To the Highest Degree

“Rosh Yeshivah,” Shloimy sputtered. “Today Dovid finally showed up, he was gone for days, remember? He said he had pneumonia.”

The Rosh Yeshivah nodded, well aware that the “pneumonia” was a coverup for what Dovid’s most recent therapist said was clinical depression.

“Anyway,” Shloimy continued, “today he walked into the beis medrash on fire. He was there before I was, shuckeling like crazy in front of the shtender. I said shalom aleichem, welcome back, and asked how he felt, and he yelled at me that I should stop schmoozing and start learning.”

The Rosh Yeshivah had seen enough in his life to know that this was a red flag. But what was there left to do? Dovid had been to a number of therapists, been diagnosed with everything from depression to anxiety to ADHD, had imbibed numerous medications, and things seemed only to grow worse.