Till Death Do Us Part

"My daughter is back home," she told me, her voice surprisingly strong. "She's going to get divorced.

I stared at her, stunned.

I hadn't seen her daughter very much since she'd gotten married almost a year ago. She was a very young bride...sweet, soft spoken and innocent.

She stood beside her mother now, her expression hard to read. But she seemed more mature...older...her innocence gone.

"Baruch Hashem. We're so happy. It's bitter and sweet. We're sad because she had to go through all this pain, but we're happy that she got out now."

Her daughter nodded in agreement.

And then it all came out. The months of abuse - physical, sexual and emotional. How she didn't tell anyone, hoping she could fix it herself. The people she approached for help, who did not understand the severity of the situation. How she finally left him, and called her parents.

And the stories... So many stories...so much pain. It was as though, after so many months of being silent, the floodgates were open, and she couldn't stop talking.

There were tears in my eyes as I listened. Tears for her...but also for her mother, who only just discovered how much her daughter suffered in the past year. And she wasn't there to help her. I don't begin to fathom that anguish. I can't imagine the guilt she must be feeling.

"It was meant to be," she said. "This is the person I was meant to marry. Hashem meant for me to endure this year of misery. I don't understand it now, but I have no questions."

I was awed by her faith. I marveled at her ability to see this experience as predestined...to feel so much misery, yet remain so strong.

"The Rebbe was so excited about this shidduch," her mother continued, referring to the Rebbe of the chassidic group to which they and the family of the chosson belong.

"We knew this was right," she said sadly. "We had no doubts."

I searched her face, looking for some sign of uncertainty. I wondered how they reconciled what, to me, seemed so inconsistent.

For a moment, my belief in Rebbes was shaken. But their trust never wavered.

"Hashem temporarily clouded his vision. This had to happen. It was bashert."

I wanted to hear more. I needed to hear that there were signs that they ignored, obvious things they overlooked, some way they could have known before....anything to assure me that this could never happen to me...that somehow I am in control.

There was nothing. There was no way to know. And no one is immune.

I had a long talk with my daughter that night.

I'm not sure what the lesson is here...not even sure there is a lesson. But I want her to be more aware. I want her to know that sometimes people are not as they appear. I want her to be able to recognize evil. I want her to understand that sometimes we need help....that there are things we cannot deal with on our own.

And I want her to know...always...that I'm here when she needs me.