The birthday party is over. The guests, the revelers, the musicians, the waiters are all now part of history. The speeches, some memorable, are mostly forgotten. The hall has been thoroughly cleaned, the rug shampooed (much champagne and liquor was spilled on it during the celebration), tables reset, chair put back in place. Routine has returned. Or has it?
Twas in the blackness of the following night and the whisper of the wind blowing across the plains that behold the gates of heaven opened to reveal the inner sanctum of the world beyond, celestial spirits at attention, angels clad in white. The voice of a cherub thundered across the skies; it was the voice of Gabriel the Archangel.
“Hark, Shimon, of the house of Peres, for the words you shall hear are of prophecy and truth which Hashem wishes upon you to impart. Listen, my child, for the mission you have embarked on will continue to be perilous, precarious and fraught with danger. But worry not, for you are but the bearer of good tidings unto my chosen people, the Nation of Israel, children of Jacob. Be not frightened, for I shall carry and guide your every step, for yours is the prophecy of truth.
“I am Hashem, your G-d. Go forth from here and deliver the message I will now impart; write it down, so it can never be denied and spread my word among the masses. Say to them as I now say to you: No more shall you Jews, read Hezekiel, Amos or Yonatan ben Uziel. Erase from your collective memories Jeremiah, Isaiah and Habakuk; I declare their prophecies nonsense, null and void. A new dawn of soothsayers has risen, Shimon; Beilin and Sarid, Burg and Aloni. And among them, you, Shimon, shall take the lead.”
“So speaks your G-d, O nation of Israel: I am Hashem and all decisions are mine. Mine is the universe; I created it and my breath has touched upon the lips of my exalted son, Shimon, for the word he shall impart to you and the world, shall come to bear. For I, Hashem, have decided to reverse my solemn oath to your forbears, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
“Therefore: these lands shall no longer belong exclusively to you; these lands must favorably and on equal basis be parted between he children of Yishmael and you. Ancient and outdated is the Torah which I gave to you upon Har Sinai; time is mine and time with me is not eternal. Therefore, I admonish you, forthwith, to cede much of the Holy Land to the seed of Yishmael, your enemy and mine. I order you, children of Israel, to give back, to return, to compensate and to redress the ‘dwellers of the tents.’
“Go forth, Shimon, my son, go forth and impart solace and compassion upon the arch-murderer Arafat; go forth blindly, my son, do not look upon the blood you caused and hear not the rustling of a thousand dead souls. Pay no heed, my son, to the thundering voices of so many orphans crying in the night, weeping for their loved ones. Ignore, Shimon, ignore the wailing in the night of parent-less children begging for their mothers’ comforting arms. Close
your eyes, harden your heart, gaze not upon the non-stop funerals in this land of never-ending death.
“I, Hashem, say to you that these murdered Jews, and more to come, are but karbanot – sacrifices – for peace will not come without sacrificial lambs. Go forth and proclaim the inherent goodness of the Palestinian dwellers of the tents and the evil of every settler. Chasten the multitudes for the corrupt and depraved stupidity of holding on to this land. The lands you lost to the Babylonian and Roman invaders must now be surrendered to the thieving interlopers. Jerusalem is sacrosanct to Yishmael, so I command you to split it, cut it, give it all up; the UN and the Vatican so demand.”
And Gabriel stretched the scepter in his hand, his words clear:
“Yes, Shimon, fret not. Do not allow your spirit to be broken. Stay firm, determined, relentless. Mock the dead; they no longer count. Defy the orphans and the bereaved; they are ignorant of the brilliant future you envision for them. Side by side with Arafat, they are going to march toward the thousand-year utopia.
“Walk with head raised high and proclaim upon these hills: ‘Enough! these lands are not ours! We are occupiers and lack the knowledge of basic human rights. We are murderers, killers, abusers of children. Pronounce to the world your belief in Palestinian yearnings for these lands, aspirations that must be granted, achieved and attained.’
“Should you be asked where the Jews shall settle, where they shall live, point at the horizon. See you not that exactly for that purpose I, the Lord, created the great blue sea?”
And the voice bid Shimon to follow it to the cemetery in Ashkelon, to burial grounds in Haifa, Netanya and Jaffa; to the mountain of Har HaMenuchot and onward to the Mount of Olives.
“Here lies a man and here a child…and there a mother and here her daughter…and here… and there… All ages, both genders. Thousands of mounds, fresh and raw. Ignore them. They would have been spared had they only harkened to your warnings, my faithful servant Shimon.”
And the divine spirit steered Shimon onward; he saw lines upon lines of walking dead, the mortally wounded, those forever maimed, the deaf and the blind. Shrouds – thousands of shrouds. Men, women and children. Hollow eyes stared, not seeing.
“The lips,” said the spirit. “Watch their lips.”
And they quivered and they murmured as Shimon stared and listened in disbelief.
“You, Shimon, false prophet, wicked son, are the cause of our dismay, disaster, affliction and catastrophe; for there is no house in Israel wherein does not lay the dead. You gave them guns, armed our enemies to the teeth, gave them the rope with which to fashion the noose they are hanging us with. You, prophet of misery, placate and forgive and embrace and urge our enemies to continue, to proceed, to their victory.”
The thumping of drums echoed through the night: Os-lo…Os-lo…Os-lo… Shimon shuddered, shouted, motioned them away; and yet the spirits converged upon him, even as he closed his eyes and wished they were gone.
And then the celestial spirits were gone and Shimon of the house of Peres grew exceedingly vexed. Had it all been a dream? Had he imbibed too much at his birthday feast? But lo, now he heard a different voice calling, beckoning, inviting. The sound became louder, clearer. And he listened and he knew that this time it was real:
“Come, Shimon. Come quickly. Join us down here, where it’s nice and warm and the fire for the birthday candles burns forever.”
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