I made peace in my family using threats

My sister is very religious, an Orthodox Jew living in Brooklyn with her family. Her husband is a deeply devout Israeli from Jerusalem. Together they have four kids. All the children (boy, girl, boy, girl) were given a strict fundamentalist upbringing. The boys had Bar Mitzvahs at the Wailing Wall. The girls wear sleeves to the wrists and hems down to the ankles. Their lives are ruled by the Torah and rabbinical interpretation.

When I told my sister I was marrying Ana, my Catholic girlfriend of twelve years, she told her husband and kids. The response was swift. My oldest nephew phoned me to say he could no longer have a relationship with me. It wasn’t his decision to make, he explained. It was God (known as Hashem) and the Torah that decreed I was to be cast out of his life. When we hung up, I cried.

Within a few days of that, I got a call from my brother-in-law.

He said, “I’m calling you when it’s late here and I’m tired, because I wanted to stay calm. I don’t want you to to talk to my kids about that shiksa again,” he said. “Please,” he emphasized. “I want you to promise me you won’t ever talk about her again.”

I didn’t want to have this conversation. I tried to change the subject to how the family was doing.

He said his youngest son enjoyed taunting him about Jewish beliefs. He said the boy had bragged to him about getting tattoos and eating pork and dating Christian girls. He confided to me that if his son ever did those things, he would break his son’s legs. He told me would tear his son’s arms off.

I felt intimidated.

“I’m not ready to make a promise like that,” I said. “I need some time to think about it.”

His posture got more aggressive. “No,” he said. “You didn’t give me any time when you decided to tell my kids about your shiksa. So you don’t get any time to think about this promise. You’re going to promise me now.”

He waited silently. I felt enormous pressure. I thought, what the fuck is going on? I wanted it to stop.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess I can promise that.”

Right away, his manner relaxed. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m so glad. That makes me very happy. Thank you. I knew I could talk to you.”

He closed with, “You’ve always been a good boy.”

A good boy? I thought. I’m forty-five years old, motherfucker.

The call ended. I was angrier than I’ve ever been. It led to me doing something I’ve never, ever done, before or since. A few days later I wrote him a letter. In broad strokes, it said:

(I want to mention here that my threat was deliberately vague; I had no idea what the “consequences” I warned of would be. My goal was to be hostile. I had no idea about how to implement actual hostility.)

Then I sent the letter.

A few days later, I was out celebrating my birthday with Ana when the phone rang. It was my brother-in-law. I felt my traditional road-less-traveled response rising in me: I should speak to him, man to man. I should smooth over my hostility and be the bigger person. I should take the moral high ground. I should be the change I want to see in the world.

But again, I did something I never do. I thought, fuck him, bumped him to voicemail and continued my evening. For the first time, I felt something powerful and new.

I never called him back.

Several months later, he and I were both visiting my father, who was very sick in the hospital. I watched him comfort my dad, engage with him, joke with him, and recite prayers for him. He was very respectful and kind; I could see he was genuinely honoring my father. When I left the hospital, he caught up to me in the hallway to talk. This was the first time we’d spoken since I sent the threatening letter.

He stood very close to me in the hallway and spoke in a lowered voice. “I was very upset by the letter you sent me,” he said. “I know we are different people with different perspectives. I respect you and I know you respect me. You are my brother. I love you. I want us to talk about this black cat between us.”

I listened with my head down. “Yes,” I said. “Okay,” I nodded. “I understand. We should talk about it. That would be a good thing. Yes.”

I didn’t mean any of it. What I wanted to get away from his presence, which was intimidating and unwelcome. When I got back home I wrote him a second letter. It said:

“I’m very grateful that you came to visit and care for my father. That was very kind and I’m thankful. I also heard you say that you want us to talk. I heard you say I’m your brother. I heard you say that you respect me and that you love me. Thank you for saying those things. But as I said in my first letter, you and I will never talk about religion ever again. If I change my mind, I will let you know.”

Then I sent the second letter.

Since then he and I have not spoken. The nephew who ostracized me had a lavish wedding that consumed the family’s energy and attention for several weeks. Neither myself nor my now-wife were invited.

The whole saga has consumed a disproportionate amount of my attention and emotions. Not only did I feel very, very uncomfortable with what I did, but I also hated what I was putting out into the world in general. For a long time I thought I had been the villain. Maybe if I had been more conciliatory or more accommodating, I thought, he and I could have reached an understanding. Some type of reciprocal acknowledgment that we both have good reasons for what we want.

But then I remembered he didn’t approach me as an equal, but as someone to dominate. He told me he didn’t trust himself to control his rage. His disgust towards my wife was blatant. His violent language about his son was sickening. He bullied me to force a promise.

In other words, I remembered how he treated me before I threatened him.

Once that happened, his approach changed drastically, coming to me speaking of love and brotherhood and dialogue. But before that it was breaking legs and tearing arms and the nameless, filthy subhuman I’d married.

I haven’t enjoyed the experience of clashing with my brother-in-law. He has a lot of great qualities, and he has often been generous and kind to me over the years. While he and I are very different people, I always felt like there was a mutual acknowledgment. Maybe I was deluding myself. I’ve learned something valuable though:

He pushed me as far as I allowed him.

Over time, he would have gone further and further until my choices- my life- fit inside whatever tiny box he permitted. The only thing that stopped him was force. I pushed back and threatened him. Then he withdrew.

Things are much better now. He and I still aren’t talking, but that’s not what matters. Now I like how I feel. I’m glad I defended my family and my values. I’m happier knowing that he’ll leave me alone. I’m secure knowing that his anger and anxiety are his problem, not mine. Most of all, I feel an inner strength for the next time someone wants to step on me or my family. That’s a good feeling. It’s vastly better than maintaining my fantasy we’d talk it out. That would never have happened.

Instead, I’d have played the peacemaker, perpetually appeasing him until I ceased to exist.

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