The skeleton in my closet
Confessions of a counterculture rabbi
There’s a certain kind of angst unique to certain kinds of rabbis — those who grew up in secular homes and found their way to religious observance later in adulthood.
Of course, we all have episodes from our past lives we’d prefer to leave buried and forgotten. But for the individual whose position demands a public persona of piety, propriety, and personal self-discipline, the haunting past can prove particularly discomfiting. Even the most modest indiscretions — tattoos, adolescent trysts, or mortifying moments captured forever on camera — threaten to tarnish even the most irreproachable reputations.
I have my own skeleton in my own closet. And the door of that closet remains open a crack — just enough to ensure that some astute observer will occasionally notice it.