Introduction
Alcohol and drug abuse have long been perceived as problems external to the Jewish religious community. Currently, however, the rising visibility of alcohol consumption alongside drug and psychedelic practices, is closer to home than we may have imagined. According to psychologist Dan Wolf,[1] the difficulty lies in the fact that, whereas in the past, a range of methodologies were actively employed to counter alcohol and substance abuse, the prevailing attitude seems to be that quiet and moderate use is perhaps the most reasonable approach. Today, the issue of substances and psychedelics is no longer abstract or distant; it is reshaping the very fabric of our communal life, demanding recognition, response and a solid stance.
Definitions
Psychedelics are drugs, but not narcotics. Narcotics depress consciousness while psychedelics alter consciousness by modifying perception, mood, and cognition. This altering of consciousness is often subjectively described by its practitioners as “conscious-expanding,” although this is not a pharmacological definition. Narcotics are effective painkillers but carry high risks of dependence and overdose. Psychedelics like psilocybin, LSD, and mescaline (from the peyote cactus)—which act on the serotonin receptors in the brain—are being studied for potential therapeutic benefits, but can also trigger adverse psychological reactions.
We should not oppose the research
According to the late Dr Menachem Brayer, a professor and consultant psychologist at Yeshiva University (and also the father of the current Boyaner Rebbe and son of the previous one):
“[w]e should not categorically oppose supervised experimentation with this [phenomena]” (Brayer 1968:33).[2]
Masters and Houston vividly framed the dual potential of LSD:
“LSD is exactly like atomic energy. It has enormous potential for good or evil. Right now we are just seeing the mental Hiroshimas” (Masters and Houston 1966).[3]
Brayer acknowledges that there is scientific benefit to research into psychedelics, but also categorically warns of its dangers and particularly its incompatibility with Halachic Judaism when used in the popular environment:
“[The] effects of the drug hallucinations may reappear weeks later under stress, and…a single dose is sufficient to cause permanent personality changes [including] homicidal or suicidal tendencies…a single ounce [of LSD] is enough of a dosage for 300,000 people” (Brayer 1968:31).
Psychedelics and the claim of profound religious
experiences
The effects of psychedelics are often conflated, by many in our communities, with deep “religious experience”:
[I]ts adherents claim…the ability to expand consciousness, transport the user to primal dream-like conditions, increase depth-introspection and allow the experience of one's inner world. There is a sense of transcending time and space. In short, its effects seem to reproduce the experience of mystics” (Brayer 1968:32).
Some users report that the psychedelic experience imparts beneficial character traits that can more easily be incorporated into the personality on return to normal consciousness, but in reality:
“the only recurrent traits in the drug seem to be their negative effects” (Brayer 1968:36).
Close to home
In recent conversations with rabbis across the spectrum, a striking pattern emerged. While most acknowledged that substance abuse and psychedelics are indeed a problem within our communities, very few were willing to speak against it openly. This reluctance is understandable: leaders employed by congregations are wary of jeopardising their positions or images of approachability. Yet what is more surprising is the tacit endorsement, in some quarters, of “quiet” and so-called “controlled” use of these substances. In certain cases, I even encountered instances where religious leaders themselves participated in such “controlled” consumption.
More disturbing was the complete reframing of a glaring societal problem being misrepresented as a “neutral,” if not “clean” avenue of religious experientialism, in the same way as alcohol was used as a “farbrengen” tool, creating spiritual connections. I know for a fact that alcohol was even offered to a group of twelve-year-old girls as part of a school program. Alcohol fuels many, if not most of our communal activities and is sometimes also framed as pre-Shacharit preparations. Not to speak of Haftarah Clubs, where bottles of alcohol are consumed before Musaf. Some congregants literally have to be guided home after services. But drunkenness is never spirituality, nor is being “high” a lofty spiritual level. I have watched people being brought into religion through the bottle and then kept in religion with the same bottle. But spirituality must not be confused with the spirit in the bottle.
The mind and the body make their own drugs, and all our experiences, religious and otherwise, can remain real and unaided by foreign substances—even if it takes a little longer. If someone is not fit to drive, then I do not want to listen to their Torah, let alone their thoughts, or even partake in their conversations. Of course, many will counter by saying that drinking in “moderation” is perfectly fine. The problem is how one defines “moderation” because even after one sip, one is—to whatever degree—under its influence. The Beit Yosef writes:
"...inebriation is entirely prohibited,
and there is no greater sin than drunkenness... [and it is] the cause of many
sins" (Orach Chaim, 695).
To compound the problem, alcohol is no longer the only substance that keeps some people frum and fuels our societal structures, making it more pleasant to keep coming back to shul. Increasingly, other substances—from recreational drugs to psychedelics—are being introduced to the religious experience. Substances are now sometimes cast by respected members of our communities as “spiritual tools” enhancing perfect “clarity.” In practice, however, it is not uncommon for this to lead to violence and abusive behaviour.
We hear that this is “cutting-edge research” with “all the professors” engaging in this activity (this, from religious people who don’t usually like or care what professors and academics say).[4]
“Psychedelics are not drugs,” they tell us. But I have seen people under the influence of these substances, and I have, on occasion, been fearful for their lives as well as mine.
Precedents in our literature and recent cultural memory
Unfortunately, some of our religious literature and culture elevates alcohol—wine in this case—to having a “spiritual property.” This is an example of the “kosher gap” that many turn to for religious justification. A well-known publication attests to the holiness of wine:
“[Physical things deteriorate] while the world of the spirit is eternal, and gets stronger with time. The one exception is wine. Wine, although it is also physical, has the spiritual property[!] of improving with age. It is wine that testifies that even the physical can be refined. Wine represents what Judaism is all about [!]: the fusing of the holy and the mundane, the spiritual and physical, the body and soul. What could be more holy than that?” (Can Wine be Holy, Chabad.org.).
This is how Eli Wiesel recalls a Simchat Torah with the Lubavitcher Rebbe when he tried to keep up with the vodka drinking:
"[A]t my first visit to the [the Rebbe's] court...I had informed him at the outset that I was a Chasid of Vishnitz, not Lubavitch, and that I had no intention of switching allegiance…
He handed me a glass filled to the brim with vodka. 'Rebbe,' I said, 'in Vishnitz a chasid does not drink alone.' 'Nor in Lubavitch,' the Rebbe replied. He emptied his glass in one gulp. I followed suit. 'Is one enough in Vishnitz?' the Rebbe asked. 'In Vishnitz,' I said bravely, 'one is but a drop in the sea.' 'In Lubavitch as well.' He handed me a second glass and refilled his own. He said lechaim, I replied lechaim, and we emptied our glasses…
But as I was unaccustomed to drink, I felt my head begin to spin. I was not sure where or who I was, nor why I had come to this place, why I had been drawn into this strange scene. My brain was on fire. 'In Lubavitch we do not stop midway,' the Rebbe said. 'We continue. And in Vishnitz?' 'In Vishnitz, too,' I said, 'we go all the way.' The Rebbe struck a solemn pose. He handed me a third glass and refilled his own. My hand trembled; his did not. 'You deserve a brocha,' he said, his face beaming with happiness. 'Name it.' I wasn't sure what to say. I was, in fact, in a stupor. 'Would you like me to bless you so you can begin again?' Drunk as I was, I appreciated his wisdom.... 'Yes, Rebbe,' I said. 'Give me your brocha.' He blessed me and downed his vodka. I swallowed mine—and passed out" (All Rivers Run to the Sea, Elie Wiesel, 402-4).
What's interesting about this account is that it shows that not only does one have to overcome the allure of alcohol for its own sake, but more importantly, in many Jewish circles, there is what sociologists call “cultural authority,” which endorses and even coerces engagement in such activity.
Then there are rabbis like the late Berel Wein, who understood that when alcohol is used, it is not long before other substances are also experimented with as well. The expression “shikkere goy” may indicate that drinking was not always dominant in Jewish circles:
“There was a time not that long ago [when] Jews prided themselves on their sobriety and scorned their Eastern European non-Jewish neighbors because many of them were always drunk... A drunkard was never a hero or a role model in the Jewish world... All of that has changed dramatically in our time...
The rate of alcoholism in the Jewish world is now at an all-time high, equal to if not even higher than the average in many countries. It is one of the many unseen or purposely ignored elephants that now appear in our room.
Alcohol like drugs and tobacco is addictive. Therefore, alcoholism has to be defeated before it really takes hold. This can only be accomplished by a change in social society’s attitude towards drinking…” (Alcohol and the Jews, by R. Berel Wein).
Recently, one of our local rabbis has banned the practice of the “sar hamashkim” (master of drink) to walk around pouring everyone a whisky. Another rabbi has banned alcohol entirely from his shul premises.
What is most disturbing—particularly from a theological perspective—is how widespread the incidence of substance abuse is in our religious community. I have heard all the “religious arguments” and “mystical motivations,” and read the articles which propose to show how substances can help where traditional therapy has failed. I am aware that more and more substances are becoming legal. But legality is not the point here. Why do individuals raised in religious households, who have received a yeshiva education and have been immersed in Torah study, still feel compelled to seek spiritual fulfilment in external substances. These are people have been through the religious systems, so we cannot blame the outside influences of newcomers or Baalei Teshuva. The first time in my life that I was offered drugs was in the “protective” environment of a yeshiva dormitory in New York. When I witness such practices, I always wonder what is wrong with Judaism that it needs to be enhanced by drink and substances. Obviously, they are not getting what they are looking for in their Judaism.
In some circles, these trips into substance usage are promoted and disguised as part and parcel of the genuine Torah spiritual experience. The number of people I know who need to be “enhanced” is astounding—and growing—as hallucinogens are becoming the new and improved formulation of an “authentic” Jewish mysticism.
According to licensed mental health practitioner and registered counsellor, Ariella Wolf:
“In my years of therapeutic work, I often encounter clients who hold a genuine longing for meaning, authenticity and a deeper connection to G-d… It is often these clients who may then be drawn to psychedelic experiences. The ceremonies and rituals often woven into the “plant medicine journeys” can appear to offer them what they have been yearning for…engagement with something Divine.”
One cannot help but notice the emergence of self-proclaimed “facilitators” and “practitioners,” who act like “nouveau Rebbes” who guide people through the “healing journey.” These figures often frame their paid services in the language of therapy, medicine, Jewish mysticism, and experiential spirituality. Their role is not merely to administer substances but to interpret the experience, offering meaning, ritual, and a sense of legitimacy. Substances have become authenticated and acculturated spiritual shortcuts and hardly anyone is speaking up against this.
“[O]ur community should not fall in line with a culture that normalises the use of drugs and alcohol” (Dan Wolf).
Observations
I have interviewed a number of people from our community, on the assurance of anonymity. These are some of the findings:
Sometimes, even at a “safe” wedding, shul function or bar mitzvah celebration, guests are lured by respectable people within the community to whom many look up to, and they are taken outside, or to a corner, and introduced to new substances besides the ubiquitous alcohol.
I asked a past student of mine how many of his classmates—who had all undergone post-school yeshiva training—were using psychedelics, and the response was: 80 per cent!
Some communities have cakes at the kiddush which are known to contain certain substances.
In some instances, pre-Shabbat gatherings are regularly organised on Friday afternoons, where bottles of alcohol are opened, and the lids are thrown away. Music is provided, but you must “bring your own mood enhancers,” and the participants arrive in shul (if they can) in a state of total inebriation.
Underage children are quite savvy and somewhat experienced with various substances, and I am aware of some horrific stories with disastrous consequences which have taken place at seemingly innocent parties and other occasions.
Nature hikes are often organised where substances are freely and openly available. Nay, even expected. These hikes and “nature gatherings” are attended by well-to-do and respectable people with children who play with our children. They even form part of our lift schemes. I have been told that it is not unusual for 50 to 80 per cent of these participants to engage in such activities, and they come well prepared and stocked for the event. This then creates pressure for the others to join in and not be regarded as prudes.
It is not unusual to see people coming to mincha on Shabbat afternoon so inebriated that they cannot participate in a shiur or even daven properly. It is not unusual for a husband to come home late from shul on Shabbat morning in such a state that his wife is embarrassed in front of the guests – or worse, is comfortable with the situation.
On Shabbat, it is common for members of a certain community to use drops and oils in place of smoking mind-altering substances, which, of course, is forbidden on the holy day.
I taught in religious schools for twenty-five years and sometimes, on auspicious occasions, alcohol was distributed to the teachers during recess (with liqueur provided for the women), who then went back to teaching their students.
The problem is that, in the past, drinking in shul was usually the proclivity of the men, but now women also want to be inspired and uplifted like the men-folk. Today, gummies are often passed around the other side of the mechitzah as well, as substances become egalitarian. At a bar mitzvah celebration, one mother was not sure how she arrived or how she was going to get home to her family. In another case, someone was given substances at a shul Kiddush without being told what it was and ended up in the care of paramedics.
You can even go to public talks where religious speakers will try to convince you that hallucinogens are an integral, de facto part of authentic Judaism, as if they were just another of the mitzvot Jews are required to do “to get close to Hakadosh Baruch Hu.”
A new trend is now being peddled in our community where gummies are receiving kosher certification. This means that spiritual authority and religious endorsement are perceived as being extended to substances whose use is already framed as therapeutic or transcendent.
I saw a communication from a widely recognised rabbi—someone whose inspirational video clips circulate globally each week—essentially endorsing the use of certain plant medicines, provided they are administered under the guidance of unspecified “skilled facilitators.” The troubling reality, however, is that in this field nearly everyone presents themselves as a self-proclaimed “specialist.” This tacit endorsement was despite the obvious vulnerability of the individual being advised, and the effect was to effectively grant a “hechsher” for embarking on such a “plant medicine journey.”
Perhaps we are somewhat to blame for presenting an overemphasis on the immediate, experiential, cosmic, supernatural, mystical and messianic benefits of aspects of our faith. But then, when the sun rises the next day, and nothing changed, and the same vicissitudes are still there to challenge us—a deep and pressing need emerges to fill the unfulfilled spiritual expectation, and many turn to substances to hasten the high.
A contemporary source discusses (and advertises) the “Kabbalistic” use of psychedelics:
"Practices like breathwork, dancing, prayer, and the use of psychedelics can all help us change our states of awareness.... According to Kabbalah, the physical and spiritual worlds are inextricably linked; as in the proverb 'as above, so below,' what occurs in the material realm has an affect [sic] on the spiritual realm and vice versa... Psychedelics have the knowledge to work with our restricted awareness and open us back up because of their broad nature... They are our guide in the mystical travel through the Four Worlds. To buy shrooms… head over to... now" (And, by the way, its 30% off on the first order).
Halachic perspectives
Dan Wolf points out that at a fairly recent Agudah convention, a question was put forward to highly influential Torah personalities: “What is the Torah perspective regarding smoking weed? Once something becomes legal, does that change how a Jew looks at it?”
R. Yosef Elefant expressed bewilderment that the Agudah convention required this issue to be addressed. He responded that Torah Jews must be directed by intellect, and when a person puts their intellectual functioning at risk, they are compromising what fundamentally defines them as human. By letting go of the reins that hold back the horse, we are not just letting go, but we are, in fact, denying the Godly Spark that exists within each one of us. He concluded by saying that this type of behaviour should not be justified or tolerated as a community.
Professor Menachem M. Brayer argues that from a simple Halachic perspective, those who partake in these various drugs cannot reasonably claim their activity to be deeper expressions of Judaism, particularly of mystical Judaism, since, citing the psychologist and theologian Walter Pahnke:
“[t]he phenomena of mystical experience may [also] occur outside the framework of any formal religion” (Pahnke 1967:68).[5]
This is because the psychedelic experience often dissolves individuality into impersonal unity where the ego vanishes, rather than fostering a relationship between a real human being and the Divine. Brayer argues that the religious experience can only be from within the individual, not without. It is the fervour of the soul within, and it must take place within the real world. It cannot be a drug experience, nor an escape from reality. Well, it can, but it cannot be promoted as a uniquely “Jewish religious” or “deeply Jewish mystical” experience.
Brayer shows that drug use conflicts with multiple Halachic frameworks. It places one in a space of ruach shtut (folly or hallucinatory state), which the Talmud says leads to negative consequences. It conflicts with the principle of hachovel be’atzmo (self-injury) as well as hachovel bechaveiro (injuring one’s fellows), particularly when husbands, wives and children are made to suffer the fallouts of the selfish high. It is not compatible with the principle of lifnei Iver (placing a stumbling block in front of the blind), especially when others are enticed to participate in the experience. This ties up with hezikah berabim (affecting a multitude of people with a dangerous and addictive craze). Furthermore, there is the overriding principle of chamira sakanta me’isura (a dangerous activity is more forbidden than a specific Torah prohibition). And certainly, there is the concept of venishmartem meod lenafshoteichem (taking extreme measures to ensure personal health). Maimonides repeatedly writes:
"[H]ow dangerous it is to
indulge in medicine, tranquilisers, sedatives or stimulants and becoming
habituated to them" (Maimonides, Pirkei Mosheh, 8; see also Shemona
Perakim, 1).
Maimonides also teaches that the soul of the human is the sechel
or intellect, and is the only entity to survive the human after death. Why
would one want to alter or play dice with the mind?
R. Jacob Anatoli (c.1194–1256), celebrated for his translations of Arabic philosophical works into Hebrew, advanced the view that the Torah’s allowance of wine was a concession to the spiritual limitations of its early recipients. In his interpretation, wine was permitted not as an ideal religious medium, but as a temporary accommodation until humanity could cultivate more elevated forms of devotion, ultimately rendering wine unnecessary in religious life. This conception resonates with Maimonides’ well-known position regarding sacrifices: he argued that the sacrificial system was tolerated because the Israelites could not yet imagine religion without it. In both cases, the Torah is understood as meeting people where they were, while pointing toward a future in which more refined modes of worship would prevail. Accordingly, Maimonides maintained that in the messianic era, sacrificial rites would cease, and the Third Temple would embody a higher, non-sacrificial form of religious expression. This indicates that our turn to psychedelics after alcohol is move backwards in an opposing trajectory.
Conclusion
The paradox is painful: Instead of confronting the underlying hunger for meaning, we are offered transcendental shortcuts. The challenge is to ask deeper questions about authenticity and the meaning of Judaism. If Judaism requires chemical enhancement to remain compelling, then the problem is not only with the substances themselves, but with the structures of faith that have failed to nourish the soul without them. Yet ironically, the more mystical the communities are, the more vulnerable their members appear to be to practical “spiritual enhancement.” At that point, the alternative medicine creates an alternative Judaism.
We are on the precipice of something far more precarious
than most people realise. According to one active “practitioner” who spoke on
condition of anonymity, “it’s already in every shul in in our city.” I
hope this is a gross exaggeration. One
thing is certain: It's time to acknowledge what's going on in our community and
stand up. It's time for religious leadership to urgently choose where they wish
to position themselves because it’s too late to remain on the fence: Alcohol
has already been acculturated and psychedelics are becoming sanctified. Its time to stand up.
[1]
Dan Wolf, B.A. Hons, M.A., Psych (Wits). Registered Psychologist. Director
Houghton House Group.
[2]
Brayer, M.M., 1968, LSD: A Jewish View, Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox
Jewish Thought.
[3]
Masters, R.E.L., and Houston, J., 1966, The Varieties of Psychedelic
Experience, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, New York.
[4]
More than one hundred years ago, based on the available medical information of
that era, the Chafetz Chaim prohibited habitual cigarette smoking. The
response was that most rabbis refused to regard its prohibition as absolute,
and considered it instead as an advisory. It seems we are now in the same space
regarding psychedelics. Things changed a little when it was later shown that
smoking was indeed dangerous to our health, but to this day many observant
people continue to smoke.
A century ago, within the European Jewish community, there was increased interest in the occult. Its practitioners also took pains to explain that their rituals were not superstition, but cutting-edge science. The Russian psycho-graphologist, Ilya Federovich Morgenstern, promised his followers that they would find self-knowledge at his séances, and he reminded them that without doubt all his practices were “firmly founded on science” (Glauber, S., 2024, ‘Advertising occultism in the Jewish press in Poland,’ Journal of Modern Jewish Studies, 7).
[5]
Pahnke, W. N., 1967, ‘LSD and Religious Experience’, in LSD, Man &
Society, Edited by DeBold, R. &. Leaf, 60-85.
