Jobs for the boys

Standing by the side of the road, in car parks or near building sites stand the foreign workers. Those colorful chaps that make our country so cosmopolitan, as one politically incorrect politician announced. Asians, Africans and Europeans, merry bands of migrant workers trying to make a better life for themselves. Then I see them working away building the infrastructure of our country, doing jobs a nation of Jewish princes and princesses would never do. You never hear an Arab complaining of a broken nail, or paint splashed on his Armani shorts. But at least they have a job, at least a day anyway.

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With perfect faith

With unquestioning belief and with perfect faith Hamas, Islamic Jihad, Fatah, Al Qaida's brave warriors (even the children, pregnant women and kids with Downs Syndrome) rush to strap explosives to themselves in order to indiscriminately murder Jews, Christians and Muslims anywhere and at anytime.

What it is to have perfect faith, something we can only aspire to. Of course it is not without its extreme hypocrisy but when you're the 'down trodden wretches of the Earth', you can get away with it.

Live by the sword, even if you firmly believe it will never happen to you and if it does there is such a fantastic reward that you almost hope it will. Confused?

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The dripping tap

Drip, drip drip. Mental note, get the plumber in as fast as possible before I go completely mad. Drip, drip, drip. Actually this tap has some rhythm. Drip, drip drip. How can my wife sleep through this noise. Drip, drip, drip. This is real oriental torture. Drip, drip, drip. Mental note, due to lack of sleep everybody in the house should keep at least 2 kilometers away from me, call it a security buffer zone. Drip, drip, drip. Mind you I have not spent months on end in a public bomb shelter, can you imagine? Drip, drip, drip. Suddenly the drip doesn’t seem so bad. Drip, drip, drip. At least we're central and safe.

The next morning I leapt out of bed, ran outside and breathed in the pure Modi'in air. What a wonderful morning I thought; the birds singing in the trees, children playing in the streets, the scent of flowers and pine calming and relaxing my senses. OK, so it wasn’t quite like that. The next morning I dragged myself out of bed, crawled into the bathroom, swore at the leaking tap, grumbled at the wife and was quite inexcusably rude to the neighbor who phoned to borrow some milk.

The Art of Negotiation

This isn't an attack on the Government, may our leaders all live long and prosperous lives in the service of their country and not the service of themselves.

The art of negotiation,  or the art of getting what you want, is a skill that has been perfected over many years by business gurus, but has yet to take into account what I call the 'princess factor.'

The 'princess factor' also called by some 'my little prince factor,' is a skillful and uncompromising, almost savage, negotiation technique between two hardened parties - you on the one side and your kids on the other.

The G8 in its trade negotiations uses it all the time. One side has a little tantrum and the other side gives in. The government makes endless use of this tactic, releasing hundreds of Palestinian prisoners from its very effective prison system, by giving in to every demand even when there is only the slightest hint or threat of a tantrum.

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The Apocalypse Appreciation Society

'And Mohammed travelled there unto Babylon and fought the Dragon. After the dragon he fought the fiery snake and so did the apocalypse begin and end on that day'.

Now, I am not an expert on the Koran and, to tell the truth, I have never owned nor opened a copy but, after a focused internet search via Wikipedia, I can assure you that the verse above does not appear anywhere. So the passage that I saw stuck to a lamppost is probably fake. More likely the words are lyrics to some thrash metal group.

Everyone has a version of the "end of days" and all religions at least agree on one thing - the bad guys will be vanquished and we will all live in peace as long as we are all Christian or Muslim or just accept and pray to one Gd. A bit like a haredi version of Star Wars.

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Everything in triplicate

Stacks of files, manila envelopes and loose papers litter the waiting room, the corridors and every desk and office in the building.

This is a government office.

Everything in triplicate, that's the way this country is run. Like Noah on steroids. Three of every kind.'If you don't have three you wont have the luxury of losing one and having one spare', I was once told.

And then it's my term and I sit before the civil servant who will undoubtedly, in his own way, help me with my problem.

I look into his eyes.

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I Wildebeast

Wildebeast don't think, they just run. Follow the herd is the only lesson they learn in life. I've never heard of a Wildebeast that stopped and questioned the reason why they had to stampede through the Serengeti as opposed to just a gentle canter. And why should they. Go with the flow.

Like migrating wildebeest, the rumble could be heard for miles around. The rumble turned into a tumultuous groan as the convoy of heavy vehicles reached their destination. Most had Nazareth printed on the back, some Afula and a couple from surrounding Arab villages. This was the charge of the heavy brigade, the juggernauts associated with every type of construction project in Israel. They were the reason the roads remained unfinished as they crushed, pitted and warped the soft baked tarmac of our local streets. With a shriek of squeaky breaks the convoy halted, but the engines continued belching black fumes into the air.

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No land grab

The fact is that giving up land is a lazy and easy way out. Every other nation on the face of the Earth would fight tooth and nail to keep its borders secure and its territory safe. There is no such thing as painful concessions; they lead to death and destruction. Use history as your lesson. And what applies in the larger scheme of things applies here and now.

My daughter looked down, somewhat despondent, somewhat confused and somewhat lost for words. I, on the other hand, had taught her the most important lesson of all, protect what's rightfully yours and remember that appeasement usually returns to bite you on the arse.

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Fat George

George was a huge monster of a man. Fat was not the word, obese paled into insignificance, mammoth maybe, gargantuan seems most appropriate. We called him  Fat George, because gargantuan George was, for want of a better phrase, to much of a mouthful.

George, how on earth he got that name remains a mystery, was a Bedouin tracker. He could tell whether an Ibex had recently been nibbling on a bush, where it was now and what’s its ID number was. He was very good. He’d been decorated by the army for being so good. But now he was contented to lead tour groups across the country's southern deserts and eat. The nimble and agile George of yesteryear was replaced by the lumbering and wheezing giant tour guide of today. Was he happy, you bet your crown jewels he was.

Why was George so happy? Well he was doing what he wanted to do. Walk about in the open air, meet nice people, eat and get paid for it.

Checkpoint Charlie

The traffic had build up along the 443 towards the Jerusalem. The reason was a second security check. They were looking for somebody. The guards checked each and every car before letting them travel another kilometer to the official check point. In this day and age it is of course a sad reality that these checks are necessary, but you accept them because they could potentially be the difference between life and death.

I say accept them, because that's what we should be doing, unless you are some loud-mouthed American tourist who doesn't realize what the purpose of these checks are.

The traffic had come to standstill. So I did what any self-respecting Israeli does and left my car to go and chat with a group standing by the central reservation. See if we could find out why there was this particular check and what we should do about the 'matzav'.

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