FEAR

When standing before the bull, there is fear. Real fear. Not the kind that stops

you — the kind that reminds you that you’re alive. You feel it in your chest, your

hands, your breath. The deep hum of the world runs through your bones.

You’re not facing an animal — you’re facing life itself.

It’s that same feeling before I paint. Before I speak. Before I step into the ring of

the world. It’s the blank canvas, the pause before the first stroke — the quiet

before everything begins. It’s the moment you realise that you might not come

out the same — and that’s the point.

Fear isn’t the enemy. Fear is the teacher. The mirror. The test. It’s Hashem

asking you, softly but firmly: ‘Will you show up? Will you step forward?’ And

when you do — when you take that step — something holy happens. The bull

becomes your partner. The chaos becomes your rhythm. And suddenly, you’re

not fighting anymore. You’re dancing.

I picture the matador in the dust, the crowd silent, the bull charging, and him —

calm, listening to the wind. The cape moves like breath. The dance begins. It’s

like a Chassid before a niggun — circling, not to perform, but to dissolve. The

dance isn’t to impress; it’s to unite. To let the body become an instrument

through which the soul can sing. It’s not about killing the bull. It’s about finding

the Almighty within the bull.

When I paint, I feel it too. The canvas stares back like the bull — strong, alive,

impossible. And I stand there, brush in hand, heart pounding, knowing I can’t

control it — only meet it. And in that meeting — in that trembling, sacred space

— something real is born.

The Baal Shem Tov said everything in this world carries a spark waiting to be

lifted. Fear holds the biggest sparks. That’s why it feels so heavy, so alive.

When you bless your fear, it becomes light. When you dance with it, it becomes

joy.

We are all matadors in our own way. Standing before something wild. The point

isn’t to win — it’s to be there. To breathe. To see the beauty inside the danger.

To turn trembling into prayer, and prayer into art.

So when you face your bull — whatever it is — don’t run. Don’t hide. Don’t

curse it. Step forward. Lift your head. Feel the wind move through the trees and

the night around you. Know that you are part of something infinite. And let that

fear carry you toward truth.

Because fear is holy. It’s the beginning of awe. And awe is the beginning of

everything worth creating. Aweh aweh aweh.

— Yedidya Falkson