Anya married at the age of 18. Her problems began a few years after the birth of her two sons. "My husband began displaying signs of mental illness," relates Anya. "He became completely paranoid, certain that people were stalking him and even filming his everyday actions. At a certain point, his general mistrust was cast in my direction, and he started to follow me everywhere. It didn't take long for his suspicion to degenerate into threats, the hurling of household objects and, eventually, beatings which grew more and more severe as time went on." Anya's day-to-day life had become a living hell, and she literally feared for her life. "I used to hide all of the household knives under my pillow when I went to sleep," she recalls. "I knew that if I didn't take action I would become just another statistic." And so, 12 years ago, Anya decided to file for divorce. "I wanted my boys to have a chance of a normal life," she says. "And I wanted to survive."

The rabbinical court sent Anya home, encouraging her to seek Shalom Bayit - a peaceful reconciliation with her husband. But instead of getting better, the physical and emotional abuse worsened. Six years - and several domestic-violence police reports later - Anya again appealed to the courts, but her husband refused to show up for the hearings, stalling any progress. "I was at the end of my rope," reveals Anya. "I had reached rock bottom in every sense, and I understood that something drastic had to be done." She went to the local police station, sat down in the office of the commander, and refused to leave until they agreed to protect her and her sons. "I was skeptical," admits Anya. "I thought the commander was just placating me so I would leave. But sure enough, when I got home and my husband lit into me, questioning my whereabouts and smacking me, policemen barged into the house and took my husband into custody."

With the mounting evidence and testimonials accrued over the years, in addition to the police reports and final lockup, Anya once more applied for a divorce hearing. Amazingly, her husband acquiesced; their lawyers penned the agreement; the rabbinical court justices were poised to stamp the get. But just as a light was discernable at the end of the tunnel, Anya's life took an unbelievable change for the worse: while in prison, her husband attempted to hang himself in his jail cell and, though his life was saved, he sustained irreversible loss of brain function, rendering him incapacitated - and, according to Jewish law, incapable of granting Anya her get. The violence against her had finally ceased, but now Anya was trapped by the bonds of marriage as never before. For several months, she wandered through the halls of the rabbinical courts, desperate to find someone who could help unchain her. One day, a justice told her unequivocally, "Lady, you have to face the facts. You are an aguna. The only thing that can release you is the death of your husband." At that point, Anya gave up, resigning herself to a life in chains.

But three years ago, while watching television, Anya learned of the revolutionary Monica Dennis Goldberg School, which trains women to be advocates in the rabbinical courts, and its Max Morrison Legal Aid Center and Hotline, which provides free representation for agunot in distress. "A surge of hope welled up inside of me as I dialed the Center," she recalls. "It was as if these women had been trained just to help me."

"She Saved my life..." Advocate Rivka Lubitch (right) with her former client, Anya

Advocate Rivka Lubitch remembers that first phone call well: "Anya said to me, 'You have to help me, you're my only hope,'" she recalls. "She literally felt that she was imprisoned, that her life had been wasted. It turned out that at one point, there was even a man who was interested in her, but because of her aguna status, she couldn't commit, and he eventually lost interest. I could feel her growing despair, and I knew that we had to resolve this case immediately."

Rivka understood that Anya was truly trapped by the intricacies of Jewish law. Her only hope for freedom lay in the rare - but possible - option of retroactively dissolving the couple's marriage by proving that, in retrospect, there had been a Jewish legal problem with the ceremony. Rivka reviewed the wedding details with a fine toothcomb and uncovered convincing evidence that she presented to the courts, on which basis Sephardic Chief Rabbi Shlomo Amar had the Supreme Rabbinical Court in Jerusalem declare Anya's marriage retroactively null and void. After 12 long years, Anya was finally awarded the status of a single, unmarried woman.

"I still can't believe it," reflects an overjoyed Anya. "Just a few weeks ago I was an aguna; today I am free. I really believed that I was destined to a life-sentence of marriage. If not for my good fortune in coming across the women advocates, I would still be languishing in my prison without bars. Rivka saved my life."

"Sentenced to Marriage" Anya is far from the only woman whose marriage turns into a life-term nightmare; award-winning director Anat Zuria delivers a devastating portrait of three such Israeli agunot in her film "Sentenced to Marriage," recent winner of the Wolgin Prize for Best Documentary at the Jerusalem Film Festival. Following the women over the course of two years, Zuria tracks the efforts made by graduates of the Monica Dennis Goldberg School of Women Advocates and employees of its adjunct Max Morrison Legal Aid Center and Hotline in the uphill battle toward the women's freedom, a release from their chains and the beginning of a new life.

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