Shouldn’t kids be afraid of missiles? Shouldn’t adults be afraid?
Nietzsche said in his book Ecce Homo:
“What does not kill him makes him stronger.”
That sounds reasonable. It does seem that the more we experience these types of attacks, the less afraid of them we are. But there’s another side to the coin too: after writing Ecce Homo, Nietzsche went completely insane. So which is it: the more we experience terrifying experiences, the stronger we are? Or are we just crazier?
I just got back from the HaDag Nachash concert at Chutzot Hayotzer. It was seriously one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to. Here are the highlights:
Their music is amazing, but it’s so much more powerful when heard live.
They are all about the music. What I mean is, they all looked like they had grabbed the nearest t-shirt and run out the door. Guy, the DJ, wasn’t even wearing shoes. So their performance isn’t about fancy appearances, but about purely awesome music. (Though the light effects were really great.)
Their music is infused with so many cultures and styles: there was the guy on the sax and another on the Ud; songs with Arabic, and touches of Bob Marley, The Beatles and even Hair.
They’re originally from Jerusalem so there are a lot of mentions of the city, and the audience was pretty thrilled to have them. When they sang “Hinei ani bah” and “Yom Shishi” at the end, even I and the old guy in the row in front of me were on our feet and dancing.
They came on the stage singing “HaDag Nachash osim hip hop tzioni”. They do.
When they sang “Hakol yistader” you felt like they were trying to give us all hope, that despite how tough things are, we’ve gotten though other bad times.
When the music for the sticker song came on, they didn’t even have to sing. The audience knew all the words.
They are seriously one of the best bands ever. And here’s the song the audience literally begged them to play: “Zman Lehitorer” which means ït’s time to wake up”.
This literally happened above my head on my arrival to Tel Aviv. Thank God for Iron Dome. Now on to my meeting. Surreal.
Here’s how I ended up on the street while missiles were being shot down: the siren went off while I was in an underground parking lot so I didn’t hear it. My phone went Yo (as in, the Yo app announced the air raid siren by saying “Yo”), but I didn’t realize the siren was in that area. When I got to street level I started to get the idea that the siren may have been there, but nobody seemed very worried and there were people on the street. So I went out and see people looking at the sky. They explained why. Being out there anyways, and not seeing anything falling, I took the picture.
You know you’re a Jew when you see jewelry as practical because you can use it to try to bribe the “Nazis” when they come to get you.
You know you’re a Jew when you take an extra look in a closet to see if it could also be a good hiding place.
You know you’re a Jew when everything said in German, even innocuous sentences like “Put on your seat belts because there is turbulence”, sounds like “Schnell schnell! Achtung!”
You know you’re a Jew when some part of the past branches of your family tree just ends, the leaves hanging in silence.
I know I’m a Jew because once in a while I look at my children and realize that they are the ultimate revenge to Hitler and all those like him. Beautiful, strong, intelligent, Jewish children (bli ayin hara), speaking Hebrew and learning Torah and living freely with seven million other Jews in the Jewish State. And though I am a person who believes that revenge is not the just path, I allow myself a fleeting moment of tremendous, vengeful satisfaction. Take that, Hitler.
A phone conversation that I have at least three times a week:
This is Dudu from ABC Insurance. I want to talk to you about extra health insurance.
I’m not interested.
But currently you’re not covered for organ transplants. What will you do if you need an organ transplant?
I don’t know, I guess I’ll deal with that if it comes.
God forbid, of course I don’t want you to need an organ transplant. But you have to care about your health. Don’t you care about your health?
And what about your kids? What will they do if you can’t take care of them while you’re having an organ transplant?
They’re pretty independent so hopefully they’ll be ok.
If you don’t get this insurance, you’ll end up banging your head against the wall in frustration.
Well, I’ll try to put a pillow on the wall before I bang my head against it, especially since my current insurance probably doesn’t cover self-inflicted head injuries. I’m not interested, good bye.
These salespeople’s tactics are very similar to the robo-call (what a great term for that! I saw someone use it recently, don’t remember who) recordings from the grave of Shimon Hatzadik promising eternal blessing if I just donate.