Losing My Religion
He is just 12 years old. He is a
healthy pre-teen with a serious problem. He is afraid that he has
lost his “olam habah” his portion in the world to come, a concern people
four times his age rarely have. He says things like “I look at all
those other people, the ones who spend their time playing or reading
secular books I am so glad that I am not like them. At least I still
have a chance to make it into the world to come.”
His
very concerned mother, father and pediatrician asked him to see a
therapist. He has been to three therapists. He rejected all of them.
None of them were good enough for him because he judged them as
irreligious. He consented to see me, albeit briefly.
After introductions I asked him what his plans
were for the summer vacation. His response was quick and chilling: “I
will learn at least six hours but probably more every day with my
rabbi.”
I asked him if he enjoyed sports. His response was terse. “That’s for people who don’t care about the next world.”
I asked him if he ever played any sports or
even board games. “I used to play basketball but I can’t waste my time
on that now. If I want to be successful in what I want I can’t spend
more than a few minutes wasting time.”
“But, you need physical exercise to stay healthy,” I told him. He just scoffed.
He is so scrupulous that he often refuses to
eat at home. He doesn’t always trust that his mother will serve him food
that is kosher despite the fact that the home is completely kosher.
I ask him about friends. He reassures me that
he has many. Does he spend any time with them? “Yes, in learning.” He
replies. He goes on to say “But they learn about two hours I spend much
more time. Sometimes I play basketball with them for a few minutes.”
He admits to me that he is “very anxious
inside” and attributes that exclusively to a concern about being a
religiously pure person.
“Does your rabbi know that you have such anxieties?” I ask.
“Sure he does. He gave me a book to read and a video to watch.” He responds.
“What type of book?”
“A book of mussar.” He goes on to describe
what he has read there, clearly misinterpreting large parts to fit his
very scrupulous worldview.
“Tell me about the video.”
“It teaches that all the cures come from god
and the more you learn the more god will help you.” He is energetic in
his narrative.
I notice that he is secretly texting while we speak. I ask him who he is writing to. “My rabbi.”
“May I speak with him?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I obtain a release from him and his parents and the next day I call his rabbi.
The rabbi seems affable, happy to communicate
with me. He says he is concerned about the boy and is attempting to
work with him to help calm his fears. He also tells me that despite the
young man’s many hours at learning he seems stuck. He repeats what he
learns for many hours and has a hard time moving on. I get the
impression that the rabbi is withholding but it is not immediately clear
what it could be.
After speaking with the rabbi, I phoned the
young man’s mother. I asked her about the rabbi. She says she was trying
to reach him for over three months to ask him to help her get help for
her son. She said he never called her back.
At our next session, the session that would be
our last, the boy starts off in an angry, agitated attack at me for not
understanding him. He is crying. I ask him what is so hard for him. He
raises his voice and tells me he will never make it to the world to come
and it is because of me. I tell him that it is an article of faith that
it is possible for someone to acquire the world to come in an instant. I
tell him that it is a mitzvah to take care of one’s health. He is
increasingly agitated and begins flailing his arms. I am suddenly aware
– I ask if I can call his rabbi right then and there. He says “Please
call him.”
I get the rabbi on the phone and explain what
is going on, asking him to be an ally in helping me treat this young
man. The rabbi raises his voice telling me it is unprofessional for me
to call him. We hang up. I ask the boy if the rabbi wants him to be in
therapy. He replies “No!”
Scrupulosity is a disorder
characterized by severe religious and moral guilt. It is often
accompanied by acute anxiety, poor social functioning, and can even
include what appears to be paranoid thought patterns.
This boy’s rabbi thinks intense devotion is
healthy and is encouraging it in this boy. His parents object as do I
and every other health and mental health professional he has seen. The
boy has a severe anxiety disorder that is made worse by obsessive
devotion. Many clerical leaders understand the problem and the correct
way to interact with health care providers to treat the issue. Some not.
While this rabbi sees the anxiety in the boy he is unaware of the
pathological side of it.
Abuse can come in many different forms. The
tenacity of religious fervor accompanied by a disregard for normal,
healthy development can cause one to lose their health, well-being even
their religion.
Or perhaps just lose their belief in those few who misrepresent religion.
Significant personal details have been altered.