What are we doing here? Do we strive for recognition, do we
seek approval? Do we have a plan to influence the community
we live in? Are we just observes of the Jewish chronology?
Can we influence the course of our communities? Certainly
the "mainstream press" thinks they are interpreting the course
of history. They think of themselves as powerful enough to
appoint presidents and assign success. What is the place and
purpose of the Jewish blogosphere?
Blogging is just another form of communication. We are here
for the same reason we talk to friends and strangers. We want
to share our experience, teach others, and learn from them.
We want to warn people away from danger and recommend good things.
It is not the primary purpose of my blogging to morally improve
the Jewish people. Just as it is not the purpose of driving
to drive safely (to use an illustration of Dennis Prager). You
drive to get somewhere. You blog to get somewhere.
The purpose of life and of blogging is to enjoy it (in the best
and deepest and most meaningful sense of the word). I wish I
had Tom Wolfe's eye for status details but I don't. My obsession
is with meaning. I try to unlock and share what is meaningful
to improve our lives (and morality is just one aspect, though
the most important part, of a good life).
It is not the purpose of marriage to act ethically with each
other. Though that is an indispensable part, it is not the end-all
and be-all of the relationship. Same with blogging.
If I have a gift as an interviewer and a writer, it is opening
people up and getting them to share what is deepest and most
important. Moral inspiration is only a part of this process
and it is not the part that I do best. I do best trying to reveal
reality and to share a few laughs about it. Due to my colorful
past and present, I can't help but bring disrepute to any cause
I espouse. So I concentrate on telling the stories of our lives
and leave the moral inspiration to those who do it better than
I.
Here's one technique that I use with trying to understand people
who say things that seem impossible.
What do we do as Orthodox Jews when we encounter Jewish text
that says things that we can not fathom? That seems wrong. That
violates our common sense. Do we dismiss the Torah as wrong?
No. If we have texts that conflict, do we say that they were
composed in different eras and reflect the differing perspectives
of the different strands of Biblical thought? No.
We don't rest until we have reconciled seemingly irreconcilable
texts, until we have made sense of texts that seem the opposite
of sense.
A similar technique helps one understand and communicate more
effectively with those who say things that you are sure are
wrong.
If you really want to understand the Torah or another person,
assume that what they are saying is true, and then seek ways
for understanding how it could be true.
If you do that, you can come to understand almost anyone you
want to understand.
If you say you can't understand a particular person or point
of view, you are really saying that you don't want to go to
the effort of understanding them.
One technique to better understand a blogger who seems outrageous
is to ask whether they are being ironic, sarcastic, histrionic
or humorous? Have they experienced a different emotional reality
in Judaism than you have, things that have shaped the writer
to express emotions and thoughts you find incomprehensible?
Now, understanding people is exhausting and time consuming.
We only have finite resources to do this and we have to choose
with care which persons we truly want to understand. Frankly,
I don't try to understand most people I talk to. With the exception
of charity cases, work and social obligations, I only want to
understand people who are smarter and more learned than I am.
Here's the scoop on the Luke Ford - Shabbat - Halloween
experience.
Friday night. I attend special minyan marking the tenth anniversary
of rabbi Shlomo Carlebach's passing. The crowd is three times
the size of normal. There's excitement in the air. Five guys
are on the bima leading the davening. The guy who sits next
to me on Shabbos mornings appears in shul on a Friday night
for the first time I remember (aside from Yom Kippur).
The singing leads me to book down my book and participate.
Afterwards, a friend asks me if I have a place for Shabbat
dinner. I say no. I feel embarrassed. He says he'll fix me
up.
I wait with him at the back of the shul feeling clingy. After
five minutes, I slip away and go home alone.
The next day, I notice my shul has the pretty security guard.
I meet the guy who was going to host me last night before
I fled. I read my books. I walk my community. I nap.
Saturday night, I drive an hour to Santa Clarita and the high
desert to celebrate Halloween at the home of a Gentile couple
who have been very kind to me over the years. Seems to be
all locals at the party. Nobody is Jewish. There is a straightforward
Mid-Western type of kindness to them. It's a relatively small
community and people are friendly and unpretentious.
There are lots of dogs around. My allergies act up. I'm sneezing
and wheezing and blowing my nose all night. It's cold. Most
people are busy preparing the scary Halloween accountrement.
I feel awkward and out of place. I retreat to a corner and
study a book on Monet. I leave at 9:30pm and feel safe only
when I am back in my hovel.
The hosts write:
"Thanks again for making the trek all the way out here to
attend the party. I am just sorry that I was running behind
with things and didn't get to spend more time with you. You
did make quite the impression, however, as several of the
girls that were there asked who you were and why you hadn't
been out before.
"We'll have to repay the favor of you driving all the way
up here and head down there and take you out to dinner some
time."
An Orthodox friend asks me what is Halloween. I reply: "It
is held on October 31st every year and has become the most
observed holiday in America after Christmas. Halloween is
a combination pagan/Christian holiday that today is 99.9%
pagan but still many churches and Christians participate in
it for the fun. Children go around to homes in their neighborhood,
dressed in costumes that are frequently meant to be scary,
and say "trick or treat!" The homes then give them a treat,
such as candy, lest they be the recipient of a nasty trick
(which almost never happens)."
Sunday morning, I get an extra hour in bed before going to
minyan. The Cowboys win 31-21 over Detroit. My headache lifts.
An attractive female friend says she has an extra ticket to
tonight's concert (Rich Recht Band from St. Louis and the
Moshav Band from a Shlomo Carleback hippie-style commune in
Israel) at the University of Judaism.
Twelve years ago I was a goy and living in an isolated part
of Northern California (45 minutes drive north of Sacramento).
I wanted to be Jewish. I was developing Jewish friends and
Jewish practice. I read R. Yosef Blau, Jonathan Sarna, Gary
Rosenblatt.
Now I can talk to those guys. I can lead a Jewish life. I
live in a town rich with Jewish religion and culture. To be
within 30 minutes drive of something called the University
of Judaism is awesome.
I'm on the old end of the Young Professionals event. There
are lots of young women. I move with them during the concerts.
I adore:
* Women with shiny lip gloss
* Women in tight blue jeans
* Persian women with their dark exotic looks and shapely bodies
and traditional values
* Women with skirts near the floor
* Women with mini-skirts long enough to cover the essentials
while short enough to keep your interest.
Beautiful women are great. I can't get enough of them. Particularly
the smart ones.
Occasionally I meet dynamic attractive young women who don't
look after themselves. They have dandruff. They're sloppily
attired. Their make-up is sloppily applied. They are ten pounds
overweight. I don't like this. So I'm no prize. A man can
dream, can't he?
I couldn't write like this if I were a Seventh Day Adventist.
As a Protestant, you are not supposed to admit to lustful
thoughts. Judaism, on the other hand, focuses more on behavior
than on motives. That enables me to be more honest about life
as I encounter it, and my feelings as I encounter them, while
maintaining clarity on what behavior is permissable.
I like to think of myself as a moralist. In many ways, I live
a stern life. I'm poor. I sleep on the floor. I don't drink
or gamble. My biggest vice is that I enjoy the attention of
beautiful women.
The Rick Recht Band has a couple of guys (on bass guitar and
drums) who appear to be Gentiles. Rick is short but filled
with enthusiasm. He has a good soul. His lyrics are simple
and easy. He intermixes pop songs. He says "Y'all."
It feels like Jewish camp. I never had a chance to go to Jewish
camp, but this is must be what it is like -- swaying arm-in-arm
singing the same song.
In Adventism, dancing is a sin. Though I've shaken off the
religion of my childhood, it still affects me in many ways.
I've never learned to dance comfortably. I'm awkward. I have
no sense of rhythym.
I look at the young women gyrating around the floor and I'm
amazed. Perhaps their moves are no big deal to somebody with
a more normal upbringing than mine, but to me they are mindblowing.
How do they coordinate their arms and legs and bodies like
that?
A girl in a white singlet and faded blue jeans gets on stage
with Rick and claps and sways and leads us in dancing. She's
young. She's hot. She's acrobatic.
She inspires me.
I love the way these young women embrace each other. Totally
hot.
This combination of the sensual and the spiritual, without
the onerous demands of halacah, is a delightful part of Reform
and Conservative.
The one downer in my UJ experience tonight -- my discovery
that UJ has unisex bathrooms. Gross. Judaism believes in separation.
Now I admit that I like shelving some of those separations
at times, but not in this area. What God has put asunder (mens
rooms, ladies rooms) let not man put together (to invert a
favorite line of my father which he invoked to me about the
unity of the Old Testament with the New Testament).
Robert and Karen Avrech attended a weekend retreat for bereaved
parents at Camp Simcha in the Catskills. Robert
writes on Seraphic Secret:
The compassionate psychologist looks around the circle of
men, wishes us a good Shabbos and suggests that we introduce
ourselves and then say whatever it is we want to say. He nods
to the man on his right to begin. I sit directly to the left
of the psychologist, which means that I will be last to speak.
Mr. White says: "Gam zu L'tova. Which means that in the end
God has a plan and it is for the best. We cannot know this
plan, we cannot understand it, but we must have emunah, faith.
He says, "My son died when I was in Israel. I feel guilty
about this. Could I have done something if I was with him?
No, of course not. But still I feel guilty."
Mr. White, in his mid-sixties, a Boro Park businessman, rambles
for a good five minutes. He quotes one verse after another.
He lectures the one Reform Jew in our group, as if we who
are observant have this absolute right. It is condescending
and I am embarrassed by this utterly inappropriate behavior.
Yet I say nothing because this man's son died and we all go
a bit crazy as we live out our lives as orphan fathers. To
his credit, the young Reform man, next to speak, is exquisitely
polite.
Eight copies of The Producers and four copies of XXX-Communicated
sold in September.
Total sales:
The Producers: Profiles in Frustration (published in July
2004): 55
XXX-Communicated: A Rebel Without A Shul (published in June
2004): 71
Many people accuse YU being a close-minded and intolerant
institution. But here the YU student paper opens its pages
to an advocate of racial separation, one who makes common
cause with white supremacist groups. I find Orthodox life
far more tolerant of such racial thinking as that blacks are
less intelligent, on average, than whites. Other sectors of
Jewish life tend to be intolerant of these views.
I suppose that racism is one of those sweet delights that
the Almighty allows those who follow his Torah as a partial
recompense for the harshness of the Oral law.
I remember when a class from the liberal temple Ohr HaTorah
took a class at YULA (Yeshiva University Los Angeles) with
a Frum From Birth Monsey-raised rabbi. The rabbi brought up
as the most natural analogy to something in the sacred text
that some people believe that blacks are less intelligent
because of genetics while others believe that they are less
intelligent because of the way society has treated them.
Needless to say, at least one of these Reform Jews was offended
and never came back. The next week the rabbi apologized for
his remark. If he had made it in an Orthodox environment,
and I am sure he had, then it would've gone unnoticed.
Different Jewish groups are tolerant and intolerant of different
things.
Most fascinating - and beautifully written - is the article
by Mayer Schiller, one of the more interesting and individual
characters on the landscape, about his long relationship with
YU.
"There's this one rabbi I know - rabbi Mayer Schiller. You'll
find some of his stuff posted on The Third Way page. He reviewed
a biography of Strom Thurmond where he mourns the cowardice
of Strom Thurmond for giving up segregation. For the loathsomeness
of his ideas, at least he can laugh at himself. We get along.
I have a high threshold for things so long as the person does
not always take himself seriously. Go forth and sin no more.
"The best about Rabbi Schiller is that he sets the standards
for misbehavior so high, I feel like nothing I can do will
get me into trouble. If I have made some comments about Israel
that have got me in trouble, well, Rabbi Schiller is a fellow
traveler with the Neturei Karta (anti-Israel ultra-Orthodox
Jewish sect)."
Rabbi Schiller, 49, has made common cause with and spoken
before a cast of characters and organizations that would send
most American Jews running to the Anti- Defamation League:
American white supremacists, anti-abortion extremists, Conrad
Muhammad of the Nation of Islam and right-wing European nationalists.
In a series of interviews with the Forward, Rabbi Schiller
declined to discuss for the record his published views on
race. Officials at Yeshiva University High School, also known
as MTA, said Rabbi Schiller's silence stems from an agreement
that he made with school administrators five years ago, prohibiting
Rabbi Schiller from discussing racial issues with students
or in any public forum.
Several years ago, for example, when we were looking into
the fact that a high school rebbe had published deeply racist
views in white supremacist journals, the top administrator
at the school where he teaches called to tell me that he knew
about the rebbe’s views, but if we published such a story,
I would be responsible for the firing of this highly talented
and effective rebbe. Why me? I asked. Because, the administrator
said, the resulting publicity and outcry would force him to
terminate the rebbe, and it would be on my head.
In the end, we held off because we found no proof that the
rebbe discussed his views with his students. But I found the
phone call, and its logic, deeply disturbing.
I recently went to hear a prominent rabbi give a talk on Torah
perspectives on sexual abuse, and he was adamant in asserting
that Jewish law was “unequivocal in its condemnation” of various
forms of “this terrible crime.” He was insistent that victims
be supported and protected, and that perpetrators be held
responsible for their crimes because there is “zero tolerance
in Jewish law.”
An important message from an important leader. The problem
was that he was a key and controversial figure in the Rabbi
Lanner story, criticized for not only defending him over the
years but for being dismissive of and accusatory toward those
victims brave enough to speak out.
The Forward published the story about Schiller a month after
this Rosenblatt column. Schiller did not get fired.
The hypocritical rabbi on sexual abuse is rabbi
Mordechai Willig, writes Me. "It would be almost another
two years before Rosenblatt
wrote the story, naming him."
Is it against the Torah to advocate racial separation? Certainly
the Torah calls on Jews to be a separate people. Separate but
equal got a bad rap because of the 1950s US Supreme Court ruling
that separate inherently means unequal. But separate does not
have to mean unequal. We have separate bathrooms for men and
women. I don't think you can make a strong argument from Jewish
text that racial separation is against Torah.
Yes, I understand that Jews are not a race. That Jews are composed
of all races from black to brown to yellow. But Jewish laws
against Jews bathing with non-Jews and all such laws that Kahane
advocated for Israel are deeply rooted in Jewish text, which
would seem to have some sympathy for rabbi Schiller's views.
From:Chapt-Schleck obdsm@world.net
Date: Fri. Feb 2, 2001 7:18 a.m.
Subject: Epiphanic question time
Y'know Y'All,
I'm sitting here in my hotel room in Dryhump, Kentucky, the
day is ove, Let's say I'm a Mashglach for the Star-K or something
like that, It's "Yes, Rabbi" this, and "No, Rabbi" that all
day long.
His name is Brian, a reddish blonde Shaygetz of the most impossibly
alluring sort. Do you know what kind of world it is out there
in the interior of America? Do you know how invisible the
Jewish World has become since I got into my car at the beginning
of the week and drove west by south?
Here I am asked, whyt are the Israelis and Palestinians fighting
each other for God's sake, they're all Jews over there aren't
they? I tell him, No, Israelis and Palestinians are not the
same, one is Jew the other Arab. But I can see he remains
perplexed. Small difference, he mutters. I know for certain
that there is not one person in a hundred in this factory
who can find Israel on a map of the world.
But back to Brian. He is dressed in starched whites like all
workers in this super-sterile environment. Food-grade sterile.
My kinda whites, almost transparent, almost fluorescent, I
can see the individual vertabrae rippling through his jacket
back, almost read the label on his underpants. "Hi Brian,"
I say. "Oh Rabbi you remembered my name." He smiles and I
can smell the feel of the stubble on his cheeks, red and gold.
I want to lock him into one of the two hundred huge stainless
steel hoppers which feed whatever it is that gets manufactured
here in this plant. I want to hear
him beg me to let him out, I want control. I'm thinking to
myself, I might cause an international incident if I were
to do any one of the mulitiplicity of violent and kinkily
sexual scenarios I have in mind even moderate justice in this
sleepy hillbilly town.
I did not take my plastic Star-K numbered sealing tags and
bind his wrists to the pipes in the boiler room so that I
might rape his mouth. I did not clamp his
hipples with the small electrical clips or the ring widgets
or the abrasive tape or the rubber compound coating sealant
or the other accoutrements of torture available to Rabbis
in strange places. I kashered the inlet nozzles and stuck
my seals on bags of feedstuffs for export to Israel. No dismembered
22 year old shaygetz with a smile on his face and strange
metal objects in his rectum found his way into my sealed cartons,
No food grade quality control Paqid in the Holy Land need
fear encountering my gory leftovers next week in Holon or
Metullah.
But I cannot still the question asking itself over and over
in my mind. What are you going to do, Schleck, with your double
triple quadruple identity crisis?
When you giv eyour little D'var Torah'le before Musaf, Schleck,
are you going to mention that you yourself, like personally,
like deep down where you know yourself, would have been among
those who preferred to remain in Egypt than leave to be given
a code of living in the wilderness that includes such gems
as "Thou shalt not commit adultery." or the ban against taking
a woman and her sister or a woman and her
daughter? Should I mention it in passing this Shabbat? This
Shabbos?
Should I mention that I have a slave? That I hurt her passionately.
Hurt? I torture her quite deliberately. Her name is J and
she too is a member of this OBDSM list. I'm the one who brought
her to massive orgasms with my savage crocodile clips. Should
I mention it in passing at the end of the d'rosho?
When Aish-Hatorah puts me up on their website and Links theirr
page to mine for the downloadable Torahs, what would happen
if I linked it to my erotic mind-control stories? D'you think
the discerning reader would make the connection between my
penchant for erotic mind-control and my theosophistical theories
about worshipping God, power exchange, 24/7 humiliation and
bondage scenes and real abandonment of
the self and the will to God my Higher Power?
Neh! It'll never happen......
Somewhere in all this there has to be a Rav I can ask, a rosh
yeshiva I can talk it all through with. And don't you go telling
me that I'm it. I want a real
rabbi, one who's never put his hand below his belt in his
lifetime, who's never masturbated or fantasized about his
wife's sister or thought about going into
the Ladies Shul and taking his pick. I want a rabbi who never
went into the dirty washing hamper and tried rubbing his scrotum
with his sister's satiny bra and
pants when he was twelve years old, who never peeped and wished
and dreamed and longed.
I guess I won't find her on this list.
Love and Pain,
Schleck
I find the "dismembering" part of the above fantasy disturbing
and the reveling in doing violence to innocents. Yes, it is
only fantasy, but it is fantasy written down and published.
Even the most high-brow of Jewish blogs - whose bloggers offer
self-righteous meanderings and other mind-blowing insights
into modern Judaism - are part of the sensationalistic blog
culture.
During a past peruse down Jewish blogger lane, the following
topics were repeatedly the center of conversation: details
of recent scandals involving menacing rabbis who had allegedly
sexually exploited women; more comments on indiscretion; rampant
Haredi and "Jews-not-like-us" bashing; conversations that
were certainly meant to be private were blogged. Last year
in particular, one notorious blog carried a fallacious story
about a group of unbecoming Yeshiva students, which made its
way half way around the world.
Accurate Lashon hara (harmful though true gossip) has a similarity
to free trade. The price paid is obvious and steep to the subject
of the lashon hara while the benefits of the lashon hara (a
more informed group can make better decisions) are diffused.
So those who are the targets of lashon hara, such as rabbis
Gafni and Worch, can loudly and eloquently complain that they
are victims, while the beneficiaries of this lashon hara, those
who make better decisions on the basis of more accurate information,
tend to keep quiet.
With free trade, any country that participates in it is better
off as a whole. But with free trade, small compact groups are
directly and adversely affected, and thus they have an incentive
to loudly protest. The beneficiaries of free trade, like the
beneficiaries of lashon hara, have no incentive to loudly state
their case.
Thus, making the case for lashon hara is a lonely one in Jewish
religious life, even though it frequently works for the good
of the community.
In my research for my book on Jewish journalism -- Yesterday's
News Tomorrow: Inside American Jewish Journalism -- I found
that cries of "lashon hara" by those negatively affected were
usually the first refuge of scoundrels. Complaints of "lashon
hara" in Jewish life tend to most often come from those who
want to protect their privileged place in the community and
want to avoid scrutiny and accountability.
Let me be clear. I believe, with Judaism, that much of the time
it is wrong to spread hurtful though true details about a person.
The exception is when the information (gossip) can help the
innocent to make better decisions.
After fighting through traffic for an hour, I was grumpy
and questioning whether it was all worth it by the time I
set foot inside Cathy's home at 7:10 pm Tuesday.
"Do you see Matt Welch much?" I asked Cathy.
"Now and then," she replied. "Why? He lives just down the
street. If you want me to drop something off to him..."
"Yeah, here's the hardcopy edition of my new book," I say
quietly, but filled with pride inside.
"Did you bring me one?" asked Cathy.
"No," I said. "Only those who wrote something for the book."
I asked Cathy to write a foreword but she didn't. Frankly,
she's shown minimal interest in my whole Jewish journalism
project.
Frankly, most of my friends have shown minimal interest, if
not downright hostility, to my last three books. It's a big
mistake to write books to impress friends and family. It rarely
works. Certainly hasn't in my case.
I could write the number one book on a certain topic and many
of those closest to me would still be convinced I was an idiot
who needed to be bossed around.
I'm listening to the book A BEAUTIFUL MIND on tape. John Nash
reminds me of me without the genius.
I sit in the kitchen as Cathy puts the final touches on tonight's
bean casserole. I drink Cecile du Bois' lemonade.
"You shouldn't have dressed up for me," I say.
Cathy wears faded bluejeans and an indifferent (though plunging)
long-sleeved green top.
"What?" she says. "What's wrong with this?"
"It's very nice, Cathy. I don't want you to think that I don't
appreciate it.
"I do remember the days when you always put on a fresh dress
and some make-up before I came over. You'd greet me in high
heels [and a black whip]."
Yesterday seems so far away.
Cathy's bean casserole is delicious. She points out how it
is superior to the bean dishes I grew up with. She's competitive
in everything, even her beans.
Over dinner, I show my book Yesterday's
News Tomorrow: Inside American Jewish Journalism to Cathy's
father Harvey. He's fascinated. He starts paging through
it. This gets Cathy's attention. It's the most she's ever
paid to my last project.
I read her sections where she is quoted or discussed. This
rivets her.
Cathy wants to know if there's an index so she can check which
pages she's mentioned on.
"I will give you a copy, Cathy, if you will read it and write
about it on your blog."
She agrees.
I run to my car. There's a six-foot torrent of water, about
two-inches deep flowing down Cathy's street. I'm soaked as
the rain pours down.
I bring her back her book.
We sit in the living room. I want us to read to each our favorite
selections from Yesterday's News Tomorrow but Cathy insists
that our entire conversation must not revolve around me.
Cathy's dog Linda licks our plates clean. That is the custom
in the Seipp home. If you eat there, I encourage you to bring
your own dishes.
Cecile takes a bath and goes to bed. Cathy gets annoyed that
Cecile did not leave the water in the tub so she could bathe
too.
Ewww!
Another Seipp family custom.
I sit back and take great pleasure in watching Harvey enjoy
my book. He wants to buy four copies. He asks me for a discount.
I fear that I am softening. For a number of weeks now, certain
stern moral positions that I have maintained throughout my
journey before God have been twisted into hitherto unrecognizable
shapes by the physical positions She-Woman has imposed on
me. I feel that I am on the cusp of sin so great that only
a Moses or a Spielberg could get away with it in the eyes
of those whose respect I covet. I turn to my friends for help,
and get none. Cathy, why hast thou forsaken thy Luke in his
hour of moral weakness? If only you had sought to fix me up
with one of your brainy Jewish friends, I would today be a
contented man, bound by laws both Oral and Written to my challah.
And what of you, Chaim, why dost thou seek to counsel Luke
into temptation?
There are Jews in the world, there are Buddhists,
There are Hindus and Mormons and then,
There are those that follow Mohammed,
But I've never been one of them...
I'm a Roman Catholic, and have been since the day I was born,
And the one thing they say about Catholics,
Is they'll take you as soon as you're warm...
You don't have to be a six-footer,
You don't have to have a great brain,
You don't have to have any clothes on -
You're a Catholic the moment dad came...
because...
Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate.
Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate.
Let the heathen spill theirs, on the dusty ground,
God shall make them pay for each sperm that can't be found
Every sperm is wanted, every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed in your neighbourhood.
Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
Spill thiers just anywhere,
But God loves those who treat their
Semen with more care.
Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighbourhood.
Every sperm is useful, every sperm is fine,
God needs everybody's,
Mine
And mine
And mine
Let the Pagan spill theirs,
O'er mountain, hill and plain,
God shall strike them down for
Each sperm that's spilt in vain.
Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed in your neighbourhood.
Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate.
I was talking to this girl who graduated Stern (Orthodox
college for women in Manhattan) a few years ago. She told
some amusing stories about walking with her girlfriends to
a comedy club on Shabbos and telling the guard they couldn't
pay because they couldn't touch money on Shabbos.
Eventually the black Wayan brothers blew through and took
the girls with them.
My friend ended up in the hotel room sitting in a corner,
she wasn't as attractive then as she is now, watching the
Wayans go to town on her friends on the holy Shabbat.
Anyway, my friend has been sick for a week. She's been watching
TV and movies. I told her she should listen to books on tape.
I said I was listening to A BEAUTIFUL MIND about John Nash.
She told me that was gay. What if I listened to a book called
A BEAUTIFUL ***? She said that would be even more gay. Luckily,
I am secure with who I am and what I study, that I have not
been deterred from my pursuit of intellectual growth.
While I am busy at Protocols obsessing over the doings of
a tiny and obscure group of people, Chaim Amalek is nailing
his indictment of George Bush all over the web:
1. He has failed to re-establish control over our border with
Mexico, thereby permitting millions of persons unknown to
infiltrate our country. Bush just does not care.
2. He has yet to articulate any sort of a plan to meaningfully
reduce our deadly dependence upon foreign oil.
3. He chose to invade a country - Iraq - that we did not need
to invade, and with increasingly dire consequences.
4. He has been spending money like a democrat on crack, running
up $500,000,000,000 budget deficits.
5. He has done nothing to defend American businesses against
foreign competition. The result? $400,000,000,000 trade deficits.
6. He cares not that our industrial might is going overseas
or to the third world, and our wealth with it.
7. He is nowhere to be found on the issue of CEO pay. Corporate
CEOs, working under the cover of compliant boards, are looting
their companies, paying themselves 400 times what their average
employee is earning. Not a peep from Bush about putting an
end to this rot.
8. He has failed to reverse the Clinton era cutbacks in our
military manpower, with terrible results in Iraq.
9. He has not a clue how to reduce the bill we pay for medical
care in this country.
10. He simply isn't up to the demands of this moment in our
history.
I've got hair growing out of my ears. What do I do? What
does the Torah say? Would plucking the hairs be acting like
a woman?
It's really all Janine Zecharia's fault. She of The New Republic,
The Jerusalem Report fame.
I was sitting home all alone Sunday night with my gemara when
a vision of Janine's long silky black hair passed before my
eyes, just as I was dealing with a particularly notty matter
on Bava Metzia 47A. And as I found myself entranced by Janine's
hair, my own hair started to grow, but out of my ears. It's
sticking out about three inches, but not in an attractive
way.
My mother said I kept enough dirt back there to grow potatoes.
So perhaps it is not Janine's fault after all.
I think I'll email Alana Newhouse, culture czar at the Forward
and HAFTR princess. She would know what to do about these
pressing matters of personal grooming.
Travis writes: "Luke, this is private. So I know you won't
post it. I don't think you will be very successful bedding
the woman with your current strategy."
Trav, have no fear. When Janine reads this, she'll melt into
my cyber-arms.
When I decided to hitch my wagon to Luke Ford's serial killer
van, I did so in the expectation that soon I would be zooming
toward fame, fortune, and moral enlightenment in Our Moral
Leader's slipstream.
Yet here I sit one year later and I swear we haven't gone
anywhere. No fame, no fortune, and no moral enlightenment.
...[W]hat we get are countless stories about the sexual transgressions
of rabbis. Why? Voyeurism can't be the answer. Obviously not!
Our Moral Leader isn't that kind of dude. I suppose his posts
are intended as moral uplift by way of demonstration of what
not to do. Yet the probability that I will convert to Judaism,
become a rabbi, and start having sex with 12 year olds is,
at best, 50:50.
Teresa Heinz Kerry, all by herself, presides over greater
assets involved in the funding of shadow political activities
than the three chief conservative foundations – Scaife, Olin
and Bradley – combined. While, these conservative foundations
have combined assets of $809 million, the three Heinz Endowments,
in whose boardrooms Teresa Heinz Kerry speaks with a voice
louder than all others, have total assets of $1.2 billion.
Mrs. Kerry also sits on the board of the Carnegie Corporation,
which as this report reveals is also an active funder of the
political left and which has assets of $1.6 billion. In other
words, Mrs. Kerry has a say in the disposition of funds earmarked
for the left which are more than three times greater than
the celebrated funders of the right combined.
A recent blog entry counseled single women against keeping
cats, unless a rodent problem was in evidence. Of course,
it did not occur to me that any woman would consider sleeping
with a cat, until I received the following fairly horrifying
response from a dear friend who I shall not name here:
"What if she's a divorced or widowed woman? What if the dog
sleeps on the bed and the cat sleeps on a chair in the kitchen?
Is that OK with you, Luke? (Or should I say, "Link?")"
The thought of a woman sleeping with a dog is a horror that
I had not considered in drafting my responsa. A dog is an
unclean animal, both to Judaism and to Islam (our cousin faith).
Consider that no dog has ever mastered the art of wiping itself
clean with toilet paper after canine defecation. This means
that the dog that sleeps in bed with you brings with it exposed
fecal particles that must inevitably soil the bed. And the
uncleanliness does not end there. We all know that dogs like
to slobber. Revulsion prevents me from delving deeper into
this, but it should suffice to say that nothing good can come
from a lonely woman sleeping with a dog. So great is this
horror that if she must choose between sleeping with a cat
and sleeping with a dog, a single woman may sleep with the
cat, but only if the alternative is that she will be sleeping
with dogs.
Better that she sleep with a good man and raise his children.
"This past year has been an incredible drain on my time, energy,
and emotions," Diehl said. "Now that Karen and I have unwrapped
all the gifts, opened a joint checking account, and bought
a house, I finally have some time to focus on me—on what I
want. And what I want right now is hot, attachment-free sex
with young, good-looking women."
Unless she has a rodent problem, the single woman should
not keep cats. It is too easy for the single woman to curl
up at night with her cat, when it is the Will of HaShem (God)
that she go to bed with a man.
(Worch, a Lubavitch rabbi living in Australia, visited the
Abayudaya in Uganda last August. Following, in Part II, are
excerpts from his writings. Part I , describing his discovery
of a 70-year-old mikveh, appeared in the previous newsletter.)
It was more than three hours past midnight on a Friday night.
I am in Africa, a few minutes north of the Equator, close
to the source of the River Nile. I am sitting on a wicker
chair with my friends the Bayudaya. As I told a story, all
around me on the red earthen floor they were taut with listening.
The oldest and youngest of the group snored softly on their
bamboo mats. I finished my story.
The dark was overwhelming, palpable; I could not make out
a hand in front of my face. It was time for us to retire,
to rest, to sleep. But we were much too excited.
"Shall we dance?" I asked. For an answer there came a swish,
a rustling of clothing, shuffling feet, and we were dancing.
Mine were the only feet in shoes that night as we all danced
and danced.
I began singing a simple melody I remembered from my childhood.
I had heard it from the Sekulener Rebbe 30, maybe more, years
ago. We held hands and stomped our feet, singing quietly,
"U'Vyoim Ha'Shabbes, Shabbes Koidesh, Sissu V'Simchu...."
A little to one side stood the women, Mamma Debra, Mamma Naom,
Mamma Erina and other intrepid mothers of the tribe, swaying,
listening, humming, with their fingers interlaced, their heads
nodding.
These women, the tribal mothers, fast too much. If one has
a bad dream she declares a fast. When prayers must be answered
-- a child is sick, a crop is failing -- they fast, days and
weeks. And perhaps I am too judgmental, but I gave them a
rabbinical ruling: Fasts may be subsumed by cash. A few shillings
donated to charity is equal to one day of fasting.
I had thought of telling them about the popular European Jewish
sublimation, "chai" the number "18", but I stopped myself
just in time. There are nearly one thousand Ugandan Shillings
to the dollar, but 18 is much too much to suggest as a pidyon
(redemption) to these holy women who survive by subsistence-farming.
Eventually we slept. In the morning we prayed and I read the
Torah. They asked me to speak yet again after davening, but
I had already explained the Torah readings as I had gone through
them. "Any rabbi," quipped I, "can speechify at the drop of
a hat. But only a truly great rabbi knows when to be quiet."
So, wow, your book is intense. You lay yourself bare. Naked.
It's full on. You are willing to look at yourself with the
same scrutiny with which you focus on others. It's a compulsive
desire.
Funny, sad, curious. Is sarcasm contagious? I will keep an
eye on it.
Luke, Luke, Luke. I didn't realise you were as much a slut
as I, masquerading behind a facade of morality. I've nearly
met my match.
Now I must surround myself with wholesome goodness to reclaim
my sense of happiness and contentment.
You're funny with the hovel and car thing. You like to test.
I've met others who do this. Sometimes the testing never ends.
New barriers are erected and the challenge posed: "We'll see
if you still like me like this."
This is a surprise announcement that we have been holding
back for some time.
Vicki Polin
and I are getting married next month at Ner Israel in Baltimore.
We want you all to come dance at our chupah. Applying our
philosophy of forgive-and-forget, we're having rabbi
Mordecai Gafni oversee our nuptials, and rabbis Joseph
Telushkin and Saul Berman sign our ketuba, and I want cantor
Michael Segelstein to render the chazzanut. Put Sunday,
November 14, at 7 pm on your calendars, and God bless you
in all of your legitimate endeavors.
I've read postings by "ScrawnyBuddha" [using the posting name
of hydrargirium] on R. Worch-related BDSM sites. I contacted
"ScrawnyBuddha" and this is part of what "ScrawnyBuddha" emailed
me back:
Just to clear the ground from misconceptions, since my spiritual
standing seems to have been mistaken in several instances.
I am not a Jew, I am not a Christian and I am not a Muslim,
was raised as none, and the link you sent me brought me to
places that remind me of the reason why I stand in so much
abhorrence of the Religions of the Book. Groups who appear
to be only concerned with themselves, deaf to all but
their own language. Like I said once to the object of your
inquiry, your language is not inclusive but exclusive, and
even when you are an apostate you (Jews, Christians, Muslims)
are and remain the followers of a jealous god, bound by chains.
I find myself uncomfortable with people who define themselves
by a creed or a nationality and define the entire universe
consequently. I find myself uncomfortable with people who
belong too much, because I have seen it be cause of the worst
that Man can do, to himself and others.
This said...
I am an analytical psychologist and my province is the care
of souls in the manner of personal dialogue. This implies
the opposite of group therapies of any kind, which seems much
to be what is happening here.
My acquaintance with Mr. Worch is limited. We had some exchanges
starting with our disagreement on hypnosis and then about
mystical things, not to great results as it is likely between
people who speak really different tongues. I never met him
and never spoke to him, and what I know of his life and practices
is only what I read on his LJ journal and on his website,
plus what some of his friends said about him. Nothing of what
I know can be called sexual abuse; the use of hypnosis as
a toy is in my view an irresponsible act, but one for which
both parties bear the blame
unless the hypnotizee's suggestibility is one of the symptoms
of mental illness.
It seems to me that this matter, as is presented, is an issue
among Jews and of Jews, about the unorthodox teachings of
what you call an Orthodox rabbi. Sexual (mis)conduct in this
context certainly has a different meaning than for most other
people, straight or kinky. But aliens cannot be invited to
have a say, because they might well question the very tenets
of your Weltanschauung.
I asked BDSM expert Ira Levine aka Ernest Greene (husband of
Nina Hartley) what he thought about the practices imputed to
R. Hershie Worch. He replied:
Wow. I thought I'd seen it all. Guess that's never a safe
assumption. None
of this stuff looks familiar to me, although some standard
BDSM culture
language is appropriated, weirdly indeed, along with religious
terminology.
It's strange enough that one warped mind could figure out
how to reconcile
all these contradictions, but the fact that this guy appears
to have some
kind of following truly amazing. Body-modification and Talmudic
Law? I don't
think so.
I suppose I have run onto some variation of the hynotism-sex
thing. We had
one very odd client who used to come into a pro-dom club where
I worked as a
manager when I first got out here. He used to pay girls to
dress up like his
mother and pretend to hypnotize him and order him to masturbate.
Some sort
of cripto-Freudian do-it-yourself-therapy kind of thing. Needless
to say,
not a lot of the girls would do him. Creepy to be sure, but
harmless enough,
and unlikely to inspire imitation.
I don't know, Luke. This is definitely a visit to an alternative
universe
where I wouldn't want to spend much time.
The type of behavior you describe is exaclty the opposite
of what's considered normal in the BDSM world. The leather
community's entire ethic is built on informed consent. No
situation in which an individual is drugged, hypnotized, coerced
or otherwise made incapable of granting such consent and then
subjected to sexual abuse is considered anything but criminal
by any community standard.
Criminality of this kind is rare among BDSM people, who tend
to be wary and alert with strangers and quick to call out
what they regard as inappropriate conduct. This is supported
by a close-knit social culture in which secretive activity
is difficult. BDSM players don't tolerate predators and don't
make good victims.
Not to evade your direct question, however, I think the kind
of fantasy you're talking about is extremely rare, but not
inconceivable. A younger generation of BDSM players in particular
seems to enjoy some fantasy input from Clive Barker, et al,
as a feature of their more goth-leaning conception of kinky
eroticism. I have to say I don't get it myself, and I suspect
some of it is affected for shock-value, but there is some
overlap between the younger kinksters and gore-hounds.
A reader not familiar with the Luke Ford œuvre may wonder
what he got for his $35.95 (hardcover), $25.95 (softcover)
or $6 (eBook) after reading comments like: "I don't understand
what you are doing here. Who's your publisher?" (Rabbi Shmuley
Boteach), or "Dear Mr. Ford: I do not wish to be included
in your book. If there is anything negative about me or my
family in your book you will hear from my attorney” (Rabbi
Sheldon Zimmerman).
Such opening remarks don't inspire a lot of confidence in
Mr Ford's stature as a player in the world of Jewish journalism.
But they're not nearly as damning as Robert Avrech and Matt
Welch's Forewords, which are brutal -- totally, absolutely,
heartbreakingly brutal. Poor Mr Ford, I thought. These are
your friends and yet they write terrible things about you...
(All-thanks to Chaim Amalek for his hard work in cobbling
this together. I suggest you print this out and carefully
consider where the two major candidates stand on each of these
issues.)
1. America is not Mexico. Re-establish our borders with Mexico
(and Latin America) by sealing them off against illegal immigration.
Use our soldiers in Korea for this purpose, if need be. How
could this be done? By offering an award of $1,000 for information
leading to the deportation of each and every illegal alien
in the United States, with the idea of deporting ALL the illegals
from the United States, and by fining CEOs ten thousand dollars
for every illegal found to be working for him.
2. Severely restrict legal immigration. With almost 300,000,000
people here that we know about, this country is now FULL,
and we really don't need millions of Muslims from the failed
civilization of Islam coming here. Let them go to France if
they have their heart set on living in a society that was
established by Christians.
3. No more outsourcing work that Americans want to do. To
begin with, we should alter the tax code to severely punish
CEOs who ship jobs that pay more than the median wage (jobs
that by definition, Americans want to do) to foreign lands.
4. In 1980 the average Fortune 500 CEO paid himself about
12 - 40 times the pay of the median employee under his command.
Now he (or she, as in the case of HP) pays himself about 450
times the median employee salary. This means that money is
going where it isn't needed, instead of to R&D, marketing,
manufacture, and other more productive activities. Establish
a commission to regulate the salary of all CEOs.
5. Tax the very rich to death.
6. And speaking of death, we need an inheritance tax that
will put an end to the political power of both the Bush and
the Kennedy clans.
7. Tax gasoline so that tiny women in the suburbs stop driving
really big trucks (SUVs) that burn both gasoline and the blood
of American heroes in Iraq.
8. And speaking of Iraq, we ought not sacrifice any of our
fine young sons and daughters to bring the blessings of democracy
to any Arab or Muslim people. If they want this on their own
that's fine - maybe we can send them some books on the topic
- but as for imposing this on them, that is out of the question.
Let's just buy their oil and leave it at that.
9. A bigger military, in case we need to destroy some other
nation.
10. A draft to staff same, if needed. This would not include
women who belong at home raising babies.
11. Means testing for ALL government programs, beginning with
social security and strict Medicare tests.
12. Greatly increasing taxes on casino winnings and revenues
in the event 13 proves unfeasible.
13. National health care of some sort for American CITIZENS.
14. More and better nuclear power. We have to generate power
by means other than burning coal and other hydrocarbon. Let's
get this done today, not tomorrow.
15. More diverse supplies of vaccines. We could do this by
guaranteeing to purchase all the stock a company makes up
to some reasonable level based on actual need, if not demand.
Where estimated need = demand, this would cost nothing to
implement.
16. Tort reform so that no lawyer can become rich by suing
others.
17. Vouchers for every kid (whose parents make less than the
top 30%) who is stuck in a school that is below average.
18. Use the bully pulpit to encourage the strengthening of
unions in the private sector.
19. Tariffs on imports to protect strategically important
industries.
20. Get us out of NAFTA NOW. No normal human being wants to
hear a giant sucking sound from south of the border.
21. Return copyrights to the twenty years or so they used
to be. Screw Disney. And while we are at it, encourage downloading
music off the internet as a means of defunding our cultural
elites.
22. Forbid both lawyers and investment bankers from working
more than 40 hours a week, and watch America breath a sigh
of relief.
23. Everyone else may work more than 40 hours a week, but
would have to be paid double time for it.
24. A space program worthy of our nation. I propose the resurrection
of Apollo, going to the moon, and establishing fuel depots
there to make further exploration less expensive. All without
international cooperation (except, maybe, from the British).
This would be paid for by new taxes on rich people, casinos,
alcohol, and tobacco.
25. Ban abortions based on gender, ban late term abortions
(unless the mother is sure to die otherwise), otherwise leave
abortion law as is.
26. Start a real national discussion on our drugs laws. Acknowledge
that perhaps some drugs ought to be legalized.
27. Affirmative action for the smart poor, no matter their
race.
28. No gay marriage, unless we permit polygamy as well.
29. Salary caps of $1,000,000/year on athletes and other entertainers.
Before we bring the pain of socialism to the masses, let's
visit it on our coddled elites.
30. Withdraw our troops from Korea. The Republic of Korea
is so many times wealthier and stronger than North Korea that
they ought to be able to stand on their own two feet. And
if they refuse to and fall to the North Koreans, well, that's
so much less competition for our industries.
31. Whatever form of trade is most beneficial to America,
free trade or not. No trade with China unless it is balanced
or in our favor.
That's my start. I am pretty damn sure that most of America
would go along with most of this, and I'm equally sure that
neither Bush nor Kerry would agree with more than one or two
things on this list. Your comments would be most appreciated.
Send them off to chaimamalek@yahoo.com.
It is common for me after publishing a book or some other
accomplishment to hear from acquaintances that they hope I
find "whatever you are seeking."
Is it not obvious that all I seek is to do God's will, to
be a blessing to Jews and to the world, and to lead a quiet
humble existence with a wife and kids and mortgage?
If only a fraction of the anecdotal evidence is to be credited
I am endowed with awesome hypnotic powers that cause women
to tear their clothes off and force me to take cold showers...
I'm only sorry they never greatly affected either my previous
landlords or employers, and have had precious little effect
on either of my ex-wives.
The overwhelming exhaustion that has washed over me from existing
as a victim for the past eighteen years has ultimately been
my silencer. Any remaining strength is channeled into the
necessary tasks of parenting and daily survival. I will no
longer be a victim.
The better part of my childhood was spent lost and invisible.
My earliest recollections are of pleading to an unnamed supreme
being.
“Please,” I’d say, “I’ll do anything, anything at all if you’ll
let her find me. I know she must be looking for me.”
I’d scream and cry into my pillow at night. I remember waiting
at the door. Anger was not an issue. If I was angry with anyone,
it was the other “she”, the one who had taken me away. That
was how my childhood psyche worked. Adoption was not a warm
fuzzy word defined by “we really wanted you”. I read it as;
the one person who truly mattered didn’t, couldn’t or was
convinced not to.
So, I kept searching for my mother, for someone to love me
the way I needed to be loved.
Along came Judaism, JPSY and Mordechai Winiarz.
At that time, my family was in constant turmoil. My father
had brushed with death far too many times. In 1985 he underwent
his second open-heart surgery – a quadruple by-pass. I hit
puberty and my emotions, hormones and home-life were in shambles.
Mordechai Winiarz paid attention to me. He told me how intelligent
and special I was. I spent many Shabbat lunches with him and
his wife feeling like I had finally found a family. I began
keeping kosher and abiding by the laws of modesty.
Mordechai had awarded me JPSYer of the Year. My sadness and
isolation at home had me frustrated and doing poorly academically.
I asked Mordechai if I could live with him and his wife. At
the time I was hoping for a more permanent arrangement, but
we agreed on taking things one week at a time. I had just
turned sixteen when I moved in with them the first time.
The week went by rather uneventfully with one exception. I
awoke one evening from a disturbing dream. It was maybe midnight
and I heard someone awake upstairs. I decided to get some
milk and try and relax and think. I soon realized it was Mordechai
who was awake. He heard me in the kitchen and asked me to
talk to him. When I approached the study, Mordechai was in
his robe, preparing a shiur on something.
“Why are you still awake?” he asked me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing” I said. “I just needed a drink.”
“I can tell there is something wrong, talk to me.”
“Really, it’s O.K.; I just had a bad dream. I am going back
to sleep.”
“You’ll never be able to sleep if you don’t tell me.”
He wouldn’t give up. I felt trapped. Not physically mind you,
but emotionally. I enjoyed talking and sharing with him because
he listened, but the dream I had was strange, it involved
me as a young child and the typical scenario of walking in
on your parents’ lovemaking (in the dream he and his wife
were my parents). I had had general dreams involving them
as my parents previously. I didn’t want to share it. I wanted
time to think about it. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.
When I finally described my dream to him, he interpreted it
as my being sexually attracted to him. I felt he was completely
off base. I quickly changed the topic and was able to return
to bed.
After the agreed upon weeks’ stay came to a close, my parents
insisted I come back. So, much to my chagrin, I returned home.
Things there went from bad to worse when my mother fell at
work and was hospitalized with a broken hip. Now my mother
was hospitalized and my father was trying to recoup from open-heart
surgery. I felt helpless and lost. I couldn’t cope. I had
no siblings and no family lived nearby. So off I ran – back
to Mordechai, his wife, and the warmth and safety I felt there.
This time however, it was very different. It was Tuesday evening
after at school when he made his first trip into what was
then my bedroom - the basement. It was very late and I had
already been asleep when the door opened. From the door, he
said, “You look like you need a hug”. I pretended to remain
asleep. He approached the bed and repeated himself. I still
did not answer and conveniently I was turned away from him.
My mind was racing. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know what
to say. I was shomeret negiah (abiding by the stringent Jewish
laws prohibiting premarital touch). Why was he in my bedroom?
Why was he asking to touch me at all? I knew it was wrong.
He knew it was wrong – didn’t he? Certainly I needed a hug,
I always needed a hug, but a hug from him was wrong. Wasn’t
it? If it were so wrong, why would he have offered it? I could
not keep up with the fears and questions flying around inside
my brain.
Before I could process them, react or respond he was sitting
on my bed. I sat up to tell him “No, it’s O.K. I don’t need
a hug. And why are you even offering?” when he put his arms
around me. For a brief moment it felt good - like I was a
little kid and my daddy was giving me a hug. Then I realized
this was not right I tried to pull away but he held onto me
and fell on top of me. He began touching me under my nightclothes.
I said “No.” and tried to move his hand away. He kept fondling
me. I said “No.” again and he stopped, abruptly stopped. It
was the most bizarre thing. He rose from the bed, told me
not to say anything about what happened because no one would
understand. He promised me it wouldn’t happen again. And I
believed him. I had to.
Thursday was an early release day from school. I was emotionally
exhausted and went straight downstairs for a nap. Mordechai
was at the house. I thought that was odd – why was he not
working? He tried to stop me, to talk again. I told him to
leave me alone – I was tired and I needed rest. I had been
asleep no longer than 30 minutes when Mordechai arrived in
my room once again. Now he was in robe. He didn’t bother to
knock. He stood at the door and said something to wake me.
I startled. He arrogantly stated, “You know what you want.”
“What?” I asked. I truly had no clue what he was talking about
and why the hell was he in his robe in the middle of the day?
“You know what you want. I will go out of this room and come
back in. You just give me a sign.” He stepped out and closed
the door.
The shaking started again. What the hell should I do? What
did he say? I was half asleep. I sat up in bed. I was fully
clothed, under a thick blanket, warm and uncomfortable. I
had layered my clothes so that my elbows would be covered.
I removed one layer, completely covered myself up to my neck
with the comforter and turned to stare at the wall hoping
that he’d just not come back. I felt like such a child. I
wanted him to love me, but not like this. I wanted to be their
child, just start over with a new family who paid attention,
cared and understood.
Then he was there in my room, standing over me at my bedside
in only his underwear. I had not even heard him come in the
door. He lay down next to me and began touching me again,
like he had previously. I said, “Mordechai, no, this is wrong.”
It was as if he didn’t even hear me. I just shut down and
let him do what he was going to do. He continued fondling
me, took off all of my clothes and his. He positioned himself
on top of me ready for intercourse.
“When did you get your last period?” he asked. What a weird
question. I wasn’t sure of the answer. I just made something
up. “That’s no good.” He replied. “You know I could get you
pregnant.” He seemed disappointed as he lay beside me. Mordechai
took my hand and forced me to help him climax. I had never
done anything like that before. I had never even seen a man
naked. He ejaculated all over me. I felt horrible. When he
was finished he stood abruptly.
“Get cleaned up and come upstairs,” he ordered and left the
room.
I was now shaking so fiercely I could barely follow the instructions.
When I finally ascended from the basement, he was waiting
in the living room, in his typical starched white shirt and
dark dress pants. “We are going for a walk,” he said.
We walked around Flatbush for the better part of an hour.
First he attempted to make me think that nothing ever happened;
that it was all a figment of my imagination. When that didn’t
work he tried to convince me that I would never be believed
because he was a Rabbi and I was just a kid. Who was more
credible? He asked rhetorically. He was still unsure that
I was buying his argument so he moved on to threats. He would
destroy my life. I would never learn in yeshiva, never get
married, on and on. Now he had my attention. What was he capable
of? I couldn’t be certain. But I knew one thing - I was scared.
Emotionally destroyed, hating myself, and hating him, just
wanted to disappear.
He left me there at the house and headed toward Manhattan.
I was alone in every sense of the word. I knew his wife would
be home from work soon. I went to the kitchen, found the sharpest
knife I could find and sat on the dining room floor screaming,
crying and trying desperately to break the skin of my wrist
with the blade. I had just made a few superficial cuts when
his wife walked in.
My gut instinct was that he had already told her some crazy
story about me. She saw me there curled in ball on the floor
crying. She didn’t even acknowledge my existence. Maybe she
couldn’t. She just walked by and went into their bedroom.
I knew I needed to tell someone. I called Susan (a JPSY advisor
and friend) three or four times before I reached her. I went
to school the next day in shock. I was due at Susan’s house
for Shabbat later that evening. The evening before, I had
told her briefly what had occurred. When I returned to his
home after school to pack for Shabbat he was there. Again,
he insisted I not tell anyone. He made me promise not to.
The train ride to Susan’s house was surreal. I was crying
and shaking all the way from Brooklyn to Queens. I had never
been so confused. I desperately wanted to tell Susan everything
that had happened but I was afraid. I felt like I was drowning,
like I could barely breathe.
There were other girls there that Shabbat and I could not
find the privacy necessary to continue discussing what had
happened. I fell asleep crying, hoping that things could just
go back to the way they had been only days before. When Motzei
Shabbat arrived one of the other girls left and only one other
JPSY teenager and I remained. I talked Susan’s ear off about
nonsense until the other girl nodded off, and then I told
her the details of what happened with Mordechai. I was shaking
like a leaf.
It was then that Susan told me that she had already heard
from Mordechai. He had called her prior to Shabbat “warning”
her about my “delusional” stories, my emotional instability
and attempting to compel her into allegiance. Susan diligently
listened to the facts, my fears, and unequivocally assured
me of her loyalty and confidence in my credibility. She told
me that he had made inappropriate advances to her in the past.
Susan was there for me through what would be the remaining
eighteen months of hell. We were kids trying to figure out
how to handle this trauma with no help or support from our
parents or the community. I don’t remember much after that
conversation.
I do remember telling my parents with Susan by my side what
had occurred.
I remember how they blamed me since it was I who left the
house to begin with. I remember the next year and a half of
harassment and mental games. I clearly recollect the “camps”
of people who believed what really happened and those who
refused to. I remember the telephone calls at all hours of
the evening – the hang-ups, the heavy breathing. Then the
photos of naked men arriving at our home because Mordechai
had taken out a personal add in a gay men’s magazine using
our P.O. Box address as the return. I remember the Rabbis
telling us to “let things go” and “move on”: Kenneth Hain,
Yitzchok Adler, and Sholomo Riskin. I remember the ridiculous
meeting held at Yeshiva University at which I had to bare
my soul to men I had neither previously met nor trusted.
People keep telling me that times are different now. People
will listen. Things will change. I don’t know. I want to believe
that. I want to believe that he will be stopped. That he will
no longer hurt anyone. All the talking, emails and articles
seem very empty to me.
I am placing the truth out into the world once more and putting
it formally into print. If this gives other young people the
courage to speak out when they are betrayed, hurt or violated
by an adult maybe something good will come out of this. Maybe
others perpetrators will be stopped. Maybe community leaders
will learn to take a stand on crucial issues before victims
accumulate in silence, erupting unpredictably later in life
with unified inner-strength and piercingly powerful voices.
I won’t be silenced again. I’m no longer a victim, I have
a voice.