This week’s CJN features the conclusion of reporter Sheri Shefa’s two-part series on infertility in the Jewish community, with a look at how Jewish law complicates treatment options. What emerges is a biological problem that affects Jewish couples in need of professional help – whether certain requirements imposed by Halachah interfere with the fundamentals of reproductive science. Ultimately, it is a physical puzzle, one that rabbis and doctors are working to solve in an ever-changing medical environment.
But as Shefa explained last week, the physical toll is only half the battle – the psychological pain of infertility is a significant challenge, too. The stress of watching as friends give birth to children, the hurt when family members inquire, “So, when are you going to get pregnant already?” not to mention the often tone-deaf advice offered ad nauseam – all of it can leave couples struggling with infertility wishing they could go into hiding.
These two aspects of infertility – the physical and the psychological – are also at the heart of the moving essay by the pseudonymously named “Tikvah” in last week’s edition, and this week’s companion piece by Yacov Fruchter.
“In the past three years, I’ve been pregnant three times: once for 10 weeks, once for 16 weeks, and most recently, with natural twins, for another eight weeks. In total, I’ve been pregnant 34 weeks. In a story with a happy ending, this would mean a bouncing (though slightly premature) baby,” Tikvah wrote, documenting the collection of positive pregnancy tests that stand as physical reminders of her fertility struggle.
At the same time, she tried to explain the psychological impact of her experience. “Infertility has been the most isolating experience of my life,” she admitted, before presenting some sound advice to those who try to offer support: “It is never helpful for you to offer unsolicited guidance. If I want your help, God gave me a mouth to ask for it.”
Fruchter comes at the subject from a different point of view, in part because, as he writes, “no hormones were pumped into my body, nor did I need to be routinely tested and probed and go through any painful medical procedures with a team of doctors and nurses surrounding me.” Instead, he watched as his partner, Ryla, went through all of it.
In his case, the absence of the physical aspect of infertility presented its own difficulties, but the psychological pain remained the same. “For many of us who struggle with infertility,” Fruchter writes, “our faith in God, as well as our very identities, can be challenged, and the process of building a family can feel like suffering.”
It’s striking that Tikvah and Fruchter offer similar narratives, given that they are at two starkly different junctures in their fertility journeys: Tikvah is still waiting for her miracle baby; Yacov and Ryla now have two beautiful children. Then again, if you’ve dealt with infertility it makes sense. The experience changes you profoundly and forces you to look at things differently. But in the end – as the Fruchters know, and as Tikvah hopefully will one day soon – it’s all worth it. — YONI
