It was going to be a Shabbat to remember. After a long week of work at Tablet Magazine, I was looking forward to leaving the Jews behind and focusing instead on the ghosts. I left the office Friday afternoon, dashed over to my favorite video game store, and bought a copy of “Ghostbusters: The Video Game,” the newly released title that’s currently the hottest property for joystick jockeys everywhere.
My hands quivered as I inserted the disc into my gaming console. I revere Ghostbusters, the 1984 Ivan Reitman comedy, the way some men worship sports teams, rock bands, or organized religions. I quote it often. I think about it frequently. I sometimes pass by 14 N. Moore Street in Manhattan just to look at the firehouse that served as Ghostbusters HQ in the film. A chance to play as a new Ghostbusters’ recruit, to slap on a proton pack and blast some ghouls, felt less like a game and more like a childhood dream come true.