Forgetfulness

On the subject of mentalblog.com: The giur factory rolls into Boston:

Somebody asked me in Israel how many observant families there are in the metropolitan Boston. We spoke about this last week again and the consensus is that perhaps less than a thousand families. This is irrelevant number compared to the general Jewish population. There are perhaps 10 families associated with the Kollel. Almost all of them came to the conference. As I was sitting there in the hotel desperately trying to strike a human conversation, I couldn�t help but think that I am in the middle of some kind of freak show or observing a miniature alien invasion.

I can see Rabbi Tropper going frantically from one guest to another. I can hear the words Rambam, Feinstein, etc. Lazer Gurkov, what a contrast to the hispashtus of his father. He has been emotionally shot as long as I know him, but he always knew how to ask clever questions.

Rabbi Pesach Lerner of YI tells Rabbi Tropper: �Before Nathan Lewin speaks please explain to him what is EJF��

I am sitting there thinking, looking at Rabbi Tropper going from one guest to another like possessed. It takes the energetic man like that to clarify this confused subject. Who cares about the history, I am not JWB, I don�t blog about the dirt. I don�t care, I care about the issues. I am going to talk to Rabbi Tropper as he just said that he will come back to me soon. At that moment his gabbay Mr. Balaban complained to police that I am uninvited (he previously told me that he reads this blog and that Chaim Grade was an important person in his life). Two plainclothes policemen came over and exceedingly politely asked me to leave. I am upset about this not because of what has happened but because it jams my existential unrelated-ness. How absurd it is. The G-d of Israel felt removed.

It is symbolic that when I first arrived at the hotel due to the fire alarm all the guest including the chief rabbis had to go outside. How symbolic. It is Boston, there is a raging fire of assimilation in this town. Jews forgot how to relate. How can you bring the convention of this magnitude to Boston without a token attempt to save the drowning souls on the other side of the channel? Ensconced in the dark dreary rooms of the Harborside, the freaks celebrate forgetfulness drunk with the illusion of consequence.