Issue140

LEAH AND VICTORIA BRING YOU HONEY BBQ CHICKEN NUGGETS, PIZZA SOUP, & MORE FUN FROM KIDS COOKING MADE EASY

OCTOBER 23, 2013 / 19 CHESHVAN 5774 ISSUE 140

AN ADDICT’S WIFE SHARES HER STORY

PAULA SHOYER SHOWS YOU HOW TO MAKE PROFITEROLES: IT’S EASIER THAN YOU THINK!

ISSUE 140 OCTOBER 23, 2013 19 CHESHVAN 5774

Pizza Soup!

Rice Krispies Ice Cream Sandwiches, and More from

Kids Cooking Made Easy FROM LEAH AND VICTORIA

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>>> REBBETZIN TWERSKI CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME >>> TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES I COULD NOT LET MY HUSBAND KNOW WHY I REFUSED TO GIVE UP MY DIAMOND >>> THE CLEAN BILL MY DAUGHTER WAS WRONGLY DIAGNOSED WITH A.D.D. >>> PARENTING HELP! MY TODDLER IS JEALOUS OF OUR NEWBORN >>> OUR DAYS A MOTHER WORRIES ABOUT HER DAUGHTER’S SECOND ENGAGEMENT >>> MY ELDERLY MOTHER-IN-LAW REFUSED MEDICAL TREATMENT >>> PASTRY SCHOOL WITH PAULA SHOYER PROFITEROLES

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CONTENTS

19 Cheshvan 5774 October 23, 2013

Features 16 Truth or Consequences

My plans for gifting my diamond were foiled.

As told to Chaya Silber

20 The Clean Bill

Was it a case of ADD? Or was something else causing my daughter’s poor concentration?

As told to Sarah Massry

25 Parenting

Help! My toddler is jealous of my newborn. The experts weigh in with practical tips to nip jealousy in the bud.

By Racheli Sofer

28 There Is a Better Tomorrow

28

By Anonymous

Departments 5

How I survived and dedicated myself to helping others navigate through the same journey.

Editorial

PAULA SHOYER SHOWS YOU HOW TO MAKE PROFITEROLES: IT’S EASIER THAN YOU THINK!

By Rechy Frankfurter

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Letters

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ISSUE 140 OCTOBER 23, 2013 19 CHESHVAN 5774

The Rebbetzin Speaks

By Rebbetzin Feige Twerski

Inside Whisk

10 Parshah

By Rabbi Eliyahu Safran

Pizza Soup!

Rice Krispies Ice Cream Sandwiches, and More from

Kids Cooking Made Easy FROM LEAH AND VICTORIA

2 Hello, Cooks

11 Golden Nuggets

4

By Basha Majerczyk

in Whisk

12 Bytes

By Miriam Glick

14 Debt Diary

By Liora Stein

38 Shidduch Resources

By Peri Berger

By Racheli Sofer

By Dina Neuman

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The rhythm of our lives AMI•LIVING

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4 Mommy... Did You Take My Cookbook Again?

New recipes from Kids Cooking Made Easy

By Leah Schapira and Victoria Dwek

12 Food Currents

42 Daddy’s Girl

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By Victoria Dwek

By Paula Shoyer

40 The Narrow Bridge

44 Our Days OCTOBER 23, 2013

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8 Pastry School with Paula Shoyer If the Choux Fits: Profiteroles

The Matchmaker column returns next week

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14 2 Girls on a Diet Challenge

By Basya Fruchter and Devoiry Fine

Dear Readers, Editor in Chief Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter

Editorial

Senior Editor Rechy Frankfurter Managing Editors Victoria Dwek Yossi Krausz Feature Editor Yitta Halberstam Mandelbaum Coordinating Editor Toby Worch Copy Editors Basha Majerczyk Dina Schreiber Rabbi Yisroel Benedek

Art

Art Directors Alex Katalkin David Kniazuk

Food

Food Editors Victoria Dwek Leah Schapira

Advertising

Executive Account Manager Zack Blumenfeld Executive Sales Directors Surie Katz Esther Friedman Europe Advertising 44 7891 297 866 Advertising Coordinator Malky Friedman Markowitz Distribution 917-202-3973 646-247-0262

Ami Magazine

P: 718-534-8800 F: 718-484-7731 info@amimagazine.org Ami Magazine. Published by Mezoogmag LLC. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form without prior written permission from the publisher is prohibited. The publisher reserves the right to edit all articles for clarity, space, and editorial sensitivities. Ami Magazine assumes no responsibility for the content of advertisements in the publication, nor for the contents of books that are referred to or excerpted herein.

It sometimes happens that I get a call or e-mail about doing a profile of a certain person, but when we finally meet, he or she balks at having his name revealed in print. At that point I always decline the offer. I believe that an anonymous profile has no value.

I recently saw that the number one complaint of New York Times’ readers is anonymous sources. Readers are not interested in the thoughts and opinions of nameless people, believing that anonymity greatly diminishes a publication’s credibility. I can relate to that.

When the protagonist of this week’s cover story, “There Is a Better Tomorrow,” came to our offices, we advised her that her narrative would be much more powerful if she made her name public. She had no qualms about that. The reason she is telling her story is that she wants to make a difference and reach others who might be going through the same predicament. She does not feel that she has anything to be ashamed of. Drug addiction is a disease, and should not be stigmatized. If a person is faced with a loved one in the throes of an addiction, the solution is not to cover it up or be in denial but to seek professional help.

However, as you will see, her story is told anonymously.

Inasmuch as we strive to be a professional publication, journalism and religion are sometimes at odds with each other, since our first allegiance is commitment to Halachah. Since the story in question is not just about the author but about her exhusband, who is no longer alive and thus cannot be asked for permission to publish his story, we decided to withhold her name and any information that would identify him publicly.

The story is all the more tragic because addictions have the added torment that both the victim and his or her loved ones are often blamed. Despite decades of scientific studies, many people still dismiss it as a moral weakness, and a failure on the part of the addict’s loved ones for not stopping him.

Another disturbing aspect is the pain that was inflicted on the family by the very people and institutions that should have been there to help them. That her son was kicked out of cheder because her family “no longer fit the right image” is shocking.

The very place that was supposed to be instilling chesed and Torah values in our children was in actual practice doing the exact opposite.

Recently, a young mother called our office in tears (If you’re reading this, I never got your e-mail). School had already begun and her sons were still home because they hadn’t been accepted into any yeshivah. Could we help her?

It was a heartrending call. I hope she reads this week’s feature and sees how wonderfully the author’s son is doing now, despite his rejection through no fault of his own.

As the author of this article says, “I want people to know there is a better tomorrow.”

Amen!

Rechy Frankfurter

rechy@amimagazine.org

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LETTERS

Destination: Slovakia A reader finds healing in an unlikely place In reference to “The Clean Bill,” Issue 136

Dear Editor: I thoroughly enjoyed the mega-Sukkos issue: I read it cover-to-cover over Sukkos while I was in Israel.

Ami does a great service to the frum public by offering thought-provoking and unconventional ideas to make our lives easier.

But I was disappointed to see no mention of the famous spa town of Piestany, Slovakia, as one of the featured therapeutic treatment places in “The Clean Bill’s” [article of Issue 136:] “Taking the Waters.” Piestany’s “logo” is the crutch-breaker, an image depicting a man breaking his crutch in two after being cured of his physical ailments.

I can personally attest to the success of Piestany’s incredible mineral waters and mud: Until my treatments this summer I was using a cane 24/7. As a devotee of conventional medicine, which hadn’t helped me at all, going to Piestany was my last hope to get relief from the incredible pain and limitations of movement. In fact, I only went at the insistence of my children, Rabbi and Mrs. Zev and Bina Stiefel, who are the Chabad shluchim just a 10-minute walk (or, in my case, hobble) from the spa.

I can’t recommend the treatments highly enough. My orthopedist was so shocked at the improvement in my condition when I returned from Piestany, he asked if he could put some patients in touch with me for information about the treatments.

Today I am pain-free. I just spent two weeks in Israel climbing mountains, steep roads and steps (oh, the endless steps!). While Yam Hamelach certainly is an attractive proposition, it is so costly that thousands of Israelis suffering from many different conditions flock to Piestany every year. The spa island is beautiful, the treatment centers are staffed by professionals. All treatments are supervised by qualified doctors and the atmosphere of calm and tranquility adds to the overall feeling of well-being. To help Jewish visitors, my daughter provides delicious, glatt kosher li’mehadrin meals to all tourists who eat kosher, and she helps arrange treatment packages if necessary. Rabbi Stiefel takes care of minyanim and any religious or other needs tourists have. The spa is prepared to accommodate frum clients, and it is certainly cost effective for Americans.

If any AmiLiving readers would like more information about Piestany, they can contact Rabbi Zev and Bina Stiefel at JewishSlovakia@gmail.com.

I wish everyone who needs it a refuah sheleimah b’karov mamash.

Hindy Lewis

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Mammograms a Myth?

A reader explores a debate about breast cancer In reference to: “The Clean Bill,” Issue 137

Dear Editor: It was with great interest that I read your article about the woman who was diagnosed with breast cancer. About a year ago, I lost a dear aunt to this dreaded disease, and I feel that women would do well to educate themselves on this issue. Massive campaigns exist to encourage women to have annual mammograms. But in his book, The Politics of Cancer, Dr. Samuel Epstein states that he believes that, for younger women, having regular mammograms increases their cancer risks. Ty Bollinger, in his book, Cancer—Step Outside the Box, says that he believes that mammograms are nothing more than a clever tool aimed at recruiting new patients into the highly profitable world of cancer treatments.

I must say that when I first came upon this information, I was blown away! I feel I have an achrayus to share this with other women. I am ever so grateful to Ami Magazine for bringing these critical real-life issues to the forefront. The emotional message of the article was not lost on me. The bond that this caused between a mother and her daughter was heartwarming. But let’s bond without the help of horrible diseases. To readers who would like to learn more about breast cancer, I suggest visiting www.

CancerTruth.net.

T.R. AMI MAGAZINE 1575 50th St., Brooklyn, NY 11219 Phone: (718) 534-8800 Fax: (718) 484-7731 letters@amimagazine.org

encore

Sleep Like a Baby

Despite officials’ warnings, co-sleeping continues to be widespread.

The “Baby Sleep Wars,” described in Issue 22, rage on, despite the American Academy of Pediatrics’ current recommendation. And a new study shows that co-sleeping not only continues to be practiced, it’s even on the rise: The percentage of US infants who usually share a bed with a parent, adult or child more than doubled from 1993 to 2010, up to almost 14 percent, officials said. The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) recommends that infants share a room with their parents—but not a bed—in order to avoid the danger of suffocation and SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).

Now I Do Holupchas Whisk to the rescue

In reference to “Whisk: Together for Yom Tov,” Issue 135

Dear Editor: I wish to take this opportunity to thank Ami Magazine for the outstanding pre-Yom Tov Whisk issue.

The recipes were portrayed beautifully and they all had interesting write-ups.

A special thank you goes to Renee Muller for the heavenly stuffed cabbage. As I was leafing through the recipes, I caught myself reading her introduction to the stuffed cabbage recipe. She wrote, “I don’t do holupchas…” Well, neither do I, I thought to myself. Those things looked too daunting and time-consuming for me, and besides, I had been getting them yearly from my mother a”h. Every year she would call me in August and fondly ask. “Fay, how many of those halbershtams can I make for you?” (My husband never got the word right between holupchas, hullishkes etc.; he decided “halbershtams” suited him just fine. The name stuck in the family, and we all find it much easier to use.)

Sick as she was for the past five years, she still insisted on sending her famous “halbershtams” until her very sad petirah this year, just a few weeks before Yom Tov. I now had to figure out how to make those daunting-looking things...

Well, Renee, you did a super job down to the last detail, from freezing the raw cabbages to freezing them once they were done. Those cabbage rolls were devoured by all, with rave reviews from everyone, and the recipe was put away in the “keep it forever recipes.” I hereby proudly join the ranks of the “I do holupchas” members.

Thanks again, and keep up the great work.

Faigy Ort Lakewood, NJ



THE

REBBETZIN SPEAKS

CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME THE IMPORTANCE OF POSITIVE AFFIRMATION

By Rebbetzin Feige Twerski

T

here are certain moments in our lives that are impactful and transformative.

Those of us who are old enough probably remember exactly where we were and what we were doing when President Kennedy was assassinated, or more recently, when we learned of the tragedy of 9/11.

One of those moments etched in my memory was a visit from London by my husband’s first cousin, which occurred early in my married life. Chayke was a tall and lovely, very formal and proper Englishwoman. I was standing in my kitchen preparing dinner when she suddenly walked in and dissolved into tears. I was taken aback. Aside from the fact that I barely knew her, her behavior was in stark contrast to her usually reserved, private and regal manner. She proceeded to tell me that she had just lost her husband. Mendele hadn’t been ill, and his passing was sudden. She brokenheartedly shared that it was not so much his death, difficult as it was to accept, that haunted her, but the fact that because she had expected him to always be there, she hadn’t taken the time to tell him how much he meant to her. Mendele had been a quiet, unassuming man, the solid rock of her existence, and she had somehow come to take him for granted.

It was the unspoken words that left her inconsolable.

Almost 50 years have passed since that encounter. But her words left an indelible

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impression on me. It is a human tendency to postpone acknowledging the people closest to us; we somehow assume that they must already know how much they mean to us. Additionally, the demands and frenetic pace of life usually have us attending to the immediate issues, leaving that which should be top priority for another time. Someone aptly observed that the more important things in life should not be at the mercy of the lesser ones.

Rachel Naomi Remen, a noted secular physician now in her eighties, wrote that it was her zeide who had the greatest impact on her life. It was he who loved her unconditionally and blessed her every Friday night, calling her “neshamaleh,” his beloved little soul. He passed away when she was only seven, but his memory informed her entire life. In contrast to her grandfather’s love and support, she and her achievements were never enough for her parents, who were the consummate professionals. If she scored 97 on a test, they wanted to know what happened to the other three points. She reflected sadly that she had spent her entire life in their pursuit. On her mother’s deathbed, Rachel Naomi finally confided her great pain. She told her mother that ever since her grandfather had died she had felt that nobody affirmed or blessed her. Her mother’s response is probably one of the saddest statements imaginable. She said, “I have blessed you every day of your life.

I just didn’t have the good sense to say it out loud so you could hear it.”

Erich Fromm, the famous social psychologist and psychoanalyst, points

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out that G-d provided a paradigm for us to follow in His creation of the world.

Not only did He bring the universe into being by the pronouncement of “Let there be light, a firmament, vegetation, etc.,” but He followed them up with an affirmation: “and G-d saw that it was good.” Similarly, Fromm posits, in the creation of our personal worlds, we should not only attend to the basic needs of those around us but should follow them up with assurances that they are good. Mothers and caregivers especially, who most closely resemble the function of the Earth, he states, can either provide the basic milk of sustenance or emulate the “land flowing with milk and honey.” “Honey” refers to positive words and comments of affirmation, how blessed and fortunate we are to have these people in our lives—a variance of “it was good.” His concluding observation is that an individual’s effect and sense of self testify as to whether he was raised solely on the milk of basic nurturance, or of the sweetness of honey was also part of his experience.

The point is that as busy and hassled as we are, we need to make time to notice those around us, especially those entrusted to our sphere of care and influence. Words of affirmation escort us throughout our lives. They warm us in the cold winter nights of our existence. And it doesn’t require a great expenditure of time and energy; all it takes is mindfulness.

One of the things I admire most about my daughter Baila is that she immediately acknowledges anything that is done for her with a card, note or phone call. Admittedly, although I have good

‫בס"ד‬

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intentions and totally appreciate the many kindnesses extended to me, I am still working on following my daughter’s example.

This past Erev Rosh Hashanah I received many calls from strangers around the world, readers of my column who wanted to let me know how much they enjoy and look forward to what they described as their weekly “dose of inspiration.” Needless to say, I was very touched. For people to take the time to look up my number so that they might express their “debt of gratitude” is a huge and important lesson for me.

Psychologists have suggested that every critical comment should be balanced by at least five positive ones in our interactions with loved ones. The beneficiaries of these positive remarks are not only those whose lives we enrich, but in extending both milk and honey, we bring excellence to our own humanity.

At the end of the day, charity begins at home. And as we grow and strive, “home” includes and embraces more and more of our fellow travelers in this life. Rebbetzin Feige Twerski is the mother of 11 children and many grandchildren, whose number she refuses to divulge. Alongside her husband, Rabbi Michel Twerski, she serves as Rebbetzin to her community in Milwaukee, and counsels people all over the globe. The Rebbetzin is a popular lecturer, speaking on a wide variety of topics to audiences in America and overseas. She is the author of Ask Rebbetzin Feige and, more recently, of Rebbetzin Feige Responds.

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PARSHAS CHAYEI SARAH // By Rabbi Eliyahu Safran

A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

O

ur tradition teaches that even before a child is conceived, a voice in Heaven announces who the child will marry. This makes each true match “a match made in Heaven.”

So there is a match made in Heaven for each of us. The challenge is finding it! It is no simple task for any of us to find our mate. How much more difficult must it have been for Avraham, seeking a mate for Yitzchak—a mate who could perpetuate values, morals and ideals with which to create a G-dly nation.

Having finally been privileged to have had a son, Avraham knew he would have to find for him a life partner wholly committed to the ideals Avraham and Sarah had instilled in Yitzchak. Who could he send in search of that perfect, G-d-chosen match?

In Avraham’s eyes, there could be no shadchan as trustworthy as Eliezer.

Who but his own loyal servant could find the right girl? Who but Eliezer fully understood the role Yitzchak’s wife would fill as the second of our imahos?

Trusting Eliezer to find the perfect wife for Yitzchak, Avraham instructed him where to go and what to look for.

Ready to go out to fulfill his master’s goal, Eliezer paused to ask what seemed to be a logical question: “Perhaps (ulai) the woman will not go after me?”

Rashi cites the midrash that focuses on the spelling of ulai (alef-lamed-yud) with a “missing vav,” which could also be read as eilai—to me. Could there be any consequence to the “missing” vav?

The midrash teaches that Eliezer himself had a daughter he sought to marry off, and that he was attempting to draw Avraham’s attention to his own family.

“Why,” he was asking, “send me out on a long trek to find a shidduch? Look right at me (eilai)—I have a daughter for Yitzchak to marry.”

Imagine! The most prominent

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member of the community assigning a task to his trustworthy shadchan, only to have the shadchan suggest his own daughter, overlooking his own deficiencies emanating from the cursed Canaan! What chutzpah! What disloyalty! But why does the midrash attribute such disloyalty to this most loyal of all servants, to one who lived in Avraham’s tent and imitated his ways?

Just because of the letter combination ulai /eilai?

But this is not the accusation of an innocent, honest shadchan. Quite the opposite. As we learn, Eliezer used phraseology that gave away his true intent.

Often, it is the use of one single word rather than another that portrays our deepest thoughts and intent. A single word can convey an entire message; just one word…

The Gaon of Vilna explains that there are two words in Hebrew that both mean “perhaps”—ulai and pen.

Although both mean “perhaps,” there is an important difference in connotation between the two. When one uses the term pen, he is suggesting that he hopes that the possibility spoken about does not

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take place, as in G-d’s warning against idolatry—Hishamru lachem pen yifteh levavchem (Beware, lest your hearts will become seduced). By using pen, it is clear that G-d hopes that we not go astray and follow idolatry.

However, when one hopes and anticipates that the option he mentions should occur, he uses the word ulai, as when Avraham beseeched G-d not to destroy Sodom: “Ulai—perhaps there are 50 righteous people…”

And that is why Chazal were critical of Eliezer’s true intent. He did not use the word pen. Instead, by using the word ulai, we learn that he did not want the woman to follow him. Instead, he hoped that by her not following, the result would be that Avraham would have no other option but to marry Yitzchak to Eliezer’s daughter.

Though the ways of man are wily, the ways of G-d are true. When G-d determines a match, it is “made in Heaven.” Even the trickery of man cannot keep the two apart. n Rabbi Dr. Eliyahu Safran serves as OU Kosher’s vice president of communications and marketing.

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// Morsels of Wisdom, Wit and Popular Advice By Miriam Glick

Is Your Child

Happy at School?

How to know if your child is miserable in his second home It’s a challenge for any child when he’s having a hard time at school. And sometimes it’s even harder for him to tell you about it. Often the signs children give off can be their way of telling you that something is troubling them. Here are some red flags to look for:

Regression: Is your child suddenly bed-wetting, thumbsucking or showing some other behavior he’s already outgrown? A regression in behavior is a clear indicator that something’s bothering him.

Tantrums: A child who is pushed around in school may feel the need to exert control at home. Is he being bullied?

Sick days: If your child is feigning sick more often than not, it’s time to look into what he is trying to avoid at school.

Eating Habits: A change of eating habits, whether it’s bingeing or starving, is a sign of unhappiness.

Try to find out what’s eating him.

Quiet: Most parents know that when it’s too quiet, there’s trouble.

A child who suddenly becomes quiet and withdrawn is showing signs that something is weighing on him. Give him a chance to unload to you.

Bad Grades: If your child’s grades have suddenly dropped, chances are good that something’s not right at school.

Behavioral Issues: Even if his behavior at home is normal, he could still be acting up at school. If you’re getting calls from the teachers and principals (not the nachas type of calls), you’ll need to get to the root of the problem.

COFFEE FOR KIDS

IS IT REALLY AS BAD AS THEY MAKE IT SOUND?

“You can’t have coffee. It’ll stunt your growth.”

Have you ever said that to your kids? Well, it turns out that’s not quite true. But coffee does have a whole bunch of other negative side effects, especially for children. Coffee’s acidity causes cavities and weakens the teeth, which is extra problematic for cavity-prone kids. Coffee also causes insomnia, decreased appetite, hyperactivity and bone loss. If that’s not bad enough, it can also cause nausea, irritability, anxiety and even muscle tremors. So the next time your child asks you for a small sip, tell them it’s just one more thing they’ll have to wait for until they’re all grown up.

PUTTER

AROUND

“HELLO. WE ARE UNAVAILABLE…” PLEASE DON’T LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE TONE

the

HOUSE

As the pace of life speeds up, leaving a voicemail message may be a thing of the past. Most people, it seems, don’t have the patience to listen to voicemail; they’d rather read the message instead. “They hate the whole voicemail introduction, prompts and having to listen to them in chronological order,” says Michael Tempora, senior vice president of product management at Vonage, an Internet phone company, who reported that voicemail account use is down eight percent.

The designer for an Atlanta ad company agrees. “If my friends call and I’m busy, I text them asking if it’s urgent, or I just call them back later without checking voicemail,” she says. “It’s just one less thing for me to go through.”

It turns out that 14 percent of customer service lines don’t even listen to their voicemail, and more and more companies are doing away with voicemail and requesting that clients text or e-mail.

Soon we may forget what the human voice sounds like…

DON’T LOSE YOUR

L’CHAYIM

Some uses for wine that don’t require drinking SKIN SOFTENER Use red wine as a skin toner, or dump some into your bath water for soft, smooth skin.

THEY DON’T MAKE ‘EM LIKE THEY USED TO

HOUSE CLEANER White wine is a great disinfectant that you can use in your kitchen or as a glass cleaner. Be careful with some countertops, like granite, because the acid can ruin it.

Think high-end stores mean better-quality clothing? Think again. Consumers aren’t the only ones clutching their wallets these days; the retailers are, as well. With rising costs of labor in China, clothing companies are trying to cut production expenses with cheaper fabrics, less thread and fewer trimmings.

They’re even reducing the number of buttons they’re using (bye-bye, extra button sewn onto the seam). So before you head out to the expensive boutiques, consider a more budgetfriendly store. Their merchandise probably has the same quality.

WINE SPILL CLEANER Spilled red wine on the carpet? Spill some white wine on top and blot it up with a clean cloth.

SCRIMPING ON QUALITY TO MAKE SOME DOUGH

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GREASE CLEANER White wine is also great for cleaning up grease stains, and it is extra powerful when you mix it with baking soda.

CLOTHES DYE Save on fabric dyes and simply soak the fabric in a pail of red wine.

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true s ’ e l p ou ir One c y of the ver stor to reco ial ggle stru om financ fr ter disas tein

aS r o i L By

Diary

Recap: Last week, the Steins’ mortgage refinancing went through, giving them a reprieve on their high housing costs: They don’t have to make a mortgage payment this month. Tzvi negotiated a scholarship from their kids’ yeshivah.

Part 10: One More Job?

“You never make normal supper anymore,” my oldest whined from the back seat of the car. “None of my friends’ mothers works so much,” she continued, rubbing in the guilt like salt. Ouch.

“You don’t even care about us,” her younger sister complained. “You should quit your job. All you talk about is school or logos!”

We were driving back from a sunday evening visit to my in-laws. After teaching in the morning and turning in graphics for a brochure the night before, their words stung. I had been trying so hard to meet my work responsibilities that I’d neglected the house.

Over Shabbos, I’d noticed toys and piles of magazines gathering on top of the upright piano in the corner— and the dishes had sat overnight in the sink twice last week! Yikes. I had to improve my balancing act.

We got home late and ordered takeout—delicious hot dogs and chicken nuggets for the kids. The chicken avocado wrap returned my strength after crawling through city traffic for two hours. There goes the restaurant budget, I thought. With the kids kvetching, exhaustion and self-preservation won out over my reservations about spending extra money on food. Tzvi didn’t argue. He was also hungry and tired after a long day of watching the kids so I could work.

More good news made him more relaxed: Tzvi had

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received the $7,900 cash payout from the refinancing.

We found out after putting the kids to bed. The mail from Shabbos also included my paycheck. I felt optimistic: Somehow we’ll retire our $53,000 in credit card debt without losing our house.

“I wish we could use the $7,900 to redo the basement,” Tzvi told me as he held the check up against the light, examining it. The check was real.

“Add a separate entrance, move our laundry upstairs, and we’d have instant rental income.”

“That would be nice,” I replied, indulging Tzvi’s vision. The last time we’d looked at converting our basement into a separate apartment, the cost had exceeded $10,000, but I guess I understood his idea.

We need more income.

“Yeah, we should pay down the cards,” Tzvi warned.

I agreed, but still felt worried we’d end up where we always did, swiping the credit cards to cover basics, since the check covered less than a quarter of our outstanding commitments. I feared the payout wouldn’t make a big enough dent.

“I can ’ t do it, Tzvi,” I shot back. “It feels like you’re putting all the jobs on me!”

BUDGET SPREADSH EET

CURRENT EXPENSES

ACTIONS WE WILL TAKE

WE CAN SAVE

OUR

WHAT WE

PLAN HOME-RELATED REALLY SPENT Mortgage $3,OOO Refinance completed.

Property Tax

$4O O $2, $2OO 8OO $O Second Mortgage $3OO $O Fam ily loan —ca nnot refi.

Utilities $O $3OO $675 $3OO Turn off lights.

Cleaning and $75 $6OO $675 Babysitting $72O Need this.

$12O $6OO $76O EDUCATION Tuition $3,6OO Negotiation complet Tutoring e. $1,OOO $2,6OO $48O $24OO This is a must. $O $48O $48O FOOD Groceries $1,9OO Water filter and

$4OO $1,5OO $708 me et with expert.

Restaurants $2OO Eliminate this. $2OO $O $262 CREDIT CARDS Payments $7OO Finance Charges $O $7OO $5OO $7OO Refinance/

$3OO $2OO $5OO home equity CAR AND COMMUTI NG Gas $18O Walk when possible.

Car Insurance $19O MetroCards $1OO

$18O $O $O $189 $1OO

Catch up from last month.

Estimated bill Leora needs extra help because of her job.

$8O $189 $45

HEALTH Doctor Co-pays $6O Couples’ Therapy $O $6O $48O $45 Remove this until we

$48O $O

$620 can aff ord it as nee OTHER ded.

Need to figure out what’s going on and Clothing make a plan to fix it.

Miscellaneous $219 ATM Withdrawals $70 $350 Maaser $12O Ask a Rav. $O $12O $12O TOTAL EXPENSES $13,4O5 NET INCOME $1O,429 $8,733 $8,5O5 Liora to get job.

$1,5OO $1O,OO5 $9,7O5 MONTHLY SHORTFA LL (4,900) Refinance Cash Pay out $79OO (424) $972

$79OO Monthly Credit Card Debt Growth - $3,O OO ; Current Credit Current Savings Re Card Debt - $53,OO maining - $3,6OO; 4O O 1k - $25,OOO

“What about boarders?” Tzvi tossed into the conversation, unexpectedly. Having boarders had been very difficult two years ago: disciplining other people’s children, shushing the happy giggles of teenagers so my younger kids could sleep, the pressure of preparing a fancy supper every night or risk comments by either the boarders or their parents.

“I can’t do it, Tzvi,” I shot back. His innocuous suggestion made my shoulders tense. Suddenly I felt angry. “It feels like you’re putting all the jobs on me!” I had enough to do and my small basement office was a

No payment is due.

Paid therapist for previous sessions. school uniform crisis!

Refinancing keeping us afloat, for now.

Not sure what to do with this yet; continue to check.

great place for lesson prep and graphic design.

“What about renting out the garage?” Tzvi said, undaunted. We both knew the temporary cash infusion would be spent too quickly on takeout or extra babysitting. “We need advice,” I said cautiously, wringing my hands. Tzvi had nixed anyone related to us, or friends with anyone related to us, so whom would we call? Calls to Mesila went unreturned.

Before bursting into a full-blown argument, we sat down to make a list of options. n

To be continued...

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TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES

MY SON WAS GETTING MARRIED AND WE WERE BROKE. HOW FAR WOULD I GO TO SAVE MONEY?

ould you give up your diamond ring for your son’s kallah?

My son Dovid,* a wonderful boy (if I do say so myself ) had recently gotten engaged to Ruchy Strauss,* “the catch of the century.”

My machateiniste, Pearl,* was a renowned baalas chesed who somehow found time to volunteer for Bikur Cholim while raising her large family. I felt very fortunate and blessed, even though it was a stressful time for our family.

There was only thing that put a damper on our simchah: Just two months before the engagement, my husband Leib* had been made redundant. The office supply company he had worked at for many years was downsizing, so he was yet another victim of the economy.

True, Leib was receiving severance pay for six months, but that was barely enough to cover our basic needs. Anything extra, such as making a wedding (which isn’t really extra, since it’s an integral part of Jewish life) was way beyond our means. Our shalom bayis suffered, of course. Although I tried not to blame him for our stressful situation, and

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rarely spent a penny unless it was absolutely necessary, my husband felt guilty. He began to withdraw into himself and his personality changed, from a confident family man to a moody, insecure loner. He couldn’t sleep at night either, so he usually spent the day unsuccessfully trying to nap amidst the regular household noise. In short, despite the upcoming simchah, our everyday lives were a disaster.

But the show must go on. We had a wedding to make! I tried valiantly to craft some type of budget, but soon gave up in defeat. There were too many expenses that kept cropping up: the customary responsibility for FLOP (flowers, liquor, orchestra and photographer); jewelry; clothing for the chasan, etc. The mechutanim were spending more than we were, outfitting their daughter and setting up the apartment.

But it seemed like money wasn’t an issue for them. After all, they had committed themselves to supporting the young couple for five years. We were very grateful that this time around I was marrying off a son and not a daughter, although I still had four younger girls waiting in the wings.

As told to Chaya Silber

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TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES

“We’ll deal with marrying them off when the time comes,” my husband grumbled when I expressed my concern one evening.

“Something is bound to come up.”

“You’ll get a much better job and we’ll make those weddings in style,” I said in my most encouraging voice. Somehow, Leib didn’t share my enthusiasm. The never-ending, demoralizing job search had taken its toll.

Then there was the actual nitty-gritty of dollars and cents. How were we going to pay for our share of the wedding? At that point we had an outstanding grocery balance of over $1,000. I insisted that we try to refinance and take out a home equity loan, but Leib was hesitant. He preferred to borrow money from gemachs or friends.

“If we borrow money, how are we going to pay it back?” I asked.

“Hashem will help,” he said, sounding exhausted.

“Of course Hashem will help. But we need to do our hishtadlus.”

“It’s not so easy to refinance,” he went on, “and besides, we don’t exactly qualify. The bank would want to look at our statements.”

I sighed, a long exhale of misery and frustration. What should have been one of the happiest times of our lives was rapidly becoming one of its most draining, due to our financial situation. I wished there was something—anything—I could do.

Then I spoke to my best friend and had a brainstorm.

Raizy Schmidt* and I go back a long time together; we got married only a few months apart, and our husbands used to learn in the same kollel. Soon after we each were married, though, our lives took divergent turns. While Leib had gone to work when our third child was born, Raizy’s husband Chaim* was still learning, literally all day and much of the night. Nowadays, Rav Chaim is a respected maggid shiur, but their income is still pretty meager— barely enough to put food on the table and pay the electric bill.

Raizy, of course, is a willing Rachel for her Rabbi Akiva.

Over the years, she’s become accustomed to wearing secondhand clothes and buying her children’s furniture at the metziah center.

She has seemingly resigned herself to their dingy, four-room apartment and their overdrawn bank account. In the 20-odd years of her marriage she has never gone on a vacation with her husband, and she spends her days running a toddler group in her living room.

And yet, despite her careworn appearance and the dark circles under her eyes, Raizy is one of the happiest people I know. Yes, it sounds like a cliché but it’s true: The less she has, the less she needs, and the more her inner spirit glows. Why can’t I be that way, satisfied with less, always grateful for my blessings? By now, even if someone offered her a million dollars, she probably wouldn’t accept it. In all the time I’ve known her she’s never craved the “normal” perks of life like afternoons at the mall, an occasional cup of frozen yogurt or a completely nonessential pair of pretty shoes.

Even more impressive, her nine children share her steadfast beliefs and plan on living the kollel lifestyle indefinitely. I was in awe of her, and more than a bit envious of her serenity.

Well, two weeks before Dovid became engaged, Raizy’s eldest

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son had become a chasan. When we spoke that day, our conversation eventually turned to the shockingly high cost of jewelry. Raizy confided that she had taken her own precious diamond ring, with its antique setting, and had it reset for the kallah, in order to save money.

“But what will you wear on your finger?” I asked, curious.

“Oh, I’ll get a CZ [cubic zirconia stone],” she replied nonchalantly. “No one can tell the difference anymore.”

It was then that I had my epiphany. Upon my engagement I had been given a beautiful diamond ring by my mother-in-law, of blessed memory, who passed away five years ago. My in-laws were financially comfortable at the time, and Leib was their first child to get married. I remember my mother-in-law telling me on numerous occasions that she had gone to an exclusive jeweler, someone they knew from der alter heim, who sold high-end jewelry.

The ring had cost $5,000—a fortune at the time. “For our kallah, vee vanted only dee best,” she assured me repeatedly.

Unfortunately, my in-laws lost most of their assets later in life, when they needed to undergo complicated medical treatments and endure lengthy hospitalizations that insurance wouldn’t cover.

Most of their savings—money they had put away for their golden years—was eaten up. After Leib lost his parents within months of each other, he received a pitifully small inheritance, all of which was gone by their first yahrzeit.

The only treasure I still had from my in-laws was my kallah jewelry, including my engagement ring. Hence my brainstorm: I would give my future daughter-in-law my own diamond, in the setting of her choice, and use the money we saved to pay for other wedding expenses. No one would ever know the truth.

I broached the subject to Leib, and his eyes opened wide. “Do you really mean it?” he asked. “Because if you do...”

“Of course I mean it,” I said. “That diamond is worth a lot of money. And it will bring me pleasure to know that Dovid’s kallah is wearing it.”

“But it’s yours,” he said, looking defeated. “I gave it to you when we got engaged.”

“I’m not that sentimental,” I joked, trying to inject a lighthearted tone into my voice. “I married a real diamond—the one on my finger is only an added bonus.”

And so, with my husband’s blessing (and without my son’s knowledge) I went off to a highly regarded local jewelry shop. Its proprietor, Chaim Peretz,* knew me from better days, when my husband had a steady job and could buy me an occasional piece of jewelry.

“I heard your son became a chasan,” he said. “Mazal tov! Are you here to choose a diamond?”

“Uh, yes, but not really. I mean, that is... Can you take a look at this?” I said, handing him my ring.

“You want to sell your ring?” he asked.

“Not exactly. I want to use the stone for my son’s kallah in order to save money. I’m not a newlywed anymore, and I have no problem wearing a CZ.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Doesn’t it have sentimental value?

How do you know you won’t regret it later?”

I thought about my mother-in-law’s repeated statements that she had chosen something special, for a special kallah who deserved it. Her kind words still made me feel warm and fuzzy.

Then I reflected that she was now in the World of Truth, where appearances don’t matter and the luxuries of this world are only a façade. I also recalled our financial straits, and knew that giving up the diamond would make a huge difference.

I took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m sure.”

“All right then, I’ll take a look at it."

Mr. Peretz took out his loupe. I watched as he examined the ring from all angles. Peering through the loupe he suddenly frowned, brought the diamond to the window and then checked it again.

“Are you sure this is your diamond ring?” he asked me.

I found the question odd. Of course it was my diamond ring!

I’d been married over 20 years and had never changed the setting.

“Who else’s could it be?” I quipped.

But Mr. Peretz wasn’t smiling. “It’s a beautiful setting,” he said, his face grave. “A bit out of vogue, but quite valuable. However, I am quite sure that your ring was switched somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t a real diamond,” said the jeweler. “As far as I can tell, it’s a cubic zirconia.”

“What?” I sputtered. “That can’t be. My mother-in-law told me a million times that she chose the most expensive diamond because she wanted to give me something special.”

“Where did she get the ring?”

“I’m not sure. I think they had a friend whose family they knew back in Hungary, who sold jewelry. But I can’t ask her anymore.

She was niftar five years ago.”

Mr. Peretz sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. The diamond is definitely a fake. Whether it was always a CZ or was switched at a later date is anyone’s guess. Did you ever have the ring cleaned or appraised?”

I stretched my memory, trying to recall if I’d ever given it in to be repaired, but came up blank. Try as I might, I just couldn’t remember.

“What should I do?” I asked, greatly distressed.

“Well, you told me that you don’t mind wearing a cubic zirconia, so you’re in luck,” he said with a smile. “Nothing’s really changed—I guess you’ll just have to continue wearing it in good health!”

I shook my head. It wasn’t the same thing at all. I had been prepared to give my diamond to my future daughter-in-law in order to save money. But to know that I’d been fooled—we’d been fooled—all these years? I felt betrayed, cheated.

“Are you really sure?” I asked the jeweler.

“Sure as my name is Chaim Peretz. But if you don’t believe me, you can take it somewhere else to be appraised. I’m really sorry,” he said.

I thanked him and left the store distraught. Just to be sure, I stopped at another jeweler on the way home and got the same

There was only one thing I was sure of: My husband would never know about it. diagnosis. The diamond was definitely a fake. Now for the milliondollar question: Had someone cheated my in-laws, or was it done with their knowledge? But who would take advantage of them?

My in-laws had been the sweetest, most trusting people. I was angry, thinking that an old family friend had taken them for a ride.

Or maybe...maybe they knew it was a fake, but figured that I would never find out. Conflicting thoughts swirled in my brain as I slowly trudged home, feeling exhausted.

There was only one thing I was sure of: My husband would never know about it. I didn’t want to hurt him, to add yet another blow to his fragile self-esteem. Why should I dredge up old memories and make him doubt his parents’ affection? What would I gain from it? If my in-laws were alive I might have mustered up the courage to ask them, but it was too late now.

I arrived home and put the ring back in my jewelry box. Then I tied an apron around my waist and started to prepare dinner.

“Oh, you’re back already?” asked Leib, getting up from a nap.

“How did it go?”

“I...I changed my mind,” I said.

“What? Why?” “I couldn’t do it,” I replied more firmly. “I don’t want to give up the ring you gave me at our engagement. It means too much to me to sell.”

“But you said you wanted to do it to save money!”

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I decided that I’m just too attached to it.”

Leib looked disappointed, as if he wanted me to say more, but my lips were sealed.

Forever.  *Names changed to protect privacy To submit your story for this column or to have your story featured here, please contact us at submissions@amimagazine.org.

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A Wrong Di

THE CLEAN BILL // Real People on the Quest for Health

As told to Sarah Massry

iagnosis it was only my daughter's second week in school, and I was

They claimed my daughter had suddenly developed ADD. Could something else be causing her symptoms?

already beside myself with worry. Her teacher had called me three times, concerned about her behavior “problems” and lack of ability to concentrate.

“I don’t understand it!” I protested. “She was a star pupil last year!” Temima’s* second-grade teacher must be mistaken; perhaps she was confusing her with another kid in the class. Rushing to her defense, I described the wonderful experience my daughter had had in the first grade, and all the awards and accolades she’d received.

Yet that didn’t seem to matter to her new teacher.

“Things must have changed,” was her curt reply.

My mind wandered back to her final report card from the previous school year.

“Temima is a dream pupil” was the teacher’s comment on her final report card. “It was a pleasure having her in class.”

Indeed, Temima’s experience in first grade had been exceptionally positive. She had enjoyed learning new things, adored her teacher, and loved her Hello Kitty backpack.

But most of all, she loved to read. Why, she had liked school so much that she even enjoyed doing her homework!

The way that Temima had breezed through first grade had come as a welcome change after the intense struggles I’d had with my older son. For him, learning how to read was a long and tedious struggle. Needless to say, he was not a “dream pupil”—a fact I was regularly reminded of by his teachers and principal. By contrast, the glowing reports I received from Temima’s teachers had brought me pure nachas. I treasured their kind words and beautiful comments.

After her successful year in first grade, I took Temima on a trip to the public library. She was mesmerized by the huge selection of children’s books on display. We returned home with a shopping bag filled with tempting offerings. I figured that lazy summer afternoons would be the perfect time for Temima to get lost in the wonderful world of reading.

“You’re a big girl now,” I told her. “I’m so proud of you. As soon as you finish these we’ll come back for another load.”

At the beginning of the summer Temima did enjoy her storybooks, although she did not devour them as quickly as I assumed she would. In fact, many of them lingered in the shopping bag until they were long overdue. I didn’t want to pressure her, since it was summer vacation and my intention was to foster a love of reading. So one day I casually broached the topic and asked if she planned on reading them.

“I’m too tired to read,” she informed me.

Tired? I couldn’t understand it; she got plenty of sleep. I was disappointed that my plan wasn’t working out. As the summer wore on, my formerly avid reader began to ignore books entirely. I tried enticing her with the latest editions from the book store; I even bribed her with prizes and reading charts. But still she refused to read.

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THE CLEAN BILL // Real People on the Quest for Health

She spent much of her free time lazing around on the couch and halfheartedly playing with her toys. My worries intensified when I spoke to her counselor at the local day camp.

“Temima does not seem to be enjoying herself,” she said.

“It’s not that she’s misbehaving—she’s a good girl, an obedient, pleasant child. It’s just that she seems kind of quiet. She never wants to go into the pool or on the swings; most of the time she just watches from the sidelines. We really try, but we can hardly get her to participate in anything. She tells us that she’s tired.”

Toward the end of the summer I took Temima to Dr. Friedman,* her pediatrician. I described her sluggish behavior over the summer and told him about her sudden lack of interest in reading.

“It could be that she needs glasses,” he said.

Just to be safe, the doctor ordered some routine blood work.

When the results came back, he called to tell me that everything was normal and recommended that I take Temima to get her eyes checked. I was relieved that her issues were nothing more serious: a cute pair of glasses, and Temima would love reading again. Or so I thought.

After a comprehensive examination, the eye doctor wrote out a prescription; she was a bit farsighted and was probably having trouble making out the fine print in books, he reassured me. On our way home we stopped at the optician and had fun picking out a pair of frames. A few days later they were ready, but much to my chagrin she refused to wear them when we got home.

“They don’t help!” she informed me with a pout.

I tried to reason with her, but to no avail. Perhaps, I thought, they’re not helping because she doesn’t like the way she looks in them.

Yet Temima reassured me that it wasn’t the color or style of the frames that bothered her. The letters still looked funny, she confided, and her eyes hurt sometimes.

My pediatrician suggested that I take Temima for a second opinion and recommended a pediatric ophthalmologist who was out of our network. It would cost me a small fortune for a specialist, but I was willing to try anything for my daughter. I was relieved when we were given an immediate appointment.

After examining her thoroughly, the specialist tweaked her prescription slightly and told us it would probably solve the problem. On our way home, we once again stopped at the optician. The new glasses were ready the following day.

As soon as Temima put them on she smiled. “I think these are better,” she pronounced.

“The summer is behind us,” my husband commented. “Let’s hope for a wonderful year ahead.” Armed with the new pair of glasses, I dared to hope for the best.

Yet when my daughter tiptoed down the stairs later that evening I began to have doubts.

“Temima?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t sleep!” she said. “I don’t like my new glasses. I don’t want to wear them to school tomorrow!”

Whoa! Just a few hours ago she had been totally upbeat. I sighed heavily. “What’s wrong with the new glasses, sweetheart?

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You said they were better than the old ones. And you look so pretty in them.”

“I changed my mind. They’re even worse,” she declared.

“It can’t be.” I shook my head. “We went to the very best eye doctor. Sweetie, sometimes it takes time to get used to a new pair of glasses—it’s sort of like breaking in a new pair of shoes. I want you to wear them for a few more days. If they still hurt, we’ll go back to the doctor.”

The next morning, Temima grudgingly put on her new glasses and slowly made her way to the bus stop. Although I smiled brightly and waved to her enthusiastically, I was anxious. I didn’t like the way she dragged her backpack or how her shoulders seemed to be slumped in defeat.

“I hope she’ll be okay,” I mumbled as I walked back into the house.

Temima returned home from school that afternoon in a foul mood. She didn’t like second grade, her new teacher was “mean,” her backpack was “nerdy,” and she was too tired to do her homework. When I tried to coax her to read—just a couple of short pages—she wandered off.

“Reading is boring,” she told me. “I hate reading.”

Huh? Something was very wrong here. Was this the same child who couldn’t get enough of her books last year? Maybe the problem was that she and her teacher just didn’t click. Mrs. Klein,* Temima’s first grade teacher, had been an older, bubbytype matriarch who had been teaching forever and wrapped each of her students in a warm, maternal embrace. Miss Alpert,* however, was fresh out of school and was far more rigid and inflexible. She had an abundance of enthusiasm and energy, and I’m sure that her multisensory pedagogical methods made sense on paper, but they clearly weren’t working for Temima.

The first message she left on my answering machine was bright and perky. When I called her back she said, “I’m concerned about your daughter. She seems to have a problem with focusing.

Maybe you should take her to an eye doctor.”

“I already did,” I replied rather curtly. “Two of them, actually, one of whom is a big specialist. She’s already on her second pair of glasses.”

Miss Alpert was silent for a moment. “Then it must be something else. Perhaps she could use some professional help…”

“What?!” I said, trying my best to stay calm. My stomach was churning. “What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t want to suggest a diagnosis—yet. But if she’s having such a severe problem concentrating…” Miss Alpert’s voice trailed off.

I quickly mumbled my reply; I wanted this uncomfortable conversation to come to an end. “Don’t worry, I’ll work with her,” I promised. “We’ll be in touch.”

I was livid as I hung up the phone. How dare she! How had Miss Alpert jumped to such a ridiculous conclusion? Temima had been a dream student in the first grade. Surely there was nothing emotionally wrong.

Over the next few weeks Temima’s performance in school

Most of the Time It's Nothing, But...

The following symptoms can be caused by a wide range of medical conditions and are not necessarily indicative of a brain tumor. Still, it’s wise to keep them in the back of your head (no pun intended) should you suspect something more sinister.

All symptoms, of course, should be brought to your doctor’s attention.

THE MOST COMMON SYMPTOMS OF BRAIN TUMORS INCLUDE: Headaches Numbness or tingling in the arms or legs Seizures Memory problems Nausea and vomiting Changes in speech, vision or hearing

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LESS COMMON SYMPTOMS INCLUDE: Physical changes, such as sudden loss of balance,

clumsiness or stumbling Slurred speech, or saying things that seem to make no

sense Personality or mood changes Cognitive decline; taking substantially longer to complete

a task

* * * *

It is important to note that the symptoms of brain tumors vary according to the size, type and location of the growth.

All of the above are usually traced to other, less serious conditions. Nevertheless, it is important to see a doctor if symptoms persist. Even benign brain tumors can become serious if they aren’t diagnosed and treated early on.

continued to deteriorate. I dreaded Miss Alpert’s weekly phone calls; apparently, according to what she told me, Temima spent much of the time “spacing out” and refusing to cooperate.

At one point Miss Alpert decided to involve the school social worker.

“Due to her severe focusing issues and inability to concentrate,” the social worker explained when I was summoned to a meeting, “I feel that it is important to have your daughter evaluated for Attention Deficit Disorder.”

She then launched into a lengthy description of ADD. I listened politely until I couldn’t tolerate it any longer. As the mother of a son with Attention Deficit Disorder, I probably knew more about it than she did.

“Listen,” I said as respectfully as I could, “I honestly don’t think that’s the problem. I’ve already been through this with my older son, so I know what I’m talking about. He was a classic case of what they call ‘combined ADHD,’ with symptoms of inattentiveness as well as impulsiveness and hyperactivity. So I know all about the disorder. I’m not opposed to treatment on

principle; my son is on medication and he’s doing very well. But Temima is different. I know she doesn’t have what my son has.”

“I understand that,” the social worker responded kindly. “But every child is different, and each case presents itself differently.”

“I really think her focusing issues are due to poor eyesight,” I insisted. “I’ve already taken her to a highly recommended pediatric ophthalmologist. Let’s just give her a little more time to get used to her new glasses.”

The social worker reluctantly agreed to wait. But when the situation didn’t improve, I was forced to admit that the eyeglasses were doing little to help. To appease the school I took her back to the eye doctor, who fine-tuned her prescription even further.

I felt defeated when the third pair of eyeglasses proved useless.

Perhaps the teacher was right and there was something more going on.

“I still don’t think she has ADD,” my husband insisted. “You don’t get ADD overnight. It makes no sense.”

I shrugged. “Then what else could it be? I guess the time has come to have her evaluated.”

The first step was a visit to Temima’s pediatrician again.

Although he was familiar with the basic storyline of our saga, I took the opportunity to fill him in on all the details. “Her focusing issues are becoming worse,” I explained. “Her teacher tells me that she’s walking into walls. And sometimes she reaches out for an object but her hand just dangles in the air when she can’t find it.”

“Hmm…” the doctor’s voice was thoughtful. “Did you follow up with the pediatric ophthalmologist?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “Twice. She’s already had three different prescriptions, but apparently the glasses aren’t working.”

We continued to talk for another few minutes, after which he examined Temima. By the end of our visit Dr. Friedman seemed worried. His tone had changed to one of concern.

“Is it ADD?” I asked, dreading his reply.

“No,” he said tersely. “I don’t believe it is.”

What was it then? The pediatrician was vague and didn’t go into details. However, when he ordered a brain MRI, I almost stopped breathing.

My husband, though, tried to reassure me. “Dr. Friedman is a real alarmist. I’m sure it’s nothing. He just wants to cover all the bases.”

We took Temima for the MRI. While we were waiting for the results, I tried to distract myself with other things; we were planning a bar mitzvah, so fortunately I was very busy. But when the pediatrician’s office called while I was on the phone with the caterer, my heart dropped. Gone were all thoughts of what kind of soup to serve and what color the tablecloths should be. I immediately switched over.

“Hello?” I said tentatively. My voice actually cracked.

“I’m calling about your daughter’s brain scan,” the receptionist began. “The doctor would like you to come in to discuss the results. “ “Can I come in later this afternoon?” I asked her.

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THE CLEAN BILL // Real People on the Quest for Health

“No,” she replied. “He wants you to come over now.

Oh, and bring your husband along.”

We drove to the pediatrician’s office in silence. When I signed in at the front desk, I thought I detected a few compassionate looks from the office staff. That’s when I really began to panic.

Within minutes of our arrival we were whisked into a side room. The doctor walked in and sat down heavily. What he told us sounded like a bad dream: Temima had a mass growing in her head. Her focusing issues, irritability and lethargy were being caused by a brain tumor, not vision problems or Attention Deficit Disorder.

And so began our six-month ride on an emotional roller coaster. After consulting with various medical referral centers, specialists and neurosurgeons, Temima was scheduled for immediate surgery. Luckily, I’ve completely blocked out the seven hours we spent huddled in the hospital waiting room while she was being operated on. I remember the surgeon coming out and saying it had “gone well,” but I didn’t really dare to breathe until the pathologist confirmed that the tumor was benign. “With G-d’s help,” the surgeon explained to us, “your daughter will recover and go on to live a normal life.”

Still, the physical and emotional recovery was rough.

It took months until Temima was back to herself. The first time she picked up a book and began reading I smiled; she was on the path to recovery.

Reflecting on this difficult period of our lives, I am grateful that it had a happy ending. I’ve learned how important it is to search for an underlying medical issue and to trust your motherly instincts. When my son was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder it made sense; the puzzle pieces fit together. But when they tried to tell me that my daughter had it too, none of it added up. Thankfully, I did not chalk up her behavior to ADD, and the real cause of her symptoms was discovered.

A few years have now passed, and the only “souvenir” of Temima’s brain tumor is a slight vision impairment, which is corrected by glasses. Aside from yearly checkups to make sure that everything is as it should be, her life has completely returned to normal.

Temima is once again an avid reader. When her teacher told me recently that she’s a “teacher’s dream,” I almost wept with gratitude to G-d.

It’s wonderful to go back to worrying about soup and tablecloths. n *Names changed to protect privacy To submit your story for this column or to have your story featured here, please contact us at submissions@ amimagazine.org.

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Winding the Biological Clock

medica minutel Latest H and Reseealth News Around tharch from e World

NEW TREATMENT FOR JET LAG ON THE HORIZON That groggy feeling you have for a week after getting off the plane? It’s all in your head. That is to say, there’s a brain chemical that makes you experience the tiring sensation known as jet lag. By figuring out which one it is, researchers may have a way to take the lag out of jets.

The hormone called vasopressin, researchers at Kyoto University have found, affects the brain section known as the suprachiasmatic nucleus, where the brain’s circadian clock is set.

Because vasopressin is pumped out by the suprachiasmatic nucleus, the researchers had suspected the possibility that it was involved in the brain’s timekeeping. So they engineered mice without the proteins on cell surfaces that could bind with the hormone. Then they changed the light and darkness of those mice and a control group by eight hours, the equivalent length of the shift in an average-length international flight.

The mice without the ability to use vasopressin adjusted to the new schedule within two to four days, where regular mice required eight to ten days.

There are drugs that can block vasopressin in the brain. So far, they’re only experimental. But soon a pill may have you up and running around almost as soon as you step off the plane.

THE PEANUT BUTTER TEST

Diagnosing Alzheimer’s with a spoonful Tests to diagnose Alzheimer’s disease can be costly, difficult, or invasive. But researchers may have found the ultimate low-cost diagnostic tool: a spoonful of peanut butter.

Researchers at the University of Florida McKnight Brain Institute Center for Smell and Taste were interested in investigating the use of smell testing to search for the first signs of dementia. Smell is often one of the first senses to be affected by age-related cognitive issues.

The researchers used a tube filled with peanut butter to test for smell sensitivity in a number of patients. With eyes closed and one nostril closed, the patients would report when they could smell the peanut butter, as the researcher moved the tube closer and closer to the open nostril. Both nostrils were tested.

The researchers were not initially told the patients’ diagnosis. But when they examined the results, they found something surprising. Those patients with a diagnosis of early Alzheimer’s could smell the peanut butter better with their right nostril than with their left nostril. Those who had a diagnosis of a different kind of cognitive impairment either had equal sensitivity in both nostrils or stronger sensitivity in the left one.

More research is necessary to develop the peanut butter test as a diagnostic tool. But if your neurologist asks you, “Smooth or crunchy?” next time you visit, don’t be surprised.

PARENTING

My Toddler Is Jealous of the New Baby AMILIVING ASKS THE EXPERTS TO WEIGH IN

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PARENTING

Rebbetzin Seryl Berman

“Is there anything I can do to make the transition easier?”

“Is Jealousy Normal?”

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Rebbetzin Seryl Berman is a parenting coach in Lakewood, New Jersey, who gives the popular Nachas B’Nachas parenting classes. She is also a teacher at Shiras Devorah High School.

Imagine that your husband’s younger brother just got engaged and you’re looking forward to meeting your future sister-in-law at the l’chayim.

Then your mother-in-law calls and gushes, “Wow! Sarah is so amazing! She’s smart, witty, gorgeous and a baalas chesed. She’s everything we could ever wish for in a daughter-in-law!” She elaborates on and on, describing the kallah with every single virtue under the sun.

Hmmm.

How excited would you be about meeting the kallah after a conversation like that? The truth is that had you just met her without this introduction you would have naturally liked her, because she really is so wonderful.

I use this analogy to explain why you shouldn’t make a big fuss over your newborn baby in front of your toddler. Don’t say things like, “Isn’t she cute?

Look at those tiny toes!” Instead, shower him with extra attention. Give him a hug and say, “You are so cute! I love you so much!” The more attention he gets, the more likely it is that he will come to appreciate the baby’s cuteness on his own—after all, the baby really is adorable, and children love babies; if she were someone else’s baby he would certainly think she was cute. But whenever you push something on someone, it doesn’t work.

You have to be extremely sensitive to a toddler’s feelings. I remember once walking my two-year-old home from playgroup. She was having fun balancing on a brick ledge, but I felt pressured to get home to feed my newborn. However, it’s important to avoid saying things like, “Hurry up. I have to feed the baby…” because two months ago, before the baby was born, I would have let her dawdle. We mustn’t rub it in her face. Whenever possible, let things not be about the baby. Say instead, “Please hurry.

Mommy is in a rush.” She doesn’t need to know you’re rushing because the baby is hungry.

If your toddler touches the baby roughly, you should say, “We don’t hurt people” rather than “Don’t hurt the baby.” Don’t put the baby on a pedestal!

I was once sitting outside with some neighbors.

One mother had her tiny newborn in a carriage covered by a pristine, white blanket. When her toddler came over and tried to take a peek she jumped up and pushed his hand away. “Don’t touch!” she admonished him. “Your hands are dirty.” I felt so bad for the little child. We shouldn’t make a toddler feel that the baby is clean and pure, and he is big and dirty.

It’s always a shock to see how big your toddler looks when you come home from the hospital with a newborn. Before you left to the hospital, you treated him like a baby and expected less of him. But this is certainly not the time to make new demands on your “big boy” and raise your expectations. Right now, he needs a grace period to get used to things. Just give him lots of love and attention and be sensitive to his feelings, and the jealousy will decrease.

“You know what would really traumatize him? Not having any siblings!

You’re giving him the greatest gift, so don’t feel guilty.”

Dr. Robert Shanik Dr. Robert Shanik is one of the foremost pediatricians in Lakewood, New Jersey.

His practice, Pediatric Affiliates, is one of the largest in the entire Northeast. He responds: Yes. It’s very common, and the child directly above the baby in birth order is usually the most jealous. Make him feel important, as though he is being helpful to Mommy. Give him extra time and attention when the baby is sleeping.

Don’t allow visitors to crowd around the newborn and dote only on him. Ask them to make a fuss over the other children too, saying, “Wow!

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You are so helpful!” Make sure to give all the kids compliments. And when it comes to presents, the siblings should receive some as well.

Every child needs to receive private time with Mommy and Daddy during this transitional period.

If there is a lot of potching or the toddler gets violent, you should seek guidance.

Perl Abramovitz Perl Abramovitz, a well-known parenting and self-parenting coach, and lecturer who gives workshops worldwide, answers: In every unhealthy relationship there is a victim, an abuser and a rescuer. You don’t want to set up anyone as any one of these. If your toddler hurts the baby, pick the infant up and put him near your face and “talk” for him. Say, “I don’t like it when you potch me!” Give the toddler minimal attention for his negative behavior while giving the baby lots of it.

I know a mother whose toddler was biting her baby. She assembled a pharmacy’s worth of powders, creams, oils, bandages and lotions, and the next time her toddler bit him she picked the baby up and spent 20 minutes “taking care” of his bite. When the toddler tried to engage her she responded, “I can’t

talk to you right now. I’m taking care of the baby.”

Keep the baby out of your toddler’s way as much as possible. In my experience I have found that this stage is hardest with one’s first and second children.

When I was expecting twins I was worried about my toddler and called someone for advice. “I’m afraid he’s going to be traumatized!” I told her.

She said, “You know what would really traumatize him? Not having any siblings! You’re giving him the greatest gift, so don’t feel guilty.”

This stage will pass. These children will love each other one day.

Simi Yellen Simi Yellen, whose popular parenting courses have been available in person and online for over a decade, responds: For a “younger” toddler (up to 24 months), the best defense against jealousy is to shower him with attention. Show him through your actions that the baby isn’t usurping all of your interest. Be mindful of the toddler; even if you’re holding or feeding the newborn, focus on the toddler by reading, playing or just talking to him.

For a toddler two and over, it is often helpful to allow him to express his feelings of jealousy in order to overcome them. Many times, a young child will not be able to do this on his own, but you

can actually help by doing it for him. For example, during a quiet moment together you can say, “It isn’t always easy having the baby around, is it?

Sometimes I bet you wish it could just be the two of us, right?” Just hearing you voice these feelings is very validating, and it’s a big relief for him to hear his mixed emotions expressed. You can then reassure the toddler that you’ll always make time just for him (which you should), and that Hashem makes a Mommy’s heart sooo big that there’s always room to love you both.

Rabbi Zev Leff Rabbi Zev Leff is the rav of Moshav Matityahu and rosh yeshivah of Yeshiva Gedolah Matityahu Matityahu.

Although this question is best put to a child psychologist or someone with practical experience in these areas, I still choose to answer the question in order to give a Torah perspective on what the practical solutions should be based upon.

The emotion of jealousy arises from two causes.

The first is when a person doesn’t appreciate his own importance or possessions and focuses only on someone else’s. The second is the perception that someone else is impinging on what is rightfully his, and that the other person’s gain is the direct cause of his loss.

Both perceptions, of course, are off the mark. Hashem gives us exactly what we need for our specific role and

function in the world, and whatever someone else has in no way diminishes what we receive. G-dly blessings are never doled out at someone else’s expense.

Obviously, toddlers cannot understand these concepts, and that is exactly what causes their jealousy. They see the baby getting the attention they would like for themselves, and think that it is being done at their expense.

The solution, therefore, is not only to give extra attention to the toddler, but to make him feel that he can also gain from giving attention to the baby. One way would be through praise, presents and other positive reinforcement for relating to the baby in a positive manner.

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“What if he acts out and actually hits the baby?”

“How do I alleviate some of the jealousy?”

What causes a toddler to be jealous?

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TH

TOM

BY ANONYMOUS

HERE IS

A BETTER

MORROW

In the course of life, wisdom and insight are sometimes acquired the hard way. This is the story of a woman who not only rose from an abyss not of her making, but also went on to utilize her knowledge and skills to help others.

I

WAS MARRIED TO MY HUSBAND FOR 12 YEARS. We had four wonderful children and were a happy family. My husband was a great husband and father. Then one day a fire broke out in our place of business and everything changed. Our world turned upside down in the most unimaginable way.

This is our story.

My husband and I were the owners of a popular kosher restaurant. For several years I worked alongside him to build up the business. One morning, as he was lighting the pilot lights in the commercial ovens, there was an explosion. His hands were badly burned, and he was rushed to the burn unit of a local hospital. For the next three and a half months he was in and out of the hospital. He was in constant pain, which he could only tolerate with the help of painkillers. Unfortunately, he became addicted to them.

I had no idea that he could become addicted. My husband eventually ended up hooked on Ambien, Percocet, Vicodin, benzodiazepines (drugs like Xanax, Valium, Klonopin and

Ativan) and all kinds of other opiates. His addiction was the result of the trauma of the fire and his brush with death. No one had warned me it was even a remote possibility, so it was the furthest thing from my mind.

Now, prescription drugs don’t grow on trees, so an addict has to be resourceful in order to obtain such large quantities. People who are addicted to drugs aren’t wearing T-shirts that identify them as such; they look just like you and me, and are charming to boot. Especially in our community, they often fly under the radar because it’s the last thing anyone would suspect.

In the beginning, my husband would go “doctor shopping,” visiting several doctors with the same symptoms and getting prescriptions from each of them, then having them filled in different pharmacies.

There are lots of doctors who are pretty clueless when it comes to prescribing drugs with the potential for addiction. There was one doctor in our community who was so lax that if you called him and complained of a headache, he’d prescribe Vicodin for you over the phone. Eventually, though, my husband found other 1 9 C H E S H VA N 5 7 7 4

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ways to ensure having a supply. Still, I had absolutely no clue that my husband had this problem.

A lot has been done in recent years to cut down on the abuse of controlled substances. Nonetheless, there are still some doctors who will give you a blank prescription for a very low fee, and others who will just give you whatever you want. Nowadays, though, the medical establishment is a lot more aware of the problem. Instead of just writing out more prescriptions, most doctors would probably refer such patients to a pain management specialist.

For a long time I didn’t realize my husband was an addict.

What did I know about drug addiction? Learning about it never even occurred to me. I assumed he was still suffering the aftereffects of his injuries and it was just taking him a long time to recover. To me, he seemed to be suffering from depression, so I got him to go for help for that. Unfortunately, the doctor who treated him had no clue that he was addicted and prescribed antidepressants, adding to the cocktail of prescription pills he was already taking. Of course, they all interacted with each other dangerously.

While there are blood tests doctors can use to test for drug addiction, I believe that the main problem with many psychiatrists is that they don’t involve the family in the patient’s treatment. Had anyone interviewed me and asked me key questions about my husband’s behaviors, they might have gained greater insight into what was happening.

One night I was still in the restaurant at around 10:00 p.m. when my husband called me from home. He told me that he felt as if his stomach was about to explode. I immediately ran home; he was clearly unwell. The next morning, a Friday, I sent him to the doctor, who said he thought it was just a virus. But by that night his condition had deteriorated, so we went to the emergency room. The doctor had told us that if we had to go to the hospital we should have them call him and he would rush right over, but he never called back. They decided to do emergency surgery. It turned out he had a twisted bowel.

Unfortunately, something went wrong during surgery and there was leakage in the body that resulted in sepsis. My husband went into a coma and was given 24 hours to live. A drug called Xigris, was administered and he was brought out of the coma.

After a couple of days I saw that he wasn’t getting better and had him transferred to a different hospital. After another 14-hour operation he started to recuperate. He was eventually discharged from the hospital on Erev Pesach.

I kept chalking up my husband’s moodiness to the fact that he wasn’t feeling well and wasn’t working. Every day I’d leave for work at 9:00 a.m. When school was over, the kids would come directly to the restaurant and I’d do homework with them there. At around 8:00, I’d go back home to put them to bed, then return to work until closing time at 11:00. So there wasn’t much interaction between the two of us. My husband always knew exactly when I was coming home, and took drugs

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when he wouldn’t be discovered. He was very depressed, but as someone who had almost died and was still facing many challenges, I thought that was understandable. For some reason he also seemed to be going through a lot of money, but he kept explaining it away and I let it go. Let’s not forget that my husband and I had been married for many years, and having almost lost him, I wanted to believe his explanations. After all, he had always been a good husband and father.

Everything began to unravel one Friday night when a neighbor came over to my house while my husband was in shul and said, “Your husband is addicted to pills. What are we going to do about it?” He told me that about three weeks before, my husband had told him that he was in excruciating pain, but that I was opposed to him taking pain medication. He wanted the neighbor to order medicine for him over the Internet and he would pay for it. The neighbor felt bad that I was being so tough on him and agreed to order it. Three weeks later, he continued, my husband had approached him again and reminded him that they needed to reorder the following week. That didn’t sit well with him; something smelled fishy.

That Friday night, the neighbor happened to mention to the guy next to him in shul that he was worried about my husband because he was asking him to order pills for him over the Internet. “You too?!” the other guy exclaimed. Then another man piped up and then another, and it turned out that there were eight people at the table ordering drugs for him online. With these online Canadian pharmacies, you can only place an order every 30 days and there can only be a single account per address.

That’s why he had our neighbor and his friends from shul do it.

When this neighbor realized what was going on he decided to

UNFORTUNATELY, THE DOCTOR HAD NO CLUE THAT HE WAS ADDICTED AND PRESCRIBED ANTIDEPRESSANTS, ADDING TO THE COCKTAIL OF PRESCRIPTION PILLS HE WAS ALREADY TAKING. pay me a visit.

At that moment, all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. But at that point I did not say anything to my husband about the conversation with our neighbor.

In my own defense, I’d like to say that I’m not stupid. It’s not so simple to tell when someone is using drugs.

In retrospect, there were a lot of certain behaviors, like a slew of fender-benders and minor accidents. It was now almost two years after the fire, and he still hadn’t gone back to work. But I was unaware that drugs might be the problem. Addicts are expert manipulators and they hide what they’re doing. There’s no telltale

sign that says, “I’m using.” Now I know that there are certain behaviors to watch out for. A son, daughter or spouse can easily pull the wool over your eyes because it’s not something you’re looking for. Why would you even suspect it in a spouse you’ve been married to for X number of years, who has no history of addiction? My attitude at the time was, “Nebach, look what the poor guy went through. That’s why he has emotional issues.

He needs his space. He can’t deal with the stress.” Afterward, of course, everything clicked—the blackouts, the forgetful behaviors, spending a lot of time in bed, all the unexplained expenses. Money was running through our hands like water, and

IT TURNED OUT THAT THERE WERE EIGHT PEOPLE IN SHUL ORDERING DRUGS FOR HIM ONLINE. I couldn’t pinpoint where it was going. He was also paranoid: If the doorbell rang, he was fearful they were “coming to get him.”

The conversation with the neighbor took place right before Lag B’Omer, and we were supposed to be going to Eretz Yisrael.

Over the next few days I called a few different organizations to figure out what my next step would be.

I had someone write a letter for me to our rebbe in Eretz Yisrael, and when we got there the two of us went to him. (I hadn’t told my husband that I had contacted him.) When we walked in, the Rebbe said, “I hear you have a problem,” but my husband refused to discuss it. When we got back to New York, he took down the big picture of the Rebbe that was hanging on our wall. That’s how he dealt with it!

I tried to confront my husband, but he denied his drug addiction. “It isn't true,” he said.

I called Project SAFE (Sephardic Addiction Family Education), and I managed to convince him to go down there with me. Things were rapidly spiraling out of control. He would sometimes turn violent if I used tactics to prevent him from getting his next fix, such as taking away his car keys. One time he stormed out of the house and was gone for a week, but when he came back he agreed to do whatever it would take to kick the habit.

Then someone suggested that I speak to Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski in Monsey. I went and cried my eyes out. I was literally hyperventilating.

“Do you ever go to Al-Anon meetings?” he asked me.

I said, “I’m not sure the Rav understands. I’m not the one with the problem.”

He asked me again, “But do you go to meetings?”

I said, “What do I need meetings for?”

“Because there you will find love, support and answers.”

So I began going to meetings. I found one in Manhattan in an outpatient facility. At first I wanted to put a brown paper bag over my head and carry a sign that said, “I’m not the problem.”

They tell you that for the first six months you’re supposed to just sit there and listen and not make any life-changing decisions, so that’s what I did. It was shocking for me to hear so many different people from all walks of life with exactly the same story. In Al-Anon, the “anon” isn’t necessarily a spouse; it can be

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a mother, a father or a child—any significant other dealing with someone with an addiction. The love, support and acceptance you get from these meetings is invaluable. They give you the courage to make the changes you need to make, and this helps you to move on with your life.

By then the experts were telling my husband that he needed to go into a drug rehabilitation program. He agreed to go. He had finally realized that he could no longer deny he was abusing drugs. It was close to Pesach. Every year we used to go to a hotel for Pesach, so my husband said he would attend the sedarim there and then go into rehab on Chol Hamoed. We didn’t tell anyone what was going on, just that he was having stomach issues and would be going into a hospital. Before we left for the hotel I asked him if he had enough pills. Yes, he replied, he had 96 tablets, which was enough to get him through Yom Tov. But once we arrived he started to shake and have convulsions, symptoms of withdrawal, so we had to get some Xanax from a doctor who happened to be a guest. That’s how many pills he was accustomed to taking.

He finally went into rehab but it was an uphill battle. His family had repeatedly told him that he really wasn’t so sick and didn’t need rehab for an extended period of time, so he left after only 11 days. A friend had advised me to have the locks changed in our house so he couldn’t get back in, but I foolishly didn’t listen. In retrospect, I should have. Who knows?

The outcome might have been different.

Knowing that he still had a home to return to prevented him from hitting rock bottom, a state that experts say an addict must reach in order to recover.

It wasn’t long before he started using drugs again. I would often think he was using when he wasn’t, and the other way around. Needless to say, the constant suspicion and uncertainty over what’s

really going on is corrosive to a marriage.

That June, when it became apparent in the community that my husband was using, my son’s cheder called and told me to find a new school for him. He was only in kindergarten. My family, I was told, didn’t meet their image.

I cried and cried. I went to rabbanim, but no one could help me. In retrospect I see that Hashem had a better plan, because I don’t believe my son would have excelled to the same degree had he stayed in the yeshivah that kicked him out. Today, he’s in the top shiur. He’s an amazing kid, ka”h. But the pain is still raw. I’ll never get over the fact that when I was at my lowest point, when my children and I were suffering, instead of being there for us, the cheder just kicked him out.

After that happened with my son, I began to feel apprehensive about my daughters. Would they be kicked out of school too? So I went to the Bais Yaakov they attended and spoke to the principal.

I told her everything. I was open and honest. The first thing she said was, “How can I help?” I asked her to get them into therapy, and she did. Eventually, though, the therapist called me up and said, “I don’t want to put you in this position; I know what you’re going through. But you’re going to have to make a choice, because these behaviors cannot continue.

The children cannot continue living with their father.”

At that point in the saga, whenever I confronted my husband he always denied that he was using drugs again. He was a good-natured guy, and I just wanted to believe him.

When the cheder expelled my son, I went into overdrive trying to come up with all kinds of creative ways to control my husband’s addiction. This is a common reaction of people living with an addict.

But of course, it doesn’t work.

The first thing I did was install a program called eBlaster on the computer, which allowed me to see everything he was doing. Whenever he ordered drugs online, I just canceled the order. I’d rummage through his tefillin bag and throw out whatever I found. I did this

for a couple of years until I finally learned that another person can’t cure or control someone’s addiction. So I went through my own journey too, flushing pills down the toilet, taking him in to be tested, and other similar measures. But at the end of the day, an addict is very resourceful and will be able to obtain drugs no matter what you do.

People in my shoes sometime think we’re controlling the addict’s behavior, but by not allowing them to face the consequences of their actions, all it does is turn us into enablers.

For example, my husband once hit someone else’s car while driving and I paid for the damage. What I should have done was let him take the rap, whatever it was. An addict doesn’t seek recovery until hitting rock bottom. If you make the place the addict is in too comfortable, he or she has no reason to do the hard work of recovery.

Just to give you an idea of the horror of it all, I was once at work when my son called me and said, “Tatty is standing in front of the refrigerator with a Snapple bottle and he can’t find his mouth.” He would also do things like walk outside in his underwear. No one who hasn’t been in my situation can truly understand the mix of emotions felt by the family of an addict, from revulsion to anger to pity to humiliation—and everything in between.

Making it worse, of course, was the fact that our shame and mortification were public knowledge. Hatzolah had been called more than once when he was walking around hallucinating, so people knew what was going on.

The next degradation in the parade was my husband’s arrest for buying 500 pills with the intent to sell them. I was at my wits’ end and I didn’t know where to turn for help. At that point I had tried going to many different organizations and psychologists, but nothing worked. I decided that I would try one more thing: We went for help to David Mandel at Ohel, who asked my husband if he was using. He said no. He swore up and down that he was clean. He always minimized what he was doing. He would say that he was taking 20 pills a day when he was taking 100. He would also lie about the dosages, telling us that they were only 2 mg each when they were really 5 or 10.

David said, “I understand you got arrested with 500 pills.”

“Baruch Hashem,” he replied. “If not, I would have used them.”

My husband did spend one night in jail, but his family got him out. He accepted a plea bargain and was never prosecuted. Later, though, he was arrested again after some incidents of domestic violence.

One day I was called into my kids’ school and informed that, based upon certain information that had reached their ears, unless my husband left the premises of our home they were going to call ACS, the Administration for Children’s Services. That night I went to our rav, who gave my husband an ultimatum: Either he went into serious, long-term rehab or he was out. He chose to leave.

We ended up getting divorced. Seven years had elapsed since our nightmare began with the fire. He was so enslaved to his

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IN MY OWN DEFENSE, I’D LIKE TO SAY THAT I’M NOT STUPID. IT’S NOT SO SIMPLE TO TELL WHEN SOMEONE IS USING DRUGS. addiction that he didn’t even ask for the children he had loved and cared for just a few short years before. By then, all he really cared about was feeding his addiction.

Unfortunately, he had a lot of support from his family. In fact, they loved him to death—literally. If you’re doing anything that will stop the addict from feeling the consequences of his actions, you are enabling him. For example, when my husband had no place to go, his family opened their doors and let him in. If he had been forced to fend for himself, maybe he would have gone into rehab sooner and lived.

But I can’t really blame them either. It’s extremely difficult to allow someone you love to hit rock bottom—and it has to be done under the guidance of rabbanim and specialists. In my opinion, the Twerskis—Rabbis Abraham, Benzion and Mottel— are amazing, because not only are they knowledgeable about the disease of addiction, but they’re daas Torah. They were an incredible source of help and support for me, for which I am very grateful.

Shortly thereafter, my husband was taken to a hospital suffering from hypothermia and other complications of addiction. He was near death. That January, he was transferred to a rehab facility in Boca Raton, Florida, and was niftar later that year in a halfway house. It was incredibly tragic.

I bear absolutely no anger or resentment toward my exhusband for what my children and I went through. He was a suffering soul. Addiction is a disease. I have worked very hard since his passing to share positive memories of him with my children, especially the youngest, who did not know him at his best. I show them letters and pictures from our early life together so they can understand the person behind the disease.

Eventually, the stress and long hours of running the business began to take their toll. I knew it wasn’t something I wanted to do forever, and it wasn’t even worth it financially. One thing led to another and I found my true calling.

One thing the addiction recovery community stresses is giving back to others. I decided to go back to school and became a CASAC, a Credentialed Alcoholism and Substance Abuse

Counselor. I also did additional training to become a recovery coach and I counsel people internationally. I’ve learned that it’s much more rewarding to feed people’s souls than their stomachs.

Today, I work with people with all kinds of addictions, as well as those suffering from anorexia and bulimia. These last two conditions fall under the addiction rubric because they are ways of abusing food.

As a CASAC therapist, I don’t do one-on-one counseling; it’s more like case management. We’re the ones who do the interventions, make referrals for rehab and decide whether a person needs a nutritionist or behavior modification. There are countless people who used to be addicts who are now clean and leading productive lives. They still struggle daily, but I’ve definitely made a dent and hope to continue on an even larger scale.

The real trigger for me to enter this field occurred on an Erev Pesach. I had just bought myself a new couch and glass coffee table when my daughter called to tell me that the cleaning lady had broken the glass. I told her to just put the table in the corner so no one would see the crack. “Mom!” she said, “I looove your program,” meaning Al-Anon. She could see that I was in “solution mode" and it worked.

It occurred to me then that perhaps I had gone through everything I had for a bigger reason: Maybe I could help others.

Right now, I’m working with Madraigos, a frum outreach center located on Broadway in Woodmere. They have support groups and do assessment, referrals, prevention education and crisis management, and they have a 24-hour support line.

I’m also trying to get a government grant to be able to lead faith-based groups for people in recovery. It’s been proven that people who are connected to their community’s spirituality have a more sustained recovery. I’m actually working on creating an entire comprehensive program: parenting classes, vocational courses, anger management, plus life and coping skills. My goal is to ultimately found my own organization called Road to Recovery. I also plan on trying to obtain another grant to go into high schools and do presentations. I’ll tell them my story, as well as others, and hopefully stop them from picking up that first cigarette or drug or drink.

It says in the Talmud that whoever saves a life saves an entire world. Every single person is Hashem’s child, even if he’s smoking crack out on the streets. We’re all created in the tzelem Elokim; we’re all here for a reason. The challenge is to find each person’s raison d’être and restore his simchas hachayim.

Going back for a hit is the easy way out. Drugs allow people the luxury of not having to deal with painful emotions and feelings of inadequacy. It’s a lot easier to go into shutdown mode than deal with the harsh realities of life.

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NO ONE WHO HASN’T EXPERIENCED IT CAN UNDERSTAND THE MIX OF EMOTIONS FELT

BY THE FAMILY OF AN ADDICT.

Sometimes a child has to be given an ultimatum. It can reach a point where you tell him that he must either go into rehab or he cannot live at home. You have to set boundaries about what you will and will not accept. He may choose to be locked out.

That is the meaning of unconditional love. I will not love the addict to death. I will not help him die. For a parent, it’s often harder to lock a kid out and force him to deal with reality than to perpetuate the problem. Sometimes, if you let the child continue to live at home, you’re taking away his choice to go into rehab.

Change is uncomfortable. When the addict has somewhere to live, he won’t hit rock bottom. You’re not closing the door, you’re just saying it’s either rehab or you’re out. It’s an important step to take, under the right guidance.

“Rock bottom,” of course, is different for every individual.

For some people it can mean losing financial or political status.

For others, it’s sleeping on a park bench. But the situation has to become so unbearable that they’ll give up the comfort of numbing themselves and go through the very hard work of recovery. And make no mistake: It is extremely difficult. It’s much easier to keep on medicating yourself than confront real emotions, like guilt over the people you’ve hurt. It’s a grueling process, and the only reason someone would choose to do it is because he cannot continue to live as he is living.

With the proper guidance, you can speed up the process of

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hitting rock bottom so the person doesn’t end up in the hospital or in jail or even dead. The real trick is to make the addict feel the pain and consequences of his using, thereby leading him to recovery. The addict, faced with reality, might feel like you’re abandoning him and decide to put himself out of his misery. But you’re not really abandoning him; you’re doing him the biggest chesed in the world. Not doing anything, which is easier, is the real abandonment.

No one is advocating putting kids or spouses out on the street as an alternative to rehab. But by giving them an ultimatum, you’re supplying them with a motivation to go into rehab.

Statistically, that’s what they choose. That’s real, unconditional love. It’s doing something that is much more painful to you as a parent, for your child’s sake.

The spouse of an addict can’t always stick it out either.

Sometimes you have to leave.

Addiction is a disease. Once you remove the shame, denial and worries about shidduchim, you can really give addicts a chance at a renewed life.

There are women you see on the street dressed to kill, yet you’d never know they have a bottle of vodka in their pocketbooks and that their lives are falling apart. One woman I know was asked by her son not to attend his wedding, afraid of the scene she would make. That’s how unmanageable she was when she was drinking.

Yet despite all my experiences in life, my closing statement is one of hope. Trust in Hashem. There is a better tomorrow. I do believe that all our trials and tribulations are a stepping stone to something better. If we can understand that, everything is much easier to go through. The addict must likewise believe that there is hope, that he really can stop using.

There is nobody out there who is completely lost or too far gone. And everyone is worth the effort. n

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shidduchresources

COMPILED BY ESTHER GARTENHAUS

The sheer volume of e-mails, letters, phone calls and faxes we receive, regarding the shidduch crisis, is eyeopening. This column is our contribution to help address this crisis.

A more complete list appears on our website: www.amimagazine.org. This is a joint communal effort, so we need to hear from you! Shadchanim and activists: Contact Esther Gartenhaus at matchmaker@amimagazine.org to list your appropriate services, shidduch meetings and pertinent activities!

General Shidduchim

Mrs. Lisa Elefant 718.256.7525 / LisaElefant@yahoo.com Mrs. Ethel Halpert 718.853.4083 / Motzaei Shabbos Mrs. Rayzel Harrar 718.376.8547 Mrs. Hadassah Hoffner 718.309.5700 Mrs. Chana Rivka Jacobs 718.256.7525 at Binyan Adei Ad The Kesher Connection of Boro Park 718.576.1094 support@kesherconnection.com.

Mrs. Pearl Klepfish 718.338.8106 Rebbetzin Elisheva Koenig718.258.8475 / 718.377.2631 / elishevakoenig@gmail.com Mrs. Dina Lapp 917.470.4840 / diny613@gmail.com lchaimshidduch.com Mrs. Tova Liebb 732.367.7252 / tliebb@yahoo.com Mrs. Libby Lieberman Mazal.brocha@gmail.com Mrs. Simchas Olam rivkalittman@yahoo.com Mrs. Devorah Meyer 718.213.0761 / MTW 8–10:30 p.m.

Mrs. Shaindy Mitnick 347.322.0001 / afternoons and evenings / shaindymitnick@gmail.com Mrs. Chava Most Fax: 732.377.5484 / sensitiveshidduchim@gmail.com / specializes in shidduchim for individuals with physical, medical, fertility and genetic conditions Rabbi Ahron Mueller 848.299.2598 National Council of Young Israel Shidduch Program Department 212.929.1525, ext. 150 / jsteinig@youngisrael.org Mr. Motti Neuhaus mottineuhaus@yahoo.com Mrs. Esther Notis 732.367.7942 / Please leave message.

Mrs. Adina Reich adinareich@gmail.com Resumé Center ifoundashidduch@gmail.com Mrs. Chana Rose chanarose36@verizon.net Mrs. Rochel Rubanowitz 212.543.2723 Mrs. Joy Scher proudbubby1@aol.com Mrs. Sara Schwarcz 718.854.8722 / 917.446.3213 Mrs. Baila Sebrow 516.239.0564 / bsebrow@aol.com Mrs. Chaya Segal 718.854.6315 / evenings / specializes in older singles Mrs. Blimmie Stamm 732.363.1554

FOR COMP THE LETE L IST, GO TO amim agazin e.org

Mental Health/Emotional Issues Shoshana Goldman 718.983.9187 Temima Gross 410.358.7017 / temiragross@gmail.com

Ohel’s Simcha Program / Sarah Kahan 718.686.3262 sarah_kahan@ohelfamily.org fcbrecher@gmail.com

Public Announcements Thanks to those women who have called in to volunteer assistance with shidduch calls! If you are articulate and capable, please call in. More are needed!

347.482.8429 Plenty of shadchanim…yet never enough! Join as a volunteer shadchan. Call Kesher Connection at 718.576.1094.

Resource for previously married men and women. Also, singles willing to marry previously married men and women, contact Mrs. B. Stein. belle960@gmail.com Seeking girls for quality, frum, working (non-degreed) chasidishe boys! 845.425.7520 SHADCHANUS SERVICES—HIRE

BY THE HOUR. Hire your own private shadchan to network for

you! Shadchanim and interested parties, please contact Ruchie 718.438.2834 for more details.

Shidduch meetings in Kensington. For details, call Mrs. Edie Jaffe at 718.853.8691.

Looking for single girls/women of all ages, with controlled medical issues (i.e., on meds).

Many special compatible young men available! Confidential!

Please call Rivky 718.419.7855 Shidduchim Workshops in Brooklyn, Lakewood, or your town!

Premarital/Shidduch hadrachah workshops with Mrs. Esther Gartenhaus for post high-school girls/young women! Call to schedule your workshop and for private appointments: 347.482.8429

Israel

Mrs. Yehudis Abir 02.586.3310 / evening hours / judyabir@gmail.com Mrs. Shulamit Goldberger 02.561.1019 V’hareinu B’vinunei (Yiddish-speaking organization) Shidduch for zivug sheini 011-972-54-849-9440

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We welcome your letters, comments and shidduch questions, as well as helpful ideas, advice and tips on...shidduchim! Contact us at matchmaker@amimagazine.org or via phone (718.534.8800) or fax (718.484.7731).

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CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN LAST WEEK: SHRAGA’S FATHER PAYS DR. REICH A VISIT.

Shraga Meets Raizy

A

fter my father told me what he’d done I was mortified.

I’d had enough of everyone mixing into my business. I knew everyone felt sorry for me and was only trying to help, but now that I’d been discharged from the hospital and had progressed to using a cane, I was trying to put the accident behind me—and looked forward to everyone else doing the same.

Upon reflection, I’d had enough of this reconciliation business, and decided to put an end to it. Taking a deep breath, I called my mother and asked her to set me up with Raizy. Because the suggestion had been drilled into me by my parents practically from the moment I was born, it had always been floating around in my subconscious, filed away as unfinished business.

My mother wasted no time, and the next thing I knew Raizy and I were meeting for coffee. Boy, was I in for

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the shock of my life! I could still see the young girl I remembered from family simchos before we were separated on opposite sides of the mechitzah, but time had really taken its toll on my cousin. I hadn’t seen her in years, and the picture I had in my head was far different from the reality in front of me. Raizy wasn’t that much older than Shuli, but she looked almost old enough to be her mother.

However, I was long past such considerations. Right now, what I needed and wanted was a normal, stable companion and a stepmother for my children. The accident and its aftermath had really affected them, and according to Shuli, the strain of the past year was beginning to show.

Moshe Yonah was coming down with mysterious ailments and staying home from school every chance he got. Shuli was going crazy having him home so often, but there was nothing she could do. Faigy was wetting the bed.

1 9 C H E S H VA N 5 7 7 4

Thank G-d, the baby was still a baby, although now that I thought about it he was almost three and his upsherin was coming up. The thought of it made my heart clutch. Time was passing. Life was happening all around me. People were moving on.

All these thoughts were swirling through my mind as I sipped my coffee and listened to Raizy chat. It was kind of unsettling how much she resembled her mother—and therefore my mother.

But I tried to put that aside and view her as a potential mate. As far as I was concerned, she fit the bill. She was smart and funny, already knew and accepted my family, was financially independent, and I could tell that we would be compatible. I was ready to close the deal right then and there— why go through the charade of dating and all that? But after my fiasco with Sara Leah, I knew I couldn’t just whip out a ring and ask her to marry me. I didn’t want anyone to think that I didn’t

know what I was doing, flitting from kallah to kallah.

On the other hand, maybe I really didn’t know what I was doing. It would probably take years to figure out the effects of the accident on me. I knew enough about psychology to know what I didn’t know. But the one thing I was sure of was that I had to get myself settled. Although it pained me to admit it, Shuli had done a fabulous job of looking after the business, and while we didn’t make a huge profit she had managed to keep things steady. I was truly grateful, so much so that I had the company send her a bonus as a token of gratitude.

As I later heard from my kids, it was a disaster. When the envelope arrived in the mail and Shuli opened it, she’d burst into tears. I’ll admit it wasn’t a personal gesture; I hadn’t even signed the enclosed card, and Shuli must have interpreted it as the final nail in the coffin of our reconciliation. Of course, once the kids saw her crying they started to cry too.

Sorry, kids. Mommy and Tatty are not getting back together.

I vaguely remembered everyone in the family clucking their tongues whenever “poor Raizy’s” name was mentioned. She’d never married, and Shuli always felt that my family blamed her for “stealing” me away—

I VAGUELY REMEMBERED EVERYONE IN THE FAMILY CLUCKING THEIR TONGUES WHENEVER “POOR RAIZY’S” NAME WAS MENTIONED. even though we’d gotten married years before the rift in the family was repaired. My parents had never been truly happy about my shidduch, and perhaps my current interest in Raizy was a way of making it up to them. That, of course, would be unfair to everyone, so I obviously had to see Raizy several more times before coming to a decision. The last thing I wanted was another divorce.

For the past few months I’d been making a huge effort to see my kids more often and spend quality time with them. Shuli was more than happy to have a break for a few hours, and I felt like I was finally getting to know them. While I certainly did my share of pitching in while we were married, Shuli had basically run the show, and I was usually only called upon as her understudy. Never before in my life had I appreciated being a father so much.

The next time I picked them up, I took them to the playground and attempted to teach the big ones how to ride a bike, which I’d just bought. It wasn’t so easy with my bad leg; I could only tell them what to do rather than demonstrate, but I gave it my best.

Moshe Yonah’s eyes lit up like fireworks when he saw the shiny bicycle, but fizzled out a moment later.

“What’s wrong, tzaddik?” I asked him.

“I don’t think Mommy’s going to like this,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked.

He hesitated, taking his tongue between his teeth in a gesture I knew well, having seen it many times in the mirror. “Tatty,” he whispered to me, “I think something’s wrong with Mommy.” 

To be continued...

BY DINA NEUMAN

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“O

bjection!” Marvin Cohen shot to his feet.

“Sustained,” said the judge.

“Strike that last statement from the record.” He shook his head at Richard Thomas, who looked pleased with himself anyway.

The judge called for a short recess, and Tova swung to face her lawyer. “What does it mean, what the judge said? To strike it from the record?”

“It means that the clerk will not write those last words on the official record.”

“Why not?”

“They were speculation. They were inappropriate.”

“So it’s like they’re not counted?”

“Exactly.”

“So why did Richard Thomas say them?

And why did he look happy anyway?”

Marvin Cohen sighed. “Because you can’t strike words, once spoken, from the record in here,” he tapped his graying head lightly, “where it counts.”

Tova took this in for a minute. “We’re going to lose, aren’t we,” she said flatly.

Marvin Cohen smiled at her.

“Why are you smiling?” Tova asked, irritated.

“You should smile, too,” he said softly.

“Why?” Tova asked. “What is there to smile about?”

“The opposition, for one thing,” Marvin Cohen said. His smile appeared frozen on his face. “And the judge for the other.”

“But we’re going to—” “Lose? We might. We might not. But that makes no difference.”

“It makes all the difference!”

“Not now, it doesn’t. Not to your face, at least. Never show your doubts. Keep your cards close to your chest. Smile.”

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Tova tried for a smile. A sickly facsimile of one bloomed on her face. “How’s this?” she asked. Her cheeks hurt.

“You look a little scary. I didn’t say that you should grin your head off. Just a small smile, exuding confidence.”

Tova tried to exude confidence. “Good?”

Marvin considered. “Listen, if a talent scout happens by and tries to recruit you for an acting role…”

“A rather unlikely scenario, but okay…”

“Tell me about it. Don’t quit your day job.”

Tova felt a real smile replace the plastic one. “Sound advice. Acting was never really my thing.” The smile slipped off as quickly as it had arrived. “That’s more Lakey’s forte. She can cry at the drop of a hat.”

“I’ll try not to drop my hat.”

Tova looked to her right, but Shmuel was gone. She saw him at the corner of her eye, across the room, speaking quietly into his cell phone, and she couldn’t help but think that maybe there was no one on the other line, that he was speaking to thin air to avoid talking to her. When had her life become such a mess? She swallowed past the lump in her throat, the now familiar wave of nausea. She turned back to her lawyer. “Do we change our strategy? What do we do?”

“We’re fine.”

“We don’t seem fine. Lakey’s lawyer basically got both my witness and his witness to say that things were not good between me and my father, and that if he used the word ‘daughter’ the way that he did in the will, he would not be referring to me. He would be referring to Lakey.”

And that stung, Tova thought.

Because what if it were true?

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This whole thing had become a contest, a way to tally up the “I love yous” that her father had stingily handed out. And right now it seemed like the score was Lakey 2, Tova 0.

“Don’t worry,” Marvin said, his smile still in place. “I still get to cross-examine, you know.”

And with that, the court was back in session. Shmuel slipped silently back into his seat beside Tova at the last minute, when there was no chance of them talking. Tova put that fact and his existence at all firmly in the back of her mind as Marvin Cohen approached the witness stand.

“With the court’s permission, I would like to go over the definition of the word ‘daughter,’” Marvin Cohen began.

“If this concerns that last exchange before the recess, it was stricken from the record. It does not have to be addressed,” the judge said.

“With the court’s permission,” Marvin Cohen, the picture of calm competence, went on, “I would like to address it.”

“You have one minute,” the judge declared after a few seconds of thought.

“Proceed.”

“Thank you, your honor,” The lawyer brushed a quick hand across his forehead and stepped up to Shoshi, who was fidgeting with the ends of her sheitel. He smiled at her and, hesitantly, the girl in the witness stand smiled back.

“Do you have children, Shoshi?”

“Uh, yes.”

“How nice. Sons or daughters?”

“Two sons and one daughter.”

“Lovely. How old is your daughter?”

“Three.”

“Is she old enough to start helping out?”

RECAP: THE COURT CASE IS PROCEEDING, AND TOVA IS LOSING HEART IN THE FACE OF EVIDENCE FROM CHARACTER WITNESSES THAT SEEM TO BE FAVORING LAKEY. LAKEY’S FRIEND SHOSHI CLAIMS THAT LAKEY WAS THE REAL CHILD IN THE HOUSE AND IF ANYONE WOULD BE REFERRED TO AS “DAUGHTER,” SHE WOULD BE, NOT TOVA.

“What do you mean? Like, run errands?

She’s only three.”

“Well, I don’t mean moving the car when it’s alternate side parking,” Marvin grinned. “Picking up her toys, things like that.”

“I mean, yeah. I mean, I try to teach her to help. Like to throw her wrappers in the garbage and put away her dolls and stuff like that, you mean? So then yeah,

compliment you would give her?”

“I would say something like, ‘What a big helper you are!’”

“Are you proud of her, when she helps?”

“Of course!”

“Is she any less of a daughter to you when she helps?”

“No! What kind of question is that?

Why would she be less of a daughter to me if she helps? If anything, because I’m

Things had been looking up for Lakey in the beginning, but now it just might shift in Tova’s direction. totally. Because you have to teach them when they’re young. While they’re still impressionable, you know? I go to a class on chinuch, which is a Hebrew word, sorry, I mean like a class on raising kids, you know, and—” “I do believe the witness has stolen the remainder of your minute,” the judge said wryly.

“Sorry!” Shoshi’s hands flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry!”

“Almost finished anyway, your honor,” Marvin Cohen said smoothly. He turned back to Shoshi, who eased her hands away from her blushing face. “And when she helps out, your daughter, what do you say to her?”

“I give her compliments.”

“What would be an example of a

so proud of her, it’s she’s like almost more of a daughter, if you know what I mean.”

Marvin Cohen waited.

“Oh,” Shoshi breathed.

Marvin nodded. “No further questions—” “Because of what I said before, you mean, like when I said that Tova was not the daughter, but Lakey was because she—” “The witness will stop talking and stand down,” Judge Walkin said in a weary tone. He glanced at Shoshi wonderingly.

“Are you always like this? How does your husband ever get a word in edgewise?”

“Well—” “That, young lady, was a rhetorical question. Look it up.”

“I have no further questions, your

honor,” Marvin Cohen said. He caught Tova’s eye and raised his eyebrows meaningfully but subtly.

Would everything be okay after all?

Was it as simple as that to turn the tide?

Well, why not? Tova released her death grip on the sides of her chair and rubbed some feeling back into her hands. Things had been looking up for Lakey in the beginning, but now it just might shift in her direction. Marvin Cohen was good, she thought. Her estimation of him, which had sunk over the past few hours, rose once again.

Tova glanced in Lakey’s direction, and saw her sister shoot a reassuring look at a miserable Shoshi. That was kind of her, if unexpected, Tova thought, Lakey thinking about anyone besides, well, Lakey.

Marvin Cohen sat down again, his face a careful blank. Tova matched it to the best of her abilities. “What’s next?”she whispered.

Marvin Cohen opened his mouth to answer, but was drowned out by Richard Thomas.

“Your honor, I’d like to call upon the next witness.”

“Proceed,” said the judge.

Lakey looked at Tova, and Tova looked back. Tova couldn’t quite make out the expression on Lakey’s face. She looked… apologetic? Tova’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why would she look apologetic?

Two seconds later, when Richard Thomas called upon the next witness, Tova realized exactly why. Beside her, upon hearing his name being called, her husband slowly rose to his feet. n

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days The Second Time Around A mother worries after a broken engagement As told to Rivka Applebaum

I

t’s hard to recover from a broken engagement. Even after three and a half years, all of us are still feeling the aftershocks. I was amazed that my daughter was able to dust herself off and date again, and even more amazed that, once again, she’s a kallah.

We’re thrilled, of course, but my daughter knows well enough that I won’t be able to breathe freely until this wedding is over. No one expected the last engagement to fall apart, and look what happened. There are no guarantees.

After the last round, we’ve been moving forward with caution. We barely told anyone my daughter was seriously dating again until the l’chayim. Chas v’shalom it shouldn’t work out again—she’d be mortified. People would talk. But after the l’chayim, well, you can’t exactly hide it then. And, of course, everybody is happy, extra happy because they know all about the first time around. And baruch Hashem, she’s engaged. Again.

Miriam always said she did not, under any circumstances, want a vort the next time she got engaged. But it was the first vort for the chasan and his family, and they waited long enough for it—he was 28—so a vort we had. It was odd going through

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the same motions with the same people on our side that we did the last time. But watching my daughter, the animated kallah, greeting everybody with her signature smile, I doubted she was giving “the last time” a second thought.

My daughter is transformed. I can see her relax again, and start to get excited.

She’s radiant. I do envy young people; they’re so resilient. Or maybe it’s just my daughter. She puts the past aside like an old coat that does not fit her anymore.

She’s ready to take on her future with all her youth and enthusiasm and passion.

This is her new chasan and they are excitedly planning their life together.

It’s as if the old chasan never existed.

At least the wedding will be brand new.

I book the hall and we officially set the wedding date. I order tickets for my children to come in from Israel, hoping they’ll be able to actually dance at a wedding this time instead of having to give chizzuk to a brokenhearted kallah-nomore. We go for the gown fitting at the same seamstress we went to before. She sees many kallahs and it has been threeand-a-half years, so it’s likely she forgot that we were the ones who made those last-minute cancellations. We never got

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MIRIAM ALWAYS SAID SHE DID NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, WANT A VORT THE NEXT TIME SHE GOT ENGAGED. rid of the Shas we bought for the first guy; some of the pages were creased so the sefarim store wouldn’t take it back. It’s still on the floor of our study, in the original box, and there it will stay…for now.

We rent gowns for the little sisters and nieces who are thrilled. The little ones’ memories don’t go that far back. It feels like I’m the only one who’s anxious, even though I know this chasan is different, his family is different, and the relationship is different. Way different.

Maybe I’ll feel more settled after the invitations go out.

That’s when it all fell apart last time. They were all addressed and stamped and sitting on the dining room table, waiting to be mailed the following day.

Then we got the call: Their side wanted to end it. Our rav, who was also their rav, told us not to worry. “It’ll work out,” he said. “Send the invitations.”

Baruch Hashem we didn’t. My husband wanted to wait and see if the other side would

send theirs. They never did.

We have no regrets now. We are grateful to Hashem that it ended when it did. It could have been a lot worse.

But still.

I usually love when my new son- or daughter-in-law-tobe calls me, “Mommy.” But recently, for the first time, Miriam’s new chasan did it, and it just felt strange. The other guy also called me, “Mommy,” but I didn’t end up being his mommy. Now the word feels slippery, impossible to hold on to.

The chasan and kallah have decided where they want to live, and they’ve already put down the first month’s rent.

They even signed a one-year lease. They are moving full steam ahead, as they should.

Deep inside, I’m supremely grateful and ecstatic that Hashem has given us this second chance. I feel this is right, and it will be good, b’ezras Hashem.

But I am a mother. And a mother worries. 

Choosing Life

Was it time to let nature take its course?

By Susan Schwartz

M

y mother-in-law is 92 years old. Her mind is clear; she knows the name of every grandchild, along with their spouses and all of her greatgrandchildren. She plays Scrabble daily, gets her hair done every week, and participates in activities at her assisted living facility.

But her body is clearly running down. She is confined to a wheelchair, breathes with the help of supplementary oxygen, and needs assistance for daily functioning.

And now, her kidneys are failing.

The doctor tells us that without dialysis, she won’t live out the year. “Will it be two weeks or two months? That I can’t tell you. She hasn’t gone over the cliff, but she is steadily declining. “ My mother-in-law has survived the loss of two husbands, two children and all of her siblings. Why would she want to prolong her life with dialysis?

“I don’t see the point in prolonging the inevitable,” she says to us, ever the pragmatist. “We all have to die. My heart has been broken so many times, with so many losses, that I can no longer cry. Why keep pushing on, when I can see everything starting to break down?” Her only regret, she tells my husband, is that she’ll be leaving him to sit shivah by himself.

My husband argues with her. “You keep reaping nachas: This grandson just got married; this granddaughter just had a baby… You get calls from relatives and friends all over the world, checking in with you. Your walls are adorned with new pictures of all your children and grandchildren. You aren’t in pain. Shouldn’t you try to do something that will let you continue on for as long as possible?”

I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. My husband lost his father many years ago, and his brother died suddenly.

He fears what he knows is the inevitable: being the only one left.

Having lost both of my parents, I know the pain of seeing someone once vibrant and dynamic slowly slipping away. You can tell yourself they lived a full life. They saw nachas. They 1 9 C H E S H VA N 5 7 7 4

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days “SHOULDN’T YOU DO SOMETHING THAT WILL LET YOU LIVE FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE?” left a legacy.

None of it matters. This is your mother or father, and a piece of you dies when they come to their end. At whatever age you are when it happens, you become the next generation.

Even in your 60s, becoming an orphan stings when you know you can’t pick up the phone to share a moment in your life, or get support for a major life decision you are facing. I understand wanting to hold on as long as possible to the one you hold so dear.

But I also understand my mother-inlaw’s perspective. From the time G-d created the world, man was created to come to a physical end. When every breath is heavy, when you need to be pushed in a wheelchair everywhere you go, when there is no one left to share your deepest thoughts and dreams with, is it time to let nature take its course?

My mother-in-law is competent. The

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decision to prolong her life by going through dialysis is one only she can make.

We can advise, cajole, suggest, and even beg. But at the end of the day, she is the one who will choose.

With trepidation, and some reluctance, my mother-in-law agrees to try dialysis.

The procedure itself is technically a success, but there are too many side effects that sap her strength and hinder her ability to continue with the process.

Several days before she dies, she turns to us and says, “I know the grandchildren will be sad when I die, but they need to know this is how life works. My bags are packed; I have more friends there than here. Do not have prolonged eulogies at my funeral.

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Sit shivah and move on.”

Within five days, her soul returns to its Maker.

She was loved and admired by many people, and had a way of listening to everyone and making him or her feel important. My mother-in-law chose life for as long as she could, but when the time came, she chose death with dignity.

May her memory be for a blessing.  All end of life decisions are different and one should always consult with a rav when faced with such issues.

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