Feeling low has been my mood for the last few months, and it's getting worse. The little things that used to fill me with pride--the smooth running of my house, my success and renown as an editor whose clients recommend others and return with more work every year, my excellent health, are collapsing in failure.
You want more specifics? The woman who commissioned me to write, sing, and record a song has disappeared and left me holding the bill from the recording studio. And the man who commissioned me to write an audio script disappeared after I worked on the project for months. Then I thought, okay, so I'll peddle the song and the script somewhere else; but nobody wanted to spend even five bucks. Not even my friends.
Really, when we moved into this cottage in the Negev I thought those humiliating days were over: Like the time I was seven and was sent to a cousin's house, and then realized she didn't want me there.
Like falling in love at 13 with the nature counselor at camp, and being brushed off next day when the camp director warned him about underage girls and losing his job.
Like arriving at a summer theater as a 16-year-old apprentice with just five dollars in my pocket, and finding out I would not be getting meals. Like the faces the director made during my audition.
And that was only the tip of the early days in a vast lifetime of shames, embarrassments, and humiliations.
Then this evening I read a post on the Shuvu Banim International blog, that Rav Eliezer Berland says that humiliation is a highly valuable, fantastic thing: it fills your soul with light; it's worth millions; it gets you a big ticket place in the World to Come.
Of course it doesn't work if you go around bragging about it.