When I was a child, there was a bum — a homeless, schizophrenic, alcoholic, malodorous, hysterical bum — who used to show up on Ocean Parkway and Avenue N in Brooklyn, my neighborhood, my hometown, my world, my universe.
He would stand on one of the wooden benches and deliver long, rambling speeches about the end of the world.
“The oceans are rising,” he would thunder. “Raging fires will devour forests. The North Pole will melt.”
My friends and I would laugh at his incoherent ramblings. Furious, he would shake his finger at us, warning that the sun was going to burn us alive because we dared to disbelieve him.
“How do you know all this?” we asked.
“G-d told me,” he said.
Believe it or not, we didn’t believe him. We were, y’know, ten-year-old yeshiva kids with a fair amount of common sense.
I always wondered what happened to that pathetic, delusional creature.
Now I know. He’s become a movement devoted to degrowth and raising taxes.