The sigh of relief that was released when the results of the DNA test of the Yemeni boy Yosef Melamed were published could be heard from one end of the country to the other. Some say that even a seismograph in Jerusalem recorded a vibration. The test determined that the buried child is the son of his mother, the brother of his sister. Yosef Melamed, one year old And for four months, he was not taken from his family, was not kidnapped or sold, but fell ill and died. A good start to the campaign to purify the name of the Ashkenazim is by conspiring with the serious and terrible crime of fraudulently removing children from their mothers and handing them over for Ashkenazi adoption, as claimed.
As an Ashkenazi I do not feel part of that alleged crime that was committed somewhere in the 1950s, certainly if it was committed - I want to know.
If Jews lived here who could do such things to their black brothers, I want the matter to be fully publicized, that there be a significant apology backed by compensation, that there be a day of remembrance, a monument in Zion Square, a stain on the country's history.
But at the moment there is no conclusive proof that something like that happened.
There are painful families to this day, and there are testimonies, and there are stories passed down in the family, and there is no real, legal evidence.
life is long
If there is something - it will eventually surface and come up.
I'm waiting.
The opening of the grave of the child Yosef Melamed from the children of Yemen at the Nachalat Yitzhak cemetery in Tel Aviv,
And in the meantime, I am really sorry for the hatred of the Ashkenazim, which includes a small part of the members of the Yemenite community, and also a small part of the members of the Ashkenazi community.
Nothing will convince the haters, even if they open all the cemeteries and find nothing.
They are angry, and no one will stop their anger.
And the thing is, they are quite right.
Because little Joseph was not kidnapped, but he was buried without his parents accompanying him on his last journey.
And this story, even without the kidnapping, is only one chapter in the story of the arrogance experienced by the Yemeni immigrants when they came to Israel more than a century ago.
Yosef Melamed passed away, and his parents were not allowed to walk bent over and in pain in the cemetery and bring him to eternal rest.
And when there is no companion - there is always doubt.
Like Jacob our father, they believed that Joseph was still alive.
It's human nature.
So even if it turns out that there was not a single kidnapping, it can still be said that the Ashkenazim, who were the establishment, were what would be known today as extreme racists.
They saw the Jews of the East as inferior human beings, and allowed themselves to control their lives with cruel patronage.
not everyone.
There were wonderful Ashkenazim who gave their souls for the immigrants from Yemen, who saw them as brothers, but the establishment was infected with severe racism.
The grave of Yosef Melamed, one of the children of the Yemen Kidnapped Case,
And it is true, in those days the thought that those who are not like me are inferior to me was accepted in the world, there was no multiculturalism, they did not know what the bride was.
It was common not to see beyond the color, to the customs that are different from mine, to poverty, not to see the inside of people, the best in them, the commonality with them.
But this mindset came at the cost of pain and anger and a justified sense of deprivation, which erupted in the case of the kidnapped Yemeni children.
And until that pain is not addressed, among other things by asking Ashkenazi forgiveness from the establishment, the case of the Yemeni children will not be buried.
Furious
I drove in Wadi Ara on Friday evening.
If I had known, I would have put a number on my car and entered the competition.
Not that I had a chance against all the crazy vehicles that ran wild between my wheels, but the feeling of belonging to the moment was nice.
Cars built by the devil in his garage flowed onto the main road from the settlements along it, and in them sat drivers and their friends who also want to be killed tonight, and did obscene acts on the road.
Crazy speeds, detours to the right on the curb, loud blasts from the exhausts and competitions between cars on the busy Route 6, they drive next to each other, then slow down, let the track clear, then all of a sudden give Rais, and let's go to the track in Monaco.
And there was no cell phone, and no camera ticked, and miraculously everyone remained alive.
And it was published this week that a new order of the general was published in the territories, that whoever overtakes on a white line, according to Palestinian customs, his vehicle will be confiscated.
And I thought to myself - why are only the Arabs making this excellent decision?
Why are the Jews discriminated against once again?
Why only in the territories, why not inside the country?
And why only a white line?
What about all the unthinkable behaviors that "young people" do on the road?
After all, looking at these young people's cars makes it immediately clear: their car is the most important thing in their lives.
Take the car - and take their soul.
If there is an option of confiscation, forever, plus scrapping in the Doha stadium in front of 2,000 spectators, the matter will calm down immediately.
And I see these young people, whose whole life is what they have under the hood, and I feel sorry for them, because in the absence of a sense of belonging to the whole, when your public representatives tell you all day long that you cannot belong to your country, that you are an enemy, when your community is torn apart by criminals and murderers, and when your family Ancient traditions poison the relationship, what will you do?
Invest everything you have in some car, and then crash it into innocent people who were on their way to a holiday dinner.
Self-expression.
The driving of these young people is also a result of Arab politics.
She willfully defies and ignores the rules as a constant call to rebellion.
A rebellion is broken by force, and this rebellion can only be ended by confiscating vehicles and destroying them.
For all sectors, who will not say apartheid.
atonement
A few days ago I had the opportunity to give a lecture in a settlement in the Negev.
At the end of the event, a man approached me and handed me a NIS 50 bill.
He told me - maybe you remember, 25 years ago you had a program, "It will be good", and as part of it you renovated the Magen David Adom station in Netivot.
Of course I remembered.
Of all the television programs I have done in my life and have long since forgotten, I have not forgotten the deeds for the community that I was privileged to do.
I still remember how I took the Rahat children for a fun day in Hermon, and in their absence my people built a computer room for their use, I still remember how I renovated with my dear friend Dodo (from Home Center) the Bekoum in Tel Hashomer, the central station of Gedera, the Kerat spring in Kneam and much more. So I also remembered MDA Nativot.
"I was a child then," continued the man with the 50 shekels, "and you sat outside the MDA, and did nothing." True. I was waiting for some phase of the renovation to end, hours of waiting, and I had nothing to do because there were no smart phones yet , and the word boredom was still in effect. Dead time was not filled by scrolling through some feed, but by staring at the wall of a stripped-down commercial center in Netivot. "And I had a brick in my hand, and you asked where I got it from." Voila. I remembered. My weakness for fried pastries was at its peak then, not yet I started thinking about health, and the crispy brik, shiny from oil, filled with potatoes and vegetables in the child's hand, attracted me like a magnet. "I asked you if you wanted me to bring you one from the market stall and you said yes, you gave me 50 shekels and I brought you one." Well, I must remember . Made my day.
And he continues: "The brick cost five shekels, and I didn't give you back the excess."
Walla.
I didn't remember that, but he did.
And since then he walks around with pangs of conscience about the 45 shekels he took for himself as a child.
And here I am, before Yom Kippur, as if I appeared especially to fulfill the mitzvot of asking for forgiveness and atonement.
I was really excited.
"So here's your 50 shekels," he finishes and hands me the bill.
Who am I not to take?
I took
And so it turned out that I went down to the Negev to teach about attention deficit disorder, and I learned myself about memory, and forgiveness, and being a good person without rounding any corners.
And I gave the bill to a beggar at the intersection who didn't know what had fallen on him.
Hope he bought it in a vacuum.
were we wrong
We will fix it!
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