Faith and Imagination - One Feeds the Other, and Both Lead to Accomplishment

בס''ד

Originally published in Facebook as a "Note" on 21 June, 2011.
Copyright © R. Kossover, 2011


In looking at the articles one sees here on Facebook and elsewhere in that whiny, complaint-filled Augean Stable known as "the Jewish world", all we see is whining and complaining. Do Jews do anything to merit the respect they whine they do not get?

What are we doing to command respect?

Are we kicking terrorist ass, and executing the bastards who murder our children? Are we really protecting the Jewish settlement enterprise in Israel - or are we trying to snuff it out? Are we officially boycotting Europeans and others who boycott us? Are we sending assassins to get rid of the liars who defame us? Are we making clear to Israelis who are self-hating Jews - not to mention all the self hating trash overseas - that they are no longer welcome in this country? Are we kicking out the leftist traitors who infest our universities, schools, businesses, police and army? Are we even protecting ourselves against foreign missionaries? ARE WE SHOWING FAITH IN G-D THAT HE WILL BRING US REDEMPTION?

NO!!! We kiss everyone's ass and we whine.

We are only whining because the world - which wants to kill us - doesn't love us. Respect is earned. And we do nothing to earn it. Love? We do not need the love of the world. We need to learn to love ourselves, and the G-d Who created us.

So we have nothing to complain about. We refuse to learn from the heaps of feces our enemies pour upon us.

Nevertheless, the pathetic Yid-whining and kvetching and krekhtzing and utter fear that infests a country that possesses nuclear weapons and submarines and doesn't have the leaders with the guts to use them - or the faith in G-d to destroy its enemies - is disgusting, to say the least, and enough to raise a man's blood pressure to give him a stroke, to say the most. It is sickening that WE SHOULD GIVE A DAMN what the goyim say! A long time ago a young Sefaradí lady shut me up when I tried to explain about non-Jews and why we should cooperate with them. She said the following - and her words still ring in my ears to this day:

קודם כל,כל גוים חיות - kódem kol, kol goyím Hayót! This young lady was saying, "first of all, all goyim are animals!" On the bus in 1973, my mouth fell open in shock. But based on what I have seen out of Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and most of rest of the Arab world, not to mention the allegedly "civilized" countries of Europe, the "people" who live there indeed meet her description of them. When you look at the way Filipinos, Thais, Indians, Chinese and Japanese sexually exploit their children, you're forced to come to the same conclusion about them as well. It's an ugly world out there.

Now, because you most of you lack imagination, let me outline for you the difference between faith and the lack of faith. In parashát sheláH פרשת שלח, ten of the twelve spies Moshe sent out lacked faith in their own ability to cope with the creatures who inhabited Canaan - giants. And they said "we were grasshoppers in their eyes, and in our own eyes!" And they discouraged the People from having faith in the G-d Who had brought them forth from Egypt with signs and wonders, and Who had destroyed Egypt in the process. What if they had said, as did the other two spies, Yehoshua and Kalev, "yes they may be difficult to beat, but we can do it!" Or, for those of you who agonize over issues of "free will", let's say ten of the spies came back with a positive report, and the other two cowards were ignored? The Children of Israel would have conquered yeriHó the next week - or maybe the next month. Since RaHav the whore wasn't alive yet (there would not have been 39 years for her to have been conceived and born and grow up in yeriHó), a different method would have possibly been found, but the city would have been destroyed. MOSHE would have led the legions and divvied up the LAND. And likely, when Moshe died, Yehoshua would have taken over and conquered the entire country. The Land would have been cleared of the enemy - no Canaanites, no idols to serve as a temptation, but instead, a nation serving HASHEM with faith and confidence. This is something we have never had.

The period of time when this conquest of Canaan took place was the cusp of the change from the Bronze Age to the Iron Age. The Children of Israel were exposed to some pretty sophisticated technology in the desert - the stones in the High Priest's Ephod and úrim and túmim, the lights (or energy sources) within, essentially describe a modern computer; the ashes of the pará adumá, the Red Cow, essentially describe a water filter. Imagine what would have been the fate of a nation that had faith in G-d. Instead of struggling to obtain iron weapons from the neighboring oppressors, which is an underlying theme of the Book of Judges séfer shoftím, the Children of Israel might have been exposed to - and taught to develop- technology far in advance of the neighboring peoples - who were savages by comparison. Israel would have been technologically advanced far beyond the comparatively uncivilized barbarians of the ancient world.

Would Assyria have come to conquer this Land? NO. Would Babylon have come to conquer this Land? NO. The Torah itself would have read differently - no description of 40 years of wandering, no speech by Moshe warning of a nation that would be exiled; AND NO EXILE! The language of all of us would be Hebrew and we would be princes of a land that we would have occupied for 100 generations, defended by the CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE and the tools He would have made available to us, because we would have had faith in Him. This country would stretch from the lakes of Suez to the mountains of Persia (or further east), filled who over 200 or 300 million HEBREWS. There would be NO Jews, no Christianity, and Muhammad's legions would have never contaminated this land with their barbarism. In fact, there would be no "Palestinians" - no residents of Israel would have ever been forced to convert to Islam and content themselves with the savagery that is Arab culture.

There might have been a Greece - but it never would have conquered this Land. There might have been a Rome, but it never would have destroyed a Temple to the G-d of Israel, the G-d That created the universe.

This is what we missed out on when ten men looked about them and rejected G-d's gift of the Land and G-d's reassurances that He would be with us. Instead of 200 or 300 million Hebrews in a powerful empire, we are a mere 15 million Jews, 3 million Palestinian "Arabs" and 40 million Pashtun - divided by ignorance and mistrust, surrounded by enemies and torn by conflict, internal and external, and in the case of our Pashtun brothers, divided by 3,000 kilometers as well. While Jews in Israel live in relative prosperity, our Pashtun brothers, originally from the northern Tribes, suffer starvation, war, lack of education and persecution. Our Palestinian brothers, forced away from their native faiths by the lash of Islam's persecution, suffer under a terrorist dictatorship in Israel and suffer terrible privations in "refugee camps" - really concentration camps - in Syria, Lebanon and elsewhere.

WHEN YOU LACK FAITH, YOU ALSO LACK IMAGINATION.

But does it have to be this way? No.

Must it remain this way? NO!!

WE CAN CHANGE!

That is what "free will" is all about - the ability to change. And in this case, to try to change for the better.

JEWS can start to look at the Pashtun and "Palestinian Arabs" and see them for what they are - lost Brothers of the Nation of Israel, imprisoned in an alien culture, and suffering (as Jews suffer) the loss of their ancient glory.

PASHTUNS AND "PALESTINIAN ARABS" can start to look upon the Jews not as people to be hated and despised - but lost Brothers in the Nation of Israel.

Islam has not given the Pashtuns the access to education they need, and it has not given the "Palestinian Arabs" a secure homeland.  Instead, Wahhabi jihadis  have incited and influenced estranged Children of Israel to kill their blood brothers, the Jews, so that they can laugh up their sleeves as one "Jew" kills another.  Further, Wahhabi jihadis call the Brothers of the "Palestinian Arabs" and of the Pashtuns, us Jews, "children of pigs and dogs".  If someone called my brother or sister such a name, I'd pull out my meat cleaver and chop his head off.  Both peoples have gained nothing from Islam but persecution, terror and death.  In addition, "Palestinian Arab" terrorists and vandals have desecrated the tomb of their own ancestors, and that of the Pashtun, the Tomb of Joseph.

When JEWS, PASHTUNS AND "PALESTINIAN ARABS" can attempt to do these things, to view each other as brothers rather than enemies, one step at a time if necessary, the nation of ISRAEL  will begin to heal.  The Prophecy of the Book of Ezekiel [séfer yeHezkél], where Ezekiel takes two sticks, one for Ephraim and one for Judah, and molds them into one - for Israel, will finally come true [Ez. 37:15-28].  The time has finally arrived for us to attempt this.  That way, each man will sit in peace under his own fig tree, we will sow our seeds and reap our harvests with joy, and justice and righteousness will flow through our Land and through our lives like rivers.  After 4,000 years, we Children of Israel deserve to see the goodness of the L-rd Who called us to His service.

It is time. It is past time.

Time to Boycott the Boycotters and Pay Them in Their Own Coin

בס''ד

Published at Facebook, 6 June, 2011.
Copyright © 2011, R. Kossover

6 June, 2011 - ד בחודש סיון, התשע"א


Recently, we have all read of the decision of the West Dunbartonshire Council in Scotland to boycott Israeli products. It is time to boycott the boycotters and pay them in their own currency of disdain and refusal to purchase their products - even if we all have to sober up just a wee bit. Received as an e-mail from Rabbi Rahamim Pauli on 6 June, 2011:


June 3, 2011

To: Chivas Brothers: media.relations@pernod-ricard.com
Kilmalid, Stirling Road, Dumbarton, Lanarkshire, G82 2SS
Distillers of Ballantine’s, Chivas, Royal Salute, Clan Campbell, Something Special, Passport, 100 Pipers, Imperial, Long John Aberlour, The Glenlivet, Glendronach, Strathisla, Longmorn, Scapa Tormore, Jameson, Paddy, Powers Walker Special Old, Wisers


To: Morrison Bowmore Distillers Ltd.: info@morrisonbowmore.co.uk
Auchentoshan Distillery, Dalmuir, Clydebank, Dunbartonshire G81 4SJ
Distillers of Auchintoshan, Bowmore, Glen Garioch, McClelland’s

To: Loch Lomond Distillery Co. Ltd: mail@lochlomonddistillery.com
Lomond Industrial Estate, Alexandria, Dunbartonshire G83 0TL
Distillers of Loch Lomond, Scots Earl, Distillery Select, Glen Scotia, Littlemill, Croftengea, Craigslodge, Inchmurrin, Glen Douglas, Inchfad

To The Fine Whisky Distillers of West Dunbartonshire:
Ladies and Gentlemen,

Though your whiskey products are the finest, sadly, your West Dunbartonshire council members behavior is the opposite of fine, it is the poorest.

It has come to my attention that the West Dunbartonshire Region Council claims to have voted, unanimously, to boycott Israeli products, to include books!

On their website, the West Dunbartonshire Council clearly states their boycotting point with the actual boycott resolution reading as follows:

"This Council deplores the loss of life in Palestine which now numbers well over 1,000. This Council also recognises the disproportionate force used by the IDF in Palestine and agrees to boycott all Israeli goods as a consequence. Officers should immediately cease the purchase of any goods we currently source, which were made or grown in Israel. Officers should also ensure we procure no new goods or produce from Israel until this boycott is formally lifted by WDC."

The IDF never targets or attacks civilians. The vast majority of the Arab-"Palestinians" killed in the battles, were terrorists; Hamas admitted to that fact. You owe to check the facts as I have. Arab-"Palestinians" terrorists routinely use their civilian population as human shield. They fight from hospitals, mosques, and schools from where they see fit to launch their rocket attacks on Israel. Just imagine you are in this position; try defending your Scottish population from terrorists who are fighting from residential areas and see if you can guarantee zero collateral damage. You cannot not and in fact you would not care. You will go after those who are out to harm you with vengeance.

The State of Israel is the only and unchallenged democracy in the Middle East yet, the West Dunbartonshire Council goal is to boycott her, which is not only humiliating and undermining its democratic success, but its victimizing the victim in this equation. Not to mention that it is simply immoral for the West Dunbartonshire Council to boycott Israel.

Following West Dunbartonshire Council's decision to boycott Israel, I hereby inform you that there are enough people in the world who support Israel and can do the very same, boycott, in this case boycott the boycotters.

No one bears malice toward your distilleries. However, when your local council is boycotting Israel under the most unethical and immoral of pretext, you cannot expect your market to sit idly and pretend you are not part of it. I will do all that is in my power to tell as many to no longer purchase or drink Scottish Whiskey, distilled in the West Durbanshire region.


Los Angeles, California, USA
Sincerely,
Nurit Greenger


Rabbi Pauli's e-mail concludes by stating that "The good news is that Johnny Walker and Glen Fiddish is not included."

I ask all of my friends on Facebook, and extend my request to all of my friends' friends on Facebook, to participate in this boycott of the products of West Dunbartonshire, Scotland. Let them come to comprehend that boycotts are a two way street - and while they cannot avoid our products made in Israel, or the products of our advanced technology, no matter how hard they try, we can avoid their liquor.

Blessings from Samaria, Israel
Reuven Kossover

The Designated Schlepper - Tales of Grampa Louie

בס''ד

Copyright © R. Kossover, 1994, 2011

One night last fall, my wife was busily retching up dinner, lunch, and most of the previous week's meals while suffering a nasty bout of stomach flu. For three hours, she had been sitting in a chair covered in a blanket with the chills complaining of nausea. Our youngest, Eric, would ask every couple of minutes, "Mommy, are you going to throw up?" or "Mommy, did you throw up yet?" As time passed, he got himself more and more upset. Now that the anticipated unloading was finally taking place, he ran around the house in a panic, clapping his hands, crying "Mommy, don't throw up!" as if his commands alone could stop a grand event of nature.

The eldest, Daniel, hid on the couch, his hands covering his ears, head buried in a cushion. If it weren't for the sheer terror in Eric's eyes, I would have gone into the bathroom to comfort my wife, which is what I really wanted to do. Instead, I picked Eric up and carried him to the couch where Daniel had his head hidden.

I sat on the couch with my arms around them trying to calm the boys down, but Eric just screamed and Daniel kept his head resolutely buried as my wife vomited up some more. As I rubbed Daniel's back, I remembered my father telling me never to panic and inspiration hit me.

"Daniel, let me tell you a story about Grampa Louie." Daniel kept his ears covered, but lifted his head away from the couch cushion. Eric stopped screaming about his mother throwing up long enough to complain that I wasn't telling him about Grampa Louie.

"Okay Eric, I'll tell you about Grampa Louie, too. With that, I began.

"Grandma Hattie had a cousin who lived in Bergenfield, New Jersey, Cousin Fannie, who was a teacher. She was used to being the boss at home. She had a son, David, who was a couple of years older than me. Her husband, Sam, was a pit musician for the Radio City Music Hall. One day Cousin Fannie got a great offer to teach in Passaic, which is a few miles away. The only catch was that in order to teach in the Passaic schools, she had to live in Passaic. This meant she had to move.

"So, she and Sam put the house up for sale and bought a new house on Main Avenue in Passaic. They packed furniture and things into boxes, and got ready to move.

"Now, Fannie didn't have money to hire movers, so she called Grampa Louie on the phone and he agreed to help her move. He emptied the ice out of his delivery truck and drove Grandma Hattie and me to Bergenfield one cloudy Saturday morning.

"Fannie had almost everything packed in boxes. Sam had to take the train to New York for rehearsals at Radio City Music Hall. That left Grampa Louie alone to schlep boxes downstairs and into his truck.

"What's schlep mean, Daddy?" Eric asked.
"It's Yiddish. It means to carry or drag, like you do, well, with moving boxes. Since Grampa Louie was stuck with schlepping the boxes, he was the designated schlepper.

"He didn't have to carry everything, though. Grandma Hattie, Fannie and David all helped. Even I had to carry something. I had to carry a vase from Fannie' bedroom upstairs down to the truck. All the way down the stairs, out of the house and all the way to the truck, Grampa Louie kept saying `don't drop the vase, Ruvy, don't drop the vase.' He stood in the back of the truck and I handed it up to him. As I handed it to him, he kept saying `don't drop it, don't drop it, oy oy oy oy oy, don't drop it!' The minute it was in his hands, Grampa Louie dropped the vase. The vase smashed into pieces and there was dirt all over the back of the truck. Cousin Fannie gave him a broom and he swept out the truck and laughed.

"When the truck was all loaded we started off for Passaic. Grandma Hattie drove Cousin Fannie' blue Studebaker and took David with her. Fannie was so upset with Grampa Louie for dropping that vase and for laughing afterwards, that she rode with him in the truck to make sure he wouldn't speed and ruin more of her things. I loved riding with my father so much that I got to be in the truck with him. I was squished between Cousin Fannie, who was rather fat, and the gear stick.

"It was almost evening when we left Bergenfield. It had been raining all afternoon and was still drizzling as Grampa Louie started up the truck and left town.

"The Garden State Parkway would have gotten us to Passaic in a few minutes. But to avoid highway tolls and to keep Cousin Fannie happy, we drove down Washington Avenue which had a lot of stoplights and railroad crossings. Each of the railroad crossings had a protective gate that came down and blocked the road when a train was coming. We had almost gotten to Route 4 and we were crossing a railroad track when the protective gates began to come down behind us and in front of us. Grampa Louie didn't dare speed up to get away from the track, firstly, because the gate would have crashed down on the truck and secondly, because Cousin Fannie would have thrown a fit. So he stopped the truck, and looked around.

"Off in the distance on Cousin Fannie' side of the truck we saw the reason that the gates had come down and blocked the road. A beam of light seemed to illuminate the gray track in the night and progress slowly toward us.

"`Louie, it's a train!' Cousin Fannie shouted. Grampa Louie just shrugged and looked outside his window. I started to cry. I was scared. I heard the train whistle. Even as it whistled, the noise seemed to get louder.

“`Louie, do something! We're gonna die!' Fannie screamed. The light of the train got nearer. My father said `Watch out, son,' and pulled the gear stick into reverse. It pushed against my hip as it passed me.

"`Now, watch what I do. Don't watch the train,' Grampa Louie said as he turned the truck's steering wheel hand over hand to the left and put his foot on the gas. The truck pulled backward away from the gate to the left and was facing the train.

"`I'm gonna get sick, Louie. Help.' Cousin Fannie said weakly.

"`Vomit later, Fannie, not in my truck!' my father roared at her. He shifted into first and drove straight toward the oncoming train until he cleared the gate, then he swung to the left, away from the train and on to some grass. He jumped out of the truck, ran over to Fannie, gave her a bag and said, `go ahead.' The train rolled on behind us.

"Fannie got out of the truck with the bag, but she didn't throw up. It felt so good without her squeezing me against the gear stick.

"So what happened next, dear?" my wife asked. She'd startled me. I had been so busy telling the boys about my father that I had forgotten completely about her.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Are you feeling better? Do you still have the chills?"

She looked a little tired. "No, the chills are gone. But tell me what happened next." Her eyes twinkled with curiosity.

"Well, Grampa Louie pulled fifty cents out of his pocket and put it on the dashboard. He said, `Fannie, we're taking the Garden State, and that's the end of it.' Fannie got back into the truck, and was very quiet. We returned to Washington Avenue, turned onto Route 4 to the Garden State and were at Cousin Fannie' new house in Passaic in about fifteen minutes.

"You mean your father didn't get scared at all while he was driving straight into the path of a train? Not even a little bit?" In her twinkling eyes were questioning disbelief.

"No. In fact, after we had unloaded some of Fannie' furniture at her new house, we went out to a deli and my dad stuffed himself with corned beef sandwiches and kasha varnishkas. You never would have known anything out of the ordinary had happened that night.

"But, Daddy," Daniel asked, "Weren't you scared? And did you look at the train even though Grampa Louie told you not to?"

"Yeah, I looked at the train. And I was very scared. But Grampa Louie was at the wheel and I trusted him. And Grampa Louie didn't panic."

Then I got up and looked at all of them, especially my wife.

"And that's why I'm around to tell the tale."

Cats and Good Deeds – Notes from Home

בס''ד

Copyright © R. Kossover, Avi Kossover, 2001, 2011

            Our cat, Flash is a very valued member of the family.   Let me be more specific.  It cost us $89 to bring him on the El Al flight here.  It cost another $89 for the box that held his stuff, a box additional to the twelve we were allowed to bring.  It cost $20 for a veterinarian’s examination, $22 for the USDA to certify that he was fit to travel to Israel based on that examination, and $30 for the kennel to carry him on the plane.  That totals to $250, which is what some people in the States make in one week.  There is also the additional fact that we smuggled him into the Absorption Center and keep him here against its rules.  So for me to come to dislike cats takes some doing.  Israeli cats have managed the task.

            When I learned over the Internet that cats are considered a nuisance here, I had trouble understanding why.  Let me share my education with you.  The average American street cat is a very lazy animal compared to his Israeli counterpart.  He sleeps under spacious cars parked on wide streets.  He goes after garbage tossed into dumpsters and feeds languorously on the many mice, rodents and birds that abound in the moist flower laden soil.  Not so for the Israeli cat.  There may be mice or geckos, but they are hard to get at.  The birds are huge and raucous, like hawkers in a market, and just too big for the average cat to handle.  The streets are narrow, the cars small, and they rush by at 70 or 80 km/hr on city streets.  For those of you who have trouble with metric measurements (like me), 80 km/hr is equivalent to 50 mph and 70 km/hr is equivalent to about 43 mph.  The soil here is not rich and soft, but hard, rocky and dry; buildings are made of stone and built into hills.  There are steep climbs and tall ladders.  I haven’t seen any squirrels in the trees here.  In Jerusalem, the cats leap like squirrels.  All this in and of itself does not make the Israeli cat a nuisance, just strong and lithe.   But when you factor in the lack of window screens in most apartments in the Absorption Center, you have the recipe for the nuisance cat.

            Looked at from the viewpoint of a cat, Jerusalem’s apartments are a series of dumpsters piled on top of one other, each one holding food and other delights.  Because the cats can leap far distances, if there is an open window, the cat can jump from ledge to ladder to open window and just sort of drop in for a visit.  If there is no one home, so much the better.  The garbage, if available, becomes a meal opportunity.  And if there is cat food laid out for the resident cat, then a feast awaits.  We made the mistake of setting out Flash’s cat food in view of a window.  It wasn’t entirely our fault.  We arrived at 10 at night and could not see a ledge under the window.  Our first concern was to lay out the litter for him and some food because he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for over 20 hours. Also, we knew nothing about the abilities of the Zionist wonder cats living in the country.  We assumed that the felines at the dumpsters were like the American alley cats and did not give them a second thought.  One cat, though, gave us a second thought and checked out the window 

where she could see heaven laid out in front of her eyes, there for the taking.

            Once, I saw her in the apartment and I chased her out.  It did not dawn on me (or the rest of us) at all that the sight of the Science Diet was like a magnet guaranteed to draw in a hungry street cat.   After several days of  chasing her out the apartment and worrying about what she might do to Flash, it finally dawned on us that her interest had nothing to do with Flash at all but everything to do with his food, which we saw her eating.

            So we moved the food and water to the kids’ bedroom where it was not within view of a window.  For two days we saw nothing of the black and white cat stalking Flash’s food dish.  Then a few nights ago, Avi reported that a cat jumped on him and was pawing his shirt.  He petted the cat, thinking it was Flash and then opened his eyes and saw that it was the stray. This is his account of the incident. 

I slapped the cat across the face.  The cat fell on the floor, landing on her feet and meowed loudly.  I ran after her into the living room (where Adina and I sleep) and it jumped out of the bedside window.  I went back to sleep but before I fell asleep I saw the cat jump in the living room window” (which Avi can see from his window).  “I ran into the living room and saw the cat chasing a moth.  I threw one of dad’s slippers at it.  The cat jumped, startled, looked back at me and jumped out the bedside window.  A few minutes later, I saw the cat’s head and front paws in the bedside window, preparing to jump, but this time I was prepared for it.  In my hand, I had a hunk of dried mozzarella cheese and some bubble wrap.  When I saw the cat, I threw the hunk of cheese in the middle of the floor.  The cat jumped in and sniffed the cheese.  As she put her mouth over the cheese, I threw the bubble wrap on the cat.  Before she knew had happened I scooped her up and pushed her outside the bedside window onto the deck and she didn’t come back that week. 

            The next day, when returning from shopping, I felt like hissing at the cat, who was sitting at her usual haunt near the garbage dumpster.

            So consider the following.  The night before last one of the other residents of the Merkaz  Klita, Moshe, stopped by to tell us that a small cat was laying injured on the sidewalk near a school.  He asked me for the number of a veterinarian which I gave him readily.  About ten minutes later Moshe returned telling me that all the veterinarians he had called except one refused to answer the phone, and that the one who had lived all the way in Beit haKerem, which is all the way across town toward the west, a cab ride away.  He asked if I could come with him to Beit haKerem.  Immediately, Avi wanted to come along.  I shrugged my shoulders, put my shoes on and we went down to find the cat.

            When we got to the cat she was laying on the ground, her left leg obviously out of place   I told Avi to get a couple of towels to wrap the cat in.  When he returned a few minutes later, he set the towels on either side of the cat and spoke gently to it.  Once the cat seemed convinced that Avi meant her no harm, she started to meow very loud with all her soul, her pain coming out very clear.  I went off to hail a cab while Moshe looked for a box to put the cat in.  A few minutes later, all was ready.  All that was lacking was the cabbie.  By the time one came, the cat was very weak and some boys had told us she had been bitten by a dog.

It was 11:30 at night by the tine the cab got to Beit haKerem.  The vet lived at the end of a road called Sha’ár haGai.  He was outside waiting for us.  Moshe laid a hundred shekel note on the cup holder and the vet told the cabbie to wait.   I waited with the cabbie.  I could see Avi, Moshe and the vet in the vet’s house.  After some minutes, Moshe went outside with Avi, I think to explain to him that the vet had to put the cat the sleep.

            Some minutes after that, the vet gave the cat a shot so that it wouldn’t suffer any more.  Avi and Moshe came back without the cat, both silent.  Avi started to cry.  There were tears on Moshe’s face.  I told Avi that he had done a good deed, a mitzvah, comforting a cat so that it would not die abandoned in the street.  I told him this was a mitzvah of a high order – bringing comfort to the dying.  I don’t think it consoled him any, but  I was very proud of my youngest boy that night.

            It was almost one in the morning when we returned to the Merkaz Klita.  I had to get up early and go to the doctor by nine a.m., the day before Yom Kippur.