This past Shabbos, I had the misfortune of encountering one Meir Kay—a man who, having apparently failed to find spiritual meaning in either Torah or therapy, decided to manufacture his own religion out of dopamine and delusion. For those lucky enough not to know, “Meir Kay” is the pseudonym (read: spiritual stage name for adult toddlers) of one Meir Kalmenson, a content-peddling Instagram monk whose entire existence is devoted to convincing other people they’re growing—while making sure absolutely no one actually does.
Kalmenson’s job is, functionally, no different than that of a bad therapist: make you feel good about yourself while actually accomplishing zilch. He is, by every meaningful metric, a professionally useless individual, a man who has made a career out of life-coach cosplay and the overuse of the word “energy.” He sees himself as a kind of lifelong camp counselor—obviously never graduating from that phase—and now spends his days helping others pretend to graduate from their life phases by engaging in one of humanity’s most common and involuntary acts: breathing.
Yes, breathwork. That great scam of the self-help world, where people pay money to sit in circles and remember that oxygen exists. To Kalmenson, breathwork is not just breathing—it’s a spiritual gateway, a cosmic path to enlightenment. In reality? It’s LARPing as enlightenment. It’s panting with purpose. It’s pretend davening for people who think “modah ani” is a yoga pose. The only spiritual elevation happening during these sessions is your blood pressure rising from the sheer stupidity of it all.
And lest you think this is harmless fluff: he is far from harmless—primarily because he typically charges thousands of dollars for his breathwork retreats and, last I checked, $250 for a one-hour “counseling” session. You read that right. Two hundred fifty dollars. For the privilege of being told to breathe deeply and think happy thoughts by a man with no qualifications.
Because let’s be clear: he has no formal education in mental health or healing. His so-called “wealth of experience” consists mainly of individuals either unaware or desperate enough to pay for his feel-good offerings and mystical-sounding “energy work.” None of his methods are empirically supported. None are evidence-based. The closest thing to a peer-reviewed result you’ll get from Kalmenson is an Instagram Reel of someone crying in a hammock.
If he were offering these workshops free of charge with the genuine intent to help people, I might consider him misguided but ultimately well-meaning. But once you're charging exorbitant sums, it becomes a very different story. It’s no longer inspiration—it’s exploitation. And Sababa Fest? It’s not a retreat for self-discovery. It’s a recruiting ground. Kalmenson likely attends events like this to sniff out new clients—emotionally fragile festival-goers desperate enough to Venmo away their rent money for a weekend of vague platitudes and synchronized sighing.
And continuing in that same vein of therapeutic narcissism masquerading as communal connection: there was a speed dating event on the Sababa schedule—run, of course, by Kalmenson himself. I thought: hey, maybe this could be useful. Until I looked around and noticed—based on dress (or lack thereof)—that about half the room clearly didn’t keep Shabbos (no judgment, just reality). Wanting the event to be somewhat fruitful, I respectfully approached Kalmenson and politely suggested a simple and efficient solution: divide the room into two groups—one for those looking for a shomer Shabbos partner, and one for those who aren’t. This would save time and make the event, you know, actually useful.
But no. That wouldn’t be "the point," he explained to me, in his arrogant, performatively gentle, TED Talk-in-training voice. You see, the purpose of the event wasn’t to meet someone else—it was to “get in touch with your inner self.” Silly me, thinking that a speed dating event was for dating other people. Not another glorified group therapy session disguised as connection, where everyone takes turns crying about their childhood while failing to make eye contact.
Kalmenson, it seems, delights in wasting time—yours, mine, his own—because the waste itself is spiritual, as long as it feels good. That’s the whole grift. Create circles. Chant some affirmations. Cry a little. Feel “seen.” Nothing actually changes, but Kalmenson gets to feel like a “leader,” while leading these confused sheep in mindless emotional laps. I promptly exited the circle of stupidity before the group started humming about chakras.
Let’s be clear: this man has very obviously spent a significant percentage of his life on drugs, to the point that he can no longer distinguish between profound thought and incoherent gibberish. Every other sentence that dribbles from his mouth is a psychedelic word salad—one that only makes sense if you’ve had three edibles and watched The Secret on mute. The only self-discovery his ayahuasca excursions seem to have revealed is that if you smile wide enough, people won’t notice that you’ve thrown your Ashkenazi IQ into the Amazonian trash bin.
What Kalmenson has discovered—through extensive field research, no doubt—is that most people will go along with absolute nonsense as long as you make them feel good enough about themselves while you do it. It's not leadership. It's not spirituality. It’s dopamine management.
He is, in every visible way, the caricature that misnagdim believe chassidim are: irrational, manic, dressed like a strung-out hippie, and spouting slogans instead of substance. Except—crucially—he is not a chossid. Not of Torah. Not of the Baal Shem Tov. Not even of the Rebbe. He is a chossid of something far older and more dangerous: Eastern avodah zara repackaged with Hebrew subtitles. He's preaching a new religion—one where the god is “Energy,” the prayers are affirmations, and the messiah is a ring light.
Let’s not mistake Kalmenson for a guru. He is the Jewish version of YouTube Shorts: flashy, addictive, and just stimulating enough to prevent actual growth. His entire contribution to the Jewish world is sucking up people’s time, energy, and money, teaching them pagan fluff in Hebrew accent, and congratulating them for being “authentic” while avoiding any meaningful development. He is spirituality-flavored methadone—a quick hit to get through the weekend.
Or as Mr. Mackey would put it (as if speaking directly to Kalmenson): drugs are bad, M’Kay.
Pre-Emptive Defense Against the Meir Kay Fan Club
Now, I know what’s coming. The inevitable Greek chorus of “you’re just being mean,” or “he’s spreading light,” or “why tear down someone who’s trying to help?”
To which I say: stop confusing kindness with content. Kalmenson isn’t helping people grow. He’s helping them stay emotionally stagnant while feeling good about it. That’s not kindness—it’s spiritual sedation.
And no, I’m not “mean.” I’m honest. There’s a difference. Sometimes, the most compassionate thing you can do is expose the scam. Sometimes the emperor needs to be told he’s not wearing tzitzis (or a kippah, neither of which adorned Kalmenson, for what it’s worth).
Meir Kalmenson is not harmless. He is actively harmful to a generation already drowning in pop psychology, TikTok therapy, and the delusion that growth can happen without discomfort. His message is tailor-made for the spiritually lazy: all the good vibes, none of the responsibility.
If you think that’s “light”—then you’ve never seen fire.
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