Talking by Candlelight: Therapy under Soft Light

Bobby Newman, Ph.D., C.B.A.

I opened the window to the office a little wider. The air conditioning still wasn't working, and a little more air in the room would be nice. As I looked out the window, I was struck by the moon. You know that feeling, when you really look at something you see every day, and suddenly you are struck by its beauty? I found myself in such a state. I enjoyed the breezes coming off the Long Beach ocean, and looking out onto the street. There's a Starbucks next to the library now. It seems like there's one on every corner, I just don't get it.

The street scene was pleasant, the fountain was working over in front of Long Beach City Hall. The water danced in front of the electronic sign that provided the community calender. Something about the quality of the evening air and the scene I was observing made me feel strange. It somehow reminded me of Summer at Hofstra University, a place that I had visited in the evenings with friends who were taking classes, a place I knew my family would never be able to afford to send me to school. I attended Queens College instead.

To me, Hofstra, and similar places I visited while still in high school, held an almost mystical quality. They represented the unattainable, the private university. Don't get me wrong, I got a wonderful education at Queens and stayed on for my Ph.D. Psychologically speaking, though, there was always something of the "good life" in those buildings, lampposts, and lights of the universities I had visited but knew I could never attend.

My mind continued to wander. The people I had visited those universities with had been friends from an orthodox Jewish youth group I had been involved with as a teen. They had all been from Long Island, I was from Queens. Their families had the resources to send them to private university, mine did not. Such is life, I got over it. I found myself thinking about the weekend seminars we used to attend together. They were called shabbatons.

On the way to my first shabbaton, we got lost. I wound up spending the sabbath with a family I didn't even know. The three youth group advisors I was with were all orthodox and would not drive on the sabbath and found us a place with a warm and welcoming family. I was nowhere near religious, but I was stuck. After shabbos, we continued our journey deep into Suffolk County, which seemed a world away to me at that point. I remember Christopher Cross' theme from the movie Arthur playing incessantly on the radio.

When we finally arrived at our destination, the other 50 or so attendees had already spent the weekend together and knew each other fairly well. We had some catching up to do. It was after this round of introductions and sharing some pizza and music that I was introduced to a most fascinating ritual, as well as an amazing individual who was known by a shortened version of his name, Orlo.

Orlo was the Executive Director of this regional chapter of the national youth organization. He was a most charismatic individual who could quote both Torah and Tom Lehrer. He used song parody and spirit to inspire in a way I have never been able to emulate, despite considerably effort. Following the evening's recreation, there was one more ritual to observe. It was called the Kumzitz (pronounced koom-zitz).

This was a most fascinating ritual. Everyone sat in a circle on the floor. A lone acoustic guitar provided background sound. The lights were killed, and a few candles were placed strategically around the floor. One candle was selected and placed in front of one of the teenage participants, a high-ranking member by the deference I saw shown to him. The room was still and quiet, with the exception of the soft guitar. The candle-bearer then began to speak.

I listened, fascinated. He was describing some feelings of his about the upcoming school year, his upcoming year with the youth group, and general feelings in his life. After he finished speaking, he handed the candle to a young woman beside him. She repeated the ritual, sharing her difficulty with parents who did not follow religious laws about which she felt strongly. She began to cry softly as she spoke. When she finished, she handed the candle on, and a female counselor put her arm around the young woman. The guitar got louder and a Hebrew song was sung by all participants. When the song finished, the only sound was again the soft strum of the guitar. Another individual spoke. He spoke of gratitude to a counselor and another member of the group, people who had apparently helped him when he had committed some unnamed act that "could have gotten him locked up." When finished, he handed the candle on. Still, the guitar colored the background of the softly candle-lit room and so the ritual continued. It was one of awesome power, I don't remember many times in my life, with the exception of the repeated kumzitz over my time with the organization, where I felt people so free and encouraged to express raw feelings.

I found myself thinking of these old experiences, memories I hadn't entertained in years. I found myself compelled to turn off the lights in my office, and light a scented candle that was sitting on a table next to my bookshelf, a candle that had only been there to act as an air freshener before.

My times with this youth organization did not end particularly well. I was always something of an outsider, almost an anthropologist there. I did not follow the religious laws and rituals as did the others in their outside lives. I began to grow disenchanted with the idea to which I sometimes perceived advisors as suggesting blind faith as opposed to reasoned investigation. I watched teens being made to feel ashamed of their development and more base urges. Most upsetting, I saw what I perceived as advisors acting in the role of "vulture," finding sad and lonely teens and, cult-like, offering them acceptance and love only through the religious indoctrination. I eventually left the group.

I've come to grips with these experiences, and now realize I was probably being too sensitive. Isolated instances of females who were made to feel like harlots for holding hands took too much center stage in my mind. There was too much emphasis on ritual, with seemingly no regard for meaning, for a teen reading zen philosophy. Perhaps I just didn't understand the culture I was immersed in, even though it was my own. Maybe I just had too much of my own anger I was working through and thus I allowed the isolated instances that I regarded as destructive take away from that which provided meaning.

Such were my musings as I sat in my office. It was now time for my next client, and I blew out the candle and turned the lights back on. I was temporarily blinded, and invited the woman in as my vision returned.

It wasn't a particularly powerful session, I felt like I really wasn't hearing real issues. Even the relaxation exercises we were practicing to help her head off anxiety attacks didn't help. She just couldn't seem to relax or get comfortable.. Midway through, I had an idea that would have made my professors and mentors who taught me behavior therapy cringe. I asked "would you mind if we did this by candlelight?" The lights went down, the candle was lit. Their were a few moments of beautiful silence, and then we were ready to move on. The mood suddenly became lighter, and simultaneously deeper. I wished I had a light acoustic guitar CD for my radio. I'll get that for next week.

Dr. Bobby Newman has offices in Manhattan, Long Beach, and, Long Island.            

http://www.room2grow.org       e-mail at info@room2grow.org

Phone/Fax is (516) 432-9498,   He will be speaking next at.....

WEB PAGE DESIGN BY

BARRISON DESIGN CORPORATION

© 1999 By Dr. Bobby Newman - All Rights Reserved