Fiction
The Dealer
The kittens purred and wisped around Vadim’s legs as he bagged out his bundles. An endorphin-releasing routine that kept his business running. Weighing them out, bagging them, vacuum sealing, then his favorite part: labeling them with a sharpie. Vadim knew from a young age he wouldn’t be a suited corpse on the F train reading the paper as the sun rose. Vadim much preferred to sleep until noon.
He treated weed distribution more professionally than most entrepreneurs treated their legal enterprises. For his attention to detail–labeled sacks that didn’t reek, for instance–for his discretion, and for his refusal to palter his customers, Vadim was awarded the contract of dealing to Brooklyn’s Orthodox community.
“Rief de Ukraynisher” was the answer every Hasid gave when asked for a good weed connection. Monday through Friday–and even a few calls Friday night after dark–Vadim placed a skullcap on his graying hair to help him blend in with the clientele. In the trunk of his car, he stored his surplus supply; and in a hidden compartment underneath the gear shift, he loaded dozens of sealed FoodSaver envelopes, filled with different sizes and strains.
Most of his customers were friendly guys. Young yeshiva men in black hats, pooling money to buy a quarter-ounce. Husbands and wives devouring eighths when the kids were finally asleep. Elderly store owners, with still-faltering English, cordially negotiating for better deals. And wedding parties… oy, the wedding parties. Loud, drunk, celebrating young men, offering him whiskey and inviting him in to join the festivities. Some customers were cantankerous. Hasidic youths who somehow got his number bullied him on occasion to sell to them or they’ll call the police. Unforbearing phone terrorists, bombing his cell with calls and texts asking how much longer, and general fools, who made him wait, who gave him bad directions, or those who started asking for favors or other drugs.
“Don’t worry about them,” the diminutive Hasidic lawyer, Duvid Yankev Hirsch–or Dudel–assured him. “Don’t sell to kids, and I will make sure nobody in the community makes trouble for you. You might see things unbecoming of Chasidishe people, but don’t talk about nothing to anyone. If somebody gossips about someone you know, don’t repeat it. As long as you are my friend, nobody will bother you and threats will remain empty.”
Vadim had been selling to Dudel for a year when Dudel had asked whether he could pass Vadim’s number to friends. It was that day Dudel gave him the pep talk about selling to his Hasidic neighbors. Dudel was impressed with Vadim’s work ethic. It had been over ten years ago that Vadim was given the honor. His business went from minor to booming, he had to buy property with tenants to justify his income. Of course, Dudel was still a dear friend and client, who helped keep his income looking legitimate. Vadim roamed Borough Park meeting customers. He’d occasionally stop to refill his secret compartment. Leibel worked at an old folks day care center in Seagate. On his lunch break, Leibel would take a ride with Vadim to East Twenty-third by the water. Together they fed the stray cats and Vadim filled the orders of Leibel and Leibel’s aging patients, who’d been introduced to vaporizing.
“Vadim, I gave your number to my friend Shlomo.”
“Ok, he is good friend of yours?”
“Yeah, and he’ll become a good friend of yours too. He is the personal driver for the Yozlovitzer rebbe; have you heard of him?”
“Well… no. He is important?”
“Most of your clients are his followers. He is revered by Jews worldwide. Anyway, Shlomo and the rest of the entourage are looking for a dealer in Brooklyn. I thought you could help. He’ll call you later on with directions.”
Later that evening Shlomo called. Vadim was asked to bring samples of his current product. He was also asked not to wear anything offensive. Arriving at the destination, an old house being refashioned into a bes-medrash, Vadim was met jovially by Shlomo. They walked to a back room and met the elderly rebbe sitting at his desk, surrounded by his entourage.
“I toked hash for decades,” the rabbi greeted him. “I bought it from the cantor in my shul in Monsey. Unfortunately, he was niftar last year and we’ve been forced to deal with teenagers selling oregano.”
“That is a common problem.”
“I refused to ever meet any of our old dealers. Shlomo’s friend says you practice discretion. Also that you vacuum seal your product so it won’t smell up my vehicles and what not. Two things our former suppliers found trouble with.”
Vadim presented his briefcase to the rebbe.
“I can assure you what I see stays with me, rebbe. All my product comes sealed in FoodSaver bags. A gram for twenty dollars, two-point-three grams for fifty, eighths for sixty, a quarter ounce for one-twenty, and ounces and pounds depending on growers’ prices.”
“Do you put your shittier quality weed in the eighths and quarter-ounces?” the rebbe demanded. “Be honest, I am looking out for this now!”
“No, rebbe, never. I put all the product I have in all sizes for the same price. Although I’ll do quarter ounces for a hundred if you take them regularly.”
“What kind of product do you have now?”
“I have real New York Sour Diesels, AK-47, and Bubblegum Haze.”
“Oy, fahr meine tzures!” the Rabbi moaned. ”Everybody says they have New York Sours, but they never do! How can I be sure?”
“I buy straight from growers. I don’t buy from brokers who rename product. My stuff is grown and shipped to me from the same people I’ve been dealing with for years.”
Vadim revealed three joints and some small samples to pass around. The men removed pipes from their pockets and began tasting the different strains. The old rebbe sparked the joint and passed it to Vadim, who passed it to a fat man standing beside him.
“Puff, puff, pass!” The old rebbe commanded.
The men chattered in Yiddish as they smoked from each other’s devices, never forgetting to pass to the old rebbe. Although Vadim couldn’t understand them, he could tell by their glazed, red eyes that they were impressed. With his own eyes now dark halos, drooping and rouged, the old rebbe turned to Vadim.
“Vadim, you ever get weed from British Columbia?”
“Once in a while, a truck comes in.”
“Let me know when. I want an ounce or two for myself.”
The rebbe and his crew purchased several quarter ounces and was reminded to save Vadim’s number. Vadim got up to go, as the men bickered over who to order munchies from. The rebbe called Vadim over and whispered to him:
“I give you the blessing of a long life and good fortune. Despite the risks of what you do, you choose to be a mensch. I believe Shlomo’s friend was right, you are one of the few honest people left in this community.”
“Thank you, rebbe, I am flattered! Although–” Vadim hesitated, then said more softly, “I am not in your community.”
“No, you are our community. I am sure you’ve been called to deliver on Shabbos. Or to a cuckolding wife and her boyfriend in some motel. I’m sure you’ve seen the worst of us. Yet since this is your livelihood you keep quiet and go about your day. For that I give you a blessing. For all those trembling people out there, you know which ones are liars. You know something even the most pious man could not know of his peers.”
Shlomo walked Vadim to the back door.
“It’s funny, people donate thousands of dollars for an audience with the rebbe. Thousands more for a blessing! And to think, he paid you for the opportunity!” Shlomo laughed.
“How much do you think people would pay to get to smoke with him?”
Vadim drove home, pondering the rebbe’s blessing. He looked at the Hasidic families streaming in and out of Goldberg’s. He never thought about the compromising situations he’d walked in on when he was called to re-up. Even though he was Jewish, it never fazed him when Hasidic clients called on Friday night. Sometimes to underground parties. Each of these people trusting in Vadim not to share their secrets on a laminated affiche, taped to a pole on Thirteenth Avenue. They knew he wouldn’t report who hooked up with whom, or was an atheist, or which of the neighborhood men were friends with Dorothy–the sultry Russian brunette who lived alone one block from the Bobover shul. A mother tugging her harvest of children crossed the street in front of his waiting car. Vadim smiled to himself and chuckled.
“Someday, I’ll know her kids better than she will.”
Printable Version
Meh. Great writing, but too unrealistic.
Like this comment?
1
Not so sure, Kaf. Depends on how “big” the rebbe. As I wrote elsewhere (only partly in jest):
I don’t have this on personal authority, but still, I think this can easily be true with some of the small-time rebbes. A couple centuries ago, back when I was still a chasid in Monsey, I was close friends with a rebbe who would sneak behind his shul to smoke his Newports out of sight of the rebbetzin. So… you know, Newports, weed, crack… it’s a slippery slope. Next thing you know, the rebbe’s dealing ecstasy to his young chasidim on Simchas Torah…
Like this comment?
3
“Most of your clients are his followers. He is revered by Jews worldwide…
surrounded by his entourage…
“Oy, fahr meine tzures!” the Rabbi moaned. ”Everybody says they have New York Sours, but they never do! How can I be sure?”
It just doesn’t ring true. I’m not saying that it’s not possible, but it’s just not likely, especially the way it was portrayed. Of course, a small time rebbe’le is a different story. I know small time rebelech who I’m pretty convinced are atheists, and wouldn’t be too shocked to find them with prostitutes. I know of one elderly rebbe’le who was caught (years ago) smoking on shabbos.
But this story is about an A list rebbe.
Like this comment?
1
Dude, this is fiction. No one said this was true.
Like this comment?
2
Loved it. Nicely written.
Like this comment?
4
Assuming this was not meant to be fantasy or humor, realistic fiction should be believable and appear to be real.
Many other pieces on here are a realistic portrayal of life on “the inside.” This is not one of them.
Like this comment?
1
I won’t disagree that this is an unlikely scenario for the most part, but…
“…realistic fiction should be believable and appear to be real.
That is highly subjective. If that’s what you personally look for in fiction, then fair enough. Personally, though, I think there’s a lot more to fiction than plausibility.
Like this comment?
3
I hear you, Shulem.
If I’m not mistaken, this website’s purpose is not merely to entertain. Stories such as these do nothing to help the cause, and most likely even weaken the effectiveness of other powerful essays on here. If this isn’t meant to be a realistic portrayal of the heimishe community, than a note should be made to that effect.
Of course, it’s easy for me to sit on my ass and criticize, but I love all the work you do in general and this website in particular. I can honestly say that unpious deserves part of the credit for me throwing off the shackles (I don’t remember the exact timing of events, though). There have always been voices out there that were ready to attack and besmirch everything and anything that is related to the heimishe community at every opportunity, and you have been from the sane voices that has resisted that urge (shoutout to Shpitzle Shtrimpkind!). It is this level headedness and integrity that I have so come to love and appreciate, and which I know from personal experience have so strongly influenced many others.
It is from this perspective that I’m inclined to call out a story that is an “unlikely scenario for the most part.”
This comment is well liked. Like it too?
6
“…most likely even weaken the effectiveness of other powerful essays on here.”
How so? Truly, I find this discussion interesting for the somewhat abstract issues of art and aesthetics and what makes good fiction and so forth. But personally, I’m not sure art should be created (or curated and given a platform) in the service of a cause.
One might even say it’s the other way around: our cause (that of rejecting Orthodoxy and its repressiveness and its ossified worldviews) is in the service of individual expression, of which one form is art, of which one form is writing. An imaginative piece of fiction such as this one, as implausible as it might be, has its place as a minor act of subversion. In casting the ultimate figure of piety as a consumer of vice, the author hints at the shady underbelly that exists in every society, including that of Chasidim. Whether there really is a drug culture among rebbes or not (and I certainly don’t think there is–at least not the “big” ones), this can easily be seen as allegory for activities far more shady than drug use. (And hell, it doesn’t take much to get more shady than a toke of weed.) But drug use is effective because of our visceral associations; drugs equals crime equals impiety. Also: drugs equals debauchery. Drugs equals lots of things that go on behind the shimmering curtain of wholesomeness, things we all know to exist but aren’t much talked about. In that sense, this story works.
Lastly, the story is artfully done. And while the website’s “purpose” (if we are to speak so grandly) is not merely to entertain, entertainment is certainly one of its functions. Would that it were far more so! But most of all, I think it should provoke discussion, or thought, or imagination, and in that, this piece fulfills its purpose, at least for me. And I hope for some other readers as well.
This comment is well liked. Like it too?
6
Also, Kaf, I think you might have missed the (clearly) surrealist intent here… That might be our point of divergence.
Like this comment?
2
I’m more of a left-brainer, so art doesn’t speak to me much.
Someone who is searching and thinking about his life but is still mostly stuck in the heimishe mindset, or even someone on the fence, can read an article such as this one and the take away is only to confirm the often repeated accusation that “OTD chevra” fabricate and exaggerate the community’s sins and aren’t credible.
It is for these people that a tag labeled “humor” (or whatever) would help greatly, without the article losing any of its value.
Re your last comment about the point of divergence between us being me missing the “(clearly) surrealist intent,” indeed, I did miss that, but perhaps only because this scenario is more believable to me than it is to you, and is therefore to me not “clearly surreal.” Nice turnaround here, eh?
Like this comment?
3
“Nice turnaround here, eh?”
Indeed!
Like this comment?
2
Kaf,
Interestingly enough the story is based on a kernel of truth. I knew a dealer whose clientele was primarily Hasidim. He told me he did get calls on Friday nights, and sometimes walked in on weird things!
Another basis comes from when I was in Israel, some macher Kabbalist Rabbi was arrested in Safed for possession of Hash, LSD and other psychedelics. He claimed to use them for spiritual purposes and gave them to guests.
I took these two scenarios and gave it a Brooklyn theme. I always see these elderly Rabbis standing before infantries of followers and I wonder: What is this guys vice? What does he do for fun? He doesn’t play golf! He sits around at a desk listening to people complain and saying blessings and studying. How do many people handle tedious jobs? Stoned. I want to create an image, no matter how surreal, of your elderly Rabbi buying weed like an experienced pothead! Is that not the definition of what fiction is!?
you mention: Someone who is searching and thinking about his life but is still mostly stuck in the heimishe mindset, or even someone on the fence, can read an article such as this one and the take away is only to confirm the often repeated accusation that “OTD chevra” fabricate and exaggerate the community’s sins and aren’t credible.
It doesn’t matter what the “OTD chevra” thinks, when it is common knowledge that many in the Hasidic community use marijuana. So why is it impossible to believe that Gadolim might partake? Opium is very popular in Iran, and many Iranians say the Ayatollah uses it himself! Why is it impossible to believe some Rabbis toke?
This comment is well liked. Like it too?
7
Danny, what you say is very interesting. Maybe you’re right. After all, I am very personally familiar with a certain choshive yeed that has the habit of enjoying pot with his wife on motzei Shabbos…
They say that talmidei haBal Shem used opiates during the heyday of chasidus, so why not nowadays (is that what nishtakche toiras haBal Shem really meant?)? And in truth, weed is no different than a little mashke…
Like this comment?
4
Until I read the comments I didn’t really consider whether the story was “true” .
Some thoughts I had:
I think there is a beauty to the idea of an outsider knowing the community better then itself in a way. And more so not judging because the community is “irrelevant” to them. It reminds me of the relief I felt talking to a non Jewish friend of mine . It was so helpful , suddenly I could tell her everything I hated and everything I loved about the community , and she didn’t give a damn about the community.
Last point, the idea of realizing an outsider is the truly honest one , as opposed to the usual narrative of the outsiders not being trustworthy, is quite powerful.
Like this comment?
3
But Tzfat is a different story than Brooklyn. In Tzfat, you can tell they’re baked. And I wouldn’t even be surprised if it turned out the the person who wrote the Zohar was stoned. But Brooklyn just has a totally different ta’am.
Like this comment?
2
Kaf: I wouldn’t be suprised about the BeSheT. Many mystics experimented with psychedelic substances. A friend of mine who works with Hasidim says they occasionally smoke what he thinks is opium. Cheers for your views!
Velvel: Cheers man, I appreciate your thoughts. I once worked with a bunch of Lubuvitcher Teenagers. Being the only secular kid, they would open up and tell me everything about themselves. Some admitted they slept around, tried drugs. some went to concerts on Shabbos. They especially loved to gossip about each other and the bosses. To everyone else, the bosses, the Mashgiach, they acted like normal Orthodox Teens.
Sarah: Tzfat, Brooklyn, Vatican City, Tehran. Humans will be humans. I heard once the visions of Daniel were all induced by shrooms.
Like this comment?
2
Daniel: “ Many mystics experimented with psychedelic substances. A friend of mine who works with Hasidim says they occasionally smoke what he thinks is opium. ”
This gives it away. I’m sorry buddy, but it sounds like your view of Hasidim of today is way too romanticized. I don’t even know how to explain this; can someone else jump in here?
Like this comment?
1
Kaf,
I was reiterating what you had said, and passing along a similar story.
I personally am not out to create a negative image of Hasidic culture. On the contrary I would hope a reader, unfamiliar with Hasidic culture, would not take this negatively. I wrote this specifically to give the Rabbi a relate able hobby. Sure I could have him go to a prostitute or be in the closet, but that would be too common. Having him being a typical weed smoker makes him a more relate able character. Everyone expects a strict pious person to have a “dirty” secret (e.g. going to prostitutes or being closeted or having affairs) but who expects to walk into a room with a hemishe Rabbi and get an expert on marijuana?
have you ever heard the phone recording of Lyndon Johnson speaking to his Tailor? Mr. Johnson complains about how his pants are too tight around his balls and it is uncomfortable around his nuts? It is funny because who expects the straight laced President of the USA, during the cold war, the leader of the free world, using the terms: “balls” and “nuts” and speaking intimately about how his pants affect said balls and nuts!
You see what I mean?
This comment is well liked. Like it too?
5
I loved this story — and I saw it as clearly fictional. I am absolutely an outsider ten times over (a Christian). I did not take away a bad image of the community, or a tainted one. I found it very… Poignant. Very human. And excellently written, by the way. You have wonderful writers Shulem Deen!
Anyway… Even in Christianity there is a long tradition of using fiction to dramatize or enhance the humanity of those who would present themselves as somehow “above” us. More “holy”. For example, not every RC priest disrespects his vows, but quite a few did (and have) done so and thus the literary device of the priest’s child is a useful one that resonates with many.
Great writing, good humor, great comments too!… I just wish I understood more about the cultural context to understand the comments more fully.
–Andy Jo–
Like this comment?
3
Hey Andy Jo,
Cheers for your kind words! I really appreciate you thoughts. Don’t hesitate to ask if you are not familiar with anything about culture! It would be my pleasure to answer any questions. I’ve been curious at how somebody unfamiliar with Hasidic culture would respond to this and my other story, A Funny Guy. I really appreciate your input and please feel free to address anything you are unfamiliar with.
It’s interesting what you bring up about enhancing the human nature of a holy character. In the old stories from Christian Lit. How did they “humanize” holy characters? Do you have any examples? I have a story I started a few years ago. I didn’t like the original ending so recently I decided on a proper one. It’s about a priest, living in NYC in 1985, who becomes addicted to crack. It’s one my few stories that exceeds 5 pages (it’s about 13 pages). It started out as a Pulp story for a fiction class I was taking.
Thank you so much your comment! Once again, don’t hesitate to ask about anything you are unfamiliar with. I, and I am sure anyone here, would be glad to familiarize you!
Cheers,
Danny
Like this comment?
3
Hi Danny! Thanks for your reply.
You ask how holy characters are humanized in Christian lit. There are SO many devices, but I’ll take one example from your own story that could be applied: Your dealer in this story has kittens. And they run around his ankles and calm him. He sits with his friend and puts together his product and feeds the strays. It makes him a more sympathetic and accessible character.
The same applies with “holy” characters and really holy characters. I make this distinction because biographers of saints (who are really holy within this tradition) frequently highlight their life prior to their calling to the religious life. For instance, St. Francis of Assissi (to continue the animals theme) was a regular young man and an eligible bachelor. Stories of those who are holy relating to an animal work pretty well. He goes on to preach to the birds and becomes patron saint of animals.
I define the “holy” as humans who (in my own Christian world) are considered holy by their congregations (typically Protestant), or by the more orthodox amongst us (in the case of Roman Catholics). I’ll take RC priests as a theme – again, my former faith tradition (I am now Episcopalian) so I know it well.
Those within the RC community who are most orthodox (small o) cleave to the belief that the priest is ontologically different due to ordination. That is, he becomes truly “different” and more holy by virtue of this sacrament and his required way of life. One way of humanizing a priest in literature, art, or media is to show him doing something that is not related to his job, or not necessarily religious in any way. To take an example that many may have seen: Mad Men. The priest in Peggy’s church goes home, takes off his collar, and starts to play the guitar. He is good at it. It suggests not only humanity, but hints at the road not taken. It is a simple scene, but it makes this priest appear more human and accessible.
That example humanizes in a good way, a positive way. Negative depictions abound, based on real-world issues: Literary allusions (as well as artistic ones such as the works of Goya) of the drunk priest, the libertine priest, and so on are examples. Another involves the priest laicizing — “unbecoming” a priest (which is a complicated discussion in and of itself because they do not REALLY unbecome but it is not relevant for this discussion). There is an old movie the name of which stubbornly refuses to pop up from my mind involving a priest who just packs it all in and moves to Mexico – he drinks too much.
So, a priest addicted to crack is something that is possible though not likely in the same way that the Rebbe toking away is possible though unlikely. It is an interesting idea…
–Andy Jo–
Like this comment?
2
made me smile. well done.
Like this comment?
2