Air Raid on Narberth
True to their word, the Israelis attacked Narberth at 6 am this morning. As you can expect, my tool shed is now smouldering debris, along with every other structure like it for a 10-block radius. It's kind of sad to see the collateral damage of melted jungle gyms and charred wading pools. "Welcome to the crematorium of American pasttimes," my neighbor Steven Zeitner said, handing me a pristine plastic minature Israeli flag he had waved yesterday at a Friends of Israel rally I attended on behalf of an ad hoc group called "Jeremiah's Incredible Unstrung Band." "I don't want it, " I told him. "You're the only Jew on the block eligible to hoist it," he said. "Then I'm afraid the flag of Israel won't be flying on Woodside Avenue."
We drove over to Genuardi's Supermarket to see if it was open for business, but the looters were picking it clean. I saw a woman cramming her SUV with toilet paper and bottled water (my two favorite survival spoils). "Thatagirl," Stephen yells. "Stealing is the best defense of dignity."
We walked around the shopping center. The destruction was very surgical and selective. As expected, the post office was demolished, although the American flag was flapping unfrayed. The dry cleaners was a burned out shell. Steven pointed me to what was left of the ice cream parlor. "The perfect Beirut touch," he said with shamefully amateurish irony. Maybe I should list what was left standing: a shoe repair store, a computer software outlet, an Asian bistro and an Old Navy. Alas, the drug store was the recipient of a direct hit. "Who needs gauze and disinfectant anyway?" Steven asked, then answered his own question, "Only the terrorists, right?"
We drove past the elementary school. Steven and I saw firsthand what a 1,000-pounder can do to a building. Earlier, we had heard a janitor was buried in the rubble, but that could be a rumor spread by what a Zionist ex-friend calls, "pro-Arab fifth columnists." While standing there surveying the devestation (a funny word to use in conjunction with Narberth current events), a tiny jittney from the local Yeshiva pulls up and kids swarm all over the school lawn, waving "Stand with Israel" signs just like those I saw yesterday at the Friends of Israel rally. "Thank God, school was not in session," one student says. "Yes, we only meant symbolic damage," says another. "We are not like Hezbollah or Hamas." "Who is this 'we' you keep invoking?" Steven asks. "The 'we' of World Jewry and Justice," he answers, throwing his sign on the ground and assuming a 'never again' karate stance. "Does Jewry equal justice anymore?" Steven asks, also assuming a karate stance. "Whoa, guys," I interject, wanting to come in between them but afraid to do so. "Can't we find a middle ground?" "Yeah," says Steven, picking up the "Stand With Israel" sign, tearing it in half, offering one tatter to the Yeshiva kid and placing the other on the ground, then standing on it, pretending to wipe his feet and screaming, "Israel, Israel uber alles!"
There is the loudest stunned silence I have ever heard, a premonitory quiet like that which precedes a fatal stroke or heart attack. Suddenly, a possee of 15 Yeshiva students is charging at Stephen. He deflects the first to reach him with a karate punch, the second with a kick. It stops the rest, but only for a moment. Stephen looks at me and flashes a telepathic 'May Day!' and runs for his car.
I flee in the other direction, hiding behind what is left of the school, hoping to blend in with the ruins. The kids give up pursuit of either one of us. One kneels on the ground and picks up the two pieces of the placard. After carefully fitting them together, he kneels on the grass, and begins to cry, at first trying to stifle sniffles, then overwhelmed with heaving sobs. No wonder they try to pass anti flag-burning amendments, I think. Israel is all he has, all he wants. And he is willing to see it lay waste the world so that it may survive every danger but itself.
Later, I see Stephen at a Red Cross station. "You went a little too far," I tell him. "I didn't go far enough," he objects. "Until this morning, I was one of them." "Hey, let's build a time machine and I'll drop you off at yesterday, where the world was still a safe place for Zionism." "I'd still know what I know now," Stephen says. "No, I'm going to stay in the present and see it for what it is: a rescue from the past." "I know a cosy little mosque right across City Line Avenue," I tell him. "We can still make noon prayers." "No, thanks, Dave," he says. "What about this?" I offer. "There's a Catholic Church still standing a few blocks from here. Let's go light some candles," I suggest. "Again, No thanks," he says. " I think I'll go liberate a local synagogue with a Kaddish for every friggin' one of us. Care to join me?" "This world is drowning in self-righteousness and piety," I say with a Chaplinesque shrug. "If God grants even one of our prayers, mine included, we'd force Him to become a killing machine. Since that isn't in the nature of divinity, we've left Him no choice but to pretend He's hard of hearing."
That's the news from Narberth this stranded day Israel risked a wrath not even an anti-Semite would want to see visited on this fear-stricken, overly paranoid people.
We drove over to Genuardi's Supermarket to see if it was open for business, but the looters were picking it clean. I saw a woman cramming her SUV with toilet paper and bottled water (my two favorite survival spoils). "Thatagirl," Stephen yells. "Stealing is the best defense of dignity."
We walked around the shopping center. The destruction was very surgical and selective. As expected, the post office was demolished, although the American flag was flapping unfrayed. The dry cleaners was a burned out shell. Steven pointed me to what was left of the ice cream parlor. "The perfect Beirut touch," he said with shamefully amateurish irony. Maybe I should list what was left standing: a shoe repair store, a computer software outlet, an Asian bistro and an Old Navy. Alas, the drug store was the recipient of a direct hit. "Who needs gauze and disinfectant anyway?" Steven asked, then answered his own question, "Only the terrorists, right?"
We drove past the elementary school. Steven and I saw firsthand what a 1,000-pounder can do to a building. Earlier, we had heard a janitor was buried in the rubble, but that could be a rumor spread by what a Zionist ex-friend calls, "pro-Arab fifth columnists." While standing there surveying the devestation (a funny word to use in conjunction with Narberth current events), a tiny jittney from the local Yeshiva pulls up and kids swarm all over the school lawn, waving "Stand with Israel" signs just like those I saw yesterday at the Friends of Israel rally. "Thank God, school was not in session," one student says. "Yes, we only meant symbolic damage," says another. "We are not like Hezbollah or Hamas." "Who is this 'we' you keep invoking?" Steven asks. "The 'we' of World Jewry and Justice," he answers, throwing his sign on the ground and assuming a 'never again' karate stance. "Does Jewry equal justice anymore?" Steven asks, also assuming a karate stance. "Whoa, guys," I interject, wanting to come in between them but afraid to do so. "Can't we find a middle ground?" "Yeah," says Steven, picking up the "Stand With Israel" sign, tearing it in half, offering one tatter to the Yeshiva kid and placing the other on the ground, then standing on it, pretending to wipe his feet and screaming, "Israel, Israel uber alles!"
There is the loudest stunned silence I have ever heard, a premonitory quiet like that which precedes a fatal stroke or heart attack. Suddenly, a possee of 15 Yeshiva students is charging at Stephen. He deflects the first to reach him with a karate punch, the second with a kick. It stops the rest, but only for a moment. Stephen looks at me and flashes a telepathic 'May Day!' and runs for his car.
I flee in the other direction, hiding behind what is left of the school, hoping to blend in with the ruins. The kids give up pursuit of either one of us. One kneels on the ground and picks up the two pieces of the placard. After carefully fitting them together, he kneels on the grass, and begins to cry, at first trying to stifle sniffles, then overwhelmed with heaving sobs. No wonder they try to pass anti flag-burning amendments, I think. Israel is all he has, all he wants. And he is willing to see it lay waste the world so that it may survive every danger but itself.
Later, I see Stephen at a Red Cross station. "You went a little too far," I tell him. "I didn't go far enough," he objects. "Until this morning, I was one of them." "Hey, let's build a time machine and I'll drop you off at yesterday, where the world was still a safe place for Zionism." "I'd still know what I know now," Stephen says. "No, I'm going to stay in the present and see it for what it is: a rescue from the past." "I know a cosy little mosque right across City Line Avenue," I tell him. "We can still make noon prayers." "No, thanks, Dave," he says. "What about this?" I offer. "There's a Catholic Church still standing a few blocks from here. Let's go light some candles," I suggest. "Again, No thanks," he says. " I think I'll go liberate a local synagogue with a Kaddish for every friggin' one of us. Care to join me?" "This world is drowning in self-righteousness and piety," I say with a Chaplinesque shrug. "If God grants even one of our prayers, mine included, we'd force Him to become a killing machine. Since that isn't in the nature of divinity, we've left Him no choice but to pretend He's hard of hearing."
That's the news from Narberth this stranded day Israel risked a wrath not even an anti-Semite would want to see visited on this fear-stricken, overly paranoid people.
posted by David Federman @ 8:20 AM
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