A few years ago, I was stood up on a date. Depressed, I wandered the crowded streets until I found myself walking into a storefront psychic. I don’t believe in these things, but neither am I antagonistic.
I sat on the sofa and she told me about myself, but it was mostly wrong. She could see I was unimpressed. Listen, she said, this doesn’t work if you’re not open to it. I shrugged. I’d guess, she said, you have a hard time letting yourself be taught. I said that was probably true.
She asked if I’d ever had a mentor. I said no, but not for lack of trying. I told her about the rabbi who I’d thought was so brilliant but who was, on the inside, morally repugnant. The professor in graduate school who was too insecure to be anything but congenial. The boss, the cousin, the friend—they’ve all let me down, I said.
Strictly speaking, she said, I don’t give advice, I see what I see, and all I’ll say to you is that all of them, everyone, rabbi, professor, boss, cousin, friend, are your story, as, for that matter, am I.
Menachem Kaiser is a writer living in Brooklyn, NY. His memoir, Plunder, was awarded the 2022 Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature. www.mnchm.com
