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Author: Dr. Rabbi Baruch HaLevi

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 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.

Who Will Carry Your Casket

Who Will Carry Your Casket? In my years as a rabbi, I have presided over 500 funerals. I’ve stood graveside as men—sometimes six, sometimes eight, never fewer than four—took on the sacred task of carrying a brother to his final resting place. And I’ve seen the difference. Thanks for reading The Defiant Spirit ! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. Some men are carried by brothers—men who truly knew them, who stood beside them through battles, who loved them enough to grieve them. Others are carried by obligation—a last-minute hodgepodge of coworkers, distant relatives, and men who barely knew them beyond surface-level interactions. This isn’t just a logistical matter. It’s a spiritual reckoning. Why This Question Matters Because it’s not just about who will carry your body—it’s about who has carried your soul. A man’s funeral tells a story. Not just about how he lived, but about how he connected. About whether he had men in his life who truly saw him, who knew his battles, his joys, his pain. Or if he lived his life alone in a crowd, surrounded by people but never truly known. Too many men wake up one day and realize they are utterly alone. They have poker buddies, golf partners, colleagues to drink with. They have plenty of acquaintances but no true brothers. Then tragedy strikes—a death, a divorce, a crisis. And suddenly, they realize: “I have plenty of guys to grab a beer with… but no one to call at 2 AM when my world is falling apart.” And that’s a hell of a way to live. Because, in the end, it’s also how you’ll die. The Loneliest Generation of Men Men in the second half of life—40s, 50s, and 60s—are lonelier than ever before. And this isn’t just some vague cultural observation. It’s proven by data: A 2021 Harvard study on loneliness found that 61% of men feel lonely on a regular basis. A 2023 Gallup poll revealed that only 27% of men say they have six or more close friends, a steep drop from 55% in 1990. A 2022 Survey Center on American Life study found that 15% of men report having no close friends at all, up from just 3% in 1990. The former U.S. Surgeon General, Dr. Vivek Murthy, has called male loneliness an epidemic, warning that it has the same health risks as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Think about that. Loneliness is as lethal as a pack-a-day smoking habit. And yet, we treat it like it’s no big deal. Steven Had 3,000 Friends—But No Brothers I once coached a man named Steven. Steven had everything a man is supposed to want—wealth, a thriving career, a wife, grown kids, and a full calendar of social events. On the surface, he was successful. He was the guy who knew everyone. The life of the party. The guy with 3,000 Facebook friends. But when his marriage hit a crisis and his father passed away in the same year, something hit him like a brick wall: “I have 3,000 Facebook friends… but not a single one I’d want to carry my casket.” He had men to drink with but no men to talk with.He had men to golf with but no men to go to war with.He had men to laugh with but no men to cry with. Steven wasn’t alone. He was lonely. And there’s a difference. From Meaning Counseling to Men’s Meaning Coaching For years, I worked in meaning counseling, helping people—men and women—discover their purpose and navigate life’s struggles. It was meaningful work. But something wasn’t clicking. I saw a pattern in men, especially those in the second half of life. They weren’t struggling with external success; they were struggling with inner emptiness. They had spent their lives climbing—career ladders, social ladders, financial ladders—only to reach the top and realize they were alone. And this is when a shift happens. Or at least, it should. The first half of life is about proving yourself. The second half of life is about leading yourself. It’s a moment when a man stops trying to impress and starts trying to build something real. It’s the moment a man must say the words every man needs to say: “King me.” Not in the childish, competitive sense of checkers, where you take power by jumping another man. No, this is something deeper. This is about becoming a king—a man who rules not over others, but over himself. But here’s the truth: A king without a kingdom is just a man on a throne with no one to lead, no one to serve, no one to stand beside him. And a lonely king is not a true king. Because a kingdom is not built on power—it is built on people. A king isn’t a king just because he holds the title. He’s a king because he has brothers, allies, warriors at his side. Men who will fight for him.Men who will tell him the truth.Men who will grieve him when he’s gone. Are you ready to take your place? Because if you are, it’s going to require love, devotion, support—the intimacy of other men. It’s going to require you to let other men in, to drop the armor, to build something real. It’s going to require you to stop pretending you can do this alone. Who Will Carry Your Casket? The next time you’re out with the buddies—at poker night, hunting camp, the golf course—pause for just a moment. Look around the table. Ask yourself: Would these men carry my casket? Not because they have to. Not because they’re obligated. But because they truly knew me, loved me, stood with me, fought for me. If the answer isn’t clear, then it’s time to start living differently. Because life isn’t measured by success, but by the men who will stand beside you when it all comes to an end. And when that day comes, will you have built a

KingMe: The Words Every Man Was Born To Speak

KingMe: The Words Every Man Was Born To Say There comes a moment in a man’s life when he realizes the script he’s been following no longer serves him. The chase for external validation, the relentless pursuit of success, and the pressures of being who the world expects him to be—it all begins to feel hollow. He stands at a crossroads, faced with a choice: continue playing by rules that no longer fit, or rise up and claim the role he was always meant to embody. King me. To be a king is not about dominance or control. It is about sovereignty—ruling over oneself with wisdom, integrity, and purpose. In a society that has misrepresented masculinity, the king archetype has been misunderstood, even vilified. But the issue isn’t that we have too many kings. The issue is that we have too few. Instead, we see men trapped in the roles of tyrants, cowards, manipulators, nice guys, or lost boys who never truly became men. The true king is different. He is not a slave to his ego or to the approval of others. He is a man who has faced himself, who has looked his fears, wounds, and weaknesses in the eye and emerged stronger. The first step toward kingship is awakening—recognizing that the old way no longer works and answering the call to something greater. The Second Journey Across the Board Life in the first half is like a game of checkers. It doesn’t appear that sophisticated. It doesn’t seem that profound. The rules are relatively simple: gobble up as much as you can, as quickly as you can. Get yours and get going. Most men spend decades in this mode, chasing achievements, collecting titles, accumulating wealth, proving themselves. And for a time, it works. Until it doesn’t. Until you realize that the game you’ve been playing doesn’t lead to victory—only exhaustion. Until you realize that following someone else’s script isn’t the same as writing your own story. Then something shifts. You make it to the other side of the board. And suddenly, the game changes. The way you move changes. The way you see the board changes. The man you are changes. This is the defining moment. King me. For those who make it through the game, to the other side, that’s when the shift presents itself. The rules that once mattered no longer do. The goals that once drove you no longer inspire. And the question that emerges isn’t about getting more—it’s about becoming more. It’s about stepping into a new way of living, one defined not by taking but by creating, not by proving but by knowing, not by following but by leading. Living as a King But what does it mean to be a king? A true king does not simply wear the crown—he carries the weight of it. Kingship is not about power for power’s sake, nor is it about being served. It is about service. It is about standing at the center of your own life, fully accountable, fully present, and fully engaged with your purpose. The defining difference between the first half of the journey on the way to that destination, and the second half on the way back across the board, are the rules. A king no longer plays by the rules of others—society, his friends, his contemporaries, even his family, his partner, his wife. As much as he loves and respects them, when a man says, King me, he loves and respects himself. He is his own sovereign. He answers only to a higher authority. And that’s what King me means. His rules. His goals. He moves in any direction he chooses. Those double-stacked checkers represent so much more than symbolism for a true king. They mark his transformation. He embodies Dr. Viktor Frankl’s driving thesis, summed up in the words: “The last of human freedoms, to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” A king chooses his own way. The world is filled with tyrants, cowards, manipulators, nice guys, and lost boys—men who never made the second journey across the board, who either refused the responsibility of kingship or corrupted it. A tyrant rules with fear. A coward hides from the call. A manipulator deceives to get his way. A nice guy pleases to avoid confrontation. A lost boy never grows up at all. But a king is different. The king’s role is to create, to lead, and to leave a legacy. He is a protector, a provider, and a builder—not only of wealth but of wisdom. He is a man who sees beyond his own needs and works to elevate those around him. The world does not need more tyrants, nor does it need passive men who shy away from responsibility. The world needs kings—men who understand that true leadership is about lifting others, not ruling over them. King me. Living as a king means making choices with clarity and conviction. It means having the courage to say no to what does not serve your purpose and yes to what aligns with your highest self. It means recognizing that life is finite and that the only thing that truly lasts is the impact you leave behind. This is your moment. The call has been made. The path is before you. Will you rise? Welcome to KingMe. This is where your true journey begins. —   Dr. Baruch HaLevi is a therapist, coach, and guide for men who are ready to rise up and say those magical words: King me. Learn more at defiantspirit.org.  

Your Son is a Boy Because You’re Still Playing Games—Time to Be The King

Recently, I was counseling a woman whose son, in his early 20s, had just come home from college after graduating. He was living the stereotypical Gen Z life on the couch—a thousand reasons why he couldn’t make it in the world. The economy, the job market, his profession, even the Denver Broncos sucking—all excuses, none of which were his responsibility. Everything was external. He was a victim. He was powerless. And his mother was upset. But she wasn’t upset with her son. She was upset with her husband. Moms, Listen Up I know you love your boys. You’d do anything for them. But hear me when I say this: There’s only so much you can do to turn that boy into a man. You can nurture him, encourage him, support him—but you cannot teach him how to be a man. That’s not your job. That’s his father’s job. And if his father isn’t stepping up, then don’t be surprised when your son doesn’t either. Fathers—Wake the Hell Up It’s too easy to blame boys who should be men. In any other culture in human history, a 22-year-old was a man—making his way in the world, providing, procreating, and committing. But here we have a generation of grown boys—playing games, laying around, freeloading, consuming without contributing. And that’s not entirely their fault. Sure, they must take responsibility. But at the end of the day, someone allowed this to happen. And that someone was their father. The buck stops with YOU, Dad. You want your son to be a man? Then BE A MAN. A boy only knows how to grow into manhood when the man in front of him models it. If you want your kids to go to college, the number one thing you can do is go to college yourself. If you want your kids to stop smoking, the number one thing you can do is stop smoking. And if you want your sons to be men, the number one thing you must do is BE A MAN. The Couch May Not Be Under You, But It’s Stuck to You Because you see, his father may not have been living on the couch, but that couch was glued to his ass as he made his way through the world. He wasn’t physically lying around, but he sure as hell was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually checked out. He was a grown man playing the role of a boy—chasing distractions, indulging in endless entertainment, prioritizing his hobbies over his responsibilities. The Boy in a Man’s Body He spent more time scrolling social media than looking his son in the eye and having a real conversation. He knew every stat of his favorite sports team but didn’t know his son’s struggles, dreams, or fears. He showed up for his fantasy football league but not for the tough talks about life, responsibility, and purpose. He worked his ass off to provide a nice house, a nice car, and a nice bank account, but he didn’t provide leadership, wisdom, or presence. He talked about “back in my day” but never stepped up to show his son what being a real man looks like today. And then, he had the nerve to wonder why his son didn’t step up. Respect Must Be Earned As I say to my son all the time, “My love for you is unconditional, but my respect needs to be earned.” And it’s a two-way street. I don’t know if my son’s love for me is unconditional. I don’t think it needs to be. But I do know his respect for me, just as it should be for any person, is conditional. It’s conditioned upon what I do. And what I do must be to provide for him—not just financially, but spiritually, emotionally, and ethically. Do the Hard Work And that means: Having the hard conversations. Going deeper. Taking on the taboo, the tough, and the touchy issues. Calling out bullshit when you see it. Holding your son accountable. ABOVE ALL—modeling the behavior yourself. Time to Rise Up Enough with the excuses. Enough with the Peter Pan bullshit—flying around Neverland, running with the Lost Boys. Enough with the passive fatherhood, thinking that providing a paycheck is enough. Your son is watching you. He is learning from you. The only question is—what the hell are you teaching him? It’s time to rise up. Be the King. And what does that mean? How do you do it? That’s exactly what we’ll tackle in the next blogs. Because this isn’t just a rant. It’s a call to action—a call for all my midlife brothers to rise up and become the King.   Dr. Baruch “B” HaLevi is a Kingmaker—not the traditional kind who bestows titles, but one who forges men in the fire of transformation. As a therapist, coach, and guide, he walks alongside men on their journey to reclaiming their power, purpose, and rightful place as Kings. To learn how to step into your own Kingship or work with B, visit DefiantSpirit.org.

Who Was That Masked Man?

Who Was That Masked Man? A Callout to Every Lonely Ranger The Bullshit Myth of the Lone Ranger Growing up, The Lone Ranger was the man. Strong. Silent. Unstoppable. He rode in, handled his business, saved the day, then vanished before anyone could even thank him, leaving them asking, “Who was that masked man?” And just like every other boy watching, I thought, That’s who I want to be. The man who needed no one. The man who had it all under control. The man who never showed weakness. And that’s the lie we’ve been sold. That a real man never asks for help. That emotions are a liability. That solitude is strength. It’s all a con. Because the truth is, the Lone Ranger isn’t free. He’s alone. The Man Who Became the Mask Joe had everything a man is supposed to want. The title. The money. The respect. He was the guy other men envied. But late one night, after the deals were done, after the last handshake and the last fake smile, my phone rang. It was Joe. His voice was shaking. After our first coaching session, I gave him an assignment—Mirror Moments. “Go to the mirror,” I told him. “Look. Really look. And tell me what you see.” The next time we talked, he hesitated. “I tried,” he said. “I stood in front of the mirror, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even look at myself. I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel like I’ve been playing a role my entire life. I built this image, but now I’m staring at my own reflection, and I don’t recognize the guy looking back. And worse? I don’t respect him.” That was the moment Joe realized he wasn’t the Lone Ranger—he was the Lonely Ranger. He’d worn the mask for so long, he became it. The powerful man. The untouchable leader. The guy who never faltered. He convinced himself and everyone around him that he had it all under control. But inside, he was falling apart. The long nights alone. The silence that stretched forever. The creeping doubt that everything he had built—his career, his reputation, his image—was just a shell. That the mask he wore to impress the world had turned into a prison. And like so many men, he had no idea how to take it off. Every Man Wears a Mask Joe’s story isn’t unique. It’s every man’s story. We are raised to be warriors. To tough it out. To push through. To never, ever let them see us sweat. From the time we are boys, we are told that vulnerability is dangerous, emotions make us weak, and that real men stand on their own. So we adapt. We armor up. We wear the mask. The mask of success. The mask of strength. The mask of confidence. The mask of control. And then, one day, if we’re lucky—or if life knocks us hard enough—we look in the mirror and realize we’re lost. The Problem Isn’t the Mask—It’s Forgetting Who You Are Beneath It Most men don’t even realize they’re wearing a mask. We put it on so early, it becomes second nature. It becomes who we think we are. At first, it works. It keeps us moving. It helps us win. It shields us from judgment, rejection, and pain. Until one day, it doesn’t. Until one day, we wake up and realize the mask that once protected us is now suffocating us. The Work of Taking Off the Mask Every man will face this moment. And when he does, he has two choices—keep pretending, or do the hard, brutal, liberating work of taking the mask off. That’s why I work with men in midlife. Not kids. Not boys still trying to figure it out. Men. Men who have built something, who have earned their scars, who have chased success only to realize that all the money, all the power, all the status—none of it means a damn thing if they don’t even know who they are. Some come to me shattered, desperate to find the man behind the mask. Others arrive exhausted, knowing they can’t keep playing this role. And some are just waking up to the truth: the mask they thought made them strong has actually made them a prisoner. I don’t work with men to fix them—because they were never broken. I work with them to burn the mask to the ground. To stop hiding. To face the fears, the failures, the regrets. To stand, fully exposed, in the raw, unfiltered truth of who they are. And I’ve seen it happen. I’ve watched it in real time—the moment a man rips off his mask and breathes for the first time in years. The weight lifts. The loneliness fades. The pretending stops. No more lonely rangers. No more men disappearing behind a lie. No more ever hearing those dreaded words uttered about you— Who was that masked man? Dr. Baruch B. Halevi is a logotherapist, men’s coach, and guide, working with men in midlife and beyond to burn the mask, find deeper meaning in their lives, and rise up and become the king and rule their kingdom.