Addictions

Yom Kippur Morning
October 9, 2008
Rabbi Seymour Rossel

Hello, my name is Seymour and I am an addict. (Right here, you are supposed to answer with "Hello, Seymour" -- so let's hear it.) I am addicted to loving other people as myself. I am addicted to not standing idly by while someone else bleeds. I am addicted to choosing life. I am addicted to being my brothers' keeper, and my sisters', and my aunts' and my uncles', and my children's, and my parents', and my cousins' fourth-removed. I am addicted to saving lives, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, giving support to the widow and orphan, raising up the fallen, bringing the stranger into my home, and treating all animals with kindness, even my pet dog who just chewed off a corner of my favorite book and is now throwing up on my Oriental carpet. I am addicted to studying and teaching, to praying and preaching, because these are marks of a Jew and we are taught that being Jewish is not a selfish affair, rather "All Israelites are responsible for one another."

My name is Seymour and I am addicted to loving other people as I love myself. And I am not making fun of addiction. No matter what shape or creed, no matter what color or substance addiction takes, addiction is always dangerous. Maybe you are addicted to aspirin or Bufferin or nasal sprays or having your nails done. Maybe you are addicted to sleeping in front of the television in your favorite chair. People today are addicted to the Playstation, the Xbox and the Wii, to removing themselves from their families by ducking into ear phones and cuddling up with iPods. People are addicted to email, Ebay, Facebook, MySpace, and instant messaging. Some are addicted to online adventures in the virtual universe of Second Life or World of WarCraft. Indeed, there are so many virtual addictions that it seems amazing that people also manage to be addicted to betting, gambling, heroin, methadone, ecstasy, cocaine, amphetamines, morphine, nicotine, alcohol, blackberries, iPhones, texting, and work.

In fact, anything you seize that seizes you back, anything that envelopes you and demands more and more of your time and effort, anything that exhausts you and removes you from family and friends -- anything you seize that seizes you back -- can destroy your world and destroy the world of everyone around you.

Addiction used to be defined as "physical dependence," a term coined in 1906 to refer to opium addicts. But we more commonly use addiction in the sense of psychological dependence. Substance abuse, drug abuse, computer abuse, and problem gambling may be genetic problems. Some say they are hereditary. Some say addictions are wired into the pleasure centers of the brain. And some say that addictions are a social problem. To those who live with an addict, it does not much matter. The destruction and devastation is the same, no matter what the originating cause.

Even being addicted to being a saint can be destructive. When the ancient rabbis went on their weekly errand to collect tzedakah throughout the town, they constantly tried to avoid one fellow because he always gave so much charity that he himself and his whole family were reduced to base poverty and fell on the support of the community. To be addicted to giving too much charity is just as harmful as being addicted to giving no charity at all.

An old man was once walking along on a cold winter's day when he saw a snake freezing to death at the side of the road. He took pity on the snake and decided to save its life. He picked it up, held it close for warmth, and rubbed the snake to restore its circulation. But as life flowed back, the snake slowly wound itself around the old man. When the old man was in its grip, the snake said, "Thanks for your help. Now I am hungry and it's time for me to eat you."

The old man asked, "Is this how you repay me for saving your life?"

The snake said, "It is written in the Torah that, ever since the Garden of Eden, God commanded snakes to strike at men."

The old man protested. "It is unfair. At least let us ask for three opinions."

The snake knew the old man could not escape, so he said, "Go ahead, ask."

The first passerby was a donkey. The old man told him the situation and asked what he thought was fair. The donkey said, "Men push me, pull me, and beat me from dawn to dusk. They deserve nothing less than death."

The snake hissed out a wicked laugh, even as an ox happened by. The old man put it to the ox and the ox replied, "In this world, good is always repaid with evil. I hurt no one and every day humans yoke me to the plow and work me until I am nearly dead. What difference does it make to me if the snake eats you? Fair is a nice idea, but the world is never fair."

The snake said, "I am hungry. Let's get on with it."

The old man said, "You promised I could ask three!" And, just then, a young man came up the road. The old man told his story again, but the young man turned to the snake and asked, "Are you ready for me to judge this case?"

The snake already had two out of three opinions on his side. He said, "Certainly."

The young man said to the snake, "You have quoted the Torah to prove that snakes should destroy people, but the Torah also demands that when two stand before the court, both must be equal in standing. Therefore, before I render my verdict, you must unwind from the old man and stand side by side as his equal."

The snake reluctantly uncoiled from the old man, but stayed very close, within striking distance, so as not to lose his dinner. The young man went on: "Here is my ruling. It is written in the Torah that, ever since the Garden of Eden, the snake shall attack man and also that man shall bruise the head of the snake."

With that, he handed his walking stick to the old man who quickly raised it up and killed the snake. The young man said, "I am Solomon, son of King David, and I say that is what you should have done when you first saw the snake."

That is the story. Now, let us imagine that the snake is an addicted person. Whenever the addict is kept from her habit, it is like she is freezing. It always seems that, without the object of the addiction, the addict is about to perish. So some poor soul, possibly a husband or a wife, a child or a parent, takes pity on the addict and tries to warm the addict by giving the addict what he or she needs. In return for this help, the addict senses weakness and sets out to exploit the one who helped. In sociological terms, we call that person an "enabler," one who enables the addiction to continue through pity or through a sense of responsibility or through guilt. We hear about "tough love," the idea that enablers must learn to say "no" and must shun the addict and must separate their lives from the life of the addict. All that is easier said than done.

But is there a Jewish way of approaching this complex relationship between the addict and the enabler? For the addict, loving your neighbor as yourself, means first feed my addiction, then please understand that I think so little of myself that I have little or no regard for you. For the enabler, loving your neighbor as yourself means not turning the addict out into the cold, reaching out to help, and thereby showing the weakness the addict preys upon. Can the solution really be as simple as Solomon suggests? Can it be a Jewish value to destroy the addict, or at least to stand by and allow the addict to destroy him or herself?

We do not know why Cain killed Abel. The Bible only hints that they had some kind of argument. The rabbis say the motive was jealousy. But it could be a story about addiction and enabling, too. Whatever Cain did, his younger brother Abel undercut him. Abel was addicted to getting center stage. Abel became the favorite in his family by playing the role of the weaker brother. His mother and father coddled him and even God seemed to prefer him. Cain brought a sacrifice to God, so Abel brought one, too. But it seemed to Cain that God paid attention only to Abel's sacrifice. Finally, Cain had enough of this. When would his younger brother relent and let Cain gain even just a little affection? One day in the field... well, you know the rest. It was probably manslaughter, not intentional murder, but the result was the same. Cain finally gained his parents' attention; and finally got God's attention, too. It was not the best possible outcome, but it was inevitable that someone would bring down the stick on the head of the snake at some time or other.

Addiction is a reality in our world and so many of us live with addiction and with enabling addiction every day that we must confront it one way or the other. In his book Friedman's Fables, the rabbi psychologist Edwin H. Friedman tells the story of two men on a bridge. In the middle of the bridge, one man says to the other, "Please hold this" and he hands the other man the end of a rope. As soon as the man has the rope in his hands, the other man jumps off the bridge and dangles from the rope's end.

Now the man on top of the bridge struggles just to hold on to the rope in his hands. He looks around, but there is nowhere on the bridge to fasten the rope and alone he does not have enough strength to pull the dangling man back up on the bridge.

He leans over the side and asks, "What are you doing? Don't you know that I am not strong enough to hold you?"

The man down below says, "Look, friend, my life is in your hands. Don't let go. If it will be easier, why not tie the rope around your waist?"

So the man on the bridge ties the rope around his waist. Still he cannot get enough traction to pull the other man to safety. He leans over again and says, "Friend, I cannot raise you up, but you could climb the rope and save yourself."

But the dangling man answers, "My life is in your hands now. I am your responsibility. Just don't let go and I will be alright."

How do you think the story should end? This is the challenge that faces us with addiction. If we just stand there with the rope around our waist, we become enablers. We make it possible for the addiction to continue and for the addict to dangle precariously above the precipice of life forever. Judaism demands that we choose life, but how can we choose life for ourselves alone? How can we consider letting go of the rope and abandoning the addict to certain destruction? And, if we are the addict, the strange truth is that we see nothing wrong in dangling above the chasm that spells our death. So long as there is one person still holding us, still enabling us to feel connected, there seems to be no problem at all. How should the story end? In Friedman's fable, the story ends like this:

"Listen carefully," the man on the bridge said, "because I mean what I am about to say. I will not accept the position of choice for your life, only for my own; the position of choice for your own life I hereby give back to you."

"What do you mean?" the dangling man asked.

"I mean, simply, it's up to you. You decide which way this ends. Start pulling yourself up. I will even tug a little to help you." Then the man on the bridge unwound the rope from around his waist and braced himself.

"You cannot mean what you say," the dangling man shrieked. "You would not be so selfish. I am your responsibility. What could be so important that you would let someone die? Do not do this to me."

The man on the bridge waited a moment but there was no change. "I accept your choice," he said, at last, and he let the rope slip between his fingers and out of his hands.

That is how Ed Friedman concluded and his outcome at least places the responsibility where it belongs. But it is rather too bleak for me. Remember, I am addicted to choosing life. But what ending can you conceive that would be better? Let it not be the ending of the snake story or the story of Cain and Abel. It is the coward's way out for the enabler to deliberately kill the addict.

If there is a Jewish answer, it starts earlier. On Yom Kippur, we seek atonement not only for our sins, but for the sins of our community. Idolatry is one of those sins in which both individuals and communities share the blame. Addicts are idolaters because they worship the object of their addiction, and a society that enables addicts provides the context for idolatry to take place. Yom Kippur teaches us that the Jewish answer is taking responsibility not just for ourselves but for our society -- and for the addicts that our society enables. What the enabler needs to realize is that he or she is never alone in being responsible. It is imperative for the whole community to ease the burden of addiction.

So a more Jewish solution to Friedman's fable can be summed up in nine words: never be alone on the bridge with an addict. No matter how the addict is related to you, whether friend or family, when he or she wants to hand you one end of the rope, you must turn away and seek help. The addict may refuse counseling, but you must go for counseling. When the addict says, "My life is in your hands," you must be prepared to say, "There are resources for us. We can find help."

Never be alone on the bridge with an addict. Believe me, friends, once you reach that bridge, you are helpless on your own. Yet, you have access to resources. Yom Kippur does not call on us to become saviors of other people, it only reminds us that we are capable of moving away from our own compulsive behavior toward more positive propulsive behavior. In this life, Yom Kippur says, you can only change the behavior of one person, yourself. You yourself can seek help, you yourself can learn to stop being an enabler. With competent professional counsel, with good friends, with a good community like CJCN, you yourself may just possibly rescue yourself, your family may just possibly survive intact, and you may be able to salvage your friendships; and, with the mercy of God, the addict may get help from all of us instead of collusion from one of us. And let us say: Amen.