The Day after Judgment Day
[Fiction]
He felt the vibration on his waist. He removed the phone from its holster and glanced at the caller-ID screen. The number was unfamiliar, and so was the voice. But what it said send a shudder rippling down his spine.
— The Vaad wants to see you, tomorrow 8:30.
* * *
Theirs was the typical cyber relationship, almost clichéd. As if mischievously plotted by the rabbis-against-the-Internet solely to prove their point. The two, yoss613 and estyF, were initially arch-nemeses on one of those Internet forums for skeptics, where they debated everything from God to sex. They kept the tone dispassionate and impersonal. But to the keen-eyed, it was anything but. The way they singled each other out, the back-and-forth quipping, the banter, the twisted compliments were all evidently induced by the blue and pink of their respective handles.
Then they moved on to private messaging. Was it he who asked for her email with the pretext of forwarding a litany of items to buttress this argument or another, or was it the other way around? He couldn’t recall, and a recollection was immaterial. A reply followed, and a reply to the reply, with the subject line a gentle reminder of how it all started. One thing led to another, from photo sharing to phone calls, until it felt about ripe to take it in person.
They lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks apart, but for the rendezvous they picked a place in another part of the city, at a non-kosher diner. They were not going to eat there, naturally. Just for the shelter such a place offered. The aroma of abominations exhausted out to the street acting as insect repellent to keep persona non grata at a safe clearance. Okay, maybe they’ll have a cup of coffee, or dessert, or something else on the treif-lite menu. But no meat; their kosher stomachs lacked the enzymes to digest authentic treif.
He was hesitant and fearful at first. What if they get caught? What if the waiter perceives this bizarre couple as lost like a hooker in a church and points it out to them like the Good Samaritan he is? What if a patron regards them spectacle enough to warrant videotaping and YouTubing? He could always hide his payess under a baseball cap, and she could uncover her wig and wear an outgrown blouse, masquerading for your regular Joe and Jane out for a Sunday brunch. But it’s more than a pair of jeans. There are so many pitfalls. At the heimish restaurants everything is casual. But here, he doesn’t know how to order, how to tip, or how to hold a fork.
Lunch passed peacefully. No outsiders walked in on them, and no insiders observed their presence as strange, at least nobody made their observations known to them. They promised next week again; maybe at a different place; maybe in a park, on an isolated bench, hidden behind trees. She would bring along some home baked goodies, thoughtfully wrapped, put in her purse. He would nibble some and praise her talent. She would dismiss it as freezer surplus, and he would protest they really are delicious, and she would blush.
One evening he received a text, “free tom. wanna come 2 Met?” It made him so excited, he couldn’t sleep. It feels good critiquing the arts. It feels modern, enlightened, rebellious. He fantasized how they’d amble about the magnificent building; how they’d smile to each other, giggle. Hold hands, maybe. He would let his fingers gingerly creep up to her side feeling for her hand. Depending on her reaction he could either excuse his jerky limbs or squeeze tight. Like lovers. Like normal people. Like all the other pairs wowing the exhibitions.
Is this what love feels like? Were they even in love? She hadn’t said that she loved him, and he hadn’t suggested; he wouldn’t dare. He couldn’t concentrate on anything; he was preoccupied with the thought of her the whole day, not to mention at night.
He had never felt this way about his wife, except during their engagement, when he hid a photo of her in a slit in his Shabbos hat box on the top shelf of his yeshiva dormitory closet. And then at night, under the sheets, he would cradle it, caress it, kiss it, and ogle it to the dim neon blue shimmer from a CD player display. So pretty, white bright smile, straight coiffure reaching the shoulders, next to himself in front of an arching bouquet. And during the long yeshiva days, when he couldn’t find the brains to focus, he would slink into the dorm, and take the photo with him to the bathroom.
He now welcomed back the passion, rid of adolescent innocence and laden with wicked sinfulness. The awareness of his misconduct made it all the more exciting to him. But something went awfully wrong at the museum. Were they noticed? Were they followed? Was the whole thing a trap? Did she frame him? Everything was possible and nothing was confirmed. He got notice by a third party that it has ended; it’s over. A combination of a husband too loving, a father too manipulative, and a neighborhood too vigilant. He dreaded the Vaad getting involved, and what he feared hath come upon him. She must have given up his cell number, along with God knows what.
* * *
It’s 8:00. Half an hour to go. He’d better get prepared. He staggered over to the freezer, fumbled for the bottle of Smirnoff, icy cold. He rolled off the cap; it slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground in a soft clink. He gripped the bottle by its neck and poured into a plastic cup, panting out loud as the liquid gurgled through the narrow protective nozzle. He brought the full cup to his nostrils, inhaled the fumes, and downed it in a single swig. Taste or style didn’t matter now; just pure chemistry. He wanted the toxin to rise, rise quickly and addle his brains. Garble his shy nerve signals. Infuse his veins with artificial impudence, with courage. Behind his keyboard he was the fearless warrior, but in person the craven little wimp showed, and he needed the alcohol to inflate his balls.
He arrived five minutes early to the vestibule of the kiddush room. A young man instructed him to wait until called. He found a box of seltzer to sit on. It was dark, except for the weak twilight coming through the glass in the door. He conjured up images of horror stories of the Spanish Inquisition he read a long, long time ago. Dingy chamber, black tablecloth, black candles flickering, masked interrogators, torture devices, blood, groans, agony. They’re going to yell at me, he brooded, harass me, threaten to tell my family, break me to pieces. They’re going to press for information, give up names, inflict more suffering, split more families.
The door buzzed. His heart skipped a beat. He turned the knob, and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes, and pushed the door open. A bright white light pried his eyes open. A long fluorescent bulb hung over an oblong table flanked on both sides by men with an assortment of beard shapes and colors. On the table there was nothing, except for one gizmo with a tiny blinking green light that looked more like a device for recording than torturing. He couldn’t name all the men. There was Rabbi Balestiger with browline glasses. To his right, a jowly face with a plucked out beard, adorned with a thick mustache that reminded him of Mr. Potato Head. Seated next was Rabbi Humpman, hunched over from carrying the weight of community gossip. And across him, a younger man, smiling politely; saliva droplets on his goatee reflecting light; probably has a spitting problem.
— Sit, Rabbi Balestiger gestured to an empty chair across from him.
— Do you know why we called for you? The rabbi asked.
— I, um, can imagine, he stammered. Is it about Mrs. Friedman?
— What about her? The rabbi badgered on.
Bastard, he thought. He is trying to wriggle out a confession before breaking me down, before presenting me with incriminating evidence. Hell, before the interrogation even started.
— Well, we were, um, we were, you know, kind of close. He smiled with irritation, and looked around the room to measure the impression.
— How close? Mr. Potato Head chimed in.
— What do you mean by how? He feigned vagueness.
— You tell us what how means, Rabbi Balistiger shot out in an effort to regain control of the proceedings.
— Okay, fine. So, um, we talked. And we went out together. I know, it wasn’t right. I regret it.
— Where’d you first meet her?
— On the Internet.
Humpman and Spitzer exchanged sneering looks. Ah, on the Internet, how wonderful.
— Are there many women on the Internet?
— It’s not, like, just one place, the Internet, but yes, there are many women browsing.
— You see her on the Internet and you go sin?
— We weren’t exactly intimate.
— Gevalt! She is a married woman!
— Like I said, we weren’t…
— I don’t care what you said! He pounded a clenched fist on the table. The recording device jolted, and Humpman straightened his back.
— You are a liar, Balistiger shouted. Think you can dupe me? I know everything you did!
— Why the show-trial, then?
— You need help, Balestiger said now in a voice crackling with paternal concern. You have a problem.
— He protested. I don’t have any problems.
— The biggest problem is refusing to acknowledge that a problem exists, the rabbi said basking in his own witticism.
— We’ve designed an approach for repentance, and you are going to comply, Balestiger continued, his smirk stretched into a full smile now.
* * *
They cracked down hard on him. He was forced to give up his PC, cancel cable service, and agree to periodic home inspections. They made him come to shul thrice a day, and attend Rabbi Balestiger’s lectures every morning. And in the long summer afternoons, he would take his laptop out to the back lawn. He would sit down on a stump and contemplate the many young sprouts shooting forth from the coppiced tree trunk. He would connect through a neighbor’s unsecured WiFi, and joe11219 would scour the chat rooms for pink handles.
Printable Version
Sounds kinda like how i feel when my own grand inquisitor (wifey) caught me facebooking. i had to give up my palm centro for a kusher phone.
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That is one thing I wouldn’t stand for. I am not in yeshiva anymore, and I won’t be treated as if I am. I make my own decisions, and whether I want to stay “inside” for my family etc. is my own concern. I have told my wife once, and she knows I mean it, that if I am “outed”, I am out, and I won’t stand for any BS. She will have the choice then of coming along with me, if she wants to, because she is an adult as well. But I definitely will not submit to the blackmailing that goes on.
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thanks. great writing, i enjoyed it.
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Great writing.
Is there really a Vaad that takes care of such matters in Boro Park or Williamsburg? I’ve heard of the KJ and New Square ones, but didn’t realize they actually exist elsewhere.
And I wonder about the blackmail thing. In theory, people should refuse to give in to blackmail in order to minimize the powers of the Vaad. But if there are simple ways to get around it – as illustrated in this article – maybe it’s worth it to give in for the sake of peace.
I guess it would depend on how important it is to the individual to continue being a part of the community.
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Misyavni,
I believe the cross examination went like this:
— How close? Mr. Potato Head chimed in.
What do you mean by how? He feigned vagueness.
How well did you know her?
Did you know her biblically?
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Kafhakela,
Easier said then done. If the wife refuses to dance along with you then in most cases the kids stay as status quo. Which means, they basically make the decision for you: either you go alone leave everything behind or you obey to the rules and regulations of the vaad hapipicks – as we called them in Yeshiva. Therefore, a lot of folks put their egos aside and embrace the abusiveness in order to prevent barking a family and cause aggravation to their little ones….
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Maya, you can’t fight them, they hold you by the balls; they threaten you with not accepting your children back into school, and all the Mosdos work in sync.
I heard a shocking story from a friend who’s friend got called by the Vaad recently, there was a table with 17 representatives of each Mosed in BP, they warned him to stop an affair asap otherwise his children are without a school, and listen to this! they had 80 pages!! of his text messages printed out on the table, he felt the floor opening beneath him. He was told if they suspect some shady thing is cooking, they have some hacking techniques into text messages and if you wanna try and sue, you decide if you wanna start a mess or rather surrender quietly….they are a mafia.
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Insider, I don’t believe that story, period. Although it is possible, it is very unlikely. Do you realize how hard it is to get together all the representatives of the moisdos? Do you think they have time for real problems in the community when there is so much stupidity to be busy with? In any case, there aren’t any “hacking techniques” into text messages, unless they have someone inside giving it to them, and I highly doubt that they would expose themselves to the legal consequences they would face if they would be caught. Because after all, all you need is one person that is fed up with it all, and there are plenty of them around. The story probably has “some” basis in truth, with 90% added.
Lange Gatches;
There is another aspect here which is important to mention, that even though a chassidishe marriage isn’t a promise from the husband to the wife that he won’t cheat on her (halachacly speaking, and besides, chassidishe marriage is based not on love, but on a contract to build a jewish home together, so his cheating would be breaching that contract no different than eating a cheeseburger would), still, it can be argued that the wife is entitled to expect him not to have sexual affairs, whether in the flesh or virtual. Therefore, it follows, that when the wife threatens that she will leave him if he doesn’t stop “looking”, that isn’t blackmail, rather, it is giving him a choice. (The fact that she will keep him from having contact with the kids, might not either be so wrong, as was discussed here, that since the marriage was based on the assumption that the kids will be raised frum, she is entitled to keeping it that way, and if she deems that having contact with him endangers the kids’ future “frumness”, that might be a valid concern.)
But, and this is key, that should be up to her, and only her. It is nobody else’s business. If it doesn’t bother her, or she doesn’t want to publicize it, then that is the way it should stay. Or, for example, I want to eat cheeseburgers, it is nobody elses business. It is between me and der eibeshter.
You say it isn’t easy. I am not saying it is, but looking at how diseased the culture is, all the way down to the roots,(even if you believe in the religion itself, you have to admit that a huge part of what we call chassidic culture nowadays has nothing to do with yiddishkeit, and it has been hijacked by “kovod shmekers”, “der fish shtinkt fin der kup arup”, the huge majority of rebbes and rabonim, which should be the protectors of the religion, having nothing else but their own honor on mind) it shouldn’t be hard to leave it all behind, especially if you were “outed” already anyhow. The wagging tongues will wag at that point anyhow (with 17 representatives of the moisdos, and countless others, with their wives too, you can assume EVERYONE knows or will know), what else do you have to lose? I would love to leave, but I love my family, and besides, I don’t have the heart to do it to my wife and children. But if I would be pressed to a wall? I am not going to live like a rat in hiding.
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Kaf, its 95% true. and I confirmed this text messages thing through an insider with one of those hooligans. I was laughing too at first, but my source is pretty solid.
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Insider, you didn’t believe it at first, but you have a solid source, and that is the only reason you believe it (like all rebbishe moifsim that have a solid source). Well, we are on the same page, I won’t either believe it until I have a solid source…
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you have the B’cheereh.
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In the mind of believers, this is a matter of keeping the community and its ethos alive, and nothing, even getting into legal trouble, will keep them from it.
So my dear Kaf, you’re either naive, or a believer and feigning it, busily protecting the system.
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Recommended viewing: In God’s Country by Lifetime Movies.
Available for free on Hulu
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Whythe, I believe those days are over, and the old time methods are slowly but surely disappearing. We don’t have chaptzems anymore like we used to, the moisdos are beginning to realize the importance of “compliance”, and you can’t even smack a child nowadays without riskig arrest.
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kafhakela;
Children are not their parents’ asset. Any contract made on their behalf has no validity if the wellbeing and success of the children is not the sole criterion. Therefore, the fact that the parents agreed before getting married on how they would raise their children bears no obligation, in my opinion .
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We have a way of life and fidelity is included in the package.
I strongly resent the various “Vaadim” throwing their weight around over trivial and subjective issues (e.g. the ever increasing density of tights), but if when they are faced with two individuals about to cause damage to their families and lets not forget, to themselves too, they have to do something.
It must be absolutely hideous for an adult to be hauled across the coals like a misbehaved child, and I can sure understand the frustration of the writer. But they have to do something! The question is however, do they know what they are doing?
As the writer points out, the answer is no. Treating an adult like a kid, just makes him act like one, acting out, without care or thought as to the consequences.
I would have thought that the way forward in such a case is to befriend him, see what is bothering him, and work things out. But no, that’s not the way of the Frummers.
They might have stopped him this time, but it’s going to happen again, and boy oh boy, will he be more careful this time.
But, at the end of the day, the Vaad’s treatment worked. He sure isn’t going to get caught again.
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The Vaad is an important institution that upholds the integrity of the community. Because it’s a closed community, some members who were born into it and didn’t take the vow, don’t share the values of the community’s founders and that of the majority of its present-day fellowship. All the Vaad really wants is for the dissidents to leave and good riddance. Similar to the way other communities, such as the secular Ramapo community, will fight to uphold its character from the invading Chassidim. It’s different; they utilize legal means while the Vaad, with no legal means to its disposition, resorts to blackmail, fear, and coercion, but it’s a difference of means, not of ends.
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Hozen,
Very clever
Kaf,
It is my belief that text messages are privileged and not released by carriers without a subpoena. A requisition with the seal of Badatz does not qualify. Either the other party gave it up willingly, or their on-premises techie retrieved it from confiscated devices.
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vaad or no vaad the next married chossid (or non chossid, whatever!) that starts w me i may not tell your wife but i’ll tell everyone else on the block.
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Regarding not accepting your kids in their schools, that’s a threat???? isn’t that the answer to your prayers?
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I know they hadn’t got to the point of cheating yet, but has no one else got an issue with the fact that this guy was basically fantasizing about cheating. In effect they stopped that from happening (although you cant say if it would or wouldn’t happen as the motives/thoughts of the woman aren’t shared). Don’t get me wrong I have not got a problem with having friends of the opposite sex even when married, but if you are married you have an obligation and are meant to maintain an amount of respect for your wife/husband so if you are attracted to someone else it would be best to avoid them. So in terms of the story although the methods may not be right I think that the end result is.
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