Goodbye 42

GOODBYE 42


[One of my daughters living in a settlement north of Jerusalem called yesterday morning. She was weeping and only with difficulty was able to make me understand what had happened.

When the judenrat announced the “ten-month temporary settlement building ban” it stipulated that the ban, which goes into effect December 1st (yesterday) does not apply to dwellings whose foundation has been completed. A neighbor, who had struggled for years to get the myriad requisite building permits – army, police, local council, Housing Ministry, to name just a few – began working on the foundation Saturday night. At great expense crews worked round the clock, finishing in the early hours of Tuesday morning. The neighbor, relieved but exhausted, was ready for an extended sleep.

At 8am two Housing Ministry inspectors appeared, accompanied by soldiers and police. After a show of examining the foundation, they made a triumphant announcement: Because parts of the foundation were still damp it could not be considered complete. All permits were revoked, and if any further work were done the owner would be arrested and prosecuted for violating a judenrat order.

What horrified my daughter, even more than seeing her neighbor crumple to the ground, was the happy laughter of the soldiers and police.

Media reports focus on demonstrations, violent confrontations, etc. Rarely, as in Gush Katif, are the personal tragedies reported.]



[Some of you have criticized me for “going off the path”, meaning that my belief in the Creator is somehow lacking or incomplete. My connection with the Creator is as unshakeable as that of anyone else. The things I have gone through have raised my connection beyond the level of belief to that of direct knowledge.

Where I have “gone off the path” is that I do not accept that we are in the Beginning of the Redemption as most of my believing fellow Jews are convinced, nor is The End of Days almost upon us as my believing Christian friends aver. People cannot live without hope for a better future, an end to suffering, the triumph of good over evil. Nothing would make me happier than to have my perpetual gloom proven wrong. I am cursed by an inability to convince myself that these believers, whom I revere, are right.

For the Almighty past/present/future are one. Every action and its result is simultaneous. The Eleventh of Maimonides’ Articles of Faith is “I wholly believe that the Lord rewards those who follow His dictates and punishes those who violate them”.

For humans, the shortness of our life span is only matched by the inadequacy of our intelligence. To say the Eleventh Article of Faith, when our limited experience indicates the opposite is true, is a leap of faith I find difficult to make. From His perspective, no problem. From mine…

You all know me for the clown that I am, and with the above I am clearly out of my depth. Moshe as Philosopher is almost as absurd as a Community Organizer as President. So let me just say I believe that the Jews are God’s Guinea Pigs, perpetually subjected to new trials to see how long we can maintain our belief. And if you find the ‘pig’ image offensive, think of us as His Timex watch: “We always take a likkin’ and keep on tikkin’”. And in the end, whenever and whatever that may be, all will be well.]



[Much has been written about the cost of freeing Gilad Schalit. If I, G-d forbid, had a child in captivity I would do just what Noam Schalit has been doing to get his son released.

Those who argue against the deal – though many details are still unknown, we do know that at least 980 terrorists will be released – generally focus on the effect on the families of murdered Israelis seeing the murderers roam free.

I see a more serious problem. Every time Israel trades masses of imprisoned terrorists for the bodies of dead soldiers or a few captive soldiers, the result is wholesale slaughter of Israelis. Yes, the terrorists take an oath to be good boys and girls. But that hasn’t prevented them from renewing their activities. Is Gilad’s release worth the certainty of a hundred or a thousand Jewish deaths? There are 179 known deaths from terrorists released since 2000. With all due respect to the Schalit family, the answer is clear.]



[If Rachel’s piece BUILD OR FREEZE has you passing the hat around for the poor Peace Partners thrown out of work because of the building freeze in Judea and Samaria, forget it. Moshe Dann, an exemplar of investigative reporting and analysis, has informed us that the US government is directly involved in financing massive building projects. And Israel’s Tourism Minister, Stas Mezhinski, has bragged that Israel is underwriting development of tourist attractions and recreational facilities. As this outsized rectal cavity puts it, “Palestinians are entitled to a better quality of life.”

Why complain about others when we are our own worst enemies?]



There were massive complaints that Goodbye 41 didn’t mention the cats. So…



GOODBYE 42

CATS ALL, FOLKS



So much has happened – so much seems to have happened – that it is difficult to know where to begin.



Dramatis Personae:

Chaleria, of course. My favorite. Candidate for Homeliest Female. No friends that I have ever seen. Colors, shades of black. Could be poster child for Help Stamp Out Feline Leprosy.



Muffy-the-Slut. After a long absence she is back. Perhaps the economic downturn caused her to be [if you’ll pardon the expression] laid-off from her job at the cathouse. She is now wizened, smaller than any of her children and grandchildren, yet she retains a regal snarl that keeps her offspring at a distance.



The Impregnator. Large, mean-looking, huge thick tail. Rachel thinks he is the original Paramour. I am convinced he is the product of Muffy’s first litter. Lawns around here are filled with his offspring. The very sight of him gives me apoplexy. Probably because I am jealous.



Shitsi, daughter of Muffy, also known as Shitsi The Whining Terror. I think I’ve already written about how we opened our door early one morning to see Shitsi smirking at us, five furballs at her feet. Rachel was charmed. I was appalled. Another five to feed. Three were red like their mother. Two were brown.

Three days later they were gone, and Shitsi whined non-stop. Rachel was near tears. I could scarcely hide my delight, though it was tempered by guilt over the grieving mother.

Two days passed, and suddenly they reappeared. In the weeks that followed they developed rapidly. Two disappeared again – gone to Catmandu? – leaving two reds, Slummy and Crummy, and one brown, Dummy. The sole pleasure I get is watching them sleep curled into each other.



This leaves three of Muffy’s from an earlier litter. Two are so nondescript I haven’t named them. The third is One-Eyed Jacqueline, for whom I feel a smidgen of sympathy as a fellow disabled creature.



These ten are the regulars. Others appear and disappear.



Poop. Sorry. You know that just as you may be a member of the bourgeoisie I am a member of the poopeoisie.

We long suffered from dog poop on the lawn, until a solution was found. Lots of bottles of water. The bottles act as a funhouse mirror, both reflecting and enlarging the image. Dogs, being stupid, think another larger animal is staring back at them. From the day the bottles were put out there has been no dog poop. An added benefit is that the bottles are a curiosity and visitors invariably ask about them. And I invariably reply that they are part of a satanic ritual that I am forbidden to discuss.

Suddenly piles of poop appeared. Very small piles, doubtless made by a very small dog. I did everything short of closed circuit television to catch the poop perp in the act. Til I saw with my very own peepers that the poopers are my cats. The ground is hard, they go through the motions of digging a hole, poop, then go through the motions of covering it up. But not to worry. Slugs cover the poop with thick, shiny layers of slime. There are times when the slime, covering large swaths of lawn, catches the sun and glows like a giant conflagration. Very impressive. Too bad I can’t enjoy it.

Equally annoying, and more costly, when the pooping pussies can’t be bothered scratching the lawn they climb on the planters and tear up the soft earth. Flower plants are destroyed and have to be replaced.



Cost. One 3 kilogram bag of cat food, costing the shekel equivalent of $13, used to last a month. One 3 kilogram bag of cat food now barely lasts a week. No problem for me. I would just give the meowing moochers less. But Rachel, aka Lady Bountiful, insists they be fed to bursting. True, they don’t kvetch while eating, but the moment they are done…



Rachel is inherently more sympathetic to them than me. But there was one instance which left her screaming “Kill them already!” which I take perverse pleasure in relating. We put up our Succah in the spot that is the cats’ regular hangout. Naturally they were all over tables and chairs, dirtying tablecloths, destroying place settings, etc.

She would yell “get out of my succah” and they would snarl back “you get out of our playground”. [Did you know that I understand ketzelsprach?] We could keep them out when we were physically present, but we couldn’t be there 24/7. And when food was on the table even our physical presence didn’t hold them back. A very stressful succot.



Turkey Neck Bones. Someone – not the Holy Man who used to hurl bread at our lawn – has been putting turkey neck bones outside our door. I have my suspicions, but no proof as yet. And as the person I suspect is a true ditz, I have to carefully work out a plan for getting her to cease and desist.



Falling. My balance, at best, is shaky. [Yes, you have always known I’m unbalanced.] The playful pussies are in the habit of darting before and aft when I walk, and even darting between my legs. Even when I swing at them with a stick, they think I’m being playful. When I forget myself, and give in to the impulse to kick them through the goalposts of my mind, I fall. So far, just scrapes and bruises. Can broken bones be far behind?



Embarrassments.

You know that I have long been looking for a solution – not the Final Solution – to the cat problem. We feel we are under siege, and helpless.

I asked a friend working in our garden if there was something I could put in their water to put them to sleep. No sooner were the words out of my mouth when I realized ‘put them to sleep’ is a euphemism for killing them. Before I could explain that I literally wanted them to sleep so I could put them in a bag and dump them far away, my friend gave me an embarrassed look and asked “are you and Rachel having problems?”

I asked my doctor about a sleeping powder for the cats, hastening to explain my purpose. He gave me his serious look: “It’s not unusual for people in pain or under stress to contemplate suicide”, and before I could protest, “You know our Health Plan covers consultations with a psychiatrist”.



[To those who ask my opinion of the campaign against the Freeze: The same people who through cowardice, confusion and collusion with the enemy sabotaged the campaign to save Gush Katif are directing the campaign against the freeze. Can the result be different?]



moshe