Don't Worry, The Blogosphere Is Behind You

RivkA's death has really driven home a point. Yes, the blogosphere really is a community. Of friends, compatriots, supporters, rivals, and everything in between.

On Friday at her shiva -- how odd, and empty, to be in RivkA's home, without her there! -- this topic came up in discussion with her mother and father. Like my own parents, they could not understand at first what would possess a person to write (and especially in RivkA's case, so openly and personally) to a vitual audience, "somewhere out there." After a time, they came to appreciate the regular updates, her shared thoughts, and especially, her very real blogosphere friends.

In RivkA's case, she was a source of information and inspiration to many, many people. Her writing brought people together. As I told her mother on Friday, whenever I read RivkA's blog, I felt the acute presence of others reading alongside me, a tangible community of supporters and friends.

This afternoon I had one of those -- dare I say it -- "Israeli" experiences... and there was Treppenwitz, right there behind me. You can read his whole piece here (recommended), but meanwhile, here's the the part that hit home:

Sadly, when faced with an immigrant making a formal complaint about a perceived insult (even when the insult can't possibly be open to perception and/or interpretation), the default response of many people in this country is, "You must not have understood...", or "That was not my intention...".

This is doubly frustrating for a non-native Hebrew speaker because even in cases where the insult is so glaring as to be beyond misinterpretation, the immigrant is often expected to feign difficulty with the language in order to allow the insulter to climb down from their tree and save face.

Ahh, so true, I nodded as I read along. And so sad, so frustrating. We've all felt this at some point, but for me today's experience took the cake. For the first time in a long time, I felt a tinge of regret for having moved here.

Here I was, standing in front (underneath, really -- it was cranked up on the repair lift) of my decade-old Beloved Renault, the recent victim of an unfortunate but -- thank God -- harmless accident,* with the insurance assessor trying to convince me that he had not listed the obvious damage to the ABS on the insurance claim because I hadn't initially reported it (I had) and maybe I hadn't understood him properly.

Oh uh, Mister Assessor. Now you've done it. Deep breath, short pause. Think of Treppenwitz, and Rev Up Your Engines.

I let the assessor have it. With a capital IT: Don't you dare pull that one. I understood you perfectly. And you know it.

He yelled, I countered (two rounds). He relented. I got the repair approved.

Thank you, David Bogner, for reminding me that I do understand. Perfectly.

Keep the balance,

ALN

* Wouldn't ya know it? Two days prior to the accident, I'd signed on a trade-in deal to have someone pay me to take the Beloved Renault off my hands. Murphy's Law, still valid. Or maybe just Freud. Oy.

Agunot: What's Being Done, and What You Can Do

Please jump over to  The Rebbetzin's Husband, who gives us a crucial reminder of all the successful, behind-the-scenes efforts to release women from their recalcitrant husbands.   With every success, you have turned a family's world back around, strengthened the community, and restored the faith and hope of many.

(By the way, the same thing also happens in my line of work... we hear about all the tragedies, but in reality 80% of pediatric cancer patients survive their illnesses.  We, too, have to remember to constantly inform the public of our successes, in order to balance out the pain of the failures).

Meanwhile, on the aguna / msurvot get front, there is much work to do.   Jameel has photos up on The Muqata.  Finding these guys brings the women one step closer to freedom (until we manage to institutionalize the solution), and now we have the technology to advance the issue.  It was heartwarming to hear that the Rabbinate as an institution is taking a step in the right direction, in addition to the many efforts, large and small, of rabbis all over the world.

For the record, That Guy I Married and I set up not one, but two pre-nups:  one with the Beit Din (Rabbinical court) and one with the secular Israeli court system.  Then, soon after the wedding, we let all our friends know we had these agreements, with a full explanation of how we arranged for them.  May we never need them.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Imperfect is Normal

I began a comment responding to a post by Conversations in Klal entitled "We, the Perfect People," then realized that the topic is definitely worth a longer response.

Klal, you're absolutely right.  

After all, the Seven Laws of Noah require all other societies to set up a legal system and solve their interpersonal disputes... and we can't admit we have problems?  The only way to solve them is to accept that it's about time we become a fully normative society, by yanking our problems out into the light, even when they are excruciatingly painful.

This one hit me hard: A couple of years ago I worked with a young boy who was being physically and emotional abused by his Rebbe. His parents knew about it and felt powerless, especially his mother, who felt unable to physically enter the school, a domain of men. Many in the community knew about this Rebbe, including the school administration. Community members were afraid, or unwilling, to do anything about it, either because they subscribe to that horrific "spare the rod" principle (does someone have the Pirkei Avot on that?), or more likely, because they understood that their families would be socially isolated, and their kids would not be accepted into any of the private religious schools, if they were to earn a reputation as whistle-blowers.  

This kid was traumatized. His expressions of fear, sadness and victimhood were overpowering. Throughout his life he had been taught that his Rebbe is the most important person in his life, after his parents. That his Rebbe was to be respected and obeyed. Except that this Rebbe was hitting him, grabbing him by the neck, and yelling unspeakable things -- in the name of G-d and the Torah, so how could he be wrong?   This boy was being abused on so many levels, caught between the supposed "authority" of G-d, and the private hell of his own suffering. 

It was painful to watch. Worse yet, I identified with this boy's feelings of powerlessness, since I, too, felt that my ability to help him was limited. The family did not want me to say a word ("The Rebbe is old, he's near retirement, his wife is ill, he's under a lot of pressure. We don't want our daughters being refused acceptance into good schools because of this."). My workplace, a small, nonprofit development center, was in a bind because they knew they would be censured - i.e. lose their clientele - if they single-handedly took on the educational system. This was way beyond a business consideration; it was an understanding that the center would no longer be able to help many, many children in need if their schools forbade families to use our services.

I continued to work with the boy and his family, offering counseling, strength and support so that they could feel empowered and work through their options. My professional supervisors spoke with people of influence within the community. The family eventually chose to speak to the school about the problematic Rebbe, and to move the child to another school, where he could begin the process of learning to trust a new Rebbe. I felt relief for the child, but a complete lack of satisfaction with the larger picture.

And yet, I believe change is happening... slowly. In Israel, special education is more accepted than ever before. There is an entire branch of the school system, both formal and informal education, dedicated to children with physical, mental and emotional challenges. As Conversations in Klal pointed out, Special ed., and all the various paramedical fields (physical therapy, occupational therapy, expressive therapies, etc. etc) have become some of the most popular fields of study, especially for religious young women of all types.  I don't know about the graduates of Touro and similar places, but I would suspect that the young Israeli graduates, especially the Haredi ones, are working within their communities, since they are most unlikely to work outside of them. (Maybe we have it slightly "easier" in Israel, since we are all living together in this country and we cannot send the problem away as easily. But I'd love to think that it's something a little loftier....)

On a personal note, my Haredi relatives have a child with Down's Syndrome who takes part in public and private family life in every way, and always has. When I asked her mother how her community sees it, her reply was, "The kids in our neighborhood see it all the time now -- she's not the only child with Down's. They know R. is a little slower than the others, but she joins in all their games, and everyone is patient with her." And go figure: two of R's older sisters have already gotten married to very fine young men, and she was dancing out there with the rest of the ladies. (Let's not celebrate yet. This same girl's 12-year-old sister, when hearing that I work with kids with cancer, asked earnestly, in astonishment, But isn't that contagious?!).

So, Klal, I'm sending you some optimism.... You're right: there's not enough change out there, but there's definitely change. Meanwhile, our work is cut out for us, and the question remains:  What are we gonna do about it?

Keep the balance,

ALN