Chapter Five: On Being Broken
Chapter Five: On Being Broken
‘Crazy isn’t being broken, or swallowing a dark secret; it’s you or me, amplified.’ -Girl, Interrupted
It was going to be a long day.
Group that morning was quiet. Everyone sat there in the circle fidgeting, not looking at each other, a few even falling asleep. There was no discussion, no arguments or lectures - everyone was too exhausted. They passed a half hour that way, a few idle comments here and there, but mostly peaceful silence. They spoke only simple sentences that required no answers, or very few, which was all anyone could handle.
“I-” Ezra’s voice sounded harsh and grating in the silence. “I always thought…” he paused, wringing his hands in his lap as he spoke, then lowering his head with the last words. “I always thought religious people were…immune to these problems.”
More silence, and more fidgeting. No one wanted to touch it, because it was what they were all thinking. Even Peter.
“It can happen to anyone,” Sophie said, her voice like a balm healing over the jagged edges Ezra’s voice had left on the perfect silence. She too was silent after that, the admittance of human flaws difficult on everyone.
“I used to think,” Daisy began, “that as long as there were people like him out there…who believed in something more,” she sighed, “that we…humans, we’d be okay.” Everyone was shocked - she so rarely spoke in group.
“You don’t think that anymore?” Peter asked. His voice was raspy, as if he either hadn’t used it in a long time, or had used it too much. Also, he looked like crap - even the students felt sorry for him. Daisy shrugged, shaking her head.
“They’re just as flawed and weak as we are,” she concluded.
“Being flawed doesn’t make you weak, Daisy,” Sophie corrected. “Everyone has flaws - that’s what makes us human.” That was apparently too much to think about, as the room lapsed into silence for another while.
“I watched him,” Scott’s voice broke. His voice was so soft that, if they hadn’t been in complete silence, no one would have heard him. He was still in a terrible state after the night before, and had been restlessly tapping his foot the whole time. “I watched him,” he repeated, “and I saw myself.”
The group didn’t have much more to say; they all had too much to think about.
The rest of the day was just as quiet. Homework and assignments were completed without complaint, and the light hearted chattering that was the usual background noise in the main lodge was silenced. The last time such a sombre mood had descended upon the school, a kid had died.
Lunch was difficult. It was Shabbos for Eli-Sheva and Rabbi Kirsh, and so all the food had been prepared the day before. There was a buffet of several different salads and sandwiches, and a hot and satisfying stew called ‘cholent’.
Eli joined the Cliffhanger Table (as the group seemed to be sitting together a lot these days), as did the Rabbi. He sat at the head of the table, and the students watched with mild curiosity as he revealed two loves of braided bread on a special cutting board from underneath a decorated cloth. After murmuring a short prayer, he cut the loaves and passed them around the table, and the meal began. Eli, sitting next to Sophie, accepted her piece of bread, but then sat with it in her hands staring numbly at it. Sophie noticed, placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly. Eli stared at the bread a minute longer, before popping it into her mouth. She nodded hesitantly.
“It’s just…” she started, finding it difficult to articulate herself. “Today is Shabbos,” she said, as if that explained everything. Sophie waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.
“I don’t understand,” she prodded gently. Eli looked up at her, her eyes betraying the worry and sadness just below the surface and, Sophie suspected, something else that went much deeper.
“Shabbos is a day of simcha,” she said, “of joy. Today…” she shook her head and lowered it. “Today there is no simcha.” Sophie carefully slid her arm across the other woman’s shoulders. Eli leaned slightly into her, and before she knew it was wrapped in the Counsellor’s warm embrace, crying softly on her shoulder. Sophie knew there was more to this than Eli had told her, but would let her do the talking when she was ready. Still, she made a mental note to talk to Peter about it later.
Lunch progressed with an eerie silence at the Cliffhangers’ table, even though the rest of the room was as noisy as ever; it was as if the din of the other students wasn’t enough to penetrate the aura of sadness surrounding them. Everyone ate in silence, and near the end of the meal, Peter began putting together plates of food.
“What’s that for?” asked Shelby. He didn’t look up as he continued his task. It felt good to have something to do.
“These are for Chaim and Dr. Burke,” he said. Everyone looked at him when he spoke, and then went back to finishing their meal. He looked up at the clock on the wall, then forced a hint of levity into his voice.
“Hurry up, guys,” he said to the room, which quieted for him. “Lunch is over in twenty.” He piled the plates on a tray and got up, and many of the students whispered to each other about the note of worry they heard in his voice as he passed.
Peter knocked softly on the door before entering, but needn’t have bothered - Dr. Burke and Chaim were up and talking, or rather, she was talking and he was avoiding.
He was sitting up in bed, but still shaking as much as before, if only a little less intense. He had his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around them, but his legs were so restless they kept breaking his arms’ hold on them. As Peter entered with the tray of food, Chaim watched him, seemingly eager to talk to anyone but the Doctor right now.
“How’s the group?” he asked him, not really caring.
“Chaim, please,” Dr. Burke was getting increasingly frustrated with her patient. “I need to know; did you ever share needles with anyone?” Chaim kept staring at Peter, who sat in a chair a distance away, waiting for him to answer. Chaim groaned his frustration.
“No,” he finally said, “alright? No, I didn’t.” The Doctor made a few notes on her pad, and Chaim grinned wryly. “There weren’t many at my shul to share with, if you can believe it.” The Doctor didn’t even acknowledge the comment as she finished her notes and looked back up at him.
“Are you sexually active?” she asked in the same tone of voice he imagined she’d use to discuss the weather. ‘Today will be cloudy with a few sunny breaks and one sexually active teenager…’
“Come on,” he protested looking pleadingly at Peter, “I’m starving!” Peter made a ‘this is out of my hands’ gesture, and looked back at Dr. Burke, who was unamused by the boy’s stubbornness.
“The sooner you answer, the sooner you’ll have lunch,” she said sternly. He sighed and stared defiantly back at the ceiling.
“Yes,” he cried for all the injustices of the world, “are you happy now? What’s next, you want to know how?” Peter sighed and crossed his arms. He must be feeling better if he’s back to the usual angry, self-righteous mood his parents had warned them about.
“Did you use protection?” was the next question. Chaim laughed humourlessly.
“I knew it! And they call me crazy.” Dr. Burke shrugged, seemingly at the end of her patience.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll have to assume ‘no’,” she told him. Chaim shut his mouth and continued to stare up at the ceiling. The Doctor clicked her pen closed with annoyance.
“Alright,” she said, “we’ll check you for HIV and all STDs.” Chaim looked at her.
“After lunch?” She blinked, having expected an outpouring of rage, rather than a ridiculously simple question.
“Yes…”
“Then I don’t care.” Peter sighed and shook his head, handing Dr. Burke her plate.
“You know those questions are for your own good, Chaim,” he said, handing the boy his lunch. “She wants to help you.” Chaim rolled his eyes.
“Oh, please,” he mocked, somehow able to eat his salad without his jittery knees upsetting it all over the bed. “You only care so much because my parents are paying you to keep me alive…” Peter leaned forward, sensing something more to this.
“Is it so hard to believe that people actually care about you?” he asked. Chaim grimaced at him.
“You don’t even know me,” he accused, “how can you care for someone you don’t even know, when-” he suddenly silenced, realizing he’d been caught. Stupid shrink. Peter sat forward.
“When…” he repeated. He sighed in annoyance. Couldn’t they just leave him alone? He really didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, but some sudden feeling made him respond. In retrospect, he would identify it as anger.
“When even my family doesn’t care!” he replied in exasperation. Peter nodded, as if expecting this response. Chaim stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork and popped it in his mouth, sitting back and crossing his arms, looking away from Peter.
“What makes you say that?” That infuriatingly calm voice questioned. “They care enough to send you here, to get you help.” Chaim pressed a hand on one of his bouncing knees in an attempt to still it, but it didn’t work.
“Nothing,” he sighed, “nothing…just…” unable to find a suitable epithet to throw at him, he just shook his head and stabbed at his salad. “Why does everything have to mean something?” Peter smirked and sat back again.
“Because everything does mean something,” he said, “otherwise we wouldn’t say it. Why do you think your family doesn’t care?” he asked again. Chaim shrugged, but refused to offer any more anything. Peter shrugged and glanced briefly at Dr. Burke before looking back at the boy. “Well, obviously you feel there’s a problem at home,” he said, “and until you talk about it with someone, it’ll remain a problem.”
“Fine,” Chaim replied curtly, “are we done?” Peter held the boy’s gaze for a moment, sighed, and then stood.
“Yeah,” he said with a sort of finality in his voice that made Chaim’s heart speed up in a wild and intense fear of abandonment. “We’re done.”
Peter spent the remainder of the day in his office, thinking about his conversation with Chaim. He went over it so many times in his head he was starting to believe this kid really didn’t want help. He reminded him a lot of himself during his days as an addict, in constant pain but unwilling (or perhaps unable, something inside him suggested) to ask for or accept help of any kind.
He could have asked Sophie for advice on how to proceed, but - no, he could do it. It wasn’t pride that made him keep it to himself, it was determination. He will get through to him. He has to.
Just after sundown, many were reading in the lodge and common rooms, some of the emotion of the day bleeding off as quickly as the sunlight. Without warning, Eli, who was sitting in an armchair reading one of her many books, looked at her watch and snapped the volume shut. She got up and headed to the dining room, most assuming she was just going to prepare dinner, but Kat stopped her.
“Where are you going?” she asked curiously. Eli smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The day’s mood still hadn’t worn off of her completely.
“Shabbos is over soon,” she said, “we light a candle to end the day.” Kat smiled kindly at her.
“Can I watch?” she asked. Eli seemed at once embarrassed and happy at the request.
“Sure,” she said, surprise evident in her tone. “If you’d like to, of course you can.” The two left together for the cafeteria, and when they got there saw Rabbi Kirsh already getting ready for the small service. He had gone up to the cabins earlier to collect Chaim so he could watch, and the boy was sitting at a nearby table, still jittery and quite sick, but present. To Eli’s amazement, not only was Chaim waiting for them, but a group of others who had heard her brief exchange with Kat in the lodge had wandered in as well, just as curious as she was.
Rabbi Kirsh, always very open and adaptive, decided to proceed in English rather than Hebrew so their guests could understand what was going on.
There were four things on the table in front of him: a cup of grape juice, a small ornate box, a lit braided candle and a prayer book. He first raised the juice, and explained to them that usually wine is used, but out of respect of the School’s rules, he is using juice. He couldn’t resist chuckling when a few disappointed groans rippled through the crowd. He said a short prayer over the cup, thanking God for creating the grapes the juice had been made from, and then set it down. Picking up the small box, he again said a prayer, and then opened it up and smelled it. He passed it around, and everyone did the same, breathing in the warm smell of cloves and cinnamon from within. As the box traveled around the room, Eli offered it to Chaim, but he refused and turned away.
Finally the Rabbi turned to the candle, and using the light to read the prayer book, thanked God for the gift of fire. This caught many of the students off-guard. It had never occurred to them that fire was a gift. Many of them had misused it, whether by arson, or cooking drugs or even scaring their own bodies with its heat, but it had never entered into their thought that it could be a gift that one would be thankful for. It was just another in a long list of things taken for granted in this world.
Rabbi Kirsh finished with a poem of sorts, after which he doused the candle in the cup. It was a traditional reading for the end of this ‘Havdalah’, as he’d called it, and the words, though the students didn’t understand most of it, affected all of them differently. The last sentence was the most profound for them, and when he finished, there was complete silence.
‘We are as clay in your hands; please forgive our petty and major sins. Each day tells the story, and each night.’
At a nearby table, Chaim had his head in his hands, crying softly.
After dinner that evening, since it was still quite early Peter gathered the students in the main lodge for a movie. Once in a while he would treat the kids with a popular movie, followed afterwards with individual group discussions led by their respective counsellors. Unlike the Public School System, he had never been shy about showing strongly rated movies, as long as there was a lesson or point behind it - sometimes even, they were more effective than the alternative. Also, he figured, most of the students at Horizon had led lives up until this point that would make any ‘R’ rated film look like a Disney. For this evening he had chosen to show ‘Girl, Interrupted.’
As he always made an effort to show films that had something to do with their current situation, the kids immediately wondered what it was about this movie that was of particular interest to them. Besides the obviousness of a group of teenagers receiving therapy in a mental institution for various reasons, many of which were abundantly represented at the school (such as substance abuse, anorexia, cutting and suicide, among others), there was another reason that only a handful of counsellors and one student knew was relevant - the main character, Suzanna Kayson, was also struggling with Borderline Personality Disorder.
Dr. Burke had wanted Chaim to remain in the dorms and rest, but as he was now on daily oral doses of Methadone, Peter had insisted he come. She had agreed, on the condition that she could monitor him. Chaim had seemed apathetic one way or the other, but took one of the more comfortable armchairs closer to the screen, folding himself up defensively and not speaking to anyone. For most of the students, this was their first time ever seeing him and, in the state he was in at present, it was a less than friendly meeting. A few tried to greet him and he was at first rudely indifferent, and by the fourth or fifth introduction, openly hostile. The only one he would talk to, and even let sit near him, was Scott.
The lights went out, and Peter took a deep breath before starting the movie. He knew that it may affect some kids more than others, seeing their own problems acted out on screen by others, but there were more than enough counsellors present to deal with any issues that may arise. He knew that sometimes the only way to get through to these kids was by ‘shock therapy’ as he occasionally called it, and hoped it would inspire at least a few of his kids to talk to their Counsellors.
The film started, and not long into it was a portrayal of the aftermath of an attempted suicide. Peter scanned the room for reactions, but most were either unwilling to identify with it, or too busy watching to react. The film went on from there, showing the girl’s progression from counselling to being sent to a psychiatric hospital. The issues came and went, presented in a sympathetically dramatic way, and there were a few mild reactions, but for the most part it was well received. Although he couldn’t see Chaim’s face or read his body language, he was still and watching, which was something. By the end, with the crisis of the character Suzanna’s confronting the abusive and manipulative Lisa, all around the room there were sniffling and even a few who were outright crying. Even, to Peter’s surprise, some of the staff. The movie ended, the lights came back on, and everyone sat in silence. After a moment, the counsellors nudged their kids into moving, but no one wanted to have group. They wanted to think about what they’d seen for a while first; they’d talk in the morning. That was fine with the Counsellors, they needed to think too.
While the lodge emptied and everyone went off to their beds, Chaim stayed in his chair, eyes still fixed on the blank screen. Peter noticed and went over to him, meaning to talk to him about what might be bothering him, but when he neared, the boy glared at him.
“I’m not crazy,” he said harshly. Peter frowned and was about to answer, but Chaim was up out of his chair and yelling at him. “I may be messed up,” he shouted, and others around them stopped to watch, “but I’m not crazy.” Before Peter could respond Chaim had left the lodge. Scott stood and looked at Peter sympathetically, but Peter smiled slightly and shook his head.
“It’s okay, Scott,” he said, “you go off to bed.” Scott turned to leave, but then looked back at Peter.
“He’ll be alright,” he asked, “won’t he?” After a second Peter nodded and smiled.
“You were, weren’t you?” Scott nodded hesitantly and left the lodge, taking some of Peter’s worry with him.
‘Crazy isn’t being broken, or swallowing a dark secret; it’s you or me, amplified.’ -Girl, Interrupted
It was going to be a long day.
Group that morning was quiet. Everyone sat there in the circle fidgeting, not looking at each other, a few even falling asleep. There was no discussion, no arguments or lectures - everyone was too exhausted. They passed a half hour that way, a few idle comments here and there, but mostly peaceful silence. They spoke only simple sentences that required no answers, or very few, which was all anyone could handle.
“I-” Ezra’s voice sounded harsh and grating in the silence. “I always thought…” he paused, wringing his hands in his lap as he spoke, then lowering his head with the last words. “I always thought religious people were…immune to these problems.”
More silence, and more fidgeting. No one wanted to touch it, because it was what they were all thinking. Even Peter.
“It can happen to anyone,” Sophie said, her voice like a balm healing over the jagged edges Ezra’s voice had left on the perfect silence. She too was silent after that, the admittance of human flaws difficult on everyone.
“I used to think,” Daisy began, “that as long as there were people like him out there…who believed in something more,” she sighed, “that we…humans, we’d be okay.” Everyone was shocked - she so rarely spoke in group.
“You don’t think that anymore?” Peter asked. His voice was raspy, as if he either hadn’t used it in a long time, or had used it too much. Also, he looked like crap - even the students felt sorry for him. Daisy shrugged, shaking her head.
“They’re just as flawed and weak as we are,” she concluded.
“Being flawed doesn’t make you weak, Daisy,” Sophie corrected. “Everyone has flaws - that’s what makes us human.” That was apparently too much to think about, as the room lapsed into silence for another while.
“I watched him,” Scott’s voice broke. His voice was so soft that, if they hadn’t been in complete silence, no one would have heard him. He was still in a terrible state after the night before, and had been restlessly tapping his foot the whole time. “I watched him,” he repeated, “and I saw myself.”
The group didn’t have much more to say; they all had too much to think about.
The rest of the day was just as quiet. Homework and assignments were completed without complaint, and the light hearted chattering that was the usual background noise in the main lodge was silenced. The last time such a sombre mood had descended upon the school, a kid had died.
Lunch was difficult. It was Shabbos for Eli-Sheva and Rabbi Kirsh, and so all the food had been prepared the day before. There was a buffet of several different salads and sandwiches, and a hot and satisfying stew called ‘cholent’.
Eli joined the Cliffhanger Table (as the group seemed to be sitting together a lot these days), as did the Rabbi. He sat at the head of the table, and the students watched with mild curiosity as he revealed two loves of braided bread on a special cutting board from underneath a decorated cloth. After murmuring a short prayer, he cut the loaves and passed them around the table, and the meal began. Eli, sitting next to Sophie, accepted her piece of bread, but then sat with it in her hands staring numbly at it. Sophie noticed, placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly. Eli stared at the bread a minute longer, before popping it into her mouth. She nodded hesitantly.
“It’s just…” she started, finding it difficult to articulate herself. “Today is Shabbos,” she said, as if that explained everything. Sophie waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.
“I don’t understand,” she prodded gently. Eli looked up at her, her eyes betraying the worry and sadness just below the surface and, Sophie suspected, something else that went much deeper.
“Shabbos is a day of simcha,” she said, “of joy. Today…” she shook her head and lowered it. “Today there is no simcha.” Sophie carefully slid her arm across the other woman’s shoulders. Eli leaned slightly into her, and before she knew it was wrapped in the Counsellor’s warm embrace, crying softly on her shoulder. Sophie knew there was more to this than Eli had told her, but would let her do the talking when she was ready. Still, she made a mental note to talk to Peter about it later.
Lunch progressed with an eerie silence at the Cliffhangers’ table, even though the rest of the room was as noisy as ever; it was as if the din of the other students wasn’t enough to penetrate the aura of sadness surrounding them. Everyone ate in silence, and near the end of the meal, Peter began putting together plates of food.
“What’s that for?” asked Shelby. He didn’t look up as he continued his task. It felt good to have something to do.
“These are for Chaim and Dr. Burke,” he said. Everyone looked at him when he spoke, and then went back to finishing their meal. He looked up at the clock on the wall, then forced a hint of levity into his voice.
“Hurry up, guys,” he said to the room, which quieted for him. “Lunch is over in twenty.” He piled the plates on a tray and got up, and many of the students whispered to each other about the note of worry they heard in his voice as he passed.
Peter knocked softly on the door before entering, but needn’t have bothered - Dr. Burke and Chaim were up and talking, or rather, she was talking and he was avoiding.
He was sitting up in bed, but still shaking as much as before, if only a little less intense. He had his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around them, but his legs were so restless they kept breaking his arms’ hold on them. As Peter entered with the tray of food, Chaim watched him, seemingly eager to talk to anyone but the Doctor right now.
“How’s the group?” he asked him, not really caring.
“Chaim, please,” Dr. Burke was getting increasingly frustrated with her patient. “I need to know; did you ever share needles with anyone?” Chaim kept staring at Peter, who sat in a chair a distance away, waiting for him to answer. Chaim groaned his frustration.
“No,” he finally said, “alright? No, I didn’t.” The Doctor made a few notes on her pad, and Chaim grinned wryly. “There weren’t many at my shul to share with, if you can believe it.” The Doctor didn’t even acknowledge the comment as she finished her notes and looked back up at him.
“Are you sexually active?” she asked in the same tone of voice he imagined she’d use to discuss the weather. ‘Today will be cloudy with a few sunny breaks and one sexually active teenager…’
“Come on,” he protested looking pleadingly at Peter, “I’m starving!” Peter made a ‘this is out of my hands’ gesture, and looked back at Dr. Burke, who was unamused by the boy’s stubbornness.
“The sooner you answer, the sooner you’ll have lunch,” she said sternly. He sighed and stared defiantly back at the ceiling.
“Yes,” he cried for all the injustices of the world, “are you happy now? What’s next, you want to know how?” Peter sighed and crossed his arms. He must be feeling better if he’s back to the usual angry, self-righteous mood his parents had warned them about.
“Did you use protection?” was the next question. Chaim laughed humourlessly.
“I knew it! And they call me crazy.” Dr. Burke shrugged, seemingly at the end of her patience.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll have to assume ‘no’,” she told him. Chaim shut his mouth and continued to stare up at the ceiling. The Doctor clicked her pen closed with annoyance.
“Alright,” she said, “we’ll check you for HIV and all STDs.” Chaim looked at her.
“After lunch?” She blinked, having expected an outpouring of rage, rather than a ridiculously simple question.
“Yes…”
“Then I don’t care.” Peter sighed and shook his head, handing Dr. Burke her plate.
“You know those questions are for your own good, Chaim,” he said, handing the boy his lunch. “She wants to help you.” Chaim rolled his eyes.
“Oh, please,” he mocked, somehow able to eat his salad without his jittery knees upsetting it all over the bed. “You only care so much because my parents are paying you to keep me alive…” Peter leaned forward, sensing something more to this.
“Is it so hard to believe that people actually care about you?” he asked. Chaim grimaced at him.
“You don’t even know me,” he accused, “how can you care for someone you don’t even know, when-” he suddenly silenced, realizing he’d been caught. Stupid shrink. Peter sat forward.
“When…” he repeated. He sighed in annoyance. Couldn’t they just leave him alone? He really didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, but some sudden feeling made him respond. In retrospect, he would identify it as anger.
“When even my family doesn’t care!” he replied in exasperation. Peter nodded, as if expecting this response. Chaim stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork and popped it in his mouth, sitting back and crossing his arms, looking away from Peter.
“What makes you say that?” That infuriatingly calm voice questioned. “They care enough to send you here, to get you help.” Chaim pressed a hand on one of his bouncing knees in an attempt to still it, but it didn’t work.
“Nothing,” he sighed, “nothing…just…” unable to find a suitable epithet to throw at him, he just shook his head and stabbed at his salad. “Why does everything have to mean something?” Peter smirked and sat back again.
“Because everything does mean something,” he said, “otherwise we wouldn’t say it. Why do you think your family doesn’t care?” he asked again. Chaim shrugged, but refused to offer any more anything. Peter shrugged and glanced briefly at Dr. Burke before looking back at the boy. “Well, obviously you feel there’s a problem at home,” he said, “and until you talk about it with someone, it’ll remain a problem.”
“Fine,” Chaim replied curtly, “are we done?” Peter held the boy’s gaze for a moment, sighed, and then stood.
“Yeah,” he said with a sort of finality in his voice that made Chaim’s heart speed up in a wild and intense fear of abandonment. “We’re done.”
Peter spent the remainder of the day in his office, thinking about his conversation with Chaim. He went over it so many times in his head he was starting to believe this kid really didn’t want help. He reminded him a lot of himself during his days as an addict, in constant pain but unwilling (or perhaps unable, something inside him suggested) to ask for or accept help of any kind.
He could have asked Sophie for advice on how to proceed, but - no, he could do it. It wasn’t pride that made him keep it to himself, it was determination. He will get through to him. He has to.
Just after sundown, many were reading in the lodge and common rooms, some of the emotion of the day bleeding off as quickly as the sunlight. Without warning, Eli, who was sitting in an armchair reading one of her many books, looked at her watch and snapped the volume shut. She got up and headed to the dining room, most assuming she was just going to prepare dinner, but Kat stopped her.
“Where are you going?” she asked curiously. Eli smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The day’s mood still hadn’t worn off of her completely.
“Shabbos is over soon,” she said, “we light a candle to end the day.” Kat smiled kindly at her.
“Can I watch?” she asked. Eli seemed at once embarrassed and happy at the request.
“Sure,” she said, surprise evident in her tone. “If you’d like to, of course you can.” The two left together for the cafeteria, and when they got there saw Rabbi Kirsh already getting ready for the small service. He had gone up to the cabins earlier to collect Chaim so he could watch, and the boy was sitting at a nearby table, still jittery and quite sick, but present. To Eli’s amazement, not only was Chaim waiting for them, but a group of others who had heard her brief exchange with Kat in the lodge had wandered in as well, just as curious as she was.
Rabbi Kirsh, always very open and adaptive, decided to proceed in English rather than Hebrew so their guests could understand what was going on.
There were four things on the table in front of him: a cup of grape juice, a small ornate box, a lit braided candle and a prayer book. He first raised the juice, and explained to them that usually wine is used, but out of respect of the School’s rules, he is using juice. He couldn’t resist chuckling when a few disappointed groans rippled through the crowd. He said a short prayer over the cup, thanking God for creating the grapes the juice had been made from, and then set it down. Picking up the small box, he again said a prayer, and then opened it up and smelled it. He passed it around, and everyone did the same, breathing in the warm smell of cloves and cinnamon from within. As the box traveled around the room, Eli offered it to Chaim, but he refused and turned away.
Finally the Rabbi turned to the candle, and using the light to read the prayer book, thanked God for the gift of fire. This caught many of the students off-guard. It had never occurred to them that fire was a gift. Many of them had misused it, whether by arson, or cooking drugs or even scaring their own bodies with its heat, but it had never entered into their thought that it could be a gift that one would be thankful for. It was just another in a long list of things taken for granted in this world.
Rabbi Kirsh finished with a poem of sorts, after which he doused the candle in the cup. It was a traditional reading for the end of this ‘Havdalah’, as he’d called it, and the words, though the students didn’t understand most of it, affected all of them differently. The last sentence was the most profound for them, and when he finished, there was complete silence.
‘We are as clay in your hands; please forgive our petty and major sins. Each day tells the story, and each night.’
At a nearby table, Chaim had his head in his hands, crying softly.
After dinner that evening, since it was still quite early Peter gathered the students in the main lodge for a movie. Once in a while he would treat the kids with a popular movie, followed afterwards with individual group discussions led by their respective counsellors. Unlike the Public School System, he had never been shy about showing strongly rated movies, as long as there was a lesson or point behind it - sometimes even, they were more effective than the alternative. Also, he figured, most of the students at Horizon had led lives up until this point that would make any ‘R’ rated film look like a Disney. For this evening he had chosen to show ‘Girl, Interrupted.’
As he always made an effort to show films that had something to do with their current situation, the kids immediately wondered what it was about this movie that was of particular interest to them. Besides the obviousness of a group of teenagers receiving therapy in a mental institution for various reasons, many of which were abundantly represented at the school (such as substance abuse, anorexia, cutting and suicide, among others), there was another reason that only a handful of counsellors and one student knew was relevant - the main character, Suzanna Kayson, was also struggling with Borderline Personality Disorder.
Dr. Burke had wanted Chaim to remain in the dorms and rest, but as he was now on daily oral doses of Methadone, Peter had insisted he come. She had agreed, on the condition that she could monitor him. Chaim had seemed apathetic one way or the other, but took one of the more comfortable armchairs closer to the screen, folding himself up defensively and not speaking to anyone. For most of the students, this was their first time ever seeing him and, in the state he was in at present, it was a less than friendly meeting. A few tried to greet him and he was at first rudely indifferent, and by the fourth or fifth introduction, openly hostile. The only one he would talk to, and even let sit near him, was Scott.
The lights went out, and Peter took a deep breath before starting the movie. He knew that it may affect some kids more than others, seeing their own problems acted out on screen by others, but there were more than enough counsellors present to deal with any issues that may arise. He knew that sometimes the only way to get through to these kids was by ‘shock therapy’ as he occasionally called it, and hoped it would inspire at least a few of his kids to talk to their Counsellors.
The film started, and not long into it was a portrayal of the aftermath of an attempted suicide. Peter scanned the room for reactions, but most were either unwilling to identify with it, or too busy watching to react. The film went on from there, showing the girl’s progression from counselling to being sent to a psychiatric hospital. The issues came and went, presented in a sympathetically dramatic way, and there were a few mild reactions, but for the most part it was well received. Although he couldn’t see Chaim’s face or read his body language, he was still and watching, which was something. By the end, with the crisis of the character Suzanna’s confronting the abusive and manipulative Lisa, all around the room there were sniffling and even a few who were outright crying. Even, to Peter’s surprise, some of the staff. The movie ended, the lights came back on, and everyone sat in silence. After a moment, the counsellors nudged their kids into moving, but no one wanted to have group. They wanted to think about what they’d seen for a while first; they’d talk in the morning. That was fine with the Counsellors, they needed to think too.
While the lodge emptied and everyone went off to their beds, Chaim stayed in his chair, eyes still fixed on the blank screen. Peter noticed and went over to him, meaning to talk to him about what might be bothering him, but when he neared, the boy glared at him.
“I’m not crazy,” he said harshly. Peter frowned and was about to answer, but Chaim was up out of his chair and yelling at him. “I may be messed up,” he shouted, and others around them stopped to watch, “but I’m not crazy.” Before Peter could respond Chaim had left the lodge. Scott stood and looked at Peter sympathetically, but Peter smiled slightly and shook his head.
“It’s okay, Scott,” he said, “you go off to bed.” Scott turned to leave, but then looked back at Peter.
“He’ll be alright,” he asked, “won’t he?” After a second Peter nodded and smiled.
“You were, weren’t you?” Scott nodded hesitantly and left the lodge, taking some of Peter’s worry with him.