7fatcow.com

(from Haaretz)…In his new book, "Open Secret," Wolfson is interested in the rebbe's messianic doctrine as formulated in his hundreds of discourses available in written form, which Wolfson examines within the context of earlier kabbalistic and Chabad teachings, parallels from other mystical traditions - especially Buddhism - and postmodern thought. But even these most recondite of theories have real-world implications.Wolfson shows that intense messianic anticipation, far from being a quirk of Schneerson's in his old age, has been central to Chabad from its late-18th-century origins. Its founding premise was that spreading Chabad teachings would hasten the End Time, a doctrine that assumed accelerating urgency when traditional Judaism came under attack from secularism during the next century, and even more so when the Nazi assault on the Jewish people forced the sixth rebbe, Schneerson's father-in-law, to flee Europe and resettle in the United States.In succeeding his father-in-law, Schneerson became the seventh, a number whose sabbatical identification suggested he was also the last (some even say that this theory motivated him to remain childless by choice). Schneerson sought new audiences for Chabad's message - women and non-Jews. While this was in line with the original plan of continually spreading the doctrine, it also indicated awareness that modernity (he had attended European universities before the war) and the American environment necessitated some rapprochement with feminism and universalism.He developed earlier teachings about the mystical role of God's feminine side and the ultimate breakdown of barriers between Jew and non-Jew in the messianic era, and championed teaching Chabad texts to women and urging gentiles to practice the universal laws of ethical conduct traditionally associated with the biblical Noah.The discussion of Chabad messianic thought in "Open Secret" is tough reading for people used to linear thinking and clear writing. The problem is not just Wolfson, but also the subject matter. Simply put, language is inadequate to convey how an infinite power - called ein sof (literally, without boundary) in Kabbalah - can generate our finite and bounded reality and, in reverse, how the messianic experience can enable us to break through to the infinite. Our logical faculties paralyzed by the human inability to comprehend the divine, we must make do with the metaphors, paradoxes and contradictions that abound in this book. Wolfson writes that "language is stretched to the limit of the inarticulate."The author himself is the biggest contradiction. An exemplary objective scholar, Wolfson is at the same time heavily invested, in a deeply personal way, in the mystical teachings he analyzes. The book begins with the announcement that he was born on Friday night, November 23. Years later, he would learn that at the moment of his birth in 1956, Rabbi Schneerson was delivering a learned discourse on kabbalistic themes to mark the 19th day of the Hebrew month of Kislev. This was the Lubavitch "Day of Redemption," the date in 1798 when Shneur Zalman of Liadi, the first rebbe of the sect, was freed from prison. The Lubavitcher who apprised Wolfson of the significance of this coincidence told him, "Pay attention, this day bears your destiny." Whether personal or scholarly, Wolfson's spiritual quest is contagious, and the intrepid reader will brave the many difficult passages in order to follow him in search of the rebbe's deepest feelings about the messiah, the surprising "encrypted message" that is the "open secret" of the title. I will not divulge it, but if Wolfson is right, the rebbe's messianic vision will comfort neither his followers, who completely misunderstood their leader, nor his detractors, who fail to appreciate his genius. Even as he calls "postmortem apparitions of the seventh Rebbe" indications of "a profound spiritual blindness," Wolfson apparently agrees with Schneerson that the messiah has come "and all that is necessary is for people to open their eyes in order to greet him" - but he also acknowledges that to grasp the meaning of this "involves cultivating a modification in consciousness." People like me, who find such modification difficult, have no choice but to wait

Yhosephus wrote that in the original "about" section, and how about a Chanukkah destruction, during the very 7fatcow week in parshas miketz? In all seriousness I plan to take down 7fatcow.com in the coming days. Any protests and disagreements can be voiced in the comments section. I guess this post is a vote, but the voting populace is like AWOL

"We've got ourselves a tragedy. Heart attack. Two a.m., passed away in intensive care. Not that she's any sort of spring chicken. Marlene Miller-Weinstock, you know her?"

"So there's no play," Matt said; he was out of a job.

"Let me put it this way. There's no playwright, which is an entirely different thing."

"Never heard of her," Matt said.

"Right. Neither did I, until I got hold of this script. As far as I know she's written half a dozen novels. The kind that get published and then disappear. Never wrote a play before. Face it, novelists can't do plays anyhow."

"Oh, I don't know," Matt said. "Gorky, Sartre, Steinbeck. Galsworthy. Wilde." It came to him that Silkowitz had probably never read any of these old fellows from around the world. Not that Matt had either, but he was married to someone who had read them all.

"Right," Silkowitz conceded. "But you won't find Miller-Weinstock on that list. The point is what I got from this woman is raw. Raw but full of bounce. A big look at things."

Silkowitz was cocky in a style that was new to Matt. Lionel, for all his arrogance, had an exaggerated courtly patience that ended by stretching out your misery; Lionel's shtick was to keep you in suspense. And Lionel had a comfortingly aging face, with a firm deep wadi slashed across his forehead, and a wen hidden in one eyebrow. Matt was used to Lionel — they were two old war horses, they knew what to expect from each other. But here was Silkowitz with his baby face — he didn't look a lot older than that boy out there — and his low-hung childishly small teeth under a bumpy tract of exposed fat gums: here was Silkowitz mysteriously dancing around a questionable script by someone freshly deceased. The new breed, they didn't wait out an apprenticeship, it was drama school at Yale and then the abrupt ascent into authority, reputation, buzz. The sureness of this man, sweatshirt and jeans, pendant dangling from the neck, a silver ring on his thumb, hair as sleek and flowing as a girl's — the whole thick torso glowing with power. Still a kid, Silkowitz was already on his way into Lionel's league: he could make things happen. Ten years from now the scruff y office would be just as scruff y, just as out of the way, though presumably more spacious; the boy out front would end up a Hollywood agent, or else head out for the stock exchange in a navy blazer with brass buttons. Lionel left you feeling heavy, superfluous, a bit of an impediment. This Silkowitz, an enthusiast, charged you up: Matt had the sensation of an electric wire going up his spine, probing and poking his vertebrae.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/20/books/chapters/first-chapter-dictation.html?_r=1&pagewanted=4

i was in brooklyn college in 1992, in the spring, after pesach… i was in the stacks section looking for old american Jewish literature review articles about chaim potok. (out of suny albany, this publication had some nice stuff, one with a title "the crucifixion of chaim potok" about "my name is asher lev", including a rebuttal by potok in the next or same issue. i am paraphrasing here, it being some years ago…this name kept on popping up in these fancy periodicals which at first i completely ignored. then it kept on coming up, and the titles appeared to be straight up my alley. so finally one day i took out "the pagan rabbi and other stories" and headed for the overpass on bedford avenue sitting down on the cement table-seats , seats which nobody ever used and have since been torn down.it was a sunny day. i began at noon and remained there until i could no longer read…. i don't remember even going to the bathroom. i was that transfixed. and it has never really left me. the next book i read was "the messiah of stockholm", a fictional account of an auschwitz survivor turned book reviewer for a stockholm newspaper who believes his dad to be bruno schultz, and of rumors swirling that schultz' mythical lost manuscript, "the messiah", which had thought to be written by him and destroyed along with schultz in the holocaust, that this very document had popped up in stockholm.but besides for brilliant  plot and her sheer b'kius in  jewish texts, from the talmud to history to hallacha to yiddish, and her command of many languages, and the fact that she hapens to be a frum woman who puts up the chulent every friday afternoon for her family, all of this, peaked shall i say, my interest.I wish to do a series here on Ozick, her essays and perhaps excerpts from her fiction, both short stories and novels.She is of the Lithuanian persuasion. she is considered to be one of the top living american writers by the international literary establishment… she is right wing on Israel… but very explorative and open about everything in her fiction. this is hardly what some term "charedi fiction".

Tzemach wrote pertinently in an email,

 The problem with Chulent is most people there need to move forward but
the framework is set up to pull people backwards. Instead of detox
from the Judaic indoctrination it is a comfortable opiate figuratively
and literally.

I cant believe that in NY there is no place for cultural
deconstruction and reconstruction. Instead there is a regurgitation of
the same uninspired and gaseous matter. People need to take the past
to task instead of succumbing and resigning to it.

CAMPMEETING 2009

"Shining the Light of the Gospel To and From the Nations of the World."

This event is planned to start at 7:00 pm on Oct 5, 2009 at Streaming LIVE from Isreal!

For a while, i've preferred quietly bowing out to dramatic public announcements, not wanting to endlessly retire like an aging rock band. But now, a solid three years into the exciting creation and invitation of theis forum into being, i'm stepping down formally, from any inolvement with 7fatcow, unconvinced that it exists at all.

No bitterness. Dissapointment would imply expectations, and all my hopes and expectations for this blog where satisfied right away, constantly, along with all my concerns and suspicions, re: the inevitably difficult nature of True Expression and Engagement. That was understood from the beginning to be OK. Sometimes, when you talk with people, a lot of bullshit comes out as cushion for any insight and genuine heart-of-self that might be revealed, and that condition was understood from the beginning: along with the genius in our wider community of not-quite-ex/not-quite-ohs is a multitude of protective layer of ego and dogma; of noise and principle, of assumption and of flawed language, furious at the implication that it must be probed to be understood. That's OK, as much as any of the troublesome nature of our world is to be called OK, it's part of who we have been, and how we have expressed.

All that said, it's boring now, because maybe we've gone as far as any of us wanted to go. One of our founding members has moved beyond interest in the conversation here, as a funner life beckoned where the wit was expresseable and the company close enough that trying to blog in a noise filled room of cheesy links and ironically repressive vulgarity became uncompelling, especially once the Twitter and Facebook Status update was given unto us, to let the impulse sound more immediately, without need for context, or consensus. And so, the chance to say just a few things here was all he needed.

Another founding member has tried to give up so many times, and the clamor of each dramtic farewell, combined with the unelaborated links and occasional disavowels of entire identities for fear of Who May Be Listening, and Who May Be Judged along with him, often prevented the depth of his insight from being expressed. He erased all his posts, psuedonym after psudonym, and tried to convince somebody that he was somebody, and not actually somebody. And in that noise, his genius is silenced, and a certain unconfrontational decadence tried to grow around him; alas, woe unto those who think their sacrifices will provide security, money, or love.

And around that, behind that, so much genius was expressed.  Zoroastro/IslamoYid's and Atgate231's Scholarship, Class and Humor, Shitalpin's withering and ultimately humanist hot/cold sarcasm-masking-authenticity, Hashemsucksdick's marriage of post-religious concience and artistry, Mohammed's strange and shocking form of concience, Anivaho's Mercurial genius to let words permute into sublime association (even as any conceit towards divine synchronicty was despaired of) Yalhak's Majestic magnimamity and wholeness of vision/purity of impurity of perspective (along with the  lucid clarity of Yesod, Aisav, and the other maaminim he brought) and the writers we never even really identified, who bought so much class, genius, and perfect kvetchery to the conversation (who was Hiavrom anyway? he was brilliant! I hope he's OK.)

All the Neo-Nazis who stopped by to let us now what was going on, all the feminists and fetishists, all the excited Chabadskers, all the grieving relatives– so much got circulated, and maybe so little was heard, who knows? who knows. Who knows how much we ever hear from each other that we weren't ready to chap. But I feel like a lot of rare expression and relative taboo was aired here, and i'm really proud of that. As proud as one can be of something that one just let happen.

All the martyrs and all the victims; all the heroes and all the wimps. All the Faggotry and all the ugly, ugly Charedi shock-porn. All the piety and simple faith. Everything but the bullshit, and the noise, and the hiding of ourselves inside of our conceptions. It really has been a great ride, and I can only pray that some of this survivesinto the annals ofHistory, the story of how the Jewish Problem was, if only for a moment, touched upon, if not successfully adressed, from within, rather than just from without. God bless you all, to move on, and see how easy it is just to start up a crazy fucking conversation in this great, wide future of accessible interests, may we one day merit to see it to it's end.

Shana Tov, and i'll see you at the Jubilee

Yoseph Leib,

AKA Yhosephus,

AKA the guy that fucked your sister, back when she was still cute.

Some 7fc New Year's posts:

http://7fatcow.com/2009/08/29/the-letter-of-the-rebbe-reb-bunim-on-rosh-ha-shanah/

http://7fatcow.com/2008/09/24/shofar-concerto-op-1-1885/

http://7fatcow.com/2008/09/29/the-jews-the-jews/

http://7fatcow.com/2008/09/29/time-is-in-the-mind/

http://7fatcow.com/2007/09/13/caught-dipping-his-apple-in-a-honey/

http://7fatcow.com/2006/09/19/day-of-broken-dreams/

FEUDALISM
You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.

PURE SOCIALISM
You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. You have to take care of all the cows. The government gives you a glass of milk.

BUREAUCRATIC SOCIALISM
Your cows are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs as the regulations say you should need.

FASCISM
You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them, and sells you the milk.

PURE COMMUNISM
You share two cows with your neighbors. You and your neighbors bicker about who has the most "ability" and who has the most "need". Meanwhile, no one works, no one gets any milk, and the cows drop dead of starvation.

RUSSIAN COMMUNISM
You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk. You steal back as much milk as you can and sell it on the black market.

PERESTROIKA
You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the Mafia takes all the milk. You steal back as much milk as you can and sell it on the "free" market.

CAMBODIAN COMMUNISM
You have two cows. The government takes both and shoots you.

DICTATORSHIP
You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.

PURE DEMOCRACY
You have two cows. Your neighbors decide who gets the milk.

REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY
You have two cows. Your neighbors pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.

BUREAUCRACY
You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.

CAPITALISM
You don't have any cows. The bank will not lend you money to buy cows, because you don't have any cows to put up as collateral.

PURE ANARCHY
You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbors try to take the cows and kill you.

ANARCHO-CAPITALISM
You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.

SURREALISM
You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.

OLYMPICS-ISM
You have two cows, one American, one Chinese. With the help of trilling violins and state-of-the-art montage photography, John Tesh narrates the moving tale of how the American cow overcame the agony of growing up in a suburb with (gasp) divorced parents, then mentions in passing that the Chinese cow was beaten every day by a tyrannical farmer and watched its parents butchered before its eyes. The American cow wins the competition, severely spraining an udder in a gritty performance, and gets a multi-million dollar contract to endorse Wheaties. The Chinese cow is led out of the arena and shot by Chinese government officials, though no one ever hears about it. McDonald's buys the meat and serves it hot and fast at its Beijing restaurant.

when i first started The Awareness Center I had never heard of Carlebach. I received over a hundred phone calls from women all over the world who were victimized by him. I had to ask around about him. One highly respected rabbi explained to me that "Carlebach loved his women". He went on to say that Carlebach had at least one woman a day. Times that by 40 years. . . Then figure out why I got so many calls.

Carlebach didn't just sexually harass women, he really reached out and touched them against their will. The youngest I know of was 13. I just got an e-mail yesterday from a woman in her 70's who still has nightmares about him.

btw she's asking for nedoves:
The Awareness Center, Inc.
(the international Jewish Coalition Against Sexual Abuse/Assault)
P.O. Box 65273, Baltimore, MD 21209
www.theawarenesscenter.org
443-857-5560

in the name of full disclosure:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRYm5YtaCQo

Oprah has lots of extra bucks for Rebbetzin Vicki