"So does your son go the bathroom sitting down?" This question will forever
top my list of "Things Not to Ask A Single Mother."
I've been shocked by how many people still seem to believe that a boy growing up in a female headed household will automatically behave in an
overtly feminine way- apparently even in his most basic actions.
If anything, I think the situation has brought out a more stereotypically
boyish side in me.
I've learned to play soccer, basketball, and a variety of other sports far
better than I ever did growing up. I memorized the Friday night Kiddish years
ago. I've also picked up some rudimentary skills in carpentry, plumbing, and
various other household repairs. The first time I changed a bicycle tire or
fixed a leaking toilet I felt a real sense of accomplishment, and pride in
knowing that I could really handle things.
Though I'm stretching to fill two roles at once, it is not the same as having a man in the house.
Every year I threaten to dress up for Purim in a costume which on one side is
a pink dress suit and pump and on the other side is one of those long black
coats Chabad men wear on Shabbos- and when people ask me what I'm dressed up as
I'll answer "A single mother."
Still, for all that I feel as though I'm stretching to fill two roles at once, (I'm trying, at least) I know, and my six-year-old son knows, that it
is not the same as having a man in the house. There is a certain type of energy
that's missing. Yet there are also moments when I sit down and cry, without
knowing why or for whom.
I think the response of most people, after the divorce, has been to be
non-judgmental and very very supportive. Friends generally start calling around
Rosh Hashanah to book a chance to dance with my son in shul on Simchas
Torah- something that began when he was so young and we were so new to the
community that the idea of asking anyone to take him to the men's side for the
traditional dance with the Torahs didn't even occur to me.
And when I called someone once to cancel plans to eat at her house on Friday
night because I had a fever she sent over a delicious Shabbos meal- out of
sensitivity to fact that I didn't have a husband to pitch in and defrost
anything. The hardest thing, actually, about being divorced in an Orthodox
community has been convincing people that sometimes we really do prefer to eat
at home and it’s OKAY.
The first time I tried it was the second Passover seder after the
divorce. All of a sudden, I felt this urge to just let us create our own
traditions and not tag along with anyone else's. So we dodged one invitation
after another, finally just telling people "Oh we're already planning on having
Seder with a family" ("OUR family," I would think with a grin). We made it as
far as the hard boiled egg- singing songs from his kindergarten, reading the
"Sometimes we really do prefer to eat at home and it’s OKAY
Haggadah in funny voices, dancing around the living room, and gradually getting
through Seder like any other family out there- with giggles, hunger pangs, eyes
blurry from weeks of cleaning, and countless questions to add to the traditional
four.
After my son fell asleep in my lap. I hurried through the rest and went to
bed early. He woke up in the morning delighted and raced straight to the dining
room table demanding "more seder, more seder" So at 7 am, we started all over
again, without certain prayers, but full of joy.
Since then, I've tried to go out for Shabbos less and less and have guests
more often, and balance that with Shabbos at home with just the two of us. I
want him to have as normal a childhood as possible, and memories of his own to
draw on when he makes his home someday- G-d Willing with a partner who will
always be his.
But it is not easy. For his part, my son has pointed out that other Abbas
(fathers) come home at night. And there's no way that hearing something like
that from your own child won't cut into you. He went through a stage as well
where he wanted to know why his father and I were divorced. Instead, I explained
why we were married. I explained how he needed to be born, we are the parents he
needed, but that we weren't meant to stay married, and it isn't something that
makes complete sense or that can be understood- but there are advantages to how
things are as well as some difficult things and every life has that- the
collection you get is as unique as your soul.
As young as he is, I sometimes get the feeling that he understands what I say
better than I do. And the truth is, more often than not, we both feel as if we
have the most incredible life.
I will not toe a party line and say that my divorce was simply due to a lack of maturity on my part
The verbal feedback I do get, and it’s never in short supply, coupled with
his overall personality and attitude towards life, shows that he gets it at
least enough to handle 'the situation' and to not feel held down by it. And
that, in turn, is an enormous source of strength for me- as is his obvious
appreciation for the things I do for him.
I remember one night when he woke up at two in the morning with a horrible
stomach ache. He doesn't complain often, so I took it very seriously. Getting
him to the health clinic meant bundling him up in blankets, putting him in his
stroller, and jogging 15 minutes straight up a dark mountain (we live in Israel
with no car and taxis are impossible to find in the middle of the night). In the
end, it turned out to be just the stomach flu and the doctor 'prescribed' plenty
of rest and fluids for my son.
As I pushed the stroller down the mountain, listening to my son's breathing
as he fell asleep, I wished there was another adult in the house waiting up for
us, to ask me how it went, to tell me I hadn't panicked, maybe to offer me a cup
of tea. My neighbors and friends have been enormously helpful and supportive,
but you can't knock on your neighbors' door at 3 am and ask for tea- even when
they are as sweet as mine. Especially when they are as sweet as mine.
As I was carrying him into the apartment my son woke up and smiled at me and
said thank you in such a real way that all of my strength and more came back to
me. Tea or no tea- I knew I'd get through this bout with the flu just fine.
Unfortunately, I can't say that I always feel that strong or that sure of how
I'll handle things. Sometimes I'm not even that sure how I'm going to pay the
phone bill. Even so I have no regrets. Nor am I willing to toe a party line and
say that my divorce was simply due to a lack of maturity on my part (though it
could be said about the fact that I went through with the wedding at all).
Part of the work of being divorced which you don't hear as much about is the
striving to be conscious of the good in your ex-spouse. When there's a child
involved, it becomes very important, because every child is a hybrid of both
parents and you see that as you watch your child develop. The strengths and
weaknesses are both there, and you have to emphasize the child's strengths and
work with but not against the weaknesses. That won't happen if you are covering
your eyes emotionally to the humanness of the person you were once married to.
The One who gave us the Jewish laws of divorce is the same One who gave us the laws of marriage
You have to develop respect for him or her, and learn to bless him for the
good he's invested in your child, and see how the differences between you can
now work together in harmony encased in this one beautiful little human being. I
see that they do, and I marvel at it every time- how my son holds within
character traits which are clearly mine and clearly his father's and in him
rather than creating a mini-war it creates light- like the story of the Baal
Shem Tov turning icicles into candles.
Which is not to say there aren't times when I'm still repulsed by his
father's behavior- but I try to look at the good in him and when I can't
see it in him to at least see it in his son. Because I've come to the
conclusion that not only am I a part of my son and not only is his father a part
of him, but how we relate to one another is also a part of him and how he looks
at himself- and it can't be with anger, hatred, or disdain.
Judaism is very much centered on marriages- the marriage between us and our
Creator, the marriage of ideas, and –the most sanctified of all- the marriage
between a man and a woman. The perfection of these unions is the perfection of
Creation itself, the whole purpose for which Hashem willed the world into being.
So obviously, the decision to divorce is not one I entered into lightly.
Yet there are situations where divorce is not only allowed, but according to
some- mandated. And the One who gave us the Jewish laws of divorce (Gittin) is
the same One who gave us the laws of marriage (Kiddushin).
Ultimately, I sought a divorce precisely because I believe in the sanctity of marriage, and as much as the idea may threaten some, my home with my son
is not broken and neither are we. But if I had stayed married we would be. I
was.
All divorces, like all marriages, are ordained in Heaven. When necessary,
they effect, as described in the commentary Ramatiim Tzofim on Tanna D'bei
Eliyahu, a redemption- comparable to our collective going out of Egypt, and a
rectification of body, mind, and soul.
Whether I remarry or whether we continue as a family of two, I know that our
lives- mine and my son's-are unfolding- now- exactly as they were meant to, and
that everything that has happened- including the divorce- is exactly what our
souls need.
And while it isn’t an ideal situation, and things have been far from easy, I
am so grateful for the love and friendship from so many around me. But most
importantly, my struggles and difficulties have made me appreciate the good and
hidden blessings in all aspects of my life. And I have a strength, faith and
relationship with my Creator that I didn’t even know was possible. And when I
know I have His support, then I know that I'm not a single parent after all.