Hunger games

Lately, I’ve been sitting with a hard truth: nice people really do come last. And what’s even more unsettling is how rarely this is called out. Silence teaches its own lesson. It teaches that survival requires sacrifice—not of ego, but of integrity. It teaches that to “make it,” you must step over others, throw them under the bus, and call it ambition. But that isn’t living. That’s merely existing.

What kind of world are we building when decency is treated like a weakness? When kindness is mocked as naïveté? When doing the right thing costs you more than doing the wrong one ever seems to?

And then there’s the deeper question—the spiritual cost.

What does it do to the soul when we kneel in prayer and submit to our G-D in one moment, yet in the next justify gossip, cheating, or lying just to pay the bills? What fracture happens inside us when faith becomes something we perform, rather than something we live? When survival demands behaviour that contradicts the very values we claim to stand for?

At what point does success become too expensive?

Ask yourself:

What am I compromising to belong?

What am I excusing just to get by?

And if I have to abandon my soul to survive—am I truly alive at all?

These are not comfortable questions. But they are necessary ones.