Jews Don’t Drink – Do They?

© Sonia Douek

Why did I choose this title – I don’t know but, since I did, I’d like to throw some statements into the air and see what you think of them – is this your perception, if so why, if not, why not?  What do these statements tell us about society? What do they tell us about the Jewish community?  The statements: Jews don’t drink.  Jewish families are close knit – they look after their own.  All Jews are good with money!

What happens when a community group believes the stereotypes and suggested norms that have formed around them?  How does that community respond, and how do services open to other community groups react?  What is the effect on families, and in a wider scope what is the effect on the community group?

How many people here today think these statements are true, or at least partially true?  Where do you get your assumptions and attitudes towards Jewish or indeed other ethnic groups?

In reality, often many of these assumptions emanate from the community itself, or from the media and historical assumptions about a group that have forced them to take on the characteristics that others perceive about us.

Why, for example, do we believe that Jewish families are close knit?  We only have to look at the way that Jewish people have traditionally lived within communities to see where this comes from.

The Jewish concept of tzedakah (charity) is based on the notion that to help another must not cause them embarrassment – it should be a step up that will enable that person to either one day repay their benefactor, or help another person to move forward with their lives.

From the ghettoes of Europe and the shtetls of Russia and Eastern Europe, to the setting up of new communities after the second world war in cities such as London, Manchester and New York, families, and their extended families, arrived in countries such as England and America.  The extended family included the concept of lanzmen, local neighbours who all came from the same town and were regarded as extended families.  Those who arrived first helped each other to set up new communities, schools and employment for each other.

But this closeness of community also creates a certain responsibility towards others that for many in today’s society can be stifling.  For the younger generation, who do not have that history within their own personal memory, and who live in a more secular world, the responsibility towards ‘their own’ may not seem as important as, for example, their responsibility towards the planet, or indeed in the post-Thatcher era, to themselves.

And for an immigrant community, these second and third generations do indeed have different and at times dissonant values.  For people within a community such as ours, who shlepp nachos, take pride in the achievements of members of the community, there can also be a sense of shame when people are perceived to ‘fail’ in some way, and for those close to that person the shame can be unimaginably painful.

If we look at the wider world, we know that religious groups have polarised within themselves – those with extreme views on religion becoming more disassociated from those with less religious and more secular views.  This has often meant that those with more secular views have become distanced from their heritage and community and by some are perceived to have turned their back on their community and, when problems arise, are seen to be the victim of their own doing.

But how accurate is this?  We know, for example, that within the ultra Orthodox community there are many young Jews who misuse cannabis, many adults with gambling and, indeed, sexual addictions, and for some the twice yearly obligation to drink to excess leads to a life of alcohol misuse.

At the other end of the religious spectrum there are those who have taken on the mantle of the wider society and emulate their peers and their behaviours in all aspects from student life with its binge drinking culture, or those who have made success in the City but also succumbed to the usage, and indeed the mis-usage of alcohol, cocaine and heroin..  But in the tradition of helping one’s own there are different groups that have responded to these needs and have created crisis and help-lines, advice on sexual health and HIV, and through our own service at Jewish Care that supports Jews across the spectrum affected by mental illness, addiction, and disabilities.

So, what has this taught us?  Firstly – Jew’s don’t drink – what does this mean to the Jewish person who does indeed drink to excess?  It means that people don’t believe it – they question how this could happen, what sort of a Jew are they that they drink.  Drinking is for the Sabbath, a glass of sweet sacramental wine as part of a ritual.  The idea of substance use, let alone misuse, is out of the psyche of many within the community, which makes it difficult for us to seek help from those nearest to us.

What happens when you grow up in a close knit community – it is like living in a small village – indeed when we transferred from the ghettoes to the big cities, we have taken this village ethos with us.  There is always someone to pick up your kids from school, someone who will volunteer to be a parent helper in Sunday school classes, or cover a security rota.  And as our children grow up and we, as parents or grandparents age, we all know each other’s business and take pride in the successes of those we call our friends – but what about those who are not successful, those who cannot cope with school work or business life – how do we react to them, or indeed how do they share these difficulties?

From my own experience, the majority of the community like to pretend it is not happening – they want to hear the good news and this makes it harder and harder for the addict or their family to really share what they are going through.  How do they tell their friends that their child stays in bed all day smoking dope, or that their mother drinks all the time, leaving the children to do their washing, cooking and schoolwork so that the rest of the world doesn’t notice that something is wrong.  What do they tell their friends when their husband is admitted to the Priory for four weeks – normally that he is suffering from depression or stress from over work.

When I was a teenager, Jewish youths went to coffee bars and ate cake, or so we believed – so where did all these fourty somethings come from with their addiction to alcohol, or other substances?  Is this purely assimilation?  I would contend that this has been hidden within the community from time immemorial but we are only just seeing the heads raised above the parapet.  This contention is not just a thought, but is based on my own experiences growing up the daughter of a gambler, whose behaviour split the family to two sides of the globe – he with his parents in Australia, my mother, brother and I with our extended family in NW London.  And later meeting my husband, the son of a gambler.  Having friends who have now talked about either their own or a family member’s addiction – this list can go on and on.

So, if, as a community, we are honest, this has always been there but we have turned a blind eye to it – in fact, over the past 20 years we have even in some ways capitalised on it.  The 13 year old boys who secrete glasses of alcohol at Bar Mitzvah parties, the growing youth groups that sell their events by the promise of alcohol at certain festival or fundraising events, the replacement of the sacramental wine after synagogue on the Sabbath with vodka or whiskey clubs, and the Friday night dinners for ‘young professionals’ that promise as much vodka as you can drink in exchange for the chance to meet like minded Jews, and possibly a future mate within the fold.

Our desperation to keep our diminishing younger generation connected has been fuelled by the assumption that if the outside world is so attractive with its drinking culture, and more recently its poker nights, then we need to internalise this to preserve our future – after all, not all addictive substances or behaviours are illegal.

And for some it works, the attraction means that being Jewish is cool and fun, and for most it is just that, but we all know that for a small minority this will lead on a journey that will be fraught with havoc and destruction, not just to the individual but to their friends and family.  And for a small community group, the effect will ripple out and touch a large percentage of that community group.

Put in context, the Jewish community in the UK is only around 320,000 – even if the averages are lower for addiction within this particular community, the likelihood is that given its closeness everyone will know someone affected by the issues of addiction, even if they are not aware of it.

And by keeping this secret and not being aware of it, we can often make things worse by our inadvertent questions that we feel are merely showing interest but to the family with so many secrets means they will withdraw from their community at a time when that support could really pull them through.

Ten years ago this week, I came to Jewish Care to set up a support service for carers – which, given the nature of the community, now helps, on average, some 600 family members each year that cares for another family member.  At the time, the identified client group for the service were those who cared for an elderly relative who had either physical or mental frailty, a younger person with a physical illness, or a relatively small number of families caring for someone with a mental illness such as clinical depression, bipolar disorder or schizophrenia.

I came to the organisation with a special interest in civil liberties, a background that included counselling, most specifically for addictions, and the personal knowledge of the effects that caring has on a family.  My mother was the youngest of 9, and I proudly told carers that she had cared for her own mother and all of her nine siblings as either age or illness took over their lives. But I did not share the other journey I had travelled because at the time it had no relevance to my work, and which from my then own knowledge of the community I perceived as pretty rare and would have no relevance to the work I had undertaken.

As the service grew the organisation became expert in understanding the needs of carers, and developed support and advocacy that enabled their voices to be heard. We sought out carers in the community and educated them about their rights for assessment and services, as well as shared knowledge with them about the illnesses of those they cared for.  When the National Strategy for carers was developed and launched in 1998 we joined the voices that pointed out that carers of people with a mental health issue had been excluded – and we saw this omission overturned to the extent that these carers often have more rights today than others in their situation.

By 2002 a new phenomenon was emerging – safe in the knowledge that our service was confidential and non-judgemental a few families came to us, seeking support for themselves, and services for a family member who displayed addictive behaviour.  In July of that year our specialist service for carers of this client group was launched with some very definite parameters.

• We would treat these carers the same as all others – support, assessment and information would be the key components.
• We would ensure that these carers, like carers of mental health issues, would be aware that they are not alone.
• We would research the extent of the issue within the community, and educate that community about the effect of addiction, and the services that are out there to help the person they care for.
• We would aim to break down the barriers of shame and stigma within the community so that people were not isolated but supported by that community.

For those familiar with current models of care, this will be familiar as the way in which the NTA and others are now recommending that services for carers affected by addiction should be run – but it has taken years to get there.  Prior to this the favoured route was systemic family therapy which I am not knocking but which must take account of the particular systems that exist and preserve community identity – it is not for us to force our system values on others – this only leads people to feel unsafe, insecure and withdraw from seeking help even more.

During the past 5 years, we have learnt some interesting lessons.  Firstly, the shame and stigma were so embedded in our community that most carers are uncomfortable to share their experiences in an open forum. The community, especially in some localities, are so close knit, that the fear of being seen by someone they know, even if they are in the same situation, may prevent people attending support groups.  By working slowly with individuals at their own pace, they become more confident to share their experiences with others.  However, for our community group, and I suspect others too, when people do become ready to join a support group, they feel more comfortable among their own – there is much that is tacit within a community group, that does not need to be explained.

In fact, I have witnessed this with many recovering addicts I have met within the community – the need to connect with their own people and the feeling that they have achieved giving something back to that community when they share their stories, experiences and expertise.

Alongside information, the need to create clear boundaries has been a hard concept for many family members.  The concept of caring for our own is really ingrained – what will people say if I don’t help my son pay his debts; what will people say when they find that my daughter has been arrested for soliciting; how will the community react to me and my family when they hear my husband has been imprisoned?

I know that for many families, Jewish or not, these are the same questions, but at the back of their minds is always the effect on their status within their community, and how the behaviour of a family member will reflect on them.  Having worked for some time within refugee communities, I know that this will be, and is the same for all close-knit community groups.

Many of the addictions families have faced have been the same as those reflected in the wider society – the growing issues around cannabis, and psychosis that can surround this, alcohol misuse, not just amongst the young, but increasingly in the 30-50 age range – but within our community one addiction seems to have emerged with worrying speed – gambling.

Through our work, and the work of other groups, the question is now being asked not around Jews and drink but as to whether gambling is the Jewish addiction.  Think back to your own assumptions about Jews and money, think to how I described the need for academic and business success to be someone that the community can be proud of, and it is not hard to see why for some, the lure of the quick fix can lead them into an addiction that many have seen as the silent one.

And for me this is the one that is the most personal.  Even while I began to support family members affected by someone’s substance misuse, I made a connection with my own past.  The issues these families faced was no different to those that my mother, brother and I endured during my childhood.  The feelings of being let down when we waited for him to join us but the lure of the tables or the bookie were too strong.  The shame of growing up in a community where everyone lived in ‘normal’ families, only separated, or so I thought then, by death not divorce. It took a long time to realise the braveness of my mother to separate from this destructive behaviour, and put herself and, more importantly, her children as a priority rather than be worried what the community might think of her.  And it is clear that then, as now, the community whilst maybe admiring from a distance, did not support this brave lady, but sidelined her into a certain role, albeit a lonely one.

Has this changed in the past 40 years – are families any better supported. I would like to think that the service we have created has enabled many barriers to be broken down, and that families, at least, within the Jewish community, are getting a better deal than many others outside of it.  I feel passionately that the lessons we have learned about how to provide a service to families affected by addiction should be shared with others, and indeed the work of Adfam and the NTA has given us the opportunity to do this as we see the growth of services and support to families across the UK and the recognition that these families deserve.

For me personally it has taught me that my childhood was not as rare as I thought it was and that, increasingly, the secrets and shame that surrounded me is growing within my own, and other communities.  It has also taught me that I was fortunate – fortunate to grow up in a loving family that took me on a journey that has enabled me to be the person I am today, with my own values and ability to share that journey in a way that hopefully will help others.

Questions to consider:

Are these issues particular to particular community groups?

How can we help community groups to support each other and feel comfortable with the issues of addiction?

How can we help agencies providing treatment to understand more fully the issues community groups face?

How can we ensure that, for example, systemic family therapy takes account of the systems that exist to preserve the identity of communities?