High Holidays in Pushkar

Spending the birthday of the world in the place it was created always seemed like an interesting idea from an ecumenical standpoint, even if it was with Beit Chabad, a movement not familiar with such a standpoint.

Pushkar is a holy city of pilgrimage, and like Rishikesh, meat, eggs and alcohol are not permitted within city limits. I wondered how Chabad would respond to this on the high holidays. To my pleasant surprise, we had a vegan feast, attended by some 350 travelers, 99% of whom were Israeli. The entire program was in Hebrew, which after six weeks of near total disuse was nice to hear again. The Diaspora Jews could have been counted on a single hand. I sat opposite one, a nice young Canadian woman, who spoke the world's most sublime language: Montreal Moroccan French.

Before services, I found one of the few English books on the shelf, and began immersing myself in the kabalistic secrets of the Hebrew alphabet. Knowing the language, but being able to read the explanations in English made the subject resonate all the more fully. I was able to discuss the topic and my experience of Vipassana with one of the rabbis present. On the tail of this pleasant experience, I was actually looking forward to Yom Kippur.

Of the five weeks I spent in Pushkar, I was stoned 90% of the time for four of them. That’s a lot of time to be stoned. And not just buzzed. I mean really whacked. It was an experience no less rich than doing Vipassana. But wanting something “different” after bhang lassis day in and day out eventually got me into trouble.

The best alternative to bhang is charas, that black Himalayan hashish. Charas is made by rolling cannabis paste in your hands until it becomes a soft block. Entire villages in the Parvati Valley live from the trade. It is usually children who do the final rolling. One can imagine that their hands are not exactly clean.

The first charas lassi I had was made with half a tola, which is about 5 grams. This is actually a huge amount, and as a result, I was stoned off my face for two days straight. It was a lot of fun, but a bit too intense to repeat so quickly afterwards. Nevertheless, in breaking the block down into tiny pieces, which I did myself, a small piece got lodged under the nail of my left index finger. It became infected. The infection turned into an abscess, which sported a green-yellow color, and sent me straight to a Mittal Hospital in nearby Ajmer. A small surgical procedure removed the right third of the nail, put my finger in a splint, and brought about the realization of how important the left index finger is for a plethora of daily tasks, most significantly left ear and general nose picking.

As if this wasn’t enough to teach me, about ten or so days later, I decided it was time for another round. This time, I had the concoction made for me, with only 2.5 grams. It was good stuff. I tripped out and even hallucinated a bit. I also managed to contract a bacterial infection in my intestine, because charas ultimately is meant to be smoked and not eaten. As soon as the symptoms set in (no appetite, nausea, crapping sauce) I went straight to the doctor in Pushkar, who incidentally had his clinic literally next door to Beit Chabad. It was Erev Yom Kippur. I got the necessary doctor’s dispensation to eat, although it was exceedingly difficult before the medication set in. I only managed part of a potato.

After a series of intense and sensual experiences in Bangkok and Delhi, being in Pushkar for the latter part of the Hebrew month of Elul, which is meant for meditation, contemplation and repentance, as well as the High Holidays, was meant from the outset to be a quiet, centering experience. It was. I realized that instead of fearing failure, I should embrace it. You cannot learn without it. This mitigates fear. Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the strength and equanimity to face it head on.

Back at Beit Chabad, the usual crazies that tend to agglomerate there were in full force. Maybe they like being told that they’re the spiritual master race. The idea of the Lubavitcher Rebbe rising from the dead to reveal himself as the messiah and dispense great miracles at will is also a comforting Big Daddy story. Nevertheless, for as theologically problematic as these issues are, it does not subtract from the fact that there is no other Jewish organization in the world that undertakes this kind of mission work on such a grand scale. And they do have very positive outreach programs. I suppose this mix is more innocuous outside of Israel, where Jewish religious groups have no influence on government policy, per sé. So as always, I’m left feeling ambivalent.

Nina, my adoptive mother from Kibbutz Yotvata, is coming to travel with me in mid October. This and the change of seasons is powering my push back down south. Next stop: Bombay again for two weeks. Then, off to Cochin to meet Nina. The journey continues. Drug free now. Ironic that it should happen in India of all places.