Thursday, March 2, 2017

No one is special before God.

I had a lousy childhood.
Neglected, if not abused.
When I was six or seven years old
I woke up in the middle of the night
to find my mother sitting on a stranger's lap.
She disappeared into her bedroom
with the stranger
and I was left bewildered and confused.
My father, who I loved with all my heart,
was most often far away,
and when he wasn't,
for the most part,
he was distant, irritable and short tempered with me.
I was too sensitive, goodhearted and noncompetitive
for him to resonate with my peace loving nature.
My father was a fighter
and I cringed and cried
in the presence of hostilities,
of any kind. I still do.
When I was twelve,
my new step mother had me sent away.
I was so innocent and naive.
She had a sadistic streak in her heart
and would tell me things to make me cry.
"I won't buy you your school supplies,
you don't deserve them."
But she wouldn't tell me why.
I believe she had me sent away
to save me from her abuse.
She yelled out to my father,
so the whole family could hear,
"Either he goes or I will leave you!"
A few weeks later,
my father drove me for six hours
to a boarding school.
He barely spoke a word,
and then he left me to wait for the principal.
After a couple of hours the principal came.
It was a Hebrew School in Baltimore.
(My family lived in Mount Vernon, New York,
where my father was a Rabbi.)
Rabbi Shapiro invited me into his office,
then he closed the door.
He asked if he could hug me,
and placed his lips against my cheek,
giving me a wet disgusting kiss.
I broke away, and he literally chased me around his desk.
Finally the ordeal was over
and someone lead me to the boarding rooms.
That night the older kids laughed
and asked me about my "adventure"
with Rabbi Shapiro, in his office.
It seems they all knew
he was a homosexual pedophile.
In 1969, after the six day war,
My father and his wife
decided it was safe enough
to move to Israel.
My older sister Susannah, I , and my younger brother Daniel,
came to boarding schools.
Daniel was in the sixth grade and I was in the eighth,
at the same place.
No one spoke English but a counselor
who barely spoke at all.
Somehow, on the way, one of our suitcases went missing,
and we barely had what to wear.
My father had given me just five dollars
for the couple of months
until he, his wife and my siblings arrived.
It was winter and the wooden one story structures
we lived in, often leaked from the roof.
The other children were all immigrants, too.
Mostly from the Middle East.
Morocco and Syria and Iran and Algeria....
But they already knew Hebrew and we didn't.
It was a cultural shock.
The other kids masturbated in the showers together
in contests of who could come fastest and hardest.
I was horrified and ashamed. Sure I did it too,
but like a sin to be hidden.

Anyway, I will get to the point.
At some time during my childhood
I decided that I wanted to be unlike
anything I saw around me.
Without being able to feel it or know it'
I tried to love the people I saw
but couldn't. Because of how they behaved.
I despised almost everything around me.
Except the pretty girls.
There was always one who had my heart.
One who I loved with an innocent child's passion.
But this love too went unrequited.
Though it kept me alive.
The expectation of seeing her that I loved
gave me reason to be.
I decided I must be very special.
Perhaps I was, but to decide as much
came from the deepest reaches of my spirit.
A sin of the soul,
awakened by the circumstances of my childhood.
A fatal spiritual choice
that could only bring me more heartbreak and shame.
I wanted to be special.
Worthy of love and respect.
That is no sin in itself.
But this desire awakenned in me
a belief in my entitlement
to a God who was all my own.
I would be His Only Beloved Son.
Sound familiar?
Jesus hated this world as much as I do.
It is the hatred of the Prophet and The True Hebrew Jew.
Without experiencing the full strength of loathing that I felt,
I looked around me at the world and felt contempt.
This was so politically incorrect that I hid it from myself
and detached myself emotionally,
from everything I saw.
But the pretty girls.
I hated the world around me for its wicked disdain
for the tenderness of my shell shocked heart.
This belief that I am special before God
is the root of my madness and insanity.
No one is special before God.
Before God we are truly all the same.
Nothing more than a fleeting image in the mirror.
Finally, even the most memorable of human lives
will be short lived and quickly forgotten in Eternity. Cool ,

A Catastrophic Tragedy. Maybe Not!


Jonathan Michael Robbins

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יונתן מיכאל רבינס

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