A Letter from Tzadok and Shira: Reflecting on Missed Connections

Hey Shira,

It’s me, Tzadok.

As I’ve thought about this deeply,
I’ve come to realize that I became a doormat.

You don’t see me as a person. You see me as someone whose role is to cushion your life. The money I earn through hard work mostly goes toward your personal desires and excesses. I don’t have the right to ask, even gently, for you to see me and my needs, because your tears immediately turn me into a selfish, insensitive husband.

The house is designed according to your wishes. The children wear expensive clothes you chose, bought with the money I worked so hard for. They attend the institutions you decided on. Even where we live… you know how uncomfortable I am living under your mother’s roof, yet I had no choice. Otherwise, you would cry and repeat to everyone, especially to me, how little I understand and how little I care.

You tell me again and again that I came into marriage unprepared. That I don’t understand women. That if only I were more mature, if only I listened better, if only I weren’t so selfish. Your words lash at me like whips.

And I stay silent. Again and again. I try to please you, to provide, to buy, to support. And you? You continue to show me in countless ways that it’s still not enough, that I am still not enough.

So why did I stay all these years?

Because I saw your pain beneath the behavior.
Because I was not truly offended. I know who I am and the kind of husband I can be. And I could also see your need for me, your desire to be filled by my love. That awareness gave me strength to continue. Simply put, I love you.

I never took your criticism only as insult. I saw you behind it. The Shira who longs to feel loved. The Shira who struggles. The Shira who wants closeness. And I constantly examined myself: Where can I give more? Where can I bring you more joy?

So why didn’t I ever say this out loud?

Maybe I was afraid that if we truly opened the cards, I’d discover that your criticism really was meant to humiliate me.
Maybe because as long as I stayed, absorbed, and accepted everything with love, I didn’t need to hold a mirror to your behavior. But now, when I’m no longer there, you should know something: love can be asked for differently. Not everyone will endure as I did. Because I care about you, I want you to understand how the way you express love can hurt, and to become more aware of it.

And maybe I simply wanted you to know how deeply I loved you, so that you would never be angry at me again.

Love you forever,
Tzadok

Shira finished reading her late husband’s letter and felt herself dissolve into tears.

The only way she could channel her emotions into something practical was to write back.

My beloved Tzadok,

I don’t know if, in the world of souls, you can read this. But I believe someone there will volunteer to read it to you.

You are a king. Truly.
You are the greatest person I could have been given in this life.

The amount of pain you absorbed silently would have broken anyone else. Yet you carried it with love, and that love still feels more real than anything else, even now that you are gone.

But my Tzadok, if you were always willing to accept criticism, here is one more. Maybe it is not criticism but truth from my heart.

I read your letter and felt that we missed life.

You were right. All my criticism came from a longing for more warmth, more closeness, more love. You understood me. But there was another step. When my dissatisfaction never ended, despite living near my parents, despite the spending, despite everything I demanded, perhaps something else was needed.

Perhaps you should have stopped believing that giving in to everything I wanted would fill me.
Perhaps you should have shown me that you matter too.

Your endless compromise made you seem distant in my eyes. I tried to provoke something from you, a reaction, a boundary, a sign that you cared deeply enough to fight for us. I wanted to feel that I was important to you, not just accommodated.

I didn’t know how to ask.
And you, even though you understood me, didn’t know how to give.

You didn’t write this letter while you were alive. You were too afraid of me.

How tragic, Tzadok.

I weep for all those hours, days, and months I felt emotionally alone, believing I had a husband who simply didn’t care enough to stop me, challenge me, or hold me.

I never knew how much you loved me.

How did we miss life?

Promise me that one day, somewhere beyond this world, we will finally sit and speak openly about everything.

I love you too,
Yours always,
Shira

Pinchas Hirsch is a couples' counselor.