It began with a conversation on a street corner on the Upper East Side between three friends whose lives intertwined with addiction and repair.
“Do you think we could make it work?”
“What if we built what we needed growing up?”
“Will anyone even care?”
We stood there, wondering if others like us existed – people who understood that spirituality and Jewish tradition weren’t just something to perform, but something that could heal.
Well, actually – it started long before that.
I remember it vividly. A young, well-meaning rabbi asked how I was doing. I answered honestly, sharing that my uncle – who lived with us, taught my sister and me how to draw roses on the driveway, picked me up from my Chumash play in third grade, and had a charismatic, vibrant personality – had died of heroin-related complications. As I spoke, the rabbi slowly backed away, as if he was going to catch what I was sharing. In hindsight, I know that he didn’t know what to do with my particular dialect of pain, which seemed so unique in Jewish community.
Fast forward to Rosh Hashanah 5784, Brooklyn, NY. The air buzzed with anticipation as Lilah stepped to the front of a warmly lit room, her presence commanding attention in the basement of a Brooklyn synagogue. It was the second day of Rosh Hashanah, and 120 people sat shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed on her. She took a deep breath and began.
“Hi, my name is Lilah, and I am an alcoholic. The day I picked up alcohol when I was 15, I also put down G-d. I’m here today despite finding neither a home in recovery spaces nor in Jewish spaces where I could fully be me. Shana tovah.”
The crowd erupted in applause. A few moments later, the leader of the service began singing the Serenity Prayer, weaving it into the tune of the Barchu. For many in the room, the melody was familiar, but the words held a deeper resonance. This moment captured the essence of who we are: a community where recovery leads to Judaism, and Judaism leads to recovery.
This was the inaugural Rosh Hashanah experience for Selah, a spiritual community for people in recovery and their loved ones. Selah was born out of a need – a deep void where recovery and Judaism could coexist, a place where individuals didn’t have to choose between their spiritual and recovery identities.
Since then, we have grown into a spiritual community for people in recovery and their loved ones, grounded in Jewish tradition. Through personalized, group, and communal experiences, we offer connection, resources, and support to help individuals integrate recovery principles with spiritual growth, creating space for healing, resilience, and new possibilities.
In a world often segmented into neat boxes, we reject the notion that our lives and experiences must be compartmentalized. And frankly, we know that healing can’t happen when those two are compartmentalized. We dream of a space where recovery and Jewish experiences are not separate, but interwoven, deepening and enhancing one another in profound ways. We envision a world where recovery and Judaism illuminate and strengthen one another, creating spaces of healing, connection, and transformation. In this world, Jewish spiritual tradition provides a framework for recovery – a source of sustenance, healing, and hope for individuals and communities alike.
In our groups, our sacred gatherings come to life. Faces appear on the screen, some weary from the week, others aglow with the quiet anticipation of connection. This is where we come to do Cheshbon Hanefesh – a true accounting of the soul – guided by the timeless wisdom of the weekly Torah portion. Tonight, it’s Vayeshev, the portion where Jacob returns to the land where his father once wandered. We lean into the Sefat Emet’s words, a commentary on the Torah portion: “Our existence revolves around mending divisions within the world.”
The words hang in the air like a challenge. One by one, members of the group share. There’s the woman who speaks of reconciling with her estranged sibling, and the man who admits he’s avoided difficult conversations that might bring healing. There’s no judgment here, only the unflinching honesty required for real growth. Stories tumble out – moments of courage and connection, of silence and missed opportunities.
As we continue, something shifts. The Torah portion moves from being a story we study to a mirror we hold up to ourselves. Together, we reckon with our call to mend the world, not as a lofty ideal, but as a daily practice. This space reminds us: we’re not doing it alone.
Our Torah challenges us to confront the brokenness in our lives while offering the promise of repair. For those in recovery, this message is particularly poignant. Recovery is a daily process of teshuvah – returning to our truest selves and aligning our actions with our values. It is both deeply personal and profoundly communal.
Often, when I mention “recovery” or addiction, most people’s response in Jewish communities is to name the variety of reasons that it is very far from their experience. What I want to offer you is this: pain is a universal human experience, and substance use and addiction is a solution, not a problem. We all have some experience of intolerable hurt in our lives that shaped who we are. For this community, it led to addiction. The biggest gift we can give each other in our healing is to see ourselves as connected – in close proximity – with one another and not so different after all.
May we experience spaces where we can be our full selves, experience healing, and make friends that we love.
If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction or seeking a Jewish recovery community, we’re here. Contact us at akrule@selahbk.org.

Arielle Krule is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, community organizer, and student in Yeshivat Maharat’s Core Semikha program. She is the founding director of Selah, a spiritual community of people in recovery and those who love them, grounded in Jewish tradition. Arielle also teaches and learns Mishnah at Luria Academy of Brooklyn in its middle school.