morning. I was in the kitchen just now while Seth was unpacking the groceries. This was the shopping for the whole week, for five people, and ... there was nothing there.
Seth insists on doing the shopping and he doesn't drive, because of his poor eyesight. So he only buys what can fit into his big green back pack. I watched him take out four sacks of milk, two loaves of hallah, spaghetti, cheese, cookies, corn flakes, onions, tomatoes, and six apples. Ingredients for dinner tonight, for Seth's nightly sandwich and his pre-bed snack, and Eli and Leora's school snack. He'll spend three hours today cooking a little puddle of sauce. We'll have a dab on our spaghetti tonight and the rest will go into the freezer. And heaven forbid if Seth should look for it two weeks from now and it would be gone.
"Seth!" No. Too excited. Too accusing.
"Um, Seth? We - the children and I - we need food for lunches, now, too. I mean, dinner for me and the children at noon ..."
He just kept unloading. I think he heard me because he smacked each thing down on the counter harder than he usually would.
"Everything the four of us eat all week is coming out of your pack right now, Seth. And look - there's not enough ..."
"Well, Shlomit," Oh-oh! He's using his totally totally super patient tone. He is explaining the blatantly obvious to a mental midget. In the same insulting tone that his thesis advisor used with a graduate student who had disappointed him. "They should be getting their lunches at day care, shouldn't they!"
"But they're not in day care ..." I answered stupidly.
"My point exactly."
The point of his words, I wondered, or the point of this whole charade to starve us out? How long was he willing to malnourish his children until I got the 'point', whatever it is?
Deja Vu. Or, reverse Deja vu if there is such a thing. Back when he was restricting my diet, I had the feeling he was trying to force me to focus less on my job and more on him, by eating in the cafeteria instead of with the group in the wind tunnel. Now, if I'm interpreting correctly, he's telling me he wants the children to be in day care, and me at work again?
"You want me to go back to work before the year is out, Seth?"
No answer but the slam of the spaghetti and cookies going into the cupboard. Seth knows Morse Code from his ham radio days. Maybe in his slamming around, he's pounding out messages to me in code.
Seth, Seth, Seth! I'm still holding up my end of the bargain we made at Talia eight years ago. I'll do absolutely anything you want me to, if you'll only be nice to us. But I can't read your mind! I just don't know what you want from me!
I guess that heavenly period since Rafi was born was just too good to be true.
This is going to be hard to write. My hand is shaking. So is my heart.
OK. It was Shabbat. Friday night. Mealtimes are pretty awful, lately, because the children are a captive target. Arrayed around the table before him, within arm's reach. Usually it's just random snarls and smacks and pushes to this one or that one. But this week Eli was sitting right across from Seth and Seth just kept hitting him on the side of the head, all through the meal. For awhile, Eli just sat there, looking miserable, staring at his plate, trying to eat. Closing his eyes to brace for each smack.
And I ... I didn't interfere. I didn't think it would be right for me to criticize their father in front of them, even though I had no idea why he was hitting Eli. The rest of us just ate. I actually wished we had the radio on to drown out the silence, but we don't listen to the radio on Shabbat.
Finally, Seth lashed out with a smack harder than the rest, and a piece of potato fell out of Eli's mouth.
That seemed to be what Seth was waiting for, because he smacked Eli again, really hard this time, that long strong arm just swinging out, and snarled, "Filthy slob! Dirty! Look at the mess!"
Eli had managed to hold on during the slaps. He has gotten used to this parenting style over the past couple of months. But the insults were too much for him, and he started to cry. That was all Seth needed. "You baby! You crybaby! Sissy! Mamma's boy!"
And I ... I looked away. To keep myself from just going over and hugging that little five year old who was trying, now, not to cry, and not to spit out the food in his mouth even though he couldn't swallow. I was near tears myself, but I told myself that I had to let Seth deal with his children in his own way.
Somehow the meal ended, and I put the children to bed. I lay in bed, later, wondering if Seth was also reviewing that awful scene in his mind. How could he not respond to the misery in that little face?
I have never heard Seth apologize for anything, but this would certainly be a good time to start. To reassure Eli that he didn't do anything wrong. That Seth really doesn't believe the insulting things he shouted. Seth could explain to Eli that even parents sometimes do or say things in anger (at what?) that we don't really mean, and are sorry for, afterwards, and wish we could take back. That Seth loves him and thinks he's a great kid and will always love him and be there to protect him.
OK. Next day, the children and I set the table for lunch, so we could eat when Seth got home from synagogue. Eli put his plate in its place across from Seth, and then picked it up again, and brought it over to the end of the table by my place. "Can I sit here, by you?" he asked. We both knew why. "Sure," I said. That's how you tell a child to deal with a bully who bothers you ... I was about to write, '... for no reason', but that's the definition of 'bully', isn't it. They hurt you just because they can. Because they're bigger. Because they can get away with it. I thought it was a good idea for Eli to just get himself out of reach of Seth's long arm.
Seth came home and looked at the non-standard seating arrangement. The Mickey Mouse plate and Sea World mug sitting way over at the end of the table. "What's this plate doing here?" he spat out.
Eli said, bravely, "That's my plate."
Seth growled, "Your plate belongs over here." And he slammed the place setting down where Eli had sat the night before.
Eli whispered, near tears, "I can't eat when I'm being hit, Abba."
And Seth exploded.
He grabbed Eli's arm in his vice grip. I knew I would see the marks when Eli had his bath that night. He flung Eli toward the stairs with all his might, shouting, "Go to your room!" Those hard sharp terrazzo steps that can chip a tooth or raise a goose egg.
I'm sure there was nothing Eli wanted more at that point than to be up in his room. Anywhere, away from Seth. But before he could get to his feet, Seth strode over and started kicking him. "Go!" - kick - "to" - kick - "your!" - kick - "room!" - kick. Over and over and over. Eli crying, of course. Rafi and Leora too. Eli kept sobbing, "I'm trying, Abba!" A couple of times he got to his hands and knees and made some progress toward the stairs, but Seth just kicked him flat, again. The look on Seth's face was one of absolute hatred. I think he would have been happy if he had been able to kick his son to a pulp.
Finally Eli grabbed the banister and stumbled upstairs. Seth came and sat down at the table, opened the prayer book and poured the wine for Kiddush.
They always ask, "What was the other parent doing while this was going on?" Well, this poor excuse for a mother was sitting there, crying, my heart rising hysterically into my throat, chanting over and over, "He's Eli's father. He can also decide how to raise him." Until the juxtaposition of the word, 'father', and all it connotes, and the unfatherly behavior I had seen before my eyes, just made no logical sense. A father should make sure that his child never has to go through anything like that in his life. Something like this should never happen to a five-year-old in his own home.
Seth started chanting Kiddush, just as though nothing had happened. I waited until he was finished, and when Seth went into the kitchen to wash his hands before reciting the blessing over the hallah, I went upstairs to Eli.
Eli was sitting on his bed weeping silently. He looked up fearfully when I came in. He whispered, "Ima, I don't even know what I did."
"I know," I said as I hugged him, "I don't either."
Everything is different, now. We're in a different category. Everything I assumed about Seth isn't relevant anymore. He's not normal. He's dangerous. I'm afraid of him. I'm afraid to have him near my children.
When Israelis greet each other on Sunday, they ask, "How was your Shabbat?" Lately, when Nora asks me, it's with real concern that Shabbat won't have been too awful. Nora and I were at the sandbox yesterday with Rafi and Gali. I told her about Seth's rampage against Eli, the day before. "Nora," I asked, "why didn't I do anything?"
"Like what?"
"Like ... call the police! Throw myself on top of Eli and protect him with my body. At what point would I call the police or report him or do something, if I didn't yesterday?"
"And what would that have accomplished, Shlomit? By the time the police had gotten there, Seth would have stopped. Eli would have been hurt exactly as much as he was going to be. You'd have scared the children, embarrassed your family in front of the neighbors, and betrayed Seth. He obviously counts on the fact that you don't tell anyone outside the house." Nora gave me an ironic smile. I returned a thankful smile, that I have her. "And then you would have to live with an unpredictable husband who feels you did a terrible thing to him.
"It's not fair, Shlomit, but you can't afford to call the police unless Seth is doing something that will get him taken away, right then and there, and locked up. And you know that the police aren't so quick to do that, if it's 'only' domestic violence. Or until you're ready to get the children away from him. Otherwise it'll just cause more harm than good."
"Maybe it would wake Seth up to what he's doing to us."
"Oh, Shlomit," Nora sighed and shook her head, "when we talk about Seth, most of your sentences start with the word, 'maybe ...' You can't predict what he'll take it into his head to do from one minute to the next. He uses his unpredictability as a club held over your heads. Any time any of you consider doing or saying something, a dozen possible Seth-reactions flash in front of your eyes. The worst one, for you, being that he won't react now, but will pounce on one of the children later because of something you have done. You're not going to call the police. You're not going to jump in front of Seth, and you're not going to yell, "Stop!" You can't afford to. And he knows it. He's got you, kid."
"Then I should leave. It's not going to get better, is it? Even if he acts better for awhile, I can never trust it, can I?"
"You can't leave, either, Shlomit."
Yeah, because I have no money. "Legally, I have rights to all our bank accounts. I could withdraw money from the savings account, even if he leaves no money in the checking account. But I have to be ready to leave right away, before he discovers it,” I reasoned, staring down at the sand.
I put out my hands as though to bracket a headline, "Woman Flees Abusive Husband with her Three Small Children ... but first has to stop at the bank, take a number, and sit on their luggage for an hour to withdraw money for the getaway!
"I have money of my own in the US - I could bring that over.
"Oh," I wailed, slumping forward, "But I don't want to make it seem like the kind of marriage where the wife has to be ready to flee with the children! Once I get into that mode, there's no chance I'll get things straightened out. That Seth can get better ..."
"Shlomit. Wake up. It is that kind of marriage, and Seth's not going to get better. But I didn't mean that you can't leave because he makes sure you have no cash. Shlomit, what did Eli do to make Seth so angry?"
"He moved his plate to the other end of the table," I reminded her.
Nora made rolling go-ahead motions with her hand, "And why did Eli move his plate ..."
"To get away from Seth."
"Because ..."
"Because Seth had hurt him."
"Exactly. You got a little demonstration, didn't you, of what happens to someone who tries to get away from Seth in order to protect themselves, when Seth hurts them."
"Nora, I don't think Seth was trying to warn me. He didn't think it all out. He just blew up."
"I'm not saying he made the logical connection, but what Eli did, fit into a pattern with Seth, and you can bet your life ..." Nora paused and it registered that this might not be an exaggeration, "… that you would be in the same category if you tried to get out. Eli, by reacting to Seth's abuse, might have made Seth feel guilty ..."
"OK. If Seth felt guilty, that's a first step..."
"Shlomit, you've got to stop mothering Seth. If that had been a first step, he would have taken a second. He behaves like a bully and worse, and you see a little child who might be making progress. Seth is who he is, Shlomit. He'll never change. You've got to get professional help. You can't just go by my advice. This is too serious."
"Professional help didn't help so much the other time we went."
"That's because you didn't pursue it to any sort of real conclusion. And from what you told me, Seth didn't get any sort of professional help from that woman. How often did he even go to her? Once or twice? There was no delving into what makes him tick. As soon as Seth stated why he was abusing you ... yes, Shlomit, the way he treated you back then was abusive. If you can't use the terminology, you can fool yourself into thinking it wasn't so bad. You still have no idea what was going on with him back in the first years of your marriage, and that's why he could just flip out again when you were pregnant, and now he's flipped out yet again. You've been married to this man for … what … thirteen years and you don't know him at all."
"How would I find a counselor to go to, anyway, Nora?"
"You open the yellow pages to psychologists and you find one with an English sounding first name. That'll take money, too, of course. You could write dated checks in hopes that by the time they come due, you'll have worked wonders and Seth will be amenable to the idea of getting help. You could pay with your credit card and ... Oh. I forgot that I’m talking to the only adult in the civilized world without a credit card.”
"Well," I admitted, "I actually do have a source of money. When Eli goes to speech therapy, I pay with a check and then I get reimbursed for half of the outlay in cash at the clinic. It's not enough, but it's something." I shook my head regretfully, "I usually use it to buy things for the children. Our banana money!"
"So you're still living on pancakes and cabbage and rice. Remember the other day, Shlomit, when we had all the children downtown and mine were bugging me for potato chips and Leora asked if you could maybe buy a couple of pears." Nora shook her head in disgust, "Most people want to feed those they love. It's a basic, natural thing. Heck. People feed stray cats. And Seth is so sick that he's trying to starve you."
"I think maybe he's trying to hint. I asked him if we could get boots for the children, and he grumped, 'I don't know where the money is supposed to come from!' Maybe he wants me to go back to work."
"You are going back, though, in March, right? In four months."
"Maybe he wants me to go back earlier."
"Maybe he wants you to go back because he said so, and not just because the year is up. Yikes! Speaking of time being up! We've got to go pick up the big kids from kindergarten! Do you want to bring them over for lunch?"
"Oh ... we can't always ..."
"It's fine. My kids turn up their noses at leftovers from Shabbat. I love watching your kids dig into them."
Last night, after an awful Friday and Shabbat, of yelling and hitting and crying, Seth and I were getting ready for bed, and I was a million miles away, wondering how to get Seth on an even keel, or get the children out of this madhouse.
I was vowing that the next time he goes back to seeming healthy, if he ever does, I'll do something, one way or the other. It's so hard, seeing him like this, to even imagine that the 'good Seth' is the same person. Or that he’ll ever return. It's hard to believe that just - wow - only three months ago, during the summer, he was in such a good mood that I thought our troubles were over. I put away the old diary that described his depression during that awful pregnancy, way up on the top shelf of my closet, and started this new, joyful hopeful one.
It's such a strange time - the days, when Seth isn't home, and I'm just with Eli, Leora and Rafi, are the best I've ever had. But the evenings and weekends are the worst.
I was going round and round with these thoughts, last night, there in the bedroom, and Seth went over to the shelf where we keep the extra soap and toothpaste. I heard him say, very conversationally, in a normal voice, "Oh. We're just about out of toothpaste."
Had I flipped channels mid episode? Had a heavy drama been interrupted by a cheery commercial?
"Toothpaste?" The world is crashing down on our heads, and he's concerned that we might run out of toothpaste? As though these two horrible days – this horrible month - hadn't happened?
Something is wrong with Seth. Physically, I mean.
He has changed so much in the past few weeks. His weight is way down. His clothes hang on him. His face is a sunken gray old face. He's always cold. Keeps his coat on all the time. Turns on the electric water heater even if it's been sunny and the solar panels should be enough to heat his shower.
He trembles. When he brings a fork to his mouth it shudders. When he holds the Kiddush cup. Passes me something at the table. Like an old man.
He stands like an old man. Hunched. Huddled. Even just the fact that he stands around doing nothing. People our age just don't do that. I'll come upon him in the kitchen - just standing there, lost in thought. Lost, anyway.
He sits as though he's curled up inside an egg. Legs crossed - twisted all the way around so the foot of the top leg is behind the ankle of the other leg. You have to be very thin to do that. Chin thrust out. Hunched over. Hands folded in his lap. Almost fetal!
He's gray. His skin. Deeper than his skin.
Something is wrong with Seth.
We were eating supper last night in the kitchen, as usual. The radio was blaring, and Seth had been shushing the children all through the meal so he could listen. So we were sitting there eating without making a sound.
Except Seth. When he's in a bad mood (meaning all the time, lately), he hums/growls when he eats. Like the low warning growl a dog makes to keep other dogs away from his food. Usually it's only audible on Shabbat when the radio isn’t on, but I was sitting right next to him last night.
Then, just as the news headlines came on, Rafi knocked an empty plastic tumbler off his highchair tray. You know how those cups bounce, and this one seemed to go on bouncing and bouncing interminably, so that Seth missed the headlines. I doubt that the seven o'clock headlines were any different from the six thirty ones, but Seth jumped to his feet to clobber Rafi.
Seth's tantrums are hardest on Rafi, because he's in that high chair and can't duck out of the way. Even when Rafi's not in the chair, all the blows land on his head because that's what Seth can reach most easily.
Rafi flinched away with a terrified look on his face, and Eli cried out, "Don't hit Rafi! Abba! I did it! I knocked it over! Hit me!"
Seth didn't need any more invitation than that. After taking a swipe at Rafi's head, he reached across the table and smacked Eli for good measure. For interfering, I guess.
Eli surreptitiously held Rafi's hand to comfort him, and Seth went back to growling over his cheese sandwich, more angry now, because he couldn't hear at all over Rafi's crying. A distorted version of the Boys Town motto. Instead of the 'Father' being a rescuer who could help the boy protect his little brother, this father is the threat against which the baby needs protection.
I was talking with Malki over the clotheslines yesterday. We were comparing the condition of our husbands' shirts, and we discovered we're both married to pack-rats who save things we would throw out. We were both thankful for the big attics these houses have. "My attic saved my marriage, " Malki said with mock solemnity. "When something goes up there, I can pretend it's gone, and he knows we still have it."
I know other couples where one wants to save everything and the other wants to purge their possessions from time to time.
I thought it would be funny to write a pair of letters, as though to an advice columnist, because each person's point of view obviously seems logical to them.
Here's what I wrote:
Dear Ann,
My husband refuses to throw things away. When we got married he brought all the trappings of his childhood from his bedroom at his parents' house. We've moved four times since then, and the stuff just accumulates. He still has every broken watch, radio and calculator he's ever owned. Four inoperable shavers ... and he shaves with a razor! A half dozen pairs of sandals with broken straps because you 'never know' when you'll need to take a buckle from an old pair to fix a newer one. Of course, he never has, but still, you 'never know'!
Those padded mailers you get. Then if I have something to mail, he doesn't want me to waste a mailer on it.
And books. He has shelves full, many of which he admits he'll never read again, and wouldn't recommend to anyone. But heaven forbid I should suggest we get rid of them. We drag them from one house to the next, and twice a year I take them all down to oil the shelves, and then they all go back up till next time.
Some people save swimming medals... he saves swim suits. A couple still with name tags from Scout camp. Ditto shirts. Really, now, how many 'old shirts to paint in' does anyone need?
When the washing machine broke down and we got a new one, the old one stayed right there in the laundry room 'just in case'.
Whenever he refers to something as 'perfectly good', that means there's no other reason to keep it, but we're going to, anyway. I say, "Suppose you didn't have any old torn wallets and someone offered to give you one. Would you take it?"... "No, but if I already have one, I might as well keep it." Where's the logic in that?
He's always reminding me of the few times we've been spared having to go buy something because he could dig around in the attic and come up with something he'd saved. (Please note that there have been at least as many cases where we've had to go out and buy something because we simply couldn't find ours among all the piles of boxes!)
Now he's talking of getting a carpenter in to build us more storage space. When all we need to do is put our trash where it belongs ... out on the curb!
Please help,
Drowning in Clutter
Dear Ms. Landers:
There's definitely something wrong with my wife!
She gets such a thrill out of throwing out our belongings that I wonder if this is some sort of anorexia nervosa of the possessions.
Like any family, we've got boxes of stuff we're not using at the moment. Not bothering anyone, right? But it makes her as uncomfortable as a stone in the shoe. She's always got to 'go through' the stuff hoping to come up with just one more thing to get rid of.
I'm always coming home to find the dining room table piled with things that we 'don't need'. I remind her that we paid good money for all that stuff, and I convince her to put everything back again. But it's only safe temporarily... till the next time she decides to 'go through things'. The day after we got our food processor you can guess what confronted me on the dining room table: our perfectly good blender and mixer, a broken grater I'd been holding onto just in case, the chopping bowl and chopper, and a couple of those handy-dandy all purpose grater/slicer gadgets.
She wants to get rid of our wedding presents which have been sitting on a closet shelf for fifteen years not hurting anybody. Our friends spent good money on all those things, and didn't expect us to just give them away. She claims that if we haven't used the stuff yet, we never will. As though people really expect you to use all those little silver candy dishes and whatever else is up there. She's incapable of attaching any sentimental value to anything!
It's such an obsession with her that she's rushing the children through their childhoods just so she can clear out the closets. She's always saying, "Well, this summer I can give all the size six girl clothes to my sister!" or "When the baby's three, we can get rid of the crib and high chair and all those baby toys!" I think that if she were to have a foot amputated, her first thought would be, "Now I can get rid of half my shoes!"
She gets almost as much pleasure from seeing other people get rid of their things. Like a voyeur! She loves to go to garage sales... not to buy, but just to say, with that gleam in her eye, "Look at all the stuff they're getting rid of!" She sees a pile of trash on the curb where someone obviously weeded out an attic or basement, and she actually stops to admire it!
I think she needs professional help. Our household will certainly be more calm.
Please help,
Keeping it Together
I was printing up my Dear Abby letters to send to my parents, and Seth came into the room just as I took them from the printer.
"Listen to what I wrote!" I said.
He's been so glum lately, I thought maybe he'd get a laugh out of it.
When I'd finished reading them to him, he grabbed the pages away from me, angrily. "Where's the file?" He growled. "I want to see the file!!"
I opened the file in the word processor, and he sat down angrily, and started to type. He scowled at the screen and pounded away at the keyboard, for ten minutes, muttering furiously. He printed out the second 'letter' that the pack-rat spouse writes, with his additions. He ripped off the pages and thrust them at me. "There's how it should be," he spat as he stormed from the room.
Dear Ms. Landers:
There's definitely something wrong with my wife! Of course she wouldn't think so. It's the rest of the world or whoever she has a grudge against that must be abnormal.
She gets such a thrill out of throwing things out that I wonder if this is some sort of anorexia nervosa of her life or of the aspects thereof that she would like to dispossess.
Like any family, we've got boxes of stuff we're not using at the moment. Not bothering anyone. The sort of book that one of our children might like reading during some stage of their development or an old shirt or pair of pants that comes in handy when someone (her included) wants to paint or cut up for a costume. She's always got to 'go through' the stuff hoping to come up with just one more thing to pick an argument over. After all, it's none of her business since she has more closet space than she knows what to do with, and her romance novels are not the type of book that she's proud to leave out. is THIS a self brain washing compulsion often known as self delusion?
I'm always coming home to find the dining room table piled with things that we 'don't need'. (her own standards, of course) I remind her that we paid good money for all that stuff, till I finally get her to put everything back again. But it's only safe temporarily... till the next time she decides to 'go through things'. The day after we got our food processor you can guess what confronted me on the dining room table: our perfectly good blender and mixer, a broken grater I'd been using every week without complaint, HER chopping bowl and chopper which I never use and couldn't care if never existed, and a couple of those handy-dandy all purpose grater/slicer gadgets.
Did she ever tell you about our two washing machines. Why on earth would we ever buy a second washing machine. The reason, the first one broke and although we had a service contract to repair the first one, it was out of the house for six weeks. Six weeks is a long time when you have three small children and are doing laundry once a day. What will happen when the next one breaks? Buy another one to tide us over? I'm surprised she notices the old washing machine. It's buried under a pile of dirty clothes.
She wants to get rid of our wedding presents which have been sitting on a closet shelf for fifteen years not hurting anybody. Funny how those items that she chose to rid herself of came from people she has no sentimental attachments to, and funny how she started using some of the items (an ornate silver plated pitcher) that had been slated for the throw out pile during a previous sanitizing operation. Our friends spent good money on all those things, and didn't expect us to just give them away. She claims that if we haven't used the stuff yet, we never will. As though people really expect you to use all those little silver candy dishes and whatever else is up there.
It's such an obsession with her that she's rushing the children through their childhoods just so she can clear out the closets. She's always saying, "Well, this summer I can give all the size 6 girl clothes to my sister!" or "When the baby's three, we can get rid of the crib and high chair and all those baby toys!" I think that if she were to have a foot amputated, her first thought would be, "Now I can get rid of half my shoes!" A rather macabre aside is that right after the birth of our third child she had to have an emergency hysterectomy. No need to carry a womb around when you don't plan on having children. Of course, she didn't plan it that way, but then reality was kind enough to fit itself into her philosophy of life. If I die before she does, she'll be out there the next day, dancing around a bonfire on which all my belongings are burning. Her selective memory will be next.
Come to talk about throwing things out. She threw out a job where she had tenure, ten years of seniority, and a monthly salary greater than mine. She didn't bother possessing an alternative job option and one wonders whether she has thrown out her profession as well. She has decided to try motherhood from which throw out examples abound. She's thrown up her hands at trying to feed our third child preferring to blame it on physical abnormalities when a feeding lasts more than five minutes. She has thrown out our four year old daughter who after disappearing for half a day I found at a neighbor fearful of coming home. Its perhaps good for her that we aren't as quick to kick people out.
She gets almost as much pleasure from seeing other people get rid of their things. Like a voyeur! She loves to go to garage sales... not to buy, but just to say, with that gleam in her eye, "Look at all the stuff they're getting rid of!" She sees a pile of trash on the curb where someone obviously weeded out an attic or basement, and she actually stops to admire it!
Probably the thing she throws out with the least compunction is words without thought. I think she needs to think about the consequences of her actions. She wouldn't stand the abuse that she throws about.
I think she needs professional help. Our household will certainly be more calm, if she can find a way to admit to her arbitrary behavior. Do you agree, and did you even suspect. How about a witty one line response.
Well, there it is.
I'm buzzing with thoughts crashing together in my head.
I haven't felt this wobbly and breathless and weak kneed since that creepy guy exposed himself to me, back in the university library.
Is Seth also trying to be funny, and it's hitting too hard? I should have switched the genders. Should have had the wife be the pack-rat, and the husband the weeder outer. Then he might not have identified with either one.
Is it just this bad mood he's in lately? Or is his bad mood due to frustrations like the ones he writes about, unresolved all these years because we don’t talk?
Is this meant as a communication? I don't think I wrote the letters as a communication. I only showed them to him as an afterthought. This saver-purger difference is not at all a central issue between us.
Should I go and say, "Seth, let's talk about this?" Well, not right now, obviously, but as soon as he gets into a better mood?
I have wanted a window into what he's been thinking, and here it is - in spades!
Some of it seems like aimless attacks. But the anger is obviously real.
'Romance novels', I guess, refers to that stupid thing I did ten years ago - reading him Fanny Hill and Lady Chatterley's Lover to try to get him in a romantic mood. I threw out FH soon after that. LCL is still on the shelves. I don't have any other novels of my own - romantic or otherwise!
Is 'pile of dirty laundry' a hint? But there's never more than half a load of laundry waiting. I enjoy doing laundry. I'm more likely to go prowling around the house looking for something to fill up a load, than to leave laundry undone.
Throwing Leora out? There was a day when Leora was cruisin' for a bruisin', and I sent her outside to play. When Seth came home, we went to look for her, so we could eat supper. She was at a neighbor's house. It's the first I've heard that she was afraid to come home. I've told Seth that I wish he would give the children a chance to get away from him when they get on his nerves, instead of lashing out at them. I guess he's saying that 'taking your sail out of their wind' is not a good technique. Well, it's better than hitting them, fella!
His comment about my hysterectomy - it's actually funny, and fits right in with the letter. Does he think I somehow caused it or willed it?
The job thing is a total shocker! I 'threw out' my job? There's no mention of my physical problems leftover from Rafi’s birth. Have they ceased to exist, in Seth's mind?
We discussed my taking a year off work. It's not something I would have done without consulting him. He agreed that my health problems and Rafi’s made it the perfect time for taking a year off to be home with the three children. Didn't he?
Seth always resented my working. Now he's upset that I'm taking time off?
'She decided' to 'try' motherhood? That's how he sees this - this best ever period of my life, spending my days with my children? Trying motherhood?
The reference to feeding Rafi - what is this? He knows how much time and anguish I spent trying to feed Rafi, doesn't he? Doesn't he know there WERE physical problems?
The fact that he could sit down with no preparation and list these, one after another, means that he has had this all worked out in his mind.
And 'words without thought', 'consequences of her actions' 'arbitrary behavior'? I wonder if he has specific things in mind. We certainly don't suffer from too many words, around here - thought-out or otherwise!
No, Seth, I didn't even suspect.
In psych 101, we learned that one indication of psychological maturity is the ability to delay gratification.
Seth is able to delay gratification in many spheres of his life. He was the kid grinding away at math while the others were at the ball field. We always save money we could be spending. Dishes get done right after meals. He can push himself on a hike just to be able to mention, at work the next day, how far we got. His success at work is an obvious indication that he never takes the easy way out.
But what happens to him with the really important things? Keeping a lid on your temper because your long term relationship with that child is more important than the annoyance you feel at this moment? Putting a bad mood behind you because the atmosphere at home is more important than indulging your grumpiness or feeling sorry for yourself. Talking to your wife about problems - maybe it will spoil an evening, but in the long run, maybe you can have a real relationship.
Today was so nice. Hanukkah starts tonight and I really want to do something with the children this year, now that I have time
And fortunately, Seth's umbrella broke! So the children and I went out today umbrella shopping for a Hanukkah present for Abba. He's so gloomy and angry lately. Maybe a Hanukkah present will cheer him up.
The shopping trip was fun. They really got into the project of selecting the perfect umbrella for Abba – checking the mechanism, debating the color and size.
We finally found an umbrella - not too expensive, because Seth would want to pick out an expensive one for himself. Even if he gets himself another, it'll be good to have two umbrellas in the house.
The three of them were so excited and are really looking forward to tonight so they can give Abba his present. We've wrapped it to look like a long candle. I'll have the camera ready to capture the event.
Well, I blew that one. I should have realized he's in no mood for ... for surprises, I guess. Or for having something going on in the house that he didn't command. The children and I just have to lie low, evenings, until this bad mood is over.
We lit Hanukkah candles, and I was so intent on the surprise and so caught up in enjoying the children's excitement, I guess, that I didn't gauge Seth's mood accurately.
Eli and Leora went upstairs to get the candle - the umbrella, that is - and they were so sweet, coming downstairs, both holding it. Their open mouthed grins and little baby teeth and blond hair - they'd all had their baths and were dressed nicely for the big presentation. They sang / giggled 'Nerli' the little Hanukkah song from kindergarten - 'My candle' - as they navigated the turns in the staircase.
Rafi toddled over when the big children got down stairs and Eli and Leora held the candle down low and left him a couple of inches at the bottom so he could hold on, too. Leora had to walk backwards, and they were laughing about that. They finally got over to Seth and held the candle out to him. And Leora, bursting with the secret, cried, "It's a new umbrella for you, Abba!"
And then ...
I should just stop there. Write that much, and sometime, years from now, when one of the children reads these diary pages, maybe they'll remember just this nice, happy part. Maybe it'll wipe out from their minds the scary stuff that came next.
Before I could snap a picture, Seth snatched the candle from the children and turned on me, waving it in the air to emphasize his words. The children stepped back, shocked surprise on their faces. Seth came toward me, swinging the umbrella, "Isn't this just typical! Now I see what you're up to! Just look at this! You think you're so wonderful! I can't believe it! You can go to hell." He threw down the partly unwrapped umbrella and stormed upstairs. "Seth, I'm sorry!" I called up after him.
Rafi was crying and Eli was hugging Rafi, trying not to cry, himself. Leora whispered, wide eyed, "Abba didn't like his new umbrella."
I hugged them. "I'm sorry, you guys. I guess Abba ... isn't feeling well. Hey! We didn't have dessert! Let's go eat the jello Eli made!"
I feel so sorry. I led them to believe this was a safe thing to do, and it wasn't.
They wanted to eat in the living room by the candles, but I wanted to be in the kitchen so I could close the door. Close Seth off from the laughter and conversation that distresses him.
I'll remember tonight as an event. The children will only remember the feeling that everything can seem to be wonderful and they can think they're doing something good. Something loving. And without warning, the world can just cave in and turn scary and bad.
I took Nora's advice and found a counselor to talk to. Starting with the same plea as when I'd gone to Talia eight years ago. How can I help him? And how can I manage to have a normal life for myself - and now, for these three children - when I live with such a sad, angry person?
At my appointment with Richard today, we brainstormed what happened yesterday with the umbrella. He asked some of the same questions I had, and a few more. Was Seth upset that I had spent unauthorized money? That I presumed to pick out something for him? That the children and I had a secret from him? Had we had an argument earlier? (Have we ever had an argument? I don't think so.) Or does Seth just like to pull the rug out from under us. Keep us off balance. Seeing us so proud of what we had done - the short-term triumph of the Hanukkah surprise, and my long term triumph of these wonderful children - did he just need to take the air out of our balloon?
OK. Let's forget that episode. It's over and done. I guess we won't be buying Abba any presents for awhile. After that Dear Abby letter, I just worry that he's trying to communicate with me and I'm not getting it.
Uncle Henry is here! It's always good to see Uncle Henry, but now I really need another adult around the house. The children adore him.
Seth has been on good behavior and everything has gone smoothly.
The last day of Hanukkah, when each of us lit nine candles, there was quite a glow!
We all went for a walk through some old orchards. It was so nice. Maybe this is what we need. More people. More company. We're just alone too much.
Henry will fly down to Eilat for a few days and come back at the end of the week.
I wondered, on Tuesday, when I went in to straighten Henry’s room, why he had taken all of his luggage for only four days in Eilat. His heavy German overcoat isn’t even needed up here, let alone in Eilat. But everything was gone. Except one metal clasp that had apparently broken off a suitcase.
Somehow this one thing that remained behind, as I stood there staring at it in my hand, emphasized the emptiness of the rest of the room. It put me in mind, somehow, of fleeing refugees.
Well, I realized, it's easier to just take all of your luggage instead of trying to guess what you'll need and what you won't.
I planned nice meals for the weekend, looking forward to having company.
Then, this morning, Thursday, Uncle Henry called. He’s up north visiting some old friends. "When will you be getting here?" I asked.
"Well, I'll in fact be spending Shabbat with my friends up here," Henry explained, hesitantly.
"Then ... Sunday?"
"The thing is, I fly out early Monday. It seems most efficient to just go straight to the airport from here ..."
"But we're so much closer to the airport." I wailed. Sounding very needy and pitiful even to myself.
"Shlomit ... the truth is ... I was quite shocked to find Seth so depressed. He's not normal, Shlomit. He needs professional help. How long has he been in this state?”
"He's been kind of depressed for awhile. Since the end of October."
"Two months! Shlomit ... I wonder how you stand it. He gave me such an uncomfortable feeling. I literally couldn't stand to be in the same house with him any longer. He never made eye contact. Didn't talk. Never shook hands. Didn't even offer me food at the table. Shlomit, he's ill."
"I know, Henry. But how can I get him to go for help?" I was nearly in tears. Here, I've managed to stay strong and cheerful through two months of gloom, and I've been doing OK, being strong for all of us. Now, as soon as Henry offered some sympathy, I was ready to break down. Plus, I guess, the disappointment of knowing this would be a regular awful Shabbat.
"He's alot better when other people are around," I admitted.
"Shlomit, I also saw how he is with the children." I tried to think if Seth had lost control while Henry was were here. I don't think he did. I guess Henry noticed how the children avoid him.
"Just for your own sanity, Shlomit, if you could talk to a professional..."
"I've already been talking to someone."
"Wonderful. And... I feel I must say this … I think you should consider making alternate plans for yourself and the children. If he gets worse, I worry that you're in danger."
"I guess you're right..." It's easy for a rootless bachelor to say. I'm rooted to this house and marriage by these three small children. Seth must see it that way, too. Otherwise wouldn't he be afraid I would leave?
"Shlomit, if you don't mind my interfering, I've jotted down a couple of points, relating to Seth, that I'd be willing to share with you."
"Sure!" Uncle Henry's insights are always welcome.
"Number one, you need to insist that you be treated as a co-equal partner."
"Henry, that's the least of my worries right now. I don't mind if he's a dictator - if only he could be a benevolent one!"
"I realize that, but long term in your relationship, you must keep in mind that this is important.
“Number two, I've known Seth, as you know, since he was small. He has always fenced himself off. Has always guarded himself very closely. He has always been reserved and very self-focused. He can't let his feelings out."
"Yeah, I know most of that, I guess."
"There's more I would say, but it doesn't lend itself to being discussed long distance. I wish there were more I could do. I could speak to his parents ..."
"I don't think that would help. Just your moral support is great, though, Henry! OK," I sighed, "Have a good stay with your friends. Thank you so much for coming!"
As I hung up, I could feel Uncle Henry getting farther and farther away. We were back to being all alone.
Seth hardly talks, these days. These weeks. And when he does, he’s so cryptic.
I usually clean the children's rooms for Shabbat, but this week I didn't get to it. Leora was home with the flu two days, and then I had to take Eli to that battery of evaluations. Friday night, as the children were getting ready for bed, Eli asked, "Why didn't you clean my room, Ima?"
I answered, "Well, everything is done instead of something else. What should I not have done so that I could clean your room instead?"
Seth, from our room, called out, sarcastically, "Right, Shlomit!"
I looked into our bedroom and asked, "What did you say?"
He spat out, "Nikudah!" 'Full-stop’ in Hebrew.
Wanting to encourage this exchange, I asked, "You said, 'Right.' What did you mean?"
He gave me a disgusted look, but didn't say anything more.
Once, at a PTA Christmas show when I was a child, they had somebody playing a bell concert. The musician stands behind a table arrayed with different sizes and tones of bells, and strikes the different ones to play a song.
Last night at dinner, I was reminded of a sort of grotesque bell concert - Seth the musician, and my three children the little bells. Seth was smacking them one after the other throughout the meal, as though to hear their cries. Rafi's sudden wail of pain and fear. Eli's groaning cry of despair to be despised and rejected by the person on earth he tries hardest to please. And Leora ... Leora is not an easy bell for Seth to play. It takes alot of strikes to get her to break down. She meets Seth's glare - her dancing blue eyes going narrow and defiant, to meet his narrow cold angry blue ones. The stubborn set of her little jaw mirroring the furious set of his. She stares at him with loathing until finally he hits or grips hard enough or long enough that she can't hold out and she dissolves into a cry of frustration at losing another round.
Last night Seth was well into the second or third movement of that evening's opus, when he jumped up and lunged toward Eli. Eli dodged toward the wall, his arms up over his face. But Seth was only charging over to get a spoon from the drawer.
Seth stopped in his tracks and looked down at Eli. "What's the matter with you?"
"I ... I ... I ... I thought you were coming to hit me," Eli stammered. These last couple of months, the non-fluency he suffered with as a three-year-old, comes back when Seth is around.
"Idiot!" Seth roared through clenched teeth as he smacked his son on the side of the head, "Why would I hit you?"
I was telling Richard about how Seth 'relates' to his children.
Once I got started talking about the children, I just kept going. All about their development, and my relationship to them, and their interactions with each other.
I was really holding forth, and Richard raised his hand like a policeman telling me to stop. He smiled, "I see you're a fan of Rudolf Dreikurs."
Puzzled, "Who's he?"
"You've obviously read 'Children: The Challenge'. Those are Dreikurs' ideas you're quoting."
"I don't think so." This would certainly fit into the category of things the children need. A purchase that I could justify to myself as a necessary expense. I wrote down the title and Richard spelled the author's name for me.
"It's a classic. I think you'll be able to find it at the book store."
Well, I did find it. It really is good. Of course, it's going to sound reasonable, if Richard said I already think that way. It was published in 1964, so I've very likely heard his ideas expressed by other sources.
I'm half way through my second reading. Case studies and techniques. Nora wants to borrow it when I'm through.
Sigh. It’s Seth who needs to read it.
I wind up telling the children about things I'm learning from the book. I guess it can only help if we all know what we're aiming for.
At this week’s session, I told Richard that Seth had offered to get me a job in his lab. We would travel on the bus together, and eat lunch together, and Seth could come visit me during the day.
"Maybe only a job he found for you would be acceptable," Richard suggested. “As your friendship with Nora is acceptable because he got you together. You mentioned that he never approved of your involvement in your career, and that he never wanted you to have friends.”
We talked about the fact that Seth seems to be starving us out. Richard asked me to describe how food is managed at his parent's house.
"Well, stereotypical Jewish household, I guess. Plenty of good food at every meal. Large portions. Their refrigerator and cupboards are stuffed. But of course they lived through the war."
"And your house, now?"
"The opposite, I guess. We have the bare necessities. And chocolate bars and bags of candy for Seth’s sweet tooth. It's not fair - the children don't get enough real food to eat, and certainly not the variety they need. All that candy sitting there is so tempting. He doesn't ... he doesn't expect them to eat the treats he buys for himself.
"It's better when his parents are visiting. Last time, Seth went out and bought orange juice for them for breakfast even though it’s expensive.”
"I doubt if money is the issue, Shlomit. Seth splurges on himself. He's trying to show that he has power you don't. You've mentioned several instances where he forbade you from doing something, and then turned around the next day and did something similar - to show you that you're not allowed to act, and he is." I had told Richard about when Seth rejected my idea to join the Nature Society, and then he joined the Tel Aviv museum the next day, defiantly plunking the receipt on the table. And last month, after tearing into me for buying a bathmat for the children's bathroom, that he bought the ugly foot-shaped one with brown and purple flowers, for ours.
Sitting with Richard really puts things into perspective. When Seth does something strange during the week, I can think to myself, "Another thing to tell Richard about!"
I can't believe these are the same children who had such a happy carefree summer six months ago. Eli’s stammering is worse, and Eli and Leora are both wetting the bed a couple of times a week. Eli has been dry since he was two. Leora was down to an infrequent accident.
I don't dare tell Seth. I wash the sheets right away and dry them in the drier so he won't see them on the line.
Richard suggested that because of Seth's poor eyesight, he might not realize that his facial expressions are so severe. He can't see our faces, and might assume that we can't read his.
Maybe Seth assumes that he can glare and grimace and grind his teeth in private. But he certainly sees our reactions to his anger, so he must realize that we do discern his emotional state.
Then Richard asked why I fear Seth's silences.
"Well, because they're scary! Abnormal. I don't understand what's going on inside him."
"Seth has never hit you, Shlomit. Why can't you just force yourself to ignore his tantrums?"
"That's what I told myself in October, Richard, and then he started hitting the children."
Maybe Seth's practice of not greeting is also related to his eyesight. Maybe he has embarrassed himself by greeting someone who turned out to be a stranger.
But that wouldn't explain why he can't even greet us when he comes home. Presumably it would be safe to greet anyone who is in your house when you walk in the door. Even if you’re not sure whether it's a family member, a nod of greeting and a pleasant expression would be appropriate.
Worst case, you greet a burglar who has broken in to your house. But then, having greeted someone inappropriately would not be your biggest problem.
Back in college, when I was too lazy to put in my contact lenses, I would walk around campus, not being able to recognize who was around me. My solution was opposite to Seth's. I just got into the habit, on that small campus, of greeting everyone. I would rather confuse a stranger than insult a friend. On more than one occasion, this policy proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy - a misplaced greeting turned a stranger into a friend.
Today at Richard, we discussed two things that were said at home this past week.
Nora and I went to the open-air market in Ramla. I just window-shopped (though there are no windows...), but she bought some material for curtains at a stall, there. Fabric is so cheap! I was telling Seth about the shuk and the fabric. OK. To be honest I was making a case for getting curtains, at least for the children's rooms. Seth got a disgusted look on his face and pronounced, "Well, we know that Sam can't control HIS wife."
The other quote was something Eli said.
While we were watching 'Who's the Boss' and Eli declared, "Abba's the boss in this house."
What would I have answered, at age five, if I'd been asked who is the 'boss' of our family? Even in the un-liberated fifties, it would not have occurred to me that a family has a boss.
Seth said a strange thing tonight as we were getting ready for bed. He said, softly, "None of this has anything to do with you."
"What do you mean?"
"None of this is your fault. It has nothing to do with you."
He closed the bathroom door to take his shower, but I sat there on the edge of the bed, wondering. Maybe it's over? He spoke in such a normal, gentle way. It has been months since he has talked to me in normal tones. Is he referring to this depression? To how he has been treating Eli, Leora and Rafi?
I lay awake for a long time after Seth was asleep, before coming downstairs to write this. I often watch him sleep. Worrying that I won't get a chance to help him. That he'll die or leave me or seriously injure one of the children, or commit suicide, before we can solve the problems.
Sometimes, I'll admit, I'm actually wishing he would die. Just die, and we'll be the poor family in mourning, but we'll really be so relieved. Maybe he'll die young, and I'll have some years of peace and quiet at the end.
But when the children are big enough to defend themselves, I'll have no reason to stay with Seth. Rafi will be bar mitzvah in eleven years. Can I hold out that long? Or by then will the children have been abused for so long that there will be no point in leaving. Will that be the closing line of my speech at Rafi's bar mitzvah party? "While you're all here, I have an announcement to make - we're finally leaving Seth!"
But just a few words from Seth has put everything in a new light.
If tonight's 'conversation' is an indication that he's coming out of it, maybe I can get him to see Richard. Clear up all the mystery. Tell me how to deal with it. If only so that we are both better prepared for the next onslaught.
I'm exhausted.
It's not physical exhaustion. For that you sit and rest. Hot shower and a cup of cocoa in an easy chair. It's not even mental exhaustion. For that you watch a silly TV show or play solitaire to put your mind into neutral.
Is there such a thing as emotional exhaustion? Having some part of your ... soul? ... tired out from worry and fear and the pain of watching your children being hurt. From hoping and wishing. From guilt. From trying to find a connection with the soul of someone you love, and finding only hatred, suspicion and selfishness at their core.
How do you rest up from emotional exhaustion?
Hugs from the children help. Are Eli and Leora and Rafi just as emotionally fragile as I feel right now, or is my presence making it easier for them?
Maybe I need to cry? Get drunk or stoned? Maybe sexual release zeros out the emotional buffers. That's not likely, for the duration, I guess.
Have an affair. Make soul to soul contact with a healthy generous loving accepting person. Get a big protective hug instead of these precious small supportive ones.
Talking to Nora is invaluable, but of course, there's a limit to how much griping even a good friend wants to hear.
Even while I sleep, I'm on emotional alert. I don't sleep well unless he’s out of the country. If I halfway wake up, I feel Seth's presence and recoil. If I wake up all the way, the worries and fears swirl around and I can't get back to sleep. I wake up feeling stiff and sore all over - as though my muscles have been tensed all night.
Is Seth’s bad mood because I'm not working?
There was that comment in his corrections to my Dear Abby letter, about 'threw away her job'. Since then he has said things like, 'I don't know where the money's coming from,' or '… if the children were in day care where they belong'.
So Friday morning, I asked him if he wants me to go back to work before this agreed-upon year at home with the children is over. I suggested making a list of the advantages to my being home, and see if they're worth giving up for the money I would earn. He just snarled, "Don't bother!"
But ... don't bother what? Don't bother going back to work, or don't bother considering staying home?
I tried again to tell him about tests Eli needs. The kindergarten teacher says he hops on the wrong foot! It's one of the checkpoints they test at various ages and he doesn't hop on the foot that a right-handed child should hop on.
But Seth just said he's not interested, and went out to prune the bushes.
Dov from next door knocked on the door this morning and said he heard that a computer company right here in town is looking for a technical writer. I had never thought of writing documentation. But it would be nice to be near home.
If I have to go back to work now (Do I? Am I reading Seth correctly?) then taking this job, that literally knocked on my front door, seems easiest.
I hoped that when Seth knew that I had started looking for a job, he would let up on us. But there's no sign of it so far.
When Eli was a month old, and my parents were here, I asked Dad, "When the baby is hungry and I pick him up to feed him, why doesn't he stop crying? Can't he tell I'm about to feed him?" Dad said, "What would you do if he stopped crying as soon as you came over to the crib to pick him up?" - "I guess I would figure he just wanted to see me." I laughed, "and I wouldn't bother feeding him!"
I guess Seth is in the same mode. When you're conditioning a rat in a Skinner Box, you've got to be sure you only reward her for performing the behavior you're conditioning her to perform.
Anyway, today I interviewed for the job. It looks interesting. Nice people. It will be frustrating to document programs other people have written, but if this job gets Seth in a better mood, I don't care if I'm shoveling horse feathers all day!
Maybe when I tell him I've been for an interview, he'll cheer up. And I'll finally get my cheese.
Poor Vern. I'm being very un-Shlomit-like and calling my potential boss every other day to see if they've decided to take me. There's been no improvement on the home front, yet. I just want to sign on that dotted line.
I guess my nudniking paid off. Vern just called to ask if I can start at the beginning of next month.
Now I have to find daycare for Rafi, and find somebody to take care of Eli and Leora in the afternoons, after kindergarten.
I'll be so jealous! Imagine paying someone else to do what I dearly love to do! Heck - I would pay for the privilege of staying home with my children. Well, I guess that's what a stay-at-home mom is doing, isn't it.
Maybe I read Seth wrong on this work thing. I think he understands that I've got a job lined up and will start in two weeks. I've mentioned it several times, and I've mentioned that I'm looking for someone to watch the children. Luckily, the director of the day care center up the road knows me from when Eli and Leora were there. It would normally be hard to get Rafi into day care in the middle of the year.
Of course, Seth hasn't helped with any of this.
Seth is so out of it lately - I don't know what he realizes and what he doesn't. He seems to spend half his time reacting to things that aren't actually happening - imagined insults or plots or misbehavior on the part of the children, or, I guess, on my part. The other half of the time he's not reacting to what really is going on - the fact that the amount of food he brings home couldn't possibly feed a family. Or that he’s hurting the children. So maybe it hasn't even registered that I'm going back to work soon.
What luck! The mother of two girls in Eli and Leora's class, who live right across the street from the kindergarten, will give them a hot lunch, and keep them until I get home from work. She takes alot of money, but couldn't be more convenient.
I mentioned to Seth that I have found day care solutions (well, I mentioned it in his direction - I never know when I'm actually talking 'to' him) and he asked, "What are you going to do with them when school is out for the summer?"
"I don't know. There will be day camp part of the time ..."
"It would make more sense for you to start work in September instead of now," he pointed out.
"Well, of course it would! But everything's all arranged, Seth! Rafi spent two hours at day care this morning to start getting used to it. I … thought you wanted me to go back to work now!"
"Do what you want. I can't stop you. It just would have made more sense not to start right now."
Israelis say "Oof!" when they're frustrated. I could fill a page with oofs! And darns. And things too fierce to mention. He knew I would love to extend this year at home! Didn't he??? He has been hinting that it's my being home that's upsetting him. Hasn’t he??? Now he waits until two days before I start working, to even acknowledge the fact that I'm going back, and that's to suggest that I wait six months!
Should I unravel everything? And wait another six months to see if going back to work will get him out of this bad mood?
Darn and Oof!
It’s another two months until Passover, but a line from the seder went through my head when I wrote that last entry, where Seth asked, “What are you going to do about day care?”
The Haggadah says we must describe the exodus from Egypt to every generation of children, in order to keep the faith alive. It points out that there are four types of children, and four different ways of communicating with them.
The wise, good child asks why we have the Passover customs, and we launch into the whole megilla, as it were.
The bad child asks, “Why do you celebrate this holiday?” He disassociates himself from the celebration.
The simple child can’t formulate a question, so that you have to start with the basics.
And the fourth child doesn’t know to ask. He doesn’t even notice that we’re using different dishes, that there’s a big plate on the table with a bone and a root and a burned egg on it, that we’re eating horseradish and big crackers instead of bread. You must help this child along by initiating the explanation.
Which of these four children is Seth? How should I communicate with him?
The good husband and father – this is how I want to see him and how I want to be able to relate to him. Where he is able to use the first person plural pronouns, ‘we’ - ‘us’.
Or is Seth like the second child? Seeing himself as separate from us? The Hagada doesn’t give any hints as to how we can bring such a person into the fold. We are to answer in the language in which he asked – we’re to explain, ‘I am celebrating what the Lord did for me when He brought me out of Egypt.’ If Seth is like this child, we must just go our own way and consider only ourselves as he considers only himself.
Or is he the third son - clueless in the realm of interpersonal relationships? Doesn’t see that he has any responsibilities to the family. If he really can’t see what he’s doing to us, the Hagada says I must explain to him what’s going on.
Or is it worse than that, and Seth really doesn't know there's any problem? Is he mentally or emotionally so ill or so immature that he doesn’t even realize we’re out here? The Hagada teaches that I must help him. But I am not equipped to relate to such a hollow persona. I should report him to the authorities so someone else will be in charge.
OK. I've been working for over a month now. Back to rush, rush, rush in the morning and rounding everybody up in the afternoons - all of us tired and cranky. Trying to put a load into the washer and wash the cereal bowls left from breakfast, while all three of them need me, and I've been missing them all day and just want to be with them.
The woman who watches Eli and Leora in the afternoons is very reliable and gives them a very good lunch. But all they do all afternoon is watch TV while she cleans her spotless house. Compared to the afternoons we had, full of walks and picnics and projects and singing and arts and crafts and reading and discussing! I really wish Seth hadn't mentioned at the last minute that I could stay home for another six months. I'm denying us all the benefits of my being home, for nothing. The salary I have left after paying for child care certainly isn't worth the degradation in our life style.
And then there's Seth.
I see no improvement in his emotional state. I don't know what he's blaming it on, now.
One reason I feel so cheated is that now, except for the first crazy hour after we get home, Seth is home all the hours we are. Hitting and yelling and sulky and gloomy.
Not fair! We have no time at all, now, when it's homey at home!
Yesterday I confided in Vivy, at work. We had had such a rotten weekend, at home. Seth was at his worst. I hated to say good bye to Eli, Leora and Rafi this morning. Sunday morning had always been a time when I could give them a little TLC to make up for whatever had happened over Friday and Shabbat.
When I got to work, Vivy said, conversationally, "How was your Shabbat?"
I know that the appropriate answer is, "Very nice. How was yours?" Instead, I told her how Seth has been since October.
Why should I keep quiet about Seth? So as not to embarrass him? He doesn't seem embarrassed to behave as he does. Why should I defend him and protect him? As though I agreed with his ideas on how to treat children. To keep quiet only makes me an accomplice.
It’s much easier to be a victim than an accomplice.
Seth is at a conference in the US for three weeks. I wouldn't have been able to imagine, and probably can't describe, the feeling of ... emancipation, to be free of his gloomy abusive presence.
When I wake up in the morning and realize he's not here, I smile and feel a giggle of happiness in my chest. Actually, I think I feel it even in my sleep - I'm sleeping like a log, and I don't wake up stiff! I find myself singing and smiling all the time.
Finally we have happy times at home, as we did when I was home with them during the day. They're all sleeping in my bed. We're free to cuddle without worrying that it will anger Seth. No one has even mentioned him. A visitor would think it was always just us. Just me and the children. Home is home. We laugh and hug. On Shabbat, we went for a rambling walk and just sat under a tree and talked and sang and enjoyed life.
We've been so happy the past few days, that I was surprised, as I walked through the living room today, to see Eli sitting on the stairs, weeping silently. I sat down next to him and asked what was wrong. "Ima?" he asked, "Why can't it always be like this. Just us. So we can always be happy like this!"
My exhilaration had me at such a high emotional level that I wasn't far from tears myself. His wistful wishful statement - not so much for a five year old to want out of life - just to be left alone to be happy - brought tears to my eyes, and when he turned and sobbed into my chest, I started crying, too. From frustration that it's not in my power to give my children this simple thing. That, now, in trying to make things better with Seth, I've just made things worse – working all day instead of being with them.
Leora came down and asked what was wrong. Eli sat up and tried to stop crying. I said, "Nothing, Honey. Eli is just wishing ..."
"That Abba wouldn't ever come back! So we can be happy!" Eli shouted, and started crying, again. Leora crouched on the step above Eli and put her arms around him, and started crying, too. Rafi came in from the kitchen and saw us all huddled there crying, and of course, he burst into tears, as well.
"Hey! We're scaring Rafi," I laughed through my tears. I went over and picked Rafi up and danced around with him on my hip. "It's OK, Honey! See? We're happy!" Eli laughed and wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. Leora came down and took one of Rafi's hands and my free one and we made a lopsided dancing circle.
Then we all went out to the kitchen to make and eat our supper. At one point, in all the happy hubbub, a zing of happiness went through me, and I said, "It's so nice!" Then I tacked on, "...without the radio..."
The rest of the evening was happy and we had baths and read stories in bed until they fell asleep, and I came down to write this. I don't think I needed to scratch these words on paper, though. That scene is etched on my mind. The four of us huddled there, comforting each other. Like refugees from some terrible war or natural disaster. But the blight on our lives, that could be so happy, is only one person. Their father. The man I married.
We had our second relaxed Shabbat without Seth.
The children and I had shopped on Thursday for Friday night dinner, and it was like a trip to the museum. Like last summer when we went to the hardware store for some masking tape, and wound up spending over an hour looking at each tool and implement, discussing its function.
Everything is interesting to children. Deciding what shape of noodles would be best. We discussed rotating stock. Examined different kinds of vegetables. Some of them, Eli and Leora remembered eating at daycare. Many they'd never had, because Seth doesn't buy them. We bought bean sprouts. I even let them slice bread on the machine. Sliced bread in our house? Rafi, it turns out, loves buttermilk! He rode in the cart and Eli and Leora took turns pushing and guarding him so he didn't fall out.
We have cooked just about every night this week. Baked cookies twice.
What would Seth think, if he looked in the window and saw how we are when he's not with us? Would he say, "Oh, no! Look how happy and normal and lively and loving they are! What am I doing to my poor family?"
Or would he just tisk in disgust and say how rowdy and undisciplined and over-emotional we all are when he’s not here to control us.
A scary, revealing thing happened Friday morning. I was washing the living room floor with the radio on, and heard on the news about a plane that had crashed in the US, where Seth is now. And my heart lurched.
And it lurched again as I realized that the first lurch was not from fear of being widowed, but hope of being liberated.
What a terrible thing to think! Even for a split second! To actually wish someone would die! I just stood there, leaning on the mop, aghast at this glimpse into my own heart.
But the worst was yet to come.
Eli and Leora came home from school and we all went up to pick up Rafi. We finished the pre-Shabbat chores and cooking in a bustle of activity, had our baths and got dressed.
The children stood around me as I lit Shabbat candles. I prayed out loud, as I had the week before (but a bit more fervently, from guilt, this week) that G!d would protect Abba on his trip and bring him home safely.
I was thinking how beautiful the children’s pure little faces look in the candle light, when Eli said, under his breath, "G!d should make his plane crash." My kind sweet non-violent five-year-old! I don't know if Eli had heard the news, too, or if he was ESPing my mind again or whether it was coincidental.
I of course said, lightly, "Oh, Eli! It's not funny to joke like that!"
"I'm not joking, Ima. I don't want him to come back."
"Oh, of course you do! Don't be silly! OK, everybody! Should we read a little more of 'The Banks of Plum Creek' before we eat? I think we left poor Laura drowning in the stream!"
We've been singing "Ding-Dong the Witch is Dead" all week. The first week Seth was away, I kept finding myself humming the tune. Once I actually bellowed it out loud and the children asked to learn it. They're always very reproachful when they find out I know a song I haven't taught them, yet. Now we sing it constantly. No one has said it's because Seth isn't here, and maybe they don't even make the connection. It's such a liberating song. Deliverance from oppression. Sounds so cute sung by my little munchkins with their ducky little voices. Rafi helps with the 'ding-dong' and the clapping.
Something must be done. But what? How can I know what the solution is, if I don't know what the problem is?
Seth came back yesterday. I had tried to do a PR job on the children, and I did it well. They were actually sort of looking forward to seeing him.
Then, after three weeks during which I don't think any of them cried, except for that one time, on the stairs, they were all three in tears forty minutes after Seth walked in the door. His suitcases were still standing there in the hall.
All I can figure is that he just likes to see them cry. On any or no pretext he'll shove or grab or slap or kick at them until they cry. Then insult them when they break down. Certainly the absence didn't make his heart grow any fonder.
I woke up this morning with the song 'Ding Dong' going through my head. Instead of the zing of joy with which my soul has greeted the last twenty-one mornings, though, there was a thud of dread.
We're back in Kansas. Back to our real, black and white existence after three weeks of color.
For three weeks, this house was home. Like the home in which I grew up. Now - it's no place like home.
Yesterday evening, the man came to the door again selling cheap grapefruit. The children had enjoyed them so much last week that without thinking, I asked him to bring us two kilos.
He came back an hour later with the fruit and Seth answered the door. And, of course, blew up. Who had told me I could buy grapefruit? The guy looked bewildered. Obviously, he had never seen a reaction like that to a dollar's worth of fruit. He stammered that it was OK, took his sack and disappeared.
Then today, Friday, Seth came into the room while I was washing the floor. In Israel you wash the floor by wrapping a big cotton cloth around a big long-handled squeegee mop. It's the most efficient way imaginable. When I help with housework on visits to the US, I can never fathom how they manage with their little sponge mops.
Seth grabbed the mop away from me and examined it. "Where's this from!" he snarled.
"Oh - I bought it while you were away ..."
"You ... bought it????" He charged toward me holding the mop aloft.
"The old one broke, Seth - the rubber strip had come out again. The wood had rotted through." I was backing up as I protested. Seth has never hit me, but I always find myself assuming he's going to. I didn't consciously decide to back up. Some protective part of me just told my legs to get me farther away from this threat.
"You couldn't fix it?" he roared.
"Anyway, Seth, the rubber was all old and rough. We've had it since we left the absorption center. Eleven years!"
"Where's the old one? Let me see it."
"I ... threw it out ...
"Seth!" I backed away from another charge. Watching the mop waving in the air. "It was only eight shekels! I got the cheapest one they had!"
"Who had? Did you go to the place across from the shuk?"
"OK. Seth. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I won't do it again!"
I had a dream a couple of days after Seth came back, that he was dead, and we were all happy. When I woke up and there he was, a wave of disappointment smacked into me. I just yearned to crawl back into that happy dream.
Since then, I keep finding myself, during the day, telling myself a story in which there's a knock on the door and Benny from the lab is there saying, "Shlomit, there's been a terrible accident in the lab. A laser went wild and zapped Seth to a crisp."
Sometimes it's a bomb in the shuk that finishes him off. Sometimes a freak bus accident. Sudden heart attack. Assuming he has one.
... a rare cancer that attacks atrophied smile muscles.
... a virus wiping out people who have never gotten close enough to their children to get head lice. Epidemiologists found that lice pox gives immunity.
... paralysis of the heart. We should have noticed the early symptoms - inability to love, even your own children. Why didn't we realize that this was a pathological condition!
... attack of a parasite that settled into the void where his conscience should have been ...
I feel guilty wishing my husband six feet under, but - what the heck - it's only a harmless daydream, right?
When religious Jews have just been taking about someone and they enter the room, we say, “Too bad we weren’t talking about the messiah!”
On Friday, washing the living room floor, I was heavily into the latest version of my daydream where the police come to the door to tell me about the unfortunate bridge collapse, when Seth, alive and well, walked through that very door. I started, and stared at him as though I'd seen a ghost.
Here I was, about to relax into a liberated widowhood and suddenly in walks my poor dead husband.
Obviously I can't just pretend he's dead whenever he's not here, and wait for a statistically improbable disaster to save me from having to tackle this problem.
I can't blame him for sinking into these depressions, but I do blame him for not trying to get himself out, or to protect us. It's not a hundred years ago when nobody knew how to deal with emotional problems.
Easiest would be for him just to talk to me. Maybe I could help, if I had some information about what's going on.
One time he said he's in a good mood at work because his laser puts off negative ions - the same ions that put everybody in a good mood when a pending rain storm finally breaks and the rain starts. So when he comes home after being in the lab, he's in a relatively ion-positive environment, and he feels down. OK. If that's the reason for all this, there are those air ionizer machines you can buy. He's the experimentalist, here. Why can't he apply his own talents to this problem that's ruining our lives?
There are plenty of self help books available.
If he had a friend, he could talk to him. To one of his brothers. To a rabbi.
Or, as I've done - pay a professional to talk to. He needs to figure out why he acts as he does. As Uncle Henry said, he needs professional help.
Rav Kook said that we can't be held responsible for our nature, but we can be held responsible for our actions.
OK. I'm to be held responsible for my actions, as well. So far, I've done as little as he has.
I’ll tell Seth that I will report him if he doesn’t get himself under control.
We never do much about birthdays. But last night, Eli said that for his birthday he would like to go out to eat pizza as his friends do. We never eat out, and Eli deserves a treat. We all do.
There's an advantage to never giving your children treats - their treat threshold is very low. Nora's children have snacks and goodies as a normal thing, so the treats they beg for are expensive. I can get a hot roll from a street vendor and split it three ways, and my children will nurse it all the way home, and then talk about it for days. Nora's children won't settle for less than a chocolate eclair and a slushy-lushy apiece.
"That's a good idea … pizza ..." I said doubtfully. We all knew what the sticky point was.
"Can we be back before he gets home from work?" Eli asked timidly.
"Oh, wouldn't it be nicer to have the whole family?" I feel like such an idiot when I say things like that, but I don't know what else to do. An unauthorized expenditure like that behind his back is a trespass I don't want to commit right now.
It must be a deeply ingrained instinct for mothers to make sure the father accepts the children and vice versa. During all the generations of stay-at-home mothers, the father was with the wife and children in their thoughts and conversation, even if they only saw him a couple of hours a day. It's just something mothers do. But it’s not fair in our case.
"No!" Leora cried, "Not with Abba!"
"Well, I have to at least call him ..."
So I did.
"It's not a good day, Shlomit," he growled, "I have to finish up a report. I was going to stay late."
"OK, so maybe the children and I will just go out and get a slice of pizza and we'll be back by the time you get home. We'll bring you a couple of slices. Olive, right?"
The children are doing their silent glee thing - grins and whispers and hops that can't be heard over the phone.
A tisk from Seth's end. "I guess I could meet you there." Huffs and tisks from the phone. "It's really not a good day for it."
"Well, the children and I could just quickly get pizza and then some other day we'll all go out ... When you have more time ..."
Tisk. "Nah, I'll meet you at that place across from the bank at 5:20."
"Well, OK ... bye ...” I hung up and turned to the children, "He'll meet us there."
"If he doesn't want to come, Ima," Leora reasoned, "Why doesn't he just not come!"
"OK, everybody. Let’s get ready to go to Eli's! birthday! pizza party!"
So we got to the pizza place and sat down at an outdoor table. Seth joined us. Sat in his egg position. This was not one of his 'good' days. There was a table in front of him, but he sat with his hands folded on top of his hat on top of his attaché case on the knee of his crossed legs. Chin almost touching his hands. Gargoyle face. Definitely not what you want at a birthday celebration.
The usual pick-pick-picking at the children, one after another. Then, "Shlomit, go watch him make the food. Don't let him cheat us on the sauce."
I went in, and came out less than a minute later with our pizza slices, and the scene had changed. Leora was crying, and Rafi was vomiting on the sidewalk and Eli was looking miserable. I had heard Rafi crying from inside, and recognized it as the kind of cry that, if you can't calm him down, causes him to start retching, and throw up. Who knows what Seth did to start it this time.
I didn't ask. In programming they joke, ‘Never test for an error condition you don't know how to handle.’
Somehow we got through the meal. Ate some, dejectedly, and brought the rest of everybody's pieces home.
Poor Eli. Next birthday is an afternoon picnic with cookies and punch. Just us.
Saturday night is always a low point for me. After two long days of being together in a house that feels like a pressure cooker. Yesterday there seemed to be more rampages than usual, so I didn't need to psych myself up much, to speak to the perpetrator. Especially after the way he had ruined Eli's birthday outing.
"Seth, you've got to do something. About ... the way you are lately."
No response.
"I don't care how you handle it, but you've got to get yourself out of this ... angry mood."
No response.
"Seth, if it continues, I'm going to do whatever I have to do, to protect myself and the children."
No response from Seth as he finished shaving and hung up the pants he had taken off. Just the phrase, 'protect myself and the children' hanging in the air.
Nora and I don't have our sandbox mornings together, now that I'm working, but we go walking in the evening once a week or so, if I can get out after the children are in bed.
"How's it goin'?" she asked. "Is he still behaving himself?"
"Yeah, he is. It's been over a week. I don’t get it. If he can turn off a six-month-long depression just because I gave him an ultimatum, why couldn't he have done it way earlier, on his own?"
Nora shrugged. "That's how you described what happened at that marriage counselor you two went to years ago, isn't it! You bargained away your rights to ... to run your own life, in return for peace at home, and he flipped a switch and stopped being depressed. Just like that!"
"You’re right. It's the same phenomenon. He just turned it off.
All week, since the day after I threatened to report him, Seth has seemed so normal. He still hits the children, and erupts easily in anger, but between times he just has a normal feel to him. He talks to us. The children seemed in a goofy mood yesterday evening. When Seth is not here, I love their silliness, and I goof right along with them. When Seth is home, I squelch anything that could cause him to erupt. But their instincts seem to be more accurate than mine. They sensed that he would be OK with it, and he was. He actually chuckled when Leora made a funny face!
So if he’s better now, I should talk to him about what we’ve gone through all winter. Or if I bring up the bad stuff now, will that just make him turn bad again?
I’ll just enjoy the improvement, and hope he continues to improve, and not worry about it.
OK. I'm going to retire this depressing diary notebook and shove it up onto the shelf with the others. I should burn it. Whatever caused them, the bad old times are gone, and we're starting fresh.
Be strong! Be strong! And may we be strengthened!
------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2020 by Shlomit Weber
------------------------------------------------
Homeless at Home
