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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
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Tapping at my chamber door




Friday, August 25, 2006

Incognito

Slightly unambiguous.
Mournful desires.
Cheese cakes and hard work.
I want out.
Graffiti imagination.
I paint my last will of testimony on the walls of my world.
They called it art. They applauded, said it was deep.
My honest smile and my familiar eyes
Hide a filthy monster deep within.
I bury a four-leaved clover inside
And polish my crippled rabbit leg with cream soda.
I remain inconspicuous. My daily routine, my vitamin pill. It makes me happy.
Makes them think.
Keeps me anonymous, keeps me safe.
Incognito.
They seek my invisible self for advice.
My mask resembles their deep, deep well.
Caped heroes, their very own. Anonymous individuals don't repeat secrets.
Nobody knows them.

Monday, August 21, 2006

The Blog Age


Everybody who's anybody's blogging these days. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the Iranian president, has started a blog. His first post discusses his childhood and the Islamic revolution in Iran. There's also a poll there that asks readers to vote if they think the US and Israel are "pulling the trigger on another world war". The blog is translated in English, Arabic, and French. Moreover, you're allowed to email him with any inquiries or questions you may want to ask the Iranian gov't.


I liked what I read. Way to go bloggie.

I don't give a #$%@

I don't give a fuck is the most underrated phrase in English language.

You should consider therapy only when you've met over 5 people who wish to kill themselves... and of those I've met a lot. 'I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK' has always worked magic with me; it's what therapists around the globe should tell their patients; only then, unfortunate for the therapist, their patients would learn how to move on. It'd be a one-session-therapy and psychiatry would be the least popular profession since all therapists would be poor.

Bi-polar depression: Is when you're too depressed that you want to go live at the North or South Pole.

My very personal steps of recovery start with denial; when you think that everything's alright inside your own perfect bubble. Consequently, someone comes along and burst your bubble. Little did you know that the air escaping your bubble now stinks; that's when rage comes along. You start hating scapegoats, all sizes, all shapes, all forms; people whom you don't know, your friends, your own father. You hang the middle east problem and world famine on your acquaintances' shoulders. You unknowingly search for ways to make everything someone else's fault. It is always by far easier to hate someone you can't see in the mirror. Hating oneself can be dangerous.

Fuck it: Most people's last words before, ironically, taking a leap of faith.

Fear comes next. The things that had made you rage are now the cause of your upcoming doom. You fear that you're going to end up alone, that you're going to quit someday out of the blue, for no reason, and end up asking your brother for money. You fear all sorts of sicknesses. A single ache becomes a potential tumor... and even if everything works out just fine... you fear the end of the world. That's when you pass this step and over to adaptation. You realize you're helpless and small, that you're only a sample of the human form in all its glory, that you can't change the world. You give up and give in to the precious, precious life. This is where I am now. I am strangely adapting.

In conclusion, the only things you can't control are your own choices. There's always a point in time when you can make a choice. When you think you've made the right choice, throw your ego in the trashcan and think again cos you're going down baby. It's when you think you've hit rock bottom, you bring out the shovel and start digging some more into a new meaning for the word depth. Thus, when people say you're deep they don't know how really fucked up you have become.

Reach out and hold on to the new value of the 'I don't give a fuck' lifestyle. It's the only survival technique that's been proven to work.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

The reasons why I hate her


I stepped forward, she stepped back. She stepped forward and I back... and so we danced. Our hands touched for a split second that was enough for our hands to merge into an extension of our souls. Her hair reflected the sun light that made me see in the dark and her face, I wish it to be the last thing I see before I go back to the darkness I call life. It's when weakness and strength combine into becoming the creature I've become. The weakling I become when she speaks to me, the strength that evolves when she gives me that look, that look that makes me feel needed, that my presence would leave a trace, make a difference. She fools me into believing that I'm a better man. She brings out a soft side I've so managed to push away and hide from everybody, including myself, myself especially. She makes me curse at time for not bringing us together sooner. I crave for our contact. I fear out contact. She makes me feel weird. I want this to stop, to end. Oh I hate her.

Friday, August 18, 2006

149.6 million KM away

You're melting.

You can't stand the heat. Your brain is boiling. Your hands are soaking and you're drowning in your own sweat. Your precious and unique genes are deforming into a melting monster. The earth is detouring off its axis and now heads towards the light, the hope cliché; the sun, the center of it all. Incredibly annoying you're sweating all over the room. You need to quench your thirst but you fear drinking as you fear more sweat. You'd rather dehydrate and die dry. The more you shower the more you melt. You can not stand the heat. The fan you own propels like there's no tomorrow, moving hot air around the room, expanding the heat zone; the anticipation of hell. You're boiled chicken. Ironically, you've become healthy food. Everything's surreal now. You're melting. You're a Dali painting and you demand to be sketched out for remembrance. Dehydrate you silly bastard, divert off your fears and worries. A melting body is by far more convenient than a melting mind. Melt away you sad fuck. You can't escape the heat. Your eyes blur out the surrounding life you've held up proudly. You're decomposing. The ants are coming. You can't run; your legs are liquefying. You can crawl, but you wind up leaving bits and pieces of your melting shades of a body behind. Dissolve like a chemical reaction of a formula you've been preparing in your secret lab for the past 25 years. You miss the winter; you're old, cold self. Newton was right. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Re-act you red, burning chick. Don't you dare pass out. Slap yourself. Wake up. Experience. Evaporate. Learn.


No, it won't go away. Your air-conditioner is getting repaired; your missed freedom.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

And so he writes...

A little marinara sauce won't make it taste better; a twist of lemon won't flourish it either. That refreshing mint rush he's always fancied absorbed in by his lungs, burning up his nostrils, shortening his breath, cutting out air. Mint justice. It all goes down to this. He flips a coin and waits for his fate to decide. The earl grey, the marinara sauce, the lemon twist and the mint... they won't make it any better. They all have the bitter after-taste. He rips out his tongue, thinking that life can be a little bearable then, and he stuffs it into a dossier along with his bad necks and hard disk failures and heartbreaks and heart strokes and shaky hands and sleepless nights and stashes it all under his bed, hoping that making them visually inaccessible will make things alright after all. Then he pulls out another folder where he keeps his souvenirs of the loved and lost and places it carefully under his pillow make-believing that once his eyes are shut his dreams would come true, even for a one night stand, but they never do. He breaks into a classical moment of truth. Another cliché to throw in to the wind, the wind that hates him, that carries those restless clichés and throws them into his eyes and through his mind along with the rest of his remains of a breathing being. A mobster with a cigar being put out in his chest. A princess walking out his door, saying that she loves him, lying flinchless. A turtle carrying him towards his destiny and a god sending him signs to exit, and every time he follows the signs he finds the door locked. Drink up, pretty boy. Temptations and seductions are the elements of life appreciation without which we'd have been ungrateful to the al mighty... it's what separates us from the rest of the beasts, what gives us the will not to howl at the moon. He's ready for bed now, places the silver pennies on his eyes before they shut just in case he never wakes up again, at least then he'd have paid off his dues... however, he wakes up and his dues still stand tall, and so he begs for more. He can absorb his morning caffeine like shattered glass engraved in his skull, asking him to grieve the death of common sense. He carves it in like morning paper arbitraries, saying the best in him for strangers to mourn him and miss him. He hopes he's made them proud.

And that's all he fucking wrote...

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Is that enough?

  • When your boss don't know shit and surprisingly make a habit of making the same mistakes over and over again and arguing on the grounds that he knows better and that 'this' makes more sense.
  • When your career is the center of world hypocrisy. When you're good at it.
  • When your girl contacts are all inapplicable or taken, thus eliminating potential relationships that might have led to marriage... a step that I feel I'm about to take any minute now considering the state I am in :D
  • When your best friend's currently unavailable.
  • When you stop going out with your other friends for three months then arrange for a night out then question yourself how on earth have you been friends with those people. They're just stereotypical. All they speak is hype. They joke about Lebanon. They joke about Israel. They need their asses whipped. They basically don't give a shit. They're what I would comfortably refer to now as assholes. All of them... no exceptions.
  • When you start to fear that you're the asshole. That you should have given up a looong time ago.
  • When you seek sympathy for the first time ever, when you seek love... surprising yourself... and probably surprising those who've known you for ever.
  • When you feel like flying. When you feel like an airplane. When you crash.
  • When you start to question your decisions, your beliefs, your ethics, your motives, your strength. When you feel like a fraud.
  • When you demand answers for questions you don't even understand.
  • When you're confused about whether you've made your father proud or whether you've succeeded in becoming the embarrassment of the family.
  • When you feel that you know more than what a person your age should.
  • When you feel that you know shit.
  • When you worry about speaking up your mind in fear of making people whom you love look stupid. When you worry about looking stupid 24/7. When you worry period.
  • When you feel like you're new to this country all over again. When you're considering going to see a movie by yourself, but you fear that people who know you from work would see you there, point fingers, and laugh.
  • When you start missing the past... A past you've hated then, a past that you fancy today.
  • When you feel better writing, sharing, confessing your every shitty little being.
  • When you fear everything.
  • When people look up to you.
  • When you realize that you're only a lie that you've bought gladly.
  • When you're prepared to give away your life savings... for a hug that would last forever.

Is that enough?
I think it's over
See, everything has changed
And all this hatred may just make me strong enough
To walk away

They may chase me to the ends of the earth
But I've got you babe
And they may strip me of the things that I've worked for
But I've had my say

It's so clear to me now
I've enough of these chains
Life is there for the taking
What kind of fool would remain in this cheap gilded cage
I've no memory of truth
But suddenly the audience is so cruel
Oh God, I'm sorry

I think I'm through
I think I'm through...


How much for the nuclear head?

Israel has asked the US government to speed up delivery of short-range anti-personnel rockets armed with cluster munitions, which it could use to strike Hezbollah missile sites in Lebanon.

The Israeli request for M-26 artillery rockets, which are fired in barrages and carry hundreds of grenade-like bomblets that scatter and explode over a broad area, is likely to be approved shortly, the New York Times reported on Friday.

The US Defense Department, without confirming or denying the report, said "We fully support Israel's right to defend itself."

"These are not indiscriminate arms transfers," Hicks said. They are done "in the interest of peace and broader international security" and help peaceful nations meet their legitimate needs of self-defense," he said.

At least 10 other countries including Egypt and Bahrain have also bought the missile system, manufactured by Lockheed Martin, he said.

Did we end up using those missiles against the wife?!

But some State Department officials want to delay the approval because the rockets could cause civilian casualties if used against targets in populated areas of southern Lebanon, the New York Times reported.

No shit?!

Israel hit back at Hezbollah only after repeatedly warning the civilian population to vacate the area, said David Siegel, a spokesman for the Israeli embassy in Washington.

Evacuate the...err.. country?

"It's important to stress that Hezbollah operates from densely populated areas in attacking Israeli civilian targets and that Israel, in defending itself, uses only precision-guided munitions," he said.

Oh, Of course. How the hell have I dared to question you? On behalf of the dead, I sincerely apologize.

Israel needed the rockets immediately the New York Times quoted officials as saying, because it has been unable to suppress Hezbollah's Katyusha rocket attacks by using bombs dropped from aircraft and other types of artillery.

On July 14, the Bush administration supported an Israeli request for JP-8 jet fuel worth up to $210 million to help Israeli aircraft "keep peace and security in the region."


And the world applauded and grinned in stupidity.


Pride! with an exclamation point

I would like to stay 18 please.

That's what I said on the night before my 19th birthday. Something inside told me that this should be my birthday wish. Something inside told me that it ain't going to happen. I want to stay fast enough to outrun my friends, flexible enough to please, strong enough to survive against forms of evil that tend to create for our survival in an illusional world of hatred and deceit. Us men... we live our lives seeking a youth potion that doesn't exist. We are invincible, capable of doing anything that we want. No matter how wise and humble some of us are, we always know that deep inside our main motive is to boss people around. Women age faster and die inside at very early ages. Women have the ability to make themselves feel like shit whenever. It's such a talent that we do not wish to have. Us men, we tend to ignore and move on, pretend that all sorts of shit ain't real, that it only takes a finger snap to pull ourselves back on our feet and carry on with our designated duties by feeding ourselves with our god given right to stomp on all else. Us men... we are proud, Johnson proud. We believe that we can have any woman that we desire, get any job that we want, make more money than our own fathers' would have imagined. It only takes disease to kill us, and disease comes in unexpected forms, body and mind. If we could each be given the right to hold a gun... for "protection", we damn straight would. Guns are cool and they tell whose boss. In 1989 an arrest per gender statistics schedule was prepared as a national study by the UN. 86.2% were male. Our ignored insecurity precedes us and we can't hide from it. We want to have the cake and eat it. We want to rule the world. We want a gun for our 21st birthday and we want to stay 18 when we're turning 19.

Deep down... we still believe we're 18.

We want to stay young forever, have sex forever, rule forever... and it's been that way since the beginning of time. We live on believing that we're going to stay immortal, aided by an imaginary gun that we tend to hold to each other's self-deluded heads. Isn't it ironic that a 'clock' is also the round chamber where you load the gun with bullets? Wouldn't that basically imply that it's as if when we turn in time as an important element in our day to day operation and functioning that's when it becomes inevitable for the process of male survival to morph into loading in our own suicide pistol.


Men feel invincible until the day they start asking people to help them urinate... that's when it hits us that just like snails we're bound to die.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Why Erhaby?


The Bank of England has frozen the assets of 19 people and named them as people arrested in connection with an alleged plot to bomb British passenger jets.

A Treasury statement read: "On the advice of the police and security services, the Treasury has instructed the Bank of England to issue notices to effect a freeze of the assets of a number of individuals arrested in yesterday's operations.

Twenty-four people were arrested on Thursday in police raids in London, the south of England and Birmingham after a police investigation into a plot to blow up several trans-Atlantic airliners.

The bank released the following names and posted them on its website: Abdula Ahmed Ali, Cossor Ali, Shazad Khuram Ali, Nabeel Hussain, Tanvir Hussain, Umair Hussain, Umar Islam, Waseem Kayani, Assan Abdullah Khan, Waheed Arafat Khan, Osman Adam Khatib, Abdul Muneem Patel, Tayib Rauf, Muhammed Usman Saddique, Assad Sarwar, Ibrahim Savant, Amin Asmin Tariq, Shamin Mohammed Uddin and Waheed Zaman.

The oldest person on the list, Shamin Mohammed Uddin, is 35. The youngest, Abdul Muneem Patel, is 17. Most of those named in the list were London residents.

If a flight is scheduled for takeoff, in order for the country's security and stability to remain cool, the government always tries to put a face for the public to see, so the people would know that the big bad wolf will be a threat no more. We've experienced that in 9/11, Iraq, Afghanistan, the British railway bombing and now with this.

Should I cancel my Euro-trip? I fear that if they find a bomb on a Euro rail train that they might arrest me in charge of terrorist acts and have my name announced to the world as the head of a terrorist organization, freeze my bank account, and harass my family for details about my childhood that may have led me into becoming a terrorizing maniac. I fear that I can't grow my beard, my biological human right. I fear that a day would come when I'd have to change my name or at least remove the name Mohamed from my full name and pretend to be something that I'm not. I fear that my 10 year old son will be beaten up at school... Should I just have him named George? Would I lie and hide to make my life easier, to survive? Marie Curie said that nothing in life is to be feared; it is only to be understood.

Well, I don't understand.

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Six of 11 Egyptian students who failed to show up for classes after entering the United States are in federal custody, the FBI said Thursday.

Two were arrested Thursday in Maryland, and another one in Chicago, Illinois, the FBI said.

Their discovery came a day after three others were found and taken into custody.

The bureau has a nationwide alert out for the remaining students with their names, ages, passport numbers and photos.

A preliminary investigation "has not identified any credible or imminent threat posed by any of the eleven Egyptian students," the FBI said. The FBI also stressed that there are no ties between the Egyptians and the alleged terror plot broken up by British authorities, The Associated Press reported.

The pair arrested in Maryland have been identified as El Sayed Ahmed Elsayed Ibrahim and Alaa Abd El Fattah Ali El Bahnasawi, both 20.

Why federal custody? Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't all law enforcement books worldwide allow the custody of suspects only for 24 hours if no evidence, eye witnesses, or confessions have been declared? Why are thousands of people being held at Guantanamo bay, of which only 10 were being officially convicted, and why are they all Muslims? Why are those Egyptian boys being held there if they haven't been linked to the bomb plot on Trans-Atlantic or any threat whatsoever? Why are most of the possible suspects Arabs or Muslims? Why bring up the non-possibility of the Egyptian kids being linked to the bomb plot on the airplans if they're not? Why the fuck bring it up? Ruling it out would still bring up that possibility in the minds of people and you fucking know that. Why spread out fear of Muslims and Arabs in the hearts of the world if you have nothing to prove it?

Why do I feel so small? Should I pack my bags and go to Canada or Australia in seek of another PASSport, without which I would remain locked in by the UN and its mighty star spangled Security Council? Should I cancel my Euro trip? Should I stay home and hide? Should I claim the name George or should I go with my instincts and choose Osama Ben Ladin?

Right now... should I be needing an aspirin or a loaded gun?

Friday, August 11, 2006

The blue state; and the countdown begins


Sacrifice comes after all else has been utilized, after all resorts are worn out, when there's no one else to turn to and no where else to run to. It's pretty similar to praying to God I guess. And the countdown began today when Saniora went to meet with Condi's assistant, Welsh. Is it obvious? Am I deluding myself into thinking that the Lebanese PM's giving up on some of his demands, his country's demands? Is that his white banner? I really hope not, but I have my doubts. Do not give up man. Stick to what you believe in the way many invisible people out there do. They call it the blue condition or state; it's when you're lying inside the ER room, surrounded by strangers dressed up in white, the ones you'd pretend are your guardian angels, injecting you with all sorts of life catalyzing fluids, all worried about what they'll do with your body when you go flat.

Earlier today I was chatting with a cousin of mine about the Lebanese situation and the number, the statistical figure, of the Lebanese deaths and injuries, then he interrupted me to ask 'Do you know how many Lebanese live in Lebanon?'. WTF?!! This isn't 'Who wants to be a millionaire' is it? Cos if it is I'd probably take whatever's left of my dignity and flee the fuck out of here. Well, I just looked at him and said 'I don't really care. All I care to know is the number of Lebanese who are going to live after this war is over.'

I can only say this; before the war on Lebanon, I had no identity. I fooled myself like so many others that I was helpless hence I shouldn't really care, but I was wrong. If good people did nothing, that's evil enough. On the Day I meet my God and He asks me about the things I did to make life better, to hold on to my religion, pull it up on its feet, and march up ahead... I'd like to have something to say. Right now I don't really feel like I want to be an Arab anymore; the idea sickens me. They sold out Lebanon, Iraq... and on national television. I'd rather be Lebanese and die with honor, defending something worth dying for.

I refuse to count. I've always hated mathematics.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you George Galloway

Monday, August 07, 2006

A desert road from Vegas to nowhere

Fruit flavored pills. Green circles and red dots. The magical sounding 'ding' marked the moment where you need to prepare yourself for take off, where you fail to find anything but a chain to brace yourself to the ground hoping it'll help you resist surrender, resist temptations of the now, resist period. Recurring dreams chase you down the road, catching up and throwing stones. A flashback of your past "moments of choice", where freewill turned against you, grabbed your hand tight, and jumped; and you spend the rest of your life wondering how long it will take you to hit the bottom of the world. The elevator crash that crushes your every little bone, making you realize how weak and fraction of nothingness you truly are; the drowning and lung rupture; the little reptile biting on your back, swallowing bits and pieces of your tail of denial, shrieking in triumph, morphs of the ever existing feeling of guilt that tears you apart. A pair holding hands; a picture that should have been shot in black and white to add value to a fake commercial emotion they tend to force on you, making it memorable, worth fixating on for a while, worth crying for and worth dying for; especially when you're the man in the background burning up in your flames, in your own created envy, despising the man who got there first; and yet you keep going, seeking a better tomorrow, your exit door, running for presidency of a member-less club that you've established inside your sorry self. You pull down the curtains in fear of light, in fear of hope; you've been fooled enough for this lifetime. It's in the dark where you seek your comfort, your reality check, where what you see can only be what you get. And yet, deep inside, you can't stop running. You can't stop for breath. You're too afraid to stop. Your nightmares chase you from behind and your dreams up ahead with you, just you, in the middle of a chain reaction that leads nowhere, and the faster you run, the further the dreams get, the heavier the nightmares' breaths get on the back of your neck, and the dimmer it gets; a race against your own common sense. Where are you, o familiar violin? I need a friendly tune. You push yourself onto a ledge wishing to fall and wishing to die, but somehow something always finds a way to pull you back into reality, 'Your life as it is' by your ever enchanting guilt. 'Deal with it', it says, but you can't. All you can do is dance to the music along with everybody else and wait for the trance to stop.

My handwritten will; a dark road that leads nowhere.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

My stained, chalk-outlined home

The radio plays a national anthem of a bordered area over a map that marks a place that I once called home. The borders are sketched with a white line that seems as if chalk's been used to mark the outlines of the country, the same chalk they'd use to sketch the exact position of a dead body once it's been found. I can still see the stain; a cherry artificially-flavored juice that spilt thirty years ago over the map leaving a red stain right in the center of the world. Ironically, the chalk outlines remain, the stain remains, but the structure of the world has changed so much, so much that I reckon that if people found out I still own this old map they'd sentence me for public hanging while being shot with squirt guns, in fear of my being old-fashioned; but I refuse to be rid of it. It reminds me of a time when the world made sense, when demographic elements i.e. people, believed that God still had a say in things.

Still playing, an anthem of something that I supposedly belong to, like a psychedelic pop song that I once fancied, I listened in awe. I folded the map like a newspaper and stared for what seemed like three hours at my chalk outlined country, my so-called home, that's been asleep, dreamless and wet, for the past three decades, stained with the color red. A guilty sensation froze my wristwatch as I began to question my cherry flavored drink, whether I had dissolved sleeping pills in it, thirty long years ago, or whether it was but a sign for me to pack my life and leave; that whatever I've been waiting for is cold dead, cherry-flavored bleeding all over the white chalked outline. Never have I felt so connected, like there's a reason for my being here, for my reluctance to leave. I look at the chalk outline and feel so small and helpless, a mixture of emotions, wondering whether I should feel sorry for my flat dead country and walk away or to stay and await its resurrection.

Egypt, I so long for you.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Worthless to remember

- Kafir Kassem 1956

After 45 years have passed, Rafael Rosenthal published his book Kafir Kasem: The Events and Legend. The book was not a matter of compunction; it was written for profits. “2000 copies sold,” said Ma'areef, “the moment it was released.”

It was sunset on 29 October 1956, and later that night three hostile actions against Egypt would occur. Knowing nothing about a curfew, some 49 men, women, and children, while heading home from the fields and gardens, where they worked, were ordered to step down from their trucks by Israeli soldiers. The Israeli soldiers then shot the workers down.

This cold-blooded massacre was but a small signal of the torrential flood of serial massacres that are still being committed by Israelis against the Palestinian people.

“Knowing not what to do with the pregnant women,” said Rosenthal's book, “some of the soldiers hesitated; and some suggested not to touch them, except for Major Shalom Aufir, the commander of this group, who ordered them shot down.” Along with the pictures, the book stated names such as “Safaa Harhour, Fartima S. Harhour, Amina Thau, Khamisa Amer, Jalil Issa, Helwa Budair, Fatima D. Harhour, Rashika Budair, and Zohaira Taha. After the description of the brutal massacre, the book says, “Soldiers stepped on the bodies to be certain of their death.”

Rosenthal's book contains several articles about this particular massacre, one of which is by Elan Chief, the ex-military general prosecutor, and another by Ibraheen Harhour, the ex-mayor of Kafr Kasem. A full chapter of the book discusses and tries to answer a relevant question: What happened to the perpetrators of this massacre?

Having heard, personally, the confession of Lieutenant Gibrael Dahhan, who killed 43 civilians in one day and who later became the military attaché, along with the confession of Lieutenant Makhl Haroush, who killed only 22 civilians and was awarded with a high position in the Israeli spy agency Mossad, the author reveals, “Yes, it was us who committed the massacre.”

“Do you sleep peacefully?” asked the author Rosenthal.

“Everything passes and could be forgotten… I have no problems with my heart or eyes… I haven't had any nightmares about this event… I was but a soldier who carried out orders.”

As for Captain Edmond Nahmani, who killed 20 Palestinians inside the village and demolished its Mosque, he said, “They used to take off my shoes and take my sandwiches when I was only a boy in Morocco. Since then, I have hated them and feel eager to kill them.” Nahmani is now working as the General of M.P.

Some kids took his sandwiches; in return he killed 20 Palestinians that day.

Shalom Aufir, the leader of this operation, who killed but 41 Arabs, perhaps a little more according to his memory, says: “It was exactly as had happened in Germany to us… I cheerfully made them step down from the wagons and then, very pleasantly, killed them. The Prime Minister Ben Gurion, while congratulating and saluting us, said, `It doesn't matter what rumors say about your reputation; the more important thing is what you have really done.'”

General Shamuel Malinki, the main person responsible for a series of terrorist actions that were perpetrated against Arab citizens by Israeli gangs, said, “It is ridiculous to be asked by someone about a certain thing I had done, which is completely forgotten and worthless to be remembered.”

Worthless to be remembered... words that'll echo in my ears forever.

Khan Younes 1956

3/11/1956 (Palestine): Another massacre is committed on November 3, 1956 when the Israelis occupy the town of Khan Yunis and the adjacent refugee camp. The Israelis claim that there was resistance, but the refugees state that all resistance had ceased when the Israelis arrived and that all of the victims were unarmed civilians. Many homes in Khan Yunis are raided at random. Corpses lie everywhere and because of the curfew no one could go out to bury them. (An UNRWA investigation later found that the Israelis at Khan Yunis and therefugee camp had murdered 275 civilians that day ).

After the Israelis withdrew from Gaza under American pressure, a mass grave was unearthed at Khan Yunis in March 1957. The grave contained the bodies of forty Arabs who had been shot in the back of the head after their hands had been tied.

("IMPERIAL ISRAEL", Michael Palumbo; London; Bloomsbury Publishing; 1990 pp. 30 - 32, citing UN General Assembly: Official Record, 11th session supplement, nop.)


- Dair Yassin 1948

9/4/1948(Palestine): The forces of the Zionist gangs Tsel, Irgun and Hagana, fitted out with the Zionist terrorist strategy of killing civilians in order to achieve their aspirations, began stealing into the village on the night of April 9, 1948. Their purpose was to uproot the Palestinian people from their land by coming upon the inhabitants of the village unawares, destroying their homes and burning them down on top of those inside, thereby making clear to the entire world to what depths of barbarism Zionist had sunk. The attack began as the children were asleep in their mothers' and fathers' arms. In the words of Menachim Begin as he described events, "the Arabs fought tenaciously in defense of their homes, their women and their children." The fighting proceeded from house to house, and whenever the Jews occupied a house, they would blow it up, then direct a call to the inhabitants to flee or face death. Believing the threat, the people left in terror in hopes of saving their children and women. But what should the Stern and Irgun gangs do but rush to mow down whoever fell within range of their weapons. Then, in a picture of barbarism the likes of which humanity has rarely witnessed except on the part of the most depraved, the terrorists began throwing bombs inside the houses in order to bring them down on whoever was inside. The orders they had received were for them to destroy every house. Behind the explosives there marched the Stern and Irgun terrorists, who killed whoever they found alive. The explosions continued in the same barbaric fashion until the afternoon of April 10, 1948.7 Then they gathered together the civilians who were still alive, stood them up beside the walls and in corners, then fired on them.8 About twenty-five men were brought out of the houses, loaded onto a truck and led on a "victory tour" in the neighborhood of Judah Mahayina and Zakhroun Yousif. At the end of the tour, the men were brought to a stone quarry located between Tahawwu'at Shawul and Dair Yasin, where they were shot in cold blood. Then the Etsel and Layhi "fighters" brought the women and the children who had managed to survive up to a truck and took them to the Mendelbaum Gate.8 Finally, a Hagana unit came and dug a mass grave in which it buried 250 Arab corpses, most of them women, children and the elderly.

A woman who survived the massacre by the name of Halima Id describes what happened to her sister. She says, "I saw a soldier grabbing my sister, Saliha al-Halabi, who was nine months pregnant. He pointed a machine gun at her neck, then emptied its contents into her body. Then he turned into a butcher, and grabbed a knife and ripped open her stomach to take out the slaughtered child with his iniquitous Nazi knife."10 In another location in the village, Hanna Khalil, a girl at the time, saw a man unsheathing a large knife and ripping open the body her neighbor Jamila Habash from head to toe. Then he murdered their neighbor Fathi in the same way at the entranceway to the house. A 40-year-old woman named Safiya describes how she was come upon by a man who suddenly opened up his trousers and pounced on her. "I began screaming and wailing. But the women around me were all meeting the same fate. After that they tore off our clothes so that they could fondle our breasts and our bodies with gestures too horrible to describe."12 Some of the soldiers cut off women's ears in order to get at a few small earrings.13 Once news of the massacre had gotten out, a delegation from the Red Cross tried to visit the village. However, they weren't allowed to visit the site until a day after the time they had requested. Meanwhile the Zionists tried to cover up the evidence of their crime. They gathered up as much as they could of the victims' dismembered corpses, threw them in the village well, and then closed it up. And they tried to change the landmarks in the area so that the Red Cross representative wouldn't be able to find his way there. However, he did find his way to the well, where he found 150 maimed corpses belonging to women, children and the elderly. And in addition to the bodies which were found in the well, scores of others had been buried in mass graves while still others remained strewn over street corners and in the ruins of houses.14 Afterwards, the head of the terrorist Hagana gang which had taken part in burying the Palestinian civilians wrote saying that his group had not undertaken a military operation against armed men, the reason being that they wanted to plant fear in the Arabs' hearts. This was the reason they chose a peaceable, unarmed village, since in this way they could spread terror among the Arabs and force them to flee.


- Sabra and Shatila Camps 1982

A number of events led to the decision of an extremist terrorist group of the Lebanese kata'ib forces and forces belonging to the Zionist Army to carry out massacres against the Palestinians. From the beginning of the Zionist invasion of Lebanon, the Zionists and their agents were working toward being able to extirpate the Palestinian presence in Lebanon. This may be seen from a number of massacres of which the world heard only little, carried out by Israeli forces and militias under their command in the Palestinian camps in south Lebanon (al-Rushaidiya, 'Ayn al-Hilu, al-Miya Miya, and others).32 This massacre was thus the outcome of a long mathematical calculation. It was carried out by groups of Lebanese forces under the leadership of Ilyas Haqiba, head of the kata'ib intelligence apparatus and with the approval of the Zionist Minister of Defense, Ariel Sharon and the Commander of the Northern District, General Amir Dawri. High-level Israeli officers had been planning for some time to enable the Lebanese forces to go into the Palestinian camps once West Beirut had been surrounded.
Two days before the massacre began - on the evening of Septemb
er 14 - planning and coordination meetings were held between terrorist Sharon and his companion, Eitan. Plans were laid to have the kata'ib forces storm the camps, and at dawn, September 15, Israel stormed West Beirut and cordoned off the camps. A high-level meeting was held on Thursday morning, September 16, 1982 in which Israel was represented by General Amir Dawri, Supreme Commander of the Northern Forces.
The job of carrying out the operation was assigned to Eli Haqiba, a major secur
ity official in the Lebanese forces. The meeting was also attended by Fadi Afram, Commander of the Lebanese Forces.
The process of storming the camps began before sunset on Thursday, S
eptember 16, and continued for approximately 36 hours.
The Israeli Army surrounded the camps, providing the murderers with all the support, aid and facilities necessary for them to carry out their appalling crime. They supplied
them with bulldozers and with the necessary pictures and maps. In addition, they set off incandescent bombs in the air in order to turn night into day so that none of the Palestinians would be able to escape death's grip. And those who did flee - women, children and the elderly - were brought back inside the camps by Israeli soldiers to face their destiny. At noon on Friday, the second day of the terrorist massacre, and with the approval of the Israeli Army, the kata'ib forces began receiving more ammunition, while the forces which had been in the camps were replaced by other, "fresh" forces.37 On Saturday morning, September 18, 1982, the massacre had reached its peak, and thousands of Sabra and Shatila camp residents had been annihilated.
Information about
the massacre began to leak out after a number of children and women fled to the Gaza Hospital in the Shatila camp, where they told doctors what was happening. News of the massacre also began to reach some foreign journalists on Friday morning, September 17.
One of the journalists who went into the camps after the massacre reports what he saw, saying, "The corpses of the Palestinians had been thrown among the rubble that r
emained of the Shatila camp. It was impossible to know exactly how many victims there were, but there had to be more than 1,000 dead. Some of the men who had been executed had been lined up in front of a wall, and bulldozers had been used in an attempt to bury the bodies and cover up the aftermath of the massacre. But the hands and feet of the victims protruded from the debris." Hasan Salama (57 years old), whose 80-year-old brother was killed in the massacre, says, "They came from the mountains in thirty huge trucks. At first they started killing people with knives so that they wouldn't make any noise. Then on Friday there were snipers in the Shatila camp killing anybody who crossed the street. On Friday afternoon, armed men began going into the houses and firing on men, women and children. Then they started blowing up the houses and turning them into piles of rubble." Author Amnoun Kabliyouk [p. 10] writes in his book about the tragedy of a young Palestinian girl who, like the rest of the children in the camp, faced this horrific massacre. Thirteen years old, she was the only survivor out of her entire family (her father, her mother, her grandfather and all her brothers and sisters were killed). She related to a Lebanese officer, saying, "We stayed in the shelter until really late on Thursday night, but then I decided to leave with my girl friend because we couldn't breathe anymore. Then all of a sudden we saw people raising white flags and handkerchiefs and coming toward the kata'ib saying, 'We're for peace and harmony.' And they killed them right then and there. The women were screaming, moaning and begging [for mercy]. As for me, I ran back to our house and got into the bathtub. I saw them leading our neighbors away and shooting them. I tried to stand up at the window to look outside, but one of the kata'ib fighters saw me and shot at me. So I went back to the bathtub and stayed there for five hours. When I came out, they grabbed me and threw me down with everybody else. One of them asked me if I was Palestinian, and I said yes. My nine-month-old nephew was beside me, and he was crying and screaming so much that one of the men got angry, so he shot him. I burst into tears and told him that this baby had been all the family I had left. That made him all the more angry, and he took the baby and tore him in two."
The massacre continued until
noon on Saturday, September 18, leaving between 3,000 and 3,500 Palestinian and Lebanese civilians dead, most of them women, children and elderly people

- Qana 1996

18 April 1996, the "ethnic cleansing" operations carried out by the Zionist terrorist army have encompassed not only Palestinian civilians, but Lebanese civilians in south Lebanon as well.
In an attempt to break the power of the Lebanese Hizbollah organization, Zionist forces undertook a military operation against south
Lebanon. This operation was likewise based upon the Zionist mentality, supportive as it is of blood-letting and terrorism and based upon the belief that "exercising pressure against Lebanese citizens . . . will lead in practical terms to comprehensive, overall pressure on account of which the Hizbollah organization will be obliged to adhere to a ceasefire." Given this reasoning, the Zionist forces bombed the shelter which was providing refuge to approximately five hundred Lebanese, most of whom were children, elderly and women who had been forced out of their homes by Israeli raids on their villages, and who had been unable to get to Beirut. This bombing led to the deaths of 109 Lebanese civilians and seriously wounded 116 others. During the attack, Israeli forces used between 5 and 6 advanced bombs designed to explode above their target in order to cause the largest possible number of casualties. Moreover, international investigations confirmed that the Israeli forces had deliberately targeted the shelter. Ali, one of those wounded in the attack, says, "I fled in the morning with two friends and went for refuge to the emergency forces in Qana. I had my wife and my four children with me. They led us into a shelter where there were about fifty people. Then suddenly the sound of bombing rang out. A first shell, then a second fell near the shelter, and as we were trying to get out, another shell hit the shelter directly. I don't know what happened to my wife and children."61 Fadi Jabir weeps as he talks about things he saw after the Israeli bombs fell on those who had left their homes to come to the base for the UN Fayjiya peace-keeping forces. He says, "I heard people shouting 'Allahu akbar!', and a woman fell down unconscious. I reached out to get an idea what had happened to her, and her brain fell into my hand."62 As for Sa'd Allah Balhas, who was wounded by a piece of shrapnel in the Zionist massacre, he says, "In one second I lost everything: my children, 14 of my grandchildren, and my wife. I don't want to live anymore. Tell the doctors to let me die.

- Bahr Al Baqar 1970

30 Egyptian primary school students.







- Qana 2006 - I believe you've already followed that




Should I go on? The list keeps growing and growing...

"Destroy all of the land; beat down their pillars and break their statues and waste all of their high places, cleansing the land and dwelling in it, for I have given it to you for a possession" Torah : Numbers 33:52,53










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