I live in the Ghetto, not like a HUD project, as in the Warsaw Ghetto. Flats in buildings that are so close together, that you hear everything, I mean everything. No tin cans and string needed to know what the neighbors are doing. What does this have to do with dating, not much, maybe more about how I got to the point where I’m dating.

You know in the beginning of the Brady Bunch, each family member has their own square and they can all look around at each other. That’s my building.  On the nights when I wonder if I’ve done the right thing by ending my marriage; I open my window and listen to fighting, the bickering, the not so nice name calling, and the rest.  And then I roll over and go to sleep.

The one thing I’ve heard the most is, “but he never cheated”.  While I understand that “staying faithful” is a mainstay to  a good marriage, sometimes it the other things that kill it. Sometimes it’s the daily grind of traveling two hours each way because your spouse won’t relocate. Sometimes it’s because one partner gives up mentally. Sometimes it’s because you’re just different at 34 than at 21, and everything your mother told you about comes to be. Regardless, things can deteriorate faster than you can flutter your eyelashes. And then you’re laying in your bed, listening to the neighbors fight, and the one single thought you have is, “but there but by the grace of  G-d go I”.

As hard  as things are, as much as you’ve down sized, as much scrambling as you have to do make it between salaries, at least you have peace in your home.  Nobody shouts, nobody yells, nobody accuses , and you sleep in peace in spite of the bank calling.

And for this I am grateful. Gut Shabbas