“This is the truth about cults that are abusive: It’s never all bad, especially at the beginning, and therein lies the danger”
Is Subtle [Inbox / Issue 1049]
I was dismayed to read the letter written about the recent True Account. I, too, was pained by the story, but not for the reason the letter writer expressed. I felt pained by the circumstance that led the narrator to become an angry and even violent mother, and (presumably like many others readers) I experienced compassion for this woman who found herself meeting so many challenges in life with hopelessness and desperation. The letter writer expresses that she was waiting to see the lightbulb moment of realization, of remorse, of commitment to change. Why do you think she was in therapy?! What on earth would be the purpose of healing her past if not to give her and her family a brighter present and future? You wanted to see her berate herself for her actions? It was clearly a much more subtle process than that, and subtle is how we make organic changes that last. Change doesn’t happen by people beating themselves up and putting themselves down as abusive individuals. It happens from a place of deeply ingrained recognition that while “I have done this, this is not me, and this is not who I want to be.” That is exactly what I heard from the narrator. I didn’t sense any hint of defensiveness or ignorance of her actions toward her children. If anything, there was immense shame and disappointment, alongside great courage to introspect and share. To quote from the article: “I shared about my kids, I shared about my sister — and then I kept going…. My therapist was also a child expert. She provided me with a never-ending stream of tips and ideas to improve my relationship with my kids and encourage better behaviors.” How can you say she never takes an honest look inward and is only absorbed in herself? I’m assuming you must have skimmed that part. I hope that the harsh letter printed this week did not greatly upset the narrator. My message to her is that your story moved me, and I imagine it inspired many others to take a good hard look at their lives and start the process of change.
M.K.
I read the letter in Mishpacha’s inbox accusing you of being a “perpetrator of abuse” with a sinking heart. When I read the True Account, so masterfully written by Miriam Bloch, I admired your courage in facing your inner torment and seeking healing. I can imagine that with all you have been through, your self-esteem doesn’t rate very high, and with the sensitivity that comes across in the telling of your story, you are most likely already plagued by feelings of guilt. To have all that exacerbated by the heavy criticism in last week’s letter must have felt like having poisonous arrows shot into your — barely healing — wounds. Hashem has been good to you. He sent you messengers in the form of understanding therapists who listened to your stories of how your past has affected your present reality without judgment or condemnation. They offered compassion and wisdom to guide you in healing yourself. Keep to those people, please. Don’t listen to others who call you cruel names. Your father, by the way, is also not a “monster” as the letter writer would have you believe. Perhaps he’s a child of Holocaust survivors, but whatever the case, he no doubt had his own demons to deal with and wasn’t given the opportunity to deal with them, like you have. As Miriam Adahan writes of such parents, “They did the best they could with the tools they had.” Seeing him in that light will help you in your healing more than calling him names reserved for Nazis and Hamas, yemach shemam. The letter writer felt it important that you know that the way you treated your children was “sickening to read.” I believe the fact that you chose to share those incidents, right up there alongside the events of your sister’s passing and your marital struggles, shows just how deeply painful they were to you, and how they propelled you to seek help, for your children’s sake as much as for your own. You sound like a remarkable, courageous, and sensitive woman. Your children are lucky to have you. I am no rebbe, but I have this deep certainty that they will grow up to be emotionally healthy individuals who will give you a lot of nachas, b’ezras Hashem.
T.S.
I was deeply moved by “Shards of Healing” and the narrator’s incredible strength in breaking the cycle of abuse. It takes immense courage to confront such pain, to choose healing over bitterness, and to ensure that trauma is not passed to the next generation. Her journey is inspiring, and her resilience is truly admirable. At the same time, I couldn’t help but notice an irony woven into her narrative. Throughout the piece, she offers herself profound compassion — acknowledging that as a hurt person, she, too, inflicted pain before she was able to heal. And yet, that same compassion is absent when she speaks of her father. She casually mentions that he was the child of Holocaust survivors, almost in passing, without fully considering that this context could have contributed to his own pain and, tragically, his abusive behavior. I believe that if the author could understand her father’s abusive actions through the same lens of compassion with which she views her own healing, it could be incredibly powerful for her peace of mind. Just as she recognizes how her own hurt led to harmful behavior, extending that same understanding to her father’s background may allow her to see him not just as an abuser, but as a person who was also deeply affected by trauma. This perspective doesn’t excuse his behavior, but it could help her see him as a whole person, thus freeing herself from some of the pain that resentment may still be causing. Moreover, as someone who has found healing and access to support, I want to suggest that the narrator may also want to consider the probability that her father, a man from a generation who may not have had access to the same resources, did not have the opportunities for emotional processing that she now does. She should recognize how fortunate she is to have access to these resources, and perhaps may even feel compassion for her father, who may have been trapped in his own unresolved pain. The compassion we extend to ourselves is critical for healing, but when we are able to understand and empathize with the contexts behind the actions of those who hurt us — just as we do with our own — it can offer an even deeper sense of closure. I hope that as the author continues on her healing journey, she may find space to view her father in this light, which could provide even greater peace and healing for herself.
Name Withheld
Once again, Rabbi Paysach Krohn has taught us all by his sterling example, this time by demonstrating how to turn a personal challenge into an opportunity for growth. Allow me to add a small footnote to his excellent, uplifting article. On the pasuk describing Sarah Imeinu’s lifetime (Bereishis 23:1), Rashi comments, “[She] was the same at 100 as she was at 20.” I once saw a vort on these words that they refer to her recital of Tehillim. Kapitel 20 contains the pasuk “Ya’ancha Hashem b’yom tzarah,” which most people recite with much more intensity than when they recite kapitel 100, “Mizmor l’sodah.” Sarah Imeinu’s greatness was that she recited kapitel 100 with the same intensity as kapitel 20. It appears from what he wrote, then, that Rabbi Krohn is following the lofty example set by the first of our Imahos.
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