The State of Israel

Editor's note: There are hundreds of new subscribers to this list in recent weeks--for those of you who have not had the privilege ofreading Moshe Saperstein's missives from Neve Dekalim over the pastfour years, here's your chance to see what you were missing--A short bio of Moshe Saperstein: Moshe Saperstein, author of themessage that follows, lost an arm while fighting in the 1973 YomKippur War. A resident of Neve Dekalim in the Gush Katif area of the Gaza Strip,Moshe was wounded again in a February 2002 incident when he drove his car into a terrorist who had just shot and killed a young mother traveling in the car in front of him. Moshe used to write frequently of his physical and emotional struggles. His wife, Rachel (aka La Passionara/La P.) teaches at the Neve Dekalim girl's high school (ulpana) and published a booklet for families dealing with terror victims. Her latest book is entitled'Eviction' and is available from www.israelbehindthenews.com------------------------------------------

August 14, 2005, The Alamo from Moshe Saperstein, Neve Dekalim, GushKatif: E-mail: ruchimo@netvision.net.il

It is late afternoon, the Ninth of Av, the temperature has been in the 90's much of the day, piled up garbage outside stinks and we inside aren't smelling like roses. Fifteen places are set out at our table and I'd rather continue the fast than have to sit down and be sociable. My mood swings havenarrowed considerably.
Pessimistic: "If I had two hands I'd slit my wrists".
Optimistic: "Thank G-d I'm getting deafer [so I don't have to hear thechatter in the house]".

Police vans manned by special bonebreaker squads tear up and down the streets looking for `illegals' – by midnight we will all be officially illegal – and many of those sleeping rough will seek a roof. Rachel estimates we should have about twenty five by morning. Our home, a spacious paradise for Rachel and I – two toilets, no waiting – has been turned into a flophouse and Torah lecture hall. I, who would get antsy if my children and grandchildren stayed more than a weekend, now stand in line to use the facilities. And this has been going on for weeks. Among our guests are Rabbi Chaim Eisen and his wife and three sons,from Jerusalem. Sunday through Thursday nights, from 9:15-10pm, he lectures. Lately, as many as thirty people show up. Rachel is delighted. You would think I would be pleased, as well. Alas, my spiritual level is so low that I just sit in my room gnashing my falseteeth that I am being deprived of watching "Law and Order". Adding to my discomfort… hourly public address announcements about prayer sessions.

Prominent circuit-riding preachers hold separate sessions for men, women, transgender, children, pets. Now, I have nothing against prayer, preferably silent. But loud exhortations to the Almighty, with a capella weeping, leave me cold.

8.15.05From reading the above you can understand why I haven't written in over half a year. These are heroic times. They call for heroic prose.Rachel provides that prose; short, declarative sentences, the message stated and repeated. And what makes Rachel so effective is that she writes from the heart. No jokes, no artifice. And her heart touches the hearts of her many readers. While I write from the spleen, in long and calculated prose. Clearly, my brand of self-indulgence is not what is needed now.

From reading the above you can also understand why this will be my last letter. Those who have been with me awhile have read these pronouncements before, and are either yawning or smirking. But there are lots of objective reasons, namely that as I write thousands of soldiers and hundreds of police are smashing through the locked gates of Neve Dekalim, and our electricity and water may be turned off atany moment. So I have serious doubts as to whether I'll even be able to finish this, much less send it off.

Now most of you know me for the con artist that I am, so you can take the following with a pillar of salt.I no longer have fantasies about sex, or Glatt Mart salami, or conducting complete Mahler and Bruckner cycles, or scoring a hat trick, or hitting the game-winning home run. My fantasies now areTeutonic, even Wagnerian. I fully expect to be dead, in hospital or in jail within a week. I have visions of myself shot, or beaten, or crushed under the wheels of a large vehicle. [In my case it had better be a very large vehicle.] I don't know if my fantasies are genuine premonitions, as I've had before, or just my peculiar way of psyching myself up for the battle to come.The battle is very important to me. For reasons you all know I am mistakenly thought of as a hero. There are people here who actually greet me, without a trace of sarcasm, as "Hero", "Our hero" and"Moshe, our hero". I cringe with shame. This battle is my chance –ailing and aging, my last chance – to be a hero in my own eyes. Added to this is the knowledge that I have twice been saved – in theYom Kippur War and in February 2002 – in ways that defy rational explanation. Better people than I, younger and promising, died while I was saved. Why? Certainly not to entertain you with these letters.Right or wrong, I have come to the belief that I have been saved to do something of worth in the battle, to redeem myself for lifelong cowardice, to justify my taking up space on earth.There is more that I could say, even more that I won't say. But time grows short.A word about Rachel the Magnificent. When Gush Katif first came to theattention of the world's journalists it was I who took most of the interviews. Rachel, lacking in self confidence, did the overflow. Asher confidence and competence grew, and as I faded physically and emotionally, she took over more and more of the burden. To the point where today, and only with the greatest reluctance, I do the overflow.There was a point where I was jealous. But when I saw the brilliance –no other word will do – with which she does these things, and when I recognized that my ego had blinded me to my incompetence as aninterviewee, and when I understood that the cause for which we arefighting transcends us as individuals, only then could I sit back and appreciate her for the marvel that she is.A word about the cats. I had stopped feeding them many months ago, andafter a short period of whining they just kept their distance and watched. An ideal situation. Then, one day, out of the blue, Miniewalked up to me while I was hanging laundry. I melted. And brought outsome food. And so it began again. And suddenly Minie appeared with three kittens, one gold, one gold, black and white, one gold, gray andwhite. Our French neighbor, Edmond, who had been the major foodprovider to Ugly, Stupid, et al, left Neve Dekalim several days ago.The cats seem to have left with him. Even Minie has disappeared. So Iam left with the kittens, whom I feed several times a day even thoughwe are supposed to be rationing our food. I wonder what will become of them if… Above I said I hadn't written in over half a year. Not quite true. Ihave attempted to write, on occasion. And, bloated ego that I am, Ibelieve that whatever I write is worth preserving. So don't besurprised if I send one or two `bleeding chunks'. They will be listed as `appendices', as in appendix, a useless appendage.Finally, as I am pushing my luck by not sending this off before thepower is cut off, a favor: please don't reply to this. Just control your desire to answer. Without power I won't be able to receive them.Even with power, I may not be able to deal with them emotionally.Know that I am happy, doing what I want to do.

Moshe Saperstein, Neve Dekalim, Gush Katif: e mail:ruchimo@netvision.net.il