TheYeshiva.net - Rabbi YY Jacobson

Cut Out All the Lies

I Love Truth Until It Counts...

26 min

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Class Summary:

This women's class was presented on Tuesday Parshas Mishpatim, 23 Shevat, 5779, January 29, 2019 at the Ohr Chaim Shul, Monsey, NY

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Mishpatim

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S
Shmuel -5 years ago
Please Hear What I'm Not Saying. Don't be fooled by me.
Charles C. FinnSeptember 1966

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

   Don't be fooled by me.

   Don't be fooled by the face I wear

   for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,

   masks that I'm afraid to take off,

   and none of them is me.

   Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,

   but don't be fooled,

   for G-d's sake don't be fooled.

   I give you the impression that I'm secure,

   that all is sunny and unruffled with me,

within as well as without,

   that confidence is my name and coolness my game,

   that the water's calm and I'm in command

   and that I need no one,

   but don't believe me.

   My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,

   ever-varying and ever-concealing.

   Beneath lies no complacence.

   Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.

   But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.

   I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.

   That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

   a nonchalant sophisticated facade,

   to help me pretend,

   to shield me from the glance that knows.

   But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,

   and I know it.

   That is, if it's followed by acceptance,

   if it's followed by love.

   It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,

   from my own self-built prison walls,

   from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

   It's the only thing that will assure me

   of what I can't assure myself,

   that I'm really worth something.

   But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.

   I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,

   will not be followed by love.

   I'm afraid you'll think less of me,

   that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.

   I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing

   and that you will see this and reject me.

   So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,

   with a facade of assurance without

   and a trembling child within.

   So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,

   and my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.

   I tell you everything that's really nothing,

   and nothing of what's everything,

   of what's crying within me.

   So when I'm going through my routine

   do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

   Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,

   what I'd like to be able to say,

   what for survival I need to say,

   but what I can't say.

   I don't like hiding.

   I don't like playing superficial phony games.

   I want to stop playing them.

   I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me

   but you've got to help me.

   You've got to hold out your hand

   even when that's the last thing I seem to want.

   Only you can wipe away from my eyes

   the blank stare of the breathing dead.

   Only you can call me into aliveness.

   Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,

   each time you try to understand because you really care,

   my heart begins to grow wings--

   very small wings,

   very feeble wings,

   but wings!

   With your power to touch me into feeling

   you can breathe life into me.

   I want you to know that.

   I want you to know how important you are to me,

   how you can be a creator--an honest-to-G-d creator--

   of the person that is me

   if you choose to.

   You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,

   you alone can remove my mask,

   you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,

   from my lonely prison,

   if you choose to.

   Please choose to.

   Do not pass me by.

   It will not be easy for you.

   A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

   The nearer you approach to me

   the blinder I may strike back.

   It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man

   often I am irrational.

   I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

   But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls

   and in this lies my hope.

   Please try to beat down those walls

   with firm hands but with gentle hands

   for a child is very sensitive.

   Who am I, you may wonder?

   I am someone you know very well.

   For I am every man you meet

   and I am every woman you meet.

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EB
Eliazer Braun -5 years ago
AMAZING!
Thanks so much!!!!
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Anonymous -5 years ago
No sound?
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Anonymous -5 years ago
No sound?
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