I haven’t viewed any of Rabbi Worch‘s (a friend of my friend Yori Yanover, I have no stomach for any more fights with or about either of these two) online writings in about eighteen months (nor have I written about him), so I was interested when I saw my name came up in this post of his from January (I’m not running from what I did — I ruined the man’s life — you read the links here and judge whether that was justified):
Been feeling like journaling lately
It’s been so long since I felt safe I hardly recognize the feeling.
Seriously, since my enemies tried their hardest to crucify me three years ago not a day went by but I dreaded some new infamy.
Evil has many faces, but ugliest is the face of virtue triumphant. It matters not whether it triumphs like Rabbi Eichenstein who quietly calls my employer to have me fired, or like Vicki Polin who calls my ex-wife to say she’s talking to 26 women who say I raped them in front of the children. There’s no question in my mind that the worst sins are those we commit with the Yetzer Tov – Good Inclination. By the way, Eichenstein discovered I was working for XXXXXXXX XXXXXX Funerals Ltd as a Shomer – Guardian; someone who sits with the dead. He discovered it because one of the dead I happened to sit with (reciting the psalms at his side), was an uncle of his. When the good rabbi saw it was me, he called the funeral director and had me fired. He also stiffed me for the $15 an hour I’d earned sitting there all night.
Now I say that having a man fired because you think badly of him, doesn’t make you less of a man. But stiffing the man who sits guarding the corpse of your uncle, finding an excuse to avoid paying him his fee after he’s done the job, now that makes you a very small man indeed.
The thing is, the really important thing is that Eichenstein’s Shabbes candles burned his house to the ground. Well, his wife put the tea lights on the plastic tablecloth which ignited when it heated up sufficiently, to be more precise, but you get the picture. I know which I prefer, having a mean prick try and burn my livliehood down or have the Sabbath burn my house down! Sometimes when I’m having sex I think of Victoria Polin, especially when I’m laughing. Or sometimes when my breath catches in my throat at the sheer beauty of woman skin or the perfume of her private places, I catch a glimpse of all the hot laughing sex Vicki doesn’t have a hope of tasting, and I ask myself, who came out of all this enriched, and who impoverished? It’s something to think about, isn’t it?
You know, once a month like a fetish, on the 14th or 15th of the month, Luke Ford will visit all my web pages looking for only he knows what. 5 or 6 times in the last two years the 14th and 15th have fallen on the sabbath. So here’s this convert to Judaism, to orthodox judaism no less, lives on a futon on the floor in a basement somehwere in Los Angeles, who can’t hold back from firing up his computer to go snooping on the sabbath. Talk about being born again and getting a life!
I shouldn’t crow, I suppose. But I feel like crowing, damnit.