Eliezer Sobel and his wife, Shari, live in an unassuming neighborhood in the Fan. Their lawn is well-groomed, the paint isn’t peeling and you can’t smell the incense until you get inside. The home is colorful and full of paintings and books; it is tidy and organized.

You’d never guess you were sitting across from a man who’s been held at gunpoint by bandits outside Nepal, who’s done the hokeypokey while taking Ecstasy during an Easter-morning service conducted by monks, who’s required students in his creativity workshops to look each other in the eye and say “doody.”