Another Woman

The Get: A Spiritual Memoir of Divorce
by Elise Edelson Katch

To end her 30-year marriage, Elise Eldelson Katch is preassured to participate in an ancient Orthodox ritual that requires her to stand alone before a panel of emotionally distant Orthodox rabbis. At first stunned, confused, and fearful, she ultimately comes to believe that the get is truly a profound emotional experience. With the assistance of two very special spiritual leaders, she confronts her insecurities and fears, and emerges victorious.

This beautifully written book details a process that has rarely been told before. You will be fascinated by this personal and spiritual quest from loss to abundance, and be propelled through an experience of anxiety and intensity until the moment of finality is reached, when a single piece of parchment-representing a life together-is dropped into the author's hands and cut.

His eyes showed concern. He said that we needed to talk.

"I don't want you hurt by the process. You should be healed and separate."

I have to say, I was surprised by his intensity and choice of words.

This is very important.
I want the get to be good for you.
It is a powerful experience.

On some obscure level I already knew this. I can't tell you why, but for along time I sensed that the get, this unique Jewish divorce, the one my husband was so anxious to complete, was something very special.

Part I



Before the Get

Chapter 1

Another Woman

Almost immediately after our separation, my husband began to spend serious time with a woman I knew. A professional acquaintance of mine. Someone I liked.We had recently spent a great weekend together, and when she called, on that first night after the retreat, I thought it was to make plans for dinner or a movie.

"I think your husband is going to ask me out," she said on the telephone. "We met at services and I really want to know what you think because it doesn't seem like you and I can remain friends if we begin to date."

Date?
The word jolted me.
It was too soon.
And. . . .

After our special weekend together, I was excited at the thought of a new friend. Friends were worth a lot these days. A lifeline to continuation. They kept you above water when the predominant feeling was drowning. She and I had just spent three days together pouring our hearts out about lengthy marriage sand recent separations. During the annual religious women's retreat, we turned a casual relationship into a bonded experience. There was a definite connection.We talked about my husband, our relationship and what kind of a person he was. Is hared things with her that I had told no one. She seemed so interested.

Her pain was obvious during our weekend together, as she also shared details of her failed marriage. She wanted to know what I thought about the woman her husband was dating.

"How could he fall in love so soon? We have only been separated two months.If I hear one more person tell me how wonderful she is, I'll scream."

I knew the woman her husband was dating and I liked her. Without much thought I said, "Better her than some bimbo."

"A bimbo would be easier on the ego."

I did not agree.

I know I wasn't thinking clearly when I responded to her telephone call, as I told her that I honestly believed that dating my husband would be okay. Denver was such an incestuously small community. It seemed understandable that she and my husband found each other. They were both lonely and newly separated, with thirty-year marital histories. I thought it was good that I liked her. I was just unprepared for my husband to begin to date. After all, we were just separated. I had no plans for them to fall in love.

* * *

I didn't know much about my husband's life. At his suggestion we had little contact. So strange. One day there exists a powerful connection. Assumptions of forever. Then nothing. This was not like our previous separation when I had asked him to leave.

* * *

I asked him to move out. We needed distance. His rage was simply too intense and it frightened our daughter. I never thought of it as abusive. It was just the way things were. It surprised me that I felt an immediate sense of relief when he left. My husband's experience was different. The aloneness was intolerable for him. We had contact several times a week. I complained.

"Isn't this about distance? We talk and spend more time together now that we are separated."

During that first separation, he called often at two or three in the morning. "I need you. I love you. Help me through this terrible night. Please."

I eased him through those awful times. I never thought of telling him not to call. He was in too much pain. This was a time to work things out. It was not punishment. Now, two years later, this separation felt very different.

* * *

He moved out the day before I flew to Chicago. I thought about not going. A celebration seemed alien at this moment, but staying home seemed wrong.

Over the years, my sister and I had supported each other during our children's significant life experiences. There wasn't much family left, and we were sisters. Her significance in my life was not simply about sharing genetic matter. She was someone very special to me. Not going felt too self-indulgent.

The event in Chicago was my niece's high school graduation. The fat acceptance envelope from Amherst had arrived a few weeks earlier, making this graduation weekend a very special celebration. Most certainly a time to be happy.

It seemed terribly self-centered to hand my niece a graduation present, give her a big hug and then tell everyone that my husband just moved out. No one expected him to attend the graduation. He never liked our trips to the Windy City. So I decided to tell no one about the empty bed waiting for me at home.This was a time reserved for joy.

As happy as I was for my sister and her special family, I have to say that the weekend was really hard for me. Three glorious days of celebration seemed to accentuate my loss and arouse feelings of jealousy. This new sensation frightened me, as envy was an emotion to which I never related.

The source of my feelings did not arise from material possessions, such as beautiful homes with magnificent lake views. This coveting was about family and everything I had taken for granted and accepted as a given. Suddenly, the simple act of sitting down to pancakes and eggs while discussing the day's plans seemed luscious. Sadness overwhelmed me as I thought about the possibility of a future defined by a fragmented family. Leaving Chicago was not going to be easy.

* * *

He was a law student, I was an elementary school teacher. We had no money.None of our friends had money. It didn't seem to matter. I don't remember wanting a whole lot. It was the sixties. In those days my wardrobe consisted of two pairs of Levi cords, one or two skirts (my uniform at work), a couple of turtlenecks, a sweater and desert boots.

Our parents helped. My husband's mom paid for law school. My parents paid for my dental work. With that assistance, the income from my teaching salary, even though it was quite small, was enough.

The cost of living was not very high and money never seemed to be a real concern. We drove one car-a light-blue square back Volkswagen-and gasoline cost twenty-five cents a gallon. We lived a simple existence. Our life was pretty uncomplicated and, of course, we were in love.

We paid $125 a month (including utilities) for a one-bedroom apartment at the Logan House. Our neighborhood, Capitol Hill, didn't have a good reputation, but we never thought of ourselves as poor. The $2Chinese dinners at the Lotus Room never felt like a sacrifice.

After one year of marriage, we almost bought a beautiful Tudor-style two-story brick home at 19th and Niagara. The neighborhood was changing (people of color were moving across Mont view), and prices were low. The elderly owner wanted $17,000.

We loved the house and thought that living in an integrated neighborhood was a great idea. After all, it had only been a year since we were in Boulder holding hands and singing "We Shall Overcome" with James Farmer. Those were the days of freedom riders and Selma.

If we bought the house we could afford the monthly payment of $142, but if the furnace or dishwasher broke we could not absorb the additional expense. As much as we wanted that wonderful house, we passed on the opportunity to buy. The possibility of financial pressure frightened us.

We never lived beyond what we could afford. We paid cash for everything. It was our tenth year of marriage before I had my first credit card. I paid the full balance each month, never understanding the meaning of "finance charge."Our parents taught us well. Money was pretty much a non-issue in our lives.

* * *

As I walked through the Denver airport concourse on my way home, ripe with thoughts of my sister and her family, I became consumed with emptiness. A cold chill came upon me as I imagined my daughter's graduation the following year from Manual High School. Reflecting upon the past few days of celebration in Chicago, I wondered whether our daughter would sit between her parents at graduation dinner.

Why didn't we talk about this before he packed his bags and walked through the door? Had we really thought about what it would be like for our daughter? Or did we assume "She's older, she can handle it"? The separation toyed with something precious-our family.

While moving slowly through the airport, my eyes fixed on couples and families. Children running to parents. Wives greeting husbands. Boyfriends standing with a single rose. It was like being pregnant and noticing for the first time that the world was filled with children. This became a slow,excruciating walk as my eyes caught a paired, coupled world.

Intense
overwhelming aloneness
and
disconnection
from
the world I knew.

The train at the airport became a metaphor of transformation. The jingle over the speaker system that always sounded a bit like Las Vegas, and the voices of journalists Reynelda Muse and Pete Smyth, would never be the same again. Ire turned to Denver a very different person.

* * *

As the taxi pulled away from the curb at our home, Bellaire, I realized my daughter was away for the evening. Nothing strange about that. She was at the age, developmentally, when parents were not exactly favored companions.

Our timing for a separation was not exactly great either. This was not going to help our daughter as she began the rigorous college application process. Competition for good schools was fierce. She worked hard in high school and set her sights high. It was good that she didn't have to worry about college money-a promise from her father. The pressure to maintain grades in advanced placement classes was intense. Now when she needed a solidness around her, the world as she knew it was being altered drastically.

My daughter and I had always been close, but now she was, appropriately,pulling away and establishing her own life. I did not expect her to greet me at the door with "Hi, Mom. Let's order pizza and you can tell me about your weekend."

It probably was her plan not to be home when I arrived from Chicago. As much as she loved my sister and her family, I don't think she was interested in hearing about the wonderful graduation weekend. I understood. Her previously secure world was crumbling and now being defined by uncertainty and fear. In her reality, listening to stories about happy families wasn't exactly therapeutic.

Selfishly though, on this watershed evening, I wished my adolescent daughter was at home. Even if she were not exactly excited to see me, I simply needed a hug and some companionship. This was strange, as generally I loved my time alone.

On this particular spring night. . .
I wanted to be anywhere but alone at Bellaire.

© 2001 Health Communications, Inc.

About the Author

Elise Edelson Katch, L.C.S.W., has been a practicing therapist, evaluator, educator, expert witness and consultant for the past 25 years in Denver, Colorado. She specializes in the fields of trauma and high-conflict divorce, and works as a Special Advocate to the courts. She holds a B.A. in the social sciences and an M.A. in reading education from the University of Denver. Elise helped craft the first child custody guidelines in Colorado, and was the founder and first president of the Colorado Professional Society on the Abuse of Children. She is a past treasurer of the National Association of Counsel for Children. She has been an adjunct professor at the University of Denver Graduate School of Social Work, as well as a presenter at the Colorado Psychological Association and the Breckenridge Child Custody Conference. Often quoted in the print media, Elise has done television interviews, both locally and nationally.