Rabbi Zecharia Wallerstein
From Struggle to Success
נחמו נחמו עמי
Comfort, comfort My people… (Haftorah, Yeshaya 40:1)
Some time ago I received a phone call from an inpatient hospital for eating disorders. “Rabbi Wallerstein,” the nurse said, “we have a girl here who would like to meet with you. After consultation, we are willing to grant her a waiver and allow her to see you for a few hours, if you would be willing to do so.” Knowing that seldom are patients with severe eating disorders discharged from the hospital for even a short period of time, except to be transferred to a different hospital or visit a therapist, I was quite surprised. “She would like to meet with you, Rabbi,” the nurse reiterated. “Last week you called her, and she has been a different person ever since. We think it would help her with therapy if you could see her.” I didn’t need to hear any more to convince me. If I could be of help, I most certainly would.
When the time to meet arrived, I took one look at her and knew what I was facing. She looked extremely anorexic and was as thin as could be. But, as I told her, I was very impressed and honored that she wanted to see me. We continued talking about her therapy, routines and programs, until I concluded what I believed would be a good fit for her. “You know what?” I said, “I think that after you remain in the hospital for another three to four weeks, you will be ready to come to my ranch I have built for girls and equestrian therapy. We will keep you there as long as you need, and between the horses, ducks and chickens, you will do very well and get better.” But she didn’t like my plan.
Looking back at me with a cold and blank stare, she said, “I’m not going to the ranch, rabbi.” “If it’s because of money,” I interjected, “don’t worry, we’ll work that out.” But she stood her ground. “No, no, rabbi, I don’t want to get better. My life is so painful and miserable. I don’t want to get better. I’m not coming to your ranch. I am scared to get better, because if I do, I will have to go back into the world, which is a scary place. When I’m in a hospital, I’m protected. I don’t want to get better.”
This was the first time in my entire life I had ever heard someone tell me that. “If you don’t want to get better, then why are you here?” “I just wanted to talk to you,” she said, “but don’t make me better.”
As I let her words sit with me for a few seconds, I began wondering what I could ever tell her which would help. Many people I met before struggling with an issue had their worries about full recovery and told me, “I will try to get better, although maybe I won’t make it and I’ll relapse…” but outright stating that you don’t want to get better was something I had never heard before. What would I tell her? She had made her decision and didn’t seem willing to budge.
“Please listen to me carefully,” I said. “I have met thousands of girls, and never before have I been told by someone that they do not want to get better.” My words, though, fell on deaf ears. “There is nothing you can say, rabbi, that is going to make me better.” “Can I at least tell you what I want to say?” That much, at least, she allowed me.
“I have to tell you,” I began, “that I have never met someone so sick as you. But, if you turn around and come out of this in one piece, and make a life for yourself, you will be the biggest superstar in healing anorexic girls. You will be able to show them your charts and your pictures, and tell them how you went to this hospital and that hospital and weighed seventy pounds when you were twenty years old. You will be able to stand in front of the worst eating disordered girls and tell them, ‘Here is a picture of my child, here’s my husband, I’m at a normal body weight, and I have a degree and I am happy.’ Because you are so far down, if you turn your life around and change, you will be the most powerful speaker, therapist and teacher for girls with eating disorders. I don’t know if I can find someone like you again because everyone wants to get better, but you don’t even want to get better.” I then stood still and allowed for silence to settle in between us. And then the girl spoke up.
“I never thought of it that way, rabbi.” “You think about this,” I told her. “You need to get healthy. I need you on my ranch and I don’t care what it takes to make that happen.” At this point, I knew I was getting somewhere and making, at least, some small degree of progress.
“And if you think I like you and I am doing this because I am a tzaddik, first of all I am not really a tzaddik, and I don’t really know you so I can’t say I like you. So why do you think I would be doing this? Why am I meeting you? Why do I care if you get better or not?” The girl didn’t know what to respond.
“I’ll tell you. It’s because I’m selfish.” The girl stood confused and looked at me as if I was crazy. “What?” “You don’t know how selfish I am.” “Rabbi Wallerstein,” she interrupted, “you’re not selfish!” “I am so, so selfish,” I repeated. “You see, you are going to help me. Instead of me going and talking to girls with eating disorders, you are going to do it. I cannot talk to these kids, because I definitely do not have an eating disorder. But if you get better, I am going to mold you and you are going to work for me. You are going to help me so I don’t have to fly all over the place, but you will. And you will help so many girls, you will not believe it.”
Although I’m not sure if she was ready to hear that or understood what I meant, G-d willing, this girl will one day help many people. Today, she is living a life no one wishes to lead. But eventually, she will come out of this fire, and when gold comes out of the fire, it is that much shinier than before.
Whenever you experience hard and challenging times in life, peer inside yourself and tap into that inner strength that is uniquely yours. When a person has sunken so far and fallen so low, that is precisely why they will emerge that much of a stronger and incredible person afterwards. I myself cannot help girls with eating disorders like this girl can. I cannot get up in front of an audience and say, “I’ve been there and done that,” but she can.
The greater the struggle, the greater the success. The greater the fall, the greater the feat. The greater the tragedy, the greater the triumph. If we can take that struggle, take the fall and take that tragedy and turn it into success, a feat and a victory, we have climbed from the lowest of abysses to the highest of ascents. And there is no greater achievement than that.
The greatest thing we can do is take our losses and lapses, and use them to help another undergoing the same struggle. Instead of giving in and telling ourselves that we cannot get better, if we convince ourselves that we can overcome our struggle and thereby become the perfect person to educate, encourage and guide others, we have made the best from the worst. We have taken something bleak, and made some beautiful. And there’s nothing more inspiring and uplifting than that.
