Jewish nuns

One question that I've often thought about is the place of the single (never-married, divorced or widowed) woman in the Jewish community.  If she still has kids, she of course is consumed with all the rights and responsibilities of motherhood.  But when there are no children, or the children have moved out, what then?  True, there are some chesed organizations that accept volunteers.  But there has to be more to life than handing out challah at Maimonides, organizing Chinese auctions, and saying tehillim.  Not to mention--a lot of the women who do these activities are married anyway.
So, what about the idea of the Jewish nun?
Unlike Catholic nuns, who take lifelong vows and "marry" the Church, a Jewish nun would have no such obligation  She would still be free to date and marry.  However, it would be a way for her to be a part of the Jewish community without constantly hearing about "Miri's daughter got engaged" or "Oy, Yanky fell off his bike."  Specifically, Jewish nuns would have their room and board provided.  In exchange, they would teach in the schools, perform volunteer activities, and run hosting centers for people visiting out-of-town areas.  They would also spend their time in the study of all Jewish texts, becoming experts in halacha so that they can advise women on sensitive matters (and all my married readers know what I'm talking about).  Gemara study would be permitted and  encouraged, but not required.  However, members would not be called upon to lead services.  Membership is open to all single Jewish women who no longer have children living with them, including agunot.

Flying solo on Shabbos

Since I became frum, I have fallen, deeply, madly in love with Shabbos.  I absolutely love it.  Making Shabbos, even after all this time, is a labor of love.  And then, when the house in clean, the work is done, and the candles are lit, it's just fun.
Of course, Shabbos in the Aztec Palace is a little different without Builder.  Not bad, just--different.
While it's true that Builder is not there to sing zemiros and learn with (and it's one of the things I miss--we'd crack the seforim every Shabbos, everything from the parsha to the daf to Pirkei Avos), Shabbos is still Shabbos.  Truth be told, I kind of enjoy making Kiddush and Havdalah (and spare me--I've been drinking the Havdalah wine for weeks and have not grown a beard, so let's put that little myth to rest.)  I enjoy leading my seuda'ot, just me, the Things, and AriSparkles, who has been joining us as late.  Sometimes Queen Mom comes in, and it's really fun.  And, while the zemiros have given way to show tunes (I'm sure ours is the only Shabbos table in Boro Park where the strains of "Stepsister's Lament" can be heard), I think the Things enjoy it more.  And really, isn't that part of the point?  If our children see Shabbos as something enjoyable, won't that keep it going more than the hellfire and damnation of the community?

Bureaucratic fumbilng

Wednesday was my court date.  Because Builder violated the restraining order, I had him arrested, and the case was transferred to Integrated Domestic Violence, or IDV court.  The IDV judge would decide everything having to do with the restraining order and with custody.
Now, when most of us think of "court," we think of scenes of witnesses testifying and being cross-examined, Law & Order-style.  However, because this was "return of process," this basically meant a lot of quiet talking between Builder's attorney, my attorney, and the judge.  The judge extended the restraining order into August.  Then, it was time to deal with custody.  However, Builder's lawyer said that Builder tried to have me arrested for kidnapping.  This was not a smart move.
First of all, mixed among the various petitions, reports, and orders, there was no police report accusing me of kidnapping.  None.  There was a Domestic Incident report that said he violated the restraining order, but there was nothing on me.  Secondly, I sat in my local precinct for two hours trying to get Builder served with the original restraining order.  No one said anything to me about kidnapping my kids.  Somehow, I don't think the NYPD has been taken over to that extent by the Keystone Kops. 
Builder also stated that he had never been told to leave his house or escorted off the property.  Again, since the police have done this far too many times (and once is too many), the judge did not believe him.  Then his lawyer ordered a fact-finding hearing, saying that the restraining order was groundless.  The judge, who by this time was getting thoroughly annoyed with Builder and his attorney, said that the original petition was sufficient, but that she would order a fact-finding hearing for July 2.  That wasn't good enough for Builder, who wanted one that day.  The judge snapped, "I have 750 cases on my docket today!  I don't have time for this."  Then Builder, who has been avoiding any and all responsibility for his children since Thing 1 was about six months old, tried to pass himself off as Father of the Year (copyright, trademark, patent pending).  However, because of the earlier lies, his credibility was shot.  The judge gave me custody, and Builder got visitation supervised by Rabbi Brooklyn.
We're back in court next month.  The wheels of justice turn slowly.

Imaginary friends

Being essentially trapped both in my house and in my community, I have found various ways of alleviating my need for human contact.  Like most people my age, it involves the heavy use of social media.  Although I have not mastered the fine art of the Tweet, I have blogged, pinned, Yahoo Grouped, LinkedIn, Facebooked, etc., with the best of them.  In fact, I would have to say every significant relationship I have made in New York, with the exception of Builder, was created or enhanced through social media.
It's truly a new world. 
Through a computer, I can be anything I want to be.  I follow blogs which range from the impersonal to the completely personal.  I can also reveal myself as much or as little as I want.  I don't even have to use my real name.  How many bloggers do?  I have found and traded ideas through other blogs and Pinterest pages (which is great for the Martha Stewart in us).  I read deconstructions, compare cultures, debate current events, and have even started the occasional flame war.
But one has to be careful.
Behind all those blogs and emails are real people.  People who, when you finally meet them, can seem like old friends because you've been reading their emails for years.  I have actually met some of my best friends through social media (one through Facebook, when I inadvertently started the above-mentioned flame war, another through her now-defunct blog).  When I went to the Torah Homeschool conference in 2012, I recognized a number of participants from their emails and blogs.  However, there are still risks involved.  Just as I can hide behind an alias, so can they (You didn't think my driver's license really identifies me as AztecQueen2000, did you?).  In fact, I found out that one of my favorite bloggers, and the one who goes into the most details about her life, has blogged under a pseudonym.  It was an odd feeling, because as we read these blogs, tweets and posts, we are doing more than reading.  We are relating.  We learn so much about the other person that there is almost a relationship.  Except that the person is not really part of your world.  You wouldn't know these bloggers if you met them on the street, unless they post pictures.  You never talk to them.  You don't even know if they are being honest. 
We create a persona in the online world that has elements of who we are, but they are characters.  Not people.  The people behind those characters may be infinitely more complicated.

Losing my community, finding myself

Being in Boro Park post-separation is an odd experience.  The city that I have called home for almost eight years is now openly hostile territory.  Part of the problem is that it's so small.  The entire Boro Park/Flatbush area is only about 30 blocks by 20 blocks.  Part of the problem is that Builder is connected.  Very connected.  I can't even go to the store without running into either one of my in-laws or one of his friends.  Or both.  (So far, I haven't run into him outside of his vehicle, and I'd like to keep it that way.)  Usually, there is some awkward staring on each side, and we move on.  In a way, it's kind of sad.  As much as I've been tifrosh min hatzibur, I do genuinely like some of them.  However, for obvious reasons, I couldn't tell them what was going on.  I knew they would take Builder's side.  I have changed synagogues to avoid stalking, so a lot of people have now disappeared from my life.
But there is another side to that.
Because I no longer have Builder and his expectations of what good Jewish wives do breathing down my neck, I'm coming more into my own.  I'm getting out more.  I can spend more time with my allies without worrying about getting the third degree.  I can even create a Facebook page for my blog without worrying that it will get back to him.  I can make whatever I want.  Once my future is a little bit more certain, I want my children to know what real freedom is.  And, I can enjoy them more now.

When love is painful and confusing

Before I got married, I used to think the most painful words in the English language were "I love  you."  Even saying those words would make me sick to my stomach and make me cry.  Seven years of escalating emotional (and other) abuse from Builder have only reinforced that idea in my mind.  Here is a short list of what "I love you" can mean:

• Don't leave me.
• You're mine, to do with as I please.
• I want to possess you.
• I'm allowed to scream at you, because you're stupid and worthless (but I love you anyway).
• I'm sorry.
• Don't hurt me.
• Give me what I want.
• I want s-x.
• You can't leave.
• You must meet my every demand.
• Let's have another child.
• Allow me to show you some token of affection after scaring you and our children with my latest outburst.
• My abuse of you is justified.
• I'm such a nice guy.
• I'm afraid of you.

Keeping the faith

Since I left Builder about two weeks ago, I've gotten a range of responses.  Surprisingly, most of them have been very supportive.  Chavie, of course, had reservations.  After all, how could my family possibly make it without a may-unn?(This was after I had explained that Builder had not treated me the way a husband should treat a wife--in pretty much every possible sense.)  But among my supporters, I've gotten one response almost universally from those who knew me before Brooklyn.
"Hey, so you're leaving Orthodoxy, right?"
Wrong.
I left my husband, not my faith.  The Torah is not responsible for Builder's behavior.  If anything, it condemns his actions in the strongest possible terms.  Judaism is a beautiful religion with many wonderful teachings about the way we should treat each other.  Moreover, there are also the Things to consider.  Thing 1 is already six years old--old enough to know about Shabbos, kashrut, and good middos.  She has spent the better part of the past year learning various mitzvot, and the better part of her life reading the parsha.  I'm sorry, but divorce causes enough upheaval in children's lives as it is.  Why add in the stress of "You know all the mitzvot we spent your entire life teaching you are important?  Well--they're not."  I'm sorry, but that seems like a really screwed up thing to do to your kids.  Finally, as I have spent the entirely of this blog explaining, the religion is not the community.  It's certainly not a marriage.
See you in shul!