NOW YOU’RE TALKING

                                                                                    By Rabbi Ron Yitzchak Eisenman

Courtesy of Mishpacha Magazine

     He was not a regular in shul. Nevertheless, when I heard his daughter was engaged, I decided to stop by.

   As I was leaving, he asked if I would meet with him after the midnight Maariv. I looked at his face and saw pain. I told him to come on Wednesday. He asked, “This is between us?” I assured him it would be confidential.

     At 12:15 am Wednesday, he arrived.

   “You don’t know me well. By all outward appearances I’m a successful rebbi. I have a wonderful wife and children. I daven vasikin and have many chavrusos. However, I am in deep pain. In fact, sometimes the pain is so great I consider doing the unthinkable to myself.

     “I suffer from depression. If you’ve never experienced it, you cannot imagine what depression is.

     “I am in a black hole of pain that engulfs my entire being.

     “I feel lonely and sad even when I’m surrounded by loved ones.

     “I dread opening my eyes in the morning. And I’m in trepidation when I attempt to fall asleep.

     “I fear nothing and I fear everything, and this feeling erases all simchah from my day.

     “Even when everything in life is good, I’m filled with crippling and paralyzing fear and sadness. The most basic task, such as smiling, becomes a painful chore, and just getting to shul and davening—not to mention teaching and interacting with people—is unbearable, I am sick and tired of countless people telling me they ‘also sometimes feel blue’. I cannot bear another person telling me to ‘snap out of it, stop feeling so sorry for yourself.’

     “They have no idea what depression really is. It has nothing to do with feeling ‘blue’, and you can’t just ‘snap out of it’.

   “Why don’t I go to my Rav? The answer is one word: shidduchim.

     “I have more daughters in shidduchim, and they will call my Rav for a reference. I can never share with hi8m my suffering.”

     He paused and his face contorted in pain. “I can no longer bear the pain. Please help me.”

     I looked at him and felt his pain. I felt his loneliness and his feeling of desperation.

     I gave him names of therapists who could be of assistance; but he demurred.

     “Can’t you give me the name of a doctor who I can call anonymously for a prescription?”

     I replied that if he is really concerned about shidduchim, he needs to deal with the issue now. I reminded him that this is no different than diabetes or any other treatable ailment. Finally, after a long discussion, he agreed to see someone. As he was leaving he asked me: “How come my rebbeim in yeshiva never spoke about this? Why is it always relegated to the women’s section of magazines?”

     I looked at him. “You can begin to change that,” I suggested, “by being a source of inspiration to others suffering in silence and feeling they’re all alone. Why not speak to fellow sufferers who could receive chizuk from you?”

     “I could never do that. I would never admit my problem to anyone. It’s your job to get the word out, not mine.”

     “Fine,” I said. “I’ll get the word out. I’ll write the article. But if someone asks you about the article, can you at least say it was an overdue and important article?”

     “I’ll think about it. You first write the article and I’ll think about it.”

     I just did my part. Will you do yours?