Abused women find way out of Israeli Orthodox community

JERUSALEM — Two days after giving birth, Reut carefully swaddled her fifth child and took a taxi from the hospital to a shelter for victims of domestic abuse.

It was a journey filled with complicated emotions.

Vulnerable and scared, she was heading to an unfamiliar place but finally was escaping more than 10 years of humiliating verbal, physical and sexual attacks by her husband. He was so controlling, she said, that he even decided when she could use the bathroom, which forced her to wear diapers.

Reut’s story might not be so different from many other cases of domestic abuse. But what sets it apart is that Reut grew up in Israel’s deeply devout and insular ultra-Orthodox community — and is willing to talk about her experience so that other women like her know there is a way out.

Suffering for nearly a decade, Reut said she believed it was God’s way of testing her.

“I thought if I endured, I would find a better place in the world to come,” said Reut, 32, who spoke on the condition that her full name not be used.

Ultra-Orthodox Jews, also known as Haredim, make up roughly 9 percent of Israel’s Jewish population of 6.5 million. But with women having an average of seven children, the community is expected to grow rapidly.

Haredim are exempt from military service, and many shun work to focus on religious studies. They largely segregate themselves from the rest of society. That presents a challenge for the Israeli government, which would like to see them sharing the national burden.

Changes are happening, but slowly. More Haredim are signing up for the army, and an increasing number of Haredi women are working outside the home, giving them more contact with the rest of the world.

In turn, abused women such as Reut are realizing that they have options.

Reut and her children moved to Jerusalem to one of only two shelters in Israel dedicated to ultra-Orthodox Jewish women.

“The community is difficult to penetrate. It is very insular — they try to solve problems inside the community,” said police spokesman Micky Rosenfeld.

Often, women have no one to whom they can turn. Discussing marital problems with a friend or mother is viewed as inappropriate. Rabbis and community leaders tend to turn a blind eye to the abuse, fearing it might damage their community’s reputation.

For Reut, family intervention saved her from her husband’s abuse. When she became pregnant with their fifth child, he sent her out to work as punishment. Her mother stepped in.

With the help of her family, Reut devised an escape plan: She would wait until the baby was born, then go from the hospital to the shelter. Her mother would bring the other children.

For the next 40 days at the shelter, Reut rested.

“My husband used to make me leave the hospital straight after each birth. He immediately put me back to work,” she said. “It was amazing — I didn’t really know what it meant to rest, because I didn’t have any for 10 years.”