The King Doesn’t Budge: Why Real Men Hold Their Center
The king doesn’t ground the board because he’s the loudest or flashiest or most aggressive piece. He grounds the board because he holds, because he does not abandon himself, and because he is clear on what matters and is unwilling to betray it for cheap validation or temporary comfort.
Stepped-Up Fathers: A New Take on Step-Fathers This Father’s Day
Stepped-Up Fathers: A New Take on Step-Fathers This Father’s Day Stepped-Up Fathers: A New Take on Step-Fathers This Father’s Day By Dr. Baruch “B” HaLevi The Lie of Labels We live in a culture obsessed with labels. Conservative. Influencer. Activist. Ally. Feminist. Father. We slap a label on someone and pretend it means something. But here’s the truth: labels don’t make you the thing. You can call yourself a father all day long—but if all you contributed was three minutes and thirty-seven seconds (generous estimate, and yes, that includes foreplay), then what you really were… was a sperm donor. Congratulations. But that doesn’t make you a dad. Same goes for “stepdad.” That word says nothing about who you are—it just tells the world that you didn’t supply the seed. That’s it. So this Father’s Day, let’s stop confusing the label with the legacy. Let’s stop pretending biology earns you reverence. Let’s stop holding up men who did the bare minimum while overlooking the men who gave everything they had and got no label, no credit, no damn name on the wall. And let’s start honoring the men who chose to be our fathers. Sperm Donor Day Let me be clear: this isn’t about shaming biological dads. If you showed up—really showed up—if you raised your kids, carried the load, stayed in the game even when it was thankless and brutal, then you’ve earned the title and the respect that comes with it. But too many men disappeared after conception and still walk around like this day is for them. Let’s call it what it is: Sperm Donor Day. Meanwhile, there’s a silent army of men who weren’t there at the start but chose to be there every damn day after. No obligation. No fanfare. Just devotion. And they’re the ones Father’s Day should be about. They didn’t have to. No court order. No genetic link. Just choice. Just love. Just commitment. And that? That’s the deepest definition of fatherhood there is. A Real Father Named Jerry I think of a guy I’ll call Jerry. Jerry didn’t father any children biologically. Not one. But when he married their mother, he took her kids as his own. He’s raised them. Paid for them. Prayed for them. He’s been to their graduations. Sat through parent-teacher conferences. Waited up at night. Paid the price—financially, emotionally, spiritually. All in. But still, he’s not always given a say. Not always given the same rights. Sometimes not even given the name: father. Why? Because he didn’t contribute DNA? Screw that. If a man pours his time, energy, love, presence, and money into a child’s life, then by any real measure, he is the father. And that man is not a “stepfather.” He’s a father who has stepped up—and that makes him a father. Retire the Word “Stepfather” We need to retire the term stepfather for good. Because steps are what you walk on. And the men I’m talking about? They’re not steps. They’re pillars. They’re the foundation. They’re the ones holding it all together, holding it all up, often without recognition or reward. They’re the fathers in every meaningful sense of the word—even if they never passed on a strand of DNA. This One’s Personal This one’s personal. My biological father—who I loved with everything I had—chose to leave this world. He left my siblings and me with a mountain of pain, confusion, and unanswered questions. He left a mess behind that we’re still working through. But someone else showed up. Howard. He married my mother later in life. He didn’t try to replace my dad. He didn’t push his way in. But he stood steady. He gave of himself. He offered us a different kind of presence. Quiet. Grounded. Humble. And my kids call him Grandpa. Not step-Grandpa. Just Grandpa. Because that’s what he is. He’s not my biological father. But he’s been a father to me. And for that, I don’t need a blood test to know what to call him. Fine—so I don’t call him “Dad,” I call him Howie. But make no mistake—he’s still a father to me. He earned it. With presence. With consistency. With love. The things that actually matter. Men Rising in the Second Half of Life And let’s not forget what this means for the men reading this—especially the men rising up in the second half of life. Because the truth is, by now, most of us aren’t donating swimmers anymore. And let’s be honest, they’re not exactly breaking Olympic records in the butterfly stroke these days. The fatherhood you’re being invited into at this stage of life? It’s not about biology. It’s not about sperm. It’s about spirit. It’s about rising up and becoming a true father—to your partner’s kids, to your community, to the younger men around you who never had a model, never had a mentor, never had a man show up and stay. That’s the invitation. That’s the opportunity. That’s the sacred responsibility. Every man in the second half of life has a choice to make. You can step back—or you can step up. You can disappear—or you can become the father someone else never had. You can check out—or you can check in and claim the role that no one assigned you, but the world desperately needs you to fill. Maybe that looks like leveling up your relationship with your own kids—taking them out one-on-one, telling them what you’ve never said, actually listening instead of lecturing. Maybe it means marrying the woman and finally claiming her kids—not just legally, but emotionally. Or maybe it’s time to mentor. To volunteer. To join Big Brothers, coach the team, teach the class, or just be the steady presence that some kid in your neighborhood is desperate for. You don’t have to change the whole world. Just someone’s world. Let’s Get This Right So this Father’s Day, let’s get this right. Let’s celebrate the fathers who earned the name by doing the work. Let’s
Reflections After Boulder Terror: Are You Decent Or Indecent?
From Boulder to Jerusalem: A Wake-Up Call for Decent People Yesterday, a terrorist incident rocked Boulder, Colorado—the city where I live, where my two college-aged kids go to school, where my people walk, work, and worship. Thankfully, my kids weren’t there. Not because of a lucky break. Because they’re in Israel. And you know what’s insane? They’re safer in Tel Aviv than they are on their American college campus. Let that sink in. I’m not writing today as a coach or therapist. Not even as a rabbi—though I was one for many years. I’m writing as a man, a Jew, an Israeli, an American, and a father. I’m writing on the day of Shavuot—a holiday about receiving wisdom, truth, and the moral law—and I’ve got some Torah for you.Not from a scroll. From the streets. And the Torah is this:We are not okay. You might be physically fine. Maybe your friends and family are too. But if you’re a Jew in America right now—or someone who gives a damn about decency—then no, you are not okay.And you shouldn’t be. Jew Hatred—Call It What It Is Stop calling it anti-Semitism. That word’s been whitewashed.Call it what it is: Jew hatred. It’s crawling across college campuses, bleeding into media, politics, social justice circles—places Jews once called home. And now? Many feel exiled from those same places by the silence or betrayal of allies who once claimed solidarity. Here’s the truth: if you’re still trying to nuance this moment, to contextualize chants like “From the river to the sea” or the glorification of intifada, you’ve already lost the moral plot. I lived in Israel during the second intifada. Buses exploded. Bodies were buried.These words are not theoretical. They are lethal. Viktor Frankl Was Right: There Are Only Two Races My teacher Viktor Frankl survived the Holocaust and saw humanity at its worst. And still, he said: “There are only two races—the decent and the indecent.” I don’t care about your religion, your politics, your pronouns, or your party.If you’re decent, welcome to the team. But decency isn’t a feeling—it’s a behavior.It’s not just thinking good thoughts.It’s standing up, speaking out, and doing the damn work. And silence?Silence is indecent. Period. This Is the Time for Loud and Proud So yeah, I wear my pro-Israel shirts loud and proud.I don’t wear a yarmulke anymore, but my son does. And no, he will not be taking it off.Maybe it’s time for all of us, in solidarity, to wear one! To anyone who says Jews should keep their heads down, I say:Fuck that. Now is the time to rise.Now is the time to be louder, prouder, more defiant than ever. When Sbarro’s pizza in Jerusalem was bombed, Israelis reopened it the next day.That’s what defiance looks like.That’s what resilience looks like.That’s what Jewish survival looks like. Get Armed—With Knowledge and More Every Jew should be armed—legally, responsibly, and mentally. Most Jews I know can’t even argue for Israel because they don’t know enough. That has to change. Read Douglas Murray’s book on October 7th: On Democracies and Death Cults: Israel and the Future of Civilization Listen to Bari Weiss’ podcast Honestly. Listen to Dan Senor’s Call Me Back podcast. Get trained on firearms. Learn Krav Maga. Educate your kids. I indoctrinate my son on the way to school every morning.Not with hate—with history, truth, and strength. And he is 100% of inoculated from the lies and ready to get into the fight when the day comes. And yeah, I believe in physical defense too.There should’ve been someone armed at that event in Boulder.Today, there is. Israelis are now guarding Boulder synagogues. We will not be sheep. Go to Israel. Don’t Cancel. Double Down. Above all else—go to Israel. Cancel your damn trip to Hawaii if you have to, but don’t cancel Israel.Go. See the truth with your own eyes. Now is the time to walk those streets.To swim in those waters.To speak with the people—Arabs, Muslims, Christians, Bedouins, Druze, and Jews—and hear the reality firsthand. Because what you’ll find isn’t apartheid.It’s coexistence. It’s complexity. It’s humanity. And it’s a reality most critics couldn’t survive for one day—much less understand. Decent or Indecent — Pick One If you’re still sitting on the sidelines, still equivocating, still trying to thread the needle between good and evil—wake the hell up. The world doesn’t need more well-meaning moderates.It needs warriors of decency. And if that’s you?Then speak up. Show up. Stand up. And if it’s not? Well, we ain’t hiding. The Covenant Still Stands In fact—we’re coming.Louder. Prouder. Armed with truth, history, and the fire of generations that refused to be erased. Go ahead—curse us, boycott us, gaslight us, cancel us.History has receipts. Every empire that’s tried to erase us? Gone.Egypt. Babylon. Rome. Nazi Germany. Hamas—coming soon. We don’t just survive.We return. We rebuild. We rise. Because the covenant still stands: “I will bless those who bless you, and curse those who curse you.”— Genesis 12:3 And to those who bless the Jewish people, who stand with Israel, who speak up while the rest stay silent: You’re not just on the right side of history.You’re on the right side of eternity. And one way or another…Only the decent will remain standing.
MASK-ULINITY: THE SILLY BOY, THE SHADOW & THE JEFF SPICOLI IN YOU TOO
MASK-ULINITY: THE SILLY BOY, THE SHADOW & THE JEFF SPICOLI IN YOU TOO Peter Pan Syndrome, Hook Syndrome, and the Journey to Wholeness Part of the MASK-ULINITY Series: Enneagram 7: The Silly Boy Let’s start with a scene—not from a textbook, not from therapy, but from Peter Pan. Peter bursts into Wendy Darling’s bedroom in a whirlwind of chaos, chasing something he’s lost: his shadow. Tinkerbell buzzes. Peter zips around like a high-functioning child on too much sugar, trying to tape the damn thing back on. He presses it to his foot, stomps it, pleads with it. Nothing works. Eventually, he collapses, frustrated, fighting back tears—though of course, he swears he’s not crying. Wendy wakes up, sees the wreck of a boy in front of her, and says the most important line in the entire story: “You can’t stick it on. It must be sewn.” Peter, clueless and resistant, blurts out: “What’s sewn?” And there it is—the crisis of masculinity in one innocent question. A boy who can fly, fight pirates, and rally the Lost Boys… but has no idea how to face himself. A master of fantasy, totally inept at reality. You can watch the scene on YouTube. It’s whimsical, yes—but it’s also heartbreakingly familiar. Because a lot of men I know? They’re still trying to tape on their shadows with duct tape and a smile. Peter, Jeff Spicoli, and the Mask of the Silly Boy You’ve seen this guy before. He’s Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High—laid back, stoned, surfer-cool, totally allergic to anything that sounds like effort, commitment, or introspection. You laugh at him. You like him. Hell, maybe you are him. He’s fun. He’s free. He’s absolutely empty. Or maybe he’s Peter Pan—flying from one thrill to the next, surrounded by Lost Boys who reinforce his delusion that fun is enough. This is the Silly Boy mask. It’s the Enneagram 7 in reaction mode. Fun. Funny. Flying around. Addicted to the next adventure. And off he goes—faster than you can say that dreaded word: R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y. He chases highs, novelty, distraction—anything but the truth. He tells jokes to avoid silence. He turns every wound into a witty anecdote. He reframes grief into “a lesson” before he ever actually feels it. And if you challenge him? He disappears. But here’s the secret: underneath the party is pain. Under the mask is a man who’s terrified of stillness. Of sadness. Of shadows. Hook Syndrome: When the Boy Dies and the Shadow Takes Over Now, let’s swing to the other extreme. You remember Captain Hook? That grim, controlling, shadow-drenched man chasing Peter across Neverland? Here’s what most people forget: Hook is in his 40s or 50s. He’s not ancient. He’s not mythical. He’s middle-aged. He’s what Peter fears becoming. Hook is what happens when the Silly Boy dies and the shadow takes over. He’s angry. Bitter. Controlling. Obsessed with time—the ticking crocodile—and haunted by all the things he never became. This is Hook Syndrome: a man completely consumed by responsibility, stripped of joy, dried out by duty. He’s not floating—he’s drowning. Not in play, but in pain. And here’s the truth: most men either live like Peter—running from the shadow—or like Hook—completely overtaken by it. Both are stuck. Both are masks. Neither are free. Pete’s Crash Landing I’ll never forget the day I met a guy whom we’ll just call Pete. He was the quintessential 7—lightning-fast brain, big ideas, always moving. A startup guy. A podcast guy. A “what if” guy. His whole life was one big brainstorm on a whiteboard. But when his father died, the whiteboard got erased. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “I couldn’t fly anymore. I wasn’t the man I wanted to be for my dad. And now it’s too late.” Except it wasn’t too late. It was just the beginning. The loss shattered his illusion of freedom. It brought him crashing out of the clouds and down into the depths. For the first time in his life, he stopped moving—and he started feeling. That’s when we began the real work. He wrote a letter to his dad. He started showing up—not just to his business, but to his wife and daughter. He stopped taping on old ideas and started sewing in something deeper: meaning, grief, truth, responsibility. Not the kind of responsibility that weighs you down. The kind Dr. Viktor Frankl talked about—the responsibility that sets you free. The Responsible Man: Frankl’s Freedom To Frankl said it best: “Freedom is only part of the story and half the truth… Freedom is but the negative aspect of the whole phenomenon whose positive aspect is responsibility.” There’s freedom from—from rules, expectations, weight. But the real transformation happens when a man discovers freedom to. Freedom to commit. Freedom to serve. Freedom to love. Freedom to carry the weight of others. That’s what Pete found. That’s what the boy in every man must find if he ever hopes to grow into someone worth trusting. This isn’t about becoming the “Serious Man.” No one needs more uptight, emotionally constipated, soulless men doing their duty. What we need is the Responsible Man. Not a man buried by burdens. But a man who chooses his burdens. Who says yes—to meaning, to service, to others. And who learns to carry that yes with integrity and presence. The Invitation So where are you in the story? Still floating? Still taping your shadow on with sarcasm, spirituality, or success? Still flinching at the word R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y? Or are you finally grounded? Finally tired? Finally ready? You don’t have to become Hook. And you don’t need to kill the boy. But you do need to raise him. It might hurt a little. It might feel like dying. But it’s not the end. It’s the beginning of a man who isn’t flying above his life, or drowning beneath it—but walking through it. Not bitter. Not boring. But whole. Real. Authentic. All in. Shadows and all.
The Good Boy Must Die So The Great Man Can Rise
When being good isn’t enough, and being bad is the beginning of becoming great.
This is where the mask comes off, the fire begins, and the man finally rises.
No More Mr. Asshole: The Mask, the Midlife Crisis And Man’s Search for Meaning (Mask-ulinity Series #2)
No More Mr. Asshole: The Mask, the Midlife Crisis & Man’s Search for Meaning Every asshole is just a wounded man behind a mask. The Mask-ulinity Series #2 Meet Mac A guy walks into my office. We’ll call him Mac. Mac is proud of his self-appointed title: Enneagram 8—the “8hole,” as he calls it. In his words, he’s “not a jerk, just an asshole.” A lifelong bad ass, and he wears that title like armor. And to be fair, it worked. It got him through. It helped him survive. Mac grew up hard—South Boston hard. There were scraps in the schoolyard and scraps at home. Pain was normal. Trust was weakness. Survival was everything. So Mac became exactly who he needed to be to make it through that world. He got sharp. He got cold. He got in control. He turned himself into a street-smart, bulletproof, emotionally armored force of nature. And over time, he came to believe that’s just who he was. But that’s the lie. Because what Mac had actually built wasn’t a man. It was a mask. The Asshole Is Just a Mask The word “persona” comes from the Latin for mask. It’s a role we put on to survive—to protect what’s too raw, too soft, or too sacred to show the world. That’s what Mac had done. He didn’t become an asshole because he was cruel or sadistic. He became an asshole because he had been hurt. Because it was safer to be feared than to be dismissed. Safer to be in control than to be vulnerable. And it kept him safe for a long time. But I asked him the question every man eventually has to face: “Do you want to keep surviving, Mac? Or do you want to actually live?” Because what got him here—the armor, the rage, the control—isn’t going to get him where he wants to go. The men I work with, especially in the second half of life, are done just surviving. They want more. They want to love. To lead. To live with integrity and connection. They don’t want to keep wearing armor that’s slowly killing them from the inside out. And so I told Mac what I’ll tell you now: You can’t truly live until you choose to take off the mask. From Bad Ass to Defiant Spirit Mac isn’t the only one who’s had to learn that the hard way. Johnny Mitchell—better known in the streets and prison yards as “The White Crip”—was another man who built a life around force. Violence. Domination. Pain. Like Mac, he grew up on the wrong side of everything. Like Mac, he hardened early. And like Mac, he ended up trapped—not just in prison, but in himself. Johnny’s story changed when someone handed him a book in lockup. Not just any book. It was Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. It’s no accident that Man’s Search for Meaning is the second most requested book in American prisons, right behind the Bible. Why? Because every man eventually ends up in a prison. Sometimes it’s made of bars and steel. Sometimes it’s made of trauma, addiction, shame, or disconnection. But all of us, sooner or later, find ourselves locked inside. And that’s when Frankl’s message becomes a lifeline. Frankl survived Auschwitz. He lost everything—his family, his freedom, his dignity—and yet he wrote: “The last of human freedoms is to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.” That single sentence became a mirror for Johnny. He realized that he didn’t have to keep reacting to life. He could choose his response. He could reclaim what Frankl called the defiant power of the human spirit. And in that moment, he stopped being a bad ass—or an asshole—and started becoming something new: a free man. Not because he left prison, but because he chose to rise within it. The Midlife Crucible You don’t have to be in prison to be trapped. Most men are. They’re just stuck in different kinds of cells. Some are chained to their careers. Others are trapped in their marriages, their expectations, or their quiet desperation. They wear masks that look like success, achievement, or indifference. But beneath it all, they’re exhausted. Disconnected. Running on fumes. That’s exactly where Mac found himself when we met. From the outside, he looked like a man in control. He was successful. He was respected. But inside, everything was falling apart. His marriage was unraveling. His kids were drifting. And he didn’t know who he was without the mask. His survival strategy had turned into a slow death. That’s what midlife does. It strips away the BS. It shines a spotlight on the lies you’ve been living and dares you to let them go. It’s not a crisis. It’s a crucible. It’s the place where men either fall apart—or finally come alive. Masculinity Is Not Mask-ulinity In my last blog, I talked about the Nice Guy—the boy who survives by pleasing and appeasing, playing it safe, staying small. In my next blog, I’ll talk about the Good Guy—the rule-follower, the approval-seeker, the obedient one who trades authenticity for acceptance. But this one? This one’s for the Bad Boys. The men who built their identity on rebellion and force. Who raged against the machine. Who prided themselves on being tough, strong, untouchable. And who are now discovering that the very mask that once saved them is now suffocating them. Every one of these identities—Nice Guy, Good Guy, Bad Ass, Asshole—is a strategy. A survival tactic. A mask. But none of them are who you truly are. Not deep down. That’s why the work isn’t to find a better mask. It’s to take them off completely. And when you do, you’ll find something better than dominance or compliance. You’ll find presence. You’ll find freedom. You’ll find your true self. The Choice to Be Free Mac made the choice. So did Johnny. And so did Viktor Frankl. Now it’s your turn. You
Why Being a “Nice Guy” Is Killing Your Power, Your Marriage, and Your Manhood (Mask-ulinity Series #1)
Men who were raised on the gospel of Nice.
Conditioned to be gentle, compliant, good little boys who never cause trouble, never pick fights, never say what they need, and certainly never ask for more.
The Universe Isn’t Telling You to Quit—Resistance Is Just Kicking Your Ass
You want to kick Resistance in the balls?
You want to claw your way through the fog and step into the fire of your purpose?
Then you better figure out your WHY
Stop Blaming. Start Choosing. Why Viktor Frankl’s Message Still Matters in 2025
You get to choose your path—not once, not sometimes, but every single day.
Why I Help Your Men Become Kings And To all my female readers—you’re welcome.
Why I Coach Men To Become Kings To all my female readers—you’re welcome. I’ve been asked a lot lately by my female clients and readers: Why the emphasis on men? Do you only work with men now? The answer is no—I coach women too. I’ve always coached women. I help them become queens, and I do it with deep joy and reverence. And I always will. But if you think I’m not helping women by focusing on men, you’ve got it all wrong. Because the truth is, the world doesn’t just need more empowered women. It needs more empowered men. It needs more kings. Let me tell you about Joe. Joe is 50. He should be a king by now. He’s built a career, raised a family, and checked every box society handed him. From the outside, he looks like he’s made it. But inside? Joe’s a ghost. Numb. Lost. His marriage is hanging by a thread. His kids barely know him. His friends? Golf buddies who wouldn’t recognize vulnerability if it hit them in the face. Joe doesn’t talk about his pain; he buries it—in bourbon, in porn, in work, in anything that numbs the ache of a life unfulfilled. He shows up at home with nothing left in the tank. His wife is starving for connection, for conversation, for presence. His children look up from their phones and wonder who the man is across the dinner table. And Joe? Joe wonders the same thing. Who the hell am I anymore? This is what happens when a man loses himself. And he’s not alone. Joe is every man. He’s your husband. Your brother. Your father. Your son. He’s the good guy who did what he was told—grind, succeed, provide—but somewhere along the way, he forgot how to feel. He forgot how to dream. He forgot that power isn’t something you chase out there. It’s something you claim in here. The Alarming Truth We’re in a crisis. Here’s what the numbers tell us: Suicide: Men are nearly four times more likely to die by suicide than women. Alcoholism: Approximately 20% of men struggle with alcohol abuse, compared to 8% of women. Pornography Consumption: Studies indicate that 91.5% of men and 60.2% of women have consumed pornography in the past month. These aren’t just statistics; they’re alarm bells. They’re a reflection of just how disconnected men have become—from others, from their purpose, and from themselves. And it’s not just hurting them. It’s hurting all of us. The Support Gap Look around. Women show up—in therapy, in community, in conversation. When I was a rabbi, 80% of those attending spiritual functions were women. When I walk into a yoga studio, it’s 80-90% women. Women seek support. They gather. They heal. Men? They isolate. They escape into hobbies. They disappear behind busy schedules and bravado. They rely on colleagues, on drinking buddies, on poker nights. But none of those people are going to help them find their soul. Golf won’t save your marriage. Poker won’t raise your kids. Another promotion won’t reconnect you to your purpose. Redefining Power and Masculinity This isn’t about “toxic masculinity” bullshit. There’s no such thing. We don’t say “toxic femininity,” do we? Because it’s not real masculinity that’s the problem. What’s being labeled as toxic isn’t masculinity—it’s immaturity, insecurity, and undeveloped boys in grown men’s bodies. True masculinity is about harnessing your energy and using your power—not force, but power. The kind of power that is grounded, conscious, consistent. Real power is presence. It’s accountability. It’s being able to say, “I was wrong.” It’s having the courage to lead with your heart as well as your hands. True masculinity is sacred. It’s the fire that forges families. The backbone of communities. The quiet force that doesn’t demand attention but commands respect. A Collective Call to Action This isn’t just a man’s journey. It’s a societal imperative. It’s a family imperative. It’s your imperative. So, women—expect more. Not by shaming. Not by nagging. But by holding the vision. As Dorothy says in Jerry Maguire, “I love him! I love him for the man he wants to be. And I love him for the man he almost is.” Believe in the man he could become. Expect him to rise. Support him in doing the work. Encourage him to stop hiding behind his excuses—behind the office, behind the gym, behind the golf course—and finally deal with what really matters. Point him toward therapy. Coaching. A men’s group. A rite of passage. A return to purpose. To something—anything—that leads him back to his throne. He was born to be king. And you were born to walk beside one. So yes—I coach men. I help them reclaim what they’ve lost. I help them rise from the numbness and noise. I help them rediscover their soul, their strength, and their sovereignty. And to all my female readers, clients, friends, and family— You’re welcome. Because you deserve more than a man who’s merely surviving. You deserve a king. You hold the vision. I’ll hold his hand. And together, we’ll help him do the work—the sacred, necessary work of finding his way back to his throne and becoming the king he was born to be.