When Judge Judy Sheindlin divorced her husband, she was going through a very tough time. But their separation didn’t last long, and later she shared why she chose to marry him again.
Judge Judy Sheindlin is famous for being a TV judge and has a background as a prosecutor and family court judge. She is married to Jerry Sheindlin, who is also a lawyer and a former judge.
Judy and her husband have always supported each other in their legal jobs. When Jerry, who was a judge in New York, got an offer to join “The People’s Court,” he asked Judy for advice.
In an interview, Jerry said, “She is the one who told me I should do it.” He added that he wouldn’t have accepted the role if Judy had doubts about it.
Even with Judy’s big success on TV, Jerry wasn’t worried about competition. He said, “I think that behind every great woman, there is a man. […] But I also heard that behind every great man, there is a woman.”
Jerry started leaving his job as a Supreme Court judge when he began filming for “The People’s Court.” This new job, where he handled about 10 cases a day for two days a week, was much easier than the 150 cases he used to manage.
Judy and Jerry’s relationship has always been tied to their shared legal careers. They first met in a bar after Jerry had just defended a murder case.
While talking to a reporter, Judy walked in, pointed at him, and asked, “And who is this?” Jerry replied, “Lady, get your finger out of my face.” Since then, they have been together.
While Jerry enjoyed watching Judy’s success on TV, he joked, “If my show takes off and I beat her, I am contacting Hollywood to remake ‘Sleeping With the Enemy.’”
Their relationship grew with their boldness and humor. After a year together, Judy hinted at marriage, but Jerry had some doubts.
He said, “Why does the government have to dictate our relationship? It’s just a piece of paper. We’re already committed to each other.” Instead of pushing him, Judy suggested that if Jerry wanted them to live together, he should ask her dad for permission. Not wanting to face her father, Jerry chose to set a wedding date, and they married in 1977.
Though they were very committed to each other, their relationship hit a rough patch in 1990 when they divorced. The strain came after Judy’s father passed away, which put her under a lot of emotional stress. However, they remarried just a year later.
Jerry shared his feelings about that tough time, saying, “I missed her presence the very first week we were separated. It was strange not seeing her every day.”
Meanwhile, Judy admitted she enjoyed being married and missed Jerry when they were apart. She believed there was something special about sharing life as a couple.
After they got back together, Judy talked about their brief split in an interview. When asked why she decided to reunite with Jerry in 1991, she said, “That’s a long story, but the end is: I found that most men were alike.”
Judy shared her views on the differences between men and women. She said men have different basic needs. They like being cared for, receiving affection, and having their personal space. If they are fed, shown love, and given room to do their own thing, they are usually happy.
She has always been open about the dynamics of her long marriage with Jerry. In a January 2024 interview, she talked about how they have kept their relationship strong for nearly 50 years.
“You don’t spend 24 hours together because that’s deadly,” she explained, stressing the importance of personal space. Judy added, “Jerry just celebrated his 90th birthday, and I still like looking at him when he walks in the room—that’s a key.”
Judy, who will turn 82 on October 21, 2024, has always talked about how important it is to look good as you age. However, when it comes to Jerry, she doesn’t need to remind him—he already knows how to stay healthy.
“He loves himself dearly. Jerry is almost ten years older than I am, but I think his goal is to outlive me. He takes very good care of himself,” said the TV star, who once had a mini-stroke while filming a show.
Judy and Jerry’s lasting bond continues to win over fans, both on and off the screen. In a heartfelt Facebook post, she shared a picture of them together, which received a lot of love from followers.
One person commented, “You and your husband look so good together. Love your smiles,” while another said, “You look amazing. Love your common sense judgments.”
Judy Sheindlin and Jerry Sheindlin’s long-lasting relationship shows the power of love, respect, and shared laughter. After nearly five decades together, their bond remains strong, proving that true companionship can last through all of life’s challenges.
My Neighbor Poured Cement over My Flower Garden Because the Bees Annoyed Him—He Never Expected Payback from the ‘Sweet Old Lady’ Next Door
Mark moved in with a scowl and a lawnmower that ran with military precision. His neighbor offered him honey and a chance at neighborly peace, but he responded with silence, contempt, and eventually, cement. This is a story about resilience, revenge, and the sting of underestimating kind people.
Neighbors come in all kinds. If you’re lucky, they’re warm or at least quietly distant. But when you’re not, they slice through your happiness, flatten your joy, and shrink the world around you—one complaint, one glare, one tightly coiled burst of anger at a time.
I’m 70 years old, and a mother of two, a son, David, and, a daughter, Sarah. I am also a grandmother of five and the proud owner of a home I’ve loved for the past twenty-five years.
A grandmother’s home and her neighbor’s separated with a flower gardens | Source: Midjourney
Back then when I moved in, the yards blended into each other, no fences, no fuss. Just lavender, lazy bees, and the occasional borrowed rake. We used to wave from porches and share zucchini we didn’t ask to grow.
I raised my two kids here. Planted every rose bush with my bare hands and named the sunflowers. I have also watched the birds build their clumsy nests and leave peanuts out for the squirrels I pretended not to like.
A grandmother tending to a flower garden | Source: Midjourney
Then last year, my haven turned into a nightmare because he moved in. His name is Mark, a 40-something who wore sunglasses even on cloudy days and mowed his lawn in dead-straight rows as if preparing for a military inspection.
He came with his twin sons, Caleb and Jonah, 15. The boys were kind and jovial, quick with a wave, and always polite, but they were rarely around. Mark shared custody with their mother, Rhoda, and the boys spent most of their time at her place — a quieter, warmer home, I imagined.
A man with his twin sons stand infront of their house | Source: Midjourney
I tried to see if Mark had the same warmth, but he didn’t. He didn’t wave, didn’t smile, and seemed to hate everything that breathed, something I learned during one of our first confrontations.
“Those bees are a nuisance. You shouldn’t be attracting pests like that,” he would snap from across the fence while mowing his lawn, his voice laced with disdain.
Bees buzzing on a grandmother’s flower garden | Source: Midjourney
I tried to be kind, so I asked if he had an allergy. He looked at me, actually looked through me, and said, “No, but I don’t need to have an allergy to hate those little parasites.”
That was the moment I knew that this wasn’t about bees. This man simply hated life, especially when it came in colors, and moved without asking permission.
A grandmother and man arguing by a flower garden | Source: Midjourney
I still tried, though. One day, I walked over to his door with the jar of honey in hand and said, “Hey, I thought you might like some of this. I can also cut back the flowers near the property line if they’re bothering you.”
Before I could even finish my sentence, he shut the door in my face. No words, just a quick slam.
So, when I opened my back door one morning and saw my entire flower bed, my sanctuary, drowned under a slab of wet, setting cement, I didn’t scream. I just stood there in my slippers, coffee cooling in my hand, the air thick with the bitter, dusty stink of cement and spite.
Flower bed drowned under a slab of wet, setting cement | Source: Midjourney
After calming down, I called out “Mark, what did you do to my garden?”
He looked me up and down, sizing me up with that all-too-familiar smirk as he’d already decided I was nothing more than a nuisance. “I’ve complained about the bees enough. Thought I’d finally do something about it,” he shot back.
I crossed my arms, feeling the weight of his dismissal, the nerve of it all. “You really think I’m just going to cry and let this slide?” I asked, letting the challenge hang in the air.
An angry grandmother | Source: Midjourney
He shrugged, his sunglasses hiding whatever amusement he felt. “You’re old, soft, harmless. What’s a few bees and flowers to someone like you who won’t be here much longer?”
I turned and walked back to my house without another word, letting him believe he had won the battle. But as I stepped inside, I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Here’s the thing Mark didn’t know: I’ve survived childbirth, menopause, and three decades of PTA meetings. I know how to play the long game.
A grandmother plotting revenge | Source: Freepik
First, I went to the police, who confirmed that what he did was a crime, a clear case of property damage, and that if handled by the book, he could be charged.
Then came the quiet satisfaction of reporting his oversized, permitless shed to the city authorities. The one he built right on the property line, bragging to Kyle next door about “skipping the red tape.”
Well, the inspector didn’t skip as he measured, and guess what? The shed was two feet over, on my side. He had thirty days to tear it down and he ignored it but then came the fines.
A shed in a garden | Source: Midjourney
Eventually, a city crew in bright vests showed up with a slow but deliberate swing of sledgehammers against the wood. It was methodical, almost poetic as the shed came down. And the bill? Let’s just say karma came with interest. But I wasn’t finished.
I filed in small claims court, armed with a binder so thick and organized it could’ve earned its own library card as it contained photos, receipts, and even dated notes on the garden’s progress.
Well-arranged documents | Source: Freepik
I wasn’t just angry; I was prepared. When the court day came, he showed up empty-handed and scowling. I, on the other hand, had evidence and righteous fury.
The judge ruled in my favor. Naturally. He was ordered to undo the damage: jackhammer out the cement slab, haul in fresh soil, and replant every last flower — roses, sunflowers, lavender — exactly as they had been.
A man working in a flower garden | Source: Midjourney
Watching him fulfill that sentence was a kind of justice no gavel could match. July sun blazing, shirt soaked in sweat, dirt streaking his arms, and a court-appointed monitor standing by, clipboard in hand, checking his work like a hawk.
I didn’t lift a finger. Just watched from my porch, lemonade in hand, while karma did its slow, gritty work.
A grandmother enjoying her lemonade | Source: Midjourney
Then the bees came back. And not just a few — the local beekeeping association was thrilled to support a pollinator haven. They helped install two bustling hives in my yard, and the city even chipped in a grant to support it.
By mid-July, the yard was alive again, buzzing, blooming, and vibrant. Sunflowers leaned over the fence like curious neighbors, petals whispering secrets. And those bees? They took a particular interest in Mark’s yard, drawn to the sugary soda cans and garbage he always forgot to cover.
Bees buzzing in a sunflower garden | Source: Midjourney A grandmother working in her sunflower garden | Source: Midjourney
Every time he came out, swatting and muttering, the bees swarmed just close enough to remind him. I’d watch from my rocking chair, all innocence and smiles.
Just a sweet old lady, right? The kind who plants flowers, tends to bees, and doesn’t forget.
A grandmother working in her sunflower garden | Source: Midjourney
What can you learn from Mark on how not to treat your neighbors?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you.
After her divorce, Hayley pours her heart into the perfect lawn, until her entitled neighbor starts driving over it like it’s a shortcut to nowhere. What begins as a petty turf war turns into something deeper: a fierce, funny, and satisfying reclamation of boundaries, dignity, and self-worth.
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