While not a celebration that is on your typical bumper sticker, at least not one that I have seen. “My son tried to his his wife, but hit his teenage son…multiple times” is certainly something that should not be ignored. Domestic Violence is the cancer that assaults every household, of every generation, of every income, of every race. It is hard to detect, because there are not genetic markers to scan for. Unlike cancer, it is a hidden epidemic, and people do not want to get involved – not neighbors, not parents, not friends. One might even think that because people “do not want to pick sides”, the aggressor is accepted, and can attend community events, while the victim is in the shadow of anxiety and fear.
No where when you are raised as a “trifeca” in the Washington suburbs are you ever prepared for the closed fist as it swarms above your head ready to strike. Being white, educated and Jewish, no education, parental guidance or Judaic teaching could have helped me understand the undertow of domestic violence, and the the aftermath that grows from it. Growing up, my parents were pillars of the Jewish community, I attended religious school and synagogue as expected. I married a Jewish boy from the same community, as expected, had several children, raised them Jewishly, planning and celebrating bris, bar and bat mitzvots, a good outward pious life. In fact, I believe each celebration was advertised in this very paper.
But there is no preparing for the closed fist as it waits above your face ready to strike. With only a young son to react with the speed and strength that he was born with, his life changed as mine, with the confrontation of the unwanted intruder. My son took the brunt of the anger, and truth be told, still does. The antecedent changed from missed social evens, false accusations, but always the same denominator of social terrorism. We learned early that there is no escape or rebuttal that could help. Domestic violence is camouflaged with good housekeeping.
Friends were in disbelief and “did not want to take sides”. Truth be told, who wants to hear about domestic violence. No one wants to hear what happens behind closed doors in a tight knit community. With believing comes understanding, and with understanding must come an element of disgust. In today’s era of Facebook family and friends, there is room for smiles, cruises, graduation, and travels, but no where is there a box that admits I raised a closed fist to my wife and I hit my son, but “I’m still a good guy” – just look at my Facebook advertisements of posed pictures.
Domestic violence leaves a trail of bystanders, accomplices to this horrible act of supremacy and narcissism that remains a Spectre in the community. Unfortunately blood on one’s door post does not help with this trespasser. The victims continue to be punished with silence and social anxiety, this invader is unnoticed because it is simple “too hard”.