Showing posts with label Forest Rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Forest Rain. Show all posts

Monday, March 18, 2024

By Forest Rain

Have you ever seen the essential oil in a mandarin burst into the air when you peel it? Taken a deep breath, filling your lungs with the clean smell of citrus fruit, fresh and ripe, asking to be picked off the tree?

Last week I went to Be’eri to help the farmers pick their oranges and mandarins. The groves are straight, clean, and lush, full of fruit more delicious than any other I’ve tasted.

Two months after my first visit to Be’eri following the Hamas massacre, I still find myself reluctant to write about Be’eri. I’d rather write about their oranges.

It was January when I went for the first time, three months after October 7th. I thought I was ready to visit Be’eri.

I had already been to Nir Oz and Nirim, seen the destruction, and heard survivors speak of their murdered neighbors, those taken hostage, and what had happened to their families on October 7th. As terrible as their stories were, I knew that what had happened in Be’eri was worse.

The Hamas massacre was so horrific that most of what happened was not shown on Israeli TV, to not traumatize the public. Numerous survivors refused to describe what they saw in detail because the details were too horrible.

We all saw the staggering stream of bodies being carried out of Kibbutz Be’eri. That image was deemed to be “clean” enough for the media to air. 97 people were murdered from a community of around 1200.

I didn’t see the Hamas livestream of their slaughter. I saw the videos and heard the testimonies of the rescue workers who desperately searched for the living and discovered people who had been tortured, raped, and burned to death.

I knew what had happened and thought I was ready to see Be’eri. I wasn’t.

My friend Eva Hetzroni lived in Be’eri, (2.5 miles/4 kilometers from Gaza). When Gazans rioted near the fence, burning tires (riots we now know were covers for practicing how to invade Israel), Eva told me of the air being drenched in smoke and having difficulty breathing. Helplessly I would apologize and sometimes afterwards I would cry that my friend was suffering from the hate of her neighbors.

No one prepared for the hate that would boil through the fence and incinerate everything in its path…

When things were peaceful, Eva would tell me about her husband Avia and her beloved twin grandchildren Liel and Yannai.

Eva passed away some months before the war. It took me a few weeks to gather up the courage to check what had happened to her family. The lists of the murdered and the hostages from Be’eri were so long… Avia was murdered. Yannai was murdered. Liel was murdered. Their great-aunt Ayala, “Aylush” (who was raising them because their mother had become disabled during childbirth) was also murdered. The twin’s mother, Shira, and her caregiver survived. 

The front door of Avia’s house was still marked with Zaka’s sticker indicating that they had checked the house. There was also a piece of tape where someone had written his name: Avia Hetzroni, HYD (the abbreviation for May God avenge his blood).

Avia was a senior emergency medical technician and ambulance driver for Magen David Adom. Everyone knew him.  He was one of those people that made others feel confident and safe. People turned to him for help because he always seemed to know what to do, and he did it with a gracious and generous spirit.

I braced myself before walking into the place where this capable man was murdered. It seems he was in the “safe room” when the monsters came. Although the house had been cleaned, the bullet holes remained, telling the story of what had happened.

Bullet holes in the security glass of the safe room/ (made to protect people from missile shrapnel, not terrorists shooting in through the glass).


Bullet holes through the outside of the safe room door.

Bullet holes in the wall across from the door.



The monsters shot through the window, broke into the house, and shot through the door to kill the man who helped save so many other people’s lives.

I was told Avia crawled, dragging himself wounded, from the safe room towards the kitchen. That image flashed through my mind before I could erase it. The room I was standing in didn’t have streaks of blood on the floor. Not anymore. Others had to deal with the reality of that horror.

Walking towards the house where Liel and Yannai lived with their aunt Ayala, I was struck by the beauty of Be’eri. The homes are comfortable and solid, structures that speak of easy living and permanence. 



Other kibbutzim, as lovely as they may be, are different. The houses are often very simple, structures designed to be put up fast and provide sufficient shelter. After all, what do people need in a place where they spend much of their time outside and never lock their doors? The contrast between the lovely communities and the destruction wrecked on them is gut-wrenching. Of all the places I witnessed, the dichotomy is most harsh in Be’eri.

Heavy-hearted, I knew I was going to see the place where Liel and Yannai were murdered. I thought I was ready. Turning the corner, I felt like I walked into an invisible brick wall.

My eyes understood what they were seeing. My brain gasped, grasping for enough oxygen to process what was in front of me.

This wasn’t a terror attack. It wasn’t a battle. This was a war. Inside our borders, inside our homes.

I’ve never found it so hard to put one foot in front of the other. To go see, from close.

The smashed homes, riddled with bullets and charred by smoke don’t begin to tell the stories of the monsters who swarmed here destroying everything in their path and laughing with joy. They tortured children in front of their parents and parents in front of their children. They mutilated, raped, and burned alive entire families.

And they did it for hours and hours on end.

I walked through destruction that told the story of the war that happened when the army finally arrived. Late and too few they came - not as they should have, an organized army ready for battle, but as individual warriors, heroes willing to sacrifice themselves to save others. They succeeded in pulling some out of the hell they were in. Other times, they failed.

They didn’t succeed in saving Liel and Yannai or their aunt Ayala. I was hesitant to walk into their home and did so with reverence, trying to imagine what they experienced.



Liel’s room had a blue wall with a decorative metal piece that looked like butterflies or leaves. The house, with things flung everywhere, looked like a hurricane had blown through it. The monsters barged in and dragged them to the neighbor’s home where they and others were held hostage for hours. Rage welled inside me to see that the monsters spray-painted the walls with writing declaring Allah’s supremacy and crediting their unit for what they had done to my friend’s family.

They had so much time on their hands that they could “sign” their work.

Swallowing my rage made my head hurt. I thought I was going to lose it when leaving the house, my feet crunched on beads strewn across the floor. Liel’s beads? Was it a piece of jewelry she loved or beads for handicrafts that she wanted to do? I don’t know. I only know that she should be alive and isn’t.

I would rather write about the oranges of Be’eri. Or their extraordinary printing business. I don’t want to write about the horror or the feeling of being violently violated.

Perhaps people who have experienced rape or had their home broken into can understand what it means to have your sanctuary, your home, your body, broken into and ripped apart in a way that makes it clear that what you thought was yours isn’t in your control. The violation that cannot be healed. The burden of knowing what happened which must be carried forever. The breaking of the spirit when you discover that you imagined yourself to be safe but it was a fantasy, not reality.

It’s not something you want to talk about. It’s not something you want to even admit to out loud. But we must. Otherwise, how will we live?

The people of Be’eri, like the people of Israel, are strong. Broken, yet still standing, we put one foot in front of the other and do what we must. There are houses to rebuild, although it will take a long time and enormous effort before they can again become homes. The printing house is working.
There are oranges to be picked.





Buy the EoZ book, PROTOCOLS: Exposing Modern Antisemitism  today at Amazon!

Or order from your favorite bookseller, using ISBN 9798985708424. 

Read all about it here!

 

 



Friday, February 16, 2024

Liron and Rakefet Eldor

By Forest Rain

He stood by the door, slightly bent over as if recovering from a punch to the gut and yet he had a smile on his face, warm words, and a hug for friends and family.

I’ve been to many Shiva houses. This is the first time I’ve seen a grief-stricken father greet those who came to pay their respects in this way.

For those unfamiliar with the Jewish mourning tradition of Sitting Shiva, this is a structured way for the bereaved family to express their grief and the community to support the family. Immediately following the funeral, for seven days (shiva means seven in Hebrew), the immediate family resides (usually) in the home of the deceased. Extended family, friends, and members of the community come without invitation to offer condolences, share memories of the deceased, and provide emotional support. The endless stream of people provides a stabilizing distraction for the mourners, helping to pass the initial shock of bereavement. Mourners are not supposed to cook or serve food, so it is customary for guests to bring food, making sure the bereaved family doesn’t have to think about themselves or their guests.

People differ in their adherence to the Jewish traditional guidelines for the Shiva. Secular Jews do not necessarily conduct the proscribed prayers, wear a kippah (yarmulke), or stick to the guidelines regarding clothes, etc. Tradition dictates that the mourners sit on low chairs or even pillows on the floor, indicating their grief and differentiating them from everyone else.

Mourners often remain sitting on their low chairs while the people around them come and go, replaced by new visitors. Sometimes the bereaved move around to visit with the different people who came to comfort them.

Liron Eldor is the first father I’ve seen greeting visitors by the door with a smile and a hug.

Liron’s son, Sergeant First Class Adi Eldor was killed in Gaza. He was just 21 years old. 

We don’t know the Eldor family personally, but they live in Haifa and their son’s life journey is very similar to that of our son – same school, both were in the Scouts and they were in the same elite army unit. Israel is a nation of people who are family who haven’t met yet so, it isn’t uncommon for people to pay condolences to families they don’t personally know. What is the difference between their son and ours?

The Eldor family is the cream of Haifa society. Well-to-do, sophisticated, intelligent, and kind people. Liron and Rakefet, Adi’s mother, are both young, attractive, and charismatic. Their beautiful home was overflowing with friends, family, and an enormous amount of food.

After we introduced ourselves to Liron I asked him the question I usually ask bereaved parents: “Tell me something about Adi so that I can remember him, although I didn’t know him.”

(It’s rather horrifying that we meet so many bereaved parents that I have an arsenal of questions to ask)

Liron smiled and told me: “You know the saying; In death, they command us to live?”

“Yes, of course” I nodded.

“In death, Adi commands us to smile. He always had smiles for everyone. There are good things and negative things to see in people. Adi always knew how to see the good and he used that to bring people together. That’s Adi.”

Then he told us about donations of food the family planned to give with an image of Adi smiling, to spread warmth and smiles to other people.

Liron’s choice of how he greeted the people who came to comfort him wasn’t random. It was a simple yet powerful way to honor his son’s legacy. Brokenhearted but still standing, he had smiles to share.

Wow. 




Buy the EoZ book, PROTOCOLS: Exposing Modern Antisemitism  today at Amazon!

Or order from your favorite bookseller, using ISBN 9798985708424. 

Read all about it here!

 

 

Wednesday, February 07, 2024

By Forest Rain


Iran 101: Into the mind of the enemy

Eliyahu Yossian is a man on a mission – waking up Israelis to the misconceptions that are endangering the survival of the Jewish State.

The path to a secure future necessitates changing the mindset that led to the disaster of October 7th. The same mindset that for the past 30 years has led Israel to “manage the conflict” rather than attain clear and decisive victory over our would-be murderers – although the State is much stronger and better equipped than in her early years.

“It all begins”, he explains, “with the way you perceive the world.” 

Eliyahu Yossian is a Jewish, Israeli expert on Iran. Unlike self-styled experts trained in Western think tanks, Yossian was born and raised in Iran, escaping the country to Israel as an adult. His expertise is a product of cultural immersion and continued training with Israel’s elite intelligence community – with one major difference between him and other experts: Yossian thinks like an Iranian.

Since October 7th, I've been following Eliyahu Yossian, attending one of his lectures and listening to others online. Initially featured on TV news panels at the war's start, he's no longer invited by mainstream (left-wing) stations. Yossian explains this shift, stating: “I dismantle their mindset and that makes them uncomfortable. Particularly the analysts and generals who have been presenting the same ideas to the public for 30 years. What are they supposed to do? Admit they were wrong? Regular people are a different story. They want to understand. They are willing to think differently.”

Yossian's focus is on Israel, yet his teachings, address the global threat of Iran and hold relevance for people worldwide.

The notion that "Everyone is the same. Deep down, and we all want the same things" is a fundamental misconception.

Yossian starts his lecture by highlighting the ignorance embedded in the first part of this idea. We are not all the same. Israeli society which is mostly liberal, and secular (Western/global) is very different from that of Iran. The simplicity of the examples he uses highlights how deeply embedded these differences are.

Body language:
He began by asking volunteers to demonstrate how they count to five on their fingers. Every person in the audience began with a fist and extended their fingers as they counted, ending up with an open hand. Then he showed us how he counts – beginning with an open hand and folding each finger to end up with a closed hand.
Who among us has ever taken the time to think about the implications this or any other culturally acquired gesture has on our mindset?

Speech patterns:
Next, he spoke about the difference in language patterns. In Hebrew, like in English, the action appears at the beginning of the sentence and the rest is detail: “I want to go to the store and get…” In Persian, the elaboration comes first. One needs to focus and read through all the details to get to the action. This small difference in syntax has huge significance when, for example, preparing and agreeing on the details of a contract. 

Conception of time and power:

“What is your favorite game?” Yossian asked the audience. All the answers were sports, measured by predefined limits in either time or points: soccer, tennis, basketball etc. He contrasted this with Iran's choice of chess and checkers, games without time constraints, emphasizing the goal of one side killing the other. In chess, the purpose of all the pieces is to protect their king and you win by killing the opponent's king. The king is the piece that moves the least. Yossian asks: “We’ve all seen world leaders fly to different countries for summits. Have you ever seen Iran’s rulers fly? They don’t. Everyone comes to them.”
While Westerners jump to action and want immediate results, the Iranian mindset is focused on strategic planning and moving others to create the desired outcomes.

In other words, “Everyone is the same” is a misconception based on a lack of knowledge about other cultures.

Next Yossian began to unravel the deeply ingrained Western assumption that all people have the same basic aspiration to live in comfort, take care of their family, and go about their business in peace. This assumption is an idea, not a fact, veiled arrogance that erases the possibilities of different value systems.

Yossian asks: “If I give 100 shekels to a capitalist and 100 shekels to a socialist will they use it the same way? The amount of money is identical. What is the difference between the two? The worldview of the person choosing how to use the money.

In other words: If we try to understand the enemy through our mindset, using our value system we will fail. The only way to be able to understand and correctly predict their actions is to respect them enough to learn their culture, mindset, and value system and see the world through their eyes.

1.       You can’t buy what the other party isn’t selling

Yossian asked how many people in the audience read the Hamas Charter. Or the Fatah Charter. Or the Hezbollah Charter. These terrorist organizations play major roles in our lives (or lack thereof) and yet few people have read their Charters, their Mission Statement. If you will, their user manuals.

Although there are differences in style between the Hamas and Fatah charters, they spell out the same goal. According to Yossian the Hezbollah charter is much more sophisticated in its presentation of ideas but it too spells out the same goal - extermination of the Jewish State.

Yossian asks: “Do they say what they want? Did they write it down? Do they act accordingly?”

I’m sure the same sick feeling of realization rose in the pit of every audience member that did in mine.

“So why,” he asks, “do we keep suggesting they want things other than what they say?”

Their mission statement doesn’t say that they want jobs, a better economy, or comfortable living. They certainly don’t say they want to live side by side with Jews. Why do “experts” keep assuming that offering jobs or economic incentives will change the way the believers in these charters behave? We keep trying to buy peace (or at least quiet, temporary pauses in conflict) but they aren’t selling peace or even quiet.

You can’t buy something that the other party isn’t selling.

Yossian explains: “The liberal secularist believes in individualism, seeks individual comfort, and believes that everyone else wants the same. No amount of money will buy away someone’s ideology. The Middle East is fueled by ideology based on theology. Here actions are dictated by God.”

In other words, when your actions are fueled by the belief that God demands that you kill Jews or at least support the killing of Jews, no amount of individual comfort or easy living will change the motivation to kill Jews.

Aryans, not Arabs

Iran, explains Yossian, literally means “the place where Aryans live”. Although Islamized, Iranians see themselves as Aryans, not Arabs, originating from the same tribe that split off centuries ago and eventually became the inspiration of the Nazis. This was not the first time I’d heard that there is a connection between Iran and Aryans but I had not heard it explained the way Yossian did. It seems that the historic connection is debatable but there is no doubt that the Aryan concept is deeply embedded in Iranian culture. Yossian presented numerous examples of this: poetry that describes Iranians as fair-skinned, with blue eyes and blond hair, and popular songs from before and after the Islamic revolution that praise and elaborate the importance of keeping their blood pure.

Listening to an American-sounding rap song, it would be easy to assume the music to be a sign of modernization and aspiring to be part of the Western world. The lyrics were a slap in the face. The song was an Aryan-supremacist declaration of hate against Afghan migrants in Iran, that they must be dominated, pushed out and most of all that Aryan blood must not be mingled with their inferior dirty blood.

Mudbloods.

The examples Yossian brought were the songs Iranian university students listen to in their nightclubs. Nightclubs seem very Western. Going to university seems very modern and familiar. The content is utterly foreign.

Yossian explains that the Aryan worldview dictates Iranian foreign policy. Other analysts explain Iranian relations with their proxies in complex geopolitical terms. Yossian cuts to the core principle that dictates decisions and actions: “For Iranians, Arabs are like a disposable cup. You drink from it and when you are done, you throw it away. You will never see an Iranian blow himself up on a bus. They have Arabs for that kind of dirty work.”

Allies and proxies

The Abraham Accords created an alliance of, what Yossian calls, “Semites against the Aryans”. Arab countries that don’t border Israel and don’t hold mission statements declaring they must exterminate the Jewish State could choose to ally themselves with Israel – not for love of Zion but for the fear of Iran.

Over many years, Iran has spread proxy tentacles across the Middle East, basically taking over a country every seven years. These are not allies because they are not seen as equal but rather tools to be used for Iranian interests. Yossian explains that Iran leverages ideology and historic feelings of being underprivileged and dishonored to motivate its proxies. Iran also invests enormous amounts in their education and training, playing the long game to grow local believers in their cause.

Various analysts have put forward different explanations for the October 7th massacre. Obviously, the potential normalization of relations between Israel and Saudi Arabia would ruin Iran’s long-term plan to dominate the Middle East. But why did Hamas attack alone when there could have been a much more devastating scenario of a coordinated simultaneous attack on all fronts – from Hezbollah in the north, the Houthis from Yemen, Arabs from the PA-controlled territories, and Israeli Arabs? These analysts say that Hamas chose that specific Saturday because the Nova festival was an easy, tempting target. Supposedly it was Hamas’s recklessness and desire for glory that led them to attack Israel alone. Hezbollah adamantly declared that Hamas didn’t warn them they were about to attack. Iran was supposedly very angry that Hamas ruined their plan.

To me, something about their anger seemed contrived. But who am I to say?

Hezbollah has been attacking Israel with missile and drone attacks, creating enormous destruction but nothing near what will happen when they fully join the war – something I have worried about since October 7th. When I asked Yossian why Hezbollah hadn’t joined the war more fully he said: “Shia doesn’t fight for Sunna.” Hezbollah has loyalty to Shia Iran, not to Sunni Hamas thus they can allow Hamas to do the fighting while symbolically showing their participation in the mutual goal of killing Jews. When I asked Yossian what will make Hezbollah go to all-out war he said: “When Israel attacks them.”      

Peace is not for sale in the Middle East. What do we do?

Common sense isn’t very common these days but Yossian’s logic is straightforward:

1.       We must understand that we are in the Middle East and learn to “speak the language”, i.e. deal with our enemies in terms that are meaningful to them (which might differ greatly from what is meaningful to us).

2.       Then we must stop looking for easy and fast solutions. There are none.

3.       Then we must strive for victory

We of the liberal-secular West idealize peace. The nationalist believers of the Middle East idealize victory. But even that is a term that has become ambiguous to Westerners. What does victory look like?

It’s not about shaking hands and making up. There is no pluralism in victory. Victory is when your enemy is so thoroughly crushed that they beg you for peace. Thoroughly crushed means you have taken away everything that the enemy cares about and are unquestionably the master of their future.

The only way the enemy will ever give us peace is if we are victors.

This concept is problematic for the liberal secular post-modern Westerner. It sounds extremist. Violent. Non-inclusive. Nationalist. And, in a way, that is correct. If my enemy believes that God told him to kill me and multiculturalism forces me to embrace his beliefs there is no way for me to defend my life, family, or nation. I prefer survival over multiculturalism. I choose my culture. My nation. My family.

A strong identity and belief in the righteousness of a cause carries nations through generations. Striving for personal comfort does not. The Jewish People survived for centuries not looking for comfort but by having a strong identity and believing in the righteousness of our cause: “Next year we will be in Jerusalem, rebuilt.” Jerusalem is irreplaceable. If we were looking for comfort, we could be next year in Berlin or California. The goal of rebuilding what is ours is transferred from one generation to the next – identity and connection to our ancestral homeland. This simple but powerful mantra holds the Middle Eastern map to victory – patience. If we don’t succeed this year, we will do it the next. Or in the next generation. Every opportunity we must do what we can.

This, says Yossian, is the answer. Teaching a strong identity, righteousness in our cause, and whenever possible, building. Where there is Jewish life, the enemy must retreat. Where there is Jewish life, we win. 






Buy the EoZ book, PROTOCOLS: Exposing Modern Antisemitism  today at Amazon!

Or order from your favorite bookseller, using ISBN 9798985708424. 

Read all about it here!

 

 

Sunday, January 14, 2024




By Forest Rain


I stood where he stood, trying to imagine what it was like. How he made the decisions he made. How he felt.

I couldn’t.

Aner Shapira deliberately placed himself between the murderous terrorists outside and some 30 people, friends, and strangers. Knowingly, mindfully, he chose to be their shield against death.

How do you make a choice like that?

Aner Shapira, along with his friend Hersh Goldberg-Polin, attended the Nova Music Festival. A fighter in the Nahal reconnaissance unit on leave, Aner loved music and simply wanted to enjoy himself – like so many others.

The Hamas invasion began under the cover of a missile bombardment. The Nova festival was a rave, outside and with no place to take cover from missiles, let alone a hoard of blood thirsty murderers. Aner, Hersh and others left the festival site and took cover in a “migunit,” a mini-shelter set up in places where it’s not possible to reach a bomb shelter in the 15 seconds between when missiles are launched from Gaza and they slam into Israeli border communities.

 

The tiny shelter, not much larger than the bus stop next to it, wasn’t designed to protect people from terrorists with machine guns, RPGs, and grenades.

When he understood what was happening Aner placed himself at the entrance of the shelter, pushing everyone else behind him. Those that survived reported that he told them what he was going to do and how to continue if he would be killed. 

One of the people huddled behind him took a photo in case no one would survive to tell the story.

This is what heroism looks like.

A car camera on a vehicle stopped outside the shelter continued to record, giving a full picture of what happened.

A terrorist throws a grenade into the shelter. He expects it to or at least wound everyone inside.

Aner, with his bare hands, threw it back.

Seven times.

The terrorist threw another grenade. Aner picked it up with his bare hands in the few seconds before it exploded – and threw it back at the terrorists.

Seven times.

One the eighth, it was too late.

Aner was killed. Hersh’s arm was blown off and he was taken hostage along with a few others the terrorists saw were still alive.

Most of the others inside exploded. Literally. Those who survived did so lying under pieces of other people’s bodies for hours, themselves wounded, not knowing if the noises they heard outside were the terrorists coming back to finish them off or Israelis coming to rescue them.

It took five hours before rescue came. Everyone who was more than lightly injured bled to death.

Zaka volunteers, trying to bring every Jew to proper burial removed the human remains, cleaned up the blood and other fluids (I’ve seen the video of people entering the shelter after the attack which I will not share here). The shelter has been whitewashed but the bullet holes and signs of the grenades remain.

Note the date on the sticker Zaka put on the outside of the shelter, notifying that it is clear and clean - November 19th.

It is very difficult to step into a space where so many people lay in utter terror, wounded and dying.

The shelter is empty yet full. Sanctified by blood and heroism. Horror and awe. The ability to love others more than you love yourself.

Many of the family and friends of those murdered here have come, lit candles and written things on the walls – letters to those they loved who are no longer here, messages of strength and support for the nation and an extraordinary poem honoring Aner.

Written in red, in small letters near the floor, this poem tells the breathtaking story of Aner’s heroism. Something so huge, so moving should perhaps be someplace less modest – and yet, perhaps it’s in the most appropriate place, next to the signs of the shrapnel, by the door where he stood.

The Hebrew poem is more layered and rich in meaning than my translation can convey but everything about this story is deeper than words. Like Aner himself. 

Aner is an unusual name. It sounds like the Hebrew word for “the candle”, ha-ner. It turns out that Aner is a name from the bible of someone who was an ally of Abraham. The name is associated with being connected to our historic roots, true friendship and aspiring for justice. 

How fitting.

The Candle by Tzur Erlich:

Next to the door,
In the public domain,
Which belonged to the
guns,
Which belonged to the Arabs,
Stood the candle. Alone. Secure.
Behind him, like a human flock, treasure [also =  hidden]

And facing him, with a voice not a bell,
They
were hidden from the crowd,
Grenade after grenade, grenade after grenade.

And he was catching the raw [live] grenade,
And threw it while alive,
Throwing his life in response.

One after another he counted,
Like the branches of the
[Chanukah) holiday candles. One... seven... eight.

He counted, one after another, he withheld the plague.
And thus he
gave life. And thus he counted.
One... three... five... until eight.
And on the eighth, the candle
was extinguished.
Aner was extinguished

הנר (צור ארליך)


סָמוּךְ אֵצֶל הַפֶּתַח,

אֵצֶל רְשׁוּת הָרַבִּים

שֶׁהָיְתָה לִרְשׁוּת הָרוֹבִים,

שֶׁהָיְתָה לִרְשׁוּת עֲרָבִים,

עָמַד הַנֵּר. לְבַד. לָבֶטַח.

מֵאֲחוֹרָיו כְּצֹאן אָדָם. מַטְמוֹן.

 

וְאֶל פָּנָיו בְּקוֹל לֹא-פַּעֲמוֹן

נִתְּכוּ בַּנֶּחְבָּאִים מִן הֶהָמוֹן

רִמּוֹן וְרִמּוֹן, רִמּוֹן וְרִמּוֹן.

וְרִמּוֹן וְרִמּוֹן, וְרִמּוֹן וְרִמּוֹן.

 

וְהוּא הָיָה תּוֹפֵס אֶת הָרִמּוֹן הַנָּא,

וּמַשְׁלִיכוֹ בְּעוֹדוֹ חַי,

מַשְׁלִיךְ חַיָּיו מִנֶּגֶד.

 

אֶחָד אַחַר אֶחָד מָנָה

כִּקְנֵי נֵרוֹת הַחַג. אֶחָד… שִׁבְעָה… שְׁמוֹנָה.


מָנָה אַחַר מָנָה מָנַע הַנֶּגֶף.

וְכָךְ הָיָה מַחֲיֶה. וְכָךְ הָיָה מוֹנֶה.

אַחַת… שָׁלוֹשׁ… חָמֵשׁ… וְעַד שְׁמוֹנֶה.

וּבַשְּׁמִינִי כָּבָה הַנֵּר.

כָּבָה עָנֵר

 







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Monday, January 08, 2024

By Forest Rain

97% heaven

Beautiful rolling plains, clear blue sky, and low unobtrusive houses. Spots of greenery, a step away from the desert. Just enough civilization to not feel lonely with open spaces that give the feeling of air. Freedom.

Who wouldn’t imagine they had reached heaven?

Residents of “Otef” Gaza, the Israeli communities near the border with Gaza will tell you they have defined the region they call home as “97% heaven, 3% hell.” 

The hell they were referring to was that of missiles suddenly raining down on them, with 15 seconds (if any) warning to get to a shelter. The hell of periodic rounds of military engagement with Gaza, the demonstrations on the borders where Gazans burned tires polluting their air and making it hard to breathe. The hell of fire balloons from Gaza, setting their fields on fire, burning the crops, and ruining their livelihood for the season. And after every session of hell, the residents of these communities pulled themselves together, rebuilt, and replanted, recreating their heaven.

Never in their wildest dreams did they picture the hell of October 7th.

Nir Oz is one of these communities. (see more about the location and what happened in the kibbutz at: https://oct7map.com/).

Of all the communities, we wanted to see Nir Oz because, at the beginning of the war, our son, an elite combat soldier was there with his unit. In the Kibbutz, among other things, they were tasked with finding survivors and protecting them from terrorists remaining in the area.

They were there after the massacre after the hostages had already been taken to Gaza (among them, the Bibas family). It was days before the IDF was certain they had cleared the Otef of Hamas terrorists.

Having seen via the media, images of devastation and the stream of bodies being carried out of nearby Be’eri, I was worried about what he would experience at Nir Oz. Later he told us that although the same things were happening in Nir Oz, he was focused on the living people. Others were left to deal with the dead and the devastation. He was focused on the survivors. People who had just had their world shattered – family members murdered in front of them, others taken hostage, their homes burned.

What would we see in Nir Oz?

We’ve seen the images from various kibbutzim of burned homes, holes in the walls from bullets and grenades, homes turned upside down. What would it be like to walk through one of these communities, emptied of its residents? The only people there are soldiers, other rescue and rehabilitation professionals planning next steps, and those coming with groups to bear witness and teach about the crimes against humanity committed by Hamas. 

The first thing that struck me was the beauty of Nir Oz. 97% heaven. This was the place where kids played outside unattended, and no one locked their doors.

 


Sleek, healthy cats came rubbing on my ankles to say hello, used to friendly people. Perhaps they miss their people?

As we walked closer to the homes, I was hit by the horrific contrast between the beauty and the destruction, life and death, heaven and hell.


The frame of a Sukkah still standing, a seesaw for kids to play with, a professional BBQ grill and oven… signs of happy family life, amid destruction.


 Homes burnt out. Nothing left.

And then, I began to notice the spray-painted instructions on the buildings. The buildings were checked over and over – for bodies that needed to be removed, for remaining terrorists hiding inside, for booby-traps terrorists might have left behind (in some cases they booby-trapped corpses, knowing that rescue workers would come to get them, hoping their explosives would injure more Jews). Structural engineers also checked the buildings to see if they were structurally sound or not. Coded instructions spray painted on the buildings – which unit checked and what they found. I am not familiar with most of the codes but I do understand the words “sound” or “unsound” and the dates written.


The massacre occurred on 7.10 (October 7th). I was shocked to see buildings marked with dates that ranged from the beginning of the month towards the end of the month 22.10 and even 25.10. It took that long to complete all the necessary checks. That’s the extent of the devastation. So much to recover. So much to check.

What we saw told stories of things that happened to people who were not there. What elderly person was taken from this shelter? Were they killed or taken hostage?

 


Towards the end of our visit, we stood with soldiers in the vantage point towards Gaza. We could see the fence of the Kibbutz and the spot where the terrorists rounded up Jews and selected who to take back to Gaza and who to kill and not take.

Gaza is so close… From our vantage point, we could see the battle taking place in Chan-Younis. It is surreal to be in a quiet, peaceful place and watch the clouds created from explosions and armed cars maneuvering in the Gazan city and hear the gunfire of our soldiers battling Hamas. 

 


Heaven and hell. The people of Nir Oz lived in their little patch of paradise, with monsters just a short walk away.

I left the Kibbutz with an unexpected image. Among many other artistic things people had in their gardens someone, had a sign taken from the Disengagement, when in 2005 Israel pulled out of Gaza, forcibly removing the Jewish population that lived there, mainly in Gush Katif.   


Is this sign pointing to the past or perhaps a prophecy of what the future holds?




Buy the EoZ book, PROTOCOLS: Exposing Modern Antisemitism  today at Amazon!

Or order from your favorite bookseller, using ISBN 9798985708424. 

Read all about it here!

 

 

Monday, January 01, 2024

By Forest Rain

048 is the writing on the wall

The Hamas massacre happened because many people did not take Hamas at their word. Although Hamas openly declared their intentions and goals and followed up consistently with actions, many people in Israel and around the world pretended they did not see, did not know. It was easier. Less scary.

Long before the Hamas massacre of October 7th I’ve been taking note of graffiti in my city, Haifa. The same message, written over and over and over on the walls of my city.

After October 7th, this graffiti has increased.


What do you think the message is here?

048. On a guided tour of Haifa I attended years ago the guide said that the numbers indicate a sense of city pride as they are the Haifa area code, the first 3 numbers of Haifa telephone numbers.

Really? Do you believe anyone would be that enthusiastic about their area code?

The digits 048 seem innocuous. I’m sure I walked past them many times - before I saw them next to Arabic writing, the map of Israel with the watermelon (a fruit adopted as a Palestinian symbol due to its colors), the PLO flag, and the declaration SAVE SHEIKH JARRAH.

In this version of the graffiti, the number 19 appears within the 0.


 

What do you see? I see a clear message, literally written on the wall. 1948. The “disaster” of Israel’s founding (not ‘67 when supposedly peace was thwarted by the “occupation” and “settlements”). 1948.

This is a declaration of intention and aspiration. In Haifa, the city that markets itself as a city of inclusion where Jews and Arabs live peacefully side by side.

We do live side by side, but does that mean there is peace? 

Arabs in Haifa don’t physically attack their Jewish neighbors, at least not usually. There are mass graves in the old Jewish cemetery of Haifa that tell of a different interaction between neighbors pre-1948. The only physical violence I have seen in my time in Haifa was the pogroms of May 2021, during Operation Guardian of the Walls.

Every time there is an Operation in Gaza there are Arab demonstrations in Haifa, where Israeli Arabs, sometimes under missile fire, express their solidarity with Gaza and call “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free”.  

These demonstrators are a minority of the Arab population. That’s true. What’s also true is that they are Israelis who sympathize with terrorists who murder Israelis and declare the ultimate goal of destroying the country which gives them the freedom to scream that they too want to destroy the country.

It is easy to dismiss the “extreme minority.”

It’s also easy to see coexistence in the Arab-owned coffee houses and pubs full of highly educated, sophisticated Arab hipsters. It’s easy not to notice the signs and menus that are written in Arabic and English, with no Hebrew (the language of the land). If you don’t approach the employees of many of these places you might never come across those who will speak to you in perfect English but refuse to answer in Hebrew. If you don’t push them about why they, citizens of Israel won’t speak Hebrew you might never hear the answer that I have heard “I don’t speak the language of the occupation.”

I take people at face value. They don’t always tell you directly what they believe but if you pay attention, there are signs and symbols.

I take note when the smiling and pleasant Arab vendor wears a necklace in the shape of a machine gun. Before October 7th, when asked about his necklace, he laughed and put it under his shirt.

After October 7th, when all the Jews around me were somber and despondent, the Arab vendors in the market were jubilant. Today, at the end of December, the Jewish vendors will tell you in whispers: “They were acting like people act when their favorite sports team wins the championship.”    

But if you don’t go and don’t ask, you might never know.

Interestingly, now that Gaza is being smashed to smithereens, the Arab vendors in the market (and other Arabs in Haifa) have reverted to their normal behavior. Not so loud, not so happy.

People express what they believe in various ways. Sometimes the writing is literally on the wall. Paying attention might just save your life.




Buy the EoZ book, PROTOCOLS: Exposing Modern Antisemitism  today at Amazon!

Or order from your favorite bookseller, using ISBN 9798985708424. 

Read all about it here!

 

 



Friday, December 01, 2023

By Forest Rain


Why do horrible things happen to good people?

Some things are so horrific that they can only be called evil. The Holocaust. The Hamas Massacre of October 7th, the new Holocaust. There aren’t enough words to convey the full extent of the horror. Words like “atrocity” are just too small and the question arises: where was God when these unspeakable events occurred?

Many people mistakenly assume that the trail of God by Jews in Auschwitz is an allegory rather than an actual event. 

Elie Wiesel once declared: "I was there when God was put on trial. It happened at night; there were just three people. At the end of the trial, they used the word chayav, rather than ‘guilty'. It means ‘He owes us something'. Then we went to pray." 

Then we went to pray.

Fast forward to the Holocaust of October 7th. Head of the Southern district of ZAKA, Yossi Landau, described their own “trial”, in the devastated Kibbutz Be’eri.

ZAKA, Israel’s "Disaster Victim Identification" experts are volunteers who collect bodies in cases from car accidents to terror attacks. They are motivated by the belief that the dead deserve sacred respect. Burying them whole and with dignity honors the soul of the departed and recognizes the sacred spark of God that gives life to every human being.

The massacre occurred under the cover of a missile bombardment from Gaza. The search for survivors and the collection of bodies began before the massacre was over, while soldiers were still fighting the terrorists, while missiles were raining down on Israeli communities.

In one of the homes Yossi Landau, described an unfathomable scene.

The family’s dining table was in the middle of the room. On one side of the room, they found the bodies of a father and the mother. They were kneeling on the floor, their hands tied behind their backs. On the other side, as if in a mirror image, a little girl and boy approximately six and seven years old.   

The father had an eye gouged out. The mother had one of her breasts cut off. The boy had several of his fingers chopped off. The little girl, they chopped off her foot.

And after all that the terrorists sat at the table and ate the food the family had prepared for their holiday meal.

Yossi Landau explains that he feels as if the bodies speak to him, telling the story of their death. Although highly experienced in dealing with death but the joyous cruelty evident in this scene was overwhelming to him and his team.

The horror of what this family experienced was so evil, it was like a wall that could not be passed and yet, it needed to be passed in order to grant these souls the dignity of a proper burial.

Yossi Landau described this scene in many interviews. Only in a few did he describe how they dealt with this horror.

He collected himself and told his team to hold hands. They walked into the room. There was blood everywhere. They sat down in the middle, with the bodies and the table with the remains of the meal and they sang a Jewish song:

“I believe
With complete faith
In the coming of the Messiah.

And even though he may tarry,
With all this, I will still wait for him.
I will wait for him every day
May he come.”

And then they got up and began attending to the bodies.

This was just one of the first houses, there were many more to check and no way to know what they would find there.

Where was God amidst this evil?

In Judaism there is a concept of God “hiding His face”, as if stepping out of the story. That doesn’t mean that God is gone or stops caring, it means that we can’t feel the connection to Him. It is perhaps like a parent who steps out of the room to see how the children work out their problems by themselves.

The Jews in Auschwitz judged God and found him “owing” – and then they went to pray.
The Jews in Be’eri sat down in the blood of our tortured family – and sang their faith in the coming of the Messiah.

This is the unfathomable faith of the Jewish People in the face of horror. It is the strength of a People broken, yet still standing – the mysterious factor that leads to deep confusion about Jews.

Who are these people, victimized yet refusing to be victims?

Many conclude that the evil we face must not be so bad – because who could get up again after that?!

Broken yet still standing. God, not guilty but “owing”. We are still here and even in the midst of the blood of our tortured family members, can sing of faith in the coming of the Messiah – not here but with hope for a better future.



Buy the EoZ book, PROTOCOLS: Exposing Modern Antisemitism  today at Amazon!

Or order from your favorite bookseller, using ISBN 9798985708424. 

Read all about it here!

 

 

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This blog may be a labor of love for me, but it takes a lot of effort, time and money. For over 19 years and 40,000 articles I have been providing accurate, original news that would have remained unnoticed. I've written hundreds of scoops and sometimes my reporting ends up making a real difference. I appreciate any donations you can give to keep this blog going.

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