Israel: A children's story

Once upon a time in Palestine...

My neighbours were persecuting me, so I had to move into a new neighbourhood.

My neighbours had thought of several plans to send me to a place where they won’t have to see me, and I won’t have to see them. But I — and the leaders of my community — had my eyes set on the place where our ancestors had probably lived many centuries ago, may be two millennia ago.

I had never been there. No one I knew had ever been there. But that’s where I wanted to go.

My neighbours were kind enough to facilitate my movement with my family and belongings to this new neighbourhood, which had hundreds of thousands of inhabitants in their settlements, big and small. These people had lived in this neighbourhood for centuries.

I was smacking my lips at the prospect of soon taking their beautiful, shiny houses all for myself.

Those fools took me in. I lived in their houses as they fed me and took care of me while I used their notebooks and pens to write letters to my family and friends in my old neighbourhood, telling them about my foolish new hosts whom I would soon kick out and claim their home and belongings for myself.

In time, I duly did what I was musing about in those letters: I kicked my hosts out of their homes. Their home was now my home. They tried to take it back from me, so I started shouting “terrorist” at them at the top of my voice. I even shot those terrorists right in the head with weapons that my old neighbours gave me. These weapons came in handy in defending what was now my home. My hosts could barely fight me with their primitive weaponry.

As more of my people came into this new neighbourhood, we started kicking more of the old inhabitants out and taking their places for ourselves. New weapons kept flowing in from our old neighbours.

It was a bit surreal to think of the way the behaviour of our old neighbours changed. They hated us when we lived next to them but now loved us so dearly that they kept supplying us with the best of their weaponry and loads of money to help fend off our former hosts when they came to reclaim their old homes.

Their homes were now ours, and they could do nothing about it. Terrorists.

The weapons from our old neighbours helped us ultimately push out 800,000 of our former hosts from over 1,300 villages, towns, and cities. We destroyed 531 of their villages and decimated 85 percent of the original population. We killed over 15,000 of them in the process. They were refusing to give me and my friends their homes. So we were left with no other option than to kill them. They were all terrorists.

The terrorists we pushed out now reside in two disconnected ghettos where they have lived in miserable conditions at our mercy for the past 75 years.

Every now and then, the terrorists rear their ugly heads from their miserable ghettos and talk about the catastrophe of 75 years ago. We laugh at them. We abuse them. We maim them. We kill them. They talk about taking their old homes back. “Terrorists!” we shout at them at the top of our voices till our lungs burst, and our old neighbours further amplify our voices.

We make cutting-edge weapons of our own and test them on our old hosts. We then sell those weapons to our old neighbours and their friends, telling them they have been battle-tested. The business is good.

Moreover, thousands of miles away, our old neighbours fully support us in all our endeavours. They keep sending us their own state-of-the-art weapons and loads and loads of money every year. We have the best friends in the world.

Also, when those old hosts of ours occasionally shout out of misery from their poor ghettos, our old neighbours ensure that no one listens to their plight or takes their side. Our old neighbours, like us, are also quite smart. They have built organisations that talk about our human rights and ensure that the human rights of our old hosts are never entertained. And if someone dares to bring up the topic of our old hosts in a positive light, we shout various slurs at them, and they get cowed down. It’s funny.

By the way, we are currently in the process of ethnically cleansing one of the two ghettos that our old hosts call home. And guess what? Our old neighbours are doing all they can — and more — to help us in our mission. They are sending us military and financial aid, lighting up their monuments in our colours, justifying our genocide, and simply looking the other way when funny questions are being asked. They are even lying on our behalf to justify our war crimes.

Our story continues.

Read the sequel to this story titled Israel: A horror story here.

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