Simon Soesan's stories and blogs

Greetings from Frankfurt

2012-02-24T00:46:00.000-08:00

Greetings from Frankfurt

I did not recognize the language at first. My taxi driver was trying to get along in the Frankfurt traffic, while listening to a radio station via the internet. "What language is that?", I asked, interested. "Afghani." , he replied with a heavy accent. "What is it about?", I asked. He looked at me through the rearview mirror.

"It is about the war. It is about how over forty nations interfere in our country without understanding what it is all about.", he answered. "Well, isn't it about Taliban, terrorists etcetera?", I asked. He looked at me in anger.

"No, man, that's what the media do, you see? The Taliban was a stupid bunch of extremists but they had no power, no clout. It is about what the foreigners really want: money." His phone rang and, while stile listening to the radio and fighting his way through traffic, he started a shouting match, in Afghan, while giving me the eye.

"Here, my friends says to tell you it is all about three things.", he suddenly shouted at me. "First, war is business and they just make money, second it is about our national resources. They are plundering and stealing everything and there is nothing we can do. But the most important thing to remember is the third one: the Jews. It is always the Jews. They sent these forces under the pretext that there are terrorists in my country, which is bullshit. They made the world hate Muslims, which is a sin. They control everything: the news, the media, the papers, the TV, the magazines and the media (he did not even blink saying that). It is the Jews that destroyed Iraq, it is the Jews that destroy Syria, it is the Jews everywhere and all the time." His friend over the phone gave a rapid back-up in Afghan.

"So you live in Germany.", I remarked, trying to change the subject. "Of course in Germany!", he said, while looking at me as if I was an infantile. "Where else? Only Germany taught the Jews a lesson. And it took them 70 years, but now they rule the world and not the Jews. Germany is the place to be if you want to finish this cancer, which is eating away civilized people like the Afghani people. Only Germany had the guts to stand up and they will lead again in the final uprising against all Jews. I myself I have a nose for recognizing Jews. Would not have that dirt in my car, no Sir." He continued with his friend over the phone in a lively conversation.

"So you would be an expert on recognizing Jews.", I remarked. He looked at me, took a deep breath and said: "I can smell it. I can see it in their eyes. My country is ruined because of the Jews. The world is a mess because of the Jews. And, with the help of the Prophet in his mercy, we shall end the existence of Jews in this world soon, bismillah!".

I nodded in deep understanding. We got to my destination, Frankfurt municipality. The fare was 9.50 and I gave him a ten. I opened my door, but waited for the small change and held my hand out for it. He gave it to me and turned around. "What? No tip?". I got out of the a

"We Jews do not tip idiots.", I said, while slamming the door shut. His astonished face was my bonus for the day.

©Simon Soesan

The Jewish Nation on alert!

2012-01-15T23:02:00.001-08:00

The Jewish Nation On Alert

The alert was given out at the beginning of last week. Nationwide, people began to prepare. We are experienced in alerts and do not take these alerts lightly, certainly not when it is a matter of national alertness. The two main TV channels, Channel 10 and Channel 2, sent out their reporters to keep the public updated of every possible change. Channel 1, our national archaic channel, was looking for black and white footage to replace the cost of sending reporters out to cover the event.

All over Israel, in cities, villages, kibbutzim, moshavim, army posts and hospitals: everyone was getting ready after the alert was given and social media, text-messages and even in synagogues, churches and mosques were flooded with anxious Israelis, all waiting for things to happen: SNOW!

Shivering reporters reported live on TV on the current situation: were there any clouds in sight? What size? What color? Do they look like snow-clouds? Other reporters went to the Golan Heights and interviewed residents about their preparedness for the snow? What kind of coats? What boots do the children wear? How do you heat the house and what kind of soup is that boiling in your kitchen? Can I taste it? In Tel Aviv residents rushed to Kikar Hamedina, where world's top-brands are for sale at prices that can get you a flat in Ofakim. The Tel Aviv residents checked their Jeeps, SUV's and made sure the roof rack showed the brand of ski's they would take along, while informing reports that, of course, abroad is so much better, but they would support the local business for a day or so.

Schools offered special classes on snow. People started to measure the time it would take to get first in line at the entrance to our only snowy mountain, Mount Hermon. And then it happened! First reports indicated 10 centimeters of snow! Thousand rushed to their cars and started their trip to the White Walhalla. Once arrived after hours of driving, they were angry to hear that the gates to the snowy mountain remained closed – the snowfall was not enough to allow entry. "Who's snow do they think it is?", asked an angry driver. "It's all because of this stupid government – they are all corrupt, I tell ya!", shouted another. "Messiah, Messiah!" sung and danced a group of religious youngsters.

But the gates remained closed. Reporters with clattering teeth reported that, as the viewers can see, the snow has risen to 12 centimeters! Still the management of the Hermon site would not budge. And then came the storm…

TV, radio internet and secret army messages reported that the storm brought heavy rain over the Holy Land and snow, yes! snow! On the Golan Heights and that the white powder was reaching, 20, 30 and more centimeters. The traffic jam at the entrance of the site was growing. People had brought food, warm drinks, blankets and stayed put in their cars, demanding the UN intervene at this shameful refusal to open the site, just because of a snowstorm. Religious groups in Bnei Brak and Mea Shearim threatened "pulsa d'nura" a magic ceremony resulting in itches and pimples for those refusing to open the gates to the White Heaven….

The almost-frozen reporters of Channel 10 and 2, blue from the cold, reported that management had given in and millions of Israelis rushed to the mountain. Even with a meter of snow, half of the ski slopes could not be used. But that did not stop the exited crowd. Our enemies watched with amazement how the Chosen People went gaga over white powder.

Extra news broadcasts showed the People of Israel, with no discrimination of race, religion or sex, rampaged the Hermon Mountain, rolled in the snow, put on skis and slammed into anything on their way and had fun. Orthodox Jews forgot about insisting women sit in the back, Palestinians forgot their claim to whatever it was they claimed: there was snow!

Some of the visitors interviewed on TV said they normally go abroad, to real ski slopes, but hey, this is OUR snow! Some tried to take some snow home in their bags, others Twittered from the site and others uploaded pictures and videos to Facebook, because we go a bit crazy when snow falls.

It is now a few days after the big snowfall and a new alert is out for the days to come. More snow, and more traffic jams on the Golan Heights. Will the snow get higher? Will it snow in Jerusalem? The mayor of Jerusalem issued orders for the snow teams to be ready – they have not worked a single day in so many years – and at the Wailing Wall special prayers are being held for the snow to reach Jerusalem. Discussions on radio and TV explained to us, the simple people, why we deserve snow this year. Will we be the Chosen People for snow, too?

You could watch the TV, but I believe the reporters are frozen by now.

We stay on alert!

©Simon Soesan

Petje af!

2012-01-13T00:06:00.000-08:00

Petje af

Het waren de zwartste dagen van ons volk. Duitsland bezette veel landen en ook Nederland. Twee jonge Joodse mensen, met hun beider ouders, gingen onderduiken. De vaders hadden een plek ontdekt, in Limburg: Sevenum. Een Hollandse familie, de familie Snellen, die ook actief waren in heel wat verzetwerk, nam hun op, maar niet voordat ze trouwden. En dus, op een koude dag in Januari 1943, trouwden ze – met Jodenster en al, in een korte ceremonie.
Toen ze in 1945 begrepen dat ze, dankzij deze goede Nederlanders, het ergste overleefd hadden, gingen ze terug naar Amsterdam. Langzaam kwam de waarheid naar buiten. De jonge vrouw was haar broertje verloren. Hij stierf een tergende dood in Auschwitz. Van de honderden fanilie, vrienden en kennissen kwamen er slecht enkelen terug. Later zou blijken dat het grootste percentage Joden, dat door de Nazis was afgeslacht, uit Nederland was gekomen.
Ze begonnen met hun leven weer op te bouwen. In 1946 werd hun eerste geboren, een zoon. Tien jaar later, na nog een zoon en twee dochters, werd ik geboren.
Mijn ouders bouwden hun leven op in Beverwijk. Eerst een herenmodezaak, later nog een damesmodezaak, die beiden floreerden. In de zestiger jaren kwam daar nog de eerste boetiek van Europa bij: Shop-a-gogo, die feestelijk werd geopend door niemand minder dan de Bintangs. Later waren er zelfs 5, 6 winkels, een keten.
De vijf kinderen gingen ieder hun eigen kant op en eind zestiger jaren kwam de volgende generatie eraan met de geboorte van hun eerste kleindochter. Deze stoet van kleinkinderen, dertien in totaal, kwam pas in de jaren tachtig tot einde. Toen begon de stoet van achterkleinkinderen: 18 tot nu toe!
13 Januari vieren ze feest: 69 jaar getrouwd en nog steeds wonen ze op zichzelf. Met alle ups en downs die een ieder van ons ervaart en waar sommigen onder ons voor afhaken, gingen ze gewoon door.

Het is een stel apart, mijn ouders. Terwijl mijn vader vol energie met van alles en nog wat bezig blijft, is mijn moeder degene die de dingen graag van een afstand bekijkt en dan op het juiste moment met een simpele zin een voltreffer maakt. Twee maal in de week spreek ik ze want ik woon niet meer in Nederland. Dankzij de familie Snellen uit Sevenum leven mijn ouders, mijn broers en zusters, hun kinderen en hun kleinkinderen, leef ik en heb ik kinderen en al een kleinzoon.
Mijn ouders hebben er 69 jaar samen op zitten. Veel hebben we van ze geleerd: nooit op te geven, optimistisch blijven en weten dat, wat er ook gebeurt, hoeveel klappen je ook krijgt, je altijd weer moet opstaan.

Ze kwamen met z’n tweeën uit de oorlog. Als we nu, kinderen, kleinkinderen en achterkleinkinderen, met partners, allemaal bij ze langs willen, moet er plaats worden gemaakt voor bijna 50 man. Daar neem ik mijn petje voor af. Voor de familie Snellen uit Sevenum, en voor mijn ouders: Jaap en Betty Soesan.

© Simon Soesan

Het licht van de Almachtige

2011-12-28T22:20:00.000-08:00

Het licht van de Almachtige

Dat is de vertaling van de naam Or-El. Toen ze geboren werd, was het duidelijk dat ze invalide zou zijn: ze had een spierafwijking en de dokters voorspelden haar ouders dat Or-El misschien tien jaar te leven had. Maar dokters weten niet alles en Or-El had andere plannen. Dankzij de inspanning en support van haar ouders, overkwam ze de spierziekte en ging 'gewoon' naar school. Dat was niet genoeg voor Or-El: ze moest de beste van haar klas zijn en werd dat. Een vrachtwagen chauffeur zonder rijbewijs zorgde ervoor dat haar droom bijna kapot ging: op twaalfjarige leeftijd was ze betrokken bij een auto-ongeluk en brak haar bekken, waardoor haar aangeboren ziekte weer terug kwam.
Met veel hulp, support en een ijzeren wil kwam ze ook hier weer bovenop, alleen was ze wel voor de rest van haar leven in een rolstoel, want haar benen bleven verlamd.. De dokters voorspelden ook een geestelijke klap. Maar dokters weten niet alles en Or-El – de lezer raad het al- had andere plannen. Na haar revalidatie ging ze door met leren en haalde de verloren tijd in. Medisch hadden de dokters geen uitleg voor wat dit meisje presteert, maar, zoals gezegd, dokters weten nu eenmaal niet alles.

Or-El ging door en eindigde haar middelbare school met prachtresultaten. Haar ouders zagen haar al op de universiteit, maar weer had Or-El andere plannen: ze wilde 'gewoon' de dienst in, net als iedereen. Uiteraard was daar veel tegenstand: wat moet het leger met een invalide soldate? Daar had Or-El wel een antwoord op, want ze wilde instructrice worden. Alle tegenwerpingen van het leger werden door Or-El beantwoord en het werd duidelijk dat dit meisje gewoonweg niet te stoppen was.

Ze ging het leger in en. Zonder speciale hulp, deed de recruten-periode, leerde schieten en ging door naar de cursus die ze wilde doen en werd instructrice.
Toen ze ingewijd werd als instructrice, vroeg haar ontroerde vader of ze nu tevreden was. "Nee, Abba.", was haar antwoord. "Ik wil officier worden."
De lezer moet begrijpen dat het Israelische leger soms uitzonderingen maakt voor hartkoppige jongeren met een invaliditeit en ze toelaat.
Maar geen enkele invalide is ooit toeglaten tot de officiers cursus. We hebben invalide officieren, die invalide werden tijdens hun dienst en na revalidatie weer doorgingen in het leger. Waar Or-El ook aanklopte, er werd uitgelegd dat ze vanwege haar invaliditeit dus geen officier kon worden.

Maar ons leger, net als dokters, weet niet alles. En ja, Or-Tel had andere plannen. Dus vulde ze 'gewoon' een formulier in om op de officierscursus te komen. Iemand vond deze gotspe wel grappig en besloot haar naar de examens te laten komen. De gedachte was dat dit invalide meisje deze examens nooit zou kunnen doen.
Het kan vervelend klinken, maar Or-El had andere plannen en slaagde bij alle examens. Maar dat werd haar lekker niet verteld.

De opperbevelhebber van ons leger had via-via over Or-El gehoord en besloot zich er persoonlijk mee in te mengen.

Een paar dagen geleden was er grote consenatie in de basis waar Or-El dienst doet: de opperbevelhebber zou op bezoek komen en wilde weten wat er nu allemaal geleerd word bij hun. Het bezoek zou niet al te lang duren, maar de opperbevelhebber ging van klas tot klas, tot hij bij Or-El kwam.
"En wat leer jij de soldaten?", vroeg hij haar. "Lichamelijke opvoeding, commandant.", antwoorde Or-El zenuwachtig, hopende dat de opperbevelhebber nu naar de volgende klas zou gaan. Maar dit keer had zij het verkeerd.
"Hoe dan?", vroeg Yaalon.
Or-El had hier wel een antwoord op. "Volgt U me maar even, commandant.", zei ze rustig, terwijl ze in haar rolstoel vooruit ging.
Buiten ging ze hem voor naar diverse instrumenten en legde hun functie uit. De stoere generaal liep naar een van de instrumenten en vroeg Or-El om instructies, die ze heel professioneel gaf. Tot haar verbijstering hing de opperbevelhebber van het Israelische leger even later aan een instrument en deed de oefening zoals ze had uitgelegd.

"Laten we maar weer naar binnen gaan, het is hier te warm, buiten.", zei Yaalon, en liep haar voor naar haar klas, gevolgd door belangstellenden en pers. Toen ze haar klas binnekwam zag ze dat haar ouders en broertje er ook waren, maar ze had geen sjoege waarom. Zelfs toen de pers binnen kwam met camera's en microfonen, dacht ze nog steeds in haar eigen, bescheiden manier, dat het om de basis ging.

De opperbevelhebber nam het woord en legde uit hoe belangrijk het is dat soldaten, behalve hun beroep als vechters, ook andere dingen leren. Hoe speciaal het was dat juist deze eenheid, die zoveel meer leerde aan de soldaten, gevestigd was in Sde Boker, de thuisbasis en laatste rustplaats van de stichter van onze Staat, David Ben Goerion.

"Maar al dit is niet de reden dat ik hier ben gekomen. Wat ik nu mee te delen heb,", zei de generaal, "heeft niets te maken met iemand een mitswe te doen. Noch trekken we iemand voor. Het gaat om jou, Or-El. Tegen alle verwachtingen in ben je in dienst gegaan, want je wilde je land dienen. Ondanks je invaliditeit is het je gelukt om hier dienst te doen. Maar je eiste meer en hoewel je is uitgelegd dat het onmogelijk is, ben je gewoon doorgegaan en je hebt de examens gedaan voor de officiersopleiding. Or-El, er zijn geen invaliden op deze cursus geweest en er zijn geen plannen om dat ooit toe te laten. Maar we hadden jou nog niet ontmoet, noch meegemaakt.
Or-El, het is mij een koved om je mede te delen, dat je geslaagd bent voor de examens en dat we je dus aannemen voor de opleiding als officier. Ik wil nogmaals zeggen dat je dit zelf hebt gedaan: je hebt prachtige resultaten en ik wens je succes."
De opwinding was groot en de ontroering van haar ouders trokken de belangstelling weg van de generaal, die stilletjes zijn neus snoot.

Onze Staat is bijna vierenzestig jaar oud. We zijn verre van perfect en kunnen ons de tsores beter herinneren dan de simches. Maar hier en daar flitst er wat: kleine wondertjes, dingen die ons trots maken om hier te zijn.
Or-El is een pionier. Maar er zijn tientallen jongeren, die vanwege lichamelijk en soms geestelijke tekorten niet het leger in hoeven en toch gaan. Omdat ze willen. Omdat ze trots zijn.

Geinponem

2011-12-08T23:57:00.000-08:00

Geinponem

Toen Ze’ev vijftien jaar geleden tijdens een legeractie zijn onderbeen verloor, maakte hij daar geen drama van. Ze’ev, die bij de infanterie reservedienst deed, bond zelf zijn been af en wachtte vervolgens rustig tot een helikopter hem naar een ziekenhuis bracht. Aviva, zijn vrouw, was erg overstuur, maar Ze’ev beloofde haar gauw weer op de been te zijn en dat meende hij letterlijk. Binnen drie maanden kon hij met zijn prothese omgaan en na nog drie maanden liep hij als vanouds met zijn kunstbeen. Hij ging weer fietsen, dansen en zelfs voetballen.
Met Ze’ev is het altijd lachen. Ik ging eens met hem mee schoenen kopen. De argeloze verkoper was bijzonder verrast, toen hij bij het uittrekken van een schoen niet alleen de schoen, maar ook de prothese in zijn hand hield. Of die keer toen hij mee was op zakenreis naar China en daar een voetmassage nam. Ik hoor nog de kreet van de masseuse toen zij zijn kunstbeen vast hield.
Toen Aviva enkele jaren geleden omkwam in de explosie in het Matsarestaurant, was hij een tijd de weg kwijt. Ze konden geen kinderen krijgen, maar hadden meer dan genoeg aan elkaar gehad. Hij wilde geen medelijden en werkte harder dan ooit. Wie hem zo bezig zag, besefte niet wat een tragedie hij met zich mee droeg. Het duurde een jaar, maar uiteindelijk vond hij zijn gevoel voor humor terug. Tijdens onze Onafhankelijkheidsdagbarbecue verbaasde hij de toeschouwers door bij de aftrap de hele prothese mee weg te schoppen.
Ze’ev is een geinponem en zijn humor werkt aanstekelijk. Zelfs toen hij onlangs werd aangereden door een vrachtwagen bleef hij grappen maken. “Dat moet wel een heel bijzondere vrouw zijn geweest die op me viel,” waren zijn eerste woorden toen hij in het ziekenhuis bijkwam. Toen hij de zuster vroeg of ze hem even uit zijn schoenen hielp, bleek zij niet onder de indruk. Zij zei niets, liep weg en kwam terug met een gigantische injectiespuit. Ze’ev keek haar verschrikt aan. “Daar ga je mij toch niet mee prikken?” vroeg hij angstig. “Nee hoor,” was haar antwoord, “ik wilde je alleen de stuipen op het lijf jagen.” Op zijn verbijsterde reactie reageerde ze met: “jij begon.” Sindsdien dollen ze elkaar continu. Ze gingen samenwonen en namen iedereen in hun omgeving in de maling. Toen ze besloten te trouwen, namen wij revanche. Na hun uitnodiging stuurden wij een correctie naar alle genodigden. Naast de zaal in het hotel waar ze gingen trouwen, huurden wij een andere zaal en regelden met het hotel dat alles gewoon doorging, alleen in een andere zaal. Bij aankomst van het bruidspaar in “hun” zaal, was daar alleen een fotograaf…
Want Ze’ev is niet de enige geinponem.

© Simon Soesan

Sje Hichianoe*

2011-12-07T04:50:00.000-08:00

Sje Hichianoe

Vier jaar geleden stuurden we onze zoon het leger in. Net 18 jaar, net klaar met zijn middelbare schoolopleiding. Hij wilde niet dat we ons ergens mee bemoeiden. `Ik red het zelf wel, laat me nou gaan.`, was zijn simpel verzoek. `Laat me nou gaan`…. Ouders in Israel weten wat het betekent als je je kind naar het leger stuurt, want echt, in een keer laat je ze gaan. In een grote zaal worden hun namen opgeroepen en dan gaan ze per groep de bus in. En het enige wat je als ouder dan nog mag doen is uitwuiven. Geen tranen, want dat vinden de kinderen gênant. Ik zeg ze vaak dat ze alles over 20, 30 jaar wel zullen begrijpen, als ze zelf aan de beurt zijn, hoewel ik, als eeuwige optimist, graag denk dat misschien tegen die tijd er geen leger meer nodig is. Ik moest denken aan die vroege, koude morgen in januari 1976, toen in mee kon rijden met een wagen uit de kibboets, die toevallig naar Haifa reedt. Om 5 uur ´s morgens stond ik daar, alleen en met een tas met wat ondergoed en een toilettasje, meer niet, en liep door de verlaten straten om me aan te melden als rekruut. Onze zoon kwam met ouders en zussen en met een gloednieuw mobiel speeltje, zodat we hem veel konden bellen. Zijn grote tas was vol met kleding, snoep, sokken en handdoeken.

Hij had gehoord van een cursus in het leger. Geruchten vertelden dat het het nieuwste van het nieuwste was, het beste van het beste. En wilde erbij zijn. Na drie bange en verplichte jaren was hij niet alleen op die cursus geslaagd, maar was hij ook al de commandant van die cursus. Hij besloot een extra jaar dienst te doen, als beroeps, `om iets terug te geven`, zoals hij het zelf formuleerde.

Wij zijn een gekke club, de ouders van de soldaten in het eerste Joodse leger sinds het jaar 70 AD. We denken de hele tijd aan onze kinderen, zijn bezorgd als ze in hun basis zijn, bezorgd als ze onderweg zijn en bezorgd als ze niet op tijd bellen. We gaan bij ze op bezoek als ze het weekend in de basis moeten blijven en het maakt niet uit waar dat is: we komen eraan! Met potten en pannen en niet alleen wat te eten voor de soldaat of soldate, maar ook voor hun vrienden; alsof je een weeshuis te eten moet geven, Joodse versie. Het leger, altijd bijdehand, heeft bij de meeste basissen naast de ingang een soort picknick plek gemaakt, met tafels en bomen, zodat er schaduw is tegen de vaak felle zon. Ook wij zijn vaak naar onze kinderen gegaan en zeker onze zoon, die met zijn eenheid door het hele land reisde, hebben veel en vaak bezocht. Naast het eten was er ook zorg voor schone kleding, dus kregen wij van hem al zijn vuile was in ruil voor de verschoning. Het scheelde vaak niet veel, of dat de uitlaatpijp over de weg kraste, zoveel spul moest er van zijn moeder mee.

En het maakte niet uit waar, hoever of wat voor weer het was: we hebben met hem en zijn kameraden op de Golan, in de Negev en op nog vele andere plaatsen gegeten. In 38 graden hitte en in plensbuien, onder grote paraplu´s. Het maakte niet uit: wij kwamen. Uiteraard werden we als volslagen idioten behandeld: alleen zij, de soldaten van nu, weten wat het leger in feite is, alleen zij weten wat het is om in het leger te zijn, op wacht te staan, te trainen. Wij hun ouders, weten van niets, alsof we elkaar niet in het leger hebben ontmoet, alsof ik geen 22 jaar reserve dienstplicht heb gedaan. `Hoe ging dat bij jullie in het leger, met die knuppels en katapulten?`, was zijn lievelingsvraag, om ons even op ons nummer te zetten. En uiteraard namen we het allemaal met liefde en onconditionele loyaliteit op.

Ook onze zoon vond een vriendin in het leger: twee jaar geleden zag hij een soldate op een busstation en liep gewoon op haar af en vroeg om haar telefoonnummer. Ze stemde toe en sindsdien zijn ze samen. In de vier jaar dat onze zoon in het leger van ons land diende, hebben we slapeloze nachten meegemaakt. Iedere keer ´als er wat aan de hand was´, zoals men hier pleegt te zeggen, wisten we dat hij er misschien bij betrokken kon zijn. Uren en soms dagen van zenuwen voordat je wat van hem hoort, en dan nog was het vaak `niks aan de hand, gaat je niets aan, Abba`.

Maar vier jaar zijn voorbij. Niet dat we nu rustig aan kunnen doen: meneer moet, net als vele van zijn lotgenoten, ´even ademhalen´ en gaat voor een tijd naar het Verre, en veel te verre, Oosten. Maar we hebben hem heelhuids terug gekregen, na zijn dienst in het leger en zijn apetrots op hem.

22 jaar oud blijft hij ons kind en we zijn de Almachtige dankbaar dat we dit veilig hebben mogen doorstaan.

Sje Hichianoe – ameen!

©Simon Soesan

*Sje Hichianoe - Hebreeuws voor: dat Hij ons liet leven (om dit mee te maken).

Don't confuse us with facts

2011-10-30T21:00:00.001-07:00

Don't confuse us with facts

Imagine this: an American army unit attacks the Taliban. The US president, a democrat, informs the world this is out of the reach of his responsibility, because this specific army unit is republican. Or imagine the German chancellor apologizing for rockets being fired out of Germany into, let's say, Russia, claiming that the culprits are a small political fraction in Germany, for whom she is not responsible. Sounds unreasonable?

Lebanon, an independent country, has been shooting rockets and missiles for many years into Israel. Claiming it was done by Hezbollah, a political party/international recognized terror group (with business interests around the globe), the world said "aha" and switched to MTV. Of course, the world understands that the Lebanese government is not in charge of the Hezbollah, that’s a completely different thing, no? No?

Now let's look at the Palestinian Authority. The last agreement signed with Yassar Arafat, in 1995, states clearly that the current situation in the West Bank allows for Israeli presence in specific areas, allows for Israeli settlements, until a final agreement has been reached. Being a split country, the president of the PA resides in Ramallah, while the prime minister lives in Gaza. This prime minister loves to shout that he and his party, Hamas (another international recognized terror group) are in full control of Gaza. And although Israel left the Gaza strip unilateral in 2005, they keep shouting that Israel occupies the Gaza strip. And the world says 'aha' and switches to Big Brother. Even the president of the PA keeps shouting Israel is occupying the West Bank, totally ignoring the interim agreement of 1995, stating Israeli presence is allowed and not an occupation. And of course the world says 'aha', and switches to E! for the latest on Charley Sheen.

Enter the current Israeli government, lead by the ever-switching Netanyahu. Recently the south of Israel has been under fire (again) from Gaza (again). The Islamic Jihad claimed responsibility. The Hamas premier claimed he can't be blamed: it's them and not him. And the Israeli government, in its infinite wisdom, plays along: it's not them; it's the others, watchamacallit group. And, after 30 for rockets land in Israel, Israel shoots back. And the world shouts "stop the occupation!", and switches to CNN. How dare they! Those occupying Jews! Those imperialist Zionists!

And while Iran promises to relive the world from this cancer called Israel, and while Hezbollah happily keeps buying rockets from Europe and Russia, the world watched in great tension who will be announced winner of Survivor.

You see, it's not Lebanon. And it's not the PLO or Hamas. It's these uncontrollable small fractions that want to put an end to the Zionist occupation of…what? Where? Never mind. Don't confuse us with facts.

©Simon Soesan

Het Lustrum van de zwemvereniging

2011-10-16T02:01:00.000-07:00

In 2010 vierde Haboniem haar lustrum. Deze zionistische vereniging, waar ik ben opgegroeid en uiteindelijk naar Israel van ben gegaan, heeft me vele goede herinneringen gegeven en zal altijd een speciaal plekje in mijn hart hebben. Echter, op het lustrum werd het me duidelijk dat meer dan 80% van de leden nooit naar Israel zijn geemigreerd en geen plannen hebben om dit ooit te doen, terwijlze dezelfde plannen voor hun kinderen hebben: wel op vakantie gaan, misschien ook een tijdje verblijven, maar echt wonen - nee dank je. Terwijl het doel van lid zijn van een zionistische vereniging het emigreren naar Israel is.

Het volgende satirische verslag werd door diverse Joodse media geweigerd voor publicatie:

Het Lustrum van de zwemvereniging.
Hoewel ze 6 jaar geleden al een grote reünie beleefden, besloot men om het zestig jarig jubileum niet zomaar voorbij te laten gaan: een Lustrum! Een groep van enthousiaste jongeren staken veel tijd en moeite in de organisatie. Er werd zelfs een boek geschreven!
Als jarenlange zwemmer besloot ook ik de vereniging te eren en kwam langs voor het Grote Feest. Eenmaal binnen bleef ik handen schudden met mensen die ik bijna 40 jaar niet heb gezien: allemaal zweminstructeurs die mij de liefde voor zwemmen aanleerden en waardoor ik tot de dag van vandaag een actief zwemmer ben. Hoewel ik met veel plezier vrienden en vriendinnen tegenkwam en we onder veel gelach anekdotes vertelden, voelde ik dat er iets niet klopte. Toen de eerste spreker begon te spreken, voelde ik nattigheid en begreep ik wat er aan de hand was: zijn droge redevoering was het bewijs! Hij was geen echte zwemmer!
Hij had het over, hoe jaren geleden, hij bij de zwemclub was gekomen. Hij had zelfs een beetje gezwommen. Maar was sindsdien op het droge gebleven. Nooit meer gezwommen. Om zijn geweten te sussen – vertelde hij zelfs – maakte hij zelfs geregeld geld over naar het zwembad zelf, maar echt gaan zwemmen…nee, dat deed hij al bijna 40 jaar niet meer. Ook de volgende sprekers hadden het erover: hoe ze hun kinderen ook lid hadden gemaakt van de zwemvereniging. Niet dat ze echt zouden gaan zwemmen, maar zo kwamen ze nog eens onder gelijkdenkende families – mensen die hun hart aan zwemmen hadden verpand, maar eigenlijk nooit zouden gaan zwemmen. Ze spetterden wat rond, maakten zich af en toe een beetje nat, maar zwemmen? Waarom?
Terwijl foto´s op de achtergrond de geschiedenis van de zwemvereniging vertelden, hadden de diverse sprekers het over waarom het zo belangrijk was om toch wat zwemmen te leren, en waarom je dan best lid kunt blijven bij de zwemvereniging, zonder ooit te gaan zwemmen. En dat je dan best het recht hebt om kritiek te uiten op de zwemvereniging - ook al zwem je zelf nooit en heb je eigenlijk geen echte praktische zwemervaring.
So what?
Meer mensen hadden het erover en opeens leek het alsof de sprekers zich meer wilden concentreren op hoe leuk het kattenkwaad is geweest toen ze klein waren dan het ideologisch praten over hoe men lid is van een zwemvereniging en helemaal niet zwemt, slechts spetters en de boel nat maakt, maar dus in feite niets uithaald.
Dat was het! En iedereen moest lachen om die leuke grappige verhalen van die goede ouwe tijd, toen zwemmen een excuus was om lol te hebben.
Ook ik kreeg de eer de menigte toe te spreken. Bedroefd merkte ik op dat er van de meer dan 200 gasten slechts 3 mensen aanwezig waren die echt zwemmen. Die echt de vereniging, haar doelen en visies, serieus hadden genomen. Uiteraard waren er nog vele anderen die zijn gaan zwemmen en tot de dag van vandaag zwemmen. Maar die kwamen niet. Ze waren beledigd: Hoe het mogelijk is dat een zwemvereniging een feest viert met diegenen die juist niet zwemmen. Aan de jongeren vertelde ik dat ze niet bang moesten zijn voor het water en er gewoon in moesten springen.
Hoewel iemand voor mij vertelde dat het zwemmen allang niet meer is wat het was, hield ik vol dat het nog steeds diezelfde magische kracht heeft. Ik kreeg applaus, maar vermoed dat niet iedereen begreep waarover ik het eigenlijk had. Daar moet je zwemmer voor zijn, vermoed ik.
Ondertussen gaat de zwemvereniging door met feesten en gezelligheid.
Nee, niet met zwemmen. Daar gaan ze het wel over hebben door het lol hebben heen, maar nee, om echt te gaan zwemmen, dat hoeft nou ook weer niet.
Waar ik het niet mee eens ben, maar dat is onbelangrijk: ik ben een zwemmer en ik ben dus de hele tijd nog nat achter de oren.

©Simon Soesan

"En de zonen keerden terug naar hun grenzen"

2011-10-15T02:16:00.000-07:00

"En de zonen keerden terug naar hun grenzen…"

Toen Rabbi Elazar dit zei, werden de deuren van onze Tempel voorgoed gesloten. Het Joodse volk werd gedeporteerd naar buiten de grenzen van haar eigen land, en de rabbijn sprak de wens uit om de kinderen ooit terug te zien in het Joodse land.

Met verbazing lees ik in de Nederlandse media verslagen over de (hopelijk spoedige) terugkeer van Gilad Shalit, een Israëlische soldaat die in Juni 2006 ontvoerd werd door Hamas commando´s in een slimme, goed uitgedachte zet. Sindsdien is er, bijna non-stop, onderhandeld voor zijn vrijlating.

Nu dat het eindelijk zo ver schijnt te zijn, lees ik met verbazing en (eerlijk is eerlijk) minachting de verslagen van de zogenaamde Israel experts in Nederland: Nederlanders, vaak van Joodse afkomst, die niet in Israel willen wonen, maar wat contacten hebben, er af en toe heen gaan en een handje schudden met vooraanstaande Israeli´s, waarna ze terugkomen naar Holland en dan in de media haarfijn uitleggen hoe en wat er allemaal in Israel moet gebeuren. Niet dat ze het zelf willen doen. Niet dat ze hun kinderen daar willen laten opgroeien of, Godbewaar, in het leger willen laten dienen. Welnee. Voor hun is het leven simpel: wie z´n mening uit dat Joden en Israel hetzelfde zijn, wordt voor antisemiet uitgemaakt en uitgelegd dat dit twee verschillende dingen zijn. Meteen daarna gaan ze op de radio of TV en leggen uit dat ze, als Jood in Nederland, experts zijn in Israel.

De vrijlating van Gilad Shalit bracht een nieuw woord naar voren voor het onderhandelen van dit soort deals± de prijs. Plotseling was er `een prijs` en vooral de Nederlandse Israel experts wisten te bepalen dat deze prijs te hoog is en wat Israel wel en niet had moeten doen. Nogmaals, ze gaan niet in Israel wonen, geen belasting betalen, geen kinderen in het leger – niks. Maar vanuit hun comfortabele fauteuil in hun voorkamer in het veilige Amstelveen leggen ze haarfijn uit hoe het moet gebeuren in Israel en wat wel en niet goed is voor Israel.

Ik woon nu bijna 40 jaar in het enige Joodse land ter wereld. Ik hou er vreemde meningen op na: ik geloof niet dat, na wat de meerderheid van Nederlanders mijn Volk heeft aangedaan tijdens de Sjo´a, er zelfs maar 1 Jood in Nederland moet wonen. Raar, ik weet het, maar het is mijn mening. Laat ik hierbij melden dat ik mijn leven heb te danken aan de familie Snellen uit Sevenum, die mijn ouders verborgen hielden in die zwarte tijd, waardoor mijn broers en zuster en ikzelf, alswel mijn kinderen en kleinzoon, mogen leven.

Wonen in dit land is een gewaarwording. Elke dag is er wel wat aan de hand, we leren nog steeds hoe je als volk, na 2000 jaar ballingschap, zelfstandig moet zijn en hoe we het beste een land kunnen leiden, en daarbovenop motten onze buren ons echt niet. Een pienter persoon leest dan de geschiedenis na en begrijpt dat Mohammed zijn volk op droeg om de Joden onder hun bescherming te nemen, en dat het voor een moslim moeilijk is te accepteren dat een volk, wat onder hun bescherming staat, zelfstandig wil leven. Maar men is niet pienter en dus wordt er hard nagekakeld wat er maar door extremisten wordt uitgespuugd: de nederzettingen zijn de reden dat onze buren al vanaf 1948 ons de zee in willen drijven. Of, nog beter: 8 landen hebben ons in 1967 in een hoek gedrukt, Israel won de oorlog tegen alle verwachtingen en veroverde diverse stukken land, dus dat is niet eerlijk en dus moet de overwinnaar van (al) 8 oorlogen alles teruggeven wat ze veroverd hebben. Hebben de Fransen toch ook gedaan met Elzas? En de Amerikanen hebben toch ook al het land teruggeven aan de Indianen? Niet? Ja, nee, dat zijn heel andere verhalen….

Maar kijk, dat zootje gekken ruilt 1027 gevangenen voor 1 soldaat, en wat voor gevangenen: een voor een moordenaars. Zou Amerika nooit doen.

Ik ga u nu een geheimpje vertellen. Maar niet verder vertellen, hoor? Anders krijg ik de Israel experts op m´n dak. Ik heb al Hizbollah raketten op mijn dak gehad (500 vielen in 2006 op onze stad Haifa), dus nog een stelletje experts kan ik echt niet aan….

Behalve onze Torah, waar de geschiedenis van ons volk en van ons land wordt verteld, hebben onze Wijzen nog een paar boekjes geschreven. Niet dat de experts die dingen lezen: oppervlakkig zeggen dat je dat weet is al heel serieus. Een van die boeken heet de Mishna, of, op z´n Hollands: de aanvulling. Deze Mishna gaat over het dagelijks leven. Hoe verkoop je oogst? Hoe betaal je een schuld terug, hoe los je een burenruzie op etc. Een heel belangrijke bepaling in de Mishna leest: `Heel Israel staat garant voor elkaar`. Rare zin, mijn excuses, maar dit is het geheim van de smid. Met nog een kleine onbelangrijke waarneming: het Amerikaanse leger is professioneel. Beroeps. Het Israëlische leger bestaat grotendeels uit soldaten in verplichte dienst, daar we een dienstplicht hebben. Deze dienstplicht is een pact tussen de ouders van de soldaten, de soldaten zelf en de regering van ons Land: we staan garant voor elkaar. Geen volk in de wereld die dat van zichzelf kan zeggen en geen volk die er zo trots op is als wij: een soldaat moet weten dat we alles zullen doen voor hem of haar. En dat doen we.

De vrijlating van Gilad Shalit, waar ik me persoonlijk voor heb ingezet, heeft een bitterzoete smaak, want niemand hier negeert de lijst van gevangenen die naar huis gaan. Droge statistiek laat zien dat 60% van deze vrijgelaten gevangenen zich weer met hun terreur beweging gaan bemoeien, 15% gaat zelf actief bezig zijn met terreur. Daar hebben we nog een lange interne discussie over hier. Ik schrijf intern, want geen mens die hier niet woont, kan zich er mee bemoeien of zelfs een mening uiten. De families van door terroristen vermoorde slachtoffers mogen het voor het zeggen hebben, en we gaan geen discussie met ze aan, daar niemand zich hun pijn kan indenken. Hoewel er onder deze families velen zijn die de familie Shalit hebben laten weten dat ze het er mee eens zijn, met deze deal, hoe pijnlijk het ook is. Maar laat niemand buiten Israel iets zeggen: ze kennen het leven hier niet, ze weten niet wat het is om ´s nachts niet te slapen omdat je kind in het leger is, ze weten niet wat het is om, terwijl bussen links en rechts ontploffen, je kind op een bus naar school te zetten, ze weten niet wat het is om een telefoontje te krijgen van je kind, die de bus heeft gemist en juist die bus is net ontploft. `Papa kom me halen, ik ben zo bang.`, huilde mijn zoon op minder dan 100 meter van ´zijn´ ontplofte bus enkele jaren geleden.

´Heel Israel staat garant voor elkaar.´ Israel, staat er. En geen Israel expert, zelfs niet iemand die geld over maakt om zijn geweten te sussen, heeft er iets mee te maken. Uiteraard wist een Nederlandse krant een van de kinderen Schijveschuurder te vinden, wiens hele familie werd afgeslacht door een extreme moslim in het Sbarro-restaurant in Jeruzalem. De jongen heeft een zeer specifieke mening over het beleid van ons land betreffende terroristen. En ik kan geen discussie met hem aangaan. Maar ik kan hem ook niet accepteren als consensus. En om hem af te schilderen als iemand die de Israëlische consensus vertegenwoordigt, is niet alleen zwak en beledigend, maar is ook een teken van slechte journalistiek.

´En de zonen keerden terug naar hun grenzen´. Na vijf en een half jaar keert Gilad Shalit naar huis. Hamas bepaalde dat deze jongen zeker 1027 terroristen waard is, niet wij. En als een buitenstaander daar een probleem mee heeft, bewijst hij alleen maar ermee dat hij inderdaad een buitenstaander is.

En geen stemrecht heeft in Israel.

©Simon Soesan

Stoute Gretta

2011-05-04T22:44:00.000-07:00

(Met excuses aan Annie M. G. Schmidt)

Ik ben stoute Gretta

Ik wil niet meer, ik wil niet meer!

Ik wil niet dat ze leven!

Ik wil niet zeggen elke keer: daar zitten al die Joden weer,

Nee, nooit meer van mijn leven!

Ik ben gewoon antisemiet

En mot die Joden niet!

Ik sta geen twee minuten stil,

En geef gewoon een harde gil,

Of praat heel luid op mijn mobiel.

(Wist u het niet? ´k Ben ook debiel….)

En doe al jaren wat ik wil.

Heul samen met Islam terreur,

En schrijf: `Joden niet gewenst` op mijn deur.

En heel hard stampen in een plas,

En dan m´n tong uitsteken!

Alsof het een groep Joden was!

Ben vriendin van de Hamas,

Die Joden doden - en het niet alleen preken!

Ik doe alles wat niet mag,

De hele dag, de hele dag!

Ik wil lunchen in mijn stamcafé

Zonder al die Joden

Want als ik die zie, gil ik: Nee!

En ik wil met de flotilla mee

Misschien wat Zionisten doden

En dat is alles wat ik wil, meer niet

Want ik ben gewoon antisemiet.

They will never know

2011-04-14T00:37:00.000-07:00

They will never know

Being a Dutchman, no matter where I am, I read the Dutch news. I can't help it. It has been a habit for years which intensified with the introduction of the internet and its gadgets.

One can say that I am pretty well informed about what's going on in Holland, certainly current events. I could not help but notice an article about a benefit concert given for the Japanese victims of last month's tragic events. The Dutch, ever the ignorant people pretending they are very cultured, decided to have all artists stand on the middle of the red dot of the Japanese flag. This red dot resembles the rising sun. Japan, situated east of China, calls itself proudly the Land of the Rising Sun. This sun has also religious Shintu meanings and has a holy status. Just like any other flag of a country, it is not customary to step or stand on it. But I guess they did not know.

This reminded me of the current hot issue for the Jewish and Muslim communities: ritual slaughter. In Holland they have a party for the Animals. No, not Eric Burdon's band, really people who represent the animals and their rights. This party came up with a great way to get their fifteen minutes of fame and proposed a bill that would outlaw the religious slaughter.

I cannot speak for the Dutch Muslim community. The vast majority are illegal aliens, so claim the Dutch media, reporting that the Muslims "in general" are criminals and trouble makers. This is no surprise: leave it to the Dutch to pick out a minority and start picking on them. As a Jew I am well aware that the open-minded Dutch "in general" did not lift a finger when the Germans, during their occupation of Holland in the 40's, hunted the Dutch Jews and exterminated over 90% of the Dutch Jewry (the highest percentage in any country), with help of many good Dutchmen or without many Dutchmen lifting a finger to stop them. I need to add here that my parents were hidden by a Dutch family belonging to the small minority that did object actively to the German killing machine. Still, the Dutch, "in general", being asked what happened in those years, claim that they did not know.

But back to the Dutch and their angst for the suffering of the animals. The Dutch parliament is contemplating this bill and will have some hearings on the issue. No Dutch lawmaker went to see the ritual slaughter, or any kind of slaughter: they saw movies. No Dutch lawmaker read the Qur'an or the Torah. They only heard it's bad for animals. They heard the animals suffer. It said so in the papers.

About 50.000 Jews live today in Holland. Ten percent keeps Kosher. Let's be generous and say that 10.000 keep Kosher. Still, there is only one Kosher butcher and a few Kosher restaurants in Amsterdam, which are also frequented by non-Jews.

Suddenly everyone is a Jew and suddenly every Jew in Holland feels that his religious rights are being taken away. The Dutch, always ready to step on a flag or propose a bill out of pure ignorance, still have no idea what the fuss is about. Talk shows on TV raise the subject with ill-prepared hosts (why study the subject? TV is just entertainment….), while suddenly everyone who is or feels Jewish can express their feelings on TV, some of them slyly reminding the audience that the first order of the occupying Germans in 1940 was….to outlaw ritual slaughter.

"We want our religious rights!", say some of them with a very serious face to the camera, right on cue. They want their religious rights in a country that refuses to supply police or guards at the synagogues, which are subject to threats and anti-Semitic violence. They want their rights in a country where a Jew, in order to celebrate Jewish holidays, must ask for permission to take a vacation day off. They want their rights in a country where men with yarmulkes are attacked in public transportation and yelled and spit at in the streets. They want their rights in a country that delivered their parents and grandparents to the German murderers, while inquiring what's for lunch. A country that simply took over all Jewish possesions left after the Holocaust and still refuses to return it to the remaining families.

They want their rights in a country where the common slang to describe a liar or cheater uses the word "Jew". A country where so-called celebrities make clear anti-Semitic remarks in the media and are not prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Still, the Dutch Jews go to their synagogues and when they end their service, say a prayer for the wellbeing of the Dutch government and the Dutch Royal family, just as they have done for the last 400 years.

I, too wish the Dutch government, as well as the Royal family, all the best.

But my 10 cents worth of advice to the Dutch Jewry – as always – is that there is a place where your full rights as a Jew are being recognized and celebrated. Where you are protected by the government. Where you do not need to ask permission to take a day off to celebrate a Jewish holiday. Where no-one will ever question your right to eat Kosher or refuse to eat Kosher. I happen to live there.

The Kingdom of the Netherlands was very clear about their thoughts about Jews during the German occupation. And they still are very clear about it. Not because they hate Jews, God forbid.

Because they have other priorities.

That's why the Dutch can stand on a red dot and insult a nation without even understanding it and that's why they can prioritize animal rights over religious rights: they just don't know better.

©Simon Soesan

We'll do better next time

2011-03-23T23:51:00.000-07:00

Look, admit it: these guys at the UN are busy. With so many countries as members throwing parties, and so many countries inviting so many people to come over for a visit, who has time to work?

But they do work, these poor bastards. They have their own little trick to get the work done and show the world that they, the UN, work hard for their money. Excuse me: for the loads of money.

So let's have a look at their average week and how things are done, the UN way: demonstrations in Syria, Yemen, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Egypt (yep, they are still at it!), Ivory Coast, Libya… The UN took a quick look and, ok, so these local dictators shoot at demonstrators, but let’s not get carried away and raise the oil prices, surely there must be bigger problems in the world.

And while they European hypocrites changed their tune against Gadhaffi from praising the chairman of the UN committee for Human Rights (you have to agree – these guys have a sense of humor!), to chasing a head of state just because he tells the truth about them and dares to stand up against them. The EU, as well as the US, are very concerned about Libya, you know: they kept calling Shell, Chevron and BP non-stop, so concerned they are…

When the Japanese Disaster happened, the UN took a wise decision. They figured that Japan has no oil and with all this radioactive stuff around, they better play stupid (a part that fits them naturally) and look the other way. Only one country helped immediately and sent Geiger counters as well as a field hospital equipped for such disasters: Israel. Those damn Jews again!

When that same Israel started to be bombarded by Hamas and was hit by close to 50 rockets and mortars in one morning, the UN was out for lunch. Or dinner. When in less than to days later this number went over the 300, the UN was busy. Too busy. When the allied forces bombarded Libyan civilians the UN was at a party. Just like in the good old days, when millions of people were killed and murdered in Ruanda and Darfur – the UN has more important things to do.

But when Israel retaliated and shot back at Gaza – lucky us – the UN was there. Forgetting they announced that Hamas is a terrorist group, the UN went to work. And how they work! 18 minutes after Israel shot back at the sources in Gaza that were bombarding Israeli cities for days, the UN was in full swing and issued its statement denouncing Israel for its barbaric behavior. These Jews again! They can't let a person have a quiet lunch!

Yes the United Nitwits work hard. And just.

Yesterday a bomb was detonated in the middle of Jerusalem.

I apologize: only one dead and 34 injured.

With the help of the UN, we'll do better next time.

©Simon Soesan

Do not disturb

2011-03-17T05:48:00.000-07:00

Do not disturb

The world told us not worry and stop being hysterical: these two innocent Iranian marine ships should be allowed to pass the Suez Canal. What harm could they do?

And so the Iranian ships passed the Suez Canal, on their way to a Syrian port. The world went on watching games, movies or other more important things. Lucky for us, the Bible teaches that those who watch over Israel do not doze nor sleep, and they kept their eyes on these innocent Iranian ships, even watched them unload in the Syrian port, after which they left, while the Iranian government blamed the Zionist conspiracy for telling lies about the devout Iranian people.

When the Victoria started to load the unloaded cargo from the two Iranian ships, we still were watching. Even when the ship anchored in Turkey and just stayed there, idle, as if all is well, we were watching. When the Victoria left for Egypt, our guys entered the ship and found 50 tons of arms. The ship surrendered, was taken to Israel, where the loot was put on display. Crates and documents stated clearly the arms came from Iran, which started to shout bloody murder and cursed those damn Jews.

Right after that the Turkish government forced down an Iranian cargo plane on its way to Syria. The contact was so disturbing, that Ankara sent in nuclear experts to understand what the mad scientist from Teheran was sending to his buddies in Syria. Again, the nitwits in Teheran claimed the plane and its contents had nothing to do with them…

While they were shouting out their complete innocence, the Egyptian army seized a shipment of arms from Sudan, originating from Iran, en route to the Gaza strip and Beduin gangs in the Sinai desert. …

How sad. These Jews! They interfere with everything and accuse the Iranian madmen falsely! It has to stop!

And indeed. It has to stop. The world leaders, who were informed of the catch, were not interested in this kind of news. Well, not entirely: some expressed interest in the addressees, so they can try to send replacement for the lost arms….business is business….

Having informed the world leaders about three arms shipments caught, within 24 hours, is very annoying. And we apologize.

Maybe we shall send the arms back to Iran, where they came from.

As a present to the opposition forces, which are being butchered, while the world watches games, movies and other important things.

Because this world is very involved, you know. See how the world stepped up to help the Libyan opposition, or the demonstrators in Bahrain that are being shot in the streets by Saudi soldiers. Or look how much humanitarian help was given to Japan.

Yes, this world is very busy and should not be disturbed. Everyone really should do his own thing.

So will we.

©Simon Soesan

Back to Basics

2011-03-12T22:55:00.000-08:00

Back to basics

In all my years in the country I live in, Israel, I have always tried to seek peace. I have never turned the other cheek, but always tried to reduce the need for violence by talking, getting to know each other, trying to create respect for the other side's different views.

In my many years here, I made it a point to live in the only city that promotes co-existence: Haifa. Among my friends I am proud to find people with different background and religions, most of us with the same goal: secure peaceful lives for our children. We do that by sending them all to the same school and crush prejudice by teaching them to live together as Israelis, as equals and that violence cannot be the answer to the tragic conflict of the Middle East.

Yet there will always be people who can only exist by living off violence. By ensuring people will continue to hate. By inciting people to commit atrocities and even offering their own lives in the process. No, not the lives of those preaching and leading these extremists. They know better: they send others, preferable those who have lost all hope. These people are the best messengers of hate and violence and, with the help of same extreme religious indoctrination, they are capable of anything.

And so, just a few days ago, these 'messengers' reached the house of the Fogel family in the Itamar settlement. Mind you, I am against the misuse of these settlers, against the misuse of their religious beliefs and their Zionism. But slaughtering a family is not the solution, is not what these people deserve, is not acceptable, is not human. The slaughter of the Fogel family puts everything back into perspective for me. Slicing throats of a whole family, including a baby, indicates exactly where we are. Butchering a family, after which candies are distributed in Gaza, tells us what fools we have been. Receiving no condolences from countries we thought were friends, even those with criticism, shows us the reality we live in.

A European Union that subsidizes TV programs that teach hatred and promotes the slicing of Jewish throats is no friend of ours. A USA whose leader praises Islam, without mentioning the extremists' madness, is no friend of ours.

I know, our shameful government has created our isolation and our diplomacy is at its lowest level ever, while our leadership resembles a windmill turning in any wind direction. And I am aware that I am a tough critic of this government that is not mine.

But nothing, nothing at all justifies this atrocity. Nothing can mend this hurt. Nothing can explain this butchering. Nothing.

And so, we are back to basics: on our own, with our back pressed against the wall and with a world that confuses fierce resistance from an underdog against terror and hate with violent imperialism called Zionism. Again we can count on no-one else but ourselves and must find a way to resist the death sentence proclaimed by the extreme Islamists.

No we are not angry. We understand that the world has other priorities than dealing with Jews that refuse to die, refuse to be butchered. We understand that protecting business interests has a higher priority. We are not even disappointed from a world that let our people march to gas chambers, refused to take our people in when we had nowhere else to go and kept refusing to lift a finger when millions of other persecuted people in the Balkan and Africa where murdered. We understand. We understand it's all business, nothing personal.

However, cutting the throats of a family is not business and certainly not business as usual. Cutting up a family is a personal thing. We take that very personal, especially when textbooks at Palestinian schools teach not only hate, but describe in detail how to cut Jewish throats. With the subsidy of the EU, of course.

So we are back to basics.

"If I am not for myself, then who is?", can be read in the Bible. And while we are criticized for building settlements, the Arab Legion and the Palestinian Authority are allowed to keep the total destruction of Israel as their main goal in their manifest, while we are asked to stop complaining about these petty issues and stop building in areas we conquered in wars that were forced upon us.

Back to basics means we understand that our neighbors do not want a piece of us, nor do they want peace with us. Under the patronage of Iran they want only want thing: they want us dead and gone. And the US, as well as the EU, with their roaring silence and quiet help simply agree.

Back to basics means it's up to us to decide what will happen next. Back to basics means we stop apologizing to the world that today's Jews hit back and do not walk anymore in silence to their deaths.

If no-one is for us, then we will be for ourselves.

©Simon Soesan

Lounge Zionists

2011-03-06T21:53:00.000-08:00

Lounge Zionists

They do not live in Israel, but will explain in length how much they love Israel and why they cannot live there – right now: the government, the taxes, the weather, the Arabs, the Jews…they will sincerely explain why not and then they organize a conference.

“We love Israel – that’s why we criticize Israel” is their main slogan. They bring in mediocre politicians, extremist rabbis – whether reformed or orthodox – and they bring in the press. They will shout “shame on you, Israel”, while swearing they love us.

And then they go home.

And from the safe comfort from their living room, far away from Israel, they write their articles criticizing us. But of love. Out of kinship. Of course, they will send the kids over. For a fortnight, mind you, and only if it is subsidized or for free. Here in Israel we see these buses with youngsters and flags saying “Birthright” or “Taglit”. Ignorant spoiled kids that come for a while, wipe a tear from sheer emotion and then go home, more than 90% do not return to live here. But hey, they visited, so now they are experts and can criticize, just like their parents.

J-Street is the latest sign of this disease. Full of air and criticism, they will spend time and money explaining to whoever wants to hear what is wrong with my country.

No, they will not come and live here, join the army, work here and pay taxes here. Send their children off to school in buses that might explode. They will not become part of our society and help it improve – yes, we need to improve a lot. They will not come and live here and vote.

No, much better at home, far away from Israel and trying to influence foreign governments that have no obligation whatsoever to Israel, besides the fact that some ignorant lounge Zionists will try to influence policies that should be focused on the needs of the country they live in. And at the end of the day they will send money. Lots of money, so our corrupt civil servants have more to share between them – and waste it on issues that have no importance to Israel, but pacifies the minds of those living so far away and criticize us. But hey, they send money, so why complain?

For almost 40 years I live in this country called Israel. A difficult country to live in. We have corrupt politicians, mentally challenged extremists and are surrounded by neighbors that hate our guts and rather see us dead. But it is OUR country. We are building it, we are trying to fix our mistakes and we are trying to make a life in the only country in the world we Jews can call “home”.

You want to criticize us? You think we are doing such a bad job? Come live here and join the fun. Join the adventure and join the problems. We do not need lounge Zionists and we do not need your money.

We need you to come home.

For Dutch Readers only - De Telegraaf

2011-03-05T23:29:00.000-08:00

The following is for Dutch readers only, dealing with two antisemitic article in the largest Dutch daily, the Telegraaf, to which i reacted in detail.

___________________________________________________________

Part 1.

Letter to Mr. Noord:

Geachte meneer van Noord.

Ik refereer naar uw artikel: http://www.telegraaf.nl/reiskrant/9188651/__Reclame_misleidt_toeristen__.html?p=2,1

Mijn naam is Simon Soesan. Ik woon in Haifa, Israel.

Sinds 1973.

Als zakenman ben ik onder andere partner (50/50) met het Egyptische reisbureau Skyline. Ook ben ik, als inwoner van Haifa, zeer betrokken met de samenleving in onze stad. In Haifa leven Christenen, Moslims, Druzen, Bahai en zelfs Joden in vrede en behoorlijk goede harmonie.

Ik heb uw twee stukjes vrij vertaald aan mijn vrienden voorgelezen, die allemaal uit de bovenstaande religieuze achtergronden komen. En allemaal met ongeloof hebben geluisterd. Want wat u schrijft, meneer van Noord is niet alleen onzin, maar uzelf misleid de toeristen.

Ik ga niet beginnen bij de bijbel, noch zal ik u verwijzen naar Elzas-Lotharingen in Frankrijk, ooit van Duitsland geweest, wat, na het verliezen van een door de Duitsers begonnen oorlog, door Frankrijk werd geannexeerd.

Als u het niet erg vind, meneer van Noord, dan wil ik gewoon uw stukje langsgaan en u op uw fouten wijzen, begrijpende dat u misschien liever niet door een Jood en noch een Israëli ook, op fouten wilt worden gewezen:

1. Arabische Moskeekoepels zijn een onderdeel van het landschap hier. Er worden nieuwe gebouwd en er worden oude moskeen onderhouden: waar u ook bent in Israel vindt u moskeen, dus uw opmerking “moskeen en gebieden die dit land niet toebehoren”, is niet alleen misleidend of onjuist – het is gewoon een domme opmerking.

2. “Syrische en Palestijnse gebieden”, schrijft u. Kunt u aantonen met welke Syrische en Palestijnse gebieden Israel reclame maakt? Graag referenties ook uit het internationaal recht en uw uitleg waarom, volgens uw redenering, de VN het fout heeft om de internationale grens tussen Israel en Syrië te trekken vlak voor Koeneitra. Waar is de Palestijnse grens? Volgens het Palestijnse handheft is heel Israel Palestijns, terwijl de EU en de VN verzoeken om Palestina te gaan creëren en haar grenzen nog bepaald moeten worden.

3. Jericho, Oost Jeruzalem en de Golan zijn door Israel bezet nadat 5 landen ons in 1967 en 1973 aanvielen en de door hun gestarte oorlog verloren. De huidige grenzen met de Palestijnse Autonomie zijn bepaald als tijdelijke grenzen met instemming van alle partijen in het conflict. Weet u iets wat zij niet weten?

4. U schrijft “tot vrede komen met haar buren”. U bent zich bewust dat we vrede hebben gesloten met Jordanië en Egypte? U bent zich bewust dat er interim akkoorden zijn getekend met de Palestijnen, met instemming van de Palestijnen? Of moet ik u even naar de referenties verswijzen? Weer uw huiswerk niet gedaan, meneer van Noord?

5. De UN heeft inderdaad opdracht gegeven aan Israel om te onderhandelen tot een terugtrekking naar de grenzen van 1967, d.w.z. van voor de 6-daagse oorlog van toen. Maar deze opdracht is gebonden en verbonden aan opdrachten aan de Palestijnen, Syriers en anderen, die opdracht kregen terreur acties tegen Israel te staken, om maar een conditie te noemen, was u dat vergeten of heeft u gewoon weer uw huiswerk niet gedaan?

6. U schrijft “Tegen alle bepalingen van het volkerenrecht in, annexeerde Israël Oost-Jeruzalem “. Kunt u deze bepalingen aantonen? Hebt u een referentie voor me? Kunt u de lezers uitleggen wat u hier bedoeld? Het volkenrecht van de VN rept hier namelijk niet over. Weet u iets wat de VN niet weet? Meneer William Davies, hoofd van de VN informatiedienst (telefoon +1 (202) 331-8670) vond uw bewering “amusant” en was verbaasd hoe een serieuze krant zoals de Telegraaf ongebaseerde nonsens drukt. En nee, meneer Davies is niet Joods en heeft niets met Israel te maken.

7. U schrijft over de vierde conventie van Geneve en dat het exploiteren van bezette gebieden tegen de mensenrechten is. Graag referenties waar u het over hebt? Welke vierde conventie? Gaat u nu ook, gebaseerd op deze woorden van u, alle wijn en kaasproducten uit Elzas mijden en het toerisme uit Nederland naar Elzas stoppen?

8. U zegt dat u “men lene een ei” uit een Joods kookboek citeerde. Welk boek is dat? Wie schreef het? En gaat u uzelf nu vergelijken met Max Tailleur? Bent u moppen aan het tappen? Wat een belediging voor Max Tailleur! Ik raadt u aan geen moppen over Joden te vertellen. Bijna geen enkele niet-Joodse Nederlander heeft het recht om moppen over Joden te tappen. Dat recht is verspeeld na het samenheulen met de Duitse bezetters en het uitleveren en het laten afslachten van meer dan 90% van de Joodse Nederlanders aan diezelfde Duitsers door de grote meerderheid van de Nederlandse bevolking.

9. Ook het aanhalen van de oude rabbijn Soetendorp doet u onder valse voorwendselen. Hij had het zeker niet over rare stukjes zoals die van u.

Meneer van Noord, bijna 40 jaar hou ik me bezig met de samenleving tussen Joden en niet-Joden in Israel. Ik doe zaken met Palestijnen, bezoek ze bij hun thuis, ze komen bij mij over de vloer. Ik heb vrienden en zakenpartners in Egypte, Jordanië en andere Arabische landen. Ik schrijf al meer dan 10 jaar columns in diverse media over deze pogingen, die aardig lukken. Soms komt er en gek langs, zoals de antisemiet Gretta Duisenberg, die met loze leuzen en lege beloftes even de boel willen opstoken en niet wil accepteren dat we het hier wel aardig goed met elkaar kunnen vinden. Uiteraard zijn er extremisten aan beide kanten die dit soort typetjes graag verwelkomen.

Het Midden Oosten leeft al jaren in een moeilijk conflict, waar duizenden onnodig zijn omgekomen en velen onnodig lijden. Ik ben er van overtuigd dat er vele fouten worden gemaakt, aan beide zijden. Ook weet ik, dat meer en meer mensen proberen de haat te stoppen als eerste stap naar een oplossing voor dit conflict.

Dankzij mensen zoals u zal dat langer duren en zullen mensen nog wat langer moeten lijden. Stel je voor dat u over de co-existentie hier zou schrijven! Of over de diverse vredesgroeperingen die elkaar steunen en respecteren. Welnee! Sluit u zich maar aan bij de meerderheid van Nederlanders die graag ongebaseerde onzin als feiten aannemen en praatjesmakers zoals u dan heel netjes “journalist” noemen.

Ik wilde deze brief eindigen met “u moet zich schamen”. Maar na het nogmaals herlezen van uw artikel snap ik dat u schaamteloos bent. En, tsja, niets aan te doen, meneer van Noord: maar ook u bent een gewone antisemiet.

Simon Soesan

Haifa, Israel

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Part 2: Reply from De Telegraaf:

Geachte heer Soesan,

Tot onze droefenis is uw mail ondermaats en - zeker in de laatste alinea - beledigend en daarom krijgt u inhoudelijk geen antwoord.

Hoogachtend,

Redactie CheckPoint

DAGBLAD DE TELEGRAAF

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Part 3: My reply to De Telegraaf:

Geachte heer of mevrouw X,

Uw antwoord was weldegelijk inhoudelijk.

Hoogachtend,

Simon Soesan.

By saving a young couple....

2011-02-27T01:48:00.000-08:00

By saving a young couple…..

My parents were 17 when the Second World War broke out in all its horror. They knew each other well, but when their parents decided to hide from the Germans, their host insisted the young couple get married before arriving. And so, on a gray morning in January 1943, they married in a quick ceremony. With pure luck and thanks to one Christian family they survived the German atrocities, only to find out that hundreds in their immediate family got slaughtered by the Germans.

With effort and pain they restarted their life in 1945. During the years thereafter five children were born, of which I am the last. Some of the children went to live in Israel. I myself went to Israel in 1973 and knew from the first moment here that this is the country where I will live my life.

During my military service I met a soldier girl and we married two years later. We were blessed with three children. In the meanwhile, back in Holland, my family grew: all five children got married and my parents became grandparents of 13 grandchildren. But it did not stop there: the grandchildren grew up and found partners, so great-grandchildren were added to my parents' family. This week their 17^th great-grandchild was born. Number 17 is called Yoav, named after one of the officers of King David and it means: God is Father.

Yoav is the son of our eldest daughter and her husband and he made me a grandfather. I will need some time to get used to this title, this honorary title. His brand-new grandma will also need time to get used to this, but in the meanwhile our cheek muscles ache, as we cannot stop smiling.

My parents, married 68 years, live in Holland. The two of them survived the Holocaust and built a new life and family. With 5 children and their partners, 13 grandchildren and their partners and 17 great-grandchildren, a family-party has 55 participants. But not for long, as great-grandchild #18 is on its way and will join the gang in about two months.

The Snelle family from Sevenum, Holland joined the small minority of Dutch people during the Second World War and resisted the Germans. They hid my parents (among many, many others) which allowed my parents to survive the German killing machine. Which allowed me to be born, and allowed our children to be born. Which allowed my grandson to be born.

The Talmud says: "Saving one life is as saving a whole world.

And so it is.

Back off, please

2011-01-04T19:19:00.000-08:00

Please back off

Ladies and gentlemen: please back off! Stay home!

This whole panic for some flu has no purpose: our hospitals cannot help you as they have not enough manpower, not enough equipment and not even enough beds. Step away please!

You ask why? Do you really think your government would spend money on hospitals, when it has promised to support so many religious institutions? They cannot spend the money twice, you know! And not only these religious institutions, their students and employees (of half only exist on paper anyway), but what about their political appointees? No, please, just go home: your government is not here to help you – it only helps itself.

And their friends. And family.

The same goes for our national railway: look closely at the management, even the son of our former president – rapist Katzav was a big shot there. His qualifications? The son of the president.

Our national railways carefully make sure that all money earned goes to salaries and not to maintenance or, God-forbid, development. So stop whining when trains go up in smoke and fire extinguishers are empty, because really: there is no money for such nonsense!

Slowly but surely our governments have succeeded in putting useless misfits into key positions, as payback for election services rendered. Our governmental system is on the verge of bankruptcy, as all tax monies go first and foremost to pay-offs and salaries. There is simply nothing left. We have unqualified nitwits managing departments without any understanding what needs done – and our government frankly does not give a damn. More jobs were promised, so we privatized our drinking water and created companies that do not supply the water, but do collect money. And how do we finance these companies and pay all those salaries? You got it right! We are told that water is running out and the price doubles: same product, same value, double the income and more freeloaders have a job.

So step back and let them do what they want. You voted for them, didn't you? Oh you didn't? We almost forgot Mr. Netanyahu schmoozed his way into office after losing the elections..

Go home, my fellow Israelis. And watch the reality shows your government created on TV, because the true reality is incomprehensible.

Do not ask what your government can do for you – just watch what it does for itself.

©Simon Soesan

Upside down or backwards

2011-01-03T05:23:00.001-08:00

Upside down or backwards

Suppose you read your morning newspaper and read that there is a plan to ease up the terms of imprisonment of the murderer of our Prime Minister. Or suppose you read that, although all citizens in our country are equal, some of them cannot rent your flats and some of them are not to be seen with our daughters, let alone marry them.

Let me go on a limb here: suppose you read in your newspaper that, let's say, if you are religious, you have no need to abide to any law in our country. And then you read – again – that your current Prime Minister (who was never really elected for this job as he lost the elections), has his own an special version of world events.

You would think you live in an upside down world. Your first reaction would be: everyone has gone crazy. You call a few friends to check if they read it too and if they understood the same and then it hits you: this is reality!

In Israel 2011 you may get the feeling that the inmates took over the asylum – or, depending on your beliefs, that the days of deliverance have come. In our reality, Wikileaks are just nothing compared to what our current government is capable of: they simply change our reality and rewrite it on the spot! Our former President found guilty of rape, sexual harassment, lies and threats? You have a few rabbis doubt the court from one angle, while from another angle you make sure the public gets to understand that, guilty or not, the President was a victim of loose women who were after his protection and benefits.

The USA offered a special deal for a 3 month deal? Tell the world you accepted, but that the US took the offer off the table…and add that you always wanted peace with the Palestinians. Then you call the firefighters and tell them that since they nagged and nagged you for equipment, you will get it for them, but will take the expense off their salaries….

Talking about rabbis, these public servants (they get paid by the State and yes, serve a specific public), are allowed to deny services to Israeli citizens, especially if they are not Jewish. They can incite the public not to rent rooms or sell lands to them; they can even add that the true purpose of Arabs is not our land, but our daughters, while our Prime Minister will not make any remark about it. Sure he will show a few crocodile tears and check his hairdo in the mirror, but he will not warn them to shut up or fire them. No, our prime minister takes it a day at a time: surviving anything by simply not deciding anything, except for the decision not to decide, of course.

And while our opposition disappoints us more and more by adding losers to its ranks and excelling at being quiet, Bibi and his gang of nitwits keep going.

No more respect for the law, no support for police and emergency units, no support for the sick and elderly, no respect for the courts: the extreme rights is taking up positions against a tired, bored and lazy left.

Soon anyone of us, not belonging to this extreme gang, can be arrested, harassed and persecuted for just anything at all, while the murderer of Yitzhak Rabin will slowly move towards a full pardon and become a national hero.

A world upside down?

I call it backwards.

©Simon Soesan

Nicht gewuenscht

2010-12-29T00:28:00.000-08:00

Nicht gewuenscht

It did not create a stir: It created an outcry.

When the media informed of the letter, no one was surprised, or disappointed. In fact, it was the second letter of its kind.

It all started with a letter by 100 priests, asking the public not to rent rooms to Jews. The Jewish population was outraged, however the public in general, tired of the Jews, Israel and all these headlines and threats, moved on to read an article on the bad weather. Then the second letter came, again by priests, warning good Christian girls not to marry Jewish men. Or even go out with them. Nor to be seen by them.

Now the world woke up: politicians held fierce speeches on discrimination, the media gave full coverage on the subject, interviewing heads of state, more politicians and celebrities, who all condemned this low hearted action. Demonstrations started in capitals around the world and the demand for the Pope to resign became a global item……

Did I bore you?

Apologies! Of course, such a thing would never happen. It cannot happen in this modern world of ours.

Do I still bore you? Then I have to disappoint you:

It DID happen. Only the other way around: in my country, some rabbis decided to publish a letter advising their believers not to rent rooms to Arabs. Of course, some politicians got upset, as this subject can always add a few votes. Even our prime minister spoke up against it, but already having prostituted himself to religious and ultra-right fanatics, he tempered his tone, dried his crocodile tears and checked in a mirror how he looked.

As this was not enough, a group of female rabbis published a letter, warning that good Jewish girls are not allowed to marry Arabs. The Israeli media gave it a small spot on page 4 and went on reporting on the low-cut décolleté of a TV personality.

Our political balance made it possible for splinter parties, representing good-for-nothings, weirdoes, outsiders and voodoo-specialists, to become influential and dictate our national agenda. Although the election results in 2009 did not favor Mr. Netanyahu, he wiggled his way into the Prime Minister's office and brought his gang of nitwits along.

Lately, the general public grew tired of Mr. Netanyahu and started to ask questions. Netanyahu, ever the media expert, now created a wave of bigotry across the country. It keeps his pals busy and off his neck, while the public can roam the streets shouting "Death to Arabs". Give the people food and games, said the Romans. Well, food for the needy is supplied here by the public, since the government lacks any ambition to care about its citizens, while games are supplied by our PM on a daily basis: from uproar in his office, where people resign, come and go at a dazzling speed, to cameras in a helicopter flying our PM trying to look good during a fire that killed 40 brave men and women, only because he lacked to provide the funds for firefighters to be well equipped – leave it Bibi to provide games and action for the people in the street.

In our rich history we read of rabbis, sages and wise men who all, besides studying, had a job. Even if you drive around in our beautiful country you will find signs to places where these people studied and worked.

Not today. Today rabbis 'get money', religious students 'get money', religious families, and religious watchamacallits – everyone 'gets money'. Not because they deserve it, because our PM decided that, in order to stay in power, he will use our tax money instead of brains and wits.

So today we live in a country half strangled by little politicians and rabbis. Whether we like it or not, it is our reality. And then we are told not to rent rooms or marry Arabs.

I live in Haifa. We make a point of living together with Druze, Muslims, Christians and Bahai under the flag of Israel. We are all Israelis. When in 2006 Russian and French rockets landed on our city – 500 of them, sponsored by the EU, thank you very much! – they did not chose to land on Jewish houses only. When buses and restaurants exploded by drugged suicide terrorists, they did not differ between Jews and non-Jews as victims.

In fact, right now we celebrate the Festival of Festivals in our city: we celebrate Ramadan, Christmas, Hanukah and New Year in one go and enjoy each other's company.

We leave the hatred to rabbis and narrow minded politicians.

©Simon Soesan

Israel's got talent!

2010-12-27T22:29:00.000-08:00

Israel's got talent

The stakes are high and all of us in Israel are waiting anxiously for the final results: what will it be?

Our 120 members of our parliament, the Knesset, will take a vote and make a historic decision these days: an iPone-4 o a Blackberry? What will it be? And, of course: will it be for free or a gift? Clearly, whatever it will be: we, the taxpayers (a small percentage of this country does pay tax and serves in the army, as we are not religious and are not connected to the maniacal right-wing coalition that was not elected but still is in power), will also pay for this important instrument.

Our 120 members of this very illustrious club, the Knesset, need these phones. They stated it will help them stay in touch with their constituents. And, of course it will create more jobs, as they just cannot do their job with just a PR consultant, a political advisor, a personal assistant, a secretary, a media advisor and a coffeemaker. No, they will need someone to handle these Smartphones as they are too busy flying abroad, have not time to Tweet or update their Facebook page and, to be honest, they simply do not have the brains to understand how these things work at all.

Israel's got talent! Yes Sir, yes Ma'am: our prime minister has now officially obtained the status as the most unreliable politician in the area, our minister of foreign affairs has established himself as the neighborhood Rottweiler and our minister of the interior has single handedly created his own image as a corrupt lowlife. You have to admit: it takes talent to turn all your friends against you in less than 18 months!

Our minister of defense, once a heralded hero, seems so obsessed by himself that he has lost all touch with reality, our minster of education is so busy cleaning up the mess left behind after the horror regime of one of his predecessors, Limor Livnat (her reign of terror crippled our educational system for years to come), that none of his good intentions can be realized for the time being, while our minister of environment is making deals with the big polluters in order to avoid attacking them. Yes, Israel's got talent!

Our so-called government completely forgot its sworn oath and duty to bring captured soldiers home – we have one boy held for over 4 years by Hamas terrorists – and frankly does not give a damn whether this boy lives or dies – although sometimes I have the feeling that our PM would be very happy if he would just simply die.

Yes, Israel's got talent: in his rush to satisfy minorities that pressure him and can disrupt the political balance that keeps him in power, our PM has simply given so much money to these good-for-nothings like religious schools (that refuse to adapt or recognize our national education laws and programs), colonists (which refuse to recognize any political or legal power besides their own: THEY are the law – and our governments lets them do as they please…), rabbis and other voodoo imbeciles, that there is no money left for luxuries like police, emergency services, care for the sick and elder, education and oh, yes: food and shelter for the poor.

Yes, Israel's got talent: our opposition has joint the Monastery of Silence, and we, the quiet majority, act as spoiled and insulted brats that even refuse to vote out of sheer laziness, read the paper on our latest gadget, add "like" to columns like these and check who has done what with whom in the villa of the Big Brother, broadcasted nonstop on your TV, internet or…yes…Smartphone.

Knowing what is wrong, bitching about it, saying how mad you are about it and then return to your Twitter to inform the world you just took a crap may prove you are not full of shit and yes: it takes talent.

Never mind

2010-12-05T03:32:00.000-08:00

Never mind

Just suppose. Suppose you have a political party which represents a minority. Suppose this minority has no social, economical or scientific contribution for your country, does not pay taxes, does not serve in your army, but suddenly politicians need you in order to stay in power, to tip the balance in their favor.

Suppose there is this little politician, a smooth talker with no agenda but with this urge and greed to rule. This is when you hit jackpot! You can ask for anything, do anything you want, because the fool wants to rule at any price!

So you create a school system, as if the country does not have one. And you teach stuff not recognized by the government you belong to, but never mind! You sell religion and who can top God? So you inflate the number of pupils to get more funds and you create jobs to get your voters more income. Where better than in a school of your own? What do they need to know to work there, besides the fact that YOU arranged it?

Suppose you then get greedy too and you ask for more, you take some more, you lie, cheat, steal and all in the name of God? You take a senile rabbi with a great name and make him speak in the name of God. Who dares to argue with God? You make sure the senile rabbi drives around in an expensive car and then you take over a ministry, let's say Interior.

You still need to give jobs and money to many of your followers, so you make a list, because when you study God, you cannot just work anywhere: you can't do manual labor, because that is tiring. You can't do any work connected to a profession, because you have no diploma besides religious school. So, being Minister of the Interior, you take away budgets from all those organizations that are not of interest to you, as they have no jobs to offer for your good-for-nothing followers: hospitals, kindergartens..

Hey! Even the fire brigade! Who needs a fire brigade? Who cares? So you funnel away funds and concentrate on your voters and followers as you act in the name of God, right?

And this greedy politician, who thinks he rules, is convinced you are right, otherwise you can make him stop ruling!

Never mind the non-believers. God doesn't mind, so why should you? And whenever there is a calamity, you let the senile rabbi utter some words of profound wisdom ("a sixteen year old boy died in the fire because he did not observe the Shabbat", "a man walking between two women is like walking between to donkeys"), and off you go.

Never mind that the country is now on the verge of collapse as health services, education, care for the elderly and emergency services are completely ruined, as you systematically over the years stole their budgets. Never mind what these infidels say! What do they know!

And if asked, you look into the camera with a straight face and say: "I did not do it, it was THEM!"

Never mind. There will always be another political nitwit in need of your party.

©Simon Soesan

Alle Menschen wirden brüder

2010-12-04T00:10:00.000-08:00

Alle Menschen wirden brüder

“All men will be brothers”, a Beethoven symphony claims.

I look from my window in astonishment as tens of planes fight the fire which will go into history as The Great Mount Carmel Fire.

Who would have dreamed to see Turkish and Greek planes fighting a fire together? Or Jordanian and Egyptian planes joining forces over Israeli skies for an act of peace? Planes from Russia, Cyprus, Spain, Britain and even the US, all fighting this calamity shoulder to shoulder? I look at the skies and wonder. So maybe it IS true, maybe it IS possible and maybe there is a way for all of us to live in peace soon.

Besides the smoke and smell of burned forestry, our skies are now filled with the noise of diving planes delivering their cargo of water. The fire is still about 3 miles away from our house, but we watch it. Months of drought and a treacherous wind are the perfect playground for a heartless fire to go anywhere it pleases.

Our municipality learned its lesson from the more than 500 rockets that landed on our city in 2006 (with the compliments of the EU), and is perfectly organized. Our northern neighbors are dancing in the streets, praising Allah for their good fortune now that the Zionist cancer is on fire. And still, we remain calm, as we believe in Divine deliverance.

Friends from all over the world keep calling and writing, sending us their prayers and blessings, while outside some sane nations reacted immediately and help us fight this fire hand in hand.

We have made it a point to help any country where disaster strikes. This time we needed help and some countries responded within hours. “My” Holland, always the thinker, needed time to think it over and will send choppers after the weekend, which will be like mustard after the meal.

Still, we are grateful. For what we see now, enemies joining hands and fighting this fire, proves that indeed, all men will be brothers.

Even if it takes a calamity to prove it.

©Simon Soesan

Smelly business

2010-08-28T23:23:00.001-07:00

Smelly business

"Enough is enough!", said Bassam while he closed the window. He walked over to the wall and started the air conditioner. It was one of those days: 40 degrees Celsius outside, humidity over 80% and the hot wind bringing us the sour smell of the petrochemical industries near Haifa bay. It was really smelly, which explains Bassam's actions.

"I am going to call the municipality!", said my friend determined. He walked over to the phone and called 106, the municipal service center. While listen to the music until his call was answered, he quickly grabbed three cookies and ate them quickly, without losing even one crumb. Suddenly he looked at me and pressed the loudspeaker button on the phone, so I could listen in. suddenly a lady answered.

"Municipality", said the lady.

"Good Morning", said Bassam, surprisingly polite.

"Good morning to you too, Sir."

"Look, it really smells here…."

"Where does it smell?"

"Outside."

"Where, outside?"

"Outside my house."

"And where is your house?"

"Well, here in Haifa."

"And you address is?"

Bassam gave her the address.

"And what does it smell like?"

"Sour. Like petrol."

"Really now. One moment please."

Again music. After a few minutes she came back to us.

"I'll connect you with the ministry of environment."

Again music. We looked at each other. The ministry! Not bad at all!

"Ministry!", said an important-sounding person on the other side of the line.

"Hey good morning to you! We called the municipality because of the smell outside.", said Bassam quickly.

"Yes, so I heard. Are you asthmatic?"

"Me? Not at al."

"Are you sensitive to smells?"

"If I am…what are you talking about???"

"Sir, just answer the question with a yes or no, it will go much faster this way."

Bassam shrugged. "No."

"So why are you calling?"

"Because it smell terrible outside."

"Bu you just said that you are not sensitive to smells."

"No..I said….excuse me, where is this conversation leading to?"

"Sir, that's not what you just said."

"No, but I mean…."

"Sir, you just claimed it smells outside?"

"Yes."

"And you are outside."

"No, we are inside."

"And it still smells?"

"Yes!" Bassam was turning read and I started to enjoy this.

"Outside?"

"Yes!!"

"But you are inside?"

"I just said so!"

"And your windows are open or closed?"

"Closed!"
"Sir, what are you complaining about? The smell is supposedly outside, you are inside, with the windows closed and you claim not to be sensitive to smells!"

Bassam looked with big eyes at the phone and then at me. I shrugged. This was his problem and not mine and I was enjoying this.

"Sir I am telling you there is a terrible smell outside!"

"Yes, well, I cannot solve that and you are inside with the windows closed."

"And what about the smell outside?"

"I would advise you to stay inside."

"That's a big help, thank you!"

"I hope so. Satisfied citizens are our main goal, you know."

"But I am not satisfied!! And it stinks outside!!"

"So what do you want me to do about it? Come over and blow it away?"

Bassam's eyes went wide open. His face went purple.

"The gull of you public servants!!"

"You think so?"

"I demand to speak to your superior! Immediately!"

"Well I am the superior. When is your wife coming home?"

"What on earth has my wife to do with this?"

"Well, do you think she will notice the smell?"

"What..what….", Bassam was dumbfounded.

"I think she must be used to the smell, no? I mean, she is married to you for 27 years, right?"

Basam gave me an incredible look. I looked at the ceiling.

"What…who…who is this?"

"Bassam, you fool! It is me, you cousin Mussa! Did you forget I work at the ministry? The moment I heard it was you, I asked to handle the call myself, you donkey!"

Bassam hit himself on the forehead.

A while later we were outside, in the street. The smell was still there.

"What a smell.", said Bassam. "What can we do about it?"

"Take a shower!", said a passerby while lifting his nose.

©Simon Soesan

Simon Caun, one of the six million

2010-08-12T02:46:00.000-07:00

Simon Caun – one of the six million

For years he was a sad and short story in our family: Simon Caun, the brother of my mother. Born on March 20, 1926 and disappeared in 1942. I was born on March 20, 1956: it will not surprise you that my name is Simon.

Just sixteen years old, Simon Caun got an official call up to apply for a work camp. There was little known what was actually happening in the oh so cultural Germany, but nobody was happy. The night before he quickly made a picture, neatly in his suit because he thought the next day he wouldgo to work somewhere. In good faith and fear in the heart on July 20, 1942 he went to Westerbork. Since then nothing was heard from him except a laconic postcard of the o, so human Germans, who after a few months informed the family that Simon Caun had good arrived safely in the camp. Over the years there were flashes of rumors: Sobibor, Birkenau, and Auschwitz. We never actually learned anything, there never was anything conclusive.

I know my mom a bit. Except one of the sweetest, she is also one of the smartest women I know. And although itI was almost forty since I lived in the Netherlands, we have enough contact for me to know that her brother is not forgotten. In fact, her time stopped on July 20, 1942, when her brother left her with fear in his heart.
A few years ago, my first book, Pita with Sprinkles was published. To do something for Simon Caun, the book is dedicated to him, so his name really is registered, and nobody, certainly not the oh so accurate Germans can deny that he existed, that he was on this earth has walked around, had dreams, had plans, all of which was swept away by the oh so human German people.

I had not enough. A few months ago I decided to start a project. Through contacts, I was able to dig very deep into the past of the oh so accurate Germans, who, with eager volunteers in the oh so pastoral Poland, tried to eradicate the Jewish People. My starting point was the administration. Netherlands, the country where the largest percentage of Jews were killed (more than 90%) using the majority of the cowardly cooperating Dutch people, have a great bureaucracy, but the oh so precise Germans surpass that of course.
The search faced a lot of obstacles. The fact that the Germans cannot deny that they massacred millions of Jews, does not mean they are ready to help prove it. Many archives were not opened in the beginning, many emails were not answered and I will save you the specific comments on the phone. But I can tell you that I now, after searching, I am more than ever convinced that the Poles, Latvians, Ukrainians and oh, so, good Germans learned from this well planned genocide, which we call in Israel Holocaust, one thing only: never get caught again..

But back to my quest: I wanted to know what happened to my uncle, and refused to accept a "no" as an answer. A few days back, the phone rang with me. A Mr. Kowlaski from Poland. Deputy director of the Auschwitz Museum. He told me that my stubbornness had turned up something and if he could send me first a mail, after which he would give an explanation over the phone. Of course emotions ran high for me and a moment later came a mail.
"Our research tells Simon Caun, born March 20, 1926, was put on transport from Westerbork to Auschwitz on July 21. We know that this transport consisted of 931 Jewish men; women and children and arrived in Auschwitz Camp on July 22, 1942 in the evening. After selecting, 479 men were admitted to the camp and they received numbers 50403-50881. 297 women were also allowed into the camp and were registered with numbers 9880-10176. It is important to note that deportees who were sent directly to their death on arrival, did not receive a number and were not registered. Your uncle had no number and was not registered."
I reread the notice a lump in my throat: here he was: my uncle!

The phone rang and Mr. Kowalski commented on his mail. "You should assume that probably was sick or crying upon arrival. Maybe he was dehydrated and hungry from the long journey. He was alone, I understand from the list. "

My hard stopped.

List? There was a list? And Mr. Kowlaski from Poland sent me a page. Neatly typed by an officer in Westerbork. A list of names. With birth dates. And one comment that married women had their maiden name mentioned.The list goes about the transport from Westerbork on 21 July 1942. In the middle of this list is Simon Caun. Suddenly there is a sign of him. His last sign of life! A neat officer of the NS or the Dutch police put even a pencil with 'V' sign next to his name, as if to say that also this Jew he sent to his death. Then the officer probably went home, to mother the wife, to enjoy some food. Maybe his wife said a few years ago in a documentary NCRV (Dutch TV) that " 5 minutes after the war the Jew already sell you something", who knows.

But here was my uncle, just sixteen years old, on the list. As if I could touch him for a moment. He then disappeared into the lorry, and after two long days arrived at Auschwitz, scared, hungry and thirsty, to be marched straight to the gas chamber. We have a date to remember him. Anyone who wants can now say a prayer for him, light a candle, as he was murdered on July 22, 1942 by oh, so nice German people, using the oh so hard working Polish people. The laconic red postcard, received by the parents of Simon Caun a few months later, is another proof of how efficient the Germans are.

I have sent information to my parents. And to my brothers and sisters. And their children. I asked them to tell this story to tell their children and make sure that their grandchildren will know it by heart and get the same mission: tell it on.

Somewhere in the ground to Auschwitz are the ashes of my uncle. Extradited by the Dutch people, where my family lives for almost 400 years.

Killed by Germans and Poles.

The reader may think that the search is over for me now. The opposite is true. I am now trying to figure out who these good Dutch people are: the one that neatly typed the list, other who neatly made a "V" beside the name of Simon Caun on July 21, 1942 and put him on the train to his death This story wil continue. Believe me, I will find them. It's easy: They documented everything so well.

They were proud of their work.

Simon Soesan

In Memory of Simon Caun, 'yehiyeh zichro baruch' – may his memory be of blessing

(The author is the fifth child of holocaust survivors, who were hidden and saved by the Snelle family in Sevenum, Limburg, the Netherlands. His parents bore 5 children, who bore 13 grandchildren and – up to 2010, 17 great-grand children. And the story goes on.)

The conspiracy

2010-07-25T02:03:00.000-07:00

The conspiracy

Finally, the big day had come! After talking about it for months, and despite the rumors that maybe they were 'wrong' during the Second World War, we decided, just like thousands of Israeli's before us, to visit the Scandinavian furniture warehouse. Israel used to have just one branch, lately we have 2 branches but still, if you don't get there early, you won't even find a parking spot, let alone being allowed to enter the Walhalla of furniture. So we got there early, Still, 30 minutes before opening, about fifty thousand people (eh…more or less…) were all standing in front of us…

At 9 sharp the doors opened and the crowd pushed and pushed until we were all inside. Thousands were running around to see the simple furniture you have to put together yourself. Of course, we just could not leave without buying a little something, so we bought a bag of knickknacks for the kids and two book cupboards we needed anyway. While paying we were told that the products would be delivered to our home by the next day and indeed, the next day we received the boxes holding the cupboards. And yes, we were permitted to put it together by ourselves.

Under the watchful eyes of wife, children, friends and neighbors (I should have sold entry tickets!) I opened the first package and found the manual. I found a bag with screw, nails, and inserts and put it aside. Mission number one was to find a piece of wood named G, which looked much like piece Q and even resembled piece A, just a bit shorter. Of course, the little Scandinavian devils did not name the piece of wood: we were allowed to guess ourselves. After half an hour we recognized all pieces of wood. It was time to work with key H, which looked much like key K, and screw screws A3 via the B5 rings, into piece of wood G, in a way that it would catch piece A, too.

Bravely I tried to remember the sequence, but the screaming of the audience around me did not help much. Shelf S refused to get together with part W via ring R and shelf B simply did not exist.

Slowly but surely I started to sweat. But I would not give in! We are though ones, the Soesans and we never ever give up! Here, I found shelf B, but who screwed it into the floor for heaven's sake? Here was the side of piece P, where shelves S and B would connect, alongside others. I got it! Proudly I looked at the audience, who for one reason or another were laughing. Must have been something on the TV: I was giving a good example: never give up!

Although we started to work at 2 p.m., it was already after 6 pm and I did not finish even one cupboard, let alone two!

"Let us…", tried my wife, but I would not let her of course. Our son wanted to help but I threatened him with a shelf and he backed off. I am the man in the house – I shall succeed! I started from the beginning. Where was shelf G? Which idiot screwed it into piece T?? By 8 pm I was willing to take a break, but I would not allow a soul nearby. Sweaty and tires I took a bottle of water and a sandwich, but I never left my spot. No-one would steal this job from me! On page three of the manual they mentioned nails and a back wall called C. Happily I started to hammer away. By 10 the neighbor knocked at our door, requesting I stop the racket at this late hour. But when he saw me sweating, panting and with a hammer in my hand, he smiled sweetly and ran away.

By 11, I stopped too. A guy needs to rest, isn't it? But to ensure no-one would run away with my job, I slept, despite protests from wife and laughing from my own flesh and blood, on the floor, near my cupboard – or what would become soon enough a cupboard.

I did not give up and by 6 in the morning I was at it again, which created angry reactions from family and neighbors, but hey, I never ever give up! By noon I could see the beginnings of a cupboard, although I could not find sidewall Z. The shelves, too, did not sit well, but I could swear I saw a cupboard in the making,

My wife hugged me and told me that I was right and that I succeeded in getting the job done. She led me to our bed (bought ready-made, praise the Lord!) and helped me to lay down a bit. I fell asleep immediately, proud that I had made it. From afar I heard the sound of footsteps running to the cupboard. I dozed off.

A while later I woke up in a shock. It was quiet in the house, besides the soft sound of my family talking in the living room. I got up and went over, to see two cupboards all assembled and perfectly filled with our books.

I looked at my wife.

"Your son and the friends of your daughter went to work and had everything assembled in no time, unbelievable!", she said. I looked at the traitors one by one. "Ah, so you think I did not do it right?", I asked insulted. Our son came up to me with some pictures taken with our digital camera. An abstract piece of art made out wood. My masterpiece.

Guests come by and praise our beautiful cupboards. I say nothing, keep quiet and play dumb. I just know these Scandinavians were wrong during the Second World War and their manuals are an international conspiracy against blokes like me.

Trust me, I know.

Anything else?

2010-07-24T21:00:00.000-07:00

Anything else?

Pietsie, our little poodle of eight years old, did not feel well. Her nose was cold and dry, her eyes were sad and she wanted nothing, but to lay around. As she is the only dog in Israel that takes a weekly bath and has her behind wiped on a daily basis with a special wet towel, she is allowed to sleep inside any bed, under the covers. And as she is very little, it is sometimes very difficult locating her inside a bed. On top of it she got a bad stomach, so the situation was…. running…. out of hand.

But even sleep and rest did not help her: the vet said it would take a few days.

A family council was gathered, which included our daughter on the phone from her army base, with my son, other daughter, their mother and myself around our dinner table, to discuss the emergency situation. After looking at options we decided to help her. She still wanted the warmth and comfort of a bed, any bed, but… let’s say we could not trust her to be clean. And thus I got elected by the ‘Pietsie-commission’, to go out in the rain and buy diapers for our little dog.

It was already late in the evening and I found a pharmacy, where of course the queue was long: we Israelis love medicine, even if we do not need it.

Finally, it was my turn.

“Good evening, may I help you?”, asked the pharmacist polite.

“I need some diapers.”, I replied.

“Size?”, he asked.

“Oh, the smallest.”, I said.

“Ah, a newcomer!”, cried the pharmacist happily. I heard polite wishes of ‘mazal tov’ all around.

“Well, actually…”, I started, but the pharmacist was faster. “Here we have the smallest and softest diapers in the world. A bit pricey, but I am sure you are willing to purchase only the best.”

“Well, I am in fact looking for something really cheap.”, I said. “And quality is not the issue.”

The whole pharmacy went quiet. People in the queue stopped mumbling and everyone was giving me a cold stare.

“You understand, it is just for a few days and then she won’t need the stuff anymore.”, was I explaining.

“I understand!”, said the pharmacist coldly. “Next thing you’ll want the old fashioned cotton diapers!”

“Even better!”, I answered with a smile. As long as the bed does not get dirty, I am fine with anything!”

The pharmacist gave me an angry look. “Well we do not have old fashioned stuff. We offer only the best for the little ones. To be honest I can’t understand how you can be so cruel and heartless to you little one.”

The mumbling around me started again. It sounded as if everyone was agreeing.

“Saving money on little ones, a hutzpah!”, someone behind me whispered.

“Baby-hater!”, I heard from near the entry door.

“Well, just give me the cheapest and smallest diapers and I’ll be on my way.”, I said. I just wanted to be away from there.

“Do you need any crème or lotion?”, the pharmacist asked.

“We are doing fine without.”, I answered politely.

I heard sighs of unbelief around me. And decided to have some fun.

“In any case, if she really has to go, we take her out in the streets and let her do it there.”, I said, while people around me were rolling their eyes.

“Sir, I simply do not believe you.”, the pharmacist said, close to a fit.

“Really,”, I continued with a serious face. “You really do not think that we would let her dirty our house? If she needs to go, then in the streets it is, whatever weather it may be.”

I got the bill and paid. On my way out, a lady stopped me. She had tears in her eyes. “You heartless barbarian!”, she uttered dramatically and turned around.

Back at home we helped Pietsie with her diaper and put her under the covers. Two days later she was back on her feet and feeling fine. I was with my eldest daughter shopping, near the pharmacy where I bought the diapers. I went inside. I had to. The pharmacist turned recognised me and gave me a cold look.

“I have a question.”, I said politely. “Those diapers I bought some days ago, we only used three of them. Can I get a refund for the remaining package?”

“Out! OUT!”, shouted the pharmacist.

God is great

2010-07-23T23:39:00.000-07:00

It’s the sixth year in a row and we keep doing it.

I know: journalists don’t like it. When we call the international media to announce the yearly event, nobody comes. I guess it is not interesting and maybe even annoying and disappointing to see Jews and Muslims having breakfast and just enjoy each other’s company. Many bloggers will be out of a job, and the “great leaders”, from Nasrallah (the hero who entered his fifth year in hiding..) up to Achmeddinnerjacket, will have no more filth to spread. Whatever.

In Haifa we make a point of living together. Yes, we have problems, but we confront them. Druze, Muslims, Christian, Jews, Messianic Jews – from orthodox to conservative, we all live together. Many of our children go to mixed schools, because we believe that the key for a better future lies in the hands of our children. Let them be friends, let them play, let them be Israelis.

So our Muslim friends opened their Mosque for the sixth year in a row. Our mayor gave a speech and the Emir himself have a baffling lecture on religion in general, that made us all think. Of course, the food was great en the coffee perfect, while the view from the Mosque on the Carmel Mountain to the sea was breathtaking.

Just a few hours of citizens of the same town hanging out with each other, trying to get to know each other. Because the violence has to stop and we need to start somewhere.

So this is not my usual story. Just a few lines on real life.

With religious zealots popping up everywhere, and reporters full of hate writing how bloody the conflict between Jews and Muslims is, I thought to let you all know that it is not so bad. Not everyone is as crazy as the bloggers and journalists would like you to think. I know: it sells.

But the reality is quite different.

©Simon Soesan

Where is Menachem?

2010-07-19T22:44:00.001-07:00

Where is Menahem?

No one in the Israeli business environment could have foreseen the amazing impact of the mobile phones. Not this kind of size and scope. Everyone, and I really mean everyone, has at least one and sometimes people have a few of them, so you look more interesting. I even saw people with cars that had 4 mobile phone antennae – but I found out it was just for show.

Of course, once you have one of those things, you can't imagine life without it, especially now the smart phones (they really call them like that!) that do almost everything besides scratching your back or making coffee.

In our Jewish State we can come up with enough reasons to own a mobile phone and even buy some for the kids: you want to know where they are, what they are doing, if they arrived ok and, after every bomb that still explodes in our country, you want to know that everyone is ok. We have kids and fathers in the army and this list goes on and on.

Of course, with 5 suppliers for a country of 7 million people, trouble is never far away. Typically for Israeli's, the management of the suppliers were so busy counting their profits, that they forgot to take care of the infrastructure. In the most unpredictable places one will find no coverage, and I do not mean the desert: simply in towns or on main highways. This offers opportunities to have fun. For instance when there is a wrong connection.

One does not answer the phone in Israel they way one answers in the USA or Europe. There, people answer the phone saying who they are or wishing you a good day. In Israel, whether you call or are being called, you simply say "AAALLO!" this magical word means everything from "Simon speaking, good morning", to "Law offices, how may I help you?". This "AAALLO!" is something I do not appreciate at all. In fact: I hate it! Still again, it does give opportunities to have some fun on the line.

A few days back I was driving with our son on the car, when the phone rang. My son pressed the button to receive the call.

"AAALLOO Menachem!!", shouted someone on the other side of the line.

"No, Sir,", was my answer, "this is not Menachem."

He quoted a number, which indeed was mine, and ask if he dialed correctly.

"Yes Sir, the number is correct, but it is mine and not Menachem's.

"Why not?", was the answer. "And where is Menachem?"

"I have no idea, Sir, maybe he gave you the wrong number?", I tried.

"Menachem is not stupid! Maybe you stole his mobile phone?"

My son and I looked at each other. This was the moment of opportunity!

"OK. You got me. This is Menachem, I was messing with you.", I said.

"I knew it, I knew it! You are always pulling my leg!", replied the caller relieved. "Look Menachem, Shlomo gave me the money, exactly one hundred thousand as agreed, but I forgot the details of your bank account. I am on my way to the bank to transfer the money to you."

My partner in crime and I looked at each other with a nasty smile. Sure we could give him a bank account number….

We heard another phone ring on the line and our guy started to talk on another phone.

"AAALLO!!!" Who? Menachem? I am talking to you on the other line! What do you mean 'no'? Not true? Are you trying to drive me crazy? Who is this?"

"AAALLO! Who is this, Menachem?", was my contribution to the discussion.

Suddenly it was quiet on the line.

"But…but…but…", tried the man n vain.

"Menachem!", was my reply, "Menachem, is it you? How are tricks? Did you get the account information yet?"

"I am not Menachem!", shouted they guy. "You idiot! …..no, not you Menachem, I am on the line with Mena…uh, with some lunatic!"

"AAALLO<>

But he guy never answered.

Must have been a wrong number.

©Simon Soesan

Hag Samei'ah

2010-07-19T01:02:00.000-07:00

It happens twice a year in Israel: with Passover and Rosh Hashanah it is a custom to send presents to business relations. That can be anything from bottles of wine, a tray of fruit, sweets to bags and radios.

It sounds very nice, but in fact: it is a waste of money. Everyone sends everyone more or less the same stuff and although it is a healthy habit for our economy, I personally see it as something unnecessary. Many times I have given most of the presents I received, to employees. How much can one take home, anyway?

This year I came up with a genius idea: I would beat the system. Together with some assistants I had a meeting only on this subject, because twice a year the 'commission for holidays and culture' (otherwise known as my secretary) needed to choose the presents.

But I had an idea: we delay the shipment of the presents with two weeks. By that time we would have received a lot of presents. We make a list of who sent us what and we send a free present back from this stock! Fantastic idea! Israeli recycling!

And so we started. Some weeks ago the presents started to arrive: boxes of chocolate, plates with apples and honey (how original!), candies and bottles of wine. The meeting room was turned into a temporary storage room. Employees took a break just to have a look at all the presents. I was playing with the idea to sell entry tickets to the meeting room, but my secretary made it very clear there is a limit to Dutch Stinginess (where do people get that silly idea?).

Every present got a small memo, so we could remember who sent it. The cellophane wrappings around the presents were not opened, so the presents remained authentic. We also made a list to whom we should send presents. Cards with "Hag Samei'ach" were bought and I made personal notes on each of them, before we stuck them on the presents. Genius or not?

Time came to send the presents. Hand delivered by our driver, of course. A day later the phone calls started to come in. Not anyone thanking us. Many sarcastic remarks on Dutch Stinginess. I was wondering who the traitor amongst us may be, who could be so cruel and tell our clients of our secret. Pretty soon it became apparent that I was the guilty one.

In most of the presents, under the cellophane wrappings, were cards from the clients who sent us the presents originally…..

I have instructed my secretary to start purchasing the presents for Passover. One never knows….

Shomer

2010-07-19T00:58:00.000-07:00

The current situation made it very clear that a new trend was on its way in Israel. It started quietly, but more and more people overcame their shyness and are willing to show that they are 'in', too: a shomer! This word comes from the Hebrew word "shmirah" (to guard), and even the Torah mentions that "those guarding over Israel will not slumber nor sleep", which is true even today.

Everyone wants one and there are simply not enough of them. This results is shomrim working day and night. No, we are not talking about our soldiers or the police in our Jewish State, who, in any case, do not know the difference anymore between day and night due to their hard work, no, we are talking about the private firms and the private shomrim.

You have a funeral? Bring two shomrim. You have a coffee-shop? At least one at the entrance is mandatory. A wedding? One at every entrance and at least two among the guests. Party at home, because it is scary to go out? Have one at your door! All this because we may look stupid, but we are not crazy! The only country in the world with lots of unique stuff, but this tops the list: which country do you know that has every school, kindergarten, supermarket, cinema or café guarded with armed shomrim? Only us!

Some of our friends went a bit further and took a shomer into their service. Well, 'a' shomer would be wrong to say, because a day has 24 hours, so if you want to do this the right way, you take 2 or 3, so they may rest also. But because our buses are not that safe, you don't send your children to school in a bus. And since we are all so busy working, the shomer can drive them to school. A car must be rented for this purpose and while we're at it, the shomer can go to the supermarket, which is a risky thing anyway. And when the kids get home, the shomer can cook up a meal for them. Quality has no function here. Which kid will say "I won't eat that" to an armed guard? Added value! And if your sweet daughter goes to vist her friends (because out to a public place is out of the question) and you want her home on time? The shomer! More and more Israelis find the shomer answering all of their needs. Get the mail, take the car to service, banking and walking the dog…who said something about unemployment in Israel?

More and more I see people on the streets looking at others. Once it was because of their car. They would look and envy. Now you hear them say: "Gee, did you see that shomer? What a gun! What a neat earpiece!"

Last week our son went top a birthday-party. 14 kids brought their own shomer. Among the kids were talks about which shomer had the biggest gun. Our sweet child came home pretty depressed. We have no shomer. Too expensive. We did rent two for his Bar Mitswah party.

Not because we are so concerned.

But you look stupid, without.

Bar-b-que

2010-07-15T03:43:00.000-07:00

I have no idea who invented the word, but I am much aware of the meaning of it. And since the art of barbeque-ing is, after terrible driving and the cutting each other in queues, a national hobby in Israel, my turn had come again to throw some meat on the coals for my friends and family.

When our children were still young and had no count of time, I used to get the right amount of respect for my labor, although I must confess that I have absolutely no talent for it. Whenever we started a barbeque, our neighbors would the proud owners of a nice fire within fifteen minutes, while mine would not even burn. By the time I was ready to throw some meat on the coals, the children would either be fast asleep or their hunger would have passed. I have been contemplating for quite a while to find a course on the subject, but I never found one and when I asked friends about where to find one, I got pitying looks.

Since then, our children have grown up and got wiser. They know that it is far from normal to wait ninety minutes before any fire gets going. Neither do they believe that the wind or wet leaves are to blame. Their Dad simply can't barbeque. They are grateful that I do not have to provide my family barbeque-ing. "Dad will barbeque" is a good reason for jokes and friends, family and yes, even the love of my life, make fun of me.

This year it was my turn. Rosh Hashanah is a wonderful opportunity to visit the beautiful Carmel-mountains for a pick-nick. We had found a great spot and while the women prepared the table, I was sent to get the grill going. I had planned everything in advance: a big bag of charcoal, old papers and as secret weapon a little bottle with fuel. I'd show them!

Like a true professional I started to put paper in the grill. My daughters and son came to watch me. They brought the children of our friends along, so they all could see how little I understood of what I was doing. I was aware that their parents were watching me from around the table. But I was very sure of myself this time. I was smiling inside myself: they probably placed bets how long it would take me this time. Well, they all had a surprise coming!

I threw the charcoal over the props of paper and with an important look on my face took the bottle with fuel in my hands. Turned around to the kids, who were joined by their parents and opened the bottle. Emptied the bottle over the charcoal and the paper. Took a dramatic step back. Lit a match. Grinned at all the bad people behind me and threw the match on the charcoal and… nothing… Turned around and looked at sixteen people, grown-ups and children, who were trying not to laugh and were turning blue. I turned around and decided not to give up. Another burning match on the charcoal. Again: nothing!

The love of my life, at least, so I thought, came up to me and while everybody started to laugh loudly, gave me a kiss and a small bottle.

"It works better with fuel, plain water simply won't do the job.", she said, trying not to laugh.

Which the others did.

The List

2010-07-14T04:33:00.000-07:00

The list

I had to see the doctor with our youngest daughter. This is a whole operation by itself as, since the great Allyah in the 1980's of Russians, most personnel of our National Health Fund speak Russian only. Another problem with this institute is that you have to get there very early in line. Doors open at eight? And you wanted to be out of there by nine? Come early, very early. And so, our little princess and I found ourselves at seven in the morning close to the Health Fund. She had small, sleepy eyes, something very common among the eighteen-year-olds. I brought her a sandwich and chocolate milk, so the waiting in line would be a bit pleasant for her.

We saw that three people were already waiting at the door and they were in the middle of some argument in Russian. I winked at my child and whispered that they were probably arguing about who was first in line. She nodded with sleepy eyes and took a bite from her sandwich. After fifteen minutes we were already twelve people. I started to understand what the argument was about: someone put a piece of paper on the door and wrote on it: "List for today, and it had quite a lot of names on it. There were three problems with this, as far as I was concerned: many names were in Russian, a lot of people with their name on the list were not even present and our name was not on it.

I went over to the door, to put our name on the list, but a lady stopped me, saying "Not to pushink, not to pushink!". "I just want to put our name on the list", I explained. To which I got a loud reaction from all sides: "Not on list? You go to back of line!".

"But we are here since seven…", I tried, but suddenly everyone blocked us. "Not list, not line." was what were heard and people gave us hard looks.

My sweet eighteen stopped chewing and looked at me. I hugged her and whispered: "Go to the car and call my cell-phone from the car-phone". She gave me a strange look but did what I said ( a rare moment!).

I looked around quietly while the queue became longer. It was almost eight, so there was little time left. My cell-phone rang. With a serious face I answered. Of course it was my daughter.

"What???", I shouted into the phone and looked around me. No reaction yet. "What??", I continued. "What do you mean: strike? I need to see a doctor, now!" I looked around and I saw I had everyone's attention. "What kind of country is this anyway?", I went on acting, "My kid needs a doctor and they strike? I demand a doctor! I refuse to accept that the Fund will be closed today!. I was shouting. And it seemed to have an effect.

People around me started to explain in Russian what they understood from my shouting… and started to argue among themselves how bad life in Israel is and walk over to telephone booths to make calls..

I walked over to the door, took off the list..

The door opened and I was inside, with my daughter.

Suddenly everyone came back and started to shout in Russian.

But by that time we were sitting with the doctor.

Super

2010-07-12T22:51:00.001-07:00

Super

My partner in life finally succeeded: I joined her to the supermarket. She mostly goes alone, as I have little patience for these institutes. But she seduced me by promising a cup of coffee at our favorite café afterwards, so off we went to the super, after the 'normal' security checks at the entrance of the parking, the entrance of the mall, the elevator and the entrance of the super.

She had a list of things to buy and my task was simple: push the cart and pay at the end.

As we were strolling along the rows of products I smelled that wonderful smell of grilled meat. At a corner I saw this lady behind a table offering pieces of grilled meat to clients, so they could taste it. Of course, I just had to try it myself. The love of my life came back just as I was chewing and asked what I was eating. "Nothing.", I said innocently. She threw some products in the cart and walked away. At the corner of the next row I saw another lady behind another table. She offered cookies. As I happened to like cookies and this was another test, I volunteered to try five different cookies. Of course my other half came with stuff for the cart and asked me again what I was eating. "Nothing!", I said again to her, almost insulted. She gave me a hard look and walked off with her list. I pushed the cart around the corner and there was this gentleman offering sausage. Of course I just finished a nice piece as my partner came back with more stuff for the cart, asking me if I was stuffing myself with something. "Absolutely not!", I told her angrily.

One half hour and five 'tests' later we were at the cash-register, where some ladies were handing out small ice-creams for tasting. As I am always willing to help people, I took one. "And now?", asked my sweetheart. "Mitswah!", I cried, "she asked for help!"

She looked at me accusingly, but at that moment a lady behind us asked: "Can I please pay before you? You have so much in your cart and I am in a hurry…"

"My husband is busy with important tests, so please go ahead.", said my darling while giving me the eye.

The woman behind us was fast and before we knew it, she passed us with a cart as full as ours.

"Lady,", I said, "that is not what you said!"

The woman looked at me and answered: "Hutspah!, the woman next to you said it was all right!". She turned around and started to unload her cart.

I looked at my wife.

"Someone over there is offering free cheese,", she said, "did you skip that one?"

2010-07-12T22:47:00.000-07:00

The air-condition-war

Look, I'll always be a Dutchman. And that also means that warm weather can be nice, but as its limits for me. That is why a fully integrated air-conditioning was one of our biggest investments in our house . Cool in the summer, warm in the winter, said the technician. And so it is. But we do have one small problem: the love of my life and our children are born Israelis and do not mind the heat that much. In fact, they love it. Of course, air-condition can be nice now and then, but how much does an Israeli need it, on top of the Carmel mountain? The first year it was still a novelty and everyone had fun turning it on and off. Of course, having the house heated in the winter was a bonus.

I have no idea when it started, but my partner in life arranged a secret conspiracy. And a clever one, at that. It happens that, when I come home, during the warm summer evenings, I close all the windows and turn on the air-conditioning. In just a few minutes the house is cool: what a way to live! I had no notion of the secret glances that would go among my family and would go to take a quick shower to freshen up and not notice the open windows upon my return to the living room. Neither would I notice that the air-condition would be off. I make long days and am tired in the evenings, so only after one hour or so, feeling my own sweat, I would catch on. At first they would all deny the fact that I switched on the air-conditioning. They also tried "it just stopped", but I am not buying that, of course.

Since I am not a complete fool, I decided to hit back. One can understand that this is not an easy task without any help. But I returned again from work, closed all the windows, activated the air-conditioning, walked into the bathroom, and like a real James Bond, opened the door again, only to find the love of my life with her finger on the switch of the air-conditioning. "And what is this then?", I asked very cleverly. "Dust.", she answered innocently and walked away. I decided to announce that I would shower with the bathroom opened, but the enemy had retired for the evening.

Back in the living-room I found my family wearing jogging-suits… ninety degrees outside they dress up warmly! But I acted as if was the most normal thing in the world. By the time we went to sleep I found my sweetheart in bed, covered with two blankets. I said nothing and went to sleep, only to wake up two hours later, sweating as if I had a fever, but I quickly understood that the windows were open and the air-conditioning was off… the enemy had beat me to it! And the enemy was next to me in our bed, pretending to be asleep and trying not to smile.

I have tried everything, even offered our children money! But they are unbreakable….. just ganging up on me with their mother!

This week I will sleep in my car: I will put the air-condition on fifty, maybe even forty and lock the doors! See what they can do then…

Father knows best

2010-07-11T23:16:00.001-07:00

Father Knows Best

The way our front door was slammed shut, already told us that something was wrong. Expectantly my partner in life and myself looked at the entrance of our living room, to see who came in and what was wrong. It was our eldest: no lenses in, the glasses of her spectacles all steamed up…. I looked at her mother. We already understood: a broken heart!

“It’s over, over!”, she cried dramatically while settling herself on the couch, between her mother and I. My wife gave her a big hug and held her. Her sister, just back from her army base, came out of her room, took a look at the situation and ran over to the couch, to hug her elder sister, too. I looked at our son and he looked at me. “Are they stupid or are we stupid?”, was the unasked question in our eyes.

Next to me, on the couch, the drama continued. Our eldest was crying her eyes out while being held by her mom and sister. Her head came up and she looked at me. It was my turn now. “Daddy…”, she started and cried on. As I am an expert, I hugged her tightly and stroked her long curls. “Leave it, sweetie,”, said I wisely, “you are worth much more than him.” My wife shook her head at me. No good – I can take a hint. I thought quickly. What kind of wisdom could I say to her now? “Just remember your father loves you very much”, I said full of love. Her sister looked at me with great disappointment. The love of my life gave a deep sigh. And our daughter, in my arms, kept at it.

Our son, expert-in-training for these situations, put his finger on his mouth. “Just be quiet, dad!”, was what he was trying to say.

She got a glass of water from her sister. It helped. Her mother brought some tissues. That helped to bring down the level of humidity in our home. Her head came up from my arms and she looked at me. Eyes red from crying, a red nose and very sad. I suddenly remembered that this is how she always looked after she cried. Sweet.

My train of thought was rudely disturbed by my spouse, who informed me that our eldest needed to go to powder her nose now. Her sister went along.

“You are so clumsy with crying women!”, she said accusingly. “I think I am doing fine, thank you.”, was my defense. “Dad,”, interfered our son, “when women cry they mostly want some quiet and an arm around them.” Said my flesh and blood, the traitor, while his mom looked at him proudly. “As if you have any experience.”, I countered. His mother came to his defense. “I think you also lack experience.”, she said. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”, I asked concerned.

“Well, let’s say that you have given me little reason to cry.”, said the sweetest woman in the world. We gave each other the eye, but the moment was rudely broken by our daughters, who returned.

“Better now?”, I asked. Our eldest nodded quietly.

“Just think: if he does not want you, you deserve someone much better.” Four pairs of eyes looked tired at me. Of course I did not get the hint and I went on. “Believe me, there are many more fish in the sea.”, I added pretty dumb.

She looked at me. “Dad, you are so sweet, but you simply got it wrong as usual.”

He mom, sister and brother nodded in agreement.

“I ended it, Daddy, it was enough for me.”, she said. “But then why are you crying?”, I asked dumbfounded. My family sighed as one. As if I was a lost case.

“Dad,”, started our 13-year old expert. “Women are like that. They just need to cry now and then, it gives them release.” I nodded as if I understood. And kept quiet.

Everyone now is very happy I understood.

The truth is I have no clue.

But you don’t need to spread that around

The Survivor

2010-07-11T23:11:00.001-07:00

The survivor

“How sweet, thank you so much.”, said Rivka quietly.

Her old, wrinkled hands touched the box with food ware that we just put on her table. Over twenty pounds of vegetables, fruit, meat, bread, sweets and beverages. Now that it is clear that the Israeli government, between criminal investigations by the police and state commissions of inquiry, will have no time to run our country and certainly will not lend a hand to end the poverty of the Holocaust survivors, we the people, decided to step in.

In our town of Haifa we are pretty occupied with the Holocaust. Students, in their last year at high school, go to Poland to visit some of the worst death camps. A survivor, who tells the story of his of her life, joins them. We also send our children to visit the survivors living in our city. This enabled us to, without much effort, collect all the addresses of those who survived and live in dreadful circumstances.

Rivka is 84 years old.

At seventeen, she was caught by surprise by the war and was sent to a concentration camp within a few months. The infamous Mengele chose her for his horrific experiments, which resulted in her inability to give birth. After surviving six camps, she was smuggled to Israel, only to be arrested by English soldiers who sent her to another camp, this time in Cyprus. By the time she finally arrived in Israel, the Jewish State was a few weeks old.

She worked as a cleaner until her retirement in 1998, fifty years after arriving in Israel. As our pension plan is not really helping much, Rivka receives around two hundred and fifty dollars per month, which is called welfare. The Israeli government also negotiated compensation from the German authorities for her. She gets around one hundred dollars for her suffering in the Nazi camps.

Rivka never complained.

“We were ashamed to tell about what happened to us in the camps. People here blamed us for letting the Nazi’s do this to us without us fighting back. In the summer I used to go around in long sleeves, so no-one could see the number on my arm.”, she told me.

She has a one-room apartment, Rivka. It was probably painted fifty years ago for the last time. She rents it from some government cooperation that never promised maintenance. The stairways are clean, but broken and are dangerous for anyone, let alone someone of her age. Her apartment is clean, but a mess. When we met her for the first time last winter, her water supply was off. She could not remember for how long. She got a bucket of water each day from her neighbor. That served her for washing, drinking and toilet.

We send a class to her home. They worked for two months in shifts and fixed the apartment. Her water was running within five minutes and her toilet was back in service one hour later. The flat was painted, repaired, people brought second hand furniture and we even found a refrigerator and a small stove for her. The first days Rivka stared quietly at all the commotion, but after some days she started to smile and we heard her humming a song. The youngsters asked her to teach them the song and after a few days children from Haifa, Jewish, Christian, Druze and Muslim children, were all singing a Polish song during their labor.

Rivka got light and our power company came up with a special plan for Holocaust survivors, which turned out to be a symbolic amount of a few dollars per month. Rivka got clothes and a dentist volunteered to arrange her teeth. Suddenly everyone woke up and the few hundred Holocaust survivors in our city saw a change in their lives. Because we, the people, can do things that politicians refuse to do.

“Hunger was never a problem”, Rivka told me. “I have gone through famine and I can handle that. And the cold in the winter I can handle. Maybe here the winter is less cold than in Europe, but it is mean. And the state of my house… oh well…I have known worse in my life. I can survive anything.”

Suddenly I saw tears in her eyes.

I waited patiently.

“But what I got never used to is the shame. Not because of being a survivor, but because I was treated like a dog in our own country, Israel. For years, no one helped us."

I did not have a reply.

“And now look: I got all this!” She pointed at the box with goodies and at her freshly painted apartment. “And you tell me that I will get a box like this every week and that my pension plan will improve?”

I nodded.

“Can’t wait.”, she said quietly while taking an orange out of the box. She smelled at it.

“Could not afford one of those for years.”, she whispered.

Just a few days later I was called at work. Rivka had passed away in her sleep. A clerk who was going to explain her new income to her found her. She died peacefully, he said, with a smile on her face and an orange in her hand.

Rivka had no family. The same class that fixed her apartment came to her funeral. Together they all sang once more the song Rivka taught them just weeks before.

Just about forty people gave Rivka her last honors.

Because we cannot and will not forget her and all the Holocaust survivors.

Feast of all Feasts

2010-07-11T01:40:00.000-07:00

When you go down our Carmel Mountain in the direction of the old city of Haifa, you will arrive in Vadi NissNass, a mishmash of narrow streets built ages ago. Every year in December we celebrate in Haifa the Feast of all Feasts, meaning we celebrate Ramadan, Christmas, Hanukkah and New year at the same time. Four weekends in a row the Vadi is turned into one big shuk where many things happen at the same time. Thousands come from all over the country to experience this. I myself joined my wife and Bassam and Zhida, our friends, whom we have known for years. We parked our car near the Muslim-Jewish-Christian center, Beit Hageffen, and strolled into the shuk.

“You’ve got to come with me!”, Bassam pleaded. “My brother is Santa Claus here!” I nodded in agreement and we walked the narrow street, while magicians made shawls appear out of nowhere and street musicians sang something that reminded “Jingle Bells” in Arabic.

“Don’t stuff yourselves this year with humus, please!”, warned Zhida both of us.

“But to be here and not taste the humus…”, I started.

“…is like going to swim without jumping into the water!”, tried my friend to help me. We both love humus and in the Vadi the humus is outstanding.

“Sorry, we are all having lunch at Chaled’s restaurant, all the children will be there waiting for us later on.” , said the love of my life while Zhida nodded in agreement.

“Here is my brother!”, shouted Bassam and he hugged Santa Claus…who got very angry. “Are you meshugge? “ shouted Father Christmas angrily. “Don’t touch me!”

Bassam looked confused at Santa. “But you really look like my brother…”, he said seriously. Santa made a sign with his hand not really fitting the Christmas Man and walked on.

“Have you bought your candles for Hanukah?”, asked Zhida while pointing at a stand with candles. My partner in life nodded. “There he is! Ziyad, Ziyad!”, shouted Bassam while running to another Santa and hugging him wholeheartedly. But this Father Christmas got angry too. “Pervert!”, shouted the jolly man at my friend and ran off. Bassam look with disappointment at the man in the red-white suit walking angrily away and mumbled “I swear it could have been my brother…” I threw my arm over his broad shoulder and on we went. Bands played music, from every second store people offered us coffee, a magician pulled a rose from the ear of my wife…as usual the Feasts of Feasts was perfect.

We saw quite a lot of police and security personnel as the concern for a fanatic wanting to do something bad is always there. When our wives stopped at a stand, Bassam and I gave each other a fast look. We quilky accepted a free cup of fantastic black coffee and the sweetest baklava on the side. We had to be quick, as our wives have sensors for us doing this. Indeed, they joined us and my wife just shook her head. “You guys really can’t be left alone for a moment.”, she said while cleaning some crumbs away from around my mouth. I decided wisely not to say a thing.

“Ziyad!”, shouted Bassam suddenly. I guess the rumor of a crazy giant weighing 130 kilo was around, as Father Christmas opened his eyes wide and started to run away.

A bit later at lunch with our children, Zhida told the story of Bassam and Santa, which made everyone laugh.

“But I swear, he really looked like my brother!”, tried Bassam once more. This time it was Zhida who got him silent, with the help of sweet baklava.

©Simon Soesan

Crazy Dog

2010-07-11T01:36:00.000-07:00

It really wasn’t a big bite. But Danielle, our neighbor, was very concerned. On her way home she passed a man with a dog who bit her suddenly. The dog. Not the man. Not deep, but enough to create a small wound. She shouted, more out of fear than pain and asked the man if the dog was inoculated for rabies. “None of your business!’, said the man and walked away. Just as I was parking my car I saw her sitting on the ground near the park which is close to our home. I went over to see what was up and she told me what happened.

I suggested we go to the Health Fund and helped into my car. We arrived within a few minutes and luckily our family doctor was still there. He looked at Danielle’s leg and then at me. “Did this Dutchman bite you?” he asked dryly. Despite her condition Danielle started to laugh. The good doctor prepared a syringe and gave her a shot against anything that can go wrong. He told her not to worry about the leg, but to worry about getting home with me driving. As I know our doc for over 20 years, I just let it slide. Just as we were about to leave, he gave her a small card. “Ministry of Health. You should report it, really.” , he suggested.

On our way home we had bad traffic. I asked my neighbor of she wanted to use my phone to call the ministry and she agreed. She dialed and pretty quick someone answered.

“Health.”, said a voice with an heavy Russian accent.

“Hello , my name is Danielle and I was bitten by a dog.”, said my neighbor.

“Which dog?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“We need to know the name of the dog and that of the owner, you know.”, said the woman with great authority.

“But the dog bit me and the owner walked away with the dog.”

“And you could not ask for the name of the dog?”

“No, because the dog bit me.”

“And the owner?”

“The owner did not bite me.”

Silence on the line. A deep sigh.

“Do you know who owns the dog?”

“No.”

“You couldn’t just even ask?

“He just walked away.”

“Who, the owner or the dog?”

“Both.”

Another great sigh on the other side of the line.

“Look without the dog we cannot act, you understand.”

“Ma’am. I just was bitten by a dog, got some stuff injected to me by a doctor, I am in pain and do not feel so good. What do you suggest I do?”

“Rest, maybe?”

“But the doctor said to call you.”

“Nice, but without the name of the dog there is nothing we can do.”

“But I was bitten!” Daniela was getting upset.

“Bitten…really… ..you sound fine to me.”, was the cold answer.

Daniela looked shocked. I made a gesture and winked at her. She nodded. Being my neighbor she already knew where I was going.

“Excuse me, I am the neighbor and maybe I can help?” I said sweetly.

“Oh really…”, was the answer of Health.

“Yes I saw it all.”

“And you know the dog?”

“An evil Rottweiler!”, I answered slowly.

The other side went quiet.

“And I know the owner!”, I added for tension.

“You have a name?” asked Mrs. Health now happily.

“Oh yes I do!”, I answered happily too while making faces at Daniela.

“Can you give the name to me please?”

“ Of course: Mordechai Kishmantuches! But I have no idea where he lives…” I looked at Daniela and said the surname slowly. She started to laugh.

“Is the patient okay there?”, asked Health.

“Excellent!”, I said.

“Sir thank you so much, we will find the suspect. We work national and international and will apprehend the dog soon. Thank you and shalom!”

I looked at my neighbor who started to feel better.

If ever you hear about a Mr. Kishmantuches being looked for by the authorities, at least you know about the crazy dog that made that happen.