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Jewish Domestic Abuse: Putting a Jewish Face on a Common, Ugly Truth By Janet Lubman Rathner It means "peace at home," but Shalom Bayit—the concept of Jewish domestic bliss—is a goal that can prove painfully elusive. "He'd pinch me to get my attention. I had fingerprint marks on my arms," recalls Amy Robbins Ellison, a Jewish cardiac anesthesiologist, of her husband's hostile acts in public. Her attorney spouse also exhibited explosive private rages, invariably precipitated by mundane issues: where, when or whether to go out to dinner; when to leave for vacation; when to clean the cat's litter box. "He'd push me out of bed onto the floor," she says. "He'd barge into the bathroom and scream at me; about what, I don't even know." According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 5.3 million acts of domestic violence, also known as intimate partner abuse, are committed annually against women in the United States. The incidents lead to 2 million injuries and 1,300 deaths. Domestic abuse also occurs against men, but experts say women bear the brunt of, and tend to feel responsible for, the bulk of problems in their relationships. Robbins Ellison says she endured 10 years of escalating, out-in-the-open hostility and violence: During a shopping trip to purchase a vacuum cleaner, her husband yanked out clumps of her hair in a suburban New York mall parking lot. Divorced, remarried, and now a resident of Chicago, where she is active in promoting domestic-abuse awareness, Robbins Ellison reflects on why she stayed in the relationship for so long: "Women don't get married to get divorced. They want to keep the family together. They want to nurture. I always felt I could fix things. Here I was, a physician. I was good at fixing things, or at least fixing some things." In the Name of Shalom Bayit In Jewish circles, where many women are conditioned to take ownership of Shalom Bayit, Robbins Ellison's decision to stick out a troubled marriage is hardly extraordinary. Experts say it is difficult to ascertain how many Jewish families are caught in the web of domestic violence but note that, for both the community at large and the Jewish community in particular, it is a vastly under-reported problem. Jennifer Roth, case manager at Family Violence Services, a program of Cleveland's Jewish Family Service Association, notes that "national statistics say one in four women [is] battered," and adds that the number would be about the same in the Jewish community. But Roth also says the number is probably significantly higher, as federal statistics mostly spotlight physical abuse, while her group focuses on the gamut: "physical, emotional, financial, sexual, verbal." "That kind of information isn't usually reported to the police, and a lot of physical isn't reported either, and that's where we get a lot of our statistics from," she says. Taught to believe that they shoulder the bulk of the responsibility for maintaining domestic harmony, Jewish women stay in dysfunctional and sometimes violent relationships two to three times longer than their non-Jewish counterparts, experts say. "I do think that Shalom Bayit contributes. Jewish women feel like 'this just doesn't happen in nice Jewish homes,'" says Roth. Deborah Goldstein, clinical director of child and family services at the Jewish Social Service Agency based in Rockville, Md., agrees that domestic abuse is pervasive and entrenched in the Jewish community to a degree that many would not believe possible. "Our statistics indicate that, in the metropolitan Washington area, 7,500 Jewish women may be abused," Goldstein says. "Shalom Bayit sometimes works against us. To make peace in the home, they'll capitulate and keep the cycle of abuse going." A case in point comes from Roth's files. "Although her husband was charming during their first year of dating, he has always been somewhat possessive and controlling," reads a report about "Karen." "At first Karen was flattered…feeling for the first time she really found someone who cares about her whereabouts and what she is doing," the report continues. "However his allegations that Karen was having an affair and constant checking on her escalated. He forbade her to work and made her drop out of school because he didn't trust her around others…She didn't have access to money." Roth assisted Karen in developing plans for personal safety and financial resources that, today, are helping her live an abuse-free and self-sufficient life. But that did not happen without first encountering and overcoming roadblocks thrown up by none other than Karen herself. Even after she reached out for help—the final straw was when her husband accused her of being immodest and wrenched their infant daughter from her arms as she breastfed—Karen hesitated, due to fears of how she would make it on her own and what she perceived as a shanda (shame) for having failed to achieve Shalom Bayit. In metropolitan Washington, D.C., the extent of the problem hit home with Jewish Women International (JWI, formerly known as B'nai B'rith Women), when one of its members was shot and killed by her estranged husband. The 1988 murder led the organization to make domestic violence awareness and prevention its primary mission. Today, JWI has numerous programs on healthy dating and domestic relationships, and a website with resources and contacts for women in need of assistance. The organization also recently established an interfaith coalition to influence public policy on domestic violence and, every other year, holds a global Jewish community conference on the issue. "After the organization moved toward a razor-sharp focus on domestic abuse, its portfolio programs expanded to include promoting safe and healthy relationships. We knew we had to make the issue up close and personal, which meant…we had to put Jewish faces on the issues," says Lori Weinstein, executive director of JWI. "Creating strong and effective prevention strategies that promote healthy relationships is a key component of our work with Jewish teens and young adults," she says. "Working with teens as they begin to enter romantic relationships will save countless lives down the road." The Chains of 'Agunot' Many instances of domestic abuse are not taken into account when statistics are compiled. One example can be found in observant Jewish communities where women known as agunot (chained women) live on the fringes. Agunot have obtained civil divorces, but their former husbands refuse to give them gets, the religious documents that allow them to remarry under Jewish law and move on with their lives. Rachel Bluth, a counselor and journalist who organizes support groups for women trapped in this quagmire, says an interpretation of Jewish marital law makes it possible for a non-compliant ex-husband to engage in all aspects of Jewish life, including acquiring another wife, without giving the first wife a get. Through manipulation of the Heter Maiyah Rabbonim, a document used to dissolve a marriage when the wife is judged to be mentally ill or otherwise incapable of participating in the get process, Jewish men are free to marry again while leaving former spouses in limbo. Many of them do just that, Bluth says. "He will, out of mean-spiritedness, revenge, or simply power and control, deny her the get," says Bluth. "The man will dangle the get if she does not agree to relinquish certain privileges: full custody of the children, power of attorney on accounts, or handing over properties. The woman becomes a virtual prisoner." She says the agunot crisis is enormous. "We have thousands," says Bluth, who began meeting once a month with four "chained women" 12 years ago in Brooklyn. Today, she oversees seven groups, with as many as 30 agunot in each, crowding into basements of homes throughout New York City. There they share information on who is a good lawyer; who is a sympathetic judge; where to turn for financial assistance; where to go for Shabbat and holiday meals; where to find good male role models for their children; and where they can still feel like part of the Jewish community. Bluth has also helped establish similar programs in California, Florida, and up and down the East Coast. "I have seen epidemic proportions [of this crisis] and growth [in groups to help victims]," Bluth says. Why, in this day and age, are there so many agunot? "Women are generally taught with mother's milk to trust their husbands, to have faith in the marital system, and to understand that [their] husband[s] [are their] partner[s] in life," Bluth says. The Push for Anonymity To try to get a better handle on numbers and reach a broader group of battered women, there are those who offer secrecy when trying to help draw out the abused. "The truth is it's common. [Domestic abuse] happens to all segments of society—people with means, people with little means; educated, uneducated. It runs the gamut," says Nechama Wolfson, founder of the Shalom Task Force, which offers programs for creating and maintaining healthy relationships for children and adults at schools, synagogues, and Jewish community centers around the country. Additionally, through a national toll-free, no-caller-ID hotline, the Shalom Task Force—staffed with rigorously trained volunteers—provides resource information to women and families struggling in troubled relationships. Wolfson says this cloak of anonymity is an incentive for those seeking answers to issues such as where and how to obtain financial assistance, what shelters offer kosher food, where to find pro bono legal services, or who just want to discuss a partner's troubling conduct. "They need to check it out. They'll ask, 'Am I crazy?' 'Is this acceptable behavior?' 'Is this within the parameters of okay?'" Wolfson says. Sometimes the "this" encompasses rape, name-calling, and isolation. "There's a whole list of things going on. You hear yourself say, 'These are not acceptable behaviors. How do you feel about it?' And then they have an opportunity to say what it's like. They're looking for validation." Anonymity is vital because if there were any hint of identification, many callers would never pick up the phone, says Wolfson. "People are so worried about caller ID. Everyone has it and [the callers] are embarrassed. They're ashamed that something like this is happening. They see it as a shanda in the community," Wolfson says. But what happens once they make the call? Does it signal dissolution of a partnership or marriage? "We are, for most people, a first step. We're not the end step. We're along the way," Wolfson says. "We don't tell people to break off a relationship. We don't tell people to leave. We help our callers sort out what they need to do." She says that, for a very practical reason, hotline volunteers never follow up, choosing instead to encourage callers to stay in contact. "It's for [the caller's] own safety. We never know who is [listening] on the other end," Wolfson says. She adds that putting the onus on the victims—they frequently do call back—is also a step toward initiating change. "It gives her back control in her life," she says of the empowerment that comes from simply picking up the phone, an act that, after being subjected to years of abuse, can seem an insurmountable hurdle. "It can take women a long time to get this strength. Often a woman will take it and take it and take it, until she sees that her children are being affected." An Unlikely Resource When caught in an environment where every move—making a phone call, reading the newspaper, perusing the Internet, going for a walk—is monitored by a controlling partner, how does a woman seeking assistance even have the opportunity to find it? In metropolitan Washington, D.C., the answer lies in women's restrooms at synagogues and Jewish community centers. That is where the Jewish Coalition Against Domestic Abuse (JCADA), a nonprofit dedicated to assisting victims of abuse, posts brochures advertising its services and its own confidential hotline. Sensitivity is key, which is why visitors won't find these pamphlets near the sinks and towel dispensers. "They're in the stalls. They are there for privacy," says Barbara Zakheim, JCADA's founder. "That way a woman…trying to find somebody to help her can [do so in complete anonymity]. There is no place more private." Are the flyers making a difference? Like so much about the issue of domestic abuse, it's difficult to prove. However, it would appear that the discreetly placed leaflets are addressing a need. "No one has actually told me that the information prompted them to act; however, members of my congregation have dealt with this issue and I have been involved," says Amy Schwartzman, senior rabbi at Temple Rodef Shalom in Falls Church, Va. She finds it likely that restroom flyers are the reason why some of these women have reached out for help. With more victims of domestic abuse finding access to information about what constitutes unhealthy and dangerous relationships—and how to escape them—is there also hope for, on at least some occasions, turning these situations around and achieving Shalom Bayit? Those who work with both the battered and the batterer say that, regardless of whether the abuse is physical or emotional, Shalom Bayit is not a likely scenario. "They have to pretty much break up. An abusive person doesn't like to take responsibility. An abusive person has to say 'I have a problem,'" says Roth. She says she occasionally hears from abusers purportedly making amends, but that those instances are rarely sincere. "Often, they are just going through the motions in an attempt to regain power and control," Roth says. Schwartzman agrees, but continues to hold out hope. "I'd like to think it is possible," she says. "However, in the cases that I have worked with, they have all ended in separation and then divorce."
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