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Monday, November 10, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
How Much is Peace of Mind Worth?
Chana and Simon Love Their House, but . . . They Loathe Each Other
By RUTH PADAWER
Published: October 2, 2008
Each day as the workers built the home that was to be his palace, Simon Taub would hover, barking orders at the bricklayers, the carpenters and the plumber, making sure everything was to his liking. He had, after all, chosen every detail: the rich mahogany for the spiral staircase that swept up all three stories; the green marble to line the walls, ceiling and floor of the hallway powder room; the gold-leaf trim for the built-in china cabinets.
The house, with its five bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms and two garages, was exceptional by the standards of Borough Park, a Brooklyn neighborhood where most residents are ultra-Orthodox or Hasidic, pious Jews who maintain centuries-old Eastern European customs. Many of those families have 6 to 10 children, and they tend to live in modest apartments. But Simon Taub, raised in poverty, had become a prosperous businessman and a leader of his Hasidic sect — and at the time he built the house in 1985, he was newly married and wanted a home befitting a man of his stature.
He had selected a two-story stained-glass window of a peaceful mountain scene to be a giant crown above the front door of the house he would share with his wife, Chana. As Simon watched the workers lift it into place, anxious about the delicate handiwork staying intact, he never imagined that 21 years later, he would, with a court order in hand, hire other men to build a wall of Sheetrock and plywood to divide the house in two: one side for him, the other for Chana.
The house that had been the Taubs’ showpiece became a front in their domestic war, one involving more than a dozen attorneys and allegations of abuse, corruption, libel, perjury, fraud and forgery. In the three years since Chana Taub filed for divorce, the couple has spent more money in litigation over the house than the house itself is worth. They have hauled their feud through civil court, family court, housing court, bankruptcy court and appellate court. They disagree on every conceivable fact — from where the central air-conditioning switch is located to whether they ever hired a nanny. And from opposite sides of the wall, each vows never to surrender.
‘‘Some people ask me why I’m fighting to keep the house,’’ says Simon, who is 60 years old. ‘‘It’s like asking why you are fighting to keep your fingers. ‘Give me two fingers. It doesn’t pay to fight to keep two fingers.’ But they’re my fingers. I will never give up the house. The house and me is one.’’
On a sweltering day in June, on her side of the makeshift wall, Chana Taub sat at the kitchen table, two fans spinning ineffectively nearby. She was wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked blouse, a blond wig, thick stockings and a long skirt, obligations of an Orthodox woman. She said that a week earlier she extracted a promise from Simon’s attorney that Simon would finally turn on the central air-conditioning, but the switch, which was apparently on his side of the wall, remained off. Twice, Chana said, she faxed emergency pleas to the judge handling their divorce after the temperature in the house climbed to triple digits, but she received no response.
‘‘All he has to do is turn on the switch, but he’s cruel and sadistic,’’ Chana said. ‘‘He’s behind the wall, controlling everything.’’
Chana is a small, soft-spoken woman of 59 who sees Simon’s reach everywhere. She is convinced that he is wiretapping her telephone and that he has snaked surveillance wires to the bathroom skylight to spy on her. She is sure he is responsible for the dead bird she found on her doorstep, the live mouse she found in her kitchen, the raccoon that dug into her roof.
Simon looms large in conversations between Chana and her staunchest supporters: her twin sister, Esther Newhouse, and Susan Titus Glascoff, a self-described freelance public advocate who contends that the court system is driven by money, not justice. On that June day, Newhouse and Glascoff sat beside Chana at her kitchen table, spinning theories on why so few court decisions have gone Chana’s way. They were convinced that Simon had paid off the judges, the police, the building department and even attorneys Chana had since fired. They were sure he had paid off the jurors who concluded unanimously that Chana had no reason to fear for her safety and thus had no grounds for divorce. The sole evidence the women had for these conspiracies seemed to be that no other explanation sufficed. They even hired a private detective to press the jurors after the trial about possible corruption, though none admitted to being bribed. Glascoff lowered her voice: ‘‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that detective was paid off too.’’
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By RUTH PADAWER
Published: October 2, 2008
Each day as the workers built the home that was to be his palace, Simon Taub would hover, barking orders at the bricklayers, the carpenters and the plumber, making sure everything was to his liking. He had, after all, chosen every detail: the rich mahogany for the spiral staircase that swept up all three stories; the green marble to line the walls, ceiling and floor of the hallway powder room; the gold-leaf trim for the built-in china cabinets.
The house, with its five bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms and two garages, was exceptional by the standards of Borough Park, a Brooklyn neighborhood where most residents are ultra-Orthodox or Hasidic, pious Jews who maintain centuries-old Eastern European customs. Many of those families have 6 to 10 children, and they tend to live in modest apartments. But Simon Taub, raised in poverty, had become a prosperous businessman and a leader of his Hasidic sect — and at the time he built the house in 1985, he was newly married and wanted a home befitting a man of his stature.
He had selected a two-story stained-glass window of a peaceful mountain scene to be a giant crown above the front door of the house he would share with his wife, Chana. As Simon watched the workers lift it into place, anxious about the delicate handiwork staying intact, he never imagined that 21 years later, he would, with a court order in hand, hire other men to build a wall of Sheetrock and plywood to divide the house in two: one side for him, the other for Chana.
The house that had been the Taubs’ showpiece became a front in their domestic war, one involving more than a dozen attorneys and allegations of abuse, corruption, libel, perjury, fraud and forgery. In the three years since Chana Taub filed for divorce, the couple has spent more money in litigation over the house than the house itself is worth. They have hauled their feud through civil court, family court, housing court, bankruptcy court and appellate court. They disagree on every conceivable fact — from where the central air-conditioning switch is located to whether they ever hired a nanny. And from opposite sides of the wall, each vows never to surrender.
‘‘Some people ask me why I’m fighting to keep the house,’’ says Simon, who is 60 years old. ‘‘It’s like asking why you are fighting to keep your fingers. ‘Give me two fingers. It doesn’t pay to fight to keep two fingers.’ But they’re my fingers. I will never give up the house. The house and me is one.’’
On a sweltering day in June, on her side of the makeshift wall, Chana Taub sat at the kitchen table, two fans spinning ineffectively nearby. She was wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked blouse, a blond wig, thick stockings and a long skirt, obligations of an Orthodox woman. She said that a week earlier she extracted a promise from Simon’s attorney that Simon would finally turn on the central air-conditioning, but the switch, which was apparently on his side of the wall, remained off. Twice, Chana said, she faxed emergency pleas to the judge handling their divorce after the temperature in the house climbed to triple digits, but she received no response.
‘‘All he has to do is turn on the switch, but he’s cruel and sadistic,’’ Chana said. ‘‘He’s behind the wall, controlling everything.’’
Chana is a small, soft-spoken woman of 59 who sees Simon’s reach everywhere. She is convinced that he is wiretapping her telephone and that he has snaked surveillance wires to the bathroom skylight to spy on her. She is sure he is responsible for the dead bird she found on her doorstep, the live mouse she found in her kitchen, the raccoon that dug into her roof.
Simon looms large in conversations between Chana and her staunchest supporters: her twin sister, Esther Newhouse, and Susan Titus Glascoff, a self-described freelance public advocate who contends that the court system is driven by money, not justice. On that June day, Newhouse and Glascoff sat beside Chana at her kitchen table, spinning theories on why so few court decisions have gone Chana’s way. They were convinced that Simon had paid off the judges, the police, the building department and even attorneys Chana had since fired. They were sure he had paid off the jurors who concluded unanimously that Chana had no reason to fear for her safety and thus had no grounds for divorce. The sole evidence the women had for these conspiracies seemed to be that no other explanation sufficed. They even hired a private detective to press the jurors after the trial about possible corruption, though none admitted to being bribed. Glascoff lowered her voice: ‘‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that detective was paid off too.’’
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Friday, October 10, 2008
Taking Things Literally...
AFP/PHNOM PENH POST-HO – This handout from the Phnom Penh Post shwos a house sawed cut in half by a Cambodian couple as they were …
PHNOM PENH, Cambodia – A couple in rural Cambodia has terminated their 18-year marriage with a divorce settlement that entailed sawing in two the wooden house they once shared, villagers said Friday. The husband, 42-year-old Moeun Sarim, has taken away with him all the bits and pieces of his half a house, said his 35-year-old wife, Vat Navy.
"Very strange, but this is what my husband wanted," she said by phone from a village about 62 miles east of Cambodia's capital, Phnom Penh. She said they ended their marriage last month.
"He brought his relatives and used saws to cut the house in half," she said, adding that she now owns the other half that is still standing. The house is made from wood with a tile roof and propped up on wooden pillars, a typical style for a Cambodian country home.
She said her estranged husband and his relatives, after ripping apart half of the house, carried all the debris to his parents' house nearby.
She said the divorce was prompted by her husband's jealousy about her alleged relationship with a policeman in the village. She denied having an extramarital affair.
"He wanted a divorce, and I said, `Let's divorce,'" she said.
The husband could not be reached for comment.
Bou Bout, a village chief, said local officials and police were present as witnesses the day the couple split their 20-by-24 1/2 foot house into half.
"Local officials tried three times to get them to mend their differences, but the husband would not budge," Bou Bout said by phone.
PHNOM PENH, Cambodia – A couple in rural Cambodia has terminated their 18-year marriage with a divorce settlement that entailed sawing in two the wooden house they once shared, villagers said Friday. The husband, 42-year-old Moeun Sarim, has taken away with him all the bits and pieces of his half a house, said his 35-year-old wife, Vat Navy.
"Very strange, but this is what my husband wanted," she said by phone from a village about 62 miles east of Cambodia's capital, Phnom Penh. She said they ended their marriage last month.
"He brought his relatives and used saws to cut the house in half," she said, adding that she now owns the other half that is still standing. The house is made from wood with a tile roof and propped up on wooden pillars, a typical style for a Cambodian country home.
She said her estranged husband and his relatives, after ripping apart half of the house, carried all the debris to his parents' house nearby.
She said the divorce was prompted by her husband's jealousy about her alleged relationship with a policeman in the village. She denied having an extramarital affair.
"He wanted a divorce, and I said, `Let's divorce,'" she said.
The husband could not be reached for comment.
Bou Bout, a village chief, said local officials and police were present as witnesses the day the couple split their 20-by-24 1/2 foot house into half.
"Local officials tried three times to get them to mend their differences, but the husband would not budge," Bou Bout said by phone.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Divorce: Not Adding Insult to Injury
The financial cost of divorce is often the insult tacked on to the true injury that two people experience whilst living through the very public failure of their marriage.
The choices we make early on in the process can have a great impact on how we ultimately survive the ordeal. Most of my clients place a high value on being able to walk away as friends, or at the very least with their dignity intact.
Having smart reading material and referrals to resources is a welcome relief in the midst of this... dark space. So see: http://thesmartdivorce.com/
As attorneys, we have to be smart enough to acknowledge that we are not invulnerable to the pressures of the business climate, and to rise above this so that we be sure that our bottom line is to: Do The Least Harm.
There are many people sitting very pretty right now, many of whom have learned to exploit the worst in their clients. They start out with the best intentions, but stirring the pot is an effective and proven way of making the business of practicing law more financially rewarding to... an entire industry.
Those who succumb to this habit have blood on their hands.
The choices we make early on in the process can have a great impact on how we ultimately survive the ordeal. Most of my clients place a high value on being able to walk away as friends, or at the very least with their dignity intact.
Having smart reading material and referrals to resources is a welcome relief in the midst of this... dark space. So see: http://thesmartdivorce.com/
As attorneys, we have to be smart enough to acknowledge that we are not invulnerable to the pressures of the business climate, and to rise above this so that we be sure that our bottom line is to: Do The Least Harm.
There are many people sitting very pretty right now, many of whom have learned to exploit the worst in their clients. They start out with the best intentions, but stirring the pot is an effective and proven way of making the business of practicing law more financially rewarding to... an entire industry.
Those who succumb to this habit have blood on their hands.
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