My marriage began and ended with the same two words. Fresh-faced and full of hope, I stood under the chuppah, trembling with nervous excitement. I couldn't wait to officially start life with my best friend and soulmate. I was so full of anxiety and it was he who took me in his arms and said, "We've talked about this for a long time and now we are going to make it real." He kept telling me that everything would be okay. He was my rock in so many ways and I believed in him and in us. Listening to his heartbeat as he held me close restored a calm rhythm in mine. Breathing in the scent of his skin, while listening to his promises of the wonderful life we would build together, made me feel balanced and whole. I couldn't have loved him more. We shared a unique, passionate love that others envied. We were always touching each other, holding hands, searching the other's face to make sure we were each alright. We shared many private jokes through our expressions without uttering a word.

As we stood under the chuppah with our parents, the rabbi blessed our union and our future children. His eyes teared up and so did mine. The rabbi's words telling us to talk to each other, to forever love each other, to laugh together and to never, ever neglect each other made both of us cry tears of joy. The blessings and warnings were so logical. We loved each other so intensely, how could we ever neglect and hurt one another?  

The rabbi explained, "Before you were born, you and your soulmate were one, a single soul. When it was your time to enter this world, G-d shattered that single soul into two parts, one male and one female. These two half-souls were born into this world with a mission to try to find each other and reunite.  At the time, the split seemed tragic. Why destroy something so perfect? Why break something just so it could be fixed? If you were meant to be together and were bershert, why didn't G-d leave you together?"  

The rabbi replied that by finding each other and marrying, "Two halves are reuniting never to part again. You can reflect on the painful experience of being separated and actually celebrate it. The separation brought you closer than you would have otherwise been.  Ironically, it was only by being torn apart and living separate lives that you were able to develop, mature and grow as individuals. Your finding each other is something you had to achieve and choose, and therefore it is deeply appreciated. With the joyous reunion at the wedding, it becomes clear that your soul was only split in order to reunite and become one on a higher and deeper level.”

After he placed my wedding band on my right index finger, I beamed with pride. The ring was on the finger closest to my heart. In accordance with Jewish law, the ring was a solid, uninterrupted gold band with no holes breaking the circle. The continuity of the ring represents an everlasting union. He lifted my veil and we vowed to love each other in sickness and health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in good times and bad. We said, “I do" to affirm our vows to each other.  It was a very intense, emotional, and important moment in my life. I promised to love him forever and ever NO MATTER WHAT. He promised the same to me.   

The rabbi gave him a glass wrapped in a cloth napkin. He was to break the glass by stomping on it with his right foot. The glass symbolized how fragile relationships are. The glass is sturdy  and holds wine for us to drink. But it can easily be shattered if it is carelessly or intentionally stomped on....much like relationships. The glass also represents unity. Every wedding is a mending of fragmented souls. When soulmates reunite in a holy marriage, an energy of loving oneness is generated, elevating both the couple and the world, bringing them one step closer to mending their broken relationship with G-d. 

My groom attempted to stomp on the glass to sanctify our union. But he missed and the glass rolled away. The entire congregation gasped. He dragged the glass toward him and stomped again, but the glass didn't break. There were many gasps of “Oy vey is mier!" from the congregation. The rabbi rushed to help. The glass must be broken by the groom at the end of a Jewish wedding.  Finally, on the third try, he broke the glass and the congregation shouted a grateful and relieved, “Mazel Tov!"

My adorable groom, flushed with embarrassment pulled me close and kissed me. I laughed and said, "That’s my worst nightmare." It was an omen that he didn't break the glass on the first stomp. We continued kissing and saying "I do" for many months. I took the vows seriously, decided to ignore the omen and just love my husband. How hard could that be?

Over time, it turned out to be unbearably difficult and eventually impossible for us to keep the vows. Three children, chronic illnesses, many surgeries, meddling inlaws, one breadwinner, one homemaker, and tight finances equaled two exhausted, unappreciated parents. Gone were the bride and groom who danced to "Just the two of us," firmly believing we could take on the world. Over the years we grew apart and resentment built. Was it the omen of him not breaking the glass on the first try? I don’t like to think of myself as superstitious, but yet I was questioning the tradition. 

One day, he and I were walking in town holding hands. He must have seen someone he knew because he abruptly dropped my hand and walked several paces in front of me. I scampered after him calling, "Honey, what's wrong?” 

“Sweetie, are you OK?" He grunted that he was fine. I asked why he pulled away from me and he replied, "It feels inappropriate to hold your hand in public while I'm in my work clothes." That was the oddest comment in light of our constant physical connection while we were both in work clothes or any attire. It was a veiled excuse for something else. Looking back, it was that moment when I realized I had lost my best friend.

After our friendship ended, the intimacy and passion died too. There was a lot of fighting, and ultimately litigation severing our sacred union. In the courthouse, I was asked to raise my right and would I swear to tell the truth in the courtroom? I said, "I do."

As the trial proceeded, I marveled at two of the most powerful words in my life: I DO.  Which time was real? When I vowed to love the man I now call my exhusband through thick and thin or when I swore to the court that there was no chance of reconciliation or of repairing our union? I am certain one of the vows must have been a lie. The vows contradict themselves. Since I am officially divorced due to the the litigation proceedings beginning with our swearing, “I do," I guess the marital vows were a lie. It hurts deep in my soul because although I thought I found my soulmate, I clearly did not. My entire life feels phoney, like an enormous lie.  Additionally, my vows appear to be conditional, not absolute and permanent the way they ought to be.

Love alone isn't enough to sustain a marriage. “I do,” means you must always consider your spouse. You are a team. My ex-husband and I stopped being a team when our friendship ended. As I heal, I’ve made several vows to myself. I do promise to be true to myself and pursue laughter and happiness wherever I find it. I do promise to be open to new experiences and follow different paths. I do promise to be open to learning new ways to live life and I do promise to allow others to love me. I do promise to try and break down the walls guarding my heart so that I can have the love and life I was intended to have. I do vow to prioritize and nurture my future relationship and not allow life’s problems to undermine its sanctity.