I grew up in a good home, served in an elite IDF combat unit, am happily married, live in Tel Aviv and work in high-tech. And I was sexually assaulted. What happened to me could happen to anyone.
This kind of exposure is terrifying. But what motivates me is the possibility that I could help someone else – even one other person – to deal with their own fear and pain. So please share this; it could save lives.
Last August, I signed up for an amazing workshop that combines self-awareness, tolerance, acceptance of the other, and emotional connectedness. I've gone back a few times as an assistant to practice my ability to support others, my empathy, and my ability to open up. (I have omitted the name of the workshop because the connection to this incident is coincidental – it could have happened anywhere.)
The workshop took place at Beit Berl College, where three meals a day are served. The first time I ate in the cafeteria, I spotted a man about 55 years of age – I'll call him "R." – serving food. R. seemed a bit off to me.
I've been taught to notice people who stand in the shadows, whom society usually ignores. So each time I went by the buffet, I chatted with him a bit. "Hey, man, what's up? How was your day?"
At the end of the workshop, I even gave him a hug. A friendly hug, the kind where you give each other a pat on the back, fitting for two strangers who had just met. There were no awkward feelings when we said goodbye.
One weekend in December, I went back to participate in the workshop again. At breakfast on Friday, I talked to R. a bit, and he told me he lived close by and had a wife and a few children. After that, he started serving me double portions.
Saturday lunch was the last meal of the program, so I thought I should say goodbye to him. I said, "R., I won't see you again until next time, let me say goodbye, come, give me a hug!"
He was in the middle of wiping down some tables and said he needed to wash his hands first. I didn't understand why he needed to wash his hands but I followed him into the area with the sinks. When he was done washing up, I was about to say goodbye but he said, "Come with me a minute. I want to show you something."
He led me around the corner and stopped next to the bathroom. "Want to go in?" he asked me, nodding and inclining his head toward the bathroom.
I was momentarily confused and told him I don't need to use the toilet. At that moment, he forced himself upon me, hugging me hard, kissing my neck, and grinding his groin against mine.
I froze.
It all happened so fast. After a few seconds, he turned around, said goodbye, and went back to the dining room.
My first instinct was to ignore it, convince myself that nothing happened and walk away. But the incident reminded me of something that happened when I was 16. That time it had been a 30-year-old man who was my religious mentor and had been a friend to me since I was 13. I trusted him blindly until the moment he violated me sexually. At that point, I entered a seven-year period of denial. I told no one.
Back to that Saturday in December... I stopped and told myself that I am no longer the scared, confused child that I was at 16. I now know where the boundaries are and that what R. did was not at all OK. I returned to the dining room and confronted him. I shouted at him that sexually exploiting someone is illegal. He mumbled an apology and some other unintelligible things. I realized there was no point talking to him. Despite an intense urge to beat him to a pulp, I knew that would not solve anything for either of us.
I told the workshop instructor, went outside and fell apart. I cried uncontrollably. My vision went dark. All my repressed memories came floating back to the surface. All the feelings, the fear that I would not be believed, or that I would be judged. The sense of helplessness, that someone deprived me of my choice and touched me intimately without my permission. The anger and frustration due to finally learning to trust again and allowing myself physical contact, and then in one single moment everything shattered and sent me back to where I started.
I regressed back to the place I was in for years, where I was apathetic and indifferent. But what ultimately allowed me to escape that mindset was that others might be hurt by this man. For years, I felt guilty that others might have been hurt because I was in denial. I went through several extremely difficult hours that I would not have survived without the incredible, loving and supportive environment of the workshop around me.
The next day I told the workshop's management, Beit Berl, and the company R. worked for what happened. They were all extremely professional about it. After that, I went to the police and filed a complaint against him. On Sunday evening, I was notified that he was fired from his job and an investigation had been opened. I know the system, and chances are that he won't see any jail time, but at least he won't be at Beit Berl any longer. The thought that at this moment there are other workshops going on there, some even for teenagers, reassures me that I did the right thing.
On Monday, I told my colleagues at work. I chose not to be ashamed.
It's important to recognize when such things happen to our children and to us. It's so important to be there for each other. It's not really a question of whether this will happen, but when and where. Good friends who are knowledgeable in the field tell me that virtually all women, and about 43% of men, experience sexual harassment. One in three women and one in six men are sexually assaulted at least once in their lifetimes. The worst thing for anyone who experiences sexual assault, apart from the event itself, is the thought that if they tell anyone they'll be judged, ridiculed and not believed.
Parents: Make sure your children know they can tell you anything, always. Teachers: Pay close attention to your students.
For me, the experience came with rebelliousness, oversleeping, escapism through alcohol, a drop in my grades, running away from religion. My teachers chased after me and forced me to take part in prayers when what I really needed was for them to see that I was in pain, and to help me through the crisis. I don't blame them. They didn't know how to handle what I was going through and were only trying to help. But that is why awareness is so important.
One last story: After the incident in December, a friend at work told me that she had been assaulted three times in her life and had no idea why she never told anyone. Now she knows she must talk about it; denial has extremely destructive side effects.
When we open up and share more, we see that we are not the only ones who have gone through this. With time, we can break the cycle. But without proper treatment, too many of yesterday's victims become tomorrow's predators.
I can share my story now because I am in a place where I feel strong and safe, thanks to my incredible wife, Anaelle, my family, and everyone else who has supported me over the years (you know who you are, and I am eternally grateful to you). But many others are not there yet and need help.
If anyone wants to talk to me, I'm always here, open and not judging.
In fact, since I first told my story, five men have come forward and told me that they too were sexually assaulted by R., three of them in almost identical ways. After explaining the huge responsibility we all have, I convinced two of them to file complaints with the police. Dozens of additional men and woman have written to me privately saying that my post gave them the courage to share their rape and sexual assault stories for the first time.
The website of the Association of Rape Crisis Centers in Israel is a wonderful resource, full of information for victims of sexual assault, including the numbers of hotlines that give support and guidance.
Don't keep this to yourself; it's not worth it. Believe me.
