Out of the Valley of Shadows

A story of darkness and redemption

Recently, I've been privileged to attend weddings of children of Chassidic Rebbes.  These simchas were so full of kedusha. Simcha and kedusha (happiness and holiness) truly go together.  They look so young, the chatan and kallah.   So full of excitement and hope for the future, so full of good wishes from their families, friends, and all the Chassidim who joined in giving the new couple a smooth and beautiful start to their lives.

But after each of these weddings I was left with a gnawing sense of having missed out.  I wish I had a chance to start my own life in such a pure and holy way.

I think back to what was going on in my life when I was their age.  The home I grew up in valued marriage, fidelity and a belief in G-d. But I was never explicitly taught to protect myself from people who would take advantage of me.  My parents never told me that any touch between opposite genders should be reserved only for marriage.  And I was so, so naïve. 

True, as devastating as it was, it could have been much worse.  It could have been the sleazy bum who wrote me letters in college creative writing class.  It could have been one of the chauvinistic fellows in university, or later on, one of the arrogant lawyers in the office.  Would I have had enough sense to know that they really didn't have my best interest in mind?  Who knows… unlikely.   But instead, it was someone I looked up to and respected.  Someone much older, in a position of authority in my life.  A person who would never harm me or tell me to do something that wasn't proper (right?).  

Still, at first I had doubts.  I prayed to G-d that I wasn't doing something wrong.  But poor choices have a way of snowballing and taking on a life of their own.  And today I do take responsibility for all of my actions, even if at the time I was totally inexperienced, blinded and misled.

A decade later, with no feelings of self-worth or self-esteem, I gradually realized where I stood, however slowly and with what great difficulty.  I realized that I was rejected and left as a bystander and observer.  It became someone else's turn to have all the attention and time lavished on her.  Endless phone calls.  A trip to the Bahamas. 

And me?  What pain my heart carried!  I was left holding on to an erstwhile, unfulfilled dream, buried in the recesses of my heart.  Covered with buckets of tears and painful, buried memories that only later resurfaced to haunt me.  Memories of the children who could have been, the life I dreamed of having; I wanted to be a wife and mother.  

I contemplated the easiest way to relieve myself of the incredible ache and sorrow that were my only companions, night and day.  One of the big bridges of London was in view from my apartment window, and I often contemplated taking a one-way walk to the middle and jumping into the river far below.  Instead, I continued in my absolute misery and sorrow, walking to work every day with a grim look on my face. 

Did I ever smile in those years?  I don't remember so.  I felt like I was at the bottom of a long rope suspended in nothingness, with nowhere to go.  I was so down and discouraged, it didn't even occur to me that things could get better.

But Hashem, in his infinite kindness and mercy, took me through even more difficult trials.  Taking care of a terminally ill woman for several years taught me the fragility of life.  As much as my own pain remained buried in my heart, at least I didn't have much time to focus on it.  I was so miserable though, with no one to share my troubles or past experiences.  I felt totally alone, rejected and worthless.  

As the years passed, it didn't get better.  In my car I carried a bottle of potassium cyanide that I took from a lab shelf. Sometimes I would take it out and consider exactly how to accomplish putting myself out of my anguish in the least obvious way.  And then, again by the mercies of the One Above, I began to learn about Judaism, and one spring as I cleaned my car for Pesach, I tossed that bottle in the trash.

Slowly I began to realize that there was still hope.  I decided to take responsibility for my own behaviors and actions, both past and future.  But what a long and painful journey!  It took another full decade to come to the realization that I had no future holding onto an unfulfilled dream. A dream that years before had turned into a progressively worsening nightmare.  At that point, I no longer chose to blame anyone.  I also began to realize that my behavior caused a lot of pain to members of the family I intruded upon.

Why did it take me so long to come to my senses?  I flew through calculus in high school, finished years of college, advanced degrees and postgraduate training successfully.  I can't use the excuse that I was intellectually challenged.  And still I ask myself…  How could I have remained so naïve and stupid for so long?  At this point, the answer hardly matters to me.  True, scars remain.  But to me, what matters is that Hashem took me out of an incredibly harmful and damaging situation – my own Mitzraim – through a wilderness of many difficult trials, and brought me to Eretz Hakodesh, to a life of beauty and kedusha. 

But perhaps the answer could matter to some other young woman, to learn in advance.  If my experiences could save someone else from the same trap, from making the same mistakes, from being taken advantage of… if my experience could provide others with the opportunity to begin life in simcha and kedusha, with the right values and hope for a beautiful future, my pain and suffering of the past would have been worthwhile.