For as much outreach as they do in the world, the Crown Heights Lubavitchers like to come home to their own. They have formed an airtight community in the middle one of the most populous counties in the United States. Street signs are written in Yiddish. Proper decorum is enforced by a crew of rabbis and other sticklers chronicled in today's New York Times and known locally as the “tsnius police.” (Tsnius is the Hebrew word for traditional conservative dress, and those who police it go to great lengths to make sure Hasids aren’t bombarded by sexy female elbows and knees.) Duck underground for 30 minutes and you emerge from the subway into the cheating heart of the modern world, where you can watch a drag queen sodomize himself with a wine bottle on the stage of a popular nightclub, or do blow off the anatomy of a male model in the bathroom of a penthouse, or sit uncomfortably close to an eminent journalist during a dinner party in an Upper East Side townhouse and try not to look as he runs his fingers up the skirt of a senior member of the Council on Foreign Relations. Go back down in the subway, half an hour in reverse, and the year appears to be 1702.
Via: The Jewish Morality Police Attacked My Short Skirt
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