Seth hasn’t made any progress. I give him a six-month deadline. It passes, and I’m no wiser about how to handle his mood swings. So - the only path left is to leave him.
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Homeless... at Home
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Dear Diary,
Today is my twenty-second wedding anniversary.
Seth only wants to discuss things that are happening right now, not ancient history. So I pointed out that his favoritism toward Rafi is harming the relationships among the children.
Since that conversation, Seth forcibly separates Rafi from the others whenever he is home. Exactly the opposite of what I had meant.
His sessions with Batia have had no effect, have they. Well, at least it’s his own ‘allowance’ money that’s being wasted.
This evening was our first meeting with Dr. A, the psychiatrist. Maybe Seth will be less defensive with a man.
It has been two and a half years since Seth and I sat at that kitchen table in Silver Spring and Seth promised he would work to understand his problems and get them under control.
I shouldn't even be the one, at this point, leading him by the hand to people who might be able to help him. He should at least have made enough progress to realize he needs help and to want to get it.
"From the brief explanation Shlomit gave over the phone, I understand that you, Seth, have periods when you are not able to relate to the family in a constructive manner. And you hope to understand what causes these periods, and to deal with them. So that Shlomit and the children don't need to worry about your moods. So that the children can get help, and all of the relationships in the family can heal. Am I on the right track, here, Seth?"
"Well, Dr A,” Seth said, “I can't say that I remember any times like the ones Shlomit describes. When I was, as she calls it, 'depressed'. I will say, though, that it always happens during periods when Shlomit and I weren't getting along."
This is a new claim. I tried to think back. His first gloomy period was when we were relative newlyweds. It was only his belligerent behavior that caused problems between us, as far as I know. The second really long, really bad period was when I was pregnant with Rafi. Again - there were no disagreements between us other than how he was treating me during that pregnancy. The third bad time was when Eli was five and I was taking a year off from work. I was at my happiest, ever, I think, until Seth went into that nose-dive. There's no way any bad vibes were coming from me.
"And, anyway,” Seth continued, “no one ever said the children need help."
I reared back as though the phrase he threw out had been a solid object. "Seth, everybody has said they need help! Social Services and every teacher and adviser and anyone else who knows what's been going on in our house!"
Dr. A shook his head. "I wouldn't rush to bring the children into this. It's generally not beneficial to the child, to dwell on an unpleasant experience. To rake up things they have probably forgotten, or didn't really perceive clearly at the time, due to their age. They're better off just forgetting all about an episode, once it’s over, and going on with their lives. Children are very resilient."
"But ..." I worried, "You hear of people ..." I laughed, "Well, why am I telling you! Don't psychiatrists often discover that people's problems stem from childhood trauma that wasn’t dealt with ..."
"I'm afraid you watch too many movies, Shlomit," Dr. A smiled benevolently. "On the contrary. Numerous studies have shown that after a war or disaster of any sort - an automobile accident or earthquake or whatever - it's best if children can just go on with their lives as though the unfortunate event never took place."
"So ..." I thought aloud, "Like, right in the middle of a war, or a tornado or something, you would try to help a child pretend it wasn't happening?"
"No, of course not. But after the disaster is over ..."
"Ah. How would the child know it is over?"
"Well, you would explain that things are different, now. Many of these studies were done here in Israel by studying people who had survived the atrocities of Nazi Germany. Obviously, since they were now in a country that had the power to protect them, they knew that the situation had changed totally from the horrors they had lived through, so they could put the past behind them and move on."
The devil made me say, "I guess you could calm a child down even during a war by just telling him that it was over ..."
"No, certainly not," Dr. A was indignant. "That would surely only make them more fearful and less trusting of their care givers if they had been told that they were safe and it turned out not to be the case."
"Oh, I see," I nodded slowly, "so it's a three step process. First be sure the war or danger is really over. Then explain to the children why they can trust that it's over, and assure them that they can safely get on with their lives. Then let their resilience do the rest."
"Precisely!" Dr. A seemed proud that he had finally made this poor laywoman understand the way these things worked.
"So, then, if we're applying this three-step process to the situation in our family, I guess we're still working on the first step. Making sure that Seth is really not dangerous any more. And only after we understand that Seth's problems have been understood and treated, can we sit down with Eli, Leora and Rafi and help them understand why we can all relax, now. And then we can all just get on with normal life."
"Well, I'm not sure that your situation necessarily fits ..."
"So, I see, now," I interrupted, ignoring the fact that the analogy was his in the first place, "that I was doing them a disservice over the years by telling them Abba seemed to be better, or for making excuses for him. Then when he lit into them the next time, it only undermined their trust in me and in - in being able to trust life."
"I get along fine with Rafi," Seth interrupted, "Shlomit is always so wrapped up in the other two."
Dr. A held up a hand like a stop sign and looked at his watch, "In the forty minutes we have left, I would like to talk with each of you separately."
"Dr. A, I don't have anything to say that I don't want Seth to hear,” I said. “A main problem all along has been Seth's ban on communication - neither of us ever knows what's going on with the other. I certainly never knew until just now that Seth thinks we weren't getting along well at the times that he sank into his ... bad periods."
"Nonetheless. I would like to hear what each of you has to say."
So we each talked to Dr. A. During my twenty minutes, I talked fast, having to describe a year a minute. I was breathless from trying to talk quickly. Plus, whenever I tell about the worst years, all the feelings come back, and I feel shaky and heart poundy and breathless as I do when he's actually hurting them. So it was a very frantic interview.
Seth went in for his twenty minutes, and was speaking very loudly. I turned on the radio on the table in the waiting room, to drown him out, but I could still hear his loud, defensive whine. Listing point after point in some one-sided argument.
Whatever Seth told him, it caused Dr. A to want to see both of us together again next week.
"I would like to propose something," Dr. A started off our second meeting, "to get these sessions off to a good start. I can see from the talks I had with each of you last week that your two accounts of the past twenty years are - divergent. In fact,” he glanced down at his notebook, “there's virtually no common ground."
OK. I can only guess that Seth's testimony was a replay of what he said at the first meeting with Peter and the first meeting with Batia. Sandy, too, I guess. He has been a wonderful husband and father, and his wife suddenly decided she wants to leave him, and he has no idea why.
So this is my cue to stand up and say, "Well, there's no point in continuing, then ..." and walk out the door, and then tomorrow morning go to Dina. Right?
But, OK. I already knew Seth hadn't made any progress, and maybe Dr. A has some new tricks up his sleeve. He is certainly costing us enough per session.
"So that," he was continuing, "if we set out to sift through all of the details and try to determine exactly who did what - we'll never get anywhere. I suspect that this is why no significant progress has been made until now in spite of the myriad professionals who have tried."
"I mentioned my idea to Seth last week, and he agrees in principle. What I would like to propose is a general amnesty. Anything that has happened up until this very minute will just simply not have happened. Shlomit, you will forgive and forget everything Seth has done over the years and, in turn, Seth has agreed to forgive and forget everything you've done to him ..."
"What have I done ..."
"No!" Dr. A held up his traffic cop hand. "That is exactly what we're not going to do, Shlomit. We are not going to rehash what is finished and done.”
"I don't think this is a good idea," I frowned.
Seth shot Dr. A shot an amused look. "And why not?" Dr, A asked – Seth’s amused look reflected on his face.
"Because if Seth thinks I have done things to contribute to the problems, and I don't know what they are, and he just forgets them instead of telling me, won't I just keep on doing them? How can I change? If I’m doing something that is harming our relationship, doesn't it make more sense ..."
"I’m certain that you have a pretty good idea, Shlomit, of the kind of things you do that bother Seth."
I shook my head. "That's the holy grail after which I've been questing for two decades, Dr. A. If there is something I can do to alleviate the unpleasantness, I would jump at it."
"Fine. Seth, briefly - very briefly - can you mention the main sources of friction between the two of you, as you see them?"
It's certainly sounding alot like the marriage counseling I've been trying to avoid, but I was curious to hear what Seth had to say.
"Isn't it obvious???" Seth asked angrily.
"Tell her, anyway, Seth. I see Shlomit has her notebook all ready."
Seth enumerated on his fingers, "The main thing, obviously, is this whole divorce thing. She suddenly came out with this 'I want a divorce' nonsense." He went on to finger number two, "then, she's been dragging me to all of these marriage counselors, trying to prove I've got something wrong with me, which none of them - NONE OF THEM - has found." Third finger, "Now she's got the Rabbinate involved, and lawyers. I wouldn't be surprised if she has started telling our acquaintances about ... stuff ... too. If Shlomit thinks all of this is conducive to a healthy marriage, well, she's obviously the one with the problems." He sat back.
Dr. A nodded. "So, Seth, you would be willing to forgive and forget all of this - and this is pretty serious stuff - if Shlomit would be willing to reciprocate?"
"Yes, of course, Dr. A," Wistfully. Righteously. "If it will Save The Marriage."
"So ..." I digested that, "I'm to forgive things Seth has done, and Seth will forgive me my responses to what he has done? Is that ... constructive? Isn't that like if I owe you a thousand dollars, and I ask you to forgive the debt, and in return, I'll forgive you for asking me to repay you?"
"I don't owe you anything!" Seth muttered.
"Well, it depends, Seth. If we're going to split up, then, no, you don't owe me anything. Only if we're going to stay together, then common decency, and a presumed desire on your part to foster good feelings, would prompt you to feel you owed me some explanations. But you definitely, no matter how you look at it, and whether or not we continue to live together as an intact family - owe the children. Big time."
"OK," Dr. A interrupted, "I'm sure Seth intends to forgive and forget everything else, too. Those were just the examples he chose. Those are the things, right now, that are standing in the way of healing your marriage."
"Instead of forgetting, why doesn't Seth simply tell me what I'm doing, and I'll stop doing it."
Dr. A motioned for Seth to continue.
"Well, the house is always ..."
"No, Seth. Not the house," I interrupted. Louder than I had intended. "That is a very tired excuse and it just doesn't hold water. You were worst during periods when the house was neatest. And Shabbat is always the worst day of the week and the house is neatest, then.
"Not the state of the house, and not the behavior of the children, Seth. Been there, done that. Give me something real and I'll do it."
"See?” Seth pouted, "She never ..."
"But," I turned to Dr. A, "There's another reason that your mutual forgive-and-forget plan might not work ... did Seth really say he wants me to forgive him?"
"As I said, we spoke briefly at the end of last week's session ..."
"And Seth said he wants me to forgive him?"
"Well, that’s not exactly what he ..."
"Seth? Are you asking my forgiveness for … the way you have treated us?"
His disgusted look gave me my answer before he spoke, "No, I am not asking for your 'forgiveness', because contrary to what you seem to think, I've done nothing that needs to be forgiven."
"I think Shlomit means ..."
"I never did anything! She's just trying to make me look bad!"
"But, there's another, more fundamental reason that I can't forgive Seth, Dr. A. Because ... I never blamed him in the first place. I don't think he's 'guilty' of his depressions and outbursts. But I do hold him responsible for the effects."
"So, it comes to the same thing, no?" asked Dr. A, "To hold someone responsible is to consider them guilty."
"Not always. If I walk in here and trip over the rug and fall across your desk, and knock everything to the floor, you wouldn't blame me for tripping. Obviously I didn't enjoy the experience very much either, and I would have stopped myself if I could have. But you would expect me to say, 'Sorry,' anyway, since I did mess up your office. You would expect me to help pick things up, and maybe even offer to replace something that had broken."
"OK ..."
"And if I tripped every time I came in and smashed all your stuff each time, you would start getting annoyed with me. You would expect me to figure out why this was happening. If I never offered to pay for your broken lamp and vase, you would consider me remiss. If I never seemed to even notice that I was doing this, and just sat down expecting the session to begin, you would think me quite odd. You probably would not be looking forward to seeing me each week!” I grinned at him.
"It's like that. I don't believe Seth can help his moods and anger. But, given that he does have these problems, I do think that a mature, responsible person would find a way not to let his family be hurt by the fallout. Just a word of apology after it happens would have helped immeasurably. Or any indication that he himself even notices.
"I forgive him for what happens to him. Totally. But we need him to find out what can be done to make it stop happening."
"Shlomit," Dr. A said, challengingly, "I'm wondering if there has ever been a single thing Seth has done, throughout this whole marriage, that you haven't found fault with. Any positive things about him at all, that you have ever noticed." He glanced at Seth as though expecting approval.
"Of course! Oh! There are plenty of things. Obviously, I wouldn't be working so hard to salvage this marriage if there weren't a whole lot of good - or potential good. We share so many interests. We're really very similar in our likes and preferences and even our outlooks. We enjoy many of the same kind of books. We're both careful with money. Have a strong work ethic. Sense of independence.
"The family in which he grew up is very similar to the one in which I grew up. Good moral people. Who wanted to raise good children. Who value education and culture and religion and family. I had a boyfriend for awhile in college who phoned home on false credit card numbers. His parents knew about it and thought he was pretty clever. No one in either of our families would consider that to be anything but theft, and would not condone it for a minute. When I met Seth's family, I knew that he and I were coming from the same place.
"There are plenty of bad habits he doesn't have. He's moderate in drinking. Doesn't smoke or use foul language. He's not bigoted in any way. He's so neat and tidy. He would never be unfaithful to me - you know - have an affair. I mean - not as a casual thing, certainly.
"Many of the things my friends' husbands do, that the women shake their heads over, and wish they could change - I don't have with Seth. The little pet peeves. He doesn’t annoy me the way some women find their husbands annoying.
"And I'm so proud of his success at work. He is always getting awards. He's world famous. Seth has published dozens of papers. He's a good writer. He presents papers at conferences all over the world. I think it's fantastic that he can get up in front of all those experts and describe his theories and his work.
"I respect Seth’s intelligence. I enjoy it.
"We both like to read and travel. We both like hiking, camping. I like the way he dresses.
"We have most of our dislikes in common, too. Neither of us likes to watch competitive sports. Go to parties.
"He's technically oriented, as I am. I know there are all different ways of thinking, and a technical orientation is only one of them. Good instincts for people, for instance, might come in at least as handy as being able to debug the telephone when it stops working. We - people like me and Seth - are probably missing out on good things from the other orientations, but, still, I'm at ease with someone who can analyze a technical situation and understand it. And yet, like me, Seth is also interested in art and music.
"We ... " I smiled, "We're both strange in the same ways. There are plenty of things that - OK - he decided we would do it a particular way, and not one person in a thousand would feel comfortable with it, but - it's OK with me. It's what I might do anyway.
"I think we understand each other’s logic. Some people do things that just rub me the wrong way. Or they do things that I wouldn't think of doing in a million years. But Seth and I - we're in tune.
"I'm glad when he's happy, and I'm sad and worried when he's sad. I empathize with him. Yes, I definitely empathize with Seth. When he first went off to boot camp - I was every bit as nervous as he was, and just as curious about what it would be like. And just as worried that he would be OK.
"He cooks for Shabbat and it's not what most people eat for Shabbat, but it's fine with me. It's my kind of food. We both like ethnic food. We're, as he says, 'non-doctrinaire vegetarians'. We eat meat, but not every week. We have this thing where at Shabbat dinner, one of the children will say, 'I wonder how many families in the whole town are eating chili and corn bread right now!' or whatever we're eating - bubble and squeak, fondu. We all grin at the thought.
"We're both individualists. Travel to the beat of a different drummer. Pragmatists. Do what makes sense even if it's not what is usually done.
"And - alot of other stuff I can't think of, now. No, we're very compatible in many many ways. I always say that a computer-based dating service would match us up right away. It's really a miracle that we found each other."
I shook my head, still watching that collage of Seths I had painted before my mind’s eye. "I really don't know why he … stopped liking me so early in the marriage."
"HE stopped liking YOU??" Dr. A was flabbergasted, "I had understood the exact opposite, hadn't you, Seth? Seth is the one who wants to preserve the marriage in the face of all your criticism. You're the one who wants to break it up."
I looked over at Seth. Real 3D Seth had a nasty jeering expression on his face that contrasted markedly with the congenial Seths fading away in my imagination.
Dr. A leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "Well," he looked at Seth, "Seth? Am I wrong in guessing that we've just witnessed an historic event?"
Seth had unconsciously mimicked Dr. A's position.
"Seth, is this or is this not, the first time you have ever heard Shlomit admit that she has noticed anything positive about you at all!"
Seth smiled, and was about to agree, but he held back for a beat. "Well, she hasn’t recently, anyway ..."
"Not ever, I'll wager," Dr. A prompted.
"Well, not since a few years ago when she stopped ... you know ... being nice to me."
"I think," I suggested, "that in the first couple of decades that we were together I suffocated Seth when I complimented him and shared my feelings with him. Gave him pats and hugs all the time. Told him how great I thought he was. How glad I was that he had married me."
Dr. A looked very skeptical. "Seth??? Has Shlomit ever let you know 'how great she thinks you are'????"
"Yeah, I guess so. Before."
"Enough to ‘smother you’, as she claims?"
"It didn't smother me ..." Seth looked wistful. "But she doesn't, anymore. She stopped."
"Shlomit,” Dr. A interjected, “a few moments ago you painted a picture of the perfect husband. And yet you say you want to leave him now just because he might not be a perfect father. You can't expect to have everything perfect, Shlomit, you've got to be willing to compromise."
"Compromise." I frowned thoughtfully. "You mean, like ... he's not much of a conversationalist, but we like to do all the same things."
"Right, like that." Dr. A agreed.
"Or ... he keeps a tight rein on the purse strings, but he'll never come home drunk."
Dr. A nodded.
"Or, he's hurting our children, but ..."
Dr. A was waiting. Still nodding slightly, pleased that I was taking his suggestion of compromise so much to heart.
"You're waiting for me to continue?" I asked, an edge of disbelief in my voice.
"Well, frankly, I'm waiting for you to finish up so we can go on."
"OK, but - what could come next in that sentence? After 'he's hurting the children but ...'? Even with all the will in the world to compromise, Dr A, what could possibly balance that out? What things could he give me or do for me, what compatibilities could there be between us that could make me or any mother decide that the marriage is worth preserving, in spite of the fact that my husband is abusing my children?"
"That's a very strong word to use, Shlomit." Dr. A admonished.
"What do you call it when someone hurts someone else for no reason?" I asked.
"I think that what you have in your household are ... divergent parenting styles." Dr. A explained.
"What Shlomit is conveniently omitting is that I haven't hit the kids in over two years.
"If I ever did." Seth added hurriedly.
"Right. You haven't hit them since Rafi ..." I paused.
"Since nothing!" Seth shouted. "Since nothing! You didn't want me to lay a finger on your precious children, so I stopped, OK?"
"Dr. A, I would trade everything for a good healthy life for Eli, Leora and Rafi. But I won't trade away their well-being for the world. That's non-negotiable."
"Well, we're not here to discuss the children. I understand that they exhibit serious behavior problems," his eyes flickered to Seth and back to the fountain pen he contemplates when he talks. "If you wish, I can give you names of professionals who deal with children who act up. I will tell you though, Shlomit, that children often misbehave because discipline has been inconsistent. If one parent, shall we say, runs a very loose ship, the children will naturally be confused when the other parent tries to exert some healthy discipline. Children need consistent limits. Otherwise, they will always be testing to see where the limits are. You and Seth should really discuss child rearing. In fact, Shlomit," Dr. A looked at me, very regretful to have to chastise me, "in the literature, lack of appropriate discipline has been called 'abuse'. It is certainly, unarguably, 'neglect'."
I would give my left arm for a transcript of Seth's first meeting with Dr. A! Why did I have to be such a goodie-goodie and turn up the radio so I wouldn't intrude on his privacy?
"Shlomit? Think," Dr. A directed me, "Have you ever, once, let yourself forgive and forget anything Seth has done? Have you ever once tried to just put the past behind you and give Seth credit for being able to change? Have you let yourself admit that anyone can make a mistake now and then?"
What came to mind was myself, up in our bedroom, stuffing partly-filled diary notebooks up onto the top shelf. Precisely because these diaries represent my memories, and I was determined, each time, to wipe the slate clean. Sometimes it was because something encouraging had happened. Seth had said something, or been nice for a few days, or a general situation had changed, and I convinced myself that that is what had been causing 'it'. Sometimes it was because I felt we had hit rock bottom, and it couldn't get any worse, so it was bound to get better if I would just gird my loins and be optimistic and really start fresh. I saw a sort of collage. Shlomits of different ages, with a smooth practiced motion, swinging the desk chair around into place, opening the top door of the wall unit, stepping up and letting the momentum help me shove that notebook in there with all the others. The same action over and over like instant replays of some spectacular football play.
Like in the old Time Machine movie, I aged before my eyes. Young Shlomits of the seventies with bell bottoms, tie dyed T-shirts, long straight hair and John Lennon glasses, in our first little apartment. Smiling, because she has really convinced herself that this was the first day of the rest of their life together. Smiling through tears after his frightening reaction to that first miscarriage, her eyes straying down to the shelf of maternity clothes she doesn't need, now. The 1988 model is smiling through fear at the memory of Seth's frightening reaction to the pregnancy with Rafi. She's got an unhealthy pallor from weeks in the hospital. Support stockings to prevent another DVT. From then on, in the instant replays of the ‘90s, the smile is more forced. The questions in the eyes more penetrating.
Dr. A asked, again, "Have you forgiven Seth, Shlomit? Just once?"
I looked over at Seth and saw a self-satisfied smile. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Why does Seth seem to think that if Dr. A is convinced of something, that's worth anything in itself?
But Dr. A was waiting for my answer. His questioning, 'just once?' hung in the air. Well, that's easy. I'm technically oriented, after all. I can count. "No. No, Dr A, not once. I definitely haven’t forgiven him once."
"The problem is that she never understood me," Seth pouted, going on to the next item on his mental list. "How it is for me. She wants to leave me just because - because I'm different from other people. She never understood that things are more difficult for me than for most people." He looked so sad and vulnerable. All my mothering instincts just wanted to reassure him that I'll never leave him. But my mothering instincts extend to three others, now, who really are vulnerable.
"No, Seth, you've got it wrong," I said gently. "I married you because you're different. I found that interesting. And I stayed with you all these years because I do realize things are hard for you. I know life isn't easy for you. I do feel sorry for you."
"Don't feel sorry for me!" Seth thundered. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me!"
"But you just said ..."
"You should just realize that I can't help being the way I am.”
"Then the children and I will have to leave and start life on our ..."
"NO! Why! If I can't help it, Shlomit! If it's not my fault! If there's nothing I can do about it!"
"Seth. I am going to change the way Eli and Leora and Rafi live. I would love it if we could all stay together. But we four are going to have the good life these children deserve. That's not negotiable. It's up to you to decide if it's with you or without you."
If Seth met just about every item on my mental checklist defining marriageable guys, how did I go wrong? If we had just about everything in common, why should it matter that Seth is a single-minded, inflexible control freak?
As it turned out, I would have been better off with a flexible generous person who can compromise, even if we had very little in common.
Last night, Rafi was at the dining room table, drawing one of his detailed aerial views of a battle field. Eli came by and said it was cool, and Rafi started explaining what each thing was, and how it figured in the imaginary battle scenario he had in mind as he drew. The boys were leaning over the drawing very companionably when Seth stomped out from the kitchen, his soapy dish pan hands held out in front of him.
“Eli, don't you have anything better to do? Just leave him alone! Come on, Rafi. Come out and work at the kitchen table where you won't be bothered." On the word, 'bothered' Seth shot a glance at Eli which, if Seth had been an alien who can shoot rays from his eyes, would have frozen Eli to an icicle.
Rafi reluctantly moved his papers into the kitchen and Seth closed the door on us.
"You know, Ima," Eli said regretfully, "Rafi and I could be good friends. We're so much alike. We're interested in all the same stuff. Much more than Leora and I are. It's too bad Rafi has to let Abba love only him."
"You think that Rafi has to go along with it?"
"Well, it's nice for Rafi to be special to Abba, but he also has to. Like the other children in my sixth grade class had to go along with that bully, Manny, when he was picking on me. Even if they didn't really like Manny, and even if they wanted to be my friend, that would have just made Manny pick on them, too. There was no such thing as being in the middle. Either you were on Manny's side against the picked-on boys, or you were one of the picked-on boys."
Last night Dr. A brought out the notes he had jotted down during my twenty minute segment of the first session. He asked Seth for his explanation of the periods I had described.
"During these 'down' periods that Shlomit claims I have, I'm merely reacting to Shlomit. It happens when she seems to feel ill at ease with me."
"But, Seth, from what Shlomit says, you take out your frustrations primarily on the children."
"Of course, I get angry when they fight, and when the house is a mess. But it's not as though I just hit them for nothing."
"But, Seth, that's exactly what we are talking about," I butted in. "You did hit them for nothing, and now ... you are perpetually antagonistic toward Eli and Leora for no reason we know about."
"See!" Seth shouted at Dr. A, "There's no point in talking to Shlomit. Any explanations I give, she just doesn't accept. What's the point of talking?"
"Well, I can't accept an explanation that doesn't match up with what I've seen. Maybe you should dig harder for the real explanations so we can have a peaceful home life."
"Right," he sing-songed. "Shlomit just wants a happy, close friendly home like the one she grew up in," he taunted.
"Yeah. I do. Exactly. That's exactly what I do want, Seth."
A happy, close, friendly home. Isn't that the point of all this? The point of getting married? The point of having children? Seth shook his head and made a dismissing gesture.
"Seth," asked Dr. A, "Do you feel sorry after an outburst? Do you feel eaten up with regret? Resolve not to do it again? Do you feel guilty?"
Seth looked disgusted. "I might sometimes feel sorry that the situation arose. Maybe I should have acted sooner and headed it off. But once a situation presents itself, my actions are totally justified. No, I wouldn't say I feel any 'guilt' over the way I decide to deal with a problem."
"Even, say, in your dealings with the children?" Dr. A asked, "You feel that your reactions have always been warranted in light of what they have done?"
"Definitely. Anything I ever did to the children was totally justified," Seth intoned with confidence. As you might declare that the square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides.
Wow. There it is, then. But of course, I can't take his words too seriously. It's clear that he's saying this for Dr. A's benefit. He would never say anything like that if Dr. A weren't sitting here, because Seth knows that I know better.
So Dr. A's next words surprised me:
"Seth, I just want to make sure - would you still say your actions were justified, even if Shlomit weren't here? Is this really what you feel, independent of who might be listening?"
"Oh, yes," said Seth, "Definitely."
So Dr. A thinks Seth might be fabricating for my benefit. It didn't occur to him that Seth might be lying to him.
Dr. A glanced down at his notes and asked Seth about my claim that there were years when he wouldn't let me buy fruit or vegetables. I fully expected Seth to deny, now, that he had ever behaved so strangely.
"Ah," Seth nodded enthusiastically. "There was a perfectly good reason for that. Shlomit could have had a hot lunch at work every day and eaten vegetables and salad at noon. Instead, she went and got a sack lunch just about every day. I never told her not to eat dinner at work."
"But you did forbid her from eating fruit and vegetables at home?"
"In spite of what Shlomit might have told you, she has always had equal control with me, over all of our bank accounts. Any time she wanted to, she could have simply gotten out some money and bought whatever she wanted to eat. Legally, I couldn't have stopped her."
"Seth," I interrupted. "Imagine how you would have reacted if I had just strolled up to the bank and taken money out." He looked uncomfortable. I don't know if it was from contemplating how he would have reacted, or from contemplating my going and willy nilly taking money out of the bank. "You know I couldn't have done that. As reasonable as it sounds here in this room, when you're on a rampage, Seth ..."
So now, fifteen years after the fact, he admits that he was restricting my diet at home to force me to take lunch breaks at work. Remote control. He used the same tactic ten years later, when he refused to buy food for me and the children to eat at lunchtime, to force me to go back to work and put the children in day care. The same tactics to push my behavior in two opposite directions. I really don't want to live with a man who even thinks up tactics like that. And who now brags to Dr. A about how he had it all worked out.
Seth shook his head pensively, and said, almost to himself, "She thinks she's soooo important at work!"
"What do you mean, Seth?" I asked.
"I don't want to start an argument, Shlomit. I'm just stating a fact. See," Seth turned to Dr. A. "It's impossible to talk with Shlomit. Every thing I say, she wants to start an argument over.”
"Seth," Dr. A made a mark by the next item in his notebook, "could you describe for me how you feel during these ‘down’ times Shlomit describes?"
"Well, I guess I'd say I feel uncomfortable. Nervous. Ill at ease."
Dr. A nodded, then pointed out, "This doesn't match Shlomit's perception."
Seth shrugged.
"Shlomit," Dr. A addressed me, "I believe that these periods that you describe as depressions are actually just periods when Seth is suspicious."
I guess I have watched too many shrink movies. I thought that a psychiatrist would have techniques for getting beyond a trivial obstacle such as the subject's being unable to remember anything that he ever did. Instead, he is taking Seth's description of a period he claims not to remember, and uses that to try and correct my perception of what I saw.
"Well ... I'm not the only one who has seen Seth be ... how he gets. The children's reluctance to be with Seth match up with the anger and threats and unpredictability I saw, more than with - 'suspicion'. Some of our friends have seen him behave in a frightening way. Uncle Henry visited that winter that Seth was ... whatever I'm allowed to call it ... 'bad' ... and he left after two days. I had to work really hard, for the next couple of years …" I glanced at Seth. I never told him this, "to convince Uncle Henry to visit us again. He phoned me only when he knew that Seth wouldn't be home, and he addressed his letters only to me and the children." Should I mention the fact that Uncle Henry told me that he intends to include me and the children in his will, separately from Seth, on the premise that at some point I will succeed in getting them away from Seth?
Seth was looking angry. At me or at Uncle Henry?
Dr. A just grinned. "I wouldn't worry about that particularly, if I were you, Seth. My wife's uncle doesn't care for me all that much, either."
"He's MY uncle." Seth spat out.
"Ah. Um. I see. Shlomit," Dr. A turned to me, "a question that has been nagging me all this time is, why now? What happened to make you suddenly decide to divorce your husband?"
"Well, I've told you - all the mistreatment over the years came to a head with Rafi's seizure and Leora's trying to run away, and then reading the descriptions of the abusive men in my friend's book, that fit so well. I felt I had no business staying with him in light of all of it."
"So, if you have decided to leave him, you have decided. Why not just go ahead and split up, if you have already decided.”
"Seth promised that he would work to understand his … bad times and make sure that we didn't have to fear another occurrence. So we could stay together and he could be a positive force in the children's lives. I was skeptical, but he claimed over and over that he could, so I had to give him a chance."
Dr. A shook his head. "It just couldn't be, Shlomit, that two normal people have a relationship, and one spends two decades thinking things are pretty good, and for the other, life is just awful in all aspects."
"But, not all aspects of my life were bad! Far from it! Oh, very far from it!”
I told Dr. A that my long hospitalization after Rafi was born and my brushes with death, taught me to appreciate my life and all my good fortune. "But, it also taught me that life is too precious to let it be bad if it can be better. I think that if Seth had been through what I had, he would be desperate to make our family life be good.
"I have always had wonderful friends, exciting jobs and optimistic hopes for the future.
"And, of course, the children themselves have been such a blessing. So wonderful. Interesting and loving and friendly and funny and such good company! So capable and helpful. They are developing into such nice people. They are fulfilling, many times over, my highest aspirations for them. I'm so fortunate. Well,” I looked up at Seth but his pickle-face made my next phrase come out weak and tentative compared with all my enthusiastic raving, “we're … so fortunate.
Dr. A shook his head as though to clear it of dizziness. "So now you're saying that your life with Seth was good."
"No, Dr. A, I think I'm saying that my life has been good in spite of him."
It was too cold to go out and too wet to … sit outside, so Seth and I held this Friday morning talk session in the kitchen.
"Shlomit," Seth shook his head, "I really don't know what you want me to do or say. You want me to apologize for something? OK. I'm sorry for whatever it is you think I should be sorry for. You want me to promise not to do it again, whatever it is? OK. I promise. What else can I do?"
I sighed. "You just don't seem to feel the way most people would feel if they realized they were hurting their family."
"So I'm supposed to force myself to feel a certain way. Is that it?"
"No, Seth. That's exactly my problem. It's supposed to come from someplace inside of you."
Sheba padded into the kitchen just then and put her paws up on my thigh, her brown eyes meeting mine.
"Seth, remember last summer when I left poor Sheba in the car by mistake after I picked you and the children up at the pool?" Sheba looked expectant at mention of her name. I found myself bringing my hand to my chest at the memory. It pained my heart to remember.
"I don't have to remember, Shlomit, you haven't stopped talking about it and emoting about it ever since," Seth said, disgustedly.
"What do you mean?" I knew exactly what he meant, but I wanted to hear him describe my reaction to doing something thoughtless and cruel to poor innocent Sheba whom I love.
"You've told a dozen different people about how awful you feel about it. You still go hug that dog every once in awhile and say you're so so sorry. You gave her half a can of tuna fish afterwards. By now she doesn't even remember the incident."
"I hope not." I stroked Sheba's beautiful head. "My reaction to hurting Sheba is something like what I would expect yours to be, to being so unfair to the children. I feel totally totally badly at having left her sitting there for an hour. This good dog! I still have the image in my mind of going out to the car and seeing her waiting patiently for me to let her out. She trusts me and I betrayed her trust. I did - and I'll do - whatever I can, to deserve her trust now. I wish I could undo that day. But I can't.
"I can only do whatever I can to make sure it doesn't happen again. The children remind me now, each time we pull into the driveway when Sheba is with us. It's much less likely to happen again because it's publicly known that I'm trying my best never to repeat it, and that I'm grateful for whatever help comes from whatever quarter to help me. Being good to Sheba from now on is more important to me than the embarrassment of having people know and remember what I did.
"I don't try to deny that it happened, Seth. I don't point out that there are dog owners who do much worse things to their dogs. I don't try to say it was someone else's fault for distracting me or for not reminding me. I don't try to convince myself or anyone else that she deserved it - there was the vacuum cleaner cord she chewed through and the time she peed on Leora's rug. I didn't blame you and the children for expecting me to pick you up from swimming when I'm busy cleaning for Shabbat. I didn't say, ‘What can you expect - with my lifestyle as hectic as it is... I couldn’t help it!’
"And I haven't forgotten it and am not likely to forget it, Seth, and I don't expect people around me to wipe it from their minds. And when this good dog dies, Seth, the image that will be before my eyes will be of her, sitting there faithfully waiting for me to come for her.
"And Seth, that's why no one would doubt that I'll never, never let it happen again. And all of this is exactly the opposite of how you relate to what you do to us - the way you deal with each incident makes it inevitable that it'll happen again. Everything you do afterwards to make yourself feel better about your mistakes paves the way for a recurrence.
"After all these years, can't you see that there's something wrong with your technique of dealing with your mistakes? You're asking me to forgive and forget. I'm asking you not to be so quick to forgive and forget. You're too good at making excuses for yourself."
Last month Seth painted the iron bars we have on all our windows. He even let Eli help.
While Eli and I were cleaning the brushes, Eli asked, "How can a robber let himself break into somebody's house and take their stuff, Ima?"
"I guess they justify it somehow. Shoplifters tell themselves that they aren't really stealing from real people, just from the store. And the store won't miss one or two items. Someone who breaks into a house must figure that those people are just lucky to be richer than he is, so he is just evening things up. Or that the homeowner must be stupid to let them find a way into his house, and if they're smart enough to rob him, that's his problem. I guess they find some excuse why it's OK."
"But they would hate it if somebody took their stuff." Eli pointed out.
"Maybe they're careful never to think like that. Never to put themselves in the place of the people they're hurting. You’re asking good questions, Eli, but I have no answers."
We were all in the car, Friday, ready to drive up to Ruthi's. Sheba was ensconced on her blanket, riding high on the duffelbags in the way-back. Ruthi doesn't want to have a pet larger than a goldfish or hamster, but she's glad when we bring Sheba so her children can have a dog for a weekend. Plus, Sheba sleeps out on the patio with us to hopefully alert us if a snake should appear.
I was about to pull out of the driveway when Seth unbuckled his seatbelt with a snap and said, also with a snap, "You pull out already. I have to get something," and went back into the house.
As I backed into the street, Rafi's little voice suggested, from the back seat, "Let's just go. Without Abba."
"What? Just leave him here?" I asked, "He wouldn't like that."
"That won't matter." Rafi said simply. "We won't come back."
I was holding my breath.
"Eli can be our Abba. We'll all go live someplace else."
I don't know the extent to which Rafi is following this 'divorce business'. The others initiate conversation. They share their reflections. I’ve been meaning to find a way to draw Rafi out, and find out what he's thinking, in case he has fears or uncertainties to work out.
Is Rafi trying to impress the others, now? Show them that he's not trying to be the Golden Boy at their expense?
The others were giggling at his audacity, and he played to his audience. "We have our duffel bags," he continued. "We can leave Abba's on the sidewalk."
The children were all giggling when Seth got back into the car.
"OK. Drive." Seth commanded as he slammed the door.
And so she did.
"Shlomit," said Dr. A at last night's session, shaking his head, "You can't expect to be a hundred percent sure of Seth. You can't be a hundred percent sure of anything in life."
"Unfortunately, I'm too sure of Seth, Dr. A. I wish I were less sure of him."
Seth rolled his eyes at Dr. A, and then looked back at me with a bored expression. "What's that supposed to mean, Shlo-mit?"
"Well, when we got married, I was probably ... eighty percent sure of you. Or whatever is typical for newlyweds, given that they haven't had a lot of experience with each other. I was eighty percent sure that you wouldn't do anything to hurt me. I expected to get more and more sure of it as the years went by.
"My parents have been married for almost fifty years, and by now they're probably a hundred percent sure of each other. If one of them did something mean or selfish or manipulative, the other would be astounded. They would say, "That's totally unlike him-or-her!" They would assume they had misunderstood, or that there was some other explanation for what had happened.
"Well, Seth, after twenty years of experience with you, I know that you are often mean and selfish and manipulative. I have seen it over and over. I'm very sure that, given a chance, you will continue to behave that way. In fact, when you're nice, I say to myself, 'Wow! That's not like Seth. I wonder what he wants from me.'
"It would indicate significant progress to get to the point where it's 50-50! The percentage I would probably give to some guy I had pulled off the street at random. To feel that we're as likely to get good treatment from you as bad. That we have even a 50-50 chance that the depressions won't return and the tantrums will stop. To be back at the hopeful 80% from when I didn’t know you very well, would be fantastic!"
I was dizzy from half an hour of going round and round at Dr. A, when Seth accused, urgently, "Shlomit, you're so stubborn! All you have to do is to forget the past. Forgive and forget."
"OK, Seth. Say I woke up one morning with amnesia, and I couldn't remember any of the bad times. The next time you do something ... you know ... not so nice ... I would say, 'This isn't like Seth at all!' And I would wonder why the children aren't surprised, and why they’re so wary and think you dislike them. That would happen for the first little while, and I would look for external reasons for your outbursts, as I did for the first decade we were married, but gradually, we would get right back to where we are now."
"OK, well, the kids are also part of the problem, Shlomit. They also have to forget things after they happen. And of course it won't do any good if you just forget up to a point and then go right back to keeping score! Why can't we just go back to how everything used to be? You didn't used to keep track of every little thing I did. You were ... nicer."
"Yeah, Seth. And look where it got me.
“Seth - you saw Lion King, right? The theme of the movie is taking responsibility for your actions. NOT expecting the past to just be forgotten."
"Only Shlomit finds deep hidden messages in cartoons,” he informed Dr. A.
"Many of them have messages, Seth. In Lion King, Simba tried ..."
"Oh, wow. I'm impressed, Shlomit. My wife is on first name basis with a cartoon character!"
"… he tried to run away from his responsibilities to the pride. He tried to convince himself that whatever happened in the past doesn't matter. Then Rafiki bonks him on the head with a stick. Simba starts to get mad, but his friend says, ‘But it doesn't matter! It's in the past!’ Simba finally does go back and shoulders his responsibilities. That's the happy ending. That's what the movie teaches children.”
"I'm sure you're the only one who gets philosophy lessons from cartoons, Shlomit."
Seth is still going to Batia every week. He's paying for the sessions from his 'allowance', and claims the sessions have nothing to do with 'this divorce business', so I have stopped asking him what he does there. Every once in awhile, though, he tosses me a tidbit of something they have talked about.
Last night he tossed me this one: "Batia asked if I thought you have ever told anyone - your friends or people we know – about ... things that ... happened."
"She did? And what did you tell her?"
"I said I thought you hadn't told anybody."
"Oh." If he asks in a straightforward way, I'll tell him.
For decades I kept it all to myself, but lately, I've been using all the resources I have. All the support. All the reality checks.
Is Seth trying to find out if our acquaintances 'know'? Well, in some cases, they do. What are friends for, if not for support in my life's greatest problem But if he wants to know, let him ask.
I've been sitting here staring at a blank Word document, so I decided to try stream of consciousness, just to get my fingers moving.
I'm supposed to be listing ‘things I want from Seth’, for our next meeting with Dr. A.
I told Dr. A that I had listed the important things in our 'Peace at home' agreement.
Dr. A shook his head and waved away my reference to that document. "Not things like that. Think! There must be other things you want from Seth. Things you wish he would do, that he doesn't." Maybe he was relating to the fact that most of my requests are negative. That Seth stop doing things he has been doing. Our lives would have been better if Seth had been in a coma for the past decade.
"Maybe you have always wished he would bring you flowers for Shabbat and he just didn't think of it. Maybe you would like him to take you out to dinner. Or to be more romantic. Give you gifts. For next week's session, make a list of things you think a good husband should do, since you don’t seem to think Seth is a good husband. Use your imagination and describe your image of a real prince charming."
I guess if everything else were good, if he were a kind loving father and if I felt he respected me and enjoyed me and wanted to make me happy, then bunches of flowers and dinners out would make it even better. Just as I delight in the little things the children give me and do for me. If everything else were good, though, those nice little favors would happen on their own. I wouldn't have to sit and make a list.
Maybe I would like him to smile more. But not because it's on a list. And not to force his face into a smile and then the next minute be calling the children insulting names. Not to shove a bunch of flowers at me and continue to glower and growl.
Play with the children more, I guess. Or, rather, I would like him to WANT to play with them more.
If Seth can't give me a pleasant home life with a healthy partner, is Dr. A going to try to get me to accept something else instead? Nope, sorry!
OK. The screen is not empty anymore. I guess I have to clarify what this list is to be used for, before I can create it intelligently.
I felt sorry for Seth yesterday evening. We need to have our signatures guaranteed in order to transfer some stock. It says on the form that we should have our bank guarantee our signature. I went to my bank and they said there's no such thing in this country. They suggested that we get our signatures notarized and hope that was good enough.
When I told Seth, he swelled his chest up like Leora's rooster imitation. "I'll have Miri take care of it," he boomed; his voice deeper and more Texan than I've ever heard it. I don't think he said, "Ma'am" at the end but it would have gone well with the swaggering tone of voice.
So, this afternoon I met him at the bank, up at Miri's desk in the 'Private Banking' section. I always feel funny sitting there in my raggle-taggle Goodwill clothes alongside the other customers who have over two hundred thousand or more shekels in savings.
When our turn came, Miri and Seth greeted each other warmly. Warm greetings and remembering your name and the last bit of family news you shared, are the strokes you earn by socking away your money in their bank. That, and the occasional, "oh, keep the pen ...", "… maybe one of your kids would like a key chain", "… and here's a money belt for your trip".
After a couple of volleys of chit chat, Seth confided, "Miri, I have a little problem with which you can help me."
He explained what we need, and Miri's face clouded over, "I'd love to help you, Seth, but the bank doesn't guarantee signatures."
"I know, Miri, that it's not a standard service," he resonated at her. "That's why I came to you." Husky and confidential, now. "All you need to do is sign here next to our signatures and stamp it with the imprint of the bank ..."
"Oh, but I'm afraid ... I mean, the bank doesn't ..."
"I understand that, Miri, but," if he ever made eye contact, he would have winked at this point, "you know ... it would be a big help ..."
"I'm really sorry Seth, I would love to help you, but I think your best course of action would be to get the document notarized. I'm sorry."
I felt sorry for Seth. He refers to Miri, at home, nearly as often as he mentions Batia. Tells me when and where she has been on vacations, and has mentioned milestones in the life of the daughter whose drawings line Miri's cubicle. I know that Miri chats with her personal banking customers. Part of the service. I've often sat waiting my turn when there's a chatter sitting cross from Miri. Miri will chat for as long as you want to. My reaction is always to conclude that these people should get a life. If chatting with the bank teller is their touchy-feelies for the day.
Did Seth really think they have a relationship beyond anything she is being paid to do in order to persuade him to keep his money in her bank?
Poor Seth. He flatters himself that Miri and Batia smile at him and greet him and hang on his every word. He thinks he has a special relationship with them. Didn't he notice when we left her booth, that Miri greeted Marta, the old woman in line behind us, just as warmly?
Poor Seth.
This evening's session was strange.
"I need to know what this list of treats will be used for," I said when Dr. A asked what I had come up with. "Because the things you mentioned - flowers and restaurants – are things I would gladly give up in order to get a home where the children aren’t afraid of their father. Where Seth would love and support and encourage his children instead of rejecting them and threatening them and being angry so much of the time and calling them names." Leora told me once, of this quote: 'Sticks and stones can break your bones, but names can break your heart.'
Dr. A's voice brought me back to the little room, "Like your father, maybe?"
"Exactly!" I exclaimed urgently. It would be wonderful if Seth would be the way Dad always was with us. "I want Eli and Leora and Rafi to be able to trust Seth. I want him to be a positive force in their lives. That's the main thing I want." I gestured at the paper over which Dr. A's pen was poised, waiting for my 'list'.
"And you find yourself fearing that Seth will treat your children as your father treated you?"
"Fear it? Why ..."
"It's not uncommon for a woman who was abused by her father, to be overly fearful, years later, that someone might hurt her children."
"Wha... abused? My father is a wonderful father! Kind, loving, patient, fair. Why do you ..."
Dr. A looked at me accusingly. "A moment ago you indicated that your father abused you," he looked down and read from his notebook, "'… rejection, anger, name calling ...' Now you’re trying to defend him?" his eyebrows met his hairline.
I started sputtering. Certain that I never said anything like that!
"Well, we'll talk about your first family another time, Shlomit." Dr. A said, "But this could definitely be the basis of your fear of Seth." He went on talking about what Seth and I should think about for the next session, which will be after Seth gets back from his conference in the US. But I wasn't listening very carefully, trying to unravel what I might have said to incriminate Dad.
"Wait!" I said as Seth stood up and Dr. A capped his pen. I replayed the echoes of some of the things Dr. A had been saying. "So ... it sounds as though this is going to be like marriage counseling."
"Yes ..." Dr. A said slowly, as though that had been understood. "We're here to try to keep the two of you together, are we not?"
"No." I shook my head vehemently.
I don't know how you can frown with raised eyebrows, but he managed it.
"We're here to determine if Seth's behavior is caused by something that can be fixed. Otherwise, I want to get the children out of an unhealthy atmosphere. I don't see any point in continuing if that is not the goal. And if we do continue, I want to set a time limit."
Dr. A turned to Seth. "Seth, Shlomit’s request is reasonable. To place a time limit. To set goals." He gave me an 'after you' gesture.
"Six months?" I proposed.
"Fine. This is reasonable. In the next six months, Seth, you are to convince Shlomit that she doesn't need to fear a recurrence of the things she dreads."
Seth stood up again and Dr. A went to recap his pen but it was already capped. But I was digging my day book from my pack. "What's today?"
Seth glanced at his know-it-all watch, "The twentieth."
"OK, then that’s ...." I tapped six fingers. "August twentieth." I flipped to the date and wrote "SIX MONTHS ARE UP."
Three years, almost to the day, after the deadline I first gave Seth for coming back from the US. Sigh ...
Seth is in the US for two and a half weeks.
I want to write down how these weeks are, without Seth. Because when he's here, I'm so nervous, and the world seems such a shaky place, that when I imagine life on my own with the children, that prospect seems scary, too.
I like myself when he's not here. I sleep better. I don't wake up to the thoughts and worries that keep me awake for hours, normally.
I thought Rafi might miss Seth, but he doesn't seem to. There's less scrapping among the children, so he doesn't need a protector.
Rafi came to me last night with four of the plastic turtles, and said, "Here is the family." I was about to say that we have another adult turtle someplace, when I realized that he had actually said, "Here's the family, now." He lined them up and identified the three baby turtles as himself, Leora and Eli, and the big one as me. He said, "We're all following you, now ..."
Last night, in the kitchen, when we were all bustling around fixing dinner, Leora said, "Ima, this is how it will be all the time after we leave Abba."
I know they're partly responding to my relaxed mood, but they definitely feel it, too. On the way home from the store last night, we had such a good discussion about reincarnation. We just wouldn't talk about something like that if Seth were there. Just the mood for it wouldn't be there.
My fingernails grow. The house stays neater. My friends at book club said, surprised, "You look good!"
I can take care of whatever happens. There are people out there to help me. Professionals and friends. I do not feel alone and I do not feel that everything's pointless just because there's no man here.
Everything is easier because I'm not constantly processing the background job of how Seth is going to react to everything.
I daydream that he would call and say Jacob wants him to work at the lab in Washington for a month. Or a year. Or a lifetime. I wish he wouldn't come back. Whatever would have to happen to accomplish that.
Even strangers react differently to me. I get into conversations. Nice things happen. I'm different. I'm not myself with Seth. The Chuchundra of the first sixteen years of marriage is not me. The defiant, don't-give-an-inch, stiff upper lip self of the past six years is not me, either. I want myself back. Now. While I can enjoy the children, and they can enjoy life.
Maybe I was right to give Seth another chance, but he hasn't done anything with it. I'm going to stick with the six month deadline. When he's finally out of my life, my only regret will be that I didn't do it sooner.
The four of us were bouncing along on our way home from synagogue, yesterday. When we’re walking together, and Rafi wants to talk to the rest of us, he scampers along sideways in front of us, so he can face us. I guess it’s from the years that he couldn’t hear well, that he wants us to face him when he’s talking.
“You know, Ima?” Rafi’s words took on the rhythm of his skipping, “Abba could save a lot of money if he would let us go to the American Shul – he wouldn’t have to give us a Mentos every week to pay us for going to synagogue!”
I laughed. “But he would have to buy you new shoes more often!” I reminded him. “It’s over two kilometers to the yeshiva.”
“It is?” Eli was surprised. “That’s funny, isn’t it. We walk four kilometers every Shabbat when Abba’s not here, and when he is here, he can’t even make us go to the shul on our street. When we do go, that’s only because he gets mad. It’s not really for one piece of candy. Even though he thinks it is.”
“Oof!” Leora oofed. “Ima, why is he so … oof! Why does he make us go to the neighborhood Shul that we can’t stand, and fight with us every week, when he could just let us go where our friends go. When he’s not home, you never have to yell at us or bribe us.”
“That’s exactly why he won’t let us,” Eli reminded her. “Because our friends go there. ‘The yeshiva is a social club’’’ he quoted.
“Nu? So what’s so bad about davening at a place you like?” Leora asked. “You know, Ima, at the yeshiva, I feel like I did on our sabbatical where there were so many people we wanted to see and everybody knew us and said Shabbat Shalom to us. Remember in the US, every week, Abba finally had to come over to you after services, grumpy that you were talking with people, and say, ‘Are you coming, any time soon, or should I just go home without you?’” Leora mimicked Seth’s deep, commanding voice and his hunch and his jaw-jut and his scowl.
“It’s neat how many people we know at the yeshiva.” I changed the subject. “Even though we only go there a couple of times a year. Families from the Nature Society weekends we’ve gone on, from your English speakers classes, from piano lessons with Ellen. Batia. Our dentist. Women from my book club, Nora’s friends, people I know from work. And of course, your friends from school.”
“And everybody from the ghetto,” Leora continued, referring to a new development of cottages where several British and American families with young teenagers have moved in.
“And from scouts …” Eli reminded her.
“Yes! From scouts, too!”
“Ima, at the neighborhood Shul you always just walk home as soon as Shul is over, like this …” she put her head down and her arms straight at her sides, and charged ahead a few meters like a man shot out of a cannon.
“I know,” I sighed. Why can’t I relax with the neighbors? Because they remind me of the two-faced life I lead. The smile I plaster on when I walk out the front door is hard to keep in place, when I’m so close to the scene of it all.
“Ima, when we … I mean, if we didn’t have Abba, we’ll go to the yeshiva every week, won’t we.”
“Of course we will!” I answered, because of course, as soon as this latest six-month extension is over, and we don’t have Seth to make our decisions for us, we’ll definitely pray at the ‘Social Club’.
I've was thinking about your ingenious sewing closet last week, as the children and I were building a set of shelves for the walk-in closet.
Carpentry and DIY home improvements have always been a passion of mine.
I love lumber yards and hardware stores and the smell of sawdust, and the satisfying feeling of pounding in a nail or tightening down a well-set screw. The feel and smell of a smooth well-planed board. The process of taking 2-D boards and creating a 3-D piece of furniture. Before we came to Israel, I made sure to fill in the gaps in our tool collection. To me, that was as essential as dishes and towels.
Luckily for me the children share my passion for building. I wrote to you last winter about building the loft for Rafi's room.
Seth is at a conference in the US. The first day he was away, Eli and Rafi showed me a plan they had drawn up, for closet shelves. At first I hesitated to OK the project, wondering what Seth's reaction would be, but he rarely needs to go into that closet, so he might not even notice. So a hundred dollars later, and the good time of doing carpentry together, here we are, with clean useful shelves.
Love, Shlomit
I asked Seth last night whether his parents have firm dates, yet, for their visit.
"They're not coming."
"They're not? Are they OK?"
"I told them not to come. I told them there's tension between us at the moment, so it's not a good time."
I stared at him. Tension between us 'at the moment'?
"But we're working to make things better, no?"
Seth looked incredulous. "Shlomit! In case you haven't noticed, things are much worse now than they've ever been. Anything that might have happened before - anything that might have bothered you about something I might have done - that's all just subjective. Now it's real, Shlomit. It's serious business, to threaten divorce. We've spent thousands of dollars on lawyers! There's a file with our names on it at the courthouse!"
Yes. I saw that file when I was there to cancel the restraining order so we can take the children to the US. Dekel versus Dekel. The movie Kramer versus Kramer was well named. What could be more poignant than those identical names linked as adversaries. Identical precisely because the two of you had intended to merge permanently and always be FOR each other.
"Shlomit - this is real!" he emphasized when I only looked more confused, the harder he tried to clarify things.
I looked back over the months and years, saw Leora there in the kitchen in the US. Devastated. Sobbing in gulps. I saw Rafi, limp in my arms after that seizure. I saw Eli's face, more recently, when Seth shouted, "He IS a jerk! Why shouldn't I call him a jerk!" All of that seemed pretty real to me. At least as real as the number that represents our bank balance, or a folder of papers in a file cabinet.
"Don't you think there's been progress, Seth? Since the US?"
"With everyone but you and the children I've made progress. Other people don't always dwell on the past and worry about the future. They take me as I am at any given moment," he said in disgust.
"Of course, Seth. For them, you're a box of corn flakes. For us, you're a … Dodge Aspen!"
"You're not making any sense, Shlomit."
"Remember Lee Iacocca's book? He describes how hard it is to turn a car company around once it's in chapter eleven. To inspire consumer confidence. Because a car isn't a box of corn flakes. If you think Kellogg's is going to shut down next week, that wouldn't stop you from buying a box of their cereal. But if you're making a long term commitment, you must be more careful.
"Your casual acquaintances can take you a day at a time. If you're grumpy, they can just avoid you. Or they can decide next month to break off the relationship. We don't have that luxury."
"All your philosophies aside, Shlomit, until we get back on firmer footing, it's not appropriate for my parents to visit." He went into the bathroom and shut the door.
I stared at the closed door, and somehow it didn’t feel any different from when I was looking at Seth, who is a virtual closed door.
'Get Back!' Sounds like a Beatles song. And we seem to make about as much sense to each other, when we talk, as that nonsense song. All those years when everything was so awful, my silence allowed him to pretend that things were fine. Now that I’m finally demanding that we improve things, he thinks things are worse.
I tell myself that when we really do leave him – when he really does lose us – he’ll finally realize that his behavior was out of line. He’ll feel sorry. He’ll regret.
But he won’t, will he. He’ll just say, “She abandoned me for no reason. This is proof that she never loved me – she was just pretending. This is proof that she never took the marriage seriously.”
Today is June twentieth. Two months until the six month deadline.
The sessions with Dr. A are different since we set the August deadline, in that I'm no longer trying to convince Seth or Dr. A of anything. I'm looking to Seth to convince me. If Dr. A is getting the wrong idea about something, I'm looking to Seth to straighten him out. If he doesn't, Seth is still in denial.
Mostly these sessions are just repetitions of other sessions, or of sessions with other professionals or of talks I have had with Seth. My notes from over a thousand dollars worth of meetings take up only a couple of pages.
I'll just dump a few of the main things, here. All of it indicates that we're still far from resolving anything.
- - - People can’t change? - - -
Dr. A: “Shlomit, you can’t expect someone to change who they are.”
Seth was the one who pleaded for a chance to change. What is Dr. A's profession, anyway, if he doesn't believe people can change?
- - - I'm more upset than the children are? - - -
Seth: “You're more upset about the things I do or say to the children than they are themselves.”
And he would want me to be ... what ... less upset about it than they are?
- - - It could take two or three years? - - -
Dr. A: “It could take Seth two or three years to do what you're asking him to do, Shlomit.”
Well, he's had three years, hasn't he.
To get out of our viscous circle, I've decided to write down significant things that Seth and I say at our Friday morning talk sessions. This week I wrote down several things I said. Seth kept making statements, but when I asked if he wanted me to write them down, he never wanted to commit himself.
Maybe that would be a good rule for everything we say. Don't say anything you wouldn't want to see in writing a week later.
Seth does this weird logic trick. Instead of pointing to things he has done, in order to show me he's OK, he points to my response to his behavior.
OK, if I'm trying to make sure my relationship with someone is OK, I look at how they respond to me. If they seem happy with me, I'm reassured and figure everything is OK.
But if a friend has told me in so many words that he isn’t happy with me, I wouldn’t keep reminding him, "Yeah, but you invited me that time, you called me, you gave me that present, you smiled …". I would examine myself, not them!
Our neighbors all have nicely kept yards, but ours has always had more of a back-to-nature flavor to it. I don't mind. Ruthi's son calls it a jungle.
But lately it's looking worse than usual. Weeds are knee high in the beds, and the grass is dead. Last fall's pomegranates are rotting where they lie. The place smells like some kind of exotic winery when you come up the front walk.
A weed pushing up through the sidewalk has such a hopeless look to it. The weeds in our sidewalk are so well established that they're pushing up the bricks.
"Seth?" I ventured this morning, "Um ... the garden ... would it be OK if the children and I cleaned it up a bit? It's looking a bit ... ragged."
"Do what you want. You will, anyway. I can't stop you." Seth didn’t look up from the paper, but his voice was anything but casual.
"So, it's OK with you if we ..."
"I'm not in charge of the garden, Shlomit. You and the kids are. If it's 'ragged', as you say, it's your fault, not mine."
"Our ...? I thought you were in charge of the garden."
"Maybe I used to be, but I'm obviously not anymore. I haven't touched the garden since February," he declared proudly.
"February?"
"Right. When I was in the US, you all went and did stuff in the garden. If you have taken over, far be it from me to interfere."
"We just cleaned up a little, Seth."
"Well, if you're in charge, I'm obviously not, so don't involve me."
"Couldn't we all just – do it together?"
"Get real, Shlomit. How could that work? One person would be planting, and another ripping out and it would be a huge mess."
My parents work in the garden together. So do Seth’s parents. I don't know why things are so often problematic for Seth, that other people don't find problematic at all.
And … speaking of problems … Seth has been going to Batia for two years now, to work on his communication skills. And this is how he chooses to inform me that he doesn’t like our meddling? To wait four months for everything to start dying so I’ll notice that he’s on strike?
This will be another of those 'Things' between us. If I don't maintain the garden, he won't either, but if I do anything, that will be wrong, too.
For years, Eli has been wanting to put in a little fish pond. I could take Seth at his word and let Eli do the pond. Nah. I don't think so.
Leora and I are writing a rap song for the family reunion at Paul's this summer - "We'll see you when we get there."
When Eli first played his latest Hit Man CD and I heard the rap, "I'll see you when you get there," the first thing that struck me was the backup music - Pachelbel's Canon. My throat caught, because that used to be 'our song'. In grad school, when we were 'going together', Seth came back to the dorm at 4:00 every afternoon, and that was the theme song they played at the beginning of the 4:00 talk show on NPR. The piece always makes me think of sitting on my bed in my apartment, listening to Canon, and watching the students straggling across the soccer field. Seeing Seth. Feeling happy. Excited. Soon he'll get to his apartment and my phone will ring. "Want to come down? I was going to fix an omelet."
Since then, Canon embarrasses me. I've heard it when Seth has been in the room, and I feel betrayed. Not only by him, but by the old emotions that resurface when I hear the piece.
But the words to the rap could be modified to make a fantastic number to perform at the reunion. I felt cruel at first to be playing it over and over as Leora and I practiced, in case it was pinching Seth's memory as it was mine, even though he said nothing. Well, let it! Let it dredge up memories that whisper to him how good our family life could have been.
Leora and I wrote words about seeing the cousins when they get to the family reunion. The original words on the CD are actually very fitting to my situation with Seth right now. The singer tells his girlfriend that he’s not willing to hang around while she sorts herself out.
Unless a miracle happens with Seth pretty soon, I’m going to have to admit that … Seth is never going to get there.
It's ironic that when the most interesting things are going on, you have the least time to write about them.
We had a wonderful family reunion in Michigan for Mom and Dad's fiftieth wedding anniversary. After the reunion, Seth went to a conference and then flew back home to Israel. I don't even know why he came to the reunion. The whole family posed for a group picture, and I was thinking that in years to come, someone will say, "Who's that guy in the back row?" and the answer will be, "Oh - that's Shlomit's ex."
The thought went through my mind several times during this celebration of Mom and Dad's marriage - still going very strong after fifty years - that Seth and I won't have this.
We're back in Ohio, now, visiting Kay. We spent the afternoon at lasertag, and this evening Kay and Leora and I went to a 'women's sing' that's held in Kay's neighborhood, on the first Wednesday after each full moon.
The evening was lovely. A dozen women and a few daughters, sitting out in the hostess's back yard on blankets around a low table full of candles. We talked and sang such uplifting, nurturing songs. About friendship and mothering and saving the planet and striving to fulfill our potential, and to be a blessing to those around us.
Leora leaned over at one point and whispered something I didn't quite catch.
"I said," she repeated, "That we've had a boy afternoon and a girl evening."
I laughed, thinking back to the afternoon at laser-tag. When you enter the facility, at the end of a strip mall, you're in a high-ceilinged room painted black with silver and orange lightening jags. The first thing you see as you enter is the huge screen of one of the arcade games. The laser-tag sessions start on the half hour, so the games give the kids something to do with their time and money while they wait. The picture on the huge game screen shows a dark hairy hulky large-jawed he-man flexing tattooed biceps, repeating threateningly, over and over, "Don't mess with me!"
The whole place was filled with harsh crashing music. Some games blared the sounds of roaring motorcycles or squealing tires or police car sirens.
Leora is right. There couldn't be two more conflicting settings, could there, than our shoot-em-up afternoon and our magical musical evening.
As I smiled at her perceptiveness, we finished learning one song, and in the pause before the next, a car drove by on the street adjacent to the house, blaring the same kind of throbbing macho music they had blasted at us at lasertag. We women laughed as one, shaking our heads at the incongruity.
Males and females really are from different planets, aren't we.
Seth got a haircut. A professional haircut.
His first in ... 22+3 years? It's been a quarter of a century since I first gave him a haircut in his apartment at the graduate living center. And I have cut his hair ever since.
I know his head so well! The curly hair at the back that's so nice to snip off. Over the years I've watched the top thin out. Noticed the 'silver threads among the gold'.
He came home yesterday with his hair way shorter than he ever wanted me to cut it. I said, "You got a haircut?" and he said, "Yeah." I said, "I could have cut it," and he said, "That's OK. I don't need you to cut my hair."
It's just a stupid twenty shekel haircut. But I can't stop thinking about it. It's just there every time I look at him. It hurts. Here we are, supposedly trying to get closer together, and he keeps doing little things that show that he's weaning himself from me. Sigh.
I heard an oldie goldie on the radio today - "If somebody loves you it's no good unless he loves you all the way."
I've been trying to decide if Seth is just this side of being too bad to stay with, or just that side. But just hearing the words to the song made me realize that if it's too close to call, it's not good enough.
There needs to be way more good than I'm seeing. This coming Sunday I'll flip my daybook page to the week that announces, in the middle of the page, "SIX MONTHS ARE UP". He would have to work some really big miracles by Wednesday in order for us to stay with him. He hasn't mentioned the date. He has certainly given no indication that he's racing to make progress by then. I might as well go to the lawyer now, but I'll play it straight and wait till next week.
Should I remind him? No. If he has forgotten, that's a clear indication that he doesn't care.
Even though we're spending over $100 a week to Batia and Dr. A, we're getting no help for this current problem of favoritism that's impinging on our family life.
Batia and Seth don't talk about Seth's relationship within family, only his relationships with strangers with whom he 'has no history'.
And Dr. A doesn't deal with child-related problems. Maybe it's like a dentist giving out candy. If you dealt with the children's problems in this generation, you'd have no adult problems in the next. Your source of clients would dry up.
And my lay attempt to talk to Seth about this thing with Rafi only caused Seth’s latest campaign to isolate Rafi from the others when Seth is home.
Well, after next week we'll be rid of the albatross around our necks, and relationships among the children will get back to normal.
Well, here we are, back in the Israeli heat after a nice visit to the US.
On the plane, I asked the children whether they feel as though they’re in a foreign country when they’re in the US. Eli answered that he feels that way about Israel, but America feels like home. Leora said that in the US she feels that everything is soft, and envelopes her in safe friendly protection. Here she feels that she's living on a dry crust of life. There’s nothing she wants to embrace, or can feel close to or trust. Everything is a struggle and there's nobody to help her. Eli said he knows exactly what she means, and that's how he feels, too. That everything is dry and crumbly and unsteady, and you could break through to unpleasant things underneath. Israel feels lonely and scratchy.
I guess it's because we have family in the US. We feel so welcomed and loved when we're there.
It's amazing how children react to relatives. They feel an attachment even when meeting them for the first time. Good byes are tearful, even when we have spent only a few hours with these people. They can feel that there's an unreserved acceptance. They don't have to prove themselves or impress people.
Our house itself is depressing. As though we have never felt that this family and household were permanent. Never worth investing time or money or effort in, if it might break up. Everything just had to be good enough to get by with for now. There are always things that need to be fixed. Seth and I never really settled into the house or the marriage, and the children feel that.
They’re right – we felt more at home away from home.
Love, Shlomit
If either of them - Seth or Dr. A - had taken this six month deadline seriously, this would be the meeting at which we would discuss whether Seth has made enough progress to reassure me. Or, no, I guess if there had really been progress, we wouldn't need a mediator anymore.
But it was obvious that neither of them thought of this as a special session. After ten minutes of the usual blah-blah, I decided to give a hint:
"You know, Dr. A, we've been coming to you for almost eight months, and we're still at square one. I still haven't even heard Seth acknowledge that he did ... all that stuff."
Dr. A put down his pen and looked at me. I know his body language by now. Putting down that fountain pen is like throwing down the gauntlet. It symbolizes that he's about to say something challenging.
"Shlomit ...” he paused with a pitying little grin on his lips, “If ‘square one’, for you, is waiting for Seth to admit to having behaved as you've accused him of behaving, well, I'd have to say we're at square zero."
"Zero?"
"The problem that has slowed down progress is that you only see things from your own narrow and, I have to say, illogical, perspective. Try for a moment to see this case as it has been presented to me.
"Seth, here, was extremely bewildered, saying that the marriage was good until suddenly one day you said you wanted to break it all up.
"So here's Seth, not knowing why you’re even here. So I turned to you, as you were the one who originally rang me up, and you spend ten minutes telling us how wonderfully well matched you two are. How much you have in common.
"So I asked you, Shlomit, when you started feeling that you didn't want to be in this marriage, as idyllic as it was, by your own description. You said that even though you had some sort of undefined problems even before you had children, your real problems started when you were pregnant with your youngest. OK. The ink was barely dry, where I had written that down, and you launched into another ten minutes about how you were inspired by that hospitalization and that since then your life has been just wonderful.
"OK. So far we've got Seth saying the marriage was good, and you saying it was awful, but not being able to explain why you stayed with it for two decades if it was so awful. You went on and on about how wonderful your children are, but I know from what Seth says that they exhibit serious behavior problems. That they’re …“ he looked down at his notebook, “… ’very wild and totally undisciplined’. ‘Totally out of control most of the time.’ As you can imagine, Shlomit, my head was already spinning from these inconsistencies with which you presented us, and then when we tried to understand why, with everything so good, you suddenly jumped up and threatened divorce, you started accusing Seth of things which, frankly," he indicated Seth again, sitting there nodding slightly, "I find impossible to believe of your husband, and which he says never happened ..."
“Seth never said …”
“Shlomit.” Stop sign hand. “I don’t expect you’re familiar with the paradigm of Occam’s Razor.” He glanced conspiratorially at Seth.
“Sure. If a simple explanation fits the facts, there’s no reason to go looking for a more complicated one.”
“More or less. Well, most of your story fits with Seth’s claim that he never behaved as you accuse him of behaving and that it is, rather, the children who are out of control. The only things that don’t fit that scenario are your sudden threat of divorce and your wild claims that SETH is the one who has been behaving irrationally!”
"But Seth has never said he didn't do that stuff!" I interrupted.
Dr. A reared back in a double take. He tends to be theatrical, but I think his astonishment was genuine.
“Of course he has! Seth has stated repeatedly that he never did the things you accuse him of!”
Ah. Dr. A hasn’t been paying attention. You have to listen to the exact words of this Taboo champion. Not to the implications. Never once, in all these sessions, has he said in so many words that he never did any of it. He has said that he doesn’t remember, that my descriptions aren’t accurate, that he feels we must have spent all these years on different planets, that he feels confused when I talk about the things he did. But I have never heard him say that it never happened. Seth has strict rules of ethics. He doesn’t lie.
"Seth has never denied doing the things I describe,” I repeated, “He has never said that he didn't have the periods of depression. Never said that he didn't rough up the children for years. Seth never denied that he bursts into rages. That he has used abusive ways to control me, that..."
"Of course he denies it!" Dr. A looked at Seth and back at me. "Every time you have mentioned this wild behavior, he has said he doesn't remember any of it."
"Right. Seth claims that he doesn't remember. Or, usually, that he doesn't remember it exactly as I do, because of course no two people's memories will be exactly alike, but he has never come right out and said he never behaved as I describe."
“Frankly, Shlomit, I think Seth has been trying to let you save face. He didn't want to come right out and say that you're lying, and that your accusations are something you have made up to discredit him for some reason of your own. He is being gentle with you, but I doubt if you appreciate it. Seth is a gentleman. So when I say we're at square zero, I mean that, far from expecting Seth to admit to doing the wild things you say he did, we've been bogged down for eight months trying to investigate why you would make those accusations in the first place."
"So ask him," I invited, hopefully sounding less hysterical than I was feeling. Eight months of my life and the children’s lives – treading water instead of working toward a resolution. And $2500 of our money.
"Fine,” Dr. A sounded bored. “Seth, can you state, unequivocally, that you did not do these things Shlomit has been saying you've done. Ignoring how it will make Shlomit feel if you come right out and contradict her."
I could see the wheels going around under Seth’s store-bought haircut. He was exploring loopholes.
So I elucidated, "Specifically, Seth, we're talking about the periods of depression, that miscarriage that you denied was happening, the way you treated me when I was pregnant with Rafi, and the fact that you routinely hit the children during the four years of that depression that started when Eli was five. And what caused Rafi's first seizure. The favoritism that resulted from that seizure. And your vindictiveness toward Eli and Leora ever since."
Seth looked uncomfortable. "I never said I didn't do any of it. All I ever said was that I don't necessarily remember everything exactly as Shlomit remembers it. I just meant that there's room for discussion."
Ah. Is this maybe the very ‘discussion’ he's been squelching for three years?
A paraphrase of Dad's politician joke: "I didn't say I said I didn't do it, I said I didn't say I did it."
"So, what are you saying, now, Seth?" Dr. A sounded exasperated. As Seth's thesis adviser used to, when his graduate students had disappointed him. "The things that Shlomit listed just now. Did they happen, or did they not happen?"
"I can't say that everything she listed happened exactly the way she said it did," Seth whined.
Right. He can't say it, because it would put him in a very bad light.
Just then there was a polite knock on the door. "Just a moment!" Dr. A called out as he consulted his watch.
Do A shot Seth an exasperated look and shook his head in frustration. "OK, well, I... " he sputtered, paging through his day book, "Next week, then." he accepted my check without looking me in the eye.
Well, he had better be embarrassed!
As I followed Seth down the hall, I wondered … are there squares with negative numbers?
The six months I gave Seth in February have passed, with no progress.
So, a week ago, I went to Dina and told her to activate the divorce agreement. She told Seth's lawyer, and Zed told Seth. I didn't want to tell Seth myself, because he always starts trying to trick me into agreeing to an extension.
When Seth came home, the day he got Zed’s phone call, he said, “Shlomit, I have just one question. Why now? Nothing happened that I know of …”
“Exactly it, Seth. Absolutely nothing has happened.”
We told Eli, Leora and Rafi. There were some tears, probably because of the melodramatic way Seth announced it. But since then, the three children seem excited at the prospect of 'moving to a new house' - our euphemism for 'leaving Abba'.
Seth has been applying all of his traps and tricks and theatrics and twisted logic in an attempt to keep us. But he never did have us in any real way. Seth will have lost us way before we left him. We have been living in the same house, but he has lost us.
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Copyright 2020 by Shlomit Weber
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