“I lacked nothing in life, but what I wanted was to die” – a story I never meant to share

I was 14. I entered the dormitory of one of the leading yeshiva high schools. I had everything, friends, a supportive family, serious studies, a competitive environment. In the yeshiva nothing was missing. A prestigious dormitory, good teachers, excellent rabbanim. Even the food was good. Maybe except for the fish day, but hey, we had three kinds of cream cheese for breakfast. I was pretty popular, both with the rabbis and with the boys.

And still, at night I would soak my pillow with tears and pray to Hashem to take me. I whispered: to take me, but that no one should be hurt. That my parents wouldn’t suffer, that my siblings wouldn’t mourn, that everyone would continue normally. I don’t know whether to call it self Suicidal tendencies or not. Yes, I wanted to die. Yes, I saw no meaning. Yes, my inner world felt shattered. But I was also afraid. I didn’t want pain, and I had a hidden fear of heights, so besides praying, I did nothing.

But that’s not the point. What I felt can’t really be described. On the outside I was normal, happy, friendly, even someone others envied, but I felt dead inside. I was always independent and not quick to share. For months I walked around like that, half alive, half dead, and the feeling only intensified. That’s what happens when you hold everything inside, it just grows and grows, until a small feeling of helplessness turns into a monster.

This is the most exposed column I’ve ever written, but today it feels necessary. And I want to tell you, my brother, you are not alone. We are not alone. Great ones before us wanted their lives to end. Moshe Rabbeinu said “kill me now”. Rachel Imeinu said “if not, I am dead”. Iyov asked why he was born. Yonah HaNavi asked to die over the gourd. Eliyahu HaNavi said “take my soul”. Each one reached that place for his own reasons. And I am not comparing, obviously. But why did the Tanach not censor this? Because sometimes this is part of life. A stage meant especially for deep souls, those who feel everything all the way to the bottom of their being. Someone who touches the end is also someone who can begin again.

My brother, life begins at the bottom. That’s where the air is thinnest, and that’s where the greatest things grow. And if you’re there now, know that your heart is still capable of raising mountains. That life has destined you for something big, something that leaves a mark. Be strong, my brother. This is where your redemption begins.

And I am speaking to all of you as well. My story changed because of two older boys who noticed me. One knew what I was going through, and the other until today doesn’t know, but both saw me. Really saw me. That’s all I needed. A bit of attention. A bit of patience. A bit of humanity. They held the rope for me until I could climb. They were not psychologists, and they didn’t have answers. They were simply human beings.

Today I appreciate every moment of life. Today I understand how thin the line is. How a smile, a hug, a short conversation, genuine care, can stop someone from falling when they show no sign on the outside. How many kids walk among us looking perfect while inside something is hurting them deeply.

It’s so simple. To smile. To hug. To talk. To care. To ask. Are you someone’s brother? You can save a life.

Are you someone’s friend? You can save a life.

Are you someone’s neighbor? A small hello can save a life.

A hello and a smile can save a life.

As complicated as it is, it’s that simple.

I’m not preaching. And I don’t like exposing my life. But it feels like a duty. Just to be a bit better. A bit more sensitive. Less noise from the internet, more listening. More seeing. Because sometimes the kid who looks fine is exactly the one who is dead inside, and your smile can bring him back to life.

It’s not kindness. It’s responsibility.