In Defense of the Bitter Ex-BT Blogs

Ron Coleman is a black hat fellow, as he has revealed in comments on this blog as well as elsewhere. Naturally, he is not very happy with what the “bitter ex-BT bloggers” are writing about the haredi BT world.

Coleman writes,

Because ultimately my rather mundane point, of course, is that it is a special bitterness — I cannot say wickedness; we all are tinokos shenishbu (compared to “captured children”) — that makes a talented former BT, man or woman, do this. They do not just walk away from what they think is a car wreck of a spiritual journey but flag everyone else tooling happily along the road and swear that the bridge is out, there are monsters waiting on the next exit and that it was actually much better where they were coming from and you can’t U-turn fast enough to get back there.

And he asks,

“What motivates them?”

Coleman offers that, “My armchair psychology tells me that they would rather believe the journey is an eight-lane disaster than consider whether they themselves forgot to check the oil under their own hoods before setting out.”

Well, Ron is assuming that none of us take any ownership for our actions. In fact, many of us do, and frequently do not forgive ourselves for doing so.

In the haredi BT world, you are frequently discouraged from checking under the hood. All too often, you are sent to the races, and encouraged to drive quite fast and reckless. And sometimes—go figure–you end up in a few fender benders, and get dizzy, and feel like you are going nowhere except in circles. Then when you announce you don’t like this race anymore, people start changing. No one in the racetrack wants to help you, especially the referees on the side wearing the black and white outfits of authority. They all just start screaming at you that you’re messed up for riding off the racetrack. If you’re lucky—very lucky—someone might secretly whisper in your ear that it’s okay if you stop racing like you have been. But almost everyone at the racetrack just tries to get you to race some more. And then things get kinda ugly. Cause you want to reclaim your car, and some people don’t approve of paint jobs and changing brakes, or adding gas. Definitely not adding gas.

So you go outside, and you stay kinda quiet. And you don’t tell people about your racing days. Only a couple of people know. But then you see that they are opening more racetracks, and adding bleachers to the old ones, always recruiting new racers. And you see that the referees were the same ones who were there when you used to race, and are making the tracks even more dangerous in accordance with management’s new rules for still better racing.

And you feel a sense of solidarity for the new racers, especially the young ones. You want to tell them what you know about racing. And make sure they do check the oil, and make sure they don’t drive too fast, that they get enough gas, and quite frankly, not to trust that the referees are on their side. Because they are not. They are simply there first and foremost to make people race as fast as they can make them, in accordance with management’s wishes.

So you announce you have some questions; you have some concerns. But you are told that you have to go to customer service if you have a complaint. But they don’t want to listen; they want you to shut up. They even tell you that they will only listen to your complaint if you ask very, very nicely and politely, and don’t say anything bad about the racetrack. And you see the customer service manager through the window, and it turns out, the manager is the same referee you have a problem with, or at least, related to him.

But one day, outside the racetrack, they invent a bullhorn. And you pick it up, and stand outside the racetrack. And you start protesting the treatment of the racers, and the insanity of the racetrack. And some people hear you, and they start listening. And you find other protesters of the racetrack, other former racetrack racers. Sometimes you stand together, sometimes you stand alone. But because you are saying bad things about the referees and even criticizing the racetrack itself, you are all declared haters of racing. Even though some of you privately still race on your own terms, though not at a racetrack, and yeah, some of you indeed don’t race anymore all that much.

But it isn’t racing itself you are really against. It’s the referees and the specific demands they make, as well as concern of what is expected and demanded of the racers, who seem less of a priority than the race itself, and whose individual needs and limits are casually and assiduously brushed aside, even delegitimized.

But my goal—and I believe frequently the goal of other former racers like me–is not really to stop the racers from racing, though admittedly, that isn’t my concern. My concern is the racer. Because the owner of the racetrack does not speak directly, and I don’t believe that the managers report to him as directly as they claim. For if they did, the racers would be surely be treated differently, and the race a different experience altogether.

If the referees and managers cannot dispute our charges but neither can they change the house rules of the race, but can only call the protesters “racer haters,” then their racetracks are simply not to be considered appropriate for most new racers, particularly the youngest racers.

There are other racetracks, slower ones with wider lanes and service roads. These must be utilized instead, or built from scratch. I don’t claim to have the perfect balance. I don’t claim to have the answers.

But I do have the questions.

And if the recruits don’t know how to ask them, and their parents don’t understand the real questions either, and the FFBs certainly have no interest in raising them on their behalf, and even the best and seasoned BTs are only willing to hint at the crucial questions lest they draw a yellow flag (it isn’t hard to do), then who will ask them if we don’t? Who, Ron?

You?