Save a life, save the world

It’s time to cry — and act — together.

It was a rainy New York City evening. We were crowded around two tables in a café, sharing desserts and stories. At some point, I suggested we play “truth or truth,” a version of the classic game without the dares — just questions and honesty. Everyone laughed and agreed.

Then someone asked, “If you could go back to one moment in your life, what would it be and what would you do differently?”

One friend looked down, sadness and shame shadowing their face. “I would never have touched hard drugs,” they said quietly. The table fell silent. We all knew their story, the pain, the long road of struggle with addiction. We just nodded, picking at our desserts.

That moment has stayed with me — it was a reminder that no one chooses addiction. No one looks at a newborn and hopes they’ll someday suffer like that. I’ve never met anyone who proudly says, “I’ve reached my dream — I’m addicted to opioids.”

Addiction is a disease, like cancer. No one wants to get cancer. No one chooses to experience substance addiction. But those who do often find the strength to fight for recovery. And even in recovery, some lose their lives. When someone dies from cancer, they are mourned with compassion and support. But when someone dies from addiction, families are too often met with silence — or worse, judgment.

People whisper, “If only they’d gotten help sooner.” Families wonder if they could have done more. Some hide the cause of death altogether, shrouded in shame.

It shouldn’t be this way.

Addiction is not a moral failure. It’s a disease. The people who struggle with it are still people — loved ones, parents, siblings, friends. And those grieving their loss deserve the same compassion as anyone else. No one should carry stigma on top of sorrow. We must speak honestly, so healing becomes possible — not just for individuals, but for whole communities.

This is why I became a rabbi. I was tired of watching the Jewish community act as though we were untouched by the opioid crisis. We are not. We have lost people. We’ve sat shiva, attended rehab, cried in isolation. It’s time to cry — and act — together.

I remember growing up in a community where even the word cancer was whispered in fear. We didn’t talk about it openly. But that changed. Today, the Jewish community leads cancer awareness efforts.

We fundraise, support families, create meal trains. Rabbis will say a misheberach, the prayer for healing, and publicly name those in treatment and the congregation says “Amen.” We have come a long way.

We can do the same for addiction.

We can talk about it. We can pray for those in recovery. We can hold their families close. We can train in overdose prevention and keep Narcan in our buildings. We can build a world where someone can say, “My child is in rehab” and be met with love, not judgment.

I dream of the day when a rabbi can stand on the bimah and say, “We’re making a misheberach for so-and-so, who just checked into treatment. May they find healing, and may our community surround them with care.” And the congregation will say, “Amen.”

That day is coming — if we work for it.

As the Mishna teaches, “Whoever saves one life, it’s as if they have saved the entire world” (Sanhedrin 4:5). Together, we can save lives. Let’s show up — for each other, for our community, and for those still fighting to recover. PJC

Rabbi Hindy Finman is the senior director of Jewish life and director of the Center for Loving Kindness at the JCC. For information about a free opioid awareness workshop, contact her at hfinman@jccpgh.org.