Category Archives: Israel

The fear of one little minute

Eleven dead. Forty years ago. For whom a minute of silent memorial now is just too much. My, my, how the world has changed since 1972. From reflexive courage to quake-in-your-boots cowardice.

For those alleged champions of personal courage, the International Olympic Committee, certainly. Scared spitless of the Religion of Peace, as so many are these days while pretending only to be super-tolerant of a religious culture that is, in fact, tolerant of no one. Indeed, a Religion of War. A Religion of Hate.

Only Greek-Irish American sportscaster Bob Costas has the nerve, apparently, to lead an observation of this minute for the Israeli olympic team’s eleven who were slain in a Palestinian massacre forty years ago. Good for him. And on NBC, of all venues, whose news department has become thoroughly biased in recent years. We’ll see if the Mooselimbs try to kill him or someone else at NBC. I’d take that bet. Wouldn’t you?

As for the inevitable call for boycotting the Olympics, frankly, that won’t be a hardship for me. I never follow them anyway. Only things that ever have piqued my interest for more than, uh, one minute, are the ice-skating and ski-jumping and they’re not on this year. This is the summer version of the whoop-dee-do. *

What’s really needed is more than one minute of frankly admitting that a great many non-Muslims are scared to death of Islam. “To death” being the operative phrase. We’re in a war. A curious war that few except the aggressors even admit exists.

UPDATE:  In this case, though, there’s something else going on as well. Especially considering there have been one-minute Olympic memorials before.

* I forgot beach volleyball, the laugher “sport” mainly noted for its female T&A. I will deny myself that as a boycott statement.

The world’s oldest terrorist: Still dead

“He was overweight, ate an unhealthy diet, worked long hours, didn’t take care of himself (he believed eating honey would keep him healthy), and had very bad doctors despite their local reputations.

“So we know who killed Arafat: his doctors, entourage, movement, and of course his own body. Yet when I go to Yahoo, what do I see but Arafat’s ‘mysterious’ death as the lead story in the entire world, as if any accusation made against Israel must be true.”

Am Yisrael Chai

Friendly Fire: A Duet

This deceptively beautiful story may not be A.B. Yehoshua’s finest novel, but it deserves to be ranked with the best. Some of the Amazon reviewers say the English translation from the Hebrew isn’t very good, but I found it thoroughly absorbing through ten days of intermittant reading during a recent trip to Israel. And hated to see the tale end.

Absorbing, in part, because Alef Bet, as the author prefers to be known (for the beginning of the Hebrew alphabet, perhaps meaning sui generis, Latin for unique), takes such pains (without in any way seeming to do so) to put the reader in Israel with the Israelis and their daily lives. And not just “the situation,” as they call the conflict with the Palestinian leadership and the rest of their bad neighborhood’s thugs.

The book’s title has multiple meanings which are gradually revealed throughout the story and the most obvious ones are not the most telling. And the characters, ah, so realistic, the young and the old. If the dialogue sometimes leans towards the expository, each internal narrative is so richly human that you hardly notice. This one is definitely worth your time and money.

Thou shalt drill, baby, thou shalt drill.

The hitherto undiscovered 11th commandment on those tablets at Sinai is making a sudden appearance. Read it and weep, Saudi Arabia. Read it and weep.

Things We’ll Miss About Israel

As Mrs. Charm, Mr. Boy and I return to Texas today from our 10-day visit to Israel, here are some of the things (a few cribbed from this insider’s list) we’ll miss, in addition to my longtime blog-friend and host Snoopy-the-Goon and his family:

Fresh vegetables for breakfast.

An entire country slowly shutting down and settling into Shabbat around 4 pm, every Friday.

Seeing young children on urban streets after dark, not always accompanied by an adult but unafraid.

The generally friendly people who seldom failed to nod and say “Shalom.”

The supply of beautiful women, with generous decolletage, which never seemed to run out.

Chez Stephanie B&B ski resort (photo above) on the slopes of Mount Hermon where we stayed one night. Wonderfully cool temperatures after much lowland heat and humidity.

The brave young soldiers of the IDF, men and women, black and white, their automatic rifles slung over their shoulders at the mall and on the street. Even hitch-hiking, which they are no longer supposed to do.

Pretty sunsets and puffy clouds which easily rival the Texas ones.

The smell of eucalyptus at Bet She’an in the lower Galilee.

The steep, ancient rock path at Gamla which Mr. Boy’s encouragement (“just a little way more, dad”) finally got me up to the top without a heart attack.

The informal (“individual,” Snoopy says) way most Israelis dress most of the time.

Camel Crossing signs in the mountainous Negev Desert.

The thousands of prayer notes seeking help from God rolled up tightly and stuffed into crevices in the Kotel.

Ice cream on a stick for five shekels (about a dollar).

The funny way some of the lower-domination coins are larger than the higher-denomination ones.

The way drivers sat patiently, without honking, in an almost two-hour traffic jam in Jerusalem caused by forest fires whose smoke blanketed the main highway, but honked repeatedly in the hour-long jam caused by Russian PM Putin’s visit to the city.

Riding the Swiss cable car at Masada.

The hugely-generous buffet supper and breakfast at the Lot Hotel on the Dead Sea, and the colorful flowers in the courtyard at Gil’s Guest Rooms where we actually spent the night—even if the Wi-Fi had a poor signal and kept cutting out.

The round-abouts which make a lot more sense and are easier to use than the four-way stops in the U.S., where no one can remember who is supposed to go first.

Those curious buttons on the tank tops of Israeli toilets: I finally figured out the difference between the two of them shortly before we left.

The juicy cucumbers you can eat like popsicles, without cutting them, one bite at a time.

Diced cucumbers and tomatoes of the ubiquitous Israeli salad.

Red-clay tile roofs on many residences and more all the time.

Roof-top water heaters which make a lot of sense in a country with so much sun. And would in Texas, too.

Sparklers on restaurant birthday cakes.

Home of the Nemos

You know, the clownfish called Nemo. One of their homes would, strangely enough, be the Negev Desert of Southern Israel. Interesting story of aquaculture in the Arava Valley around Eilat. Very industrious people, the Israelis. A great place to visit, despite what the lying liberal news media (War, war, war!) may have you thinking. Check it out.