The Price of Truth: A true story of child sexual abuse in the Orthodox Jewish world -- and one girl's courage to survive and heal.

© 2019 Genendy All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 978-1-53238-749-4 eBook 978-1-53238-750-0

I was going to die

If not sooner than later

Whether or not I’d ever spoken myself

My silence did not protect me.

Your silence will not protect you.

Audre Lorde

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my incredible husband, my dear friend, life partner and soulmate. Your commitment to truth and personal growth inspires me every day. You bring an abundance of joy and love to my life. I am so blessed!

I also dedicate this book to my three amazing children. Each of you is a unique gem in a priceless setting. I love you more than words can express. It is an honor and privilege to be your mother.

Note to my siblings and relatives:

I have always done my best to tell the truth, and I will continue to do so. Unfortunately, I did not have any family members to check the narrative of our family history with. I have written it to the best of my ability as I remember it being told to me as a child, in anecdotes and stories from our parents. If I have erred in relating a historical fact, I ask your forgiveness in advance.

This is a memoir of my subjective memories, experiences and reactions to my childhood. Your memories, experiences and reactions may be very different from my own, and that is valid. If your memories are less painful than mine, I am truly happy for you.

I believe that as a family we can heal. I believe that those of us who are committed to truth will find a meeting of hearts in the very near future in joy, understanding and peace.

Love,

Genendy

Acknowledgements

I thank you My Creator, the Source of all life and love, for giving me the opportunity to make a positive difference in Your world, and for sending me perfect messengers in each moment of my journey to help me survive the unbearable, heal and thrive, and make this project a reality.

Thank you Dr. Elana Sztokman, my editor, publisher and friend. I am so grateful to you for enabling me to share my story with so many, for sharing my vision and encouraging and supporting me in the process, and for helping me to write so clearly and beautifully.

Thank you to Tzippora Price, my first editor and writing mentor. You shared my vision and helped me see what was missing and what was needed, and pointed me in the right direction.

Thank you to Hadas Boxer, and Chava and Shaul Bloom, for reading the manuscript and giving me invaluable feedback.

Thank you to my wonderful and dedicated therapist Deena Mendlowitz. What a journey we have been on together! I love you very much.

Thank you to therapist Juliet Mandelzwig who helped me to re-learn touch.

Thank you to therapists Rachel Ackerman and Joan Krystal, and of course my irreplaceable group. Thank you for your courage and friendship.

Thank you to Shana Aronson and Meyer Seewald of JCW. Two remarkable human beings who have dedicated their lives to ridding our community of the evil of child sexual abuse. You have made a huge difference to myself and so many countless survivors.

Thank you to my wonderful parents-in-law Mom and Dad R. and my brother-in-law M. and partner S. for all of your love and support. You are my family!

There are so many exceptional people who without your love and support I would not be here today, and this book would not exist. To name just a few more that come to mind in this moment:

Hinda and Yosef G., Ruth and Simcha Frischling, Brian Miller, Ilana Miller, Yarden Frankl, and Stella Frankl, (of blessed memory) Rabbi, and Sara Blooming, Rabbi Krimsky, and Amy Federman.

The lifesaving staff at the trauma disorders day hospital and the compassionate and caring staff at the Elizabeth House, Elizabeth, Debra, Terry, Joan, Susan, Deborah, and Dr. F.

Therapists Victor Welzant, Dr. Donna Small, and Dr. John Gershefsky, who guided me through engagement, marriage, and childbirth.

Lisa and Shlomo Zalman Jessel, Hadas and Yaakov Boxer, Eva and Ari Soller, Yedudah Buchwalter, Atara and Rabbi Hillel Waxman, Chana Ginzberg, Nechami P. Orit Riter, Miriam Segal, Andrea Kornfeld, Donna Abraham, Susie Zettel, Yael Soussan, Chaya Bluma Gadenyan, Dr. Miriam Adahan, Rabbi Yosef Blau, Yehudah and Yocheved S. Frady, Evelyn Shnier, Miriam R., Yaakov S., Rena and Yisroel S., Blimi and Menachem S., Bicki V., Dalit Kimor, and my and my Magen buddies, …I don’t know if you realize how critical you were to my healing process, David Morris, who inspired the name of this book , Hillel Abrahams, Miriam Freedman, Batya Cohen, and Helise Pollak.

Thank you for being you!!

If I have failed to mention your name, please accept my apologies, and know that I thank you with all of my heart!

All names in this book have been changed except

for my own first name, Dr. Miriam Adahan, Rabbi Aaron Kotler and

Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Urbach

(of blessed memory).

Contents

Opening scenes

The Princess Story

Loss

Family origins

Part 1: Secrets

The hole in my hand and other events

The bochurim

Zaidy’s study

Shalom

Part 2: Forgetting

The Actress

Jay

Juggling

Depression

Bnei Brak

Chedva

A new job

Children

Running away

Part 3: Remembering

My first therapist

Trying to trust myself

The quake

Grasping for help

Life’s Tools

Betrayal

Part 4: Telling

Tatty

Moving out

Displaced

Mommy

Anger

Part 5: Falling

Memories

Spiritual Death

Suicide

State Hospital

Losing my religion

Moving again

My Prayer

Part 6: Getting up

Music

Looking for normal

Strength

Dissociation

Memory

Breathing, doctors, and other triggers

Reclaiming my religion

Coming back

Finding love

Fast Forward

Glossary

Opening scenes

The Princess Story

Mommy, tell me the story about the princess, and the king who did something bad to her.

My four-and-a-half-year-old daughter jumps into my lap, her glittery purple princess crown sliding down over her eyes.

Oh, Avital, it’s Friday. I shouldn’t be sitting here. I still have to get the guest room ready, and I really have to be in the right headspace to tell you that story.

Oh, please, please tell it to me Mommy. PLEASE!

My beautiful princess gazes into my tired eyes, hers filled with trust and anticipation.

She doesn’t know that the story I am about to tell her is true. It’s a story that happened to me, and to many other Jewish girls, princesses, all of us.

It’s a story I need her to know for her own safety. I guess I can stand to take a break.

Avital and I settle into our comfy blue leather couch.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful little princess, I begin. She lived in a palace with her father the king and her mother the queen. She had sisters who were also princesses and brothers who were princes. The princess was a good girl and a kind girl. She cared about others’ feelings. She went to school every day and had a teacher who loved her, and who she loved.

Now the princess had a big problem and she didn’t know what to do, I continue. Maybe you and I can help her find a good solution.

Her father the king sometimes did things to her and the other princesses that she knew were not okay. Things that a king shouldn’t do and usually doesn’t do.

What did he do Mommy?

"He did things that were not tzanuah (modest). He touched the princesses in private places."

A king wouldn’t do that Mommy!

That’s exactly what the queen said when the princess told her. She said, ‘The king would never do such a thing!’

The princess didn’t know what to do. She loved the king and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But she wanted him to stop touching her. She tried to tell her sisters but they wouldn’t listen to her either. The princess believed that her sisters knew the truth but they were too embarrassed and ashamed to admit it. What should the princess do to help herself and her family? Should she keep it a secret? Who should she tell?

Avital knows the answer.

How can she not? I’m her mother.

She should tell. Even if she’s embarrassed, she should tell!

Well, that is just what the princess did. Her teacher hugged her and said, ‘I am so proud of you for telling me. You are a very brave girl!’

But then the teacher turned serious. ‘Is the king doing these things to anyone else?’

‘Yes,’ the princess said. ‘To my sisters. To my friends. And to my brother, the prince.’ Guess what the teacher said?

Avital knows this answer as well.

She has to tell!

Yes. You are so smart. As smart as the princess in the story. The teacher indeed said, ‘You have to tell. You have to yell from the roof of the castle until people listen and stop him.’

The princess shook her head. ‘But I’m embarrassed,’ she said. ‘And the king and the queen won’t let me live in the palace anymore if I tell everyone. They will be so angry with me. They will say it’s not true! Where will I live?’

The teacher gazed firmly and lovingly into the princess’s eyes. ‘If that happens then you will live with me. I will love you and take care of you for ever and ever.’

Well, that is exactly what happened. The princess yelled from the rooftop of the palace about the king and his terrible touching problem. The king and the queen were very angry and embarrassed, and insisted that it wasn’t true. They commanded that the princess leave the castle. Many people in the kingdom were upset. They thought the princess must be wrong. They said, ‘The king would never do such a thing!’

The princess was sad and scared but she knew just what to do. She went to her teacher who loved her, believed her, and protected her. The teacher made a big party to celebrate the princess’s bravery and invited all of her friends from school. She made her a special dress and crown that was befitting such a brave and courageous princess.

For my four-year-old princess this happens to be the most important part of the story.

Tell me more about the dress and crown that she wore at the party! she begs me.

Her dress was splendid, I respond. "It was white with gold threads, and real diamonds and pearls woven into it. Pink glittery gauze covered the whole thing. The dress sparkled in the light. When the princess spun around her dress twirled and swirled with her. Her crown was made out of gold and was engraved with the words: ‘A Real Princess Inside and Out’."

Now comes the million-dollar question. Deep breath.

If you were the princess, I ask, do you think you would tell, like she did?

"Of course I would!"

Sigh.

I sure hope so.

Loss

Many years ago, I lost my parents, 11 siblings and countless relatives. Today, I don’t know who in my family is alive or dead, who is married, who has children.

No, I am not a Holocaust survivor. I am an incest survivor, from a family of Torah scholars. But I did not keep it a secret, as I was told to. As a result, I have been excommunicated.

I was not invited to my siblings’ weddings. I have tens of nieces and nephews I have never met and wouldn’t recognize on the street. Around Jewish holidays, which most of us spend with family, I feel orphaned.

I grew up frum – that is, in an ultra-Orthodox Jewish family. My maternal grandfather, my father, and other men in my grandfather’s yeshiva (religious school) molested me when I was very young. I had no one to turn to at the time. As a teen and young adult, I never thought I would survive, marry or have children. Every day was a struggle. I believed that what happened to me was unusual. I thought I was the only one. I believed the only escape from the pain was suicide.

My determination, my faith, and my choices in dealing with my painful reality made the difference – literally – between life and death. Today, I am blessed to have been married for 20 years to a wonderful man. We have three beautiful children. I work as an educator, a writer, and a child safety activist.

I am, indeed, one of the lucky ones. Yet, my past still haunts me.

Incest, the most prevalent form of child sexual abuse, is still taboo. Its existence – even among the most Torah-observant families – is not discussed or acknowledged, nor is the impact that it has on a child, a family, and a community.

I remain part of the Orthodox Jewish community, living and working among them, and raising my children as Torah-observant Jews, despite communal efforts to silence me and to chase me away.

Perhaps I stayed in order to be able to tell my story. Maybe by speaking out in this way I can help save the community from its greatest weakness: our blinding need to protect our image.

Or perhaps I stayed because I recognize that child abuse exists in every community and there is no community that is safe.

Or perhaps I stayed for more personal reasons. Maybe I chose not only to stay alive, but also to live a Torah life because I already lost enough, and I will not allow anyone to rob me of my beautiful heritage as well.

Ironically, it is because of my family’s inability to hear me that I must expose my pain to the world. I exist in spite of their attempts to make me and my memories disappear.

As strange as this may sound, I understand why my family wants me silenced. They need to hold on to their image of the normal family. It is so much harder and more painful to deal with the reality. I truly believe that they may not be capable of dealing with the reality. I did not think I was capable. I realize now that I was given a gift of strength that perhaps my siblings do not have.

I believe that I have a role to play within my family, and within the Jewish nation. I see the Jewish nation as one body with many parts. We are all different. We are not meant to be the same. We have different makeups and different missions. I believe that we all need each other. I need my family and they need me, just as each one of us needs each other and is responsible for the whole. By focusing on our individual missions, we heal a part of the greater body of the Jewish nation, and the world. My personal mission is love, acceptance, and healing of my family and my community. I cannot cut them off just as I could not voluntarily cut off my own limb.

I am real, and my story is true, and it is time for my voice to be heard.

It takes tremendous risk and vulnerability to tell my story publicly. But I believe that my family and my community are worth the risk. My book is more than a personal journey of healing. It also carries a powerful message of hope for my community.

Incest touches almost every family in every community in the world. I hope that my story will sensitize you to the child or adult in your life who is crying out for help, no matter what community you come from.

Family origins

I was born in the United States, in 1973, the third of 12 children, and the third daughter of Rena and Gabe, who were almost 24 and 28 years old respectively when I was born.

My father’s mother, Savta, came to the United States from Czechoslovakia at the age of 15. A rich uncle paid her ticket to America and to freedom from the horror at home in Europe. Savta’s parents and siblings were not so lucky, and they perished in the Holocaust.

At four-foot-ten, Savta was a powerhouse of energy, motion, and emotion. She ran her life with order and rules, perhaps with a need to control what little she could in her life. My grandparents’ two-bedroom apartment in Boro Park was always uncomfortably neat and organized. The wall-to-wall green carpeting was cleaned with a hand-held carpet sweeper minutes after a crumb fell. The living room couch was covered in thick