My Own Deceit

I wanted to like him. He had a warm, bearded and soft grandfatherly face. He was friendly, on the ball and excited about life.

Waiting for the group meal to begin, I was sitting on the couch reading "Towards a Meaningful Life" yet again. His British accent caught my attention. Apparently he was a popular Rabbi. A small crowd of youngsters he seemed to know were gathered around him listening to his jokes, his stories - enamored with his presence.

He piqued my curiosity. I too was enamored. A respectable, well dressed and dignified Rabbi with a down-to-earth and youthful presence. I found myself staring blankly at my book, more intrigued with what he was imparting to the young kids standing around him. He seemed the type of Rabbi who had something to say.

And oh, did he ever...

Time suddenly halted, and there's only one thing I can remember. One of the kids asked him casually, "Where's Sarah? Have you seen her?" and my dignified subject of intrigue and respect responded, "I think I saw her upstairs. But be careful, she might be in her bikini."

My body froze in surprise, but my eyes uncontrollably shot a harsh quick glance in his direction. I didn't expect such crude, immature and thoughtless "humor" to leave his lips. What the...? Why?

Apparently, I've become comfortable with stereotyping, and assumed the black hat and beard represented a type of person who couldn't possibly have such a loose tongue.

My intrigue in him disintegrated completely. I felt disappointed. I sat there on the couch spitting out judgments and feeling anger towards the Rabbi's misleading persona. He was now "the bikini rabbi" to me. I wanted him out of the building, away from the youth, my friends. He clearly had nothing to offer us here, with his two-sided makeshift existence.

I pretended to not be sensitive to the stereotype-jolt and was asked to take a seat for the meal. Unexplainably affected by the little scenario, I was just calming down when another Rabbi stood up to introduce our guest speaker. The mysterious man was introduced like a "Tzaddik in our midst", and we are "very fortunate to have him with us."

I nearly choked on my food when the "Mr. Prestigious" introduced was revealed to be none other than the Bikini Rabbi.

What? This guy? Nuh uh. This is not happening.

I had witnessed something about this Rabbi that no one else had, and there he stood amongst the applause - ready to trick everyone.

All I could do was glare at him. Who did he think he was talking about the Torah portion with the same mouth he used for an insensitive and vulgar comment only moments before? Everyone was being betrayed, and I was stirring in my seat, totally disturbed. I felt a faker among us, and found myself totally distrusting everything he was saying. "Such hypocrisy doesn't deserve my attention," I thought to myself.

So there I sat - even long after he was finished speaking - with contempt and judgment boiling inside me.

-----

Having this occurrence sitting in my mind for days now, I have found the insight to feel totally embarrassed from my reaction. It hurts me to come to terms with who I was in this situation. I feel disgusted with myself for having such righteousness in the face of a fellow Jew.

Do I dare pride myself on being a whole and ever-consistent human? Am I so blind to my own faults that I shake at the weaknesses in others? Why don't I ever view my own inconsistencies with similar fervor, and avoid all my virtues in light of my faults? How do I live without combusting from my own hypocrisy? How dare I easily give myself credit but break at one sighting of a Rabbi's immature comment? And who am I to even notice? Who am I to be the counter of another's deeds and consistency? Who did I think I was to discredit the Rabbi's words of Torah? Who was I to feel betrayed? Where was my right to react?

Have I ever been this unfair to myself? And most of all, has G-d?
How does G-d stand for it? I can use my mouth for lying and talking idly about others, and G-d still accepts my prayers. G-d sees my stumble and struggle and crash and burn - but his love for me remains boundless and clear and ever-present. G-d comes running to my side when defeat is in my future, and he can ignore my failures when he sees me succeed.

How did I forget G-d's kindness to me? How did it not penetrate and maneuver my reaction to my fellow Jew?

I don't think any of us profess to be whole. When we realize and speak of our own smallness, our weaknesses, we need to remember that part of this realization is brought to fruition with depth and truth only by the way we relate to others. Who was I to expect such unfaltering perfection from others when I myself know the ride, the ups and downs, of growth and existence? How can I come to appreciate G-d's kindness in dealing with me when I myself am judging others?

We have enough barriers in this world. Refusing to contribute to the blockages is one area I can value consistency with fervor.

I feel pathetic and sorry for my reaction to the Rabbi, but have renewed a determination to unwind the trend. It opened me up to a meaningful challenge - to not only view others as I view myself, but as G-d sees us all.