Syria’s civil war is NOT another Holocaust

Here’s why I don’t like people comparing the Holocaust to the Syrian civil war:

The problem is that in order to help Syria, we have to find a way to safely deal with:
1. Hezbollah, who has been helping Assad, and therefore expects Assad to give them their share of the power when things get better for him;
2. ISIS, who is fighting on the other side and is another dangerous terror organization;
3. the chemical and biological weapons both sides have no scruples about using to harm anyone and everyone who stands in their way.

I am starting to think the only way to deal with the situation is for all powers to get together and bomb all of Syria. But that doesn’t help the children involved, not at all.

The other issue is that refugee quotas often exclude many of those who need them, and include terrorists and extremists (surprise, surprise).

There really is no simple solution.

And the situation is not comparable to the Holocaust (even though everyone likes to compare the two) because:
1. During the Holocaust, Jews were rounded up from various occupied countries and brought to concentration camps, to their deaths. Here, the women and children happen to be in the way, are not let out of the siege – but they are killed where they live, not brought anywhere specific, and are also not targeted for killing in a specific way. So theoretically, if we could parachute them out of there, the two fighting sides would not know or care (whereas in the Holocaust, they tracked down individual Jewish names and kept track of who was killed etc.).

2. There was a very clear line, in the Holocaust, between victims and perps. The perps did not pretend to be victims in order to gain rights. They were proud to be perps. Here, there are perps and victims but unless you understand and speak Arabic, you will not be able to tell the difference between them – and even if you do speak Arabic, you might still be fooled, and that would be the point.

3. In the Holocaust, four people died every minute, on average. That doesn’t include the people who died in the war – it JUST includes the actual genocide victims, sans soldiers and sans civilians.

Syria’s civil war has claimed 321,000 lives (true to March 13, 2017), with 145,000 missing (most of whom have probably joined the fighting). So we’re talking about one person dying every ten minutes, on average. Except that people don’t die every day – they only die when they are hit, or when they get sick but have no doctors, because all the UN doctors have left the area (surprising, right?).

4. Part of the issue with the Holocaust is that *no one* was willing to stand up for the victims and the Jews. But the Shiites here have supporters, who are paying for them to defend themselves. And the Sunnis have supporters, who are paying for hem to defend themselves. The whole WORLD is “up in arms,” literally, about what the best way to help the Syrian citizens is.

Everyone cares about the Syrian victims. But NO ONE cared about the Jewish and gypsy victims of the Holocaust, until they were forced to care. (For G-d’s sake, no one cares about Jews today, either.)

Point being, my heart hurts for the Syrian victims, but I don’t see a real solution. Israel does what it can to help, including sending medical clowns to work with the children, treating wounded Syrians in Israeli hospitals and funding it through Israelis’ taxes, at the expense of Israeli citizens who are forced to wait for treatment while the doctors work with the Syrians (which makes many Israelis mad).

Yitzchak has said a few times that the only real thing we can do is recapture large parts of Syria, and that would be the best thing for those Syrian citizens, to become citizens of Israel. (Think about it: To go from living in a war-torn country, full of conflict, strife, and even in good times – Sharia law – to living in a modern democracy, which gives you all the rights and privileges of the Western world. Yes, it would be to their benefit, and they probably know it.) But I don’t think we have the army for it, or the guts for it, and I don’t think it would go over well with Hezbollah or ISIS. Sooo I don’t think it’s going to happen.

So I wish the carnage wasn’t happening, wish we could do more – but I don’t really think there is a solution. And it’s not really comparable to the Holocaust, in which several nations fought several other nations, and victims and perps were clearly separated.

This is a post for the haters

Including and especially NYM/ Naomi.

Today I received an email from my mother. And this email is the perfect example of an email which is absolutely not okay to send to anyone other than a single-by-choice mother (“by choice” including the 66% of divorces initiated by women):

Hope Purim was fun for kids and mommy!
Missed you –

Usually I try to ignore this type of email from my mother, because arguing with her is a waste of time, as is responding and spending any kind of emotional energy on her issues.

But today it was just too much. I promptly sent back that I find the fact she ignores my husband’s existence to be extremely offensive.

Not okay *MOM*. Just *not* okay.

And do not come kvetching that I am not proactively working on a relationship with you (and do not refer to you as Ma, Mom, or some such title), if this is the kind of email you send me.

But for those who think I should be doing more – think about this: My mother has not actually acknowledged my husband as my chosen husband, and a good husband, since our marriage nearly 7 years ago (it will be seven years next week).

If he was abusive, maybe (maybe – only maybe) there would be a justification for how she treats him.

He’s not abusive. There’s NO justification for it.

And not only that, my husband goes out of the way to be nice, respectful, and thoughtful towards my mother. He tells her a lot more than I would *ever* tell her (I don’t tell my mother anything I’m not prepared for the world to know and gossip about), and tries to keep her involved. He encourages me to send her pictures and speak to her. And he always has.

But this – this kind of garbage – is what Yitzchak gets in return.

And I’m fed up. Yes, I want the world to know.

And I want my family to stop judging me and expecting me to go above and beyond for someone who cares not a thing about my husband, and refuses to acknowledge his existence or our relationship.

New Year, new start?

I spaced. Big time. So what?

I didn’t space *just* on this blog. I spaced completely. I only realized that I had to cook for a two-day holiday, less than a week before.

I only realized that today is a fast day after seeing someone post about it online. Good thing I hadn’t eaten yet, huh?

I feel like a world-class space cadet. And the thing is, I’m not usually a space cadet.

But on the other hand, this past month has been crazy. We both feel like we’ve been running from one thing to the next, not even thinking a week ahead.

I started writing down what has to be done, so I won’t forget. On Sunday, I made a list of projects that needed to be done today. (I’m about a third of the way through, thanks for asking.) Tomorrow there’s something else.

And all I can say is: Thank G-d it’s all good or neutral. I can think of a lot worse ways to be busy.

I meant to call some people before Rosh Hashana. Well, I forgot my phone down in the bomb shelter (where we keep our stroller) and YItzchak only found it two hours before the holiday. So I missed a business call, a friend, and probably some others, too.

I guess I can make my new-year phone calls this week. Better late than never, right? And a whole lot less stressful.

So my apologies to my readers, and…..I hope to rebrand this blog soon. I’m not yet sure what exactly I want to do, but I think the time has come for a revamp.


The Body’s Message

Before I made aliya, I had awful eczema. My feet stank. I had backaches. I felt like an old lady, even though I was a teenager.

Then I came to Israel. Dairy didn’t bother me anymore. I lost weight (in a good way). My feet no longer stank (except during summer visits to Toronto). My eczema got better. My back got better.

Most of these changes I associated with the fresher air, fresher food, and better quality lifestyle in general. Israelis, on the whole, eat less junk than Americans. The dairy and meat is fresher. The vegetables and fruits are fresher.Israelis also exercise more, and spend less time in front of screens. (Well. That is changing. But this is what it was when I came.)

The stinky feet I knew were stress-related. Okay, fine. No biggie.


In the past month or so – maybe less – my eczema has come back. It’s awful. I had these huge red, itchy squares on my inner elbows. Huge. The rash I had on the back of my neck, when I was pregnant with Tova – came back, different and worse. My hands were full of little bubbles of clear pus, and my fingers were red and itchy. Even the outsides of my ears were purple and peeling.

I tried to think what I was eating wrong. How had I changed my diet? Is this just heat rash? If it’s heat rash, why is it so much worse this summer than any of the previous summers?

I couldn’t figure it out.

I put creams. This cream, that cream. Washed it often with soap and water, or just water. Tried to let the affected areas air out, or dry out in front of the fan. Nothing worked.

On Friday, my brother told me to go to hell. To get out of his life. That’s it, he doesn’t want me around.

It was hard. I was upset, and hurt. He’s the fourth person in my family to do this to me. My father didn’t tell us explicitly. He just doesn’t answer. My mother told Yitzchak and I never to contact her or my siblings again, if we insisted on getting married when we’d planned (after we’d pushed our wedding off 5 times, to accommodate her). She eventually backtracked on that, and allowed us contact . . . but never told my siblings she’d told this to us. They continued believing what they were told – that we didn’t care, we didn’t want to be in touch – and then one day, we did. That’s what they were told. That’s what they believe(d).

Then Esther didn’t like what I was saying. And then I told her to take Tova’s personal info offline. That was it. She blocked my emails and forbade me from ever contacting her again.

And now this.

I am not such an awful person that I deserve this. Sometimes I think I am. After all, four people have done this to me . . . maybe I deserve it?

But no. I do not deserve this. I have murdered no one. I have not stolen, embezzled, raped, or molested. I have not abused drugs, alcohol, or anything else.

My father tossed us out of his life. All of us. That is his issue, not mine. And not my siblings’, either.

My mother tried to force Yitzchak and I to break up. She told everyone that I didn’t care about them, fed them lies with their food. I did make some mistakes, but the underlying problem was hers, not mine. I should not have to choose between parents and siblings, and my spouse.

My sister, well, I might have pushed her too far. But she has so many issues. So many. Those issues are not my fault. They have nothing to do with me. Whatever. She can do what she wants. I am here if she wants me.

My brother, maybe I pushed him too far. But the real reason he wants me out of his life, is that he believes that I cut him, and everyone else, out of my life all those years ago. He knows that’s not true. But that’s why he’s mad. That’s why he wants nothing to do with me. Also, because he thinks I tricked him. Haven’t figured that one out yet. What he saw is what there is. I tricked no one.

And if he is threatening me, and telling me to get out of his life – he can never, ever, ever claim again that I cut anyone out of my own life.

I am vindicated.

I cried. It hurt. But I took a deep breath and said, “This is his issue, not mine.” If he chooses my path, he will stay in Israel and adopt one of my cousins and her husband (or Yitzchak and I) as surrogate parental figures. As older siblings. As mentors. As role models.

If he does not, if he insists on denying the issues, he will follow Esther’s path and he will end up like her.

There is nothing I can do about it. And I do not have enough emotional resources to spend time thinking about it, when I can do absolutely nothing.

After I decided that, it wasn’t easy.

But every time the subject came up – in conversation with Yitzchak or in my thoughts – I reminded myself that I cannot do anything, and therefore stressing myself out is stupid.

I took a deep breath, said, “What will be, will be. He will do what he wants. If he wants me, he knows where to find me.” And I changed the subject and moved on.

In less than 48 hours, the rashes on my elbows and hands were 80% gone. They were no longer red or itchy. They had practically healed. My ears had healed 50%. My neck – 50%.

No creams. No special treatments.

Just letting go, and remembering that I can only help myself.

I cannot help anyone else, unless they want to be helped.

I am doing the best I can, for myself, for my husband and kids, and for my siblings and the world around me. I am doing what I need to be doing, in order to heal and become a healthier person.

No one can take that away.

Those who will support it – are positive people, who care.

Those who oppose it – are people who are either jealous, or resentful, of the path that I have chosen. Those people – if they are not related to me, I toss them away. I don’t need them. I don’t owe them. They can go to Azazel.

If they are related to me, I try to keep the lines open. I try to reach out and help. Even if it costs me a lot. It does cost me a lot. And no one understands how much, except perhaps Yitzchak.

This past month of worrying, of stressing, of wondering how to help . . . of laying awake at night . . . it took a tremendous toll, physically and emotionally. On me – but also on my family.

To be tossed out like that – it hurts. But maybe it is for the best.

I should not have been losing so much sleep. I should not have been worrying so much. But I get too emotionally involved in the people I try to help. It’s a problem. A big problem.

So I am here for those who want.

Those who don’t want – I can’t help anyways.

But I am done stressing. I am done worrying, going gray, hair-pulling . . .  for people who don’t want me in their lives, anyways.

If he wants me, he knows where to find me. Even at 3am.

And I am going to listen to my body. Like I tell Shlomo . . . listen to your body.

The rashes weren’t because of my diet. They were because I was stressed.

Yeah, my life is stressful. It has been for a while. But I guess this was a different kind of stress. A kind of stress that I just can’t handle.

So I am going to listen . . . and stop stressing about people who don’t want my help, anyways . . . because it is easier for them to stay in their little box, where it is familiar, and blame me for cutting them off.

I am going to be healthy. I am going to be whole. I am going to heal.

And whoever wants – is invited to join me.


I look at today’s teens and I wonder – how do you not know who you are?

I have a few students who know who they are. And the rest – from grade 7 to grade 12, up through National Service or army, and often even when they begin college – do not know what they want to do with their lives.

Then they start dating. And they do not know what kind of spouse they are looking for. Sure, they spit back all the regular answers: religious, middle-of-the-road, knows what he wants to do, did army (possibly combat). But they do not know what they are looking for.

And they can’t. Because they don’t know why they are.

If I were a coach, if I had enough money that I did not need to work, I would volunteer to act as life coach for high school students.

Because these are the years. This is when you become who you are. When you choose what, ad who, you will become.

Sometimes it takes a bit longer. But by age 20, you should know who you are.

At least, I think.

As it turns out, I’m not alone. And neither are they.

Yitzchak’s developmental psychology book speaks exactly about these situations.

There are two major problems that many teens face when trying to achieve identity:

  1. Identity moratorium. These teens are “high school students,” “college students,” possibly even “computer science students,” and maybe they are “army guys/ gals.” But the issue is that their definition of self changes as their external role changes. They define themselves based on what they are occupied with, not as who they are. Because, in essence, they do not know who they are.
  2. Identity diffusion. This is a state when the young adult does not know who they are, and does not really care to find out. These adults ignore conflict and refuse to discuss issues. They are, essentially, in denial. If you try to bring up an important subject, they will say, “Well, it doesn’t really matter anyways, because . . . ” or possibly, “Whatever . . .” They have a hard time committing and avoid deep introspection and questioning.

The problem is that often, neither of these states resolve themselves.

There is a third state that psychology deems problematic, and that is the state of identity foreclosure. In this, the teen unequivocally adopts societal and parental expectations, and becomes whatever is expected of them. This teen avoids questioning, but in all honesty – as long as he continues being happy with his chosen, “forced,” identity as an adult – I don’t really see the issue. Not everyone is a questioner and non-conformer. That’s okay.

But the identity and moratorium are actually harmful to those afflicted with them. Because neither knows who they are.

The moratorium is painful. It’s painful to be questioning but not be able to commit. It’s painful to know that you are something, that there is something that fits, and not know how or where to find it.

The diffusion is not as painful. At least, not on a conscious level. But a person suffering from identity diffusion will very often find themselves years later, looking back and wondering how they messed up their lives. Suddenly, they begin to care, only to discover too late that they have gone down the wrong path.

The book had a nice chart:

commitment + questioning = identity achieved

no commitment + no questioning = identity diffusion

no commitment + questioning = identity moratorium

commitment + no questioning = identity foreclosure

It was in chart form, of course.

Me, I have often been told that I am immature. I decided at age 6 that I wanted to be a teacher, and I did it. I decided at age 12 that I wanted to move to Israel, and I did it. I decided a lot of things as a kid – and when I found that list, just before I made aliya – everything on it fell into three categories:

  1. accomplished
  2. in the process of accomplishing
  3. no longer important to me

Yitzchak did not know what he wanted to do with his life until he started college. He debated between two or three things, and then chose. But Yitzchak’s identity is not caught up with what he does for a living. He could work in anything and be content, as long as it was decent work, good conditions, and paid the bills. He has his dream job, of course. But if he is not working in that dream job, it doesn’t matter to him what he *does* work in.

We can probably sum this up by saying that job/ occupation is not the entirety of someone’s identity.

But when a person does not know who they are at the age of 22, 25, or 28, and cannot choose a spouse – there is a problem.

What makes you special? What do you have to give to the world?

What do you want your life to look like?

Answer these questions, for yourself . . . because when I ask them of people trying hard to find a spouse, and not succeeding, most of them cannot answer me. And they get mad at me for digging too deeply, for asking what they see as irrelevant questions.

It’s not irrelevant. It’s about your identity.

As Gila Manolson points out in her book, “Head to Heart,” you will only find a spouse who is as healthy and whole as you are now. Like marries like.

And one day, when I have the time and money, I will do that coaching course, to make my talent official.

And then when I have more time, and less need for a “real” job, I will be a volunteer coach, working in high schools.

The Ultimate Judge of Character

I’ve decided, or maybe realized, that there is one major test of character. It’s probably one of the best tests, and one of the only that gives an accurate, true, result.


You can judge a person’s character by four things:

  1. How unreasonable their demands are;
  2. how much they badmouth their ex-spouse (in court and in the community);
  3. how nastily they fight in court.

And by looking at those three things, you can get a pretty accurate idea of who’s the victim, who’s the perp, and what kind of people both spouses are.

Then there’s a fourth factor, one that isn’t applicable to most divorcees:

4. if they choose not to fight at all, and in that case – who gets everything.

That, I already don’t know what to say. Because if one spouse chooses not to fight, there’s no fight. And then the question is, who got everything, *who* chose not to fight, and what their motivations were. Choosing not to fight is either strength of character, or just being chicken. If there are kids involved, it’s either protecting them from an ugly fight, or abandoning them.

Honestly, I don’t know. Luckily, most divorcees don’t just give everything to the other side, no questions asked.

The problem with this test of character?

Not all people are divorced.

Well, that’s not really a problem. It’s a blessing. But the divorce test obviously doesn’t work on those who have never divorced.

I realize that there are some holes in my theory. And still, overall, I think it’s a good rule of thumb.

Peekaboo, Baby

This post is way overdue. When Shlomo was a baby, my mother bought him a book, called “Peekaboo, Baby!”


I’m sure you can guess what it is all about. Here’s the story:

Who’s hiding behind the rabbit? Peekaboo! [mulatto girl baby, all huddled up]

Who’s hiding under the hat? Peekaboo! [white boy baby with blond hair, missing two shoes and a sock]

Who’s hiding behind the blocks? Peekaboo! [brown boy baby]

Who’s hiding behind the book? Peekaboo! [yellow boy baby,sitting kind of scrunched up]

Who’s hiding behind the bib? Peekaboo! [white boy baby]

Who’s hiding behind the towel? Peekaboo! [white boy baby]

Who’s hiding under the blanket? Peekaboo! [white boy baby, with blond hair and a tan]

Now, let me tell you why this story bugs me so much.

  1. There are 7 children in the book. Only one is a girl.
  2. There are 7 children in the book; one is Asian, one mulatto, and one black – the rest are white.
  3. The girl and the Asian are scrunched up, in what looks like an effort to make them take up as little space as possible. (New insight, thanks Yitzchak.)
  4. The book is incredibly stupid. It doesn’t even say, “Good night!” on the last page – it just says, “Peekaboo!” Give me a break, Sebastien Braun. My kids are smarter than this.
  5. Only the white boy babies sleep, eat, or bathe.
  6. It’s a misogynist, racist, book – did I mention that? And it’s kind of sickening that this kind of stupidity and racism is being sold to babies.

So here’s how we read the book. We’re not the nicest, or the most creative. But it’s such a boring book that we couldn’t stand to read just the text, and had to find some way to vary the answers to the questions.

Who’s hiding behind the rabbit? A mulatto girl baby. She’s the only girl in this book.

Who’s hiding behind the hat? A WASPy boy baby.

Who’s hiding behind the blocks? A brown boy baby.

Who’s hiding behind the books? A yellow boy baby. Yellow babies aren’t the only ones who read books!

Who’s hiding behind the bib? A dirty WASPy baby.

Who’s hiding behind the towel? A clean WASPy baby.

Who’s hiding behind the blanket? For Shlomo we read: A Shlomo! / For Tova: A sleeping WASPy baby.

I mean, you may as well add some adjectives and insights to this boring book. Make your kids think, and all that kind of useless crap.

Okay, I agree. The “WASPy” part is not nice. But as long as we live in Israel, our kids have no idea what WASP stands for. And we’re not advocating violence. We’re just giving the white babies a description akin to those of the others.

That’s fair, right?

Welcome to Chana and Yitzchak’s strong and true sense of justice, and warped sense of humor. We may not be popular, but I think we’re doing okay.


Kids Planet: An Honest Game

A while ago, MIL bought Shlomo a tablet. We’re not fans of electronic toys, but okay. It’s had its ups and downs.

Recently, Shlomo found a new game: Kids Planet Discovery. It had been there since he beginning, but we hadn’t noticed it before.

This game is basically a geography game. It teaches a bit about other cultures, and has an activity that involves placing countries, states, and provinces in their proper place on the map. This activity has two levels: easy and difficult. In the easy level, you get outlines to guide you. In the difficult level, it’s just one big land mass and you figure it out for yourself.


Naturally, I tried out the Middle East section.

It had Israel with a piece cut out (Judea and Samaria). So I was peeved. But you know who got that extra piece?

Not some made-up country that never existed, called “Palestinian Territories.”


Jordan got that extra piece.

And I’m happy.

Because before 1967, Judea and Samaria were part of Jordan. The Muslims who lived there were Jordanian citizens. And then Israel won the war, and Jordan decided that they didn’t care what happened with Judea and Samaria anymore – let Israel have it, for all they care.

So Israel took it.

It was never, for one second, “Palestine,” or “Palestinian Territories.” Judea and Samaria, as well as parts of Jerusalem, used to belong to Jordan.

When it was “Palestine,” *all* of Israel was “Palestine,” and it was under British or Turkish rule. “Palestine,” as an independent country, never existed.

Jordan decided that it wasn’t worth fighting Israel for. And Israel conquered it from Jordan, and took control.

Muslims who lived in Judea and Samaria during the 1967 war say, “One day we were Jordanian citizens, in the middle of a war. The next day, the war was over, and Israel had won. And then someone took the star out of our flag and told us that we’re not Jordanian citizens anymore, we’re Palestinians. And we were like, huh?? What just happened?”

Okay, so I paraphrased and translated. But that’s how people remember it.

One day they were Jordanians. And the next day someone declared them Palestinians, and took the star out of the Jordanian flag, to create a new one.

Out of the blue. Completely and totally.

Now, the same world that wrote, “Jews, go to Palestine!” a few decades ago, is saying, “Jews, get out of Palestine.”

And they’re making up pretend countries to prove it.

But I’m happy with Kids Planet Discovery.

They didn’t give Judea and Samaria to Israel, it’s true.

But they DID give it to the only other country that can actually lay claim to that land – Jordan.

Because if you don’t like Israel, at least be honest about it. Don’t make up pretend countries.


Profiling Ain’t Equal

Today Yitzchak and I went on a tour of government offices.

Yitzchak held Shlomo’s hand. I pushed Tova’s stroller.

The security guard saw us, and let me through the stroller gate with both kids. I didn’t even pass through the metal detector. He told Yitzchak, who was holding the backpack, to wait in line.

Well, that’s curious, isn’t it? Is it because Yitzchak had the bag, and I had the stroller? Or because Yitzchak is a man, and I’m a woman?

I decided to ask. “Hey, excuse me? If it had been the opposite – he’d had the stroller and I had the bag, would you have done the same thing?”

He shook his head and chuckled a bit, slightly embarrassed. “No, it’s only you who can go through.”

“Okay, thanks.”

You think Yitzchak was insulted? Trust me, he wasn’t. He got it. We both got it.

And then it happened again.

This time, I had Shlomo and Yitzchak was pushing Tova in the stroller. The [female] security guard said, “Where to?”

I said, “Ministry X.” She said, “Okay,” basically took the stroller from Yitzchak and gave it to me. Then she pushed me and both kids through the door – no security check necessary. Yitzchak waited in the line.

But wait. Unlike the previous office, this time only I needed to go in.

Yitzchak couldn’t wait in line. He couldn’t go in at all. He had to wait outside. Why? Because he didn’t need an office, personally. He was just there to help.

As if I wanted to shlep both of them to the office on my own. Plus, Yitzchak needed the bathroom.

I was pissed because Yitzchak needed the bathroom, and we’d just walked through ten minutes of nearly constant secondhand smoke.

But yeah, okay. I get it. It IS smart and it DOES make sense.

(I just wish they’d ban smoking, fine the smokers 20,000 shekels per cigarette, and tell them to kill themselves where they’re not harming others. Smokers are selfish. Truly selfish. They care more about their own comfort than about the thousands of people they harm with their cigarettes. Did I say I hate smokers? Well, I do.)

And no, it’s not personal. Anyone can tell that Yitzchak is:

  • Jewish (i.e., not out to kill Jews for the sake of Allah and 70 virgins)
  • married (married men are, on the whole, less violent)
  • a dad (dads have more to lose)
  • Anglo
  • non of Middle Eastern descent
  • truly “chareidi” and not just pretending to be (chareidim are not known to be violent; they don’t want trouble)

There’s no *real* reason to hold him up. But those are the rules, and they are there for a reason.

I recognize the fact that most of the time, we get slack, because really and truly, we are not a threat.

I also recognize the fact that things have been “heating up” recently and therefore there is less slack to be given, across the board.

That’s life.

And I’m glad the rules are there, and that they are known and followed. Because it keeps us all safe.

I’m writing this because there’s a lot of noise about the “unfairness” of profiling.

Guys, I don’t care if it’s unfair. It works. Profiling is one of the best, if not *the* best, method of spotting terrorists and other threatening persons.

Get over it.

Use profiling.

And stop the kvetching about the unfairness.

Because, you know, life ain’t fair. Live with it.

To Hell With You, America and Europe

Yesterday morning, at 9am, a man stood leaning against the Yafo/King George light rail station. In Jerusalem, if you will.

A security guard walked up to him, asked him for his name and what he was up to. Asked him to open his bag.

The guy said, “No.”

The guard said, “Open your bag.”


Guard took bag. Guard opened bag. Guard saw 3 pipe bombs connected to wires, a cell phone (for detonation), and knives.

Guard said, “Explosives! Explosives!”

Guard flipped guy on his back and said, “Move and I shoot.”

Other guards called the police. Civilians started to run. The light rail was stopped, in both directions, and the streets were blocked off.

The bombs were safely detonated.

The terrorist was arrested.

0 injured. 0 killed.

Thank G-d.

But not just thank G-d.

Thanks to the alert, trained, armed, knowledgeable, able security guards.

Security guards who aren’t afraid to offend, who aren’t afraid to profile, who aren’t afraid of being “racist.”

To hell with you America. To hell with you, Europe.

Because, New York, we all know that if this terrorist had been standing by the subway, he would’ve managed to detonate all 3 bombs AND go on a stabbing spree, before anyone knew the difference.

Because, Britain and France, we all know that if this terrorist had chosen your country instead of ours, he would’ve been wildly successful. Just like the terrorist who managed to run over 200 people in the span of 3 minutes, across a *kilometer and a half*. No one even thought to shoot that guy, until he pulled out his own gun and aimed it at a police officer.

Brilliant show, Europe.

To hell with you.

You know what, I’ll make you a deal:

You deal with your terrorists, the way you see fit.

And let us deal with our terrorists, the way we see fit.

Good luck to you.

I believe in Israel. And it’s time you did, too.