The Silent Demon: OCD and Orthodoxy

We walk among you. Most of us are normal people, many are quite intelligent. You may know us as very hard workers. Perhaps you think that we are "perfectionists" when it comes to cleaning or doing work, or that we worry excessively over what appear to be insignificant issues. What binds us all is an overwhelming, often emotionally paralyzing fear of having done something wrong by omission or commission (leaving a place dirty, not knowing whether we locked the house) as well as a ritualistic need to repeat actions over and over again until we're "sure" the problem has gone away. But the fear and the need always come back, often the second we finish our ritual.

What we all share is a biological-psychological disorder known as obsessive-compulsive disorder or OCD. I'm sure you've heard of this illness in the past. You may have thought it a funny or strange quirk, one of those quaint neuroses we suffer from in the modern world. Nothing could be further from the truth. OCD is hell repeating itself over and over again on a daily, nay hourly, nay sometimes even minute-to-minute basis. Whatever our "quirk" is, it paralyzes us, takes up an increasing amount of our time, and if not checked, can consume our entire life. What's worse is that many of us are ashamed of it or don't even realize that we have a sickness, since we mistake our problem (cleanliness, order) for the cause of our anxiety rather than just the disease's "excuse" for torturing us. We're very good at hiding it too, making a compulsion seem just like slightly excessive diligence.

All of which brings me to the issue of the relationship between OCD and the 'humra' mentality of many yeshivot and Orthodox communities. What I say here is based primarily on my own experience and knowledge, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were true elsewhere.

Imagine the following scenario: A new yeshiva student comes at Zman Elul and is immediately immersed in rabbinic speeches about the need to do teshuva, to change. His natural zeal to change now becomes an overwhelming fear when he realizes just how many things he's doing wrong, certainly by the ridiculously high standards he set himself and which are encouraged in the strict yeshiva world. All of a sudden he doubts himself with every action he takes - always not sure whether he said the right words at davening, always thinking that he did a sin with every move he made, or that he wasn't makpid enough or mahmir enough. Every clearly minority opinion in halakha in the mahmir direction forces him to go even further, shema that opinion is right. Eventually he simply breaks down in davening after imagining himself committing the worst sin he could think of at the time. Or perhaps, instead of just thinking and worrying excessively, he moves to compulsive activities, such as repeated fasts, mikve bathing or tefilot and acts of crying and self-flagellation.

I myself was fortunate to have a RM who was aware of dangers such as these, and helped to calm me down and take things slowly. Whenever I had a ridiculous question on halakha, he knew to answer me patiently and allay my fears. Eventually I learned of my condition and have adapted myself accordingly. I deliberately avoid the study of halakhas that would encourage crazy thoughts (such as hilkhot hanhagat haboker, nedarim etc), at least not without the oversight of someone knowledgeable enough to put things in perspective for me. Thanks to a lot of hard work, I have started to actually enjoy mitzvot and mo'adim, instead of spending every waking second thinking about what I might have done wrong.

I highly doubt there is such awareness of this problem in many of the orthodox communities and yeshivot, especially, but not exclusively, the more "right-wing" ones, where religious stringency is the norm. I have no doubt that Hanokh Daum's book on the subject, regardless of his motivations, contains a great deal more than a grain of truth when it comes to the sufferings of OCD Orthodox Jews in the "total" atmosphere that is yeshivah. For us, religion becomes a hell of emotional torture, instead of the multifaceted experience, which should include happiness and contentment alongside periods of fasting and sorrow, which I believe Judaism to be.

We walk among you. We could be your fellow hevruta or student, a neighbour or a relative. For years we have suffered terribly without you noticing. Now it is time that you look for, and listen to, our desperate cry for help.