BARBARA'S TCHATZKAHS

There Are Some Who Don’t Say Sorry I read this story and thought, "wow - I could have written this myself! " It's always powerful to read the inner thoughts of others in emotionally & verbally abusive relationships. The loneliness and emptiness of being in this sort of relationship is soul crushing. And as this piece below says, ' you don't recognize yourself. ' In counseling, I have met at least 25 women who all say the same things, in essence 'I didn't know what I was doing when I was with him. I can't believe I did those things. I was so brainwashed. It just wasn't like me to behave like that.' No, I believe it - I have been there. Bruises, blood, marks - are easy to see. But the pain inside is invisible... and I can tell you unless your abuser makes REAL & GENUINE amends - you can't heal, you can't move on and it never, ever heals. You adapt, your pain & anger empower you in some ways - but only the abuser ...

I ASK YOU ALL FOR FORGIVENESS, AND... As we pray for God to forgive us, we recite a particular prayer several times on Yom Kippur: the vidui -- the confessional prayer -- portions of which I have reproduced below (I will not be at shul tonite as I have a high fever and serious viral infection. I will be doing a modified fast and participating 'virtually') : We have trespassed. We have dealt treacherously. We have robbed. We have acted perversely. We have wrought wickedness. We have been presumptuous. We have done violence. We have counselled evil. We have scoffed. We have revolted. We have provoked. We have rebelled. We have committed iniquity. We have transgressed. We have oppressed. We have been stiff-necked. We have done wickedly. We have corrupted. We have committed abomination. We have gone astray. We have led others astray... For the sin we have committed before You under compulsion or of our own will, And for the sin we have committed before You by harden...

“MAKING AMENDS” (something for Elul) Phyllis B. Grodsky, Ph.D One day I was with my mother in front of her building when an older man came by. He was carrying a shopping bag full of groceries, and appeared to have difficulty walking. When he saw my mother he changed course, tipped his well-worn cap, and headed straight towards us. He was smiling broadly and about to greet her when she abruptly turned her back, and stiffened her face until it looked ashen. The gentleman waved his hand and went on his way, seemingly unperturbed. I guessed, correctly, that he was her neighbor, Mr. Dutke, a man about her age who was born in Germany. She seemed aggrieved that Mr. Dutke approached her in a friendly manner, and said she wasn’t fooled; she “knew” he was a Nazi. When I asked if she had ever discussed his past with him, she said she hadn’t, but it didn’t matter because she “knew” what he was. My mother clings to opinions like a life raft, as if all would be lost if she were to let go. She doesn’...