The hasid broke: “Every time I told the Rebbe my wife was abusing me, He said, ‘This is your tikkun’”

Some time ago, I sat down with a psychologist specializing in couples counseling—a professional, intelligent man, but not religious. We were discussing a joint project when he paused, looked at me earnestly, and asked:

“Mordechai, explain something to me. I see quite a few Haredi couples in therapy, and sometimes their relationships are troubled—sometimes it’s outright abuse, emotional, verbal, even physical. But when they consult their rabbi, instead of getting professional, sometimes essential guidance, they’re told things like: ‘This is your test, it’s all from Heaven, don’t divorce, endure it and accept it with love.’ How does this happen? Why doesn’t anyone stop it? Even if everything is from God, surely He doesn’t want people to suffer endlessly!”

His question was piercing, and he was right. There are times when faith transforms from a healing tool into a mechanism that perpetuates suffering.

I looked at him and replied:

“Look, faith is one of the most powerful forces a religious person has. It gives meaning, it provides strength to persevere through tough times. Just as someone goes to a doctor for a physical illness, a person facing emotional or marital struggles should seek professional help. But there’s a deeper layer to this story.”

When Faith Strengthens—and When Faith Traps

I said to him: “Let’s flip it around. Think of a secular person in a tough relationship. What happens when things don’t work out? Usually, they try to fix it, but if it fails—they divorce. There’s no force holding them together beyond mutual needs or interests. If it works, they stay. If not, they part. There’s nothing more to it—no sense that the relationship is a mission, a tikkun, something greater.”

“By contrast, for a believer, there’s faith that marriage isn’t just a personal choice but something ordained from Above. There’s a belief there’s a profound reason they’re together. That gives strength to handle crises differently—not to run at the first sign of trouble. Sometimes it saves the relationship, sometimes it builds it.”

He nodded in partial agreement but wasn’t fully convinced: “But what happens when that faith doesn’t save—it shackles? When someone’s in a horrific, abusive marriage but won’t leave because ‘this is their tikkun’?”

When Faith Becomes a Mental Prison

I recalled a case that came to me a few months ago.

A God-fearing Jew, a truly righteous man, sat before me, broken and crushed. “I can’t take it anymore,” he said, his eyes dim. “My wife is destroying me.”

His wife, he told me, suffers from narcissistic personality disorder. For twenty years, she abused him emotionally—trampling him, belittling him, hurting him without mercy.

Every time he went to his rebbe for advice, he got the same response: “This is your tikkun. Perhaps in a past life you harmed her, and you need to atone. You have seven children—do you want to break them? Stay.”

So he stayed. And faith held him together.

Until it started to break him.

Day after day, year after year.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

Until he started taking psychiatric pills—the only way to avoid sinking into a depression with no return.

And there I stopped and said to that psychologist: “Tell me—does God want this? Is this what’s called tikkun?”

How Can You Tell When Faith Strengthens or Traps?

There’s a fine line between faith that fortifies and faith that imprisons someone in endless suffering. So how do you know if faith is a saving force or a mental cage? Here are some signs:

If the answer is that faith locks you into a state of no choice—it’s probably time to think differently.

What Does God Really Want?

Often, people use faith to avoid taking responsibility. But true faith doesn’t replace action.

God gave us intellect, tools to cope, and the ability to choose and make changes.

If someone is physically ill, do they say “this is my tikkun” or go to a doctor?

If someone suffers mentally, should they endure or seek professional help?

“And he shall surely heal” (Exodus 21:19)—from this, the Sages deduced that healing is part of the world. If God sends illness, He also gives us the means to cure it. And that’s true not just for the body, but for the soul and relationships too.

“And you shall choose life” (Deuteronomy 30:19)—God commands us to choose a good, healthy life, not to remain in suffering under the guise of fate, but to act to improve our existence.

In other words, faith itself obligates us to take responsibility for our lives, not to use it as an excuse to avoid tough decisions.

Those who use faith to suppress and evade proper treatment aren’t truly living God’s will—they’re using faith as a shield for fear of real confrontation.

Because God doesn’t want us to live in suffering—He wants us to live in truth, health, and joy.

In the Talmud (Yevamot 112a), it’s written:

“No one lives with a snake in the same basket.”

The meaning is simple: If someone lives in constant danger or harm, they aren’t obligated to stay there!

The Talmud cites this in the context of a woman whose husband causes her severe distress, clarifying she’s not required to endure suffering with him.

If even in the Talmud, in an era when divorce was rare, it’s stated that one shouldn’t live with a “snake”—how much more so today, in a harmful relationship, should someone not stay and view it as “Heaven’s tikkun.”

The message is clear—if someone is in a damaging relationship, they shouldn’t see it as inescapable fate but act to change their situation.

So What Do You Do? How Do You Cope with Marital Suffering?

Faith as a Tool for Growth, Not Suppression

At the end of that conversation, the psychologist looked at me and said: “You know what? Now I get the difference. Faith is a gift—but only if you know how to use it right.”

And that’s the point.

Faith isn’t here to bind us—it’s here to give us strength.

If it helps us grow, find solutions, strengthen us—it’s true.

But if it becomes a cage forcing us to suffer, it’s no longer real faith.

Because God gave us faith not to silence us in pain—but to use it as a force to fight against it.

It’s worth noting: Not all rabbis adopt an approach of suppression and staying in suffering “because it’s your tikkun.” There are God-fearing, wise rabbis, attuned to life’s realities, who understand that when there’s real distress—it must be addressed, not hidden behind slogans.

A true rabbi, who grasps spiritual responsibility, won’t send someone to keep suffering blindly. He’ll distinguish between a test requiring fortitude and a destructive situation needing professional intervention.

Many rabbis work with therapists, psychologists, and experts, recognizing that God gave us tools to cope—and using them is itself divine service.

Such rabbis don’t just throw everything onto “past lives” or “it’s all from God” without thought. They understand the Holy One expects us to make an effort and ensure our faith doesn’t become a tool perpetuating suffering.

Faith is the greatest light—but only if used correctly. When it becomes a screen covering suffering, it’s no longer faith—it’s avoidance. Because God doesn’t want us to stay silent in pain—He wants us to use the strength He gave us to act, repair, and choose life.

Kikar HaShabbat contributed to this article.