Real protest is a powerful force in a democracy, but when every Monday and Thursday your roads are blocked in the name of values written in Arabic – it’s worth asking: “Who is really protesting here – and who is just trying to engineer you?”
There are certain things in the world: the sun rises in the east, the IDF is delayed in a briefing, and the Haaretz editorial team presents Israel to its readers — but only after it has been put through an industrial guilt grinder.
Like gefilte fish: grind, add ironic sauce, and be careful not to make it feel a little too Jewish.
Americans are now discovering what we in Israel learned a long time ago: tolerance is great – until someone takes advantage of it to take control of you.
Imagine a strange, almost imaginary world – one day you wake up, turn on the news – and there is no new ruling from the High Court of Justice that determines what the government should really do, who is allowed to be a minister, and what kind of coffee is allowed to be poured at government meetings.
There is no petition on security policy, no intervention in the composition of the coalition, no ruling that reinterprets the meaning of the word “law.”
Rabin was assassinated – and we all lost, but whoever tried to turn the assassination into a permanent political currency is the one who really killed the possibility of a healthy discourse.
Thirty years later, maybe it’s time to stop the festival, and start understanding that democracy wasn’t assassinated then – it was simply hijacked since then.
Yes, the destroyers and ruiners are among us — in faculty lounges, film festivals, and NGOs with suspiciously generous grants.
But they won’t win.
Because even if they hate themselves, we love this country enough for both of us.
The public is the sovereign, the king, the final arbiter – and also the one who will regret it in three months.
He is cynical but naive, nervous but indifferent, and most importantly – he is never at fault.
A country that believed it was possible to build a paradise on earth – and discovered that in its paradise, God had changed the flag.
And what remains is a nation that cleans the streets, keeps the peace, and prays that one day reality will also be politically correct.
The empire does not fall from bombs – it falls from laughter from moral excess.
And the sun? It may not have set on all of Britain yet, but on the British mind – darkness has long since fallen.
Once upon a time, “Spain” evoked visions of flamenco, sangria, Mediterranean sunsets, and endless siestas under a golden sun.
Today? Add glittering mosques, timid politicians, and a quiet national nap while the country changes hands — peacefully, politely, and disastrously.
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