Cultic Studies Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1, 1994, Page 27
But a sexually ambiguous ex-night club singer in a wig?
Well, why not?
***
I got to the meeting. Like most newcomers, I wondered, Just how, exactly, can CBJ make me
immortal? Finding the answer to that question is harder than you might think. The inquiry, in
fact, involves going through a process that significantly challenges the steadiness of the
needle on your own personal beserkness gauge. We‟re talking a serious flirtation with
madness here. We‟re talking a one-way ticket to the tippy-tippy-tippy edge of loo-loo land.
But we‟re getting ahead of ourselves. No one walks into an experience knowing that it will
make his or her mind go kerflooey.
The meeting was held in an auditorium in Ramat Efal, a wealthy Tel Aviv suburb, and it was
there that I witnessed a cellular awakening. It happened after a lot of singing and other
entertainment, which turned out to be a big component of CBJ gatherings, owing, perhaps, to
Charles‟s nightclub roots. Also, there was a great deal of hugging and kissing and caressing of
bodies, which people did because, as one Immortal told me, “I must! In fact, I must hug you
right now!” And so, of course, he came at me. “You are so beautiful,” he said. “I love you,” he
said.
That became a trend.
It is flattering, I‟m sure you‟ll agree, to have a person fall in love with you, but to have 250
people fall in love with you while also falling in love with one another is an awful lot of love for
a mere mortal to know what, exactly, to do with. You begin to feel rude for not loving back.
You may even begin to fake love. After a while, you think you feel love because your brain
can‟t handle the discrepancy.
You are having your first official mind-kerflooey moment.
Seated onstage were Charles, BernaDeane and James --or Chuckbernieandjim, as they are
usually referred to, in one breath --along with Chuck and Bernie‟s 27-year-old immortal son,
Kevin. (They also have a 30-year-old immortal daughter, Kim, who was back in Scottsdale.)
Jim took the microphone and explained the way life works in the “death-oriented culture” into
which all of us were, unfortunately, born. “You are brainwashed by public opinion,” he said.
“You are a member of the biggest cult in the world! You are all fucking cult members until you
decide to jump out of it!” Death, in other words, is just for stupid and lazy people who don‟t
know any better.
Next came BernaDeane. She was a lioness let out of a cage. She growled. She flirted. She
told personal stories. She told of being raped at 15. And over and over again she demanded a
commitment, a promise to live together forever. She demanded more people. If more people
didn‟t show up, she was not coming back to Israel. And she screamed “I want you to see how
important it is to lay some money down on the three of us!” She spun on her heels and threw
her head down. A pause. A breath. She looked up from beneath her long blonde bangs, giant
eyes in a too-small face, a puppy dog, a kitty cat. Suddenly, she threw out a pure sex smile, a
giant come-and-get-me-big-boy-grin, followed by ...a giggle.
“Woooooo!” said the crowd. “Weee! Woooo!”
The cellular awakening I witnessed happened to a curly-haired Israeli woman in a state of
near hysteria. She was handed a microphone. She was weeping. She was shaking so hard she
needed help standing.
“I feel!” she shouted finally. “I feel! I don‟t know what I feel. It‟s something I‟ve never been
through, my body is making the choice, my body is talking to me, my body is saying so many
But a sexually ambiguous ex-night club singer in a wig?
Well, why not?
***
I got to the meeting. Like most newcomers, I wondered, Just how, exactly, can CBJ make me
immortal? Finding the answer to that question is harder than you might think. The inquiry, in
fact, involves going through a process that significantly challenges the steadiness of the
needle on your own personal beserkness gauge. We‟re talking a serious flirtation with
madness here. We‟re talking a one-way ticket to the tippy-tippy-tippy edge of loo-loo land.
But we‟re getting ahead of ourselves. No one walks into an experience knowing that it will
make his or her mind go kerflooey.
The meeting was held in an auditorium in Ramat Efal, a wealthy Tel Aviv suburb, and it was
there that I witnessed a cellular awakening. It happened after a lot of singing and other
entertainment, which turned out to be a big component of CBJ gatherings, owing, perhaps, to
Charles‟s nightclub roots. Also, there was a great deal of hugging and kissing and caressing of
bodies, which people did because, as one Immortal told me, “I must! In fact, I must hug you
right now!” And so, of course, he came at me. “You are so beautiful,” he said. “I love you,” he
said.
That became a trend.
It is flattering, I‟m sure you‟ll agree, to have a person fall in love with you, but to have 250
people fall in love with you while also falling in love with one another is an awful lot of love for
a mere mortal to know what, exactly, to do with. You begin to feel rude for not loving back.
You may even begin to fake love. After a while, you think you feel love because your brain
can‟t handle the discrepancy.
You are having your first official mind-kerflooey moment.
Seated onstage were Charles, BernaDeane and James --or Chuckbernieandjim, as they are
usually referred to, in one breath --along with Chuck and Bernie‟s 27-year-old immortal son,
Kevin. (They also have a 30-year-old immortal daughter, Kim, who was back in Scottsdale.)
Jim took the microphone and explained the way life works in the “death-oriented culture” into
which all of us were, unfortunately, born. “You are brainwashed by public opinion,” he said.
“You are a member of the biggest cult in the world! You are all fucking cult members until you
decide to jump out of it!” Death, in other words, is just for stupid and lazy people who don‟t
know any better.
Next came BernaDeane. She was a lioness let out of a cage. She growled. She flirted. She
told personal stories. She told of being raped at 15. And over and over again she demanded a
commitment, a promise to live together forever. She demanded more people. If more people
didn‟t show up, she was not coming back to Israel. And she screamed “I want you to see how
important it is to lay some money down on the three of us!” She spun on her heels and threw
her head down. A pause. A breath. She looked up from beneath her long blonde bangs, giant
eyes in a too-small face, a puppy dog, a kitty cat. Suddenly, she threw out a pure sex smile, a
giant come-and-get-me-big-boy-grin, followed by ...a giggle.
“Woooooo!” said the crowd. “Weee! Woooo!”
The cellular awakening I witnessed happened to a curly-haired Israeli woman in a state of
near hysteria. She was handed a microphone. She was weeping. She was shaking so hard she
needed help standing.
“I feel!” she shouted finally. “I feel! I don‟t know what I feel. It‟s something I‟ve never been
through, my body is making the choice, my body is talking to me, my body is saying so many
