By Terrence McCoy
By Allie Conti
By Chuck Strouse
By Scott Fishman
By Terrence McCoy
By Ryan Yousefi
By Ciara LaVelle, Kat Bein, Carolina Del Busto, and Liz Tracy
By Pepe Billete
In the world of UFOs, there's no such thing as a claim so wild or crazy that no one believes it. Because mainstream science has -- at least for public consumption -- rejected the notion that flying saucers abduct people for experiments or that we've been visited by UFOs, the believers in alien encounters are on their own in their search for the truth. So in the far fringes of South Florida's UFO community, anything goes.
In a living room in Kendall, about a dozen people are lying on a floor getting ready to meditate, part of a celebration of a special holiday. Easter? Passover? No, massage therapist Donna Newman, the "national guide" for the U.S. Raelian Movement, tells those gathered, "This is the day our creators created us. Because of them we exist -- we can have pleasure." About 25 people in Dade, and 45,000 adherents worldwide, are members of a "religion" that believes that Claude Vorilhon, a former French race-car magazine editor, is their messiah, working on behalf of beings called the Elohim, extraterrestrials who first took him aboard a spaceship in 1973. During that trip, and in subsequent contacts, Vorilhon, who changed his name to Rael, purportedly learned that the Elohim created man in laboratories 13,000 years ago using DNA, and that the various miracles reported in the Bible can be attributed to high-tech devices (e.g., Jesus walked on water thanks to a special antigravity beam). Eventually the Elohim destroyed all the laboratories, but they're going to return -- once Israel grants the Raelian movement the right to build an embassy to welcome them back. While it seems unlikely the Israeli government will turn over land to a UFO cult, Raelian leaders are collecting millions of dollars for their proposed embassy anyway. If Israel doesn't comply, it will be destroyed, Rael predicts.
The Raelians may worship the Elohim, but according to the group, no one currently living on Earth actually has seen any extraterrestrials A except Rael. (Alleged abductees, Newman sniffs, "are just imagining things in their mind," unlike Rael.) And Rael himself doesn't offer any evidence that he in fact has spoken with the elusive Elohim, except his say-so. But for Andre Pinsonneault, a 50-year-old engineer who serves as "priest" for Miami's handful of Raelians, that's all the proof he and the others need. "The evidence is the logic of the message," he notes.
A central part of that message is Rael's assertion that for the last few thousand years people around the world have mistranslated and misunderstood the Hebrew word Elohim in the Bible. Actually, he and his followers argue, in Hebrew it means "those who came from the sky," and not "God," as translations have indicated. Millions of scholars and devout believers of all faiths have made this dumb mistake, but Rael has managed to point out their error. When asked by New Times what Elohim means, Jewish rabbis simply answer "God," although used in its plural form. What about "those who came from the sky"?
"Never heard of that," says Rabbi Solomon Schiff, executive vice president of the Rabbinical Association of Greater Miami.
Elsewhere in the Raelians central text, The Message Given to Me by Extraterrestrials: They Took Me to Their Planet, Rael tells about a robot who created six gorgeous female robots for his pleasure. The pro-sex attitudes of this religion are central to its appeal: Its retreats for acolytes permit nudism; it teaches something called "sensual meditation"; and, says Pinsonneault, "We are for free love as long as you don't harm anyone." Plus, he points out, "The girls are sexy." Launched in the Seventies, it is a perfect disco religion for disaffected seekers: heavy on sex appeal, modern-sounding, and no old-fashioned god you have to worship. Not surprisingly Miami adherents are concentrating their recruiting efforts in "open-minded" South Beach.
Other UFO zealots promise more direct ways to get in touch with E.T.'s. "We don't have to try to contact extraterrestrials," says Aldin, one of three members of a Hollywood communal group known as Starbuilders. "We are extraterrestrials." In their small three-bedroom home, Aldin (formerly known as Malenchen, Zal-Zen, Jal'Kae, and, originally, Michael Lamas) explains how the parade of "walk-ins" began taking over the bodies of him and his two adult companions. (His two children are called "crawl-ins.") "The original inhabitants of the bodies never thought it was going to happen," he -- for the alien -- says. They already were working as mediums, as well as selling minerals and other new age paraphernalia. When he and his "divine companion," Alara ("Katrina Wolf is the Earth name," she notes), woke up one day in March 1993, everything looked different. "The original inhabitant went and got his ear pierced, which he would have never considered before, and he got a triangle cut in back of his hair and dyed it purple," Aldin says. "She got a Mohawk haircut." The walk-in, Zal, then started dispensing messages about new self-help techniques and the future of the planet.
The main obstacle in trying to talk to Aldin is figuring out his current identity. It's like a cosmic version of Abbott and Costello's old "who's on first" routine. As Aldin starts to say "They felt in order to serve their mission properly...." A New Times reporter interrupts, asking, "Who's they?"