The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

I am looking straight at him.

I have known him for years.

He is mired in emotional turmoil.

I ask him what's wrong.

"I feel completely inadequate for the task before me."

I was unprepared for his candid revelation.

He exuded an aura of self-confidence, and I was, therefore, surprised by his disclosure.

He never seemed timid.

However, I learned a long time ago that appearances, more often than not, are deceiving.

Often, the most seemingly self-confident appearing individuals are covering up emotional turbulence and are filled with doubts.

And now he, too, had joined the ranks of the fragile and emotionally challenged.

"The pressure gets harder, not easier.

 Every year, I am expected to inspire others.

The assumption is that I am a wellspring of freshness and creativity.

However, does anyone ever consider that the well can dry up?

How can I accept  being the center of attention and a source of motivation and insight when inwardly I am devoid and empty?"

I ask him why he doesn't reach out to his friends, those who know him, and with whom he can share his thoughts.

"Can the man expected to dole out Chizuk as the candyman in Shul gives out lollipops turn to others?

Can the perceived benefactor admit to being the beneficiary?

The concept of friends implies equality and parity, yet I am placed on a prefabricated false pedestal of presumed perfection.

The  pedestal is hollow, and the emperor has no clothes."

I realize I am staring into the face of a pained individual whose struggles are identical to mine.

My erstwhile paradigm of holiness is exposed before me to be as flawed as me.

This man, whom many look up to with an assumption of spiritual superiority, has been rendered pedestrian and mundane.

The once-upon-a-time hero, who many incorrectly considered a pillar of spiritual strength and resiliency, has been revealed to be a prosaic, pathetic commoner.

As I look into his face, I see the visage of banality as his eyes desperately seek solace and reassurance no less than mine.

Alas, relief is unattainable.

His existential loneliness lives on.

The epiphany is shocking, albeit accurate.

His challenges are no different than mine.

His doubts and deficiencies are mine.

He, too, is human, a mere flawed mortal.

Yet, I have no time to dwell on this startling revelation.

I command him to vanquish himself back into the delusional world of perceived piety.

I adjust my kittel and pull myself from the mirror as I bid farewell to my pained companion.

I dash from the office, refusing his wish to accompany me.

The mask is in place, as snug as it must be.

I arrive at my seat as the haunting words of Kol Nidrei waft through the Shul.