Humor, of course, is in the eyes of the beholder but I guess everyone should know witty or not. I did not laugh. That was not witty. Caustic, maybe, sarcastic, dry. But not witty. There is never anything witty about arms and death. Such stories are more suitable among the teenagers obscessed with videogames. You know, when they even show how the cannibals are killed by an Uzi. That man, he also showed it- made gestures as if he held a gun. It was grotesque to see that rather fat and absolutely unfit, middle – aged person pretending to look tough and shooting people. Or maybe he targeted someone else? Maybe they all at that table meant someone else? In the ethnic newspapers I read about the battalion comprised from those exactly middle – aged, fat Jews who ‘were eager to use their former military experience to the benefit of the beloved Zionist state’, that is to get as many Arabs killed as possible, no matter who. That is those small office- workers from the Soviet Union where they were afraid even to drink too much now ascended to the Holy Land not to make peace but to satisfy their dormant instinct and … become a battalion. And then they tell me stories.
No, it was not witty. Jewish wit is the sharpest and while sitting there I devised a witty alternative:
- After the Chief told them the specify their wishes and the Englishman and Frenchman ended up in their kettles the Jew said:
- - I wish you have tasted each of them first, get disgusted with the quality and then I could offer you a better and healthier alternative to the mutual benefit of all parties.
That would be witty and the old point also retained. But guess what, Americans at my table laughed their ears off at the first version. They would surely be offended by the alternative. Caught my drift? The first version was not just a story- it was a proclamation of solidarity with white people against those cannibals. It was not a Jewish person telling a humorous joke; it was an Israeli proclaiming a policy and recruiting accomplices. Something the Jew would never do.
Humor and policies, humor and violence are not compatible. The Jews had developed through generations a sense of humor of the highest order- the humor of the wise. That humor always starts with self- criticism, with a little bit of laughter on themselves; a true Jew would always look from aside, see deep and laugh with good intentions. Not without some bite and bitterness. But there never was and never is any malice in the Jewish humor. Thus the story in its first version was not a Jewish story. It was told by other kind of people and for the other kind of people. The Juwes.
Everyone dies alone and everyone learns alone apparently. That phenomena of the snarling civilians, the super-militaristic overgrown teenagers is not new but that does not make it less disgusting. Whenever Bush or Cheney, those AWOL warriors come out and make noises about ‘ war on terrorism’ you see the Juwes- those who are not really human but just pretend, those who never ever experienced the real war suffering but would not hesitate to kill millions for their own obsessive madness, those who in the privacy of their homes or in the closed circle of the same kind of people pretend to take out the Uzi and ‘kill the cannibals.' Some of them kill birds like Cheney.
Right after the 9/11 the leading Russian- language newspaper in NY published openly three big articles by three very prominent Russian emigrant writers, famous for their ‘ fight for freedom’ in the former Soviet Union. Nobody asked them to do that; they did it on their own accord. Names do not matter here; the howling does. Those fairly old people howled with hate. They wrote that ‘all US Moslems are to be detained and interrogated.’ They wanted the members of the Bin Ladin family to be ‘incarcerated at the stadium.’ The stadium! That’s all what they learned from the Chilean tragedy. The Juwes, the authors of those articles revealed their malice which apparently concentrated in them for decades and while reading those articles I realized that they never were the ‘ freedom fighters’- they were always the little, mean, sick bastards with toy Uzis in their closets. When the time came to be something, to show their true faces, they snarled. What a display it was! A very sobering one indeed.
In 1993 during the Yeltzin- provoked crisis in Moscow when the troops shot at the Parliament and thousands of young people died under the fire ( Americans too) applauded by Clinton and Co, the group of very prominent literati in Moscow published a Manifesto. Those were the people who all had an image of humanists. But no, they did not ask for compassion, mercy, care and restrain. Instead they called for a strong hand, they told Boris to be firm and destroy any opposition no matter what. And Boris was happy to oblige. The Juwes howled and thousands died and forever the shame of that day had buried the great humanistic tradition of the Russian cultural leadership cultivated since Leo Tolstoy- ‘though never condone violence.' In 1937, during a terror wave a Russian writer Sergei Kluchkov on his own, alone refused to sign a petition to ‘shoot the traitors of the Motherland.' He said, ‘No Russian writer ever did such thing’. Apparently we evolved since then. Or de- evolved. There were many names in that 1993 Manifesto of the Juwes, the names which I respected before and even loved. No more. I learned my lesson a hard way and those who died in October 1993 never had a chance to learn anything at all.
We here should learn some lessons too. Whenever we hear the fascination with violence, whenever we see the chromium faces of the pundits telling us about the ‘ final solution’, whenever we see those hollow eyes whether those are the eyes of the President or the eyes of the Candidate, whenever we see those ‘experts’ telling us about ‘Eastern mentality’, the ones who calmly speculate how many bombs would be needed to destroy Iran or how many cruise missiles we should deploy at Lebanon, the ‘writers’ like Friedman, a world- scale rapist or La- Haye- the world- scale destructionist- those are the Juwes at work and Jack, the Ripper was right- they are not to be blamed for nothing. They are to be blamed for a lot. He knew his flock.
So, next time if someone tells you a story like that above, don’t laugh. Please, don’t laugh. Don’t become a Juwe.
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