Early in the eighteenth century, Israel ben Eliezer, a Polish-born rabbi, became the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Chassidic sect of Judaism. For more than 250 years this sect has flourished. I am a direct descendant of the Baal Shem Tov, and all of my forefathers since that time have been ordained as rabbis. I am no exception to this rule.

Although I gave up my pulpit in 1959 to practice psychiatry, the lore, wisdom and ethical beliefs that imbue my family mythology and which formed my growing years have never left me. I am a living link in a chain of wisdom, handed down through folklore, knowledge that is as relevant to the problems we face today as it was centuries ago.

As much as my family roots began in the eighteenth century, I am a creature of the twentieth century, with almost forty years’ experience as a practicing psychiatrist. In my career as a doctor, I have understood that medicine has its limits, and that ancient wisdom has immeasurable power to heal human hearts. Much of this wisdom promotes the act of kindness as a tool for healing.

As a psychiatrist I specialize in treating addiction. Twenty-five years ago I founded The Gateway Rehabilitation System in Pittsburgh. I am often asked whether any particular treatment modality is employed at Gateway. I always answer that our strength lies in our belief in the inherent goodness of every client. This quality is not always easy to recognize in a person who has led a destructive lifestyle for decades, someone whose use of alcohol or drugs has caused great suffering for others. But in all my years of treating illnesses of the heart and soul, this belief has never failed me; each individual’s integrity is always there, lurking right beneath the surface, eager to emerge.

Goodness tends to propagate itself. It’s apt to form a chain. A story occurs to me of a man named Avi. I first met him while I was in Tel Aviv speaking before a group of ex-convicts in recovery who were coming into our Israeli rehabilitation program, a sister home to Gateway. When I began to speak of self-esteem, this man interrupted me. "How can you talk to us of this? I’ve been a thief since I was eight. When I’m out of prison I can’t find work and my family doesn’t want to see me."

I stopped him and asked if he’d passed by a jewelry store lately. "Consider the diamonds in the window," I said. "Try and think what they look like when they come out of the mine -- lumps of dirty stone. It takes a person who understands the diamond to take the shapeless mound and bring out its intrinsic beauty. That’s what we do here, we look for the diamond in everyone; we help the soul’s beauty come to the surface, we polish it until it gleams." I looked at Avi, all disheveled and hunched over, nearly hiding in his seat, and said, "You’re like that dirt-covered stone and our business is to find the diamond within and polish it until it glows."

Two years passed. Avi had graduated from the treatment center, and when the following event took place he had already completed his stay in the halfway house and was integrated into the community, working in construction. One day Annette, who manages the halfway house, received a call from a family whose elderly matriarch had died. They wanted to donate her furniture to the halfway house. Annette called Avi and asked him to pick up the furniture, which he willingly agreed to do. When he went to pick it up, he saw that it wasn’t worth saving but not wanting to insult the family, he hauled it anyway.

While Avi was laboring to carry the shabby sofa up the stairs to the halfway house, an envelope fell from the cushions. After getting the couch inside, Avi retrieved the envelope, in which he found five thousand shekels (about $1,700). Now Avi, remember, had served time in prison for burglary. When he was doing drugs he would have broken into a home for twenty dollars. But now Avi called Annette and told her about the envelope. Annette said it must be reported to the family.

The family was so gratified by Annette’s and Avi’s honesty that they told her to keep the money for the halfway house. As a result, the halfway house was able to buy one more bed and provide room for one more guest, creating another opportunity for recovery. And Avi wasn’t a crook anymore.

Avi relayed this story to me in a letter. He wrote, "When I used drugs I would get a high for a very short time and when the high wore off I felt terrible, worse than before. It’s been three months since I found that money and every time I think of what I did, I feel good all over again. How different a feeling than a temporary fix."

Another year went by and I returned to that halfway house where Avi’s good deed had set off a chain of events which led to, among other things, an extra bed. There was a sign hanging above the entry. It read: DIAMONDS POLISHED HERE.

Goodness is inherent in all of us. Sometimes we need the selflessness or charitable behavior of others to bring it to the surface. Or we might need to be reminded of its place right there beneath our skin.

It is no accident that as a society we are experiencing a resurgence of belief in things spiritual. As we approach the new millennium, we instinctively sense that we must turn our priorities around.

Each of us needs an owner’s guide to our evolving spirits. The article you hold in your hand didn’t get there accidentally. The word "good" in the title attracted you. Already you are partway there. "There" is the place where you will arrive knowing that nothing feels better than performing a kindness for another. Each small good deed builds on the one before until you have a mosaic created from gemstones of kindness. And what will happen while you aren’t looking is you’ll get so much back in return.

These good deeds you perform are labeled differently in every language: in Yiddish, the word is mitzvah; in the United States, it falls under the heading of the Golden Rule. Every culture has an expression for performing an unsolicited good deed for another. Each of these words has the same superlative connotation, suggestive of not only the act of kindness, but the whole spirit surrounding it.

I have been fortunate: through both my pastoral work and the wisdom of my patients, I have learned much about the resources each of us has for goodness and how we must strive to be kind to others in order to love ourselves.

Because I work with addicts I have witnessed countless souls battling their basest demons to gain goodness. Because I am a medical doctor I have watched so often the one-on-one struggle between humankind and illness. And whether the patient wins or loses the struggle, she will always end up changing the lives of everyone around her. When my own tragedies have come, it is the gesture of these same patients, reaching out to share my pain even as they felt their own, that has made my own losses bearable.

This reminds me of a story I read concerning the aftermath of the tragic crash of TWA 800 over Long Island in July 1996. As the victim’s families were returning home, unsure of anything, many without even the identification of their loved ones, they were surrounded by strangers wanting to console them. One of the victims’ family members stopped to speak to the crowd. She talked of the crowd’s tireless support throughout the weeks they had stayed in a makeshift bunker, a hotel. Each morning the bereaved would walk out to signs that read, "We love you," "We pray for you." Individuals in the crowd spoke out their support. The woman wept as she told the press how much this meant to the families. On this particular day, the last of their stay, an impromptu memorial service was held, one of many. The collective sympathy of strangers is an impressive tool to combat grief. Think of that when you know of someone who is grieving. Reach out to them. This is one of so many simple good deeds you can perform -- for them; for you.

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