All these different Jews...

Our addictions

A few days ago, I listened to a recording of a talk by Rabbi Dr. Avraham Twersky (the renowned rabbi, speaker and psychiatrist) on addiction. The talk was fascinating, partly because he spent some time linking the principles of the Twelve Step Programme to classical Jewish teachings. One important observation that he shared is that addicts will not move to tackle their addictions until they feel that they have hit "rock-bottom".

Sounds logical, right? A person gets sucked into a spiral of negative behaviours and keeps telling himself/herself "it's not so bad" because they still seem to have their life under control. Then, one day, nothing is under control any longer, they thud into a wall and are shocked into reality.

What startled me was that "rock bottom" isn't always what you'd expect it to be. Rabbi Twersky tells the story of a guy who had sky-rocketed into corporate success at a young age. He was well on his way to hitting the top echelons of a successful multinational, when he started drinking to "deal with the stress of the corporate world". Not acknowledging that his drinking was a problem, the fellow quickly lost his chance for promotion and was later fired from his company. Soon his wife took their young child and walked out. In short order, he lost his home and car. That was when he went to seek help from Rabbi Dr. Twersky. Unfortunately, he wasn't really ready to accept that he was addict, so the meeting went nowhere. 

Two years later, he returned to the doctor's office and finally confronted the mess he had made of his life. Rabbi Twersky asked him what had prompted him that time more than before to take drastic action. He replied, "I found myself panhandling for quarters on the side of the road. I, the guy who had handled multi-billion dollar accounts a decade ago, was begging for loose change". Imagine that? Losing his job, car, house, wife and child had not shaken him into sobriety. Panhandling had.

"Rock bottom" is something different to each person.

We each suffer from the addict's psychology of denial. We all have some deviant secret that we convince ourselves would never really interfere with us living productive- even successful- lives. Our addictions may range from laziness to technology to dishonesty to gossip to anger; we all have some negative habits that we're hooked on. And we console ourselves that everyone has their issues and we're still holding things together despite ours, so things can't be too bad.

Chassidus teaches that we're each a composite of an animal soul that is impulsive and a Divine soul that is clear-thinking and focused on growth and doing what is right. Our two souls battle daily for control of our minds and hearts, our words and actions. Some days the Divine soul takes control and we think clearly and behave as a Jew should. Other days, the animal within prowls our minds and we dump meaning and lasting-value for transient pleasure and imagined self-aggrandizement. Realistically, the animal is in the driver's seat most of the time, yet we remain blissfully unaware of the opportunities lost and the internal damage done.

Fortunately, Judaism believes that we don't have to hit rock bottom to be jolted to change. Torah- particularly the mystical teachings- is designed to help us focus, reorder our priorities and invest in meaningful relationships and areas of real self-growth. The more we learn, the better equipped we are to overcome our addictions and make a success of our lives. A smart person, says the Talmud, is one who sees and avoids negative consequences before they actually hit.

To paraphrase the first of the Twelve Steps:
"We admitted we were powerless over our Animal and came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity." 

Be the Change

 

Jews have a fascination, with numbers and this past week’s Torah portion, Shemini, takes our numeric-interest to another level. This is the only Torah portion named for a number. Shemini literally means “the eighth” and the story opens after a seven day period during which the Jews had dedicated G-d’s Sanctuary in the desert.

Seven is a popular number in Judaism. G-d created His world in seven days, which is why we have a seven-day week. He commanded us to let leave all fields in Israel untouched every seven years, as well as at the end of seven cycles of seven years. We mourn for seven days and celebrate weddings with seven blessings. Kabbalah teaches that our souls comprise seven “emotional” traits, which mirror the seven energies that G-d invested into Existence.  We are currently in the midst of the seven weeks of counting the Omer, which recall the seven weeks that the early Jews had spent preparing to receive the Torah at Sinai. We believe that the gentile population should follow the Noahide Code, which has seven laws. Seven is the number of natural systems- physical or spiritual. Seven represents all that is familiar to us.

Eight, on the other hand, is a mystical number, one that represents the supernatural. We host a bris on the eighth day because it illustrates our indelible, supernatural connection to G-d and Judaism. As a mystical number, eight is well-suited to represent the completion of G-d’s Sanctuary, as described in this week’s Torah portion. Our sages also teach that eight is the number that represents the Messianic Age. Seven signifies the current framework of our world; eight carries the promise of the ideal world that G-d will unveil in the future.

That Messianic world will bring a total paradigm shift.  It will be a time when the human eye will perceive G-d- something totally unimaginable for us today (we battle to conceptualize G-d, let alone see Him). Everything will change- we will be spiritually attuned and mentally advanced and our world will become a place of harmony, goodness and abundance. Moshiach’s times sound far-fetched to many of us. Even if we accept that Moshiach will come, we expect that only G-d Himself could engineer such dramatic changes to the world. We would most likely be the fortunate passengers on this epic journey.

The beauty of Judaism is that it teaches that we each carry infinite power. To reach the “eighth day” of the Messianic Age takes “seven days” of human endeavour. Building a structure that would become G-d’s home is an impossible idea, yet the Jews of the desert achieved it. They invested their natural resources (over seven days) and G-d gave them a supernatural return (on the eighth day). “Shemini” (the eighth day) teaches us that every step of human input, every good deed or Torah study or prayer that we invest helps to generate the quantum leap from a defective world to Utopia. G-d won’t bring Moshiach, human actions will.

Just take a step

(Not so) Simple Guy

Not too smart, but he's a nice guy! The seder table includes four characters, one of whom sounds like he's well-suited to that non-compliment.

The wise son, ah, now there's a bundle of nachas. He's the bright, articulate kid with a probing mind who has his Yiddishe mama convinced he is headed for Fortune 500 or a Nobel prize. Sure, he can be precocious at times, but that's just him expressing his creative side. Jewish parents all wish for such children and are generally convinced that their brood or all of above-average IQ. 

Of course, nobody wants to have a son labelled "the wicked one". He may be "going through a stage", but bubbeleh is not, G-d forbid, going to land up a delinquent. Just as much as Jewish parents wouldn't want their children to turn out "wicked", we usually balk at the thought of any of our kids being labelled "simple".

At the Seder, the "simple" son asks "What's this all about?". You get the sense that he asks the same question annually. He's the embarrassingly socially inept child who keeps banging on at the same silly issues (from "why do we dip a vegetable into salt water" to "who makes the holes in the matzos?"). After all these years, you'd hope he'd come up with a fresh conversation starter, but there he is again with his perennial "tell it to me slowly" routine all over again.

Or maybe we've misunderstood the "simple son". Perhaps his apparently superficial question hides an honesty and humility that we could do well to learn from.

The wise son knows all the facts, nuances and insights (what nachas!), but that is his Achilles Heel. He's so learned that he starts to imagine he knows, he's the authority, he understands. Actually, he's cast his opinions in stone and has no plans to shift them.

Real growth happens when you can look at the same Seder table you have seen yearly since you were a tot and ask "what's this?". Imagine being open enough to say, "I know I learned all about this last year, but are last year's insights all there is to the story? Perhaps I've gotten comfortable with thinking I know what Pesach and its message of personal growth is all about- and maybe that's exactly how I could miss its true message. Last year's Pesach message may have been relevant to last years challenges, but this year has brought new challenges, which means I'll need new insights."

So, let's start again- what is this all about? 

(Not so) Simple Guy

Not too smart, but he's a nice guy! The seder table includes four characters, one of whom sounds like he's well-suited to that non-compliment. 

The wise son, ah, now there's a bundle of nachas. He's the bright, articulate kid with a probing mind who has his Yiddishe mama convinced he is headed for Fortune 500 or a Nobel prize. Sure, he can be precocious at times, but that's just him expressing his creative side. Jewish parents all wish for such children and are generally convinced that their brood or all of above-average IQ. 

Of course, nobody wants to have a son labelled "the wicked one". He may be "going through a stage", but bubbeleh is not, G-d forbid, going to land up a delinquent. Just as much as Jewish parents wouldn't want their children to turn out "wicked", we usually balk at the thought of any of our kids being labelled "simple".

At the Seder, the "simple" son asks "What's this all about?". You get the sense that he asks the same question annually. He's the embarrassingly socially inept child who keeps banging on at the same silly issues (from "why do we dip a vegetable into salt water" to "who makes the holes in the matzos?"). After all these years, you'd hope he'd come up with a fresh conversation starter, but there he is again with his perennial "tell it to me slowly" routine all over again.

Or maybe we've misunderstood the "simple son". Perhaps his apparently superficial question hides an honesty and humility that we could do well to learn from.

The wise son knows all the facts, nuances and insights (what nachas!), but that is his Achilles Heel. He's so learned that he starts to imagine he knows, he's the authority, he understands. Actually, he's cast his opinions in stone and has no plans to shift them.

Real growth happens when you can look at the same Seder table you have seen yearly since you were a tot and ask "what's this?". Imagine being open enough to say, "I know I learned all about this last year, but are last year's insights all there is to the story? Perhaps I've gotten comfortable with thinking I know what Pesach and its message of personal growth is all about- and maybe that's exactly how I could miss its true message. Last year's Pesach message may have been relevant to last years challenges, but this year has brought new challenges, which means I'll need new insights."

So, let's start again- what is this all about?