JACS Library - Our Stories

JACS: Jewish Alcoholics, Chemically Dependent Persons, and Significant Others

JACS LIBRARY - OUR STORIES

Confessions of A Jewish Addict

by Aaron Z Redemption, like a livelihood, must be earned each day. -- Genesis Rabbah 20:9

My name is Aaron, and I'm a Jewish addict. I didn't plan on being either, of course, although I had to work considerably harder to become the latter. Being Jewish had very little to do with my active drug-using days.

There were, to be sure, a few Jewish-related incidents -- taking LSD at Lubavitch headquarters during Simchat Torah, the closing down of a Jewish summer camp because of a drug scandal I had been a part of, taking more than a healthy share of the free- flowing schnappes of Purim -- but they were just a few asterisks in a whole dirty laundry list of incidents.

Ultimately, my active addiction was about as anti-Jewish act as I could have engaged in -- idolatry at its most degrading. Or, perhaps, a painful but necessary detour towards becoming the healthier, happier, more spiritually attuned person that I am today.

I'm still not sure why I became an addict. Oh sure, I could write at self-absorbed length about childhood shame and emotionally unavailable parents and pervasive guilt and painfully low self-esteem. I could, in a more sociological context, talk about the sixties and how drugs were more socially and even spiritually acceptable (if not out and out desirable!) then. It was a time when articles such as "Psychedelics and Kabbalah," which appears in a collection of essays entitled The New Jews, seemed compellingly relevant to my own spiritual searching. Today, the article seems, like so much sixties rhetoric, earnest, honest, yet dangerously naive -- a relic from before my own personal flood.

Today, I think more about the 25% survival rate in the classic cautionary Talmudic tale of Rabbi Akiva and his three colleagues who entered the mystic orchard of the Kabbalah: one died, one lost his mind, one became a non-believer, and only Rabbi Akiva emerged intact. When you play with "strange fire," sometimes it seems as if you can rise right up to heaven . . . but, more often than not, you just get burned.

I could even talk about how ours is a "quick-fix" culture that spends $20 billion annually on a pharmacopoeia of pain-killing pills and potions -- and how many forces in our society work to create and/or exploit our "less than," feelings but the fact is that we are all exposed to those forces to some degree -- yet only some of us get stuck in a chemical quagmire.

Nevertheless, although I am uncertain as to the why of my being an addict, I can easily tell you how I became one: I used drugs until drugs used me. Until it hurt. Until I simply could not stop by myself. Until repeated misery led to despair. And for a long time afterward . . .

I used despite my religious upbringing, despite thousands of dollars of psychiatric therapy, and despite the care and concern of those around me. I was bright, but I kept on using. I was socially acceptable, but that just strengthened my denial. I kept quitting, but I couldn't stay quit. I tried so hard, so desperately hard, to recreate the "good old days," when drugs were, for me, such innocent carefree fun -- the hazy hilarity of the kosher pizza parlor on Lydig Avenue in the Bronx, into which my two best friends and I gigglingly stumbled after smoking pot for the first time. Staring transfixed at a caterpillar hump-crawling on a blade of grass while on my first LSD trip -- and feeling, then and there, more profoundly, "empirically" certain of G-d's existence and the interconnectedness of all things than I ever had before in my life.

Let's be honest: if there were absolutely no upside to drugs, at least in the beginning, people wouldn't keep on taking them. Nevertheless, these attempts to recreate some halcyon stupefied past proved consistently futile. They say at Twelve Step meetings that insanity is repeating the same mistakes and expecting different results. By that definition, I had definitely, irrevocably lapsed into the insanity of addiction.

The litany of my life's unmanageability in the latter stage of my active addiction reads like my own personal Ashamnu, the Yom Kippur confessional prayer. I became unreliable, dishonest, and emotionally remote. I lied and I stole and I betrayed the trust of friends and family. I made an idol out of a pile of white powder, and I was brought down low. There is a classic Yiddish expression that has more recently been used to dismiss the possibility of alcoholism being, in any way, a Jewish problem -- "Shiker is a goy." That is, "A drunk is a gentile." With a bit of midrashic retooling, that expression can also be read as follows: chemical dependency makes us strangers to ourselves.

According to Dr. Jay Holder, Medical Director and founder of the Exodus Treatment Center in Miami, chemical dependency is the number one secret in the Jewish community. Reportedly, up to 50% of patient populations in residential treatment are Jews -- as are 20% of those calling national drug hotlines (yet Jews comprise but 3% of the U.S. population).

Chemical dependency is the third leading killer in the United States. And, as an unreported and/or unknown contributor to deaths cause by car accidents, heart attacks, suicides, and strokes, this ranking is very likely understated. And then there are the many wives and husbands and parents and children whom are affected by those who suffer from this self-afflicted disease -- an average of 15 people are affected by each person with a drug or alcohol problem.

A recent New York State Division of Substance Abuse reports states plainly what the Jewish community has been so reluctant to admit: as high a percentage of American Jews have addictions as any other cultural, religious, or ethnic group. And, before any reader blithely ascribes this truth to assimilation, let me assure you, from personal experience, that the entire spectrum of the Jewish community has been well represented at every JACS retreat and Spiritual Day that I've ever attended.

In recent years, the problem has, thankfully, moved out of the closet. The term "Jewish alcoholic" is no longer an oxymoron. It never really was, but today the denial is rapidly fading -- and that, as we learn in treatment, is pretty much half the battle towards dealing with the problem. Rabbi Kerry Olitzky, Director of the School of Education at Hebrew Union College, coordinator of the first professional certification program in chemical dependency counseling for rabbis and Jewish community social workers, and co-author of two Jewish-oriented recovery books (one of them written in collaboration with me) is optimistic: "There is a growing awareness of the extent that addictions have impacted on the Jewish community -- and an increasing determination to do something about this increase in addictive behaviors."

There are now glatt kosher rehab centers, better trained rabbis and community service workers, and organizations such as JACS (Jewish Alcoholics, Chemically dependent persons, and Significant others), which conducts a number of retreats and support programs, provides community outreach programs, educates and sensitizes Jewish spiritual leaders and health professionals, and generally acts to dispel the myths, dissolve the indifference, and provide healing for Jews who want to recover.

Equally important, there are now many more Jews, like me, who have acknowledged their problem, have sought help, and are now living happy, joyous, and drug-free lives, one day at a time. The main reason for this dramatic if not downright miraculous life turnaround is participation in one of the Twelve Step-based support groups, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, or Al-Anon. Working these steps, going to meetings, and gradually getting connected to a support network of our fellows and/or sisters in recovery has proven amazingly effective towards getting our lives back on track.

How the Twelve Steps work is of less significance than the fact that they do work. As Rabbi Doctor Abraham Twerski, a nationally renown expert in addiction treatment for over 25 years, the author of numerous recovery-oriented books, and somewhat of a patron tzaddik in the Jewish recovery community has said, "With all the known modalities and therapies, nothing builds self-esteem better than the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous." According to Dr. Holder, "many other studies have proven the importance of the Twelve Steps as a component in the recovery process."

The purpose of the Twelve Steps is, in Jewish terms, a kind of tikkun hanefesh, a repairing of the spiritual damage suffered during active addiction. As one program saying puts it, "We came. We came to. We came to believe."
It is a slow, gentle lifelong program of progress, learning to live life on life's terms one day at a time.

Many Jewish addicts and alcoholics are initially resistant to the steps. The meetings are often held in church basements. They involve Christian liturgy. Twelve-Step literature on spirituality in recovery has Christian origins. While much of this is true, it need not necessarily be so. More meetings would be held in synagogues if more synagogues made themselves available for meetings. Nothing in the program precludes a Jew from refraining from saying any prayer she or he is uncomfortable with -- or from substituting another one. Rabbi Twerski is quick to observe: "Strangely, one can hear this objection from people who have broken all identity with Judaism. It is a rationalization that is also employed by those who have no reservations about intermarriage. Clearly, objections of this sort are a resistance maneuver and should be recognized as such."

In his introduction to Twelve Jewish Steps to Recovery (Jewish Lights Publishing, Woodstock, VT, 1991), a wonderful little book that presents the steps in a clear, concise, and definitely Jewish context, Rabbi Twerski affirms the validity of the Twelve Steps for Jews even more pointedly: "If there is any lingering doubt as to the universal application of the Twelve Steps, let me point out a simple fact. Under what circumstances would you ever find an Orthodox, Hasidic rabbi recommending without reservation a treatise on spirituality written by a Reform rabbi and another psychiatrist? It should be clear that if rabbis representing denominations that have major differences in their respective positions are unanimous in the espousal of the Twelve Steps, there is no conceivable reason to object to them on religious grounds."

Rabbi Nochem Gringras, an Orthodox rabbi who has served as a spiritual consultant to a rehab program at Gracie Square Hospital in New York City, outlines the goals of the Twelve Steps in Jewish terms:

faith, a belief that a divine (Higher Power) can restore one's sanity and take care of one's life;
moral inventory, equivalent to Teshuvah or Cheshbon Hanefesh;
sharing, revealing one's self;
prayer, T'fillah; and
helping others, Tzedakah.

Religion is not a requirement of recovery. The only requirement, in fact, is the desire to stop using -- to begin dealing with your problem in a healthier way. And the problem, as we in recovery come to learn, is not so much in the bottle or in the drugs as it is in ourselves. Addiction is, first and foremost, an "I-disease." I stood between the Lord and you, Moses recalls in his farewell address in Deuteronomy 5:5 -- and the Kotzker rebbe comments "The 'I' always stands between G-d and us." Whenever we say 'I, ' we shut G-d out. Addiction is the ditch we fall into while compulsively pursuing the delusion of escaping ourselves. Recovery is the road back. When we seek each other, we find G-d. When we care for each other, G-d is there.
". . . and you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord," it says in Leviticus 19:18. Hillel believed this to be the fundamental principle of Torah.

In the book, Renewed Each Day: Daily Twelve Step Recovery Meditations Based on the Bible, I observe how the "I am the Lord" part of this biblical injunction is the other side of the spiritual equation:

If you can be so unself-centered as to love your neighbor as yourself, it is tantamount to acknowledging that I am G-d.

One of the great things about recovery is how it restores self-esteem along with compassion and respect for others. As the group accepts us, we learn to accept ourselves. We are fortunate to have the opportunity to put Lev. 19:18 into our lives every time we attend a meeting.

And that may be exactly why belief in G-d is not necessary to recover. Belief that the other fellowship members can help you do what you cannot do by yourself --get better -- clearly meets the definition of "Higher Power."

The distinction is far more significant than mere semantics: one can believe in a higher power without necessarily believing in a "Highest Power."

An oft-repeated slogan -- indeed the essential spiritual principle that binds every recovery fellowship, old-timer and newcomer alike -- is "You can't keep what you have unless you give it away." How can I not feel a strong measure of Jewish pride at the way my own spiritual tradition poetically expresses that same sentiment: Many candles can be kindled from one candle without diminishing it, the Talmud says.

So, although religion is not a requirement, clearly it is far from an impediment -- unless, of course, one is religiously or otherwise arrogant. As the Baal Shem Tov said concerning that, "There is no room for G-d in him who is full of himself." In fact, religion can greatly enrich and enhance the spiritual awakening that recovery brings. As AA co- founder Bill W. put it, "We are only operating a spiritual kindergarten in which people are enabled to get over drinking and find the grace to go on living to better effect. Each man's theology is his own quest, his own affair."

Addiction can also be understood as a deadly, dangerous, yet perhaps ultimately necessary spiritual detour from this quest. As Tom Brady Jr. writes, in Thirsting for Wholeness,

For some, life seems to be only a matter of time and distance. Like Methuselah, they live and they die. For others, however, life must be more than mere existence. Something deep within them cries out for more. These are the thirsty ones. The thirst they feel is not physical, it is spiritual. It is an inner craving for the wholeness that comes through union with others and with G-d . . . Among the thirsty ones, we find poets, musicians, artists, philosophers, writers, religious -- and addicts.

No less brilliant a modern psychology patriarch than Carl Jung agreed. In a letter to Bill Wilson, he wrote this about an alcoholic he had treated: "His craving for alcohol was the equivalent, on a low level, of the spiritual thirst for wholeness . . . union with G-d."

On two occasions, I have been fortunate to hear Elie Wiesel describe himself, in person, as a hasid. And, as if to support this claim in the face of his clearly non-typical hasidic appearance, he customarily tells a story, the gist of which is: you don't have to look like a triangle to be a mathematics professor.

I too, am that kind of a hasid. A psychic hasid, in the sense of devekut -- a burning, yearning need to connect and cling to the Soul of Everything. I want a great big warm hug from G-d. I long to be tickled by the infinite and the eternal. I want my cup of joy to splash all over me. And, like all good addicts I want it now -- preferably with easy credit terms. As an addict friend of mine once remarked, "If they ever invented a pill that could cure addiction, I'd take two of them."

That was the initial lure of drugs for me -- the temporary thrill of transcendence. Yes, it was a dream, a delusion that plummeted straight down into a living nightmare. And yet . . . Jacob had heavenly dreams and struggled with himself, too. So do we all. It says in the Zohar, "When a man is at one, G-d is one." Judaism's emphasis on mitzvot and on being holy may be nothing less than an attempt to grow towards this micro/macrocosmic unity.

As a Jew, it is more within my tradition to ask questions than to provide answers. Asking questions is important: it makes us think, it makes us search, it helps us grow. The first question that G-d asked Adam -- after Adam put his desire ahead of G-''s will -- was "Where are you?" It is the basic question that G-d always asks, hanging in the air for all eternity, echoing within every room of recovery . . . and within every thirsty soul.

Those questions helped me, perhaps forced me to look for connections between the recovery tradition and the Jewish tradition as I understood both of them. I found an abundance of such connections, enough, as they say, to write a book. Renewed

Each Day is a collection of recovery insights, comments, and meditations tied to the weekly Torah reading. They prove that my initial fears, that recovery might be incompatible with my Jewishness, were entirely unfounded. I find that my continuing growth in recovery is making me a better Jew, and that my Jewish knowledge and background, rather than interfering with my recovery, was actually enriching it. A kind of spiritual synergy was happening within me -- and whether you call it serenity or shalom --it is that at-one, peaceful, easy feeling that I spent many years trying to artificially induce.

Rabbi Twerski writes, "The same Twelve Steps that have proven so effective in recovery from addictions can also be helpful in avoiding or correcting other maladjustments." When I first started to attend meetings, I could not understand how people identified themselves as a "grateful addict." Grateful was one thing that I definitely was not. I was resentful about my new label, ashamed, stigmatized. And yet . . . at a recent JACS retreat, I heard Rabbi Abe tell us never to regret being what we were -- and I understood exactly what he meant.

We are not bad people, but people with a disease who are trying to be better, helping each other, even as we help ourselves. And succeeding. Our bottom, that spiritual pit wherein the insanity and unmanageability of our lives led to a desperation intense enough to pierce through our sick denial, was a rude awakening, but it was the turning point of our lives. Recovery is the bridge back to life, and we can feel the joy and gratitude of true survivors.

Our spiritual awakening opens up a world of joyous possibilities. We need not necessarily become more religious, but we have learned -- not wisely, but too well -- the insidious danger of sleepwalking through life . . . And the vital necessity of spiritual growth. Recovery has more than a touch of redemption in it. And, like a rope that has broken in two, we are actually stronger for having been knotted back together. As Rabbi Moshe Lieb Sassover said, "No one is as whole as he who has a broken heart."

We can honestly thank G-d today that we have been blessed with the opportunity to recover the pieces of our own shattered lives and put them back together, too. When we learn what the Maggid of Koznitz said -- that every day, man shall go forth out of Egypt -- we can feel it in our bones.

This is the first half of an article Confessions of a Jewish Addict. For the second half, click here. Thinking about Being Jewish and Addicted.