I Know Michael Cohen

I know Michael Cohen.

I’ve never met him. I’ve never spoken to him. I am certain I’ve never been in the same room with him. I cannot fathom the gilded, chaotic universe he inhabited as Donald Trump’s “fixer,” nor can I relate to the grotesque wealth, greed, and brazen criminality of his former boss. I do not recognize the details of Michael Cohen’s lifestyle, yet, still, I know this man.

A proud husband and father, son of a Holocaust survivor, equal parts taciturn and kind, Michael is a familiar figure to me, a composite of all the good men I’ve ever known in my close knit Jewish community. The inelegant tones of his New York accent combined with the deliberate cadence of his speech are comforting sounds to my ears. I notice tired lines etched upon his face that, to me, betray nagging anxieties emanating from an incompletely suppressed conscience. When I look at Michael, I believe that I can feel his father’s traumas reflected in his sad eyes.

I imagine Michael kibitzing at my synagogue, greeting me on a Friday night with a warm “Shabbat Shalom,” sharing stories of his kids’ latest successes and asking me where my oldest is planning to go to college. He is Uncle Michael at my younger daughter’s bat mitzvah party, participating in our family’s joy as he hoists my mortified thirteen-year-old’s chair high in the air while we dance a frantic Horah. Tomorrow he will nurse his middle-aged backache with Ibuprofen and incessant kvetching (oy!) but tonight we celebrate. I can also picture a somber Michael worshipping in shul during the Days of Awe, draped in a tallit, imploring God to inscribe him for blessings in the Book of Life.

If I allow my imagination to wander further, I begin to form an image of Michael as a child: sassy, scrappy, hardened by schoolyard bullies, but not so tough that he doesn’t occasionally shed humiliating tears. As he grows older, he cries less and taunts more, perfecting the art of hurling thuggish threats, a talent that he later employs for the benefit of Donald Trump. Yet, in his early years, before his psychological armor is fully formed, his likability and charisma are undeniable. Handsome, funny, smart but no genius, I imagine him as a low-grade troublemaker, the type of kid who cracks off-color jokes about his teachers when out of earshot and kisses up to them shamelessly when confronted with his misdeeds. He pushes the envelope far but never too far, and he has become an expert at charming his way out of threatened trips to the principal’s office.

I relate to this man who looks like people I know, who reminds me of people I love, and who reflects aspects of an identity that I cherish. I want to preserve my romanticized notion of Michael, even in the wake of his confessed crimes. As he now anticipates his imminent trip to prison, he has expressed feelings of liberation, renewed spirit, and a desire to reacquaint himself with previously forsaken principles. He has cast himself as humble and contrite, resolving to rectify his wrongs for the benefit of his country. One may certainly debate the sincerity of Michael’s reinvented self, and it is understandable that many suspect that the new Michael Cohen only exists because the old Michael Cohen got caught. However, Michael tells us he is repentant. Therefore, as I compose this free-form portrait that I have admittedly infused with heavy doses of fantasy and wishful thinking, I will indulge in my optimistic view of his motivations. I choose to believe that Michael is committed to moral transformation.

As my friend Michael prepares to pay his debt to society, my own ordinary life continues, untainted by his dramatic downfall. I interact as usual with my friends, my family, my colleagues, and my community. However, as I look around, I wonder, who are the other Michael Cohens in my life? Who else do I know who is on the brink of calamity, guiltily functioning in the shadows of past transgressions, dogged by the ever-present threat of exposure and personal ruin? In a year’s time, who else will be brought low due to his or her own misjudgments, miscalculations, and misplaced ambitions?

When I was a child, I remember pondering the unanswerable question: why do bad things happen to good people? Why do some people seem to enjoy good luck and endless fortune while others are stricken, through no fault of their own, with disease, random gunshots, or freak accidents? Now, as an adult, I contemplate a corollary to this query: why do good people choose to do bad things? Why are some of us prone to self-sabotage, driven to risk all that is dear no matter what the cost? Is it hubris? Entitlement? Denial? Greed? Stupidity? Is it even a conscious choice? When did Michael’s youthful misdeeds transform into mature criminality? When did the principal’s office become a federal prison? Are any of us truly immune to the allures of wealth, status, and intoxicating celebrity? How do we avoid replicating Michael’s missteps in our own lives?

When we are honest with ourselves, each of us must acknowledge that we all know Michael Cohen because we have all faced temptations to cheat, to lie, to forsake our hard-fought values and virtues. Though we may vilify Michael’s deeds, convincing ourselves and each other that we would never, could never engage in such flagrant moral depravity, we must understand that each of us is liable to become victims of our own worst impulses. An innocent “white” lie may trigger a cascade of falsehoods with one misdeed imperceptibly preceding the next. We may quickly find ourselves caught in a cycle of deceit, justification, rationalization, and repetition. We are all good people who might choose unwisely.

I view Michael Cohen as a complex, deeply flawed human being who is capable of honest reflection, contrition, and course correction. I realize that my sympathetic depiction may be naive, driven by my desperate wish for conscience to conquer corruption. I will be gravely disappointed if Michael proves himself to be simply a psychopath, his compelling public testimony merely the performance of a virtuoso con artist. Nevertheless, I intend to cling tightly to my vision of Michael’s redemption, unless or until I am confronted with overwhelming evidence that forces me to reassess my optimism. Ultimately, I believe that Michael Cohen is neither good nor evil, but instead occupies a position on the monster/saint continuum that fluctuates with time and life experience. He is an example of the moral ambiguity that defines us all.

As an American Jew, I feel an affinity for Michael that is in part influenced by the superficialities of his appearance, mannerisms, background, and customs. As a human being navigating this complicated world, I feel connected to Michael on a much deeper level — as a kindred vulnerable soul, a person aiming to do right but liable to veer drastically and dangerously off course, either by chance or by choice. As I contemplate Michael Cohen’s failings and personal evolution, I hope that my own legacy on this earth will be defined not only by my mistakes, but by my good deeds, wise choices, and the positive trajectory of my journey. I am certain that my friend Michael has the ability to bend the arc of his life toward redemption. I only hope he is committed to the path.