Sunday, December 12, 2010

In Search Of A National Couch - 1987



In Search of a National Couch (excerpts)

To understand what is happening in Israel one cannot analyze things logically, but psychologically. And what is happening is the penetration of a madness and blindness that is divine punishment, measure for measure.  Those who threw off Judaism and the yoke of Heaven, are stricken with an empty soul and madness, and blindness of heart and mind.  Zionism without Judaism in Israel is an empty vessel leaving those who drink from its dregs empty, guilt-ridden and sick with the ague of self-hate.  That is why a people that once was blessed as “a people wise and understating” can reach the point where it tears itself apart over two Arabs who came to kill Jews.  That is why the country daily rides its own various horses of the Apocalypse.

A final word.  A final word to assure that the false moralists and ethical frauds are not only not allowed to continue their assumption of the mantle of righteousness, but will be branded as the accessories to murder – murder of fellow Jews – that they really are.

In December 1983, a number 18 bus, driving down a Jerusalem street, had a bomb go off under one of its seats.  Six Jews were killed.  In the aftermath, a young, 20-year-old woman named Rina Pollak, wrote a poem.  Rina is the only daughter of her family.  Today.  She was not always the only daughter.  In fact, until the bomb exploded on the bus, she was one of three daughters to her father and mother.  Unfortunately, two of the six Jews who were murdered on that bus were sisters.  Rina’s sisters, age 15 and 16.  And so, a few weeks later Rina wrote a poem.  It is commended to all the mentally lame, blind and halting Jews of gentilized morality and respectability who fights unto the intellectual death any thought of removing the Arabs from the land.

You get up in the morning, and it is like any other morning;
You go to work, and the work is like all other.
You ride the bus and it is like all other buses.
You return in the afternoon and suddenly you hear that you no longer have two sisters.
And to lose two sisters is not like just any other day.
You walk and you cry and breathe with difficulty and wonder;
Why did G-d suddenly take from you two sister?
So small, and you cannot understand.
How is it that you get up in the morning and by

the afternoon you no longer have sisters who lived with you

for fifteen years until now and not, be with you for many years afterwards.
You get up in the morning and the morning is not like other mornings.
You go to work and work fails to lessen the greatness of the loss.
You ride the bus and the bus is already gone.
You return home in the afternoon and must grasp that you no longer have two sisters.
I sit and try to think where my mind will lead me to two dead sisters.
To continue a life, painful, filled with tears and fears, thoughts and pains.
Or to hover above with two small sisters taken by terrorists;
Or to wait for another bus that takes innocent children to a different world.

Every Arab who remained in the land to murder a Jew, to place a bomb that took a Jewish life, to stab a Jew and take from him his life, was able to do so because of Jews who refused to remove him.  Those Jews are accessories to murder.  Those Jews are partners in the murder of fellow Jews.  Their hands are stained with blood and on their breasts will forever be branded the scarlet mark of Cain.  “And the mercies of the wicked
are cruel” (Proverbs 12).

One wishes to weep.  To weep at a miracle of G-d given to us and turned by us into a travesty; a dream of strength and pride become an incredible parody of the Exile.  Who would have believed it?  Who would have believed that the day would come when the Arabs of Hebron, the descendants of the bloody murderers of Jews in 1929, would today drive and walk and stroll without fear in Tel Aviv while Jewish tour guides warn fearful Jews against going to visit the graves of the Patriarchs in Hebron?

The dream.  The dream of a people huddled for two millennia in an Exile of fear, dreaming of the pride and strength and glory of a Jewish national home of their own.  “To be a free people in or own land.”  A dream twisted by the gentilized disciples of Hellenism, whose mercy of fools allows the murderers to remain within us and the fear to enter our hearts.

Leftist columnist Tuvia Mendelson, writing in the Histadrut paper Dvar, produced a piece under the heading: “Home Before Darkness” (November 13, 1985)
In it he describes leaving a meeting in the Beit Hakerem section, in the heart of Jerusalem.  The meeting finishes quite late.  Outside, all is silence and very dark.  The Jerusalem municipality, to save money, dims and shuts many lights after midnight.  Tuvia Mendelson, progressive extraordinaire, fighter for equal Arab rights and bitter opponent of Kahanism, goes out to his car.  He cannot find it in the dark.  He wanders from auto to auto, his nervousness and fear growing with every passing moment.  He writes: 

“With nervousness comes tension and with tension – fear.  And the fear remains after I found the car and after I succeeded with no little effort to push the key into the keyhole and open the door.  And also after I started the car and began to drive….
“While driving I locked the doors. I closed the windows securely.  I tried to remember if I had my identity card or other papers through which my body could be identified [!].  I was panic-stricken to think that I was driving without a jack and if, G-d forbid, there would be a flat tire I would not be able to change it.  I was covered with cold sweat… When I got home I could not fall asleep.  I hear sounds.  Footsteps.  Someone on the porch.  Someone on the roof …”

 Incredible.  The dream of Zion.  But the madness within the madness is Mendelson’s conclusion.  The next day, he angrily phoned the municipality.  To demand that the lights not be dimmed at night.  This of course is the problem.  Tuvia in cuckooland.

The people of Israel.  The dream.  In search of a national couch.

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