Agitation and Propaganda

Several days ago we had a conversation about our Israeli propaganda... My very smart and respected friend wrote: ".... all those words about lack of Israeli propaganda – it is complete nonsense... There is no demand for our propaganda, and that is the most important difference from Arab propaganda. Because newspapers or TV channels print or broadcast only something they want to see themselves or if it’s in line with newspaper or TV channel position.
And because of that suffering in Israel will never been shown anywhere except for American channels that are on Israel’s side. It will simply not be broadcasted or published!
And a reporter needs to be an Arab in order to take pictures of missing limbs and wail at the sky! And I don’t want to be an Arab".

With all due respect - I do not agree with that. :) Because if only one TV report about crying people, wounded and killed people including shots of severed limbs and all other scenes of horror – if that would allow saving just one life in this hellish political propaganda machine, then they need to make those reports and broadcast them all over the world. And there is no need to put up an orchestrated show of despaired people. There are quite a few people on the scene of the attack that act like this naturally. Oh well...

Today was a tragic day in Haifa. 190 wounded. Where are foreign reporters? And what do Israeli media show? One report about several men who clean up the explosion spot... And a modest line – 3 people were killed... I’m sorry, but this is a clear case of stupidity. They do not want to panic people? They do not want to show weakness? I don’t know. But I believe it’s stupid.

translation by lesoto

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I am not slow, I’m just not fast enough :).

1. All those Nasrallahs boast that they PR people we know. I will not boast, I will just mention their names.

2. We are getting tired of this war. And also of people with retarded sense of compassion. And also of slogans, mottos and all that blah-blah-blah.

3. I have absolutely nothing against Lebanese children.

4. You are losing a lot if you are not reading journal of sestra_milo.

translation by lesoto

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sid75

The Joy And Fear Of Wartime

I don't know what today is going to be like for Haifa and for our entire Northern Israel, but yesterday was very grim. Many were killed, over 200 wounded.
But, as an old comic song says, there is a place for everything in life. Next to the evil, there is love, and there is good. The latter two just came to me from my friends in Odessa.

I had been in touch for three days with the young man who was delivering package, but he had never had a chance to find time to meet me. Finally, yesterday we agreed to meet not far from where I live.
By the time I had to leave home, Haifa had already been struck by rockets a few times that day. The news about the 10 killed reservists had already come too. The situation is tense, but what can you do?

I walk down and out to where we are supposed to meet. I stand about a minute away from my door - a few meters of sidewalk, a few stairs, and a corridor away from the stairway that goes down into the basement.
Three or four minutes before the meeting time, a siren howl sounds ominously. The three passer-bies that I could see speed up and disappear so quickly, I don't even notice where to.

I stay. The siren howls. I get a nasty feeling - it's as if I'm naked - but I cannot leave. If the young man comes and I am not here, it will be no good. So we are each minding our own business: I stand, it howls. The siren for some reason lasts very long. This usually happens when larger rockets are fired: they come from far away. I want to run already - I'm not scared, but somehow I'm feeling very awkward. But that would be embarrassing: he is right now behind the wheel of a car, driving down a steep Haifa hill along a tall supporting wall - driving for me, by the way - and he has no doors to hide behind.

I finally give up and head towards the house - not running, but walking fast. As soon as I reach the door, the siren stops. 10-15 seconds from then is usually when the explosions occur. I wait behind the door.
Silly! It's so weak it probably wouldn't stand a loud sneeze, let alone an explosion. Although psychologically, still...

But no explosions follow. The rockets must have fallen into the sea, and I jump outside at the same time as the car arrives. There is no doubt that this is the car I've been waiting for: for one, it is the only one out there; second, the young man driving it is smiling at me wide open. A handsome guy, very well mannered, by the way - instead of handing the package to over me through the window, which is what most would certainly have done even in normal times, he exits the car, walks around it, gives me the package, says "Hi" and gives a few words of encouragement with to regards the sirens, and then he leaves.

It turns out that some women's curiosity is greater than their sense of fear! I run much faster to unpack the present and look at it than I had just run from the siren. I flop into the armchair and open up the package impatiently... Oh beauty! In my hands I'm holding a tiny, 4 centimeters tall teapot, with fine golden lacing - a filigree enamel, my favorite! How could my friends have known what would bring me so much joy?
The teapot really is amazingly enjoyable and warm, and right away I turn to write a delightful thank you note, promising that this beauty would be placed in my sideboard aside some very nice company. But I fail to keep my word: I simply cannot part with this trinket. It sits next to my computer and I look at it all the time. Sometimes I put it in my hands and feel a tide of warmth and joyfulness coming. And when the siren howls, I grip the teapot in my fist and pray that it doesn't hit. Anyone.

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