The Break Up

Momentarily, it will be Erev Rosh Hashanah. I wish all of you a sweet new year. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

Once I realized how I was feeling about the day-to-day of being an interfaith mom, I decided to reach out to our Rabbi. In preparation, I wrote what would become, many years later, the beginning of this blog. I thought it was important for him to know what my journey had been and where it had taken me.

I shared my journey with the Rabbi, when we sat down for breakfast on Halloween morning. He read through everything I had written and asked me many questions along the way. We developed a plan. I was going to focus on my spiritual side; I was going to explore the possibilities.
My husband was the VP of the Synagogue Board. I was in bed and didn't hear him arrive home from a board meeting. The phone rang just after midnight. Next thing I knew, he was standing at the foot of the bed. "That was the doctor's office. He wants me to go to the hospital." He was having a heart attack.

A week later, I was offered a part-time consulting project that turned into a 5 year commitment and the experience of a lifetime. I was fulfilled professionally and, to some extent, personally. There was no time to explore my spiritual side. And, the feelings I expressed in my previous post disappeared, until…3 years later.

My husband had a heart attack. That next 6 months is a blur. My mind and heart were focused on him and our children. It was 18 months from when our daughter would become a Bat Mitzvah, and our son was 9 years old.

My husband was not yet ready to tell people what had happened; however, my daughter had a class Shabbat that Friday night. So, along with the kids, I went to services. The Mi shebeirach (a prayer for healing) had a new meaning, and I was just about able to keep it together while we sang this blessing. Here I was - a Catholic mother with two Jewish children, wondering what was going to happen to her Jewish husband.

Somehow, my husband continued his work on the Synagogue's board as soon as he could. Besides being reminded by the Rabbi that he had a Bat Mitzvah to live for - and a Bar Mitzvah not too long after that - I think my husband's place on the Board was one of the things that kept him focused on his recovery. It started with phone calls. Then he started going to meetings. Then he was there all of the time. He had been nominated to be President. His passion for the Synagogue consumed him.

He became President in early June. Within a matter of weeks the beloved Rabbi's contract was not renewed, and there were members of our Synagogue community who were unhappy. Without going into detail, I'll simply say that my husband was treated very badly by some in our community. It still pains me to think about it. I came from a background where politics such as we were embroiled in is unheard of. Priests come and go, and the community has no input. As a result, the parishioners are generally not surprised when change occurs, and they welcome the incoming priest and his fresh perspective. So, I did not expect the venom and meanness that came our way.

One of the low points of this experience was the Congregational meeting just after it happened. I had taken the kids to a swim meet – trying hard to keep their lives as normal as possible. We drove past the Synagogue to see how many cars were in the parking lot. Cars were parked along the main road, the driveway, and there was a full lot. However, there were POLICE CARS parked out front. I was afraid. We had been receiving harassing emails, and we had contacted the police. Had someone come to blows? Was my husband at risk? No, they were just there to keep an eye on things.

My husband spoke at the Congregation meeting, and he was well received. gave a chronological order of events that night to explain to the Congregation all that had transpired leading to this point. They gave him a standing ovation. At that point, I don’t think he gave a damn. On the other hand, I was so proud of him. I was beginning to understand what all of this had meant to him. I was beginning to appreciate him again – for the Jewish man he is rather than for the man I thought he should be.

Three weeks later, the Rabbi said the equivalent of he goes or I go. My  my husband resigned his post as President. For him, I think this decision and the way he was treated were worse than his heart attack.

However, now that this had all come to pass, we had no house of worship where we felt welcome. With a Bat Mitzvah less than a year away, we remained members during that year. However, for services we gathered with others of like mind. I was frustrated. For the past four years, I gave my husband over to that congregation. And he had been tossed back to me – with a new perspective on what it means to be Jewish. I had given up my own religion to raise my children as Jews. Now, the rabbi who I trusted with my deepest thoughts about my own spirituality had been the one who used my husband as his scapegoat. After all I had sacrificed, we had nothing of a spiritual home. Just as this happened, our daughter was to begin her Bat Mitzvah training. For my husband, this was supposed to be one of the highlights of fatherhood. Now, so much of the joy had been sucked out of the planning. It was not fair.