These Hasidic moved into Postville around 1988. In the mid-90's, the scourge of crystal meth started to hit the MidWest.

Coinicidence?

Bloom does his best to be fair to the Hasidim as he explores their hermetically sealed world. He notes his relief at the familiar speech rhythms, the questions upon questions. He accepts an invitation for a Shabbat stay with a Hasidic family, revels in the food, and prays with his hosts on command. But finally, Bloom is a liberal, not a fundamentalist: He's repelled by their intolerance, their insularity, their open delight in cheating "the goyim," and their manipulative arguments. He quotes one Hasid as saying proudly: "I am a racist... . Why haven't the Jews been extinguished after scores of attempts throughout history? That we are still here defies logic. There is only one answer. We are better and smarter. That's why!" Bloom's heart is with the Postville local who says: "It's not such a great religion if they don't want to be a part of the community, is it?"

More disturbing to Bloom was that the Lubavitchers were dishonorable in their business dealings. They'd buy something and not pay for it or pay or withhold payment for a long time.

"I get bills and throw them away," one bragged to him. "The more bills I get, the faster I throw them away. If they want to get paid that badly, they'll send me another notice and then another. When I'm ready to pay them, I pay them."

"An hour must have passed, and then, as though on cue, a great roar of voices erupted from within the shul. The worship had ended and the men broke into raucous song. These liturgical melodies were booming and boisterous, each lasting twenty to thirty minutes. Soon, the singing was accompanied by banging.

"Rapturous song, powerful drink, and overwhelming body heat was the Holy Communion of these believers. Everything about the day was intense and bodily: the dirty mikveh [communal bath], drinking, singing, the body odor, the pounding of fists and feet." [BLOOM, S., 2001, p. 207]

"Ultimately, I discovered, carrying on a conversation with any of the Postville Hasidim was virtually impossible. If you didn't agree, you were at fault, part of the problem. You were paving the way for the ultimate destruction of the Jews, the world's Chosen People. There was no room for compromise, no room for negotiation, no room for anything but total and complete submission."

Lubavitcher Jews Arrive

The residents of Postville may have been willing to welcome the new arrivals to their community, but the Lubavitchers, were not at all interested in mingling with the Lutherans. They regarded the locals as fundamentally inferior, allowing them to treat the people in rude, obnoxious ways. They upheld all of the worst stereotypes of Jews as penny-pinching cheats interested in nothing but money. They actually bragged about haggling with local merchants (not a part of the rural Iowan culture) and reaching long-term payment schedules which they then failed to keep. Even merchants who originally welcomed the Lubavitchers grew to dislike them.

These Lubavitchers live in a Manichean world where absolute good is in conflict with absolute evil. This premise of a world fundamentally divided lies at the heart of everything they do and everything they believe. Any time a person disagrees with them, opposes them in any fashion, or even tries to enforce unwelcome civil laws which apply to everyone, they are accused of anti-Semitism.

Friendliness and hospitality are core values in small-town Iowa, but the Hasidim, like the Amish or the Mennonites, are an insular community that is profoundly mistrustful of the outside world. Their religious laws and cultural mores combined to make social intercourse with the people of Postville virtually impossible. When they patronized local merchants they haggled over prices, a venerable Jewish tradition that the Lutherans of northeastern Iowa found both astonishing and insulting. In a town that prided itself on its impeccable streets and houses, the Hasidim never mowed their lawns or raked their leaves, and often drove battered clunkers that spewed oil and exhaust.

"Postville" by Stephen G. Bloom

Bloom, a former reporter for the Los Angeles Times and other newspapers who is now a professor of journalism at the University of Iowa, is an able and sympathetic observer of both sides of Postville's cultural divide. He hangs out at Ginger's, the downtown coffeehouse, with a group of men in OshKosh overalls and John Deere caps, one of whom tells him, "I've dealt with Jews for a long, long time. And every time, they set out to fleece you. You can see it in their eyes." (It took the locals a long time to figure out that Bloom was Jewish, since most of them had never met any Jews except the Hasidim.) He uses his faith to gain access to a Hasidic household on the Sabbath, accompanying the family to shul (synagogue) and its male members to the mikvah (ritual bath). At the latter, he envisions a place of spiritual cleansing and epiphany but finds only a tank of stagnant, dirty water under a naked light bulb.

By the time Bloom shows up, the Postville locals are contemplating a ballot measure to annex the land where Rubashkin's slaughterhouse sits, which would make the plant subject to town taxation and regulation. Rubashkin's son Sholom, who manages the operation, has denounced the ballot measure as anti-Semitic and threatens to close down the plant and move elsewhere if it passes.

[Bloom] imagined the Jews of Postville as "a hermitage of wise men" who "would brighten my soul with witty talk and warm my belly with nurturing food."

Eventually Bloom and his son, Mikey, do eat a lavish Sabbath dinner (Hasidic women can do little besides cook and clean house), but it comes at a price -- they become the targets of the Hasidic community's evangelical zeal. (One of the sect's primary goals is to bring nonobservant Jews to the true path.)

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• Postville
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