Israel-lites

Photo by Kris Yenbamroong
 

Do you know about the Black Israelites? They are a cult of black people who dress like biker-gang wizards and hold public “we hate white people” rallies in front of Macy’s. We spent about two weeks coaxing three Black Israelites out of the internet and into a Burger King in Harlem to tell us what their deal is. Senior Editor Amie Barrodale set it up, and she’s white, so once she was in deep enough to get a sit-down, she had to get a black writer in there by saying, “He’s my husband.” This is because Amie was supposed to be just a lady who was interested in the Black Israelites. Not a writer who wanted to riff.

So it was that our friend, writer, TV Carnage inventor, Truth antismoking-campaign star, and black guy Derrick Beckles went to Burger King on a Friday night to meet with three maniacs about signing up. We needed pics to prove it happened, so we had a photographer dress like a tourist and shoot them “as though he was just into their costumes.” Here is Derrick’s story…

I was late for the meeting, so when I walked in and didn’t see three black Mad Max gladiators, I thought they’d left. I was disappointed, but a tiny bit relieved. As I was walking out, I saw this inconspicuous table: A nerd in a tie, a woman with salon dreads, and an elderly woman in cubicle casual. They were all giving me significant eye contact, and then the older lady whispered, “Derrick.” I whispered back, “Yes.” 

I went and ordered some food. Then I sat down with them and said, “I want to be straight with you guys: My mom’s white and my dad’s black.” 

They just sat there. It was weird. The younger woman, Kim*, asked me about “my wife.”

“Is Amie still in Mexico?”

“Yuh-yeah. She’s not baaaa-haaack yet. Crazy. Um, she’s so busy.”

“Yeah, it sounds like she is.”

I had forgotten about the photographer at this point, so when I looked up and saw this Asian guy taking a picture of me I said, “What the fuck is that guy doing?” 

Toni, the older lady, was like, “He can’t do that! What’s he doing, taking pictures of us? He can’t do that.”

And Kim goes, “You know it’s such a shame. These people and their stereotypes, it’s just sad that he’s living out these stereotypes.”

We had some more chitchat and then they asked why I wanted to be a Black Israelite.

I said, “Amie and I were just, you know, surfing the internet one night and we…”

I had to change tracks here, because I was about to crack myself up. I had this picture in my mind of a couple surfing the internet together, holding hands, going, “Oh, Black Israelites. Let’s look into that, honey. Maybe we need some of that.” 

So, I said, “I just need to change the course of my life, take things more seriously. I’ve been partying a lot, you know…” 

“Mmmmmmmmmm-hmm. Ex-actly.”

I still had not heard word one about the white devils. I was basically sitting with three Seinfelds like, “Who are these people? They are so nerdy and out of their minds.” The one dude in the tie, I could not imagine him dressed in a wizard hat cursing out a grandmother at Union Square. He was so soft-spoken, saying “Oh, that’s great” to everything I said.

And then, finally, it happened. He quietly slid a manila envelope across the table and I was like, “OK, here we go. This is it.” 

I opened the envelope and it held this thing that looked like a pizza menu with nice little pictures of people who looked like deliverymen. The text explained, in a calm and even manner, that black people were the original Israelites. It even trotted out that old chestnut, “You could be black, white, purple, green, yellow, orange—we don’t care! We invite all people to blah blah blah.” 

I was like, “Jesus Christ, these are SO not the right people.”

As if on cue, Kim said, “You know, it’s unfortunate, because a lot of people think we’re the Hebrew Israelites. You know, the ones that stand on street corners screaming at people. They’ve even screamed at us. I tried to talk to them once. They called me a tool of the white man.” 

Toni said, “You can’t reason with people like that.”

Drowning in nerd vibes and kindness and getting shot by an “undercover” photographer, I ate my last fry and went home.

DERRICK BECKLES
* Names have been changed.