In the span of an hour and a half, marriages were made and broken, grand and passionate affairs were embarked upon only to be rescinded before they started, even plots to murder were hatched and committed…
The God of Psychoanalysis
Twenty-five years ago, I was part of a psychoanalytic group that met once a week. A dozen or so mostly Jewish and mostly well-to-do urbanites and their psychoanalyst would sit together in a large room on the ground floor of a pre-war apartment building on the Upper West Side and talk to each other for 90 minutes.
Here, in the span of an hour and a half, marriages were made and broken, grand and passionate affairs were embarked upon only to be rescinded before they started, even plots to murder were hatched and committed—in fantasy only of course. Religions too were swapped and dumped with abandon and new ones were taken on with fervor.
In the beginning I paid them no mind mostly, but was amused by the goings-on, almost as if it were street theater. What business did these things have with me? I was the son of a rabbi who had his troubles with his father, his god and women. Someone had suggested being part of this “theater troupe” would benefit me and so I went coughing into my fist.
In the beginning I paid them no mind mostly, but was amused by the goings-on, almost as if it were street theater. What business did these things have with me? I was the son of a rabbi who had his troubles with his father, his god and women. Someone had suggested being part of this “theater troupe” would benefit me and so I went coughing into my fist.