If you're looking for a disease Orthodox Jews are immune from, try trichinosis. The following are my experiences with mental illness and why I think mental illness is as common in Monsey as it is in Bensonhurst.
"You ought to get yourself to Rav Smith," I told my friend Shimon very late one night. My advice was for him to change drachim in hashkafa (way of viewing) from chassidus to a shtikel (emotional chassidic) to a somewhat more litvish (rational) approach. I thought the change would ease his emotions. As if that mattered, as a bizzare descent into an agony called schizophrenia had begun for Shimon. Shimon was "losing it" and I didn't know what to do.
Shimon's elaborate euphoric grandstanding at 2 a.m. about my being able to coast through college was crystal clear to him. After all, I had cut corners on my minor psych. assignment. Other verbal rantings ought to have tipped me off that an emergency call to 911 or his therapist was in order. Seventy-two hours after my friend Shimon showed signs of being ill, I didn't pick up the phone. At nineteen (years old), all I could muster was a lame response about Torah outlook - not medical outlook.
Next time it was me, not my good friend. It was two years later and I was learning in Yerushalayim (Jersusalem). The learning stopped as my mind became sick. My brother, Reuven, desperate to help me, took me to a talmid chochom (learned wise man) near the Old City. As the three of us sat there in his small, sparcely decorated apartment, he told me something about writing a letter.
Two short hours later, after that futile letter advice, my life became a blur of bizarre sequences. Delusions that, due to their content and ability to make me feel removed from reality, evoked fierce pain. To this day I don't know what was real or what was imagined that horrid Erev (eve of) Yom Kippur night.
One delusion--as I think about it now--is quite funny. You see, I was a ritual watchman of the dead the winter before I went to Israel and got sick. During the Asseres Yemei Teshuva (ten days of atonement) I got the idea in my head that the previous winter I was somehow guilty of murdering some of these people. The idea was played over and over in my mind. As I couldn't shake the concept and thus the guilt -- the pain of it all increased. Very funny.
Guilt. Not the self-cleansing type of Yom Kippur, but the self-destructive, overpowering type is what I experienced in Yerushalayim. For the majority of people, the ways of Torah are very pleasant. On occasion, however, like my experience in Yerushalayim, it can be an impetus toward mental illness. But, whatever the home, or whatever the religion of the home, the situation there doesn't "make" one "crazy"; virtually all doctors recognize a strong organic component to mental illness. My funeral home delusion, which I mentioned earlier, probably came from a physical problem in my brain plus my imagination. If that is so, strictly in regard to the physiological aspect of mental illness, why would Jews be different than non-Jews? After all, Jews are susceptible to epilepsy and diabetes--just like non-Jews.
Epilepsy? Diabetes? Years ago, if I would have seen an article like this one written in a religious periodical, I would have thought it was for me, my friend Shimon and a mere handful of Orthodox deviants. Right after I came home from Yerushalayin, my brother helped me apply for Ohel Community Residence for mentally ill adults. The wait was an entire year. Evidently, there were more "deviants" than I had thought.
Six months ago my concept of mental illness in the Orthodox community changed again. I found out that a pharmacy serving predominantly Othordox Jews prescribes one drug more than any other--not for heart disease, nor for infant maladies, but for manic depressives. That drug is lithium.
Mental Illness is equally common amongst Orthodox Jews, irreligious, and non-Jews. So say two Jewish mental health experts. The responses were almost identical; something to the effect of--mental illness is almost exactly equal amongst Jew and non-Jew. They both confirmed that Orthodox Jews had about the same degree of illness, in their estimates, as non-Jews. One added that alcoholism is less of a problem, the other claimed depression is a greater problem. Both emphasized that they were not speaking based on any study and thus did not want to be quoted. However, both spoke without hesitation.
Since my getting sick in Yerushalayim, I've noticed that there is a group (and the group is large) which is sure that these two experts are wrong. We're too Heimish (homey) to get bulimia or have anxiety disorders. This group sometimes desperately hides its illnesses. And they do hide them well.
I'll tell you a story. At a clinic in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which I went to in the early nineties, I got into a curious mood. I asked if there were any other Orthodox patients. "Yes," the receptionist responded nonchalantly, "but they go through the special door. They're afraid of being noticed."
I spoke to Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski, M.D. He spoke about this phenomenon of Jewish families having a tendency to keep mental illness private. Thus, they may delay or hold back treatment. On the postive side, he spoke of improvements. Organizations such as Petach Tikvah, Mishkan and Ohel are gaining much respect in recent years. I'm glad to hear that. Any improved situation in our dealing with mental illness means several things. It means we will call doctors sooner, not waiting to get treatment, ashamed of ones own children. It means even nineteen-year-olds will call Hatzala (local Orthodox emergency service) or 911--not nineteen-year-olds telling the sick one to go to a more litvish shiur (rational approach). I hope less have to go through the delusions I went through--especially if they work in a morgue.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
A Nation Afflicted Like All Other Nations
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Sunday, November 6, 2011
A Nation Afflicted Like All Other Nations
If you're looking for a disease Orthodox Jews are immune from, try trichinosis. The following are my experiences with mental illness and why I think mental illness is as common in Monsey as it is in Bensonhurst.
"You ought to get yourself to Rav Smith," I told my friend Shimon very late one night. My advice was for him to change drachim in hashkafa (way of viewing) from chassidus to a shtikel (emotional chassidic) to a somewhat more litvish (rational) approach. I thought the change would ease his emotions. As if that mattered, as a bizzare descent into an agony called schizophrenia had begun for Shimon. Shimon was "losing it" and I didn't know what to do.
Shimon's elaborate euphoric grandstanding at 2 a.m. about my being able to coast through college was crystal clear to him. After all, I had cut corners on my minor psych. assignment. Other verbal rantings ought to have tipped me off that an emergency call to 911 or his therapist was in order. Seventy-two hours after my friend Shimon showed signs of being ill, I didn't pick up the phone. At nineteen (years old), all I could muster was a lame response about Torah outlook - not medical outlook.
Next time it was me, not my good friend. It was two years later and I was learning in Yerushalayim (Jersusalem). The learning stopped as my mind became sick. My brother, Reuven, desperate to help me, took me to a talmid chochom (learned wise man) near the Old City. As the three of us sat there in his small, sparcely decorated apartment, he told me something about writing a letter.
Two short hours later, after that futile letter advice, my life became a blur of bizarre sequences. Delusions that, due to their content and ability to make me feel removed from reality, evoked fierce pain. To this day I don't know what was real or what was imagined that horrid Erev (eve of) Yom Kippur night.
One delusion--as I think about it now--is quite funny. You see, I was a ritual watchman of the dead the winter before I went to Israel and got sick. During the Asseres Yemei Teshuva (ten days of atonement) I got the idea in my head that the previous winter I was somehow guilty of murdering some of these people. The idea was played over and over in my mind. As I couldn't shake the concept and thus the guilt -- the pain of it all increased. Very funny.
Guilt. Not the self-cleansing type of Yom Kippur, but the self-destructive, overpowering type is what I experienced in Yerushalayim. For the majority of people, the ways of Torah are very pleasant. On occasion, however, like my experience in Yerushalayim, it can be an impetus toward mental illness. But, whatever the home, or whatever the religion of the home, the situation there doesn't "make" one "crazy"; virtually all doctors recognize a strong organic component to mental illness. My funeral home delusion, which I mentioned earlier, probably came from a physical problem in my brain plus my imagination. If that is so, strictly in regard to the physiological aspect of mental illness, why would Jews be different than non-Jews? After all, Jews are susceptible to epilepsy and diabetes--just like non-Jews.
Epilepsy? Diabetes? Years ago, if I would have seen an article like this one written in a religious periodical, I would have thought it was for me, my friend Shimon and a mere handful of Orthodox deviants. Right after I came home from Yerushalayin, my brother helped me apply for Ohel Community Residence for mentally ill adults. The wait was an entire year. Evidently, there were more "deviants" than I had thought.
Six months ago my concept of mental illness in the Orthodox community changed again. I found out that a pharmacy serving predominantly Othordox Jews prescribes one drug more than any other--not for heart disease, nor for infant maladies, but for manic depressives. That drug is lithium.
Mental Illness is equally common amongst Orthodox Jews, irreligious, and non-Jews. So say two Jewish mental health experts. The responses were almost identical; something to the effect of--mental illness is almost exactly equal amongst Jew and non-Jew. They both confirmed that Orthodox Jews had about the same degree of illness, in their estimates, as non-Jews. One added that alcoholism is less of a problem, the other claimed depression is a greater problem. Both emphasized that they were not speaking based on any study and thus did not want to be quoted. However, both spoke without hesitation.
Since my getting sick in Yerushalayim, I've noticed that there is a group (and the group is large) which is sure that these two experts are wrong. We're too Heimish (homey) to get bulimia or have anxiety disorders. This group sometimes desperately hides its illnesses. And they do hide them well.
I'll tell you a story. At a clinic in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which I went to in the early nineties, I got into a curious mood. I asked if there were any other Orthodox patients. "Yes," the receptionist responded nonchalantly, "but they go through the special door. They're afraid of being noticed."
I spoke to Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski, M.D. He spoke about this phenomenon of Jewish families having a tendency to keep mental illness private. Thus, they may delay or hold back treatment. On the postive side, he spoke of improvements. Organizations such as Petach Tikvah, Mishkan and Ohel are gaining much respect in recent years. I'm glad to hear that. Any improved situation in our dealing with mental illness means several things. It means we will call doctors sooner, not waiting to get treatment, ashamed of ones own children. It means even nineteen-year-olds will call Hatzala (local Orthodox emergency service) or 911--not nineteen-year-olds telling the sick one to go to a more litvish shiur (rational approach). I hope less have to go through the delusions I went through--especially if they work in a morgue.
"You ought to get yourself to Rav Smith," I told my friend Shimon very late one night. My advice was for him to change drachim in hashkafa (way of viewing) from chassidus to a shtikel (emotional chassidic) to a somewhat more litvish (rational) approach. I thought the change would ease his emotions. As if that mattered, as a bizzare descent into an agony called schizophrenia had begun for Shimon. Shimon was "losing it" and I didn't know what to do.
Shimon's elaborate euphoric grandstanding at 2 a.m. about my being able to coast through college was crystal clear to him. After all, I had cut corners on my minor psych. assignment. Other verbal rantings ought to have tipped me off that an emergency call to 911 or his therapist was in order. Seventy-two hours after my friend Shimon showed signs of being ill, I didn't pick up the phone. At nineteen (years old), all I could muster was a lame response about Torah outlook - not medical outlook.
Next time it was me, not my good friend. It was two years later and I was learning in Yerushalayim (Jersusalem). The learning stopped as my mind became sick. My brother, Reuven, desperate to help me, took me to a talmid chochom (learned wise man) near the Old City. As the three of us sat there in his small, sparcely decorated apartment, he told me something about writing a letter.
Two short hours later, after that futile letter advice, my life became a blur of bizarre sequences. Delusions that, due to their content and ability to make me feel removed from reality, evoked fierce pain. To this day I don't know what was real or what was imagined that horrid Erev (eve of) Yom Kippur night.
One delusion--as I think about it now--is quite funny. You see, I was a ritual watchman of the dead the winter before I went to Israel and got sick. During the Asseres Yemei Teshuva (ten days of atonement) I got the idea in my head that the previous winter I was somehow guilty of murdering some of these people. The idea was played over and over in my mind. As I couldn't shake the concept and thus the guilt -- the pain of it all increased. Very funny.
Guilt. Not the self-cleansing type of Yom Kippur, but the self-destructive, overpowering type is what I experienced in Yerushalayim. For the majority of people, the ways of Torah are very pleasant. On occasion, however, like my experience in Yerushalayim, it can be an impetus toward mental illness. But, whatever the home, or whatever the religion of the home, the situation there doesn't "make" one "crazy"; virtually all doctors recognize a strong organic component to mental illness. My funeral home delusion, which I mentioned earlier, probably came from a physical problem in my brain plus my imagination. If that is so, strictly in regard to the physiological aspect of mental illness, why would Jews be different than non-Jews? After all, Jews are susceptible to epilepsy and diabetes--just like non-Jews.
Epilepsy? Diabetes? Years ago, if I would have seen an article like this one written in a religious periodical, I would have thought it was for me, my friend Shimon and a mere handful of Orthodox deviants. Right after I came home from Yerushalayin, my brother helped me apply for Ohel Community Residence for mentally ill adults. The wait was an entire year. Evidently, there were more "deviants" than I had thought.
Six months ago my concept of mental illness in the Orthodox community changed again. I found out that a pharmacy serving predominantly Othordox Jews prescribes one drug more than any other--not for heart disease, nor for infant maladies, but for manic depressives. That drug is lithium.
Mental Illness is equally common amongst Orthodox Jews, irreligious, and non-Jews. So say two Jewish mental health experts. The responses were almost identical; something to the effect of--mental illness is almost exactly equal amongst Jew and non-Jew. They both confirmed that Orthodox Jews had about the same degree of illness, in their estimates, as non-Jews. One added that alcoholism is less of a problem, the other claimed depression is a greater problem. Both emphasized that they were not speaking based on any study and thus did not want to be quoted. However, both spoke without hesitation.
Since my getting sick in Yerushalayim, I've noticed that there is a group (and the group is large) which is sure that these two experts are wrong. We're too Heimish (homey) to get bulimia or have anxiety disorders. This group sometimes desperately hides its illnesses. And they do hide them well.
I'll tell you a story. At a clinic in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which I went to in the early nineties, I got into a curious mood. I asked if there were any other Orthodox patients. "Yes," the receptionist responded nonchalantly, "but they go through the special door. They're afraid of being noticed."
I spoke to Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski, M.D. He spoke about this phenomenon of Jewish families having a tendency to keep mental illness private. Thus, they may delay or hold back treatment. On the postive side, he spoke of improvements. Organizations such as Petach Tikvah, Mishkan and Ohel are gaining much respect in recent years. I'm glad to hear that. Any improved situation in our dealing with mental illness means several things. It means we will call doctors sooner, not waiting to get treatment, ashamed of ones own children. It means even nineteen-year-olds will call Hatzala (local Orthodox emergency service) or 911--not nineteen-year-olds telling the sick one to go to a more litvish shiur (rational approach). I hope less have to go through the delusions I went through--especially if they work in a morgue.
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