From an e-mail that I recently received:

Dear Mordechai,

I'm taking the time to write this to you because I consider myself to be a fan of yours. I've been following you for quite some time. It is because of my appreciation for the growth that I've seen in you over the past few years, that I write to you today.

I'm actually rather disappointed in you. I've been keeping up with you and I've come to expect certain standards from you. I know you're not perfect, no human being is, but perhaps when I tell you exactly what happened you'll see what I mean.

The incident took place last week. You were at the birthday gathering of your friend. Everyone was singing in glee, and you, my dear friend, were joining in with the best of them. The majesty of the moment was amazing—the true love and friendship of so many souls, singing together in perfect unity . . .

The song came to an end, and another friend of yours, we'll call him Hirschel, began to say something. A rather dower faced individual whom you had never seen before looked up and made a rather nasty remark to Hirschel. Now Hirschel, as you know, is a rather jovial person, always able to crack a joke and shrug off a threat, and at that moment he did so. But this individual persisted in his unkind ways...So, trying perhaps to defuse the situation, or perhaps to make a point of your own, you turned to this frowning individual, and began to speak to him. I honestly think you meant the best.

Looking you in the eye he said, "Who are you?"

We all know how he phrased his query. It was evidently clear to everyone at the table that by no means did he care to know who you were, but rather his tone of voice spoke of a desire to point out some theoretical inadequacy in your character. Though all of this was clear, the crowd, as a whole, was ready to move on, to sing once more as they had only moments before.

You, however, leaned forward and returning an equally rancid grimace, told this person that it made no difference who you were, as it was abundantly clear that he had no desire to make your acquaintance. You continued in such a light for a good minute or two.

Quite shocking. I'm sure you'll agree in retrospect that your actions were uncalled for. At the time you were rather distracted. I was sitting with you, but I doubt you noticed. Had you taken a moment to think, however, you would have seen that there really was no need to respond...You may not know that individual well, but I do -we have mutual friends- and I know that he has his own personal demons to confront. Was he wrong? Yes, but that's for him to work out. You know very well that his actions give no excuse for your own. I know you're dealing with your own personal battles at the moment - nothing that you won't overcome, of that I can assure you - but just like this individual had no reason to act as he did, you had no excuse to strike out at him. You did so from a place of personal pain and anguish, of pride and -dare I say- conceit...For all of this I'm very disappointed in you.

I know you too well, and know that you are better than all of this. Such actions simply don't befit you.

It is because I care for you so that I write all of this. I know of your other flaws, but this one was far too public...

By now you must be scratching your head, wondering who it was at that party the other week that knows you so well...The truth is, I could withhold from telling you who I am, and you would be none the wiser. After all our sages teach, "receive the truth from he who says it." Telling you who I am, though, may help put things in perspective. Well of course, I know you. You're me! Or perhaps rather, I am you...I am your G‑dly soul.

I've followed you from before you were born, cheering you in the good, crying with you in the not so good, and because we're in this together, I want you to come out on top. I care for you. You're better, and now, after reading this letter, I hope you'll show it.

Keep up the good work, your writing and all the rest. I can assure you that good things will be soon coming.

Let's do coffee sometime,

Yours truly...