Category Archives: Israel

Israeli Centurion MBT

It was chilly up there on the Golan Heights in late March when I posed beside this Israeli Centurion, a mainstay of the IDF Armored Corps on the Golan in the 1973 war. It was parked at a memorial for the 679 Reserve Armored Brigade which lost 98 men and two score tanks fighting a superior force of Syrians.

The Centurions have been replaced by Merkevas, but the old British tanks are remembered for the accuracy of their 105mm main guns and the way shells from Syria’s Russian T-62s ricocheted off the Centurion plate. Which is why, although the Israeli Armored Corps also purchased U.S. M-48s and M-60s, they bought more of the Centurions and preferred them.

Stuxnet is to laugh

Islam makes you stupid, indeed. Thus the Iranians continue to prattle about their coming nuclear capability, even as the reported Zionist computer virus continues to cripple their nuclear plant—with forecasts of more to come. It’s much better than bombs, and a lot safer for the pilots, too.

IDF’s 7th Armored Brigade

Used to be, in the American army, it was “smoke ’em if ya got ’em,” and almost everyone did. And almost everyone had a Zippo lighter, too.

Nowadays, when the American army is so PC that it can’t stop murderous Muslims from joining its ranks and shooting up its bases, smoking is discouraged and the Zippo has gone the way of running in boots. Well, that part never made a whole lot of  sense. Except, in combat, you might not have time to stop and put on your running shoes.

So what’s the point? And why the picture? That’s a Zippo, right there. And it’s emblazoned with the insignia of the 7th Armored Brigade, which commands the tank formations in the Israel Defense Forces. And they do smoke in the IDF, like just about everyone else in Israel. Well, a lot of them do. Besides, I like to annoy the anti-smokers on the intertubes.

Graffiti in the jungle

I can’t say I like Israeli writer Etgar Keret’s short-short stories much. At least not the ones in The Girl On The Fridge collection. Most of them end too abruptly, just about the time I’m getting interested in the tale. Suppose to be the latest thing, these quickies, but most of them read like the writer ran out of imagination.

One of the few I do like is one that echoes something my Israeli pal Snoopy-the-Goon told me about young people coming off of their obligatory IDF active duty. Many of them leave Israel and light out for the Himalayas or somewhere else tough and adventurous, preferably somewhere no one else has been.

So, in The Journey, the hero does just that, winding up in the jungles of South America, satisfied that he’s finally found a place no other human has trod. Until he sees some secondary growth at the base of a large tree. It barely conceals something carved there. Something old. This: “Nir Dekel, August 5, Paratroopers Kick Ass.”

Why I never give money to the Red Cross

Because, for one thing, their executives live much too high on the, er, hog, already. For another, the whole organization is very political.

Shown, for instance, by their preference for visiting legally-convicted Hamas murderers in Israeli prisons while (until recently) ignoring Israelis kidnapped by Hamas, such as the young IDF enlisted man Gilad Shalit. They have asked to visit him but have never urged Hamas to free him. Why not?

When it comes to international charities, I much prefer the Salvation Army. The “Sally” performs its good works impartially, and its executives live modestly. Relative to the big time, big shot, and biased suits of the ICRC, that is.

Yad Vashem

This is the main hall of Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem. Yes, the walls really do lean in that way, giving you the feeling of being trapped and about to be crushed. One is not supposed to take pictures there, but I wanted this one and so I did it secretly. Most of the exhibits are in the rooms off this disquieting hall.

Most of it I knew, having read a dozen survivor narratives over the years and taken a college history course on the Nazis in the 1960s before the teaching of history slid into its present relativistic swamp.

The pictures, the faces and names of the dead, were the emotional part of the exhibits for me. And the simple quotes, especially the short ones: “Today they came and took my only child away.”

For the first time, though, I got a real understanding of why there was not more resistance among the lambs driven to the slaughter: because the Nazis were very careful, right up until they turned on the gas, to make the people think that death was not the aim of it all.

No one getting off those freight cars at the extermination camps, however already grossly humiliated, could be sure what would happen to them and their families until it was too late.

Monkey In The Middle needs your help

I’ve frequently linked to Katie Norcross’s posts on Israel and other subjects at Monkey In The Middle.

Now she needs some help to keep the blog (and herself) going. I gave something. You should click on this link and consider doing it, too.