Chapter 1 - It’s a Dead End

Outside, the night air is warm, and a light breeze is blowing from the west. But there is no one enjoying this lovely weather tonight. The missiles from Lebanon are flying. From within the safe room, the door left open for some air, I hear the buzzing and the distant explosions.

I try to listen to the radio again, but the voice of the newscaster is broken —no reception.

I am in the dark, literally.

I've sent my wife Immy and our children to stay with my in-laws. They live close to Tel Aviv, in the center of Israel, outside of missile range.

So I am alone, literally. In this small safe room and in this wretch of a world.

A thought flashes in my head: I may not wake up tomorrow morning.

Another missile is buzzing, its high-pitched noise revolting my stomach. I try to find some peace in sleep.

Tomorrow is another day in hell.

The shower of missiles fired from Lebanon on the northern part of Israel lasted about a month between July and August of 2006. The feeling of deep despair that arose in me that summer remained even after the war ended. As time moved on, I was actually feeling worse.

I went back to my regular routine. Work, kids, weekends, seeing friends. On the outside, everything seemed to be back to normal. Inside, however, I was constantly discontent. It felt like an ongoing, low-intensity panic attack —not strong enough to stop me in my tracks but strong enough that I could not ignore it.

I felt like this for months. Then the next blow arrived.

My marriage was coming to an end.

I was sitting on the stairs of our house looking into my wife's eyes. I could see the tears forming in hers and felt my heart sink. Immy wanted to break up. So did I.

We had just finished a series of sessions with a marriage counselor. The experience was a disaster. The counselor exposed my innermost insecurities and did nothing to help us resolve the underlying causes of our failed relationship.

At the time, I had no idea why things were not working between Immy and me. In all the years we were married, I saw myself as a good husband and convinced myself that Immy would never leave me because she would never find a better husband than I was (she did, actually). To be honest, I was perfectly happy to do whatever I wanted. I was always concerned with myself and did not invest any time and care into our relationship.

The counselor tried to bring our sexual relationship to the forefront in an attempt to put her finger on something. As soon as it was apparent that I was being labeled a villain, humiliation, anger, and shame flared in me, and I stopped the counseling process.

I was not ready to touch these traumas. Not yet.

Deep inside I knew I was responsible for the fact that my life was not working. The pressure was mounting inside me, but I couldn't risk everybody knowing I was a complete failure. At the time, I was not aware that, for me, failure equals death. That is why instead of diving into failure and facing it head on, I opted for a slow miserable existence.

The process with the marriage counselor did nothing to alleviate the alienation Immy and I were feeling. We were living separate lives, just two emotionally disconnected beings sharing one roof and parenting two children despite having nothing in common.

It was a miserable failure of an attempt to fix a twelve-year marriage that was going nowhere.

Exactly like my life. Going precisely nowhere. And fast.

We sat with the children on the floor, the four of us in a circle, holding hands. Guy was five years old. Ameet was seven. He had no idea what was coming. She already had an inkling. We told them Mommy and Daddy are breaking up and Daddy will be leaving the house in a couple of weeks.

Ameet looked at me in disbelief and asked, "Why?"

Tears ran down my cheeks, and my heart hurt. Life as I knew it was coming to an end.

How pretentious of me, to want to keep things as they were. Even when divorce stared me in the face, I was still looking to point fingers at someone or something to push the blame away from me. I was still completely unaware of the seeds of separation I had planted between Immy and me by being self-absorbed all these years. The divorce was a natural consequence of that. We do reap what we sow.

Stop the pain! Stop the train! I want out. I want to run away from all of this. I want to wave a magic wand and make my life all perfect again.

There was no avoiding the pain —though it was unbearable. For years I tried to convince myself that it would get better. Only later did I realize that nothing got better. I was still stuck in this marriage, this job, and this relationship with myself.

I had all the signs in front of me—I knew I was responsible for the divorce—yet it still felt as if all of a sudden, out of the blue, life threw me a curve ball and I was not there to bat. The ball hit me hard in the face.

And now what?

Let's try travel, food, money, power, sex, gadgets, drugs, gambling, addiction, and blame. Take your pick. Which one do you fancy the most? Perhaps all of them?

How about a quick trip to New York? One winter I flew there by myself for a food festival. The best restaurants at fifty percent off. I decided to try a short escapade. Each evening, I would go by myself to a fancy restaurant and feast. I got tickets to an off-broadway show and slept through most of it.

There was a black hole in the center of my chest. It seemed that nothing could fill it.

"How about a new car," suggested the voice inside. Check. No. That did not work either.

A big promotion! Yes, that is it! Well, it did not work for me. I took a job I had no idea how to do and was too proud to admit it. When I finally asked for help, it was too late, and I failed miserably, blaming everyone else for my own glorious demise.

Sometimes there was a temporary relief, a moment of joy that separated many moments of agony.

It was a quiet agony, a shameful agony at that. I should have been terribly happy. I was married to a beautiful woman. I was the father of two healthy and gorgeous children. I had a great job that paid a handsome salary. I lived in a beautiful home, with nature all around. I drove a nice car with leather seats.

Pain has the potential to wake us up. It is an evolutionary mechanism that turns us toward the right direction. Physical pain is something we all understand. When we feel pain in the body, our entire attention is devoted to ending the pain. And so it is with emotional and psychic pain. The emotional agony I was feeling was intended to wake me up and make me move away from the pain. In other words, to evolve.

I had no clue what was wrong. To be honest, I was not even trying to analyze my life. In hindsight, I realize that self-introspection was something I was avoiding because it would have made me realize I was responsible for all the mess in my life. There was no one else to blame, and I would have to make some changes. Instead, I chose to continue to be miserable.

My mind was screaming, "What else can I get to be happy? What else can I do to be happy?"

I felt stuck but could also see that I was stuck. The various aspects of my external life were not working. I got another job and sooner or later felt the same. I quit my job, divorced my wife, left home, and sold the car with leather seats. I still felt this nagging feeling that something was amiss. Something was missing.

With time, the nagging voice in my head became louder and more insistent: "Is this it? Is this going to be my experience for the rest of my life?"

There was no more peace. I could not ignore this voice anymore.

The worst was that I had no answers. If there was an answer, I did not know what it was or how to find it. I was totally despondent. I went deeper into the blame game. I tried to blame the entire world (and everyone close to me) for my internal misery.

Talking about this with my parents, my partner, my friends, or my work colleagues seemed like a good idea. It would have been—if I could find someone who knew what I was talking about and could guide me in the right direction.

I tried sharing this feeling of emptiness with others. There was some short-term comfort, but I was no closer to finding a viable long-term solution to the root problem.

I was stuck, and I had no idea how to permanently get out of that rut.

Still, something inside kept insisting, screaming for attention. This inner voice did not accept my current misery as my final fate. I would not be resigned to finish my days on Earth in misery!

There must be a way out, I thought. There MUST be!

That resolve was what eventually got me out.

A few weeks after the 2006 Lebanon war ended, I called Esti, a therapist recommended to me by a work colleague, and started going to regular therapy sessions with her.

That was my first step on the way out.