Masks

They stared at him in horrified fascination.

It was a hot, summer Shabbos afternoon. The streets were unusually quiet.

We were invited out for the morning meal, and were on our way home, when we saw him.

He was standing, huddled in the shadows of the building, wearing a shtreimel and bekeshe. Smoking.

My children stood there, eyes bulging, mouths hanging open. Here, before them, was such blatant chillul Shabbos, by someone who looked so...so...FRUM, and they couldn't make sense of it.

"But...but...he looks frum," my daughter said, clearly upset. "Why does he dress like that if that's not what he really is?"

Here was a teaching moment.

"I'm sure he IS frum," I said. "We can't judge him. He may be completely frum in every other way, but this is his yetzer hara. This is the one thing he struggles with."

They weren't buying it.

"WE look frum, don't we?" I continued. "But do we always do everything we should? We know that speaking lashon hara is pretty bad...but we do it anyway sometimes. Right? Even though we KNOW it's wrong. Even when we are reminded AS we're saying it. But we're still frum, aren't we?"

We are. They understood. I did my job.

But I'm not sure I quite believed it myself.



I'm frum.

Life for me is so simple. My religion tells me what to do and what not to do, and gives me all the answers.

I wish.

Externally, I look frum. I dress the part. I make brachos and bentch. I keep Shabbos and kosher. I send my kids to all the right schools.

On the outside, I'm frum.

But I'm wearing a mask.

Not the kind we put on during Purim...the kind that hides our physical characteristics. I'm talking about the kind of mask that conceals the essence of who I am.

Because inside, I am struggling. Life feels like a battleground. I am in a constant battle against my own selfishness and desires.

And I don't always win the battle.

Sometimes I surrender. I feel too weak to fight. I do things I know I shouldn't, and don't do things I should. Again and again.

So...who am I?

Am I that frum woman you see when you look at me...the one who covers her hair and wears long sleeves? The one who blends in so easily with all the other frum women in Shul? Or am I a different person under the mask? Someone who sometimes gives in to her yetzer hara when no one is looking?

Am I frum?

Yes. I'm frum. That person who sometimes slips and gives in...that's not me. Sure, it's me playing the part. But it's not who I am. And I don't want to ever allow it to become who I am.

I struggle. I'm fighting the battle. The battlefield brings forth capabilities and potentials I didn't even know existed within myself.

It is this struggle which makes me strong.

Yes, I lose many battles. But for every one I lose, there are so many more that I win.

I will spend the rest of my life fighting these battles. And I will never win the war.

But I will keep fighting.

So...yes, I am frum.

Just like the man with the cigarette...

Even under the mask.


Happy Purim!