I knew Motti would be very hurt. Subconsciously, I was expecting him to lash out at me, accusing me of taking sides in a battle that had no winners.
But I hadn’t imagined the depths of his despair.
“You, of all people,” he said in a voice that echoed with pain, with heartbreak too wide and too deep to put into words.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to explain myself quickly. “It’s not what it seems.”
“Don’t give me any excuses,” he replied tersely.
Then he ended the call.
I stood there holding the phone in my trembling hand for what seemed like an eternity. I hadn’t been this shaken since the day Motti confided in me—his brother-in-law and closest friend—that his marriage was ending.
Since then, our family had been through the wringer. My sister-in-law Faigy, as always, was determined to have things her way, regardless of the havoc she wreaked on everyone else.
And Motti? My soon-to-be ex-brother-in-law was a man with a heart of pure gold. I could attest to that.
After all, we were childhood friends. We had gone to cheder and mesivta together, and had then spent a couple of years together in yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael. I remember the day Motti confided in me that he was involved in a shidduch. The young woman was brilliant and accomplished but Motti had some doubts because Faigy had a very determined, intense personality.
I served as his sounding board, mainly listening and nodding. I didn’t have any personal experience in shidduchim yet, and I wanted to wait a bit before starting. Motti and Faigy were engaged that summer and got married the week after Sukkos. I led the lively dancing at his wedding, never dreaming that the kallah’s father was keeping an eye on me the whole time for his younger daughter Suri.
Faigy and Suri were just 15 months apart, but they were as different as night and day. When Motti called my parents four weeks after his wedding to suggest his sister-in-law as a possible shidduch, my first instinct was to refuse. There were certain vibes I was getting that gave me the impression that all was not well in Motti’s brand-new marriage. However, my parents were very interested in the shidduch because the family had a wonderful reputation, and we’d heard amazing things about Suri. I met her to please my parents, certain nothing would come of it, but I quickly realized that she was my bashert. We were married only six months after Motti and Faigy and moved to Eretz Yisrael. We lived there for four and a half years, after which we moved back with our two little ones, settling just a few blocks away from Motti and Faigy. At this point Motti was doing well and had an excellent job, but it was obvious that his marriage was on the rocks.
I don’t know how to say this nicely, but I realized that Faigy was a very difficult person. She was aggressive and controlling, determined to manipulate everyone in her orbit. Suri confided that she’d always been this way; she had fought with her parents through her adolescence, bull-dozed her siblings and struggled to hold on to her friendships. “When we were growing up I used to fantasize about moving away from home just to get away from her,” she said.
I felt terrible for Motti, who would give the shirt off his back to anyone who asked him. He had always been a non-confrontational, easygoing fellow, content to stay on the sidelines and watch the action. Instead of appreciating his sterling middos and what a doting father he was, my sister-in-law mocked his lack of ambition and accomplishments. He walked on eggshells around his wife, who ordered him around and criticized his every move. If that was how she treated him in public, I could only imagine what went on at home.
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