Shalom Bayit: it isn’t always so

October, which we are currently on the cusp of, is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. You may see an increase in purple ribbons, articles related to the subject popping up online and in your local women’s center.

Campus events sponsored by various groups at your own college may even talk about domestic violence. Battering by a parent, a family member, or a romantic partner can be a terrifying, isolating experience, particularly if you’re in college. Many students go away from home, moving out from their family home to go to a school that may be a half hour, a day, a state, even a country away.

When a lot of people think of domestic violence, they think about someone beating their spouse. The abuse of a romantic partner runs a spectrum, from verbal and emotional to physical and sexual, and a countless number of ugly, heart breaking permutations in between. Domestic violence transcends class, race, ethnicity, religion, age, geographic location, education, sexual orientation, and any other personal belief or characteristic you can think of.

You are not alone, if you’re someone who has been touched by domestic violence, in any way. I could talk about current statistics, but I’m going to side step that in favor of something a little briefer, a little more one-on-one, and aimed at my fellow Jews.
There are people who will give you help.

Not every state is going to have organized and distinctly Jewish resources, but even places like Seattle, where I currently hang my hat and call home, has Jewish resources to help you. Where people will listen. I know, because I’ve called.

I’ve been through abusive relationships. No matter how many years they are behind me, and some are more recent then others, they left scars, and doubts, and fears, and a mess behind. I’m still picking up some of those pieces. I found a lot of strength, and hope, when I picked up the phone and called DVORA.

Project DVORA is local. It’s run by Jewish Family Service. If you want to check out their website, you can find them online at http://www.jfsseattle.org/dv.html .

I called because I had a few months where I couldn’t cope. And there’s no shame in it, in admitting I’ve been abused by people in my past, or that I called the DVORA hotline to talk about it. I found an ear. Not just an ear, but one that didn’t judge. That told me not to sell short my own achievements, those little ones like being able to giggle sometimes, or going whole nights without nightmares. I found a voice that told me to never belittle my own choice to walk away. To help myself. Those phone calls were something I feared and greatly looked forward to, when I’d shut the door to my bedroom, and for awhile.. be able to talk. About things I had never talked about to anyone, and be able to get a perspective that was not my own, that was still Jewish, that supported making healthy choices. Programs like DVORA exist because we need them.

If you have walked away from a domestically violent relationship with little to nothing, and you have children, there’s a program that can help you. Shalom Bayit is a program here in Seattle, ran by the National Council of Jewish Women, that helps provide furniture to you and your family. And yes, you can check them out on the web: http://www.ncjwseattle.org/programs/domestic_violence.html .

All the stuff you might have had to leave behind, the pots and pans and the vacuum and the furniture, all the things a family in a new home needs.

Shalom Bayit, peace in the home. Being able to sit down on the couch at the end of the day, and know you and your kids started over.

Those are just two examples of Jewish resources that want to help. Those organizations are there to help. To tell you it was never your fault; it will never be your fault. And those words are yours, forever, in October, in every month, forever. And those words are words you can give to anybody, to the friend you know is suffering, to yourself, to anyone who needs them.

Every day we should be aware of suffering, of diseases and violence and pain. But months and weeks and days are a way to raise the point, if only for a minute, that these issues exist. October is 31 days long. 31 days to think and be aware, to call the person on the other end of the line who wants to help you, to dream of being free and maybe, maybe this October, to take the leap to freedom.

I had ten dollars and a bag of my clothes.

I didn’t fall. I flew.

I know I’m not the only one who can.