16 minute read
In Memoriam
Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski led the way in the fight to help Orthodox Jews struggling with addiction and mental illness
BY RABBI AVI GLUCK
(JTA) – On Sunday, the Jewish community lost one of the biggest forces fighting for those who are suffering the most.
At Amudim, a crisis intervention organization serving the Orthodox Jewish community, we have been humbled by the increasing number of community members who have come to accept the realities of mental health challenges in recent years. None of what we do today would be possible without the groundbreaking work of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, of blessed memory, who died at 90 years old.
Rabbi Twerski deserves to be remembered as a tzaddik (a righteous person), a title that he rightfully earned in his lifetime. But Rabbi Twerski was so much more than a psychiatrist, author of dozens of books and brilliant Torah scholar. He was also a man who positively impacted countless families and individuals in so many ways, ranging from pulling out the rug from within the community of addiction to being outspoken about abuse issues, and so much more.
My father, Rabbi Edgar Gluck, and Rabbi Twerski shared a close relationship that spanned 60 years. When I became involved with those in danger of slipping through our societal cracks, it was a privilege to be able to reach out to the man who was known simply in our family as “Reb Shia.”
I will never forget the time I reached out to him to discuss the suitability of 12-step meetings, trying to ascertain how I could send religious Jewish clients to a meeting that more often than not was being held in a church (many Orthodox Jews believe Jewish law forbids one to enter any Christian houses of worship).
Explaining to me that cases that had reached that level were clearly life threatening, he told me straight out, “When a patient has cancer, do you look for the best doctor or a Jewish doctor?” He discussed this issue in one of his many books, and he made it clear to me that he was more than happy to have a discussion on the matter with anyone who saw the issue differently.
In addition to being available to offer guidance on specific cases or emergencies as they arose, Rabbi Twerski was helpful to me in many other ways. Nearly 15 years ago, I found myself dealing with a crisis involving
RABBI DR. ABRAHAM J. TWERSKI
(COURTESY OF AMUDIM)
a family that had multiple children living in an abusive environment. With numerous rabbis weighing in with different views, I reached out to Rabbi Twerski for an outside opinion. He introduced me to someone that he felt could get to the heart of the matter – Dr. David Pelcovitz. Not only was Dr. Pelcovitz perfectly suited to help me navigate the complexities of this particular case, but he became a tremendous inspiration to me and an invaluable asset to Amudim since the day we opened in 2014.
Over the years, Rabbi Twerski became a guiding light for Amudim. He wasn’t able to join us for our 2015 mental health conference, a groundbreaking two days that gave mental health professionals the opportunity to share their feedback from the trenches, helping us focus our efforts to help as many people as possible in their personal struggles. But he worked with us every step of the way to create the program, spending hours on the phone with Amudim’s founder, Mendy Klein, and me in order to maximize the event’s potential.
Rabbi Twerski also taught me the perplexing nature of recovery. He explained that while some go through recovery and fare well in the long run, others keep repeating the same destructive patterns again and again. In order to end the vicious cycle haunting those in the latter group, Rabbi Twerski said, one must give them the tools to approach life and its sometimes daunting circumstances in a healthier way.
But perhaps one of the most incredible lessons I learned from Rabbi Twerski came during a Zoom conference for high level mental health professionals, community leaders and philanthropists that took place approximately two years ago. One participant averred that a person can only be helped once they have hit rock bottom. When I disagreed wholeheartedly, another person jumped in, saying that Rabbi Twerski had said exactly that in one of his books. Wasting no time, Rabbi Twerski explained that while he had made that statement 30 years ago, it no longer applied in today’s world, where hitting rock bottom too often means death.
That was vintage Rabbi Twerski. He could balance Torah, medical knowledge and practical life skills while still being able to adapt his expertise and advice to changing realities. I have tried to model my own approach at Amudim after the example set by Rabbi Twerski. When it has sometimes seemed awkward and embarrassing to do an about-face, I remind myself that if Rabbi Twerski could publicly change his mind, I could, too.
Throughout my life, whenever I hit a speed bump, I knew I could always count on Rabbi Twerski. I treasure the moments I spent with him, particularly the time he sat me down at a family wedding and told me that he truly believed that Amudim’s work over the past several years to promote awareness and destigmatize mental health challenges had surpassed anything he had done in his lifetime. Surely it was an exaggeration and was meant as a form of encouragement, but it was meaningful and touched my heart all the same.
That was Rabbi Twerski. Always uplifting. Always inspiring. I remember the times when people would try to convince him to give his stamp of approval for one organization over another and he would have none of it, saying only, “I do what is best for Klal Yisroel. Don’t get me involved in politics and games.”
During his 90 years on this earth, Rabbi Twerski made a tremendous impression as a Torah scholar, a psychiatrist, a rabbi, a clinician and a mentor, a man whose sage advice was a godsend to so many, empowering individuals and families and giving them strength even during their darkest moments. His ability to integrate his seemingly boundless knowledge of mental health with an equally vast ocean of Torah values was unparalleled, and even with his incredible erudition, he had the ability to inspire every person – his kindness, humility and sensitivity shining with every word and on every page.
Despite his many professional accomplishments, I can’t help but remember Rabbi Twerski as someone who spent his days and nights sowing seeds of happiness. As I close my eyes, the words and notes of his iconic “Hoshia Es Amecha” echo in my mind, a fitting tribute to a man who dedicated his life to making the world a better place.
Rabbi Avi Gluck is the CEO of Amudim, an organization dedicated to helping abuse victims and those suffering with addiction within the Jewish community. He has been heavily involved in crisis intervention and management for the past 21 years.
THE IRAQI JEWISH ARCHIVES. LOST and FOUND…and LOST?
52 years ago, 9 Jews were hanged in Baghdad. Today, their descendants risk losing everything they left behind.
BY CAROLE BASRI AND ADRIANA DAVIS
(JTA) – On Jan. 27, 1969, nine Jews were hanged in Tahrir Square in the center of Baghdad as half a million people looked on.
It was the climax of a campaign of persecution that followed the establishment of Israel, which in turn hastened an exodus of what had been a strong and flourishing community. Of the 160,000 Jews who had lived in what is today Iraq since the destruction of the First Temple, only a handful of Jews remain.
When the Jews fled, they were not allowed to take anything more than three sets of clothing and 50 dinars – a pittance. Their communal and personal property was confiscated by the Iraqi regime.
For decades, the survivors and descendants of that community thought all records of their lives in that ancient land were lost.
For the Basri family, leaving Iraq meant leaving behind not only our own personal belongings but a vast collection of material belonging to the Frank Iny School, the last Jewish school to operate in Iraq. Frank Iny was my grandfather, and his school was an island of security for Jews as the fires of anti-Semitism raged around them. School records, photos and more were lost, we thought forever.
However, by a series of miraculous events, in 2003, the communal and personal property that had been stolen by the Baath regime was discovered in a flooded basement of the headquarters of Saddam Hussein’s secret police by US troops. The United States undertook to salvage and restore the collection. Presently, the collection is in the custody of the U.S. National Archives, where they were restored and displayed at various locations.
But now, this priceless collection is once more in danger of being lost forever.
The Iraqi Jewish Archives chronicles the 2,700-year history of the Jews of Iraq – a history that ended when the Iraqi Jewish community was forced to flee. The collection contains tens of thousands of items, including a 400-year-old Hebrew Bible, a 200-year-old Talmud, Torah scrolls, Torah cases and other sacred books including manuscripts by the Ben Ish Hai, the late 19th-century Baghdadi scholar, as well personal and communal records.
Until Saddam Hussein was deposed, many Iraqi Jews were afraid to speak publicly about their heritage. Today, when we interviewed members of the community for our latest film, “Saving the Iraqi Jewish Archives,” one woman we spoke to told us how the discovery of the archives strengthened her desire to protect the remnants of their past for future generations. We filmed other Iraqi Jews touring the archives and, for the first time in 50 years, seeing images of themselves and their records as young students at the Frank Iny School.
Now, the historical record of this once flourishing community is in danger. The State Department plans to return it to Iraq in 2021. We are now in danger of losing the tangible proof of our very existence in Iraq. Only the Administration or U.S. State Department can prevent this from happening.
The US State Department has signed agreements with various Middle Eastern states, including Iraq, Libya, Algeria and Syria, about sending Jewish cultural and religious artifacts back – material that had been stolen from the Jewish communities when they were dispossessed of all their property (and sometimes of their lives). The Iraqi Jewish Diaspora is fighting against such a miscarriage of justice.
If the Iraqi Jewish Archives are sent back to Iraq, it will be another step in the ethnic cleansing of Iraqi Jews. These agreements could have far-reaching consequences for all Judaica that had been saved from these countries and are now in use in synagogues or in museums and cultural centers in the United States.
We commend the United States for saving the Iraqi Jewish Archives. But now, all that effort could be for naught. Due to the circumstances of the community’s flight from Iraq, there is very little documenting their history and the role they played for over two millennia in this part of the world. This archive is one of the only concrete links to that past and the reality of Jewish life in the land between the rivers.
I remember that day in 1969 when nine Jews were murdered. My family had already come to the United States, but even here we were too concerned about the potential consequences for our family still in Iraq to raise our voices in protest. Instead, we drove by the protest at the U.N. silently.
My uncle Meir Basri, the head of the Jewish community in Iraq at that time, was then being tortured, for three months, at the Terminal Palace, Qasar al Nehiya, by Saddam Hussein. During this same time, and at the same location, the Chief Rabbi’s son, Shaul Hakham Sassoon, was held and tortured for over a year. He was falsely accused of collusion with a spy ring. His elderly father was forced to publicly proclaim, through an interpreter, that the Jewish community was being treated well and had full freedoms even while his son was being tortured.
We can’t erase their pain, but we can preserve their memory.
The Iraqi Jewish Archives are Jewish property stolen by the Government of Iraq. Returning the collection to Iraq is the very definition of the biblical rebuke by the Prophet Elijah in Kings 1: “Have you murdered and also inherited?” – that is, seized another’s property. The United States must not be a party to this travesty.
Carole Basri is the daughter of Iraqi Jewish refugees. The Frank Iny School, the last Jewish school to operate in Baghdad, was built by her grandfather.
Carole and filmmaker Adriana Davis have made four films about the Jews of Iraq. Their latest, “Saving the Iraqi Jewish Archives: A Journey of Identity” explores the significance of the archives and the struggle to keep it safe and accessible.
CAROLE BASRI
FRANK AND MUZLI INY ON THEIR WEDDING DAY.
MEIR BASRI IN THE 1960s.
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Mishpatim
BY RABBI TZVI HERSH WEINREB
My wife and I moved to the Jewish community of Baltimore almost 50 years ago. The fond memories we have of the time we spent there begin with our first Shabbat in town. It was then that I met two older men, at least twice my own age, at a nearby synagogue.
They told me about their encounters with the great early 20th-century sage Rabbi Yisrael Mayer Kagan, of blessed memory, the author of the famous book, Chafetz Chaim. My two friends insisted that that particular book was not his most important work. Their candidate for their mentor’s masterpiece is entitled Ahavat Chesed, “Loving Kindness,” which is about the acts that one is commanded to perform in order to assist others who are in need. A major portion of the work is dedicated to a mitzvah which is less well known, but which is promulgated in this week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim (Exodus 21:1-24:18). The following are the verses to which I refer:
“If you lend money to My people, to the poor among you, do not act toward them as a creditor; exact no interest from them. If you take your neighbor’s garment in pledge, you must return it to him before the sun sets; it is his only clothing, the sole covering for his skin. In what else shall he sleep? Therefore, if he cries out to Me, I will pay heed, for I am compassionate” (Exodus 22:24-26).
This beautiful passage portrays an act of compassion. The image of a totally destitute person who has but one change of clothing is heartrending. The sensitivity to his sleeplessness is exquisite. But there is one word that the commentators find puzzling: the first word in the passage, “If.” If you lend money to my people? Shouldn’t it read,“You must lend money to My people.”?
Rashi cites Rabbi Ishmael’s teaching in the Talmudic tractate Bava Metzia: “Every ‘if’ in the Torah expresses an act which is optional, except for three instances in which ‘if’ expresses an act which is mandatory–compulsory–and this is one of the three.” This “if” is to be translated as “you must.”
And so, why does the Torah not simply tell us that we must lend money to those who need it? Why the “if”? One answer to this question is found in the teaching of the Hasidic master Rabbi Yechezkel of Kuzmir, regarding the following Talmudic text:
“Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair was on a mission to try to redeem several Jews who were held captive. His route was blocked by the river Ginai. He said to the river, ‘Split your waters so that I might pass through!’ The river refused, saying, ‘You are on your way to do the will of your Maker, and I am on my way to do the will of my Maker. You might succeed, but you might not succeed! But I will certainly succeed! I simply need to continue to flow.’”
The river seems perfectly justified. All he has to do is follow nature’s course and flow downstream as his Maker created him to do. But Rabbi Pinchas could not be certain of success. Indeed, the odds are that he would fail. Why should the river yield?
Rabbi Pinchas ignored the river’s reasonable argument. Instead, he threatened the river, saying, “If you don’t split for me, I will decree that not a drop of water shall ever again flow down your riverbed for all eternity!”
What right did the rabbi have to ignore the river’s argument? Rabbi Yechezkel of Kuzmir answers: The river’s assumption is that a deed that is certain to be successful is more desirable to the Almighty than is a deed whose ultimate success is in doubt. Rabbi Pinchas taught him otherwise. The Almighty cherishes the person who undertakes a mission which is risky and whose outcome is uncertain much more than the person who undertakes a mission which he knows will be blessed with success.
This, I would suggest, is why lending money to someone in need is, at least in one way, more desirable to the Almighty than simply giving a handout to the poor. When one gives food, for example, to a hungry person, he knows immediately that he has done a good deed. There is no element of doubt. However, when one lends money to another, one never knows. Will the borrower postpone repayment? Will he default? It is a mitzvah done in the throes of doubt and uncertainty. The lesson taught by Rabbi Pinchas teaches the lender that the mitzvah he did with so much doubt and uncertainty is all the more cherished by the Almighty.
There are many mitzvah missions that we all undertake at great risks and with no guarantee that we will be successful in our efforts. Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair teaches us to deliberately pursue such mitzvot.
Hence, the passage in this week’s Torah portion begins with the big “if.” Moral actions are often “iffy.” But that’s all the more reason to engage in them. The risks are real, but the rewards are eternal.
