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Rabbi Zecharia Wallerstein
The Boy at Cornell
Over a year ago, I visited Cornell University’s psych ward to speak to a particular girl I had been asked to see. As our conversation ensued, I noticed a boy sitting in the opposite corner hunched over with his head on a desk. He was dressed as a very religious Jewish boy, and it was clear that something was wrong. I continued talking to the girl for some time, all the while observing how the boy moved not an inch. He remained motionless.
After concluding my conversation, I approached one of the attending nurses and asked if the boy in the corner was alright. “I can’t divulge any information about him,” she said, “but his parents are expected here in half an hour, and you are more than welcome to wait and speak to them.” I did exactly that.
As his parents sadly told me, their young fourteen-year-old son had been abused as a child multiple times. Unfortunately, the experiences had taken such a toll on him that he had repeatedly contemplated taking his life, for which he was admitted to the ward. “He has already been here close to three weeks,” the parents told me. “They wanted to release him, but felt it was unsafe to do so. He continues to say that if he is discharged, he will take his life.” Hearing this sorrowful story, I looked at the parents and asked if they would mind me talking to him. They nodded their heads in approval. I arranged for a time to meet him the following day and informed his parents that I would keep in close contact.
The next day, I arrived at the psych ward with chocolates. Locating the young boy, I walked over to him and introduced myself. Before I got too far, though, the boy picked up his head and asked me straightaway, “Am I going to get out of here? Because if I do, rabbi, I’m going to kill myself.” Unclear as to his motives, I simply asked why he felt that way. “Hashem doesn’t want me in this world,” he answered.
I had heard that line from other people I had spoken to before, and so I was prepared with a response. “May I tell you something?” I asked the boy. “If the two of us were walking outside right now, and a bus was about to hit a little kid in the middle of the street, you know what the difference would be between you and me? Without hesitation, you would jump in front of the bus and save the kid. You don’t mind dying, and so you wouldn’t hesitate running after the boy to save him. For me, on the other hand, it would be a harder decision and I would hesitate. So think about it. You would certainly save that kid, but likely I wouldn’t. Now when you save that boy, you will be saving the kid himself, his children, his children’s children and on and on. With that one effort of yours, you saved a whole world. And you would do that before anyone else precisely because you don’t care about your life! The very life you want to end could be used to save another person’s life!”
Now I had the boy’s interest.
I then repeated my question. “Why don’t you want to live?” To this day, what he answered me blows me away.
“Rabbi,” he said, “after what has happened to me, I am never going to touch a woman. I am never going to get married and fulfill the mitzvah of having children. So let me die, and Hashem will reincarnate my body in the form of another boy who will have children.”
Sitting next to me was the boy’s psychologist, ensuring that our conversation would not traumatize the boy even more. It was clear that she had never heard anything like this before, and neither had I. However, I could relate to what he meant to say. It was deep, heavy and profoundly sad.
As I took in what he said, I felt as if a wave had crashed over me. I paused for a moment, trying to catch my breath and compose myself. “You know what,” I said, “would it be alright with you if I go grab something to eat and come back in a few minutes?” “Sure,” the boy replied, his spirits now showing some relief. “I’d like to continue talking to you.”
I got up and began walking away, my mind pulsating with agony over this boy’s predicament. As I headed upstairs and purchased some potato chips to calm myself down, I wondered what I could tell him. “He was molested… and he doesn’t want to get married and have children… so he wants to die… and have someone else come back and replace him…?” I couldn’t get over the pain he was experiencing internally and the fact that he was eating himself up. All I could think of was turning to Hashem and asking for help. “Hashem, please put the right ideas into my mind to share with this boy! Look how much pain he is in…”
I went on finishing my chips, looking around at the parents and children in the food court. And then, suddenly, my eyes caught the sight of kid eating from a tub of ice cream. I stared at him for a few seconds… and then it hit me! “I love you Hashem, I love you Hashem!” I whispered to myself. I was well aware that I had no professional therapeutic training to help this suicidal boy, but I did know that I loved Hashem’s children.
Rushing back down stairs, I made my way over to my seat and looked the boy in the eyes. “Can I tell you a story?” I asked, a tinge of hope in my voice. “Okay,” he whispered.
“One day, a little boy came to his mother and asked if she could buy him a tub of ice cream. His mother, wishing to grant her son the delight of enjoying his favorite ice cream, complied. Later that evening, as the family circulated around the house, the boy said, ‘Mom, can you give me some ice cream?’ The father, overhearing his son’s request, marched over to the freezer, grabbed the ice cream and grasped his son. Then, without saying a word, he smushed the entire tub of ice cream into his son’s face! With the boy’s face completely submerged in the cold ice cream, he could barely breathe. Seconds passed, until the father released his hold and the boy just about fell to the floor gasping for air. “Next time you’ll say please,” commanded the father.
“Now,” I said, having ended the story and turning to the young boy, “answer the following question: Is ice cream bad?” The boy looked at me, unsure where this was leading. “What I just told you is a terrible story, but simply answer the question: Is ice cream bad?” “No,” replied the boy, “ice cream is good. Kids love ice cream. At least I know I did before the story…” “So,” I continued, “what is bad in the story?” “The father is bad,” the boy said. “Yes,” I affirmed, “the father is bad.”
“Getting married and having children,” I continued, “is the holiest act a person can perform in this world. The Shechina (Divine Presence) dwells in a home together with a husband and wife. It is the peak of holiness.” And then I tied it together for the boy.
Just as, in the story, it is not the ice cream which is bad, but the father, similarly, it is not the physical relationship of marriage which is bad, but the person who hurt you. Ice cream is not bad and a physical relationship with a wife is not bad. It is rather the person who hurts you who is bad.
That was it.
Today, the boy is dating.
The psychologist sitting next to me couldn’t believe it. She and her team had been working with this boy for weeks to help him, and nothing had worked. But the analogy I had drawn for him spoke directly to him and he took it to heart.
“Dr. Wallerstein,” she said, presuming on the spot that I was a doctor, “I’m astonished at your work. Where did you go to school?” I looked back at her, smiling and indicating that I was by no means a doctor, but rather simply someone who cared about his fellow Jew. “Mirrer Yeshiva,” I replied. “It’s a Rabbinical college.”
Today, Cornell University’s psych ward for sexual abuse includes a memorandum from a man named Dr. Wallerstein on how to treat children who, after sexual abuse, no longer want to engage in any physical relationship.
For this boy and his family, Hashem granted wondrous siyata Dishmaya (Divine assistance) to help him recover. It was not about me. It was about this boy’s life and Hashem, and I was simply the mouthpiece to let him know what he needed to hear. What all of us can do right here and right now is pray that the same assistance extend to all those suffering too. May they find recovery, life and connection to Hashem, to their families and spouses and ultimately, to themselves.
A Short Message From
Dr. Dovid Lieberman
Let me share with you a simple formula that will help put a very fundamental idea into perspective. Here is how it works: Something happens – you take it personally – you get upset.
However, if something happens – and you don’t take it personally – then you don’t get upset. The difference between these exists in the realm of how we react to our experiences.
What typically determines that is our balance of self-esteem vs. ego. The two of them interrelate on a see-saw pendulum. When our self-esteem is low, our ego inflates. When our self-esteem is healthy, our ego deflates. The ego only exists to compensate for feelings of inferiority and weakness. It is a false self, a created illusion of how we want the world to desperately see us. Our true self, though, is measured by our inner worth and the esteem to which we hold ourselves. Therefore, the key to recalibrating ourselves is by inducing more self-worth into our lives. By feeling better about ourselves, we make better, smarter and more responsible choices, and take life’s challenges in stride, thereby decreasing the frequency and intensity of getting upset. In short, then, when we increase our self-esteem, we are more formidable in dealing with hardship and personal hindrances, and experience a happier and less upsetting life.
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