A proud Jew, in recovery

On June 10, I proudly celebrated 10 years of sobriety.

Today, making the decision to ask for help feels like the easiest and best decision I have made in my life. But, if I’m being transparent, it was simply the day I finally pushed “send” on my phone. I had no money, and I was on the verge of enduring another withdrawal from opioids. For days, I had typed and deleted the same text message to my sister. On that day, however, I had enough. “I am either going to lose everything I have, or something worse,” I wrote. That was my cry for help.

I felt a huge sense of relief the moment I exposed my struggle and put it out into the world; I was no longer alone. My family and friends were incredibly supportive, and they encouraged my recovery journey from day one.

Unfortunately, that sense of relief waned, replaced by feelings of shame and fear. My mind raced: Am I going to be called ‘the Geller boy with addiction issues’? Have I embarrassed my family name? Would my community abandon me?

At the time-a decade ago-there were very few resources that I knew of in the Jewish community; I took many wrong turns in trying to find the care I needed. While I found inclusion and support at Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings held in churches, I resented the scarcity of such meetings in Jewish spaces.

At the time-a decade ago-there were very few resources in this field in the Jewish community; I took many wrong turns in trying to find the care I needed. While I found inclusion and support at Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings held in churches, I resented the lack of such meetings in Jewish spaces.

I yearned for my Jewish community to be proud of my determination to battle my addiction. This experience threw my identity into crisis. I was proudly Jewish, and I was in recovery-but I wasn’t a proud Jew in recovery.

Early in my journey, I was asked to tell my story on a podcast for a Jewish organization. I told my story with pride, holding nothing back. Asked for my message to the community, I said: “Please, wrap your arms around those in need, and tell them you love them.”

The response was positive, but also telling. The number of people who praised my bravery surprised and disappointed me. What they saw as brave, I saw as normal. Still, the comments inspired me to be a catalyst for change in the Jewish community. I once heard someone say, “The moment we have proximity, the less scary things become.” I decided to be that proximity, a visible member of the Jewish community who is proud of their recovery and willing to share their story.

I am grateful that as time has passed, the Jewish community has shown tremendous growth in acknowledging the need for substance-use treatment and support within our own community.

Today, I have the honor of paying it forward by working at the only Jewish accredited substance-use treatment facility in Illinois. I also have the honor of working with Dr. Robert Jury at the Tikvah Center for Jewish Recovery & Healing; he is the visionary who identified the need to integrate Jewish spiritual practices into treatment for substance-use disorders.

Through the hard work and dedication of Dr. Jury and licensed clinical social worker Victoria Aron, the Tikvah Center improves the lives of those struggling with addiction within the Jewish community. Thanks to The Tikvah Center, I now live in a reality I never could have imagined, where I can let go of resentment and proclaim, finally, that I am a proud Jew in long-term recovery.

September is National Recovery Month, celebrating the successes of those in recovery, raising awareness about the importance of treatment and recovery support services, and reducing the stigma associated with these conditions. But there is no wrong time to wrap your arms around those in need, and tell them you love them.

Jeremy Geller is a Certified Alcohol and Drug Counselor at the Tikvah Center for Jewish Recovery & Healing. He also serves as the Head Junior Varsity Boys Basketball Coach at Ida Crown Jewish Academy.