And We Are
Joe Johnson2011Love & Sex
It was a foggy slichos morning in Williamsburg and I was standing at the bus stop waiting for the bus to Kiryas Joel. A light rain was falling, and a chilling wind almost blew my flat rabbit-fur hat off my head. I tightened my long black coat around my waist, but I couldn’t keep out the cold.
What am I doing here? I kept asking myself as I bit my lips till they almost bled. Aren’t I supposed to be in my warm home now, taking a nap after a long shachris, and then drinking a coffee and rushing to kollel?
It was not the first time I took the bus from Williamsburg to Kiryas Joel. I took this bus every other Shabbos, and every holiday and whenever there was a simcha in Monroe. But this time was different; this was the first time in a long time that I would be traveling without my wife. The last time I had taken the bus alone had been a little over a year ago. When I was a bochur. And here I was, a bochur again.
My marriage ended in the middle of a long, sleepless night. Exhausted after an endless, heated argument with my wife, I rolled from side to side, replaying our arguments and wondering about the futility of it. As I tossed and turned, I made my decision: that was our last fight. I would no longer explain, losing patience yet again, the difference between an Agudist and a heretic, or between the rebbe and God. I was tired of justifying my listening to Mordechai Ben Daivd, or why I chose to work instead of sitting in kollel drinking coffee and taking part in heated debates on who the real rebbe of Satmar is. I was tired of it all.
I knew that people would talk, point their fingers and whisper, “There goes the latest guresh.”
“Nebech. What was the story?”
“They say it was his yiddishkeit.”
“His poor parents.”
Now, days later, I waited for the bus. When it arrived, I found a seat in the back. As we rode over the highway, I began to sob. I couldn’t stop the salty tears flowing over my cheeks and into my beard, and turned my face to the window to hide them. My legs felt weak when I got off the bus, as I walked the short, familiar trail to my parents’ home. I remembered a previous time clearly, a previous time I had arrived at my parents’ home alone. I was eighteen years old.
“We have a good shidduch for you. A good girl, from Williamsburg,” my father told me.
“What kind of work does she do?” I asked.
“What does it matter?”
“Is she smart?”
“Of course she’s smart!”
“How do you know?”
“What do you mean, how? We asked around.”
We drove to Williamsburg a few days later. I had only been to the big city a few times in my life. The girl’s father asked me a few questions about my Talmud studies. Then the girl and I were left alone. Fifteen minutes later, my parents called me out of the room. We were engaged. Six months later we were married.
The problems started right after the sheva brachos, when my wife discovered my goyishe books. She branded me a shaygetz, and our relationship disintegrated from there.
Once again I sat in my parents’ kitchen, this time holding back the tears.
“Don’t worry,” my mother tried to calm me down, “We’ll find you another good girl. It’ll be alright.”
But they’d already failed me once, and I wouldn’t let it happen again.
Three painful, lonely years passed, until finally, one day, the shadchan called.
She’s a divorcee, he told me, from a Chasidic home, “open-minded.” Just what I was looking for. We set up a date.
But “open-minded” wasn’t good for my parents. “How can you marry a woman who doesn’t cover her shaitel?” my father asked angrily, and threatened to boycott the wedding.
I begged, pleaded, explained. For the first time, I told them of my near despair and the endless lonely nights. And finally they gave in.
The next evening I waited anxiously at one of the better restaurants in Borough Park. I watched the door open, staring at each person who entered, until, finally I saw her and I knew immediately it was her. Tall and beautiful, with dark eyes and a gleaming smile, just as the shadchan described.
It was the first time in my life that I spoke to a woman with ease. We switched comfortably between Yiddish to English, discovering a shared love for books and music. She too loved Mordechai Ben David. She too watched an occasional movie. She too loved to laugh, to walk in the park, to get away from our little world on occasion and pretend we were normal members of society. I hadn’t thought such a woman existed in my world, but here she was.
We agreed to meet again the next night. In the meantime, I rushed to catch the last bus to Monroe, where my parents were up, waiting. They must have seen it in my eyes, or in the spring in my step, and something moved in their hearts, because they smiled as soon as they saw me. It was the first time they had seen me happy in a long time, and they listened eagerly as I told them how it went.
The next evening, as I caught sight of her, sitting inside near the entrance to the restaurant, her wig perfectly combed, her bangs falling partially over her eyes, a thought occurred to me: this is what romance must feel like.
I had read a lot about romance and love and passion, but I never thought I’d experience it, me, a Chasidic man, destined to marry only the one carefully chosen by my parents. But now I was feeling it, and it was real.
Later, she would tell me that it was at that second date, when I first walked in, that she made up her mind, she would marry me.
Before the wedding, my father summoned me to his study, and we spoke briefly in that small room surrounded by his many hundreds of seforim.
“Listen,” he said. “Don’t fail again.”
“Don’t worry, Tatte. This time it’ll be different. This time, I’ll be fine.”
And I was. And I am. And we are.
24 Responses
Beautiful – and quite unexpected on this particular website – a happy Frum ending!! Who’da thunk happy endings can still happen in the Chassidishe world?
I thank my lucky stars that I was born Modern-Litvish (movies, TV and then Internet were a given) so your happy ending was already my happy beginning. But, alas, as many here can relate – often the Yiddishkeit of our youth somehow doesnt measure up in our adulthood (and in my case – middle-aged-hood)
Beautiful. Made me count some of my lucky stars.
“And I was. And I am. And we are.”
I like that, but you broke up a marriage over listening to MBD? LOL!
its only interesting if its true if its fiction no big deal
if its true it interesting and i’m happy for you
if its fiction then my dreams can go further
I guess what this shows is that one doesn’t have to go completely OTD to still experience at least some of that feeling of disenfranchisement. It’s always tough to feel like you just don’t measure up to someone else’s standards, and it can happen to anyone who wants to go in a slightly different direction from how he or she was raised…
Score one for the side of hope!
Very moving. I also want to know if it is true.
Very sweet and touching :).
““Listen,” he said. “Don’t fail again.” Except, as you pointed out, you didn’t fail. He failed you. But you still love and respect him.
That’s big. Kol Hakovod to you and your new wife. Here’s a drink to its permanence!
But…what’s with the Joe Johnson?
Good for you ! I feel bad that I take it for granted I date girls who listen to english music, books, movies if they want etc. as a given. All while I learn in bais medrash, am going for my masters, and wear jeans during bein hazmanim. I may sound confused, but I call it comfortable with myself and my religion. Whenever a real frum brooklyn person tells me that learning tosfos and rishonim don’t “shtim” with wearing jeans, I tell him right where he can shove it
Hi everybody!
Yes, everything I wrote is true, and it took me a lot of courage to open up some deep unhealed wounds, and to share it with my cherished unpious family members.
To be betrayed by the people who are supposed to love you the most and care for the most, is a very bitter pill to swallow down. It’s very difficult to face the fact that they can no more be trusted. But when I compare my story to the stories of other unpious readers, I consider myself as pretty lucky that it had a happy ending. A cold chill goes through my body when I think of how my life would’ve looked like if I would have had even one kid with this bitch.
But I must add that my journey to freedom has only begun; my second marriage was only the first step. Now, when I am independent, I realize how much I missed out all these years, I now understand why I never felt fulfilled and content with my life, despite for my efforts to be very, very religious and to obey that scary, black god. I am in still in state of shock to look back and to see how I was fooled to believe that Judaism means to be harsh, hateful and dumb, or that religion, and only a strict religion where you are forced to look ugly, speak a weird language, and not to think, is what brings true freedom and happiness. Now I see that it was as true as the ‘arbet macht frie’ sign in Auschwitz.
The way to my final happiness is a very long one, and full of obstacles. Sometimes you jump over a big stone, sometimes you trip over a small one, but with god’s help, I will eventually overcome them all. Sometimes I become so frustrated with my Chasidic restrictions, that I just wish I could have left the community for good, but when I think of the pain of fighting your family, being the talk of town, build up a life from scratch at my twenty five years, I know that I am not ready to put up with all that. After all, I am settled, I have a good job, I have money, a nice apartment (and a cozy bedroom…), I am a respected member in my community, I believe in god, and above all, I cannot make my lovely, sweet soul mate go through that change. I am not ready to give up all that for a pair of jeans, and the only choice is to make it work within your borders. I hope to pursue my college dreams one day, and to build a career and make the American dream come true, even for a Chassidic person like me.
None of us has it easy; the woes of life have never distinguished between pious and impious, Chasidic and litvish, believers or atheists. But sometimes, we get to choose what type of suffering we want, and in such a case, we have to think it through very deeply before taking action, in order not to make a rash decision which can never be turned back. I hope I chose the right one.
Thank you for your compassion and support, I love you all!
joe
p. s. for any questions or comments, feel free to contect me at joejohnson752@gmail.com
In Satmar too they need to discuss the difference between the Rebbe and god? I thought that happened only in Lubavitch.
Thanks Joe for writing, and thanks Unpious for publishing. Posting this is a sign of the editors’ intellectual honesty and sincerity. I wonder how many ultra-Chareidi papers would publish a story like this. You put a smile on the end of my day and invigorated me to go on tomorrow.
Joe, is there a support group, website, or organization to help people who face the challenges you faced? Have you considered joining or starting one? You can show people if the “pants” of Judaism are too tight, you don’t need to rip them off and discard them. You can let them out for a better fit; you can look and feel terrific in the same clothes, better size and style.
Good piece. Good move too. Much hatzlacha in the future!
“Whenever a real frum brooklyn person tells me that learning tosfos and rishonim don’t “shtim” with wearing jeans, I tell him right where he can shove it”
My rabbi learns all that and wears jeans. Not when he leads services on Shabbat and holidays, of course. But yep, he wears jeans. So do all the other Conservative rabbis I know. :).
Jeans are the creation of a Jew (and a real mensch). Knickers and shtreimels are the clothes of Jew-hating Poles. Who would you trust?
j. – i didn’t know that conservative rabbies study gemara with rishonim. do they do it on a regular basis?
This is lovely. I’m so happy that you found each other. I like happy endings.
Siyum hashas — I think so, yeah.
siyum hashas, JTS http://www.jtsa.edu/ is a very serious institute of Jewish learning. I am quite sure students and rabbis there study Talmud on a regular basis.
aww <3
Thats very touching story. You tried and failed. may be God had a good plan for you so that you were able to learn from experience.
Joe,
I have a tremendous amount of respect and empathy for you. Some here may be disappointed that your story does not have a “happy ending.” As my Zeddie used to say, “if you want a happy ending… Go to an Asian message parlor.”
It kills me to hear you being called a failure. Its a failed system. Don’t judge be judged by others standards but your own, and your personal advancement. You are to be admired that you quickly jettisoned two incompatibe marriages in a short period of time and (relatively) quickly found your true b’shert. Others aren’t so lucky.
Rock on brother…. Even if it’s to MBD.