A story is a great place to begin to understand the concept of healing. This one, quite familiar to us all, opens when our fore mother, Eve, encounters the serpent in the Garden of Eden who convinces her that she will not die--the sentence for eating of the fruit of the forbidden Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. She saw that the tree was good for eating, so both husband and wife ate  (Gen. 3:6). The opening lines of Chapter 3 relate that the two of them were naked, yet they felt no shame. As a result of the first sin of mankind, the Torah continues, "Then the eyes of both of them were opened and they perceived that they were naked." This brief account is our clue that the Tree supplied a unique source of wisdom, the knowledge of good and evil, or in one word: duality—the hypothesis that all reality contains opposing qualities. They, then, knew the distinctions between mind and matter and between right and wrong. The expulsion from the Garden represents our loss of original wholeness and unity. Today we evaluate our world of experience in dualistic terms: pleasure and pain, hot and cold, light and dark.

The highly imaginative, 16th century Kabbalist, Isaac Luria, better known as the Ari (lion in Hebrew), told a similar story at another time. He told it in very different setting. The Arizal (a pseudonym for Rabbi Luria) speculated that creation began with the Tsimtsum, or contraction, the polar opposite of the big bang. His theory postulated that at one point in primordial time, God contracted Himself to make space for creation to unfold; from this vacant ether the acclaimed Ten Sephirot emerged. In this abbreviated version of the Ari's myth--I use the word not as a fabrication, but as a way convey truth in an imaginative sense--he expands the narrative to justify the two remaining stages (the shattering and the repair). The Shattering of the Vessels explains allegorically how our cherished beliefs can crumble from traumatic experiences, and the doctrine concludes with what's commonly known as Tikkun Olam, the repair of the universe. From this version of the creation story we detect our first hint at a framework for healing--the necessity of the repair.

The Healing Power
In life itself, we see another three-fold process at work again. Infancy and early childhood mirror that primordial period of peace and perfection carefully detailed in the Garden of Eden narrative. Growing up then takes on roller coaster twists and turns, leaving the innocent child separated from its original unity to face his/her dual nature, alone in exile. These separations reflect, the shattering that ultimately demands repair.  By secular standards, psychotherapy and medical intervention are the choice; but by Jewish values, it's spirituality.

The exile demands a return to perfection, to original harmony, a journey designed mainly for serious seekers. Jewish healing is the itinerary for the return trip. I gave a talk recently at a Jewish businessmen's breakfast meeting where I explained some of the connections between Kabbalah and healing. A question arose from a stylish, well coifed woman, "why would someone embark on the process you're describing?" I surmised she was alluding to herself. "Some people", I answered, "become sick and tired of feeling miserable much of the time, like myself for example, and one day announce with serious intention, 'that's enough', and set out to change matters by themselves. They become much better people for it. There are many who simply deny anything is wrong and others who go on to their dying day, carrying baggage loaded with unresolved issues." I'm not sure if that satisfied her concern.

From the Kabbalah, the heart of Jewish spirituality, we can observe how the diagram of the Ten Sephirot forms into three spiritual levels that correspond to the mind, the emotions and the physical body. Various combinations of this spiritual energy are represented in every event in the universe-- physical matter, actions and experiences. The diagram also illustrates the smooth and steady patterns of energetic flow throughout the universe, which is reflected in the physical body. When the flow is disrupted by traumatic events, certain regions of the body tense and blocks the current. These blockages are the precursors of illness. Jewish healing attempts to liberate these barriers and restore health again. The work in healing the mind or the body is to identify the obstructed energies within our own lives, and release them.  As we enter the domain of how we lost our equilibrium, we better understand what needs repair.

From the legends in the Garden, the healing journey continues with the Torah's pivotal accounts of the Exodus from Egypt and the forty year sojourn in the wilderness. Within the poetry of these narratives lie the seeds that release the blocks. Ultimately, through the continual immersion in Jewish practices with emphasis on its spiritual aspects, we discover that healing and spirituality are identical. Judaism has perpetually stored, for thousands of years, the groundwork for healing in its tradition.

What Did I Do Wrong Again?
Not too long ago, I was instructed to fill out the usual new patient questionnaire handed to me by an apathetic medical receptionist as I entered a doctor's office for an initial visit. The blank form asked the repeated routine questions we all know so well--name and address, date of birth, medical history, medication allergies and so on-- but just then an unfamiliar question caught my eye. "Are your parents living?" to which I replied, "no", and then it asked for the cause of death and I wrote, "me". I remembered my mother's words, "you'll be the death of me yet". The detached receptionist never batted an eye as I returned the form with a mischievous smile; the doctor, however, got a chuckle out of it. I used to think this anecdote was funny; I'm not so sure any more.

I must have been pretty rotten to deserve such remarks, even though I have no recollection of what I ever did wrong. Now almost sixty years later, I'm still feeling the fallout of misdeeds I can't remember. I think we're all guilty of wrong doings from time to time, totally unaware at the moment of transgression. At Yom Kippur, we devote an entire day imploring God for forgiveness of the wrongs we committed unwittingly. We call those errors of choice, sins. What exactly are sins? To probe that question is to enter into the causes of evil in a world created by a God whose intent is to bestow only good. Some sins are obvious--killing, stealing, cheating--but others hover on the brink of uncertainty, like under what conditions, if any, can you lie to avoid hurting someone's feelings. Interestingly, the Hebrew word for sin originates from an ancient root meaning, "to miss the mark", a result of taking aim. There's of lot a gray matter between right and wrong and that's why we're often motivated to miss the mark. I don't think we're born with such inclinations; I think we learn them. We learn by repressing experiences too painful to remember; maybe that's why I can't recall the reprimands of my naughty childhood behavior. 

Repression is a handy mental device that enables us to push those painful emotions out of sight, while we go about our daily routines without a hint of discomfort. Unfortunately while we can temporarily brush off the feelings, they never really go away  Instead they hang around the subconscious until someone or something presses a hot button that rouses them to fury once again. Sin occurs when we "act out" the emotional discomfort; a sin is a wrongful action, not an inflamed thought or feeling. Sin has multiple detrimental effects. It takes its toll on society at large. Stay abreast of the news media and glimpse the horror stories triggered by sin. But equally important are the effects sin has on us. Prompted by emotional upset, sin is a major cause of stress, the very force that lies at the root of our physical disorders.

A Stirring of Healing
T'shuvah (repentance) is the beginning of Jewish healing.  It is not the naive promise that we learned in Hebrew schools, to refrain from repeating transgressions that are contrary to reason; most sins committed by honest folk are generated by unconscious desires.  Technically, t'shuvah is the return to God's laws, walking in His way, but real t'shuvah is the art of shifting focus from our chaotic, frantic, mishugah (crazy) everyday world to our inner existence where thoughts and feelings reign. In that realm we become acquainted with the subtle energies that constitute our emotional world. 
Self-discovery is the foremost objective of t'shuvah, turning inward. You ultimately conclude that you--the real you—constitutes not only the physical, but also the emotional, the mental and the spiritual dimensions, as well. This knowledge helps us take responsibility for our feelings. We can then abstain from the futile act of blaming others we believe caused our unhappiness. Self-knowledge teaches that our feelings are an unalterable part of ourselves. They are buried in our suppressed subconscious, yet we can uncover them and work with them to resolve what challenges us.

Take a few minutes from your frenzied day, quiet down, turn inward, and pay some attention to your body's sensations. If you wind down enough you can discover all sorts of physical perceptions-- a leg that aches, a nose that itches, buzzing and tension throughout your body. This little retreat is an invaluable reintroduction to your forgotten self. The work continues by exploring your thoughts and beliefs with tools like journaling, chronicling daily events with their associated feelings, or talking them through with a friend whom you can trust. What you ultimately seek, by exploring your present state, is to befriend those agitated feelings that cause negative behaviors--invite them in and offer them a cup of coffee. Quite often the mere discovery of what we really feel is enough to make a positive impact on our behavior. 

What’s It All About
A crisp early autumn wind whispered through partly opened windows, one Shabbat many years ago. The stately rabbi selected a topic appropriate to the forthcoming harvest festival of Succot, the Mitzvah of the Succah. He narrowed his discussion down to  the laws of the schkoch, the leafy boughs that roofed the ancient harvesting hut. “How boring” I thought to myself, as he elaborated the details of the materials that were permissible for the frail shelter. The question of how many stars must be seen through spaces of the covering began to tire me. The other faces seemed intent on absorbing this apparently useless information. I stared into space waiting patiently for his closing remarks, rather then appearing rude and just walking out. That Shabbat got me to wonder—how do Mitzvot actually function in our lives.

In all these years I discovered all sorts of positive values for the performance of Mitzvot, but I think one, in particular, sheds light on the subject of Jewish healing. My Hebrew school lessons taught that by obediently observing these mandates, we carry out God’s will. What we’re not taught, and I can never understand why, is that by obeying the rules according to His will, we train ourselves to make peerless choices in all avenues of life. Suppose you were one of two people marooned on a desert island—a typical dilemma presented to most philosophy students-- with only enough drinking water to last the day. Do you share it with your partner? Do you keep it all for yourself knowing that only one of you can survive with such little water? There are many possible outcomes, but only one ideal choice. How about something a bit more mundane?  A relative repeatedly passes snide and hurtful remarks about the untidiness of your home. What could you say to her without upsetting a significant family relationship? Should you call Dr. Laura or search deeper in your own heart for a choice to avert inflamed feelings?  Students of oral Torah (Talmud), backed by years of dedicated study to classical hairsplitting arguments, would at least have the proper tools to assure an optimal solution. What analytic methods do we have in the secular world?

There are day-to-day personal choices to be made and each decision generates responses that may generate pleasure or pain; within our daily decisions lie the connection between Torah and our emotions.  Our underlying nature seeks to avoid the pain and cling to the pleasure. When we camouflage emotional discomfort, we reject a vital part of ourselves. The subconscious, the repository of unwanted feelings, is analogous to a steam boiler. Once the pressure builds to a critical point, it must be released.  Excessive repression shows up in the nastiest forms—addictions to drugs, alcohol, food, work, gambling, relationships, and the list goes on and on—all to prevent the feelings from arising. What’s more is that we nourish these hidden feelings and project them on to unsuspecting others, erroneously believing that everyone shares the same beliefs and values. Disease is the long-term devastation caused by such behavior. The stories of Genesis conclude with Jacob and his sons’ descent to the land of Egypt to reunite with Joseph. On one level they serve to illustrate our harmful behaviors. The exile in Egypt that lasted four hundred years is metaphoric of how we repress our unwanted feelings. As the Israelites set out from Canaan, the biblical source of spiritual sustenance, to reunite with Joseph in Egypt, we also follow a similar pattern and withdraw from our connection to spirit by hiding our deepest emotions from ourselves.
 

The Sea That Parts
What’s the solution? Certainly not the extensive use of anti-depressants or other mood-altering substances that further intensify the problems by quelling the feelings. The Torah describes the anxiety-provoking scene at the shores of the Sea of Reeds as Pharaoh’s chariots descended upon the Children of Israel.  Moses stood fast and directly faced the impending assault, raised his staff and awaited God’s intervention. That, in modern day terminology, is called acceptance or surrender. Acceptance is not heroic stoicism that prompts us to bear down and bravely face the outcome, nor is it a mental exercise that denies the existence of emotional discomfort.
Acceptance is the on-going practice of baring your distressed feelings before God. It is directly facing those feelings with all their fury, as Moses did just before the sea parted. One such practice consists of finding a quiet place where you can be alone (it may require that you restrain your emotions for a short while) allowing yourself to simply focus your attention on the feelings. Healing is invoked by peeling away the layers of thought and feelings that block our vision to the spiritual dimension, the source of healing. Feelings are not in your mind; they’re sensations in your body—we might sense them in the pit of the stomach, the heart center and the throat—and it’s important to recognize them. Healing takes place in the presence of a healing environment (like cleansing a wound that heals itself) which is created through the practice of meditation, guided imagery and visualization. With enough practice you’ll find yourself desensitized from the feeling, the thoughts will no longer pose a threat, and the sea will part for you.