Time for the truth to come out

After my little brush with Jewish omerta, I was pretty annoyed with the community as a whole.  I'd heard about things like this happening, but I never thought it would happen to me.  One of my staunchest allies, the Professor, told me that it would be a good idea to talk to Rebbetzin Brooklyn.  Tell her everything. 

 



So, I did.  While the Things were in school last week, I popped over to talk to her.  And a waste of time was had by all.
I started by showing her the order of protection.  The one Builder keeps violating.  Then I told her how I got it. 
The truth is, Builder has a vile temper.  He began to show signs of violence a couple of months before I left.  While he didn't put his hands on me, he was punching walls in frustration.  He even punched an EMT's minivan when the EMT turned on a porta-siren to get Builder to move his double-parked car.  But that was not the only deciding force.  Five days before Pesach, Builder and I got into a huge fight.  Actually, he yelled and tore my kitchen apart while I cowered.  Four hours later, he came home from a late-night renovation job.  And he raped me.
For the past six months, I've tried not to think about it.  Didn't want to talk about it, except to a select few of my allies.  I didn't think I would be believed.  And, unfortunately, I was right.  Rebbetzin Brooklyn was very dismissive.  She told me that anyone could get a restraining order (not true), and that "I was living in HIS house, and I had HIS kids.  Of course he was feeling hurt."  She also told me that while he may have been threatening, he hadn't actually done anything to hurt me (what do you call rape?), and that it was a terrible thing to put someone in jail (because there are so many means at my disposal to enforce this order of protection OTHER than incarceration).  She felt sorry for him because he only got alternate weekends with his kids, and why couldn't we work out joint custody?  (Did I fail to mention that I have a RESTRAINING ORDER against him?)  I kept reiterating that I was terrified of them man, and that all I want was to be left alone.  I also listed all the retaliatory acts he had committed against me:
Trying to have me arrested.
Trying to have one of my best friends arrested.
Having another one of my best friends (who was helping me with the Things) barred from the house AND barred from contact with the girls.
Calling Children's Services and reporting me for child abuse.
Cancelling my phone service.
Even with all that, she still felt sorry for him.  Whatever happened to not taking sides? 
But now, the truth is out.  I may have lost a relationship, and I certainly can't trust my rabbi anymore, but at least now I know where I stand with the community.  And now, I have nothing left to lose.

"I need my paycheck"

We are now on Day 4 of the Great Government Shutdown.  To prevent the implementation of the Affordable Care Act, also known as Obamacare, the Republican-controlled Congress has voted to shut down the government. 
As part of the shutdown, 800,000 "non-essential" workers were placed on unpaid furlough.  (For clarification, "non-essential" in government parlance means those whose services are not needed on an emergency basis.  In other words, fire, police, military, and elected representatives are essential.  Civil court judges, about half of FEMA, non-combat military, clerical workers, Immigration and Customs Enforcement clerks, and others of that ilk are "non-essential."  So are the people who process Social Security and WIC applications.)  However, our elected officials, including Congress, are still working and still drawing paychecks.  This has raised ire on all sides of the political spectrum.  One representative, Renee Ellmers of North Carolina, had this to say:

Well, darlin', ain't you just the most special little snowflake?

The thing is, we all NEED our paychecks.  We all have bills to pay and kids to feed.  Just because you are in Congress doesn't make your need more pressing than ours.
It's too bad, too.  See, again, this is the 21st century.  Memes like this get passed all over the Internet and have very, very long shelf lives.  And, as some of your would-be colleagues learned in the last election cycle, this can lead to that congressional paycheck not happening.
Enjoy your position while you can.  And see you (or not) in 2014.

Too close to comfort for some

Well, Builder is up to his old tricks.  The first week the Things went to school (court ordered enrollment, more on that later), he showed up at their school bus stop.  Every Single Morning.  The first day, he got out of the car and accosted me and them.  Since I never leave home without my order of protection and my phone, I called the cops.  Dropped call at the worst time.  However, I did manage to make contact with the authorities and file a police report.  Nothing was done because Builder had already left.  This  makes me question the value of a restraining order since it is only as good as its enforcement.
The next week, the Things and I are walking home when we see Builder parked In Front Of Our House.  Thing 2 (both Things know that Totty is supposed to stay away from Mommy) started yelling, "Totty, go away!"  I snapped a picture and called 911.  For some reason, I kept getting routed to Directory Assistance.  So, I take my phone and walk down to the precinct.  I file another police report.  I am told that Builder will be arrested.
So, I wait.  And wait.  And tell the same story over and over again to about four different officers.  Every time, I am assured that Builder will be arrested.  Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah come and go.  Finally, I get an update--Builder is to surrender on Monday.
So Monday comes.  And with it, some very interesting phone calls.  The first is from Builder's brother-in-law.  This does not surprise me.  After all, I crossed The Family.  And I may have been family, but not Family with a capital F.  And, to The Family, anything short of complete acquiescence is construed as an act of war.  "Could I pretty please drop the charges?  Overlook it this once?"  How do I put this nicely?  No.
The next call was from Rabbi Brooklyn.  This one did surprise me, as Rabbi Brooklyn's stance is that those who break the law should be brought to the attention of the local authorities.  Rabbi Brooklyn wants me to pretty please drop the charges.
What.
Whatever happened to dina malchutah dina?  What happened to all the righteous indignation directed at a community that turns a blind eye to abuse?  I guess when it's some Chassid in Williamsburg it's one thing, but when it's a shul board member and a regular at the Daf Yomi shiur?  After all, "he's such a nice guy."  Right.  Because judges hand out restraining orders on a whim.  Because abusive men wear signs.  Because it's only a problem "over there."  Whether "there" is to the left or the right, the Chassidische velt or the secular world, no one wants to believe that their friends, their relatives, their congregation, are capable of serious wrongdoing.

Another New Square tragedy

Ahh, New Square.  A place where tolerance reigns supreme.  Sadly, there has been another casualty of this attitude.  A young woman going through a horrific custody battle, who just recently lost her children to her ex-husband, committed suicide.
Sure, one could argue that she may have had a history of depression.  But depression is sometimes a response to circumstance.  In this case, she lost only lost her children, but everyone she knew.  Even her own father testified against her at the custody hearing.  After she lost custody, her children were then turned against her. Her crime?  Leaving the frum world and going OTD. 
Being in the midst of a rather hellish divorce myself, I can sympathize.  I'm not running out on Judaism, but stories like this give me serious pause. 
I thought that Torah made us better people.  Whatever happened to empathy or at least simple compassion?  Whatever happened to supporting your children no matter what?  Whatever happened to understanding the bond between a mother and the children she carried under her heart, and nurtured at great sacrifice?  Hell, whatever happened to honoring your mother and father?  That last one was written in stone by the Hand of G-d, so I'd say it's pretty important.
Deb Tambor, know that your life was not lost in vain.   Rest with G-d.  And know that there are those who loved and supported you.

Solo Shabbos

Well, it's finally happened.  Builder has the girls this Shabbos.  And this Queen is alone.
Being introverted to the point of misanthropy, I don't mind the alone time (which will encompass Simchat Torah as well.)  However, being alone and unplugged?  Good recipe for insanity.
Although it's two days, not four years, I keep thinking about the movie Cast Away.    Loneliness can do strange things to people.

While I'm not at the level of befriending a volleyball, I can understand the impulse.  Like the desert island, Shabbos is silent.  No music.  No needlework.  No transportation.  Sure, one can walk--where?  I may try the beach.  But what can one do in the winter?    How much can one read?  Or sleep?  We'll see how it goes.

Then out of the box came Thing 2 and Thing 1!

More than one commenter has commented on the rather odd nicknames I give my children.  Why would I call my beloved children "Things?"

 When I say "Things," I do not refer to random stuff--

but rather to these cute little Things:

 

But first, a little background into why I've chosen these creations from my favorite doctor (and I don't mean The Doctor).

In 1957, Theodore Geisel, an already prolific advertising illustrator and children's book author (who went by the pen name Dr. Seuss) was approached with a proposal: write a children's book using 225 of the most common sight words taught to primary-aged schoolchildren.  (In all fairness, this was the age of the now-discredited whole-language movement.  Queen Mom remembers her old Dick and Jane readers somewhat less than fondly).  The result was a zany little volume entitled The Cat in the Hat.  For the past 56 years, children all over the world have laughed along to the adventures of the mad-cap, chapeau-clad feline and his adorable, blue-haired, red-suited, mischief-making comrades in a red box.

 

Fast forward to 2008.  Thing 2 is a couple of months old, and I'm researching homeschooling every spare minute I can.  I soon stumble into the world of homeschool bloggers.  Then I think--why not write one?  So, for the next year, over at WordPress, I had a short-lived little blog called The Cat's Hat.  My original idea was to give me and my family names straight out of The Cat in the Hat.  So, I was the Cat, Builder was the Fish, and my little babies became Thing 1 and Thing 2.  Although it never went anywhere and I eventually abandoned it, I never dropped my desire to blog.  So, when I started Tifrosh Min Hatzibur, I kept the kids' pseudonyms.  I'm not that creative with nicknames.  And, they still sort of ...worked, at least in the context of Dr. Seussian Things.

 

However, the first rule of public forums applies to blogs--anything you say can and will be used against you.  So, Builder, this is for you.  Since you've been referencing my blog in your custody petition, I know you're reading this.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 mean the world to me.  And, even though you were seven when The Cat in the Hat came out, and even though we owned pretty much every Beginner Book that Dr. Seuss ever wrote, you either don't get the reference or are being dense on purpose.  But I don't care anymore.  This is my blog--my safe space.  I will still reference my favorite little blue-haired, red-suited mischief-makers whenever I can.





When there are no easy answers

Today, I was coming home from Barnes & Noble in Union Square on the F train (browsing is free).  A young man with a black lab boarded and began panhandling.  Normally, my rule is to give only to street performers and not panhandlers because I can't afford it.  However, this kid broke my heart.  He was dressed in such shabby clothes that the heels of his sneakers were worn down into a diagonal line.  He looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in days and smelled like he hadn't showered in weeks (hard to stay clean on the street).  And his dog didn't look much better--it was skin and bones, and too listless to move.  The kid was begging so that he could buy something for his dog to eat.  An older man on the train asked the kid "Why don't you get a job?"
Right.  Because the Employment Fairy is going to tap him with a magic wand and turn him from a down-and-out street kid into a professional with a middle-class salary and benefits.  Because companies are falling all over themselves to hire someone without an address, phone, clean suits and access to a shower.  Because the economy DOESN'T suck right now so that even middle-class, college-educated, experienced people aren't struggling to find and keep jobs.  All of this ran through my head at this sanctimonious pronouncement.  And, since keeping my mouth shut has never been my strong suit, I responded with the only thing I could say:
"You can't get a job without an address."
Suddenly, the train car came alive.  People who didn't know each other were suddenly discussing the dearth of social services available in what is supposedly the richest country in the world.  I even volunteered a bit of my own story--that I was fleeing an abusive marriage, and that there was very little available even for me.  Sure, there is shelter space--sort of.  Most shelters are full.  Sure, there is Section 8, and everyone assumed that an abused woman with kids would get to the top of the list.  Yeah, right behind the thousands of OTHER abused women with kids on the list.  And, unless Builder ponies up tuition like YESTERDAY, I will have no childcare and will end up homeschooling again by default.  This, of course, puts the kibosh on my plans to get a job and be self-supporting.
And then I thought how narrow the chasm is that separates this young man from myself.  If it weren't for the grace of G-d and the court system, I could be homeless too.  Sure, I'm sitting there in clean clothes, with a wig and scarf on my head, jewelry, makeup, manicured nails, an Anne Klein purse and a smartphone.  I look like any other middle-class person.  But who can tell?  Builder is only paying half his court-ordered child support every month.  I'm living in a house that isn't really mine.  The wig and scarf were bought prior to my marriage.  Queen Mom paid for the purse and smartphone.  The makeup is drugstore grade, and I do my own nails with Sally Hansen polish.  And the jewelry is street-vendor costume, all bought before I came to New York.  I'm no stranger to the condition of having the thinnest veneer of middle-class prosperity separate me from the streets.