Friday, March 21, 2008

Apocalypse Now (and we don’t want to wait)

I arrived in Morristown 20 minutes late--my sense of self-preservation or sanity or something else entirely telling me to stay home, but in the end my pal Morganstern won out. In the spirit of Purim, the small voice from my past convinced me to break with my nature and "party with the people." I considered this as I pulled into the driveway of Herson's Rabbinical College of America where I encountered several of the town’s repudiated drunks. We shared a few bottles of beer then piled into someone’s ATV and were off to Manhattan for a well-publicized Lubavitch Purim bash.

Forty minutes later, we arrived at the Windsor Building. We took the elevator upstairs. As the doors opened, I was assaulted by the loud, omnipresent thumping of techno muzak. I had arrived at a dance club. A hot spot. A meat market. There were a few yarmulkes tossed in here and there amidst the short, backless dresses. One guy was handing out pictures of the Lubavitcher Rebbe with the logo MOSHIACH. A 40-foot replica of 770 Eastern Parkway hosted videos of the spiritual loadstar. But everywhere else the frenzy was similar to the vampire club scene in "Blade II" right before the overhead strobe starts spraying blood. From wall to wall, hundreds of guys and girls were dancing together and making out, many on Ecstasy, others just drunk. If they had come to fulfill the mitzvah of making Purim freylich, they had succeeded. They could no longer tell the difference between Krinsky and Khmelnytsky. Between YomTov and a drunken orgy.

Don’t get me wrong: I have nothing against drunken orgies. I’m just a little unsettled by it bearing the Rebbe’s stamp.

The Hersons and Cunins and their ilk have kidnapped Chabad’s buildings, hustled unsuspecting contributors, and built profitable, family businesses in the guise of religion.

And the Meshochistim have countered with a Fellini movie.

1 comment: said...

So how come I wasn't invited to this simchas Purim? :)