Are you a survivor looking for support online? Here is what I have found:
Imamother is a general forum for Jewish mothers, but has private forums for mothers of children who were molested. Also, it has a hidden forum for survivors of child molestation and incest abuse:
http://imamother.com/forum/index.php
And, All Us Sheffelech is specifically for Jewish Survivors of child molestation and incest abuse, with a section for advocates as well, I believe.
http://allussheffelech.proboards.com/index.cgi
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Violated Child
This (anonymous) courageous survivor's voice was found on Tzedek-Tzedek blogspot. It has been edited for this web site, but it is still quite graphic and could be triggering or upsetting:
Surviving and Healing
I was seven. My sister was eight.
We went to the Yeshiva for shacharis with Tatty. Zaidy liked it when we came.
After davening Zaidy took us into his office. He put his hands under my clothes.
. . .I looked at him shocked.
“Don't look at me,” he said. “Look at the sefarim.”
I looked at the glass doors, behind them rows of meshnayos and shas, some of the books
too heavy to lift.
I made my mind leave the Rosh Yeshiva's office. . .
If I would have looked into his eyes, would he have seen my terror, my pain?
Would I have seen any shame or guilt in his?
But I was taught to listen and so I looked at the sefarim, not at my grandfather.
After he was done he asked us, “Do I need to get married again?”
Then he told us that he loved one of us more than the other. I knew it was my sister he loved more.
My sister says that she doesn't remember any of this. She is so lucky.
*************
I am an adult now.
I take the younger part of me, my inner child, by the hand and bring her back to the Yeshiva, into the office full of sefarim, back onto the holy territory where she was violated.
She is not scared, because I'm with her. She is enraged.
My grandfather sits on the rocking chair that he kept there. There is a sefer Torah wrapped in a talis on the shelf behind him.
She opens one of the glass doors and takes out a tome of Shas. She staggers under its weight.
She is not scared. She knows I will protect her, and that he can't hurt her anymore.
She uses the book to smash all of the glass in all of the shelves. She rips, snatches, out the sefarim and throws them at my grandfather and onto the floor. She is furious. She opens the holy books and rips out the pages, crumples them up and throws them, stamps on them, and stuffs them into his open shocked mouth.
I let her do this. She needs to do this. . .
. . . Then she takes a broken piece of glass and uses it like a knife to cut off the finger that hurt her. . . He starts to rise. I warn him with my eyes. You touch her and you’re finished. He sits back down.
She pulls down the sefer Torah from on top of the shelf behind him. She unwraps it and pulls it open. Using a piece of broken glass as a knife she cuts a long piece; Long as an adult scarf.
Holding Parshas Vayehrah she climbs up onto his chair, wraps the Torah around his neck and squeezes it as tightly as she can..
I let her do this. She needs to do this.
Zaidy's face turns blue, scared eyes popping out on top of the words, “Sodom.”. . .He stops breathing to Parshas Vayerah.
He stops breathing, strangled by the Torah, and the child, who he violated together in his office.
She looks at me.
“Are you done?”
Almost.
She goes over to his shtender and pushes it over. It falls onto his face. . .
We survey the damage in silence. We take. . .the broken glass, the torn sefarim, the wounded Torah, the dead Rosh Yeshiva.
We are satisfied. I take her hand and we leave together...
Surviving and Healing
I was seven. My sister was eight.
We went to the Yeshiva for shacharis with Tatty. Zaidy liked it when we came.
After davening Zaidy took us into his office. He put his hands under my clothes.
. . .I looked at him shocked.
“Don't look at me,” he said. “Look at the sefarim.”
I looked at the glass doors, behind them rows of meshnayos and shas, some of the books
too heavy to lift.
I made my mind leave the Rosh Yeshiva's office. . .
If I would have looked into his eyes, would he have seen my terror, my pain?
Would I have seen any shame or guilt in his?
But I was taught to listen and so I looked at the sefarim, not at my grandfather.
After he was done he asked us, “Do I need to get married again?”
Then he told us that he loved one of us more than the other. I knew it was my sister he loved more.
My sister says that she doesn't remember any of this. She is so lucky.
*************
I am an adult now.
I take the younger part of me, my inner child, by the hand and bring her back to the Yeshiva, into the office full of sefarim, back onto the holy territory where she was violated.
She is not scared, because I'm with her. She is enraged.
My grandfather sits on the rocking chair that he kept there. There is a sefer Torah wrapped in a talis on the shelf behind him.
She opens one of the glass doors and takes out a tome of Shas. She staggers under its weight.
She is not scared. She knows I will protect her, and that he can't hurt her anymore.
She uses the book to smash all of the glass in all of the shelves. She rips, snatches, out the sefarim and throws them at my grandfather and onto the floor. She is furious. She opens the holy books and rips out the pages, crumples them up and throws them, stamps on them, and stuffs them into his open shocked mouth.
I let her do this. She needs to do this. . .
. . . Then she takes a broken piece of glass and uses it like a knife to cut off the finger that hurt her. . . He starts to rise. I warn him with my eyes. You touch her and you’re finished. He sits back down.
She pulls down the sefer Torah from on top of the shelf behind him. She unwraps it and pulls it open. Using a piece of broken glass as a knife she cuts a long piece; Long as an adult scarf.
Holding Parshas Vayehrah she climbs up onto his chair, wraps the Torah around his neck and squeezes it as tightly as she can..
I let her do this. She needs to do this.
Zaidy's face turns blue, scared eyes popping out on top of the words, “Sodom.”. . .He stops breathing to Parshas Vayerah.
He stops breathing, strangled by the Torah, and the child, who he violated together in his office.
She looks at me.
“Are you done?”
Almost.
She goes over to his shtender and pushes it over. It falls onto his face. . .
We survey the damage in silence. We take. . .the broken glass, the torn sefarim, the wounded Torah, the dead Rosh Yeshiva.
We are satisfied. I take her hand and we leave together...
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Scream of Tamar
Still Screaming - Is Anyone Listening, the short version found on Tzedek-Tzedek blogspot, an article written by Rabbi Ron Yitzchok Eisenman, Rabbi of Congregation Ahavas Israel in Passaic, NJ, and originally published in the Jewish Star.
. . .Daf Yomi learned Sanhedrin, daf 21. Toward the end of the first amud, the Gemara discusses a very unfortunate incident of molestation and abuse that occurred in King David’s very own palace!
Let us take a look at the verses, exactly as they appear in our Holy Tanach, in the book of Shmuel 2 (13:6-13).
“6. And Amnon lay down and feigned sickness; and the king (David) came to see him, and Amnon said to the king, ‘Let my sister Tamar come now, and make two dumplings before my eyes; that I may eat from her hand.’”
7. And David sent home to Tamar saying, ‘Go now to your brother Amnon’s house, and prepare the food for him.
8. And Tamar went to her brother Amnon’s house and he was lying down. And she took the dough, and kneaded it, and she prepared the dumplings before his eyes, and she cooked the dumplings.”
9. And she took the pan and poured [them out] before him: but he refused to eat. And Amnon said, ‘Take everyone out from me.’ And everyone went out from him.
10. And Amnon said to Tamar, ‘Bring the food into the chamber that I may eat from your hand.’ And Tamar took the dumplings that she had made and brought them to Amnon her brother into the chamber.
11. And she brought them near to him to eat and he took hold of her and said to her, ‘Come lay with me, my sister.’”
12. And she said to him, ‘No, my brother, do not force me, for it is not done so in Israel; do not do this wanton deed.
13. And I, where shall I lead my shame? And [as for] you, you shall be like one of the profligate men in Israel. And now I beg of you to speak to the king, for he will not withhold me from you.’
14. But he would not heed her and he overpowered her, and forced her, and lay with her.”
This incident is certainly not one that brought pride or honor to King David and the Jewish people; however, the Torah tells it as it was and it is for us to learn the lessons.
The verses themselves are powerful enough to tell of the dangers of molestation; however, I would like to focus on the next few verses — the focal point of the Gemara’s discussion.
How did Tamar react to her molestation? How did she react to her abuse and to her abuser? Let’s read further in the chapter:
"18. Now she had on a striped tunic, for in this manner the king’s virgin daughters dressed, in robes. And his servant brought her outside, and locked the door after her.
19. And Tamar put ashes on her head, and she went about, crying aloud as she went."
What did Tamar do? Did she “cover up”her shame? Did she attempt to deal with the issue (as one so-called ‘prominent’ person once told me that these things have to be dealt with) shtiller hait — in silence and privately?
No! Tamar went out publicly, as the Holy Torah says: and she went about, crying aloud as she went! She made a public display of her abuse and of her molestation.
She could not cover it up! She did not deal with it privately and in the secretive chamber of a rabbinic refectory.
No, Tamar went public and screamed and cried until all the women of the Jewish world knew about her molestation and her abuse.
Go to this article on Tzedek-Tzedek blogspot to read more about how the rabbis of the Gemara reacted.
. . .Daf Yomi learned Sanhedrin, daf 21. Toward the end of the first amud, the Gemara discusses a very unfortunate incident of molestation and abuse that occurred in King David’s very own palace!
Let us take a look at the verses, exactly as they appear in our Holy Tanach, in the book of Shmuel 2 (13:6-13).
“6. And Amnon lay down and feigned sickness; and the king (David) came to see him, and Amnon said to the king, ‘Let my sister Tamar come now, and make two dumplings before my eyes; that I may eat from her hand.’”
7. And David sent home to Tamar saying, ‘Go now to your brother Amnon’s house, and prepare the food for him.
8. And Tamar went to her brother Amnon’s house and he was lying down. And she took the dough, and kneaded it, and she prepared the dumplings before his eyes, and she cooked the dumplings.”
9. And she took the pan and poured [them out] before him: but he refused to eat. And Amnon said, ‘Take everyone out from me.’ And everyone went out from him.
10. And Amnon said to Tamar, ‘Bring the food into the chamber that I may eat from your hand.’ And Tamar took the dumplings that she had made and brought them to Amnon her brother into the chamber.
11. And she brought them near to him to eat and he took hold of her and said to her, ‘Come lay with me, my sister.’”
12. And she said to him, ‘No, my brother, do not force me, for it is not done so in Israel; do not do this wanton deed.
13. And I, where shall I lead my shame? And [as for] you, you shall be like one of the profligate men in Israel. And now I beg of you to speak to the king, for he will not withhold me from you.’
14. But he would not heed her and he overpowered her, and forced her, and lay with her.”
This incident is certainly not one that brought pride or honor to King David and the Jewish people; however, the Torah tells it as it was and it is for us to learn the lessons.
The verses themselves are powerful enough to tell of the dangers of molestation; however, I would like to focus on the next few verses — the focal point of the Gemara’s discussion.
How did Tamar react to her molestation? How did she react to her abuse and to her abuser? Let’s read further in the chapter:
"18. Now she had on a striped tunic, for in this manner the king’s virgin daughters dressed, in robes. And his servant brought her outside, and locked the door after her.
19. And Tamar put ashes on her head, and she went about, crying aloud as she went."
What did Tamar do? Did she “cover up”her shame? Did she attempt to deal with the issue (as one so-called ‘prominent’ person once told me that these things have to be dealt with) shtiller hait — in silence and privately?
No! Tamar went out publicly, as the Holy Torah says: and she went about, crying aloud as she went! She made a public display of her abuse and of her molestation.
She could not cover it up! She did not deal with it privately and in the secretive chamber of a rabbinic refectory.
No, Tamar went public and screamed and cried until all the women of the Jewish world knew about her molestation and her abuse.
Go to this article on Tzedek-Tzedek blogspot to read more about how the rabbis of the Gemara reacted.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Tshuva
At this time of year I have been working very hard on my anger toward
certain rabbonim. The best I have come to, which really helped
actually, is to accept their humanness.
The rabbonim who have covered up for the pedophiles and minimized the abuse suffered by the children, are completely wrong and dangerously so. But they are human beings, making mistakes.
Giavah is a human weakness. I can forgive them for their human weaknesses.
I don't accept their actions. I hold them accountable for the damage they have done. I would never trust those rabbonim again.
The children, when they are old enough, are the only ones who can actually forgive them, if they choose to, for the cover up and protection of the pedophiles which allowed many of these children to get hurt.
As for hope in the tshuva of the rabbonim, I think that is a weakness, but one I am working to overcome. It has gotten much easier when this Nachalot crisis happened, and I saw the community, including their rabbonim, respond with such appropriateness and support. That's when I realized, there is no excuse for the other rabbonim to make, and stand firm on, the mistakes they have made, other than the human error I mentioned.
When our community faces reality, that certain rabbonim have failed us, then we can move on to be better advocates for the children and families, and not risk their well being with the hopes that those rabbonim will 'do it right this time'.
The rabbonim who have covered up for the pedophiles and minimized the abuse suffered by the children, are completely wrong and dangerously so. But they are human beings, making mistakes.
Giavah is a human weakness. I can forgive them for their human weaknesses.
I don't accept their actions. I hold them accountable for the damage they have done. I would never trust those rabbonim again.
The children, when they are old enough, are the only ones who can actually forgive them, if they choose to, for the cover up and protection of the pedophiles which allowed many of these children to get hurt.
As for hope in the tshuva of the rabbonim, I think that is a weakness, but one I am working to overcome. It has gotten much easier when this Nachalot crisis happened, and I saw the community, including their rabbonim, respond with such appropriateness and support. That's when I realized, there is no excuse for the other rabbonim to make, and stand firm on, the mistakes they have made, other than the human error I mentioned.
When our community faces reality, that certain rabbonim have failed us, then we can move on to be better advocates for the children and families, and not risk their well being with the hopes that those rabbonim will 'do it right this time'.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Survivors, Add Your Voice!
If you are a Jewish Survivor of Child Molestation and want to tell your story, this board is for you. You can express yourself here in whatever way feels comfortable, through creative writing, poetry, or with a historical, factual accounting. Due to the sensitivity of the readers, we only ask that there be no explicit triggering descriptions. We can help you with any editing. Please send your important work to our editor at shomrimyeladim@gmail.com for approval and uploading.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Letters from Off the Derech
"You don't really believe that stuff, do you?" asked Harvey, pointing at the Chumash that my husband had just quoted during a dvar Torah at the Shabbos table. Harvey was my new step father, a 64 year old man, who claimed he was raised an Orthodox Jew and had gone to yeshiva, and proud of the fact that he walked away from that lifestyle and never looked back.
Time kind of froze. I looked at Harvey. I looked at my young children sitting there at the table and I was thankful that they were not sure what the grown ups were talking about. I really was quite shocked, both by what Harvey had said, and by the complete distress he seemed to be in. He was literally shaking with rage.
"This is what the kids believe, Harvey, let's not ruin the evening," said my Mom, trying to cool things quickly between her husband and mine. It was almost too late, as my husband had risen from his seat, ready to throw Harvey out of the house.
"Don't worry. This is just typical yeshivish banter. I remember great arguments in yeshiva that would even come to fist fights. Isn't that right, Josh?" asked Harvey, looking smug.
This outburst happened after my husband had just read the parsha describing "The Blessings and The Curses," the blessings being what H will do for those who keep the Torah, and the curses describing what could happen to those who do not. At the moment that Harvey spoke those blasphemous words, I had this fleeting thought that he would not outlive my mother, as he had so threatened to do, in his hopes of selling all her jewelry before I got any because he said that all a frum jew wanted was to live off community charity, social welfare, and leech off their parents.
Six months later, when we heard that Harvey was dying of lung cancer, as a result of a lifelong habit of smoking, which he claimed he picked up in yeshiva, I didn't feel sad, more like vindicated that he was being punished for his apikorsis.
One day, as his end drew near, my mom called me with a request.
"Listen, Rachel, I know you haven't had a good relationship with Harvey, but remember how he said Shema for Grandma on her death bed, and even said Kaddish for her afterward? Well, he is nearing the end, and he can't speak with all those tubes in him, and I think he would really like for you to say Shema for him. I could just hold the phone up to his ear so he can listen to you. I will call you when it gets to that point."
His last hours came sooner than expected and I got the call from my mother at Harvey's bed side. I imagined him there, listening to my words, and this incredible rage welled up inside me toward him. I shakily said the first part of the Shema. But when I got to the part about "beware...lest you turn astray...then the wrath of H will blaze against you..." my anger poured out through each word which I emphasized to make them sound threatening and foreboding. This apikoris was dying and I had no rachmonis for him. I was glad to see him leave this world where he worked adamantly to destroy my relationship with my naive non-religious mother, mocking my chosen baalai tshuva lifestyle with such cruelty.
Several weeks after Harvey passed away, my mother came to visit.
"Rachel, I brought something for you, from Harvey."
"What do you mean? I can't imagine that he left me something?
"Actually, he wrote you a letter. I read it first, to make sure it was okay. It's about his life. About why he left yeshiva, and why he stopped being religious."
"I don't think I want to read anything he wrote," I said.
"It's addressed to you. Just take it. You may one day decide to read it. I must warn you though. It might be a bit of a trigger, after all that you went through with your father."
My mother was referring to my tormented life having been molested by my father, her husband, when I was a pre-teen. I had spent many years healing from that devastation, and along my journey had become a baalas tshuva, gotten married, had a handful of children, and was living a stable, contented life, active in my community and busy with my family.
I didn't think that a letter from Harvey the Apikoris was going to mean anything to me.
Dear Rachel,
I was recently given the death sentence of lung cancer, and I know I am going to die soon. The cancer may have spread to my brain already because I keep blacking out. So I must write this down before it is too late, because I want you to know my story.
I was raised just the way you are raising your family. I went to cheder and then yeshiva. I had Shabbat and the holidays and Yom Kippur. I said Shema every day. I wore a beenie on my head and went to synagogue.
When I was 15 years old, I was called into a rebbe's office. He was a big man, with a long black coat, and deep acne scars on his face. I wasn't sure what I had done, but was certain this was not a good thing. When I came into the room, he was sitting at his big desk, and he told me to come in and lock the door. He proceeded to do things to me of a sexual nature that I cannot write down. Of course, he told me never to tell, and I was so ashamed, that I would never have told anyway. Who could I have told? I was already orphaned by my father. My mother would not listen to such a thing about a rebbe, such a religious looking man. So I kept this dark secret to myself until this day.
As soon as I could find a chance to leave yeshiva, I did, and I never looked back.
Seeing your family was very upsetting to me and reminded me of what happened. You think the life you are leading is an utopia, and I think it is a lie. A person can still be a good Jew and not have to isolate from the world. I can see how you give your complete respect and total trust over to these fanatics that are really just trying to brainwash you. You think they are so holy with their long black coats, but I know the truth. They are no better than you or I. In fact some are much worse.
I am not against G-d, only against religious people that not only harbor such vile perverts, but actually give them honor, and allow such a person to be in charge of children.
And another thing, while your children are young, you may control their lives completely and force that beenie on their heads. But I just want you to know that my yeshiva buddies and I would run to McDonald's every chance we could to get a cheeseburger. So don't fool yourself about this life. Your kids are too young now to complain, but one day they will likely rebel against all these restrictions, just as I did. Especially if they (G-d forbid) witness the hypocrisy in the way I was forced to by that rebbe. I just hope that you will come to your senses before anything like that ever happens to your kids.
Signed, Harvey
My first thoughts were, this man was like a holocaust survivor, only of a holocaust that people don't talk about. They say regarding holocaust survivors, any survivor coming out of the holocaust with their emunah in tact is a miracle. The same can be said for a survivor of child sexual abuse.
Harvey had a lot of anger that he didn't work through, obviously. Maybe if he had worked on this issue he would have been less of an apikorsis, and instead, aimed his anger at the those who truly deserve it, the pedophile, and those who he seemed to think would cover it up.
His letter gave me pause to ask myself these questions: Am I guilty of blindly trusting the rabbaim? Am I ignorantly believing that the rebbes and charedim are safe and normal and trustworthy?
Many years later I would look back and honestly, painfully, answer these questions.
Dear Harvey,
I recall that after your death I got very very sick with a virus that made me feel like I was dying, and in my pain I was able to do tshuva about how cruelly I had felt and acted toward you on your death bed. When I was feeling better, I begged my husband to say kaddish for you and I lit a yartzeit candle and continue to do that on your yearly yartzeit.
But I still maintained a sense of bitterness toward you which has now been completely eradicated from my heart. Harvey, I am sorry. The way you expressed your pain came out so difficult to hear, but I have to admit that I sensed something important behind that pain at my Shobbos table, but chose to ignore it and rise up in righteous indignation instead. I wish I could do that chapter of my life over again and give you another chance.
You were right in warning me. My perfect utopian charedi life has failed me. My boys, my sweet innocent beautiful boys, have both been victims of child molestation in my charedi community. They are teenagers now. My oldest boy took off his tsitsis, grew his hair out, and has a girlfriend (which I am thankful for in a bittersweet sort of way, that she is a she and not a he). My youngest boy, always a very spiritual person, has kept his faith, but is not charedi.
You were right, that I did trust blindly. I did naively believe that all charedim were safe, trustworthy, good people. I chose this lifestyle because I believed that tznius was the answer to perversity. And it was, for my daughters. They were raised in a safe and secure manner, in a segregated all girls school with only women teachers. Knowing what I know now, the fact that they were never molested is a miracle (and possibly a result of my extreme overprotectiveness) because there are charedi women and girls who molest, and charedi males that attack charedi girls.
I just never imagined that my sons could be in danger. I am painfully, devastatingly, horrified that there is such perversity in our seemingly holy society. But more than that, the response to this issue by my community was not what I expected, and broke my heart. In both my boys' cases, and in other cases in the community that I later found out about, there had been cover ups and minimizations and parents were verbally attacked for their so-called bad parenting and their upset feelings. People, including a Kehilla Rav, had known about the pedophile that got to one of my sons. No one called police, no one warned potential victims, no one chased the pedophile away from children, even though he was often seen with children in his car. Instead, people asked, who gave the psak to talk about this or to name the perp. Parents who knew for a fact that their children were victimized refused to go to the police, and those who asked a psak were told by local rabbonim that they should not report.
My community let me down, betrayed my trust. I lost my faith in both charedim and rabbonim.
And now I too am off the derech.
Rachel
Time kind of froze. I looked at Harvey. I looked at my young children sitting there at the table and I was thankful that they were not sure what the grown ups were talking about. I really was quite shocked, both by what Harvey had said, and by the complete distress he seemed to be in. He was literally shaking with rage.
"This is what the kids believe, Harvey, let's not ruin the evening," said my Mom, trying to cool things quickly between her husband and mine. It was almost too late, as my husband had risen from his seat, ready to throw Harvey out of the house.
"Don't worry. This is just typical yeshivish banter. I remember great arguments in yeshiva that would even come to fist fights. Isn't that right, Josh?" asked Harvey, looking smug.
This outburst happened after my husband had just read the parsha describing "The Blessings and The Curses," the blessings being what H will do for those who keep the Torah, and the curses describing what could happen to those who do not. At the moment that Harvey spoke those blasphemous words, I had this fleeting thought that he would not outlive my mother, as he had so threatened to do, in his hopes of selling all her jewelry before I got any because he said that all a frum jew wanted was to live off community charity, social welfare, and leech off their parents.
Six months later, when we heard that Harvey was dying of lung cancer, as a result of a lifelong habit of smoking, which he claimed he picked up in yeshiva, I didn't feel sad, more like vindicated that he was being punished for his apikorsis.
One day, as his end drew near, my mom called me with a request.
"Listen, Rachel, I know you haven't had a good relationship with Harvey, but remember how he said Shema for Grandma on her death bed, and even said Kaddish for her afterward? Well, he is nearing the end, and he can't speak with all those tubes in him, and I think he would really like for you to say Shema for him. I could just hold the phone up to his ear so he can listen to you. I will call you when it gets to that point."
His last hours came sooner than expected and I got the call from my mother at Harvey's bed side. I imagined him there, listening to my words, and this incredible rage welled up inside me toward him. I shakily said the first part of the Shema. But when I got to the part about "beware...lest you turn astray...then the wrath of H will blaze against you..." my anger poured out through each word which I emphasized to make them sound threatening and foreboding. This apikoris was dying and I had no rachmonis for him. I was glad to see him leave this world where he worked adamantly to destroy my relationship with my naive non-religious mother, mocking my chosen baalai tshuva lifestyle with such cruelty.
Several weeks after Harvey passed away, my mother came to visit.
"Rachel, I brought something for you, from Harvey."
"What do you mean? I can't imagine that he left me something?
"Actually, he wrote you a letter. I read it first, to make sure it was okay. It's about his life. About why he left yeshiva, and why he stopped being religious."
"I don't think I want to read anything he wrote," I said.
"It's addressed to you. Just take it. You may one day decide to read it. I must warn you though. It might be a bit of a trigger, after all that you went through with your father."
My mother was referring to my tormented life having been molested by my father, her husband, when I was a pre-teen. I had spent many years healing from that devastation, and along my journey had become a baalas tshuva, gotten married, had a handful of children, and was living a stable, contented life, active in my community and busy with my family.
I didn't think that a letter from Harvey the Apikoris was going to mean anything to me.
Dear Rachel,
I was recently given the death sentence of lung cancer, and I know I am going to die soon. The cancer may have spread to my brain already because I keep blacking out. So I must write this down before it is too late, because I want you to know my story.
I was raised just the way you are raising your family. I went to cheder and then yeshiva. I had Shabbat and the holidays and Yom Kippur. I said Shema every day. I wore a beenie on my head and went to synagogue.
When I was 15 years old, I was called into a rebbe's office. He was a big man, with a long black coat, and deep acne scars on his face. I wasn't sure what I had done, but was certain this was not a good thing. When I came into the room, he was sitting at his big desk, and he told me to come in and lock the door. He proceeded to do things to me of a sexual nature that I cannot write down. Of course, he told me never to tell, and I was so ashamed, that I would never have told anyway. Who could I have told? I was already orphaned by my father. My mother would not listen to such a thing about a rebbe, such a religious looking man. So I kept this dark secret to myself until this day.
As soon as I could find a chance to leave yeshiva, I did, and I never looked back.
Seeing your family was very upsetting to me and reminded me of what happened. You think the life you are leading is an utopia, and I think it is a lie. A person can still be a good Jew and not have to isolate from the world. I can see how you give your complete respect and total trust over to these fanatics that are really just trying to brainwash you. You think they are so holy with their long black coats, but I know the truth. They are no better than you or I. In fact some are much worse.
I am not against G-d, only against religious people that not only harbor such vile perverts, but actually give them honor, and allow such a person to be in charge of children.
And another thing, while your children are young, you may control their lives completely and force that beenie on their heads. But I just want you to know that my yeshiva buddies and I would run to McDonald's every chance we could to get a cheeseburger. So don't fool yourself about this life. Your kids are too young now to complain, but one day they will likely rebel against all these restrictions, just as I did. Especially if they (G-d forbid) witness the hypocrisy in the way I was forced to by that rebbe. I just hope that you will come to your senses before anything like that ever happens to your kids.
Signed, Harvey
My first thoughts were, this man was like a holocaust survivor, only of a holocaust that people don't talk about. They say regarding holocaust survivors, any survivor coming out of the holocaust with their emunah in tact is a miracle. The same can be said for a survivor of child sexual abuse.
Harvey had a lot of anger that he didn't work through, obviously. Maybe if he had worked on this issue he would have been less of an apikorsis, and instead, aimed his anger at the those who truly deserve it, the pedophile, and those who he seemed to think would cover it up.
His letter gave me pause to ask myself these questions: Am I guilty of blindly trusting the rabbaim? Am I ignorantly believing that the rebbes and charedim are safe and normal and trustworthy?
Many years later I would look back and honestly, painfully, answer these questions.
Dear Harvey,
I recall that after your death I got very very sick with a virus that made me feel like I was dying, and in my pain I was able to do tshuva about how cruelly I had felt and acted toward you on your death bed. When I was feeling better, I begged my husband to say kaddish for you and I lit a yartzeit candle and continue to do that on your yearly yartzeit.
But I still maintained a sense of bitterness toward you which has now been completely eradicated from my heart. Harvey, I am sorry. The way you expressed your pain came out so difficult to hear, but I have to admit that I sensed something important behind that pain at my Shobbos table, but chose to ignore it and rise up in righteous indignation instead. I wish I could do that chapter of my life over again and give you another chance.
You were right in warning me. My perfect utopian charedi life has failed me. My boys, my sweet innocent beautiful boys, have both been victims of child molestation in my charedi community. They are teenagers now. My oldest boy took off his tsitsis, grew his hair out, and has a girlfriend (which I am thankful for in a bittersweet sort of way, that she is a she and not a he). My youngest boy, always a very spiritual person, has kept his faith, but is not charedi.
You were right, that I did trust blindly. I did naively believe that all charedim were safe, trustworthy, good people. I chose this lifestyle because I believed that tznius was the answer to perversity. And it was, for my daughters. They were raised in a safe and secure manner, in a segregated all girls school with only women teachers. Knowing what I know now, the fact that they were never molested is a miracle (and possibly a result of my extreme overprotectiveness) because there are charedi women and girls who molest, and charedi males that attack charedi girls.
I just never imagined that my sons could be in danger. I am painfully, devastatingly, horrified that there is such perversity in our seemingly holy society. But more than that, the response to this issue by my community was not what I expected, and broke my heart. In both my boys' cases, and in other cases in the community that I later found out about, there had been cover ups and minimizations and parents were verbally attacked for their so-called bad parenting and their upset feelings. People, including a Kehilla Rav, had known about the pedophile that got to one of my sons. No one called police, no one warned potential victims, no one chased the pedophile away from children, even though he was often seen with children in his car. Instead, people asked, who gave the psak to talk about this or to name the perp. Parents who knew for a fact that their children were victimized refused to go to the police, and those who asked a psak were told by local rabbonim that they should not report.
My community let me down, betrayed my trust. I lost my faith in both charedim and rabbonim.
And now I too am off the derech.
Rachel
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Pedophile's Burning Sefer Torah
Sefer Torah Burning…
This is an excerpt from the blog of mekubal.wordpress.com.
The Rav asked what the pedophile had done(amazing not everyone in Nahalaot knows about this), and when the sofer told him, the Rav shook with rage. . . It took him a few moments, and then he said, “Burn it (the Sefer Torah from the pedophile). Blot out every remembrance of him.” He went on for a quite a while explaining al pi sod and other things, why even if you could sell (it) and use the money to help the children, it would still be damaging to them. The best thing of all was simply to burn it.
The Rav asked what the pedophile had done(amazing not everyone in Nahalaot knows about this), and when the sofer told him, the Rav shook with rage. . . It took him a few moments, and then he said, “Burn it (the Sefer Torah from the pedophile). Blot out every remembrance of him.” He went on for a quite a while explaining al pi sod and other things, why even if you could sell (it) and use the money to help the children, it would still be damaging to them. The best thing of all was simply to burn it.
Rocky's comment:
This is the most validating response I’ve seen to this issue. The absolute shock and pain and horror of (even the idea of) burning a sefer Torah resembles the feelings a parent feels when learning that their precious child was burned by the perversity of a child molester.
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