Last night I traveled 45 minutes, including the wait for the bus, to a so-called farbrengen. I walked in to hear a man shouting. He was stout, hairy, dark, Lou Grant with a beard and penguin clothes. He shouted, "tzadick hador." His voice was deep, loud, angry. He sounded like a raging father. He yelled and then dug deeper to yell louder. I felt as though I was being bathed in some kind of elemental anger. You could add it to the chart of elements, the 109th or whatever they are up to. We'll give it the symbol RR for Rabbinical Rage. I hoped it would pass, but he did it again. Grrrrrr. I waited 60 more seconds. He offered no content, no ideas, no material from a sicha. He just pounded his audience with a decree, the Rebbe -- apparently the Rayatz -- was the tzadick hador!!! I looked around the room. People looked scared. But they sat still.
For all the criticisms I hear in Chabad of Polish Chassidus, at least they don't turn the Jewish world into a competition. They call their rebbes tzadickim. But "the tzadick." How would you know? Wouldn't only God know that? I suspect that the Chabad movement attracts lots of egomaniacs who want to feel as though they are the conquerors through their rebbe. Surely they can't do it alone. "We are the champions, my friend." We will rock you. Was this man really saying that he is the best? Was that what fueled his fist pumping, like some pathetic sports fan that feels as though he won the championship?
I thought it strange that the word tzadick should be shouted. I thought of the Rebbe saying that if students are alive with the influence of the teacher, then the teacher is alive too. But the teaching must be done “pleasantly and peacefully.” Is the teacher brought to life by bellowing?
I got up and left. I traveled an hour and half and stayed one minute.