As Yechezkel’s meditations on Reb Nachman grew progressively louder, it was time for tachlis

Yechezkel’s parents didn’t strike me as the least bit extremist as they sat across from me in my office.

“He’s been on a different path from the rest of us since we made aliyah,” Mr. Rosenberg said.

“We thought moving to Shiloh would be a great place to raise the family — it has much more of a community feel than the city, we could afford a house instead of a tiny apartment, and there was a lot more fresh air,” Mrs. Rosenberg added.

“And,” Mr. Rosenberg noted, “my business is all online, so we didn’t need to be in the city. Plus, we were inspired by the idea of living in the Shomron, in the heartland of Eretz Yisrael, and especially in such a significant spot. But we’re quiet people, just some nice olim from Toronto, still trying to navigate the system a few years in.”

“At least the girls are doing well,” Mrs. Rosenberg said. “They’re very happy in the regional schools and we feel like they’re getting a great education. I have a few friends from my seminary days living in Shiloh, and we loved the Shabbos we spent there during our pre-aliyah pilot trip. We really felt at home.”

I peered into the waiting room to see a young teenager pacing back and forth. His thick peyos hung well past his shoulders and his multicolored wool kippah was big enough to cover half a watermelon. Yechezkel Rosenberg was reading a dog-eared Rebbe Nachman sefer as he twisted his peyos and shuckled back and forth.

Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg discounted all of the classic, worrisome symptoms that bring many young men in for a psychiatric consultation. Based on their description, Yechezkel didn’t sound particular depressed, manic, psychotic, or anxious. He didn’t smoke marijuana, do drugs, or seem to have any abnormal personality issues. That being said, it did sound as though he’d been getting into his share of problems over the past few years.

The year after their aliyah, Yechezkel had started yeshivah ketanah with a number of local boys at a small program in a neighboring yishuv known for its religious fervor. For reasons that seemed unclear to his parents, learning stopped being the ikar with his particular group of friends as they gravitated toward overnight trips on local hilltops where they’d build their “machanot.”

“They’d have these army tents they’d pitch and sleep in as part of settling Eretz Yisrael,” Mrs. Rosenberg said, sounding somewhere between proud and confused. “I guess I really respect that, but I wish he’d have spent more time in the yeshivah and less time getting arrested after building these structures without the army’s permission. Eventually, he left yeshivah to live with a large group of these kids outside of the fences... that was what made us nervous.”

“It’s not simple, Dr. Freedman,” Mr. Rosenberg tried to explain. “We love this land and that’s why we moved here. We are totally on board with the settler movement and that’s why we live in Shiloh and send our children to the local schools. I guess we just had this kind of free-spirited kid and had no idea what was happening, and before you knew it, he joined these kids they call the ‘Hilltop Youth.’ ”

I was quite familiar with type of kid Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg were describing. I’d met my share of shepherding Jewish folk heroes from the hills surrounding Shechem who waged one-man battles against eager Arab enemies, antagonistic left-wing anarchists, and unsympathetic secular government forces. I’d watched a cousin take a similar detour in life and ended up a strikingly successful army commander who’d recently gotten married and settled down in Kiryat Arba. I’d also met my share of lost souls who found a spiritual home in a movement that was more or less unified by a nationalistic, religious drive to increase the Jewish presence throughout Eretz Yisrael. No matter who you asked, it was a phenomenon that was gaining steam — and nothing anyone could say would talk these boys out of their entrenched ideological position.

As Yechezkel’s meditations on Reb Nachman grew progressively louder, it was time for tachlis. What, actually, did the Rosenbergs want from me?

“I just want you to tell us what to do for our Yechezkel,” he said humbly. “We’re worried he’s becoming too intense for his own good, and I don’t like the fact that he’s been arrested, beat up by the army, and is sleeping out in the open on the hills outside of the fence. It’s a bit too fanatical for me.”

Mrs. Rosenberg nodded in agreement. “We just don’t want him to get killed out there following his dreams, and we’re hoping that maybe you have some ideas.”

I did, but first I needed to get Yechezkel to buy in. I was most certainly sympathetic to the cause but had my concerns about the means in which Yechezkel and his spiritual brothers were carrying it out.

Yechezkel came into the room and barely looked up at me or his parents from his beat-up copy of Likutei Moharan. He certainly didn’t want to be sitting with me.

I tried to introduce myself formally. No response. I tried a joke or two. Nothing. I even name-dropped a few prominent settler leaders I’d been in contact with over the years. Zilch.

Yechezkel’s parents shifted nervously in their seats, and his mother eventually said, “Why don’t we wait outside so you two can talk.”

As they walked out, Yechezkel looked up at me and said firmly, “It’s not what anyone says or doesn’t say, in the end it’s what Hashem wants from me and that is to settle His land. No one is going to convince me otherwise.”

That was actually a quote from a famous Jewish shepherd who lived outside of Yitzhar on a hilltop overlooking Shechem. So, this was Yechezkel’s mentor — a headline-making ideologue who lived with mesirus nefesh and was motivated enough to have earned himself numerous battles against the Israeli Supreme Court.

“Who says I’m here to convince you otherwise? Maybe I’m a big chassid of Reb Neria as well?”

“You’re not, or you’d be out there with us instead of hiding in your office here in Rechavia.”

I disagreed, but at least it was a response.

“You’re not going to convince me to go sit in some chareidi yeshivah with my head in the sand. I’m fighting Hashem’s wars on a daily basis.”

Yechezkel stood up and told me, “We’re done.”

While I wish he would have stayed, it became clear he’d made up his mind as he reburied his face in the sefer and walked out the door.

In the waiting room, Yechezkel barely nodded as he walked past his parents, who tried to smile as he ambled past them and out to the car.

Mrs. Rosenberg followed her son out dejectedly, clearly fearful that we’d missed our opportunity.

Mr. Rosenberg stuck around for another minute, half pleading with me, half begging Hashem, “What are we going to do to help this kid? I mean, if this isn’t a mental illness, what is it? Did he join a cult? Did he get ideologically kidnapped? Where do we go from here?”

They were good questions, but I’m not sure how well my answer resonated. “Look, we need to be honest here — he’s on one end of the spectrum of a derech that you put him on. When I met young kids from the chareidi community that are getting arrested at draft-related demonstrations, it’s really not much different—”

Mr. Rosenberg cut me off. “Okay, I get it. It’s just the feistier end of the spectrum. Because we’re really ‘normal,’ you know what I mean? I guess I’m just nervous he’ll do something extreme and get into serious trouble, or worse, chas v’shalom.”

“That’s why it’s good that we’re talking. Not everyone who comes in here leaves with a diagnosis, but hopefully everyone will leave with a few good ideas.”

To be continued…

Identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of patients, their families, and all other parties.

Jacob L. Freedman is a psychiatrist and business consultant based in Israel. When he’s not busy with his patients, Dr. Freedman, whose new book Off the Couch has just been released in collaboration with Menucha Publishers, can be found learning Torah in the Old City or hiking the hills around Jerusalem. Dr. Freedman can be reached most easily through his website www.drjacoblfreedman.com

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 844)