Nobody Talks About the First Fight After Yom Kippur

“You can find an hour for your brother, but not ten minutes for me?” Ruchy asked, setting her mug down hard enough to spill tea onto the counter.

Shmuel stopped with his keys in his hand. “I’m helping him put up his sukkah,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together. “I told you I’d be back in an hour.”

“Sure you will,” Ruchy replied, her voice tight. “And then you’ll be exhausted. And tomorrow there’ll be something else.”

He let out a breath and looked toward the door. “Why does everything have to turn into this?” he asked, frustration sharpening his voice.

Ruchy folded her arms. “Just go,” she said, looking away before he could see her eyes filling.

One day.  She had lasted less than one day. 

Yesterday, she stood with her machzor open, tears slipping down her cheeks as she thought about her sharp tongue. The little digs. The way a perfectly ordinary conversation could become an argument before she even realized she was starting one.

She regretted not being softer and pushing away the person she most wanted close.

This year will be different.

Now she was wiping up spilled tea and wondering what all those beautiful intentions had amounted to.

She could already hear the next conversation: he would say she overreacted, and she would explain why she hadn’t. They would argue about how often he went out and how long an hour actually meant.

And somewhere in all that explaining, the thing she actually wanted would disappear.

She missed him.

The last few weeks were crazy hectic, between getting the kids ready for school and preparing for Yom Tov; they had been in the same house without a single actual conversation. 

That afternoon, she pictured sitting across from him after bedtime tonight with no rushing, no practical questions. A bit of calm before Sukkos prep completely consumed them. Just a few minutes of feeling like his wife, not the person who knew where everything was.

But when he ate a few bites of supper and quickly picked up his keys, it felt as though he rejected her vision of a few quiet moments with her. 

“I really meant it on Yom Kippur,” Ruchy told me when she came to her coaching session, twisting a tissue between her fingers. “That’s what makes it so upsetting. I wasn’t just saying words. But then he was so ready to go help his brother, and I wanted him to be that happy to spend time with me.”

 Ruchy’s eyes filled again. “What if I tell him I miss him, but he goes anyway?”

It wasn’t only hard for Ruchy to hold back a sharp comment. It was hard to let him see how much she wanted some time with him.

Being angry felt less exposing than hoping.

Ruchy had promised herself she would stop snapping, but she hadn’t yet found words for the pain that led her there.

So Ruchy explored vulnerably letting him hear her feelings without wrapping them in a verdict about what kind of husband he was. Not to guarantee he would stay. To give him a chance to understand what was happening for her.

Two evenings later, Shmuel pushed back his chair after supper.

“I’m going out to finish the sukkah,” he said, reaching for the roll of tape on the counter.

Ruchy felt the familiar drop in her stomach.

And there goes another evening.

The sarcastic response was right there. So was the thought that saying something softer would feel awkward after all their arguments.

“I know it’s super busy, and I miss you,” she said, her fingers tightening around her mug.

Shmuel glanced back. “I’m not going to be out there all night,” he replied, sounding defensive.

Her face grew warm. For a second, she wished she hadn’t said anything.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve just missed sitting with you.”

He looked at her, then at the tape in his hand.

“Oh,” he said, his shoulders lowering a little. “I didn’t realize.”

He put the tape down and pulled his chair back toward the table.

They sat together for a few minutes before he went outside. She told him about a phone call with her sister. He laughed at something she hadn’t expected him to find funny.

Nothing dramatic.

But she wasn’t sitting alone beside two mugs, wishing he understood something she hadn’t told him.

Maybe you know Ruchy’s disappointment: wanting so sincerely to do better, then hearing the same old words leave your mouth.  

One painful exchange doesn’t make your hopes for this year meaningless. There is still room for another conversation and for words that let him hear you more clearly.  You don’t have to figure it out alone - I’d love to support you.

Book a complimentary Marriage Breakthrough Session with me.

Let’s talk about how to express your longing for connection without it turning into another argument.