It all started with a phone call from a person in need, but 10 years later, a Jewish family’s embrace of recovering drug and alcohol addicts has an Eastern Pennsylvania treatment center extolling the virtues of Friday night dinner.
Before he knew anything about addiction or recovery, Chabad-Lubavitch Rabbi Yossi Lipsker – who recently became a Certified Addictions and Substance Abuse Counselor after completing an intensive course of study – had a pulpit at a small Reading synagogue. One day, a man phoned and said that he wanted to don the Jewish prayer boxes known as tefillin, and invited Lipsker to visit him in rehab.
Lipsker, who looks back at that conversation with a mix of laughter and pain, says that he took “in rehab” to mean that he was recovering from an injury. But then he arrived at the Caron Treatment Center, and the man related his life story and struggles with addiction. The man cried and put his head on the rabbi’s shoulders.
“Frankly, I was shaken,” says Lipsker, who in addition to directing Chabad-Lubavitch of Berks County, serves as a consultant to Caron.
After visiting the patient several more times, Lipsker started identifying other Jewish residents at the facility. Caron’s staff asked him to keep coming back.
While they laud Lipsker’s personal touch, what really impresses addiction professionals are the Friday night meals the rabbi and his wife Chana host each week. With their children beside them, the Lipskers welcome Caron patients to their home in the hope that the smell of freshly-baked challah and chicken soup stir up happy memories and feelings of family.
“It reconnects them to a lost spiritual life, it brings them closer to recovery in the sense that they often find acceptance and belonging” at the Shabbat table, says David Rotenberg, executive director of adolescent and young adult services at Caron.
“It definitely helped me that I had this place to go to,” offers Sarah, who prefers that her real name not be used to protect her anonymity.
Sarah was in an unhappy marriage when she became addicted to pain killers and alcohol following a surgery. She got drunk and high at her daughter’s wedding. When she hit rock bottom, she checked into Caron.
“I couldn’t go into a store and buy milk,” she says. “I was totally finished at that point.”
When she got to Caron, Sarah was relieved to find Lipsker.
“He came over and was so caring and sensitive,” she says. “He opened his home in the most caring and loving way. I felt so sheltered.”
She credits the Friday night meals as “a major milestone to starting recovery.”
A Team Effort
On a given Friday night, you can find upwards of 30 people gathered around the Lipsker family table. Many are Caron patients, cleared by clinical staff to leave the facility temporarily.
“They see a husband and wife talking, kids playing,” says Lipsker. “They feel like they belong and it stirs them.”
Everyone at the table has a chance to introduce themselves and share their story, a common feature of gatherings in the recovery community.
The older Lipsker children share something they learned about the weekly Torah portion. Zeldi Lipsker, 16, often reads an article by Rabbi Ben A., a rabbi in recovery whose articles appear on the Jewish Recovery section of the Chabad.org website.
Now a camp counselor, she says she looks forward to coming home each week for the meals.
“For me, it’s interesting meeting all kinds of people,” says the teenager. “They all share so much.”
The experience has even taught her to not judge others, “because you don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes.” On the street or in the grocery story, people can seem so happy, she observes, “but everything around them could be crumbling.”
Her father says that seeing the struggles of those in recovery helps the children appreciate their connection to G‑d as well as other people.
“It’s a team effort,” says the rabbi, adding that studying to become a certified counselor has helped him be more effective in reaching recovering addicts. “We’re all in this.”
According to Lipsker, at any given time, about 10 percent of Caron’s 300 patients might be Jewish. He says that the biggest problem he sees inside and outside of the center is an initial refusal to acknowledge that addiction is just as common within the Jewish community as any place else.
“I encourage people to get help when they need it, and not wait until the house burns down,” he says.
“Don’t resist. Allow yourself to be helped,” echoes Sarah, who has since remarried and found work as an administrator. “There is help. There is a future.”
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