not haram? It's time to stop boycotting Israel today

The school yard is supposed to be the safest place in the world.

A lot of memories that go with us are made up of remnants of what we experienced as students.

Smells of chalk, citrus peels and rotting sandwiches.

Corridor games and silly songs.

But behind the scenes of this idyll, which is so loved by screenwriters and stand-up artists, there is the dark side of childhood.

Those who experience it firsthand will never forget it.

The school yard is not always a "childhood paradise".

Children are capable, as we know, of biting, hitting or pulling hair, but the doomsday weapon of the children's world is the social boycott.

A silent and deadly poison that most of us do not yet know how to deal with.

In many, too many cases, the school also manages to miss out.

The educator assumes that at a certain age there is no point in meddling too much in the students' social life.

Rather, part of the social learning depends on the free play that takes place in the corridors.

So it is true that this game is not always graceful, and sometimes, in front of the lockers, there are displays of nastiness and biches that remind inferior scenes from American TV series.

But that's all.

And even quite true, until the stage where a small group of students begins to determine who is spoken to and who is not.

Who is seen and who is transparent.

Who will be invited and who will be left out.

Who is at the end and who is not at the end.

As soon as the matter of boycotts begins to be orchestrated and dictated by the "acceptable", there is no longer any "spontaneous dynamics" or "healthy social play".

At this point someone older must intervene.

cut off.

save a life.

Because a child who suffers boycott or social isolation is a very, very bruised and damaged child.

But often we are too busy, not always aware.

Guess it's still within the legitimate boundaries of yes-friends-no-friends.

Sometimes all you need is awareness.

Dror was a promising, talented and loved young man.

Dror was a hurt child, a victim of a boycott.

Go find out why children decide to misbehave.

Just when it seemed that his life was on a good track, and he returned to planning and dreaming, something triggered that injury in him, and this time he couldn't stand the pain.

His grieving parents founded "Sparrow Wings" to raise awareness and fight boycotts, and I join in with love.

If you've come this far, you're already a little more aware.

And here we did something small and good.

Look them up on Google.

Support them.

And now, how do you raise awareness of the boycott, when a large part of our leadership is busy with boycotts.

How can one really condemn the act of boycott and take it out of the legitimate game, when so much talk in the media is poured out on braggadocious statements along the lines of "I never said hello to him in my life", "I will not shake his hand" and other phrases that in a reformed world should have been said in an apologetic murmur, but Not with us.

***

A distant childhood memory has been with me for years.

A memory that clarifies how little is needed to isolate a child.

A story too ridiculous to be told, and too painful to be cast aside.

We were in second grade, and in Torah class we studied "Genesis".

In the early 1970s, almost the entire class had biblical names, but Rachel was the only one in the class, and Jacob was me.

One day I flipped forward in the book, out of boredom, and what I saw there froze my blood.

I knew what was going to happen.

I have two or three weeks.

At the end we will reach that page and the teacher Carmela will read those verses in her beautiful voice.

Jacob will kiss Rachel.

Jacob loves her.

The sky will fall on me.

The innocent reader may think that it is about the beauty of verses, but I knew the class and the working souls.

It was clear that it would not end in a few laughs.

At first they will sing "Yaakov and Rachel forever, two kisses on the forehead".

Really not bad.

But in the next step, during the break let's say, Momi will push me on her.

Or Haim, or Danny, or all together.

Someday we will both fall to the ground.

Ugly children will stand around us in a circle and make us a "wedding".

They will throw sand at us as confetti.

Water bags as flowers.

Intermittent shouting and a continuous nightmare.

It will start with laughter but no one will be able to stop it.

No educator will notice.

No one will explain to my parents why I come home so dirty.

Worst of all, deep in my heart I developed anger towards that Rachel.

poor.

She really didn't do anything.

The horror script was fully realized.

It's really too idiotic for me to describe the dangling, but when I write the things the tongue remembers the taste of the sand.

At first they sang.

Then they pushed.

And finally two seven-year-old children found themselves in the heart of a circle that throws sand at them.

It's also hard to remember what ended the days when I tried as hard as I could to be sick.

cough up.

fold.

Just don't come to school.

I'm not the traumatic type, but many years passed before I could read with a smile these nice verses around the well, Jacob and Rachel, pitchers and camels.

This is just one example of the unfortunate dynamic.

A child can become a punching bag because of glasses or a hearing aid.

due to hypersensitivity.

Because of his name, or any other nonsense in the world.

But from the moment he became a target, it's only a matter of time until he suddenly won't be invited to anything.

They will not tell him and they will not rejoice in him.

One mature and aware man.

One mature and aware woman.

That's all it takes.

***

Jewish tradition likes to say that Sukkot is a perfect holiday.

"Mosh!", as the kids say.

There are all kinds of mitzvahs in Judaism, but the mitzvah to sit in the sukkah - which is even considered a great mitzvah - is probably the easiest mitzvah on the shelf.

Class with zero effort.

Like a fruit without a pit.

Like a world where Netanyahu is able to pick up the phone to Lapid and tell him: "I don't agree with a single word, but you gave a not bad speech at all."

Like the revelation that Roger Waters even supports Putin.

mosh

What have we asked for?

A large part of our lives we are looking for the lost perfection.

Trying to crack the secret of the perfect song, joke or sandwich.

And of course the spouse of dreams.

But as with butterflies, the secret of perfection is something you shouldn't lay your hands on.

The Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges wrote about a writer who tried again and again to write the perfect story, he researched in depth all the elements of perfection, but every time he tried to collect them into a story, all he got was a copy of "Don Quixote".

word for word

Don Quixote.

Unlike others, I admit that mine does not have a recipe for anything perfect.

The reason is quite simple.

What makes something perfect is always a surprising ingredient, which does not depend on us at all and therefore escapes the recipe.

Here is perfection;

Morning.

I woke up tired.

I find out late that I have an appointment with X. The last thing I need in the world, but there is no way to cancel.

Headache.

Spends half an hour searching for an original excuse for the tap, but then - in the blink of an eye - the phone rings and X announces in a mournful voice that he has to cancel.

A concerto to perfection.

Now all that is left to do is to plate the dish - to pretend that the cancellation saddens you, but you are cheering.

perfect world.

were we wrong

We will fix it!

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