Imagine a patient so deranged, a patient so insane, a patient so beyond any help, a patient so needy, a patient so deluded that his psychiatrist had no option but to kill himself.
A patient so addicted in denying reality, so addicted in seeing others as tools, a patient so out of this world that his psychiatrist went so down in the depths of depression that he had to kill himself:
This guy would say Gandhi invented brass knuckles.
At four he refused to leave and claimed my house was actually his. Then he locked me in the basement overnight while he lavishly entertained his friends upstairs. When I tried to escape, he called me a terrorist and put me in shackles. I begged for mercy, but he said he could hardly grant it to someone who didn’t even exist.
This was Moshe Yatom, Bibi's shrink, and he is with us no more.