June 17, 2026|ב' תמוז ה' אלפים תשפ"ו Message to our Graduates: The Story You Tell Yourself By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

Dear Graduates,

Neil Gaiman, the British author, once described his experience of impostor syndrome in a story that has since become widely cited. He found himself at a gathering of artists, scientists, writers, and pioneers – people who had, in his words, “really done things.” Despite his own success, he felt as though he didn’t belong. At any moment, he feared, someone would realize he was not truly qualified to be there.

Then, one evening, he struck up a conversation with a polite elderly gentleman who, like him, seemed somewhat out of place. The man spoke quietly about his own sense of unease, saying he often wondered what he was doing among such accomplished people. Gaiman empathized – until the man added, almost casually, that he had “just gone where he was sent.” Only later did it fully register that he had been speaking to Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon. Gaiman later reflected that the encounter gave him comfort: if even Neil Armstrong could feel like an impostor, then perhaps this feeling was universal.

That intuition turned out to be correct. The term impostor syndrome was coined in 1978 by psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes to describe the internal experience of believing one’s achievements are undeserved, that success is fraudulent, and that at any moment others will discover the truth. Studies suggest that between 60 and 70 percent of people experience this feeling at some point in their lives. In an age shaped by social media, where we constantly encounter curated images of others’ “perfect” lives, the sense of inadequacy can become even more intense.

The question, then, is how to respond to it. How do we prevent impostor syndrome from paralyzing us – whether in our careers, our relationships, or our personal growth?

One common answer is: ignore it. Fake it until you make it. There is a well-known story about a Jewish atheist who visits the “Great Heretic of Prague” on a Friday night. Expecting a radical figure, he is instead shocked to find the heretic lighting Shabbat candles, reciting Kiddush, and participating fully in the Shabbat meal. When challenged, the heretic replies simply: “I’m a heretic, not a gentile.” In other words, even if I no longer believe, I still act.

There is a certain power in that approach. Sometimes we push forward not because we feel authentic, but because we refuse to let doubt stop us. And perhaps that is especially relevant in moments of “religious impostor syndrome” – when a person feels disconnected from God, uninspired in prayer, or unworthy of religious practice. The instinct may be to withdraw: if I feel like a fraud, why engage at all? The answer, in this model, is simple: continue anyway.

But the Torah suggests a deeper and more nuanced response.

In Parshat Shelach, the spies return from scouting the Land of Israel and declare: “v’sham ra’inu et ha-nefilim… vanehi b’eineinu kachagavim” –“We saw giants there… and in our own eyes we were like grasshoppers” (Bamidbar 13:33). Their failure begins not with how the enemy sees them, but with how they see themselves. Before they ever describe external threats, they internalize a narrative of inadequacy: we are small, we are powerless, we do not belong in this mission.

This is not merely fear. It is impostor syndrome on a national scale.

Calev responds simply: “ Va-Hashem itanu al tira’um” – “God is with us; do not fear them.” His argument is not that the challenges are small, or that the people are naturally capable. It is that identity is not determined by self-perception alone. The question is not only how do we feel about ourselves? but how does God define us?

Moshe’s later plea to God deepens this idea. When God considers destroying the nation after the sin of the spies, Moshe argues not primarily on the basis of merit – he does not invoke the patriarchs or Israel’s worthiness – but on the concern of chilul Hashem: how will this be perceived in the world? “You are b’kerev ha’am hazeh”—You are in the midst of this people. Therefore, their fate is bound to Your Name.

On the surface, this seems like an argument about reputation. But at a deeper level, it is an argument about relationship. Moshe is saying: this people is not disconnected from You, even in failure. They are bound to You by covenantal identity. Therefore, abandoning them would contradict the very structure of that relationship.

God accepts this argument. And in doing so, the Torah teaches something striking: identity is not revoked by insecurity, nor erased by failure. The covenant persists even when the people feel unworthy of it.

This is the deeper antidote to impostor syndrome – not denial, and not “faking it,” but recognition. We are not defined solely by our internal sense of adequacy. We are defined by relationship, by covenant, by being seen and chosen by God even in moments when we do not feel worthy of that choice.

For graduates entering a new stage of life, this tension will likely become familiar. You will enter spaces where others seem more accomplished, more confident, more “legitimate.” You may feel, at times, that you are there by mistake. That is not a sign that you do not belong; it is often simply the emotional experience of growth.

Judaism’s response is not to demand that you eliminate those feelings before acting, nor to suggest that they are irrelevant. It is to reframe them. You may feel like a grasshopper – but that is not the final word on who you are. You are part of a story in which your presence has already been chosen.

Religious life works the same way. There will be days when prayer feels empty, when learning feels forced, when belief feels distant. The answer is not to assume that absence of feeling equals absence of belonging. Nor is it to reduce faith to mechanical performance. It is to recognize that covenant precedes feeling.

Caleb tells us: you are not defined by your fear. Moshe tells us: you are not abandoned in your failure. Together, they suggest a different way of standing in the world – one that is honest about doubt, but not controlled by it.

The goal, then, is not to become people who never feel like impostors. It is to become people who know that impostor feelings are not identity statements. And more deeply, to live with the awareness that our lives are held within a relationship that does not depend on our constant sense of adequacy.

You do not need to be perfect to belong. You already do.