Safe Event 2025 - Elliot Ash Keynote Address

Uh, it's truly an honor to be back here with the Safe Foundation, a place that meant and means so much to me and my family. When I stood here last year, I was right in the middle of my personal transformation, still figuring out what life could be beyond addiction. I shared my story, my tragedy, my recovery, and most importantly, that asking for help was okay and is okay. And let me tell you, this past year has been nothing short of amazing. I've had the privilege of helping people who reached out after hearing my speech. People from all walks of life struggling with addiction. One that really struck with me or stuck with me, sorry, was a woman from Baltimore who actually got my video. She called me asking for advice on her son who was actually non-stop betting on these apps. My point is whatever happens here in this room today, who knows where it could be and who knows whose lives you can help. I've spoken in schools, shared my life story with students this year and in the process of helping others, I made sure to stop and continue to help myself. After 20 years of success in sales, I realized it was time to grow again. I stepped out of my comfort zone and took on a brand new chapter in my life. I've always had a passion for real estate, but never took on that next step until this year. Until that last speech that I made last year. I now work at Tri-State Commercial, surrounded by close family and friends, incredible people. It's more than just a real estate job. It's living proof that recovery doesn't just help us survive, it helps us thrive. I've built new relationships, discovered new purpose, stepped into rooms I didn't think I would ever imagine to be in. This past year taught me that our stories never really end. Shut the up. This past year taught me that our stories never really end as long as we stay open to growth, to connection, and embracing what's to come. So now it's my privilege to pass on the mic to someone else, someone with their story, someone with their own power, their own journey, and their own message. Please join me in welcoming this year's speaker, Elliot Ash. [Applause] Thank you. Good morning everyone. Thank you all for being here today on this beautiful Friday morning when once again Hashem reminds me of the countless kindnesses he blesses with me blesses me with. My name is Elliot Ash and this is a story of my journey. This isn't a story of struggle. It's a story of rediscovery, redemption, of faith, resilience, and falling. A resilience of falling apart and hitting rock bottom and ultimately learning how to live again. Fortunately for me, my journey began in love. I am the youngest of four siblings, one sister, two brothers, raised in a warm, vibrant Jewish Syrian Jewish family. Growing up we spent Shabbats in shul summers in deal took family vacations and holidays surrounded by traditions, foods and memories and laughter. I remember Jido Ash sitting with us and sharing stories about life on the lower east side in the 1920s passing down wisdom, life lessons and history in in the way only he could. There was always joy, love and a deep sense of belonging and normaly. a feeling that everything was just as it should be. I attended Mag and David Elementary School. Although I was a shy kid, I made plenty of good friends. I was great at sports and that earned me notoriety. Whether it was football, basketball, or surfing, I could always hold my own. Till this day, I can still catch a wave like I never left the beach. But around seventh grade, something shifted. I started struggling academically which made me develop feelings of being less capable than others. Slowly, my confidence and self-esteem began to unravel. I became even more quiet, more reserved, and more sensitive. Over time, I stopped believing in myself. I began to internalize this idea that I was falling behind, not just academically, but in all aspects of my teenage life. By the time high school admissions came around, I felt the pressure mounting. I couldn't get into Mag and David High School with all my friends, which added another layer of sadness and disconnection. Instead, I ended up at Oratra. They were good to me, gave me structure, support, and exactly what I needed at the time. I always I I'll always be grateful for that. But even with everything they provided, I constantly felt like I was living a life that wasn't truly mine. Not a day went by where I didn't wish I was with my friends. In 10th grade, I got an opportunity to transfer back with them. When I went back, I lasted just a few days before the overwhelm sent me sent me retreating. At 15, I wasn't equipped to make that a decision that big on my own. I didn't have the tools, maturity, or life experience. I regretted that choice for a very long time and felt a sense of resentment towards those around me for not guiding me differently. I was just a kid trying to figure it all out. That decision, as insignificant as it may seem to others, followed me for years. It planted seeds of shame and persistent belief that I was just not good enough. After high school, I didn't follow a typical path. No yeshiva in Israel, no college. I drifted. I bounced from job to job, mail order, wholesale, whatever came my way. I tried hard. I had ideas, ambitions, and a genuine desire of being on the right path. But I had no direction, no guidance, and no real sense of where I was heading. At first, I tried my best to live a meaningful life. I kept Shabbat. I thought I was living up to the expectations of what it meant to being a good young man from our community, someone others would be proud of. I thought that meant having a nice car, a nice job, a business that people respected. But ultim ultimately my perception was distorted. I was chasing an image, not a truth. Bouncing around jobs without stability and support left me feeling anxious and unsure of myself. Still, I was working hard and soon enough I made some money. I launched a fashion wholesale business. I purchased samples, traveled overseas, even landed a major retailer with a promising opening order. I was finally in the place I longed to be, on top next to my peers. For the first time, I felt like I was a real man with a little bit of money, influence, and confidence. Life was getting good. And then came the moment that changed everything. The pill per Percoet on Ocean Parkway. One night while hanging out with a group of older guys, some someone handed me a half of Percoet. I did not know what it was, and I didn't ask. I It felt warm, quiet, and controlled, like calm. But that calm came with a cost. What I thought was comfort became a prison. That small, quiet, almost invisible moment, a single choice led me down a path I never imagined. I was caught off guard, but I did not try to escape. In fact, it was the opposite. I told myself that I was strong enough and and I could handle anything. I'm just getting high. I thought, I've got this. Nothing would bring me down. until something did. Unfortunately, the factory I was working with deceived me and just like that forced my business to collapse. And with that went everything, my strength, my confidence, all my hopes, dreams, aspirations, all down the drain. That collapse broke me and the pills filled the space where dreams used to live. In that in the wreckage of that failure, deep sadness took over my life and at this point became desperate. I became desperate. Desperate to feel okay and in control. I was running a race. I kept chasing peace. But the harder I ran, the further I drifted from myself. What started as a as relief quickly became a crutch. That crutch evolved into a cage and and eventually that cage became a living nightmare. Failure echoed every insecurity I had buried and the pills were right there ready to mute the pain. But by the mid20s I was a daily user. I like control or at least the illusion of it. Percoetses gave me the illusion that illusion until it didn't. Eventually I started for forging blank doctor's prescriptions going from pharmacy to pharmacy to get my pills. I knew that was I knew what I was doing was wrong and the life I was living was crazy and dangerous. I realized I had to get clean. I tried to get clean on my own thinking I could I could handle it. I went to Florida, but while I was there, I learned back in New York that there was trouble from the authorities and the FBI got involved. Some people were arrested, even jailed. I was lucky I wasn't caught, but even that didn't teach me a lesson. I relapsed. Looking back, I believe that that was Hashem's way of protecting me. But at that time, I was too blind to see it. I thought I could do it alone, but I couldn't. I wasn't getting better. I needed help. I needed outside support. Then came another tragedy. My brother David, I love shalom. My best friend. He passed away suddenly at 28. A combination of sleep apnnea, medication, and weight. The light of our home went out. And in that silence, I drowned. I ran from myself and from the pain I didn't want to feel. Underneath all of this was grief, the kind that shatters the soul. I was in the limousine heading to the funeral. Hi. I should have been comforting my family, honoring his memory. But I was numb, lost in a haze of pills. And even this loss didn't teach me a lesson. That memory still hurts. There were more attempts when I tried to stop, times when I've detoxed, even stayed clean for short stretches, but nothing really changed. I hadn't yet dressed the real wound. The part of me that didn't believe I was enough. Recovery, I learned, isn't just about removing the substance. It's about rewriting the story you tell yourself. You must heal the inside. Then came the wakeup call. At age 29, I had a brain aneurysm. My body stopped working. My words stopped forming. I asked myself, "Is this really how it ends?" In that moment of stillness, I had decided it wasn't the end. It was the beginning. And I meant for greatness. I flew to Mexico. I flew to Mexico to try IOGA, a powerful a powerful plant medicine for addiction. I I it didn't magically cure me, but it gave me a gift. Clarity. I saw my life, every choice, every hurt, every belief with new eyes. From Mexico, I called Ike. He welcomed me with open arms. No judgment, just love. That one call changed the trajectory of my life. Back in New York, I entered the treatment at Safe. I didn't dabble. I committed. I told the therapist once a week won't cut it and I needed more. I need to come every day and that I did. I fully immersed myself. I went to save four days a week. I joined groups at nights. I showed up for nine months. I started to rebuild my mind, my heart, and my soul. My mind was finally opening. And I was beginning to see. I came to understand something huge that drugs weren't the enemy. My perception was I had spent years trapped in victimhood, angry, resentful, lost. But now I had the power to see differently. And once I saw that, I was free to change. That's when I started to heal. While at SAFE, I dove into spiritual work with Rabbi Moses Habber through Mccor. We didn't just talk about religion. We talked about real things. Shame, forgiveness, worthiness. Tada became not just a ritual, but it became healing. Judaism became more than heritage. It became the journey back to myself. Following that, Rabbi Habber suggested I continue my mental health work at SBH. And that's exactly what I did for six more months. I kept peeling back layers and I kept showing up. And today, I am so grateful to Hashem because I get to celebrate myself. I got married last year to the love of my life, Tasja, [Applause] my soulmate and my partner. The essence of our marriage is rooted on traditions, love, respect, and growth. I am also so grateful to be a dad and have a beautiful stepdaughter in my life. and looking forward to growing our family. For the first time in my life, I feel empowered, whole, present, and truly loved by everyone around me. I have a career I truly love with Barack Builders. A place where I feel valued, inspired, and proud to work, and proud of the work I do. Each day I wake up excited to build something and help people create and preserve their legacies. And most importantly, I have peace. Not just a fleeting moment, but a lasting presence. There are times and places in life where despair exists. Hitting rock bottom was one of the greatest gifts I've ever received. It forced me to become more open and vulnerable. Sometimes it's just the resistance within us that must be broken so the vessel can rebuild. Now I use my experiences to help others. Sharing my story to inspire hope and healing. Let me leave you with this. David teaches us shun evil and do good and dwell forever. I want to emphasize and do good. It's not enough simply to stop doing wrong. Hashem also commands us to fill that space with good. Doing good includes small acts. Showing up for others, showing up for yourself, and asking for help, praying, giving back, and being honest. It doesn't promise an easy life, but a deeply rooted one. Today and every day, this is my anchor. My journey hasn't only been about stopping addiction or escaping pain. It's been about replacing it with goodness, with truth, and with growth. I am committed to helping others in rebuilding their life with meaning and integrity. And through that, I've been able to build a life worth dwelling on both in this world and the next. Thank you. Shabbat shalom.