Nicht gewuenscht

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!

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.

© Simon Soesan

Never mind

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

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

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

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

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.

© Simon Soesan