Life of Yeshiva Guy

I once insulted someone. Shattered him. To his core, I mean. I remember today with vivid, burning clarity his face when I finished my number on him. So…broken. Tears streaming down his face. He went into the field near the bunkhouse, and cried and cried. His smooth, babylike face was contorted with the pain that I’d caused him. His body shook. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t speak. But I could. And I kept tormenting him. Teasing. It was a game. Just a game.

Until today, I don’t know why. We’re sometimes cruel that way, us kids. I thought I understood him. I thought that he wasn’t really hurt…just crying the way a baby cries. Wailing, calling for attention. It wasn’t so.
On that day, long ago, I thought I was important. I could make someone cry. And under the sunny sky, we stood, together, but apart, on the weedy baseball diamond.

And I kept teasing. And he kept crying.
But it was just a game.

Some of the guys in the bunk were on my side. Urged me on. Instigated. There will always be those types. I was once one of them too- but that’s a story for another time. The good guys in the bunk were all on his side. He was well liked; easygoing, nice, a kind word for everyone, all the time. Oddly, I liked him too. The day before the story, we were friends. And then, just like that, I saw how quickly I could degenerate into…well, an achzor. A tormentor.

Later that day, our counselor gave it to me. He screamed at me in front of the whole bunk. He was really mad when he found out what had happened. How I had deliberately targeted and destroyed this boy. Tormented him. But really, how badly could my counselor make me feel- after all, I understood people. To make myself feel okay, I told myself that my counselor didn’t mean the things he said.I wasn’t really mean. Just playing a game. We all do that, don’t we?

Games.

We’re not, though. Mean. We aren’t mean people. Certainly, we don’t think we’re mean. Studies indicate that the cruelest criminals in our jails believe they are, at their core, good people. And perhaps they are. After all, we are all created in G-d’s image. There is good in all of us. But watch how quickly our ethics and morals can disintegrate… so quickly do we denigrate. And the road to personal perdition is so steep…I know. I slipped down it, that day, that summer.

This boy…the one I played with…he isn’t in such great shape anymore. Truthfully, I don’t know if he ever was. A complicated situation. But I can’t help but wondering how much of his situation today is on me. All of it? None of it? I pray for the latter.

Some time ago I spent some time tracking him down- I’d even forgotten his name. It wasn’t easy. He’d moved, both physically and spiritually. I couldn’t get his forgiveness. It wasn’t meant to be…for now. I couldn’t even get him on the phone.

Is he still playing? I don’t know. I hope so. I hope he wins his game.

Still, the torment torments.

And it isn’t a game anymore.