#if there is ANYTHING i have learned. from my two months in arabic that i was in before getting booted from the class

[johnbrand]

Yusuf Says

When Raymond and I had decided to pause take a break so I could reorganize my life a bit, I had thought that him moving in with his coworker Yusuf was a smart play. My lovable white twink of a partner had nothing in common with the brutish Arab whose scattered English revolved around soccer scores and picking up girls. Raymond and I had even lightheartedly joked that he would pick up a thing or two from Yusuf by the time he came back, somehow be influenced by the overwhelming persona. I would have never expected for that comment to become more than just something to laugh about.

Three months, that was how long we had planned for our separation to be. I had so much on my plate with work and family that I needed time alone to figure everything out. Yusuf had been more than welcoming to Raymond, poking fun at the fact that the two would become “closer than boyfriends” by the time my lover returned back to me. He had even promised to take him out on “dates”, taking over my role as I got knocked back like a divorced dad who only got to see his son on weekends. It was hard, but Raymond and I both knew it was for the best.

The first time I got to visit Raymond at Yusuf’s apartment, I was greeted by the immediate blast of pure masculine stench at the door. It was a combination of used gym clothes, foul-smelling shoes, and strong body odor all fruitlessly covered up with some cheap body spray. I commented on it immediately after hugging my boyfriend, although he noted he did not smell anything. “Yusuf says men should show off their body odor,��� Raymond shrugged. “Men should stink and let their pheromones flow naturally.”

This “Yusuf says” statement became a recurring phrase in all of our conversations. Whenever I brought something new up, Raymond would respond with what Yusuf had to say about it. “Yusuf says that men should be muscular, helps us secure our place in society,” “Yusuf says men should spend more time worrying about sports than literature, as it helps relate better to other men.” I should have been worried by my boyfriend’s newfound obsession with Yusuf, but I knew the Arab was not his type. Raymond liked guys that looked like me: hairless, a little twunky, but just barely large enough to make it evident who was topping.

Over the first month, I did not notice many changes about Raymond, but some things did point themselves out as odd. The first time I discovered body hair on my boyfriend I was shocked. “What?” Raymond had asked innocently. “Yusuf says that growing out your hair is natural, it displays masculinity.” I had had no comment to that, surveying the black fur that had begun to coat my boyfriend’s arms, legs, and chest. I had not even known Raymond's body hair was black, as he was a natural blond. 

It was not long until the muscles came too, although I knew that had been coming from the get-go. Yusuf had promised to take him to the gym frequently, and the results were beginning to show–just faster than I had expected. Structured biceps, rippling abs, thick thighs. But eventually when I had met Raymond at the door and his eyeline was above mine, that was when I had started to ask questions. “Yusuf says a grand height is expected of men.” He then swaggered over to the couch, opening up his longer legs before stating “Yusuf says men need to be above 187 centimeters.”

I had not known Raymond easily understood the metric code (as most Americans did not), but I quickly learned there was a lot that I did not know about my boyfriend. When I had tried to gift Raymond new shoes, I had been scolded that they were too small for his big, meaty EU Size 46 feet. When I had politely advised him to be more vigilant about sunscreen, he had rebuked that his olive tan skin was natural. And at one point, I had even accidentally referred to him by the wrong name. “It’s Rahim,” he corrected, his response deep and accented. Of course, all of these responses were followed by some iteration of “...that’s what Yusuf says.”

Finally, the three months came to an end, but by that point it was obvious that Rahim and I’s relationship had too. Rahim wanted to live with someone more masculine, more alpha, more like him. “More Yusuf,” Rahim had dumbly concluded, scratching at his thick, black beard. I could only sigh with disappointment, trying my best not to bone up over the half-naked, manspreading Arab god displaying his glory before me.

I should have known nothing would have ever happened between Rahim and I. As Yusuf had said through Rahim, “Real men like to conquer pussy and continue the traditions that have protected them for so long.” If the state of affairs in the apartment had not been enough of a clue, then Rahim’s constant back-and-forth pit-scratching and finger-sniffing should have been enough to cement his heterosexuality. Bummed, I stood up to leave, but Rahim quickly protested.

“Where you going, bro?” he asked.

“Home,” I replied, lifeless. “We have nothing in common.”

Rahim frowned, “But we do! Are you not a man?”

I paused, watching as Rahim got up and lifted his arm over my head. My eyes widened in fear as I was brought into a damp, musky pit.

“After all, Yusuf says men should show off their body odor.”

[odinsblog]

Since 2014, millions of Uyghurs, Kazakhs and other minorities have been locked up in China and subjected to torture and forced labour. Some of those freed talk about trying to rebuild their lives in neighbouring Kazakhstan.

Photography by Robin Tutenges

A Chinese course book

Saliman Yesbolat used to live in Ghulja county, Xinjiang. After she refused to denounce her Uyghur neighbours to the police, she was forced to perform the raising of the Chinese flag every Monday at dawn, and to attend Chinese lessons twice a week in the basement of her building, where she would learn the Chinese language, patriotic songs and Xi Jinping's discourses by heart. This is her exercise book.

Forced to leave China

At 65, Imam Madi Toleukhan is one of the oldest refugees in Bekbolat, Kazakhstan, where more than 100 families took shelter after fleeing the Chinese regime. 'We were richer back there. I owned a herd, but I was too afraid for my sons, my grandchildren and their future: I came to Kazakhstan to save them. I didn't want them to be the fourth generation to suffer at the hands of the Chinese government, he says.

Remembering Uyghur culture in exile

Two members of the Dolan Ensemble, a Uyghur dance troupe based in Kazakhstan, get ready before performing a traditional dance to mark 40 days since the birth of a baby. Founded in 2016, the troupe performs at festivals or private events that bring together members of the Uyghur community, some of whom have had to leave Xinjiang.

Torture, infertility and damaged genitalia

In Kazakhstan, medical care for camp survivors is poor. Most victims can barely afford to see a family doctor. Anara*, an endocrinologist in a Kazakh hospital who has examined about 50 camp survivors since 2020, noticed recurrent infertility problems among her patients. 'Men or women, many have damaged genitalia. Some told me they'd been given drugs, others said they'd been raped. As they didn't come to us right after being released from the camps, it's impossible to know what kind of drugs they were administered in Xinjiang, she says. *Not her real name

The tiger chair

Ospan* spent a year in a re-education camp. He says his mind and body were crushed by the tortures he experienced in a tiger chair - a steel apparatus with handcuffs that restrains the body in painful positions. Aged about 50, this former shepherd, who took refuge with his family in eastern Kazakhstan, is no longer fit for work. Physically wrecked and prone to headaches, he mourns the loss of his memory above all. 'I used to know a lot of songs and I loved to sing; I also knew poems by heart ... Now, I can't sing any more, I can't remember the words,' he says. *Not his real name

Broken families and imprisonment

Aikamal Rashibek saw the dreadful efficiency of the CCP's brainwashing on her husband, Kerimbek Bakytali, after he was released from a Chinese psychiatric hospital. 'He disappeared for a year. When he came back, he didn't tell me anything about what happened to him. He was highly unhinged, always nervous, and got angry whenever I asked questions. He couldn't stop repeating that he hated Kazakhstan now, and that he wanted to go back to China with the kids to give them a Chinese education, says Aikamal. They are now separated.

Missing loved ones in China’s camps

In March 2017, Miyessar Muhedamu, left, a Uyghur woman, was arrested in Xinjiang under the pretext that she had studied Arabic in Egypt when she was young. Her husband, Sadirzhan Ayupov, right, and her three children have not seen her since. Now that Miyessar has left the camp, Sadirzhan receives a short call every few months. He suspects she might have suffered abuse, yet Miyessar can’t speak freely. ‘She told me she’d been in a re-education camp, and that she’d been released. When I ask her what she went through there, she doesn’t answer,’ says Sadirzhan.

Life after fleeing China

Sent to a re-education camp in 2018 at the age of 64, Yerke* saw her health quickly deteriorate. Locked a tiny cell with dozens of other women, she almost lost the use of her legs due to the cold floor she had to lie on. She was in the camp when she learned of her son’s death: pressured by the Chinese authorities, he took his own life. After her release, Yerke fled to Kazakhstan with some family members, but two of her children remain in China. *Not her real name

Forced labour and confessions

Dina Nurdybay, 32, was arrested in Nilka county, Xinjiang, because her traditional Kazakh clothing business made her a separatist, according to the Chinese authorities. She spent 11 months between two re-education camps, a CCP school and a forced-labour sewing factory. After proving she was capable of being ‘well behaved’ and having performed a self-criticism in front of the whole village, Dina was released and managed to escape when she obtained a week’s leave to visit her ailing father in Kazakhstan.

Cultural genocide

China’s repression of ethnic minorities also involves cultural genocide. As Muslim rituals are forbidden in Xinjiang, people are trying to keep their traditions alive across borders. Here, a family is praying together in Kazakhstan after the death of one of their relatives in Xinjiang. They could not repatriate the body because the border between the two countries was closed at the time.

(continue reading)

[luminalunii97]

Some tankie bs detection

I saw this post on my dash. The user is blocked now. But just to educate people so that they won't fall for idiotic claims online, here are a couple of facts:

1. The Islamic Republic is not anti imperialist, they're anti USA. The regime is very much in love with Russian imperialism. At this point, Iran is an unofficial russian colony. And by the support of their imperialist father figure they have their small version of imperialism in middle east. Ask Iraq and Lebanon.

2. There's no "safety" when it comes to economy in Iran. The "national sovereignty" is called "those fvckin thieves in power" here. Iran's regime is one of the most corrupt regimes by international index. Rent, nepotism, embezzlement and money laundering are serious issues in Iran. Done only and only by the governors and people in power. Social class is not only a thing, there's a raging gap between rich people and those in poverty. And the gap is getting bigger and bigger by month. If you have connections in government or you are in the government, you'll get richer and richer. Other wise, soon enough you'll be in poverty too. Many families, including mine, who used to be considered middle class, have incomes lower than the poverty threshold now.

About 15% of Iran's economic failure including inflation is on the sanctions. The rest is on the corruption within the regime.

Iran's banking system is also a corrupted organ. The so called Islamic banking is anything but Islamic. The loan interest rate is one of the highest worldwide, 23%, so that often you have to pay back more than twice the money you've received. It's called Riba in Islam and it's Haram. According to the regime themselves, the banking system in European countries, even in the USA, is more Islamic than us. The fact that some of the biggest embezzlement in Iran has been done by bank managers should give you a picture of how they're drinking our blood.

None of this is on USA imperialism. It's all the Islamic Republic.

3. The Islamic Republic doesn't support Palestinians. The regime is extremely racist and anti Arab. I dare you talk about this with an actual Arab. IR don't give two shites about Palestinians lives. The regime is antisemitic. That's what they are. Palestine is just an excuse to attack Israel. In the past 20+ years of my life, living in Iran and dealing with these posers, not once we've been educated about Palestine and Palestinians lives. Everything I know, I've learned from online resources and documentaries make by Palestinians. The regime doesn't talk about Palestinians when they pose as supporters. I'm pretty sure they don't know or care to know anything noteworthy about Palestine, considering my knowledge of the human rights violations there is always more than basiji people of my country, and I don't even know that much. All the regime talks about is how Israel should be eliminated. IR supports a terrorist organization called Hamas, not Palestinians.

4. Let's forget about everything I said so far. I wonder if tankies like the op has any ounce of humanity in them! The regime has been oppressing women, violating every type of human rights and murdering lgbtq people and other-thinkers for the last 40 years. The spectacular environmental disaster in Iran is the direct result of regime's policies and neglect. This is a case of human rights violation since it's ruining people's lives, especially ethnic minorities, like Arab farmers in south.

No religious minority is safe in Iran, be it atheist, Baha'i, Jew, christian, or Sunni Muslim. They commit crime against children, through labor and through war. IRGC have little regards for human lives in general but it descent into no regards at all for ethnic minorities.

They have MASS EXECUTED 30,000 leftists (members of Marxist Communist parties and their supporters) within the first decade of their autocratic rule. It's unbelievably funny to me when foreign leftists support a regime that has executed many of their fellow thinkers and still arrest and torture any left activist in Iran.

To say the reason the 1979 revolution happened was to get rid of western influence and to establish a democratic free independent government is true. But the Islamic Republic is not that result. Don't be fooled.

[avelera]

So I’ve gone back and I’ve been reading some Old Guard fic (as I try to get motivated to write the last damn chapter of my one damn TOG WIP finished so I can finally moved on), and I must admit, one silly and very minor pet peeve I have in some Nicky/Joe fics for the Old Guard that explore their Crusader days is the trope of having them go a really long time without being able to understand each other. Because based on Nicky’s path as a Crusader even getting to the Holy Land, and the various hints we have that Joe has a pretty worldly background, I would suggest they should have had a baseline to communicate already when they met and that bridging the gap would have gone very quickly for one or both of them once they committed to learning.

There’s a few reasons I find them going a really long time without speaking each other’s language (most likely Nicky picking up Arabic) somewhat implausible:

- First, just based on my own personal experience: I went through a full language immersion experience myself and yes it was painful and yes, having textbooks and classes certainly helped, but all told it was 3-4 months from almost zero before I could start doing normal things for my age group like read simple books and do homework. However, the most effective language learning program in the country, Middlebury, does a full immersion program that gets people to baseline functionality in 6 weeks. Yes, learning a language is hard and I will be the first to say that mastery takes years and mastery without immersion is nearly impossible, but if you’re completely immersed there, without options, it goes much faster. You won’t be fluent of course but you will be conversational. Also, by all accounts, being illiterate or otherwise not bothering to learn how to read and write at the same time and ONLY going for verbal communication actually makes things go even faster.

- People who pick up by speaking (rather than reading and writing) and people who speak multiple languages already tend to pick up other languages even more quickly. Once you learn one or two, a lot of polyglots don’t stop there. There is that old joke: the word for speaking three languages is trilingual, two languages is bilingual, and speaking only one language is American. Which is to say I think native English speaking writers might be the ones underestimating how quickly a language can be learned (at least to a conversational level).

- Now throw in the fact that both Nicky and Joe have been recently in multilingual societies or organizations as a requirement of their meeting during the First Crusade, no matter how you slice it. Either as both coming from a merchant trading backgrounds traveling across international (so to speak) lands, or Nicky being part of the pan-European Christian army where multiple languages would be spoken across the camp, to him possibly having a priest background which would mean Latin as well. Not to mention Greek if Nicky picked up anything while in Constantinople (if he came over land). Nicky also would have been on the road to the Holy Land, if he went overland, for as long as 3 years and in Antioch before Jerusalem.

- Now, as an admitted caveat to all of this, I’ve lived overseas and it is absolutely common for expats to live in a country for years without bothering to pick up the local language at all. There were cultural and societal reasons that European Crusaders and the Egyptian Fatimids who lost Jerusalem wouldn’t bother to learn each other’s languages or any of the common merchants tongue or other common languages like Greek to bother to talk to each other. That’s absolutely fair to invoke for why they wouldn’t have a single word of any language in common.

- However, I will say, once both or either of them decided to try, I think some writers don’t give enough credit for how quickly one or the other would pick a language up, especially if it’s the language of the country they’re in (basically, I think once he tried, Nicky would pick up Arabic very quickly if he’s still in the Holy Land by the time he and Joe start trying to communicate). Effort plus full immersion is probably the single fastest way to learn a language, you’d be able to have rudimentary conversations within a few months at most. Really from there it’s just a question of whose country are they in once they start talking and stop trying to kill each other.

TL;DR I will be the first to say an author should go with what makes their story work best BUT there’s plenty of historically backed reasons why Nicky and Joe should have been able to carry on a basic conversation with each other from when they first met, and not be completely stymied in communicating with each other because of a language barrier.

[floralcavern]

Ezekiel and Raya (OCs)

If what the characters are saying is in < >, that means they’re speaking a different language! I’m not gonna trust google translate lol

Raya was the screwup kid compared to her younger brother, Iwan. Not like he was really any better. He was just a mama’s boy. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t so heartbroken that her brother was their mom’s favorite. She just didn’t see any reason to care. It seemed pointless. Raya wasn’t really overly affectionate with either of her parents. Her dad gets it. Especially after the accident, he’s not super overly touchy. Though he does appreciate quality time with Raya. But her and mom… that was another story.

“<Raya, are you really going to major in language arts? What will you do with a degree like that?>”

Raya just shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do in general after I graduate, mom.”

“<Geez. Well, if you’re going to college for a degree like that, at least speak back to me in Arabic.>”

“<Yes, mom,>” Raya says boredly, hardly able to bring herself to care about her mom's nagging.

Raya walks over to the garage. This used to be dad’s work studio, but since he can’t glass blow anymore, Iwan took over. 

“Man, it’s hot in here,” Raya says as she steps in.

Her brother turns to her. His dyed blonde hair was beginning to fade, his roots growing out. “Did you convince mom to let you go into language arts?”

Raya makes a so-so gesture with her hand. “It wasn’t really hard. I think she’s kind of given up on me.”

Iwan gives her a concerned look. “Cmon, don’t say that.”

“After she busted me smoking last year? I think I have that right.”

“OK, well… she does care about you,” he says, tilting his head and crossing his arms.

“It’s not like it matters. I don’t really care what she thinks.”

Her brother gave her an unconvinced look. Ya, he knew her well. But she really didn’t care. Honest. Like, why does it matter? She’s moving away and it’s not like her mom can keep her from doing stuff her way. 

“Well, Raya.. I hope you do well in college.”

“Ya, thanks. And have you gotten anything back from that fancy magic school you wanna go to?”

“Not yet. But we both know I’m gonna get in.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ya, ya, child prodigy.”

She waved by to him and stepped out, walking to the kitchen to grab herself a snack when she saw her dad. He was standing to grab something from the cupboard, his wheelchair right behind him, blocking her way.

He turns to her and waves, signing, Want some Hojuelitas?

Raya’s nose wrinkles and she shakes her head.She doesn’t get her dad’s obsession with those things. Back when they used to live in Bonao, that waa the only snack that they had in the house. Now, her dad has to order them online to get them.

She sits on the bar stool and watches her dad. Despite her mom’s disappointment in how Raya’s life was going, he always supported her in the end. Maybe because he was always a bit of a free spirit himself. Traveling the world on his motorbike all in his early and mid 20s before meeting mom on a trip to Oman.The two fell in love and settled down and blah blah blah, gross stuff like that. Love honestly seemed overrated.

She waves her arm to get her dad’s attention and signed, How do you feel about my major?

He thinks for a moment before smiling and responding, It suits you. You’ve always been great at Spanish, Arabic, and English. And after the accident, you were quick to learn sign.

Raya smiles, hugging her knees. Her dad was awesome. He was always in her corner. She appreciated it.

She leans back in the chair and looks at the ceiling. 

In the end, she probably won’t miss much about this place.

… 

A few months later, Raya has been at this school for around 6 months now. And college is just as bland as high school. She just stayed in her dorm room and smoked some weed and stayed up late because she procrastinated on her homework, or she might read a book she checked out from the library. But this was about the same routine as it was back in high school. Nothing’s changed.

Even her roommate was about as forgettable as every other classmate she’s had. Maybe she was just a nihilist. That would certainly explain some things. That would be funny, considering her favorite movie was the Big Lebowski. Wait, if she has a favorite anything, does that still qualify her as a candidate for being a nihilist? Ah, whatever. Stupid labels like that were a waste of time, anyways.

She heard a ping come from her cellphone and she was reminded for the one millionth time that she needs to put her phone on silent.

It was an email from her teacher. It reads:

Hello, Raya! I have an opportunity for you that I was wondering if you’d be interested in. We have a transfer student from Israel who doesn’t speak English all too well. I was hoping you’d be interested in teaching him? Email me back your answer!

Raya’s nose wrinkled. She wasn’t interested in babysitting some transfer student. She was taking language arts for herself, not to teach other people.She knew why this teacher chose Raya, and it wasn’t just because she was really good at Hebrew. But it was also because that teacher is all about ‘the college experience’ and ‘putting yourself out there’ and ‘getting out of your comfort zone.’ Making her the unstoppable force to Raya’s immovable object. But, this teacher has been bugging her a lot, so maybe if she does this one thing, she’ll leave her alone for the rest of the semester.

So, reluctantly, Raya responds with Sure.

And now, on a Friday evening when she could be in her room doing what she wanted, she was in the library with some guy who looked about as boring as everyone else she’s met. A mop of brown hair that hung awkwardly over his face, glasses with frames too big for him, and clothes that reminded her of an elementary schooler who was dressed by his mom in the morning. So, a total dork. He seemed like the kind of nerd character that would be in a John Hughes movie.

“So, you’re Ezekiel Aharon, right?”

The boy looked at her intensely and nodded, thinking about his words before very slowly saying, “And you are Raya Peña,” he states in a matter of fact tone. Wow, he seemed almost as annoyed to be here as she was. Which didn’t seem all that fair. She’s the one who’s being forced to do this.

“Yep. Now, what are you struggling with in English?”

Ezekiel looked at her closely, repeating back to her, “Struggling?”

She let out a groan and repeated the sentence to him in Hebrew, to which he nodded and answered, “<Almost everything.>”

Raya hissed quietly in annoyance. She should ask that teacher to give her some extra credit for this, because this is going to be frustrating.

He takes out a Hebrew to English dictionary and repeats back to her some sentences he knows because they’re super basic to be taught. Sentences like, “How are you?” “Where is the gas station?” “Can I order the…” This was so boring she thought she was going to die.

“<OK.. So I’ve gotta teach you a lot. Didn’t you learn English in Israel?”

The boy blushes a bit in discomfiture. “<I was no good.>

She sinks in her chair. Great. If actual teachers couldn’t get this guy to learn English, how can she?

She pulled out her laptop and went to Amazon.

“<What are you doing?>” he asks.

“<Ordering a textbook.>”

His eyes widened and his blush of shame only deepened. “<Sorry.>”

“<It’s whatever.>”

She ordered the textbook, which should be coming in next week. “<Let’s meet up again on Thursday of next week.>”

Ezekiel nodded and Raya stood up, grabbing her bag and stuffing her laptop back into it. When she notices Ezekiel not moving, she gives him a curious look. “<You can leave now.>”

“<Oh, I just need to call in an Uber. I don’t have a car, so.>”

“<You haven’t rented one yet?>”

“<I keep putting it off.>”

Raya wanted to judge him for something so stupid, but then she remembered just the other night she stayed up until 3 am because she wasted a whole month on not working on a project. So she didn’t judge him.

“<I’ll give you a ride.>”

He seemed surprised by this, and she was surprised too. She never offered to help anyone. Ugh. Was she becoming the nice, helpful person that the teacher wanted her to be? Disgusting. But she can’t take back the offer now.

“<If it’s no trouble.>”

She shrugs and leads him to her car, a small, rusted truck that used to belong to her dad. They were going to give it to Iwan, but Iwan said that he wanted one of dad’s old motorbikes instead. Mom hated the idea, but dad, despite the accident, was happy to give it to him.

Ezekiel got into the passenger seat and Raya debated making him pay her. Afterall, he was going to order an Uber anyways. She decided not to, though. She wasn’t that cold. 

“<Where do I take you?>”

Ezekiel told her his address and she nodded, setting up her GPS on her phone and following the map.

One thing that Raya quickly came to learn about Ezekiel was that he cannot stand silence. Every time there was a pause, he had to fill it with obscure facts or stories of his childhood. Just in a 20 minute car ride, she knew way too much about this one guy. He was from Be'er-Sheva, was the youngest of 2 older sisters, liked math, birdwatching, and candle making. He was 20 years old and came to this school because his aunt went to this school and she always talked about how great it was. And damn, he talked a lot about his family. Saying how much he misses them and how it’s not the same without them and cheesy stuff like that. Honestly, she’s been indifferent with her family. Her and Iwan only interact by texting each other memes every now and then, dad usually texts her every other morning to tell her to have a good day, and mom… she just texts to ask how her grades are doing. But none of her family has even called. So she didn’t understand Ezekiel’s long sighs and homesickness. Raya’s never really felt homesickness ever in her life. She is where she is, and she’s never been comfortable or uncomfortable. She just exists and lets herself be there and not care. No where has really felt like home. The closest she can get to is the memory of when she was 8, still living in Bonao, and her dad had just come back from work. He smelled distinctly like Hojuelitas, but instead of being grossed out, she was comforted. For some reason, that day, she really missed her dad. She wasn’t sure why, as it had been a normal day like any other, but when he had come home, it was like the world was just better. That was the closest thing she’s felt to home. She’s tried recreating that feeling, but she gave up trying a long time ago.

She pulled into the parking lot of the dorms that Ezekiel is staying at. He steps out and waves at her, saying to her in English, “Thank you, Raya.”

She nods. “No prob, Bob.”

He chuckles and walks off into the building. Raya watches him. What a weird guy. 

…

Things kind of went like this for the next 3 months. Raya was now roped into being Ezekiel’s full time ride back to his dorms, which sucked. She now is forcing him to try and speak in English for almost everything, to get him to get used to it, only using Hebrew when he really needs to. And, she also keeps learning more and more about him, much to her dismay. Like how he really wanted a dog as a kid, and brought one home after he found it on the streets, but the dog had turned out to be a coyote. He told this story to her 3 times already. It seemed to be his go to story for when he gets awkward.

She was in the library, waiting for him to get there when she gets a text from her dad.

¡Buenas noches, mi princesa! Espero que la escuela te esté yendo bien. ¡No olvides cenar y hacer tu tarea!

She chuckles at her dad’s flowery language. He was always so positive. She responds by liking the message and looks up when she sees Ezekiel coming, and he looks different.

“You got a haircut,” she notes.

“Oh, yes. My barber,” he stumbles a bit on the word ‘barber’,”accidentally messed up. He had to fix it, the best outcome was giving me an under the cut.”

“Undercut,” she corrects him. “And it looks good. You look less like your mom cut your hair.”

He blushes at this. “I’ve had the same haircut since I was 11.”

She snorts. “Well that explains it. Next we gotta fix your fashion.”

He pouts at this. “What is wrong with my clothing?”

“Nothing. It just looks like it’s choking you.”

“Huh?”

“You just look awkward in it. Reminds me of my brother back when my mom dressed him up for picture day in clothes that he hated.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, his brain working to translate the sentence before perking up a bit. He sits in the chair across from her. “You have a brother?”

“Hm? Oh, ya. A younger brother by 1 and a half years.”

“That is the most you have told me about yourself.”

“OK. Let’s keep it that way.”

He mopes at that response. “I cannot do all of the talking for the silence.”

“Not all silence needs to be filled. Sometimes, it can just be silence.”

“But is it not… um..” he struggled to find the proper word. “Stifle?”

“Stifling,” she corrects. “And, no. Hearing you try to avoid it makes me want to claw my ears off, though.” “Why?”

“Because it’s painfully awkward.”

“I think silence is more awkward.”

“Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree, then.”

He crosses his arms. “Well, anyway. Is my English getting better?”

“Ya. You can converse a lot better, even if you’re a bit slow to answer. Surprised I helped more than your teachers. I guess forcing you to speak English was very smart of me.”

“Yes, but I did not appreciate you spraying me with water everytime I messed up.”

“Cmon, I did that on one day.”

“You only didn’t do it again because the library lady was mad with you.”

She laughs a little, which makes Ezekiel snigger, because he’d never heard her laugh and it sounded almost funny hearing one come from her. Not funny in a bad way. Funny in a nice way.

“But what is your family like, Raya?”

“Why do I need to tell?”

“Because I have asked.”

“Asking doesn’t guarantee a response, young grasshopper.”

“Pleeeeeease?”

“You’ll just keep bugging me if I don’t tell you, won’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Geez. And I thought you were some anxious dork.”

“It’s easy not to be around you because I have grown accustomed to your… what is it called..? Resting bitch face.”

Raya smirks. Some of the first words she taught Ezekiel were swears. She’s glad he uses them.

“Well… ok, I have a younger brother named Iwan. He’s currently a senior in high school and he’s got a big ego. Like, biiiiiig ego. But, he is naturally talented at almost everything he does, so maybe he has the right to have a big ego. But he’s definitely mom’s favorite.”

Ezekiel’s face turns a bit concerned at this. “Why is that?”

“Because he’s a suckup. Whatever. Our dad doesn’t play favorites, so at least there’s that.”

“You spoke kindly of your brother. What about yourself?”

She shrugs. “What’s there to say? I don’t really have any hobbies. And you know I’m a total bitch.”

“I do not think you are.”

“Why not?”

“You drive me home.”

“That means nothing, Ezekiel.”

“It’s a kind act.”

“It’s an act of pity.”

“Pity can be kindness.”

“When did you get so philosophical?”

He waves his hand in dismissal. “In any case, you deal with me when you do not have to.”

“Well, ya, but I can’t really go back now.”

“You could if you wanted to. But you still choose not to.”

She hums a bit at his statement then just shakes her head. “You give me too much credit.”

He shakes his head back at her. “I think you do not have enough credit.”

“Let’s just get to the lesson.”

“Ah, yes.” He seemed not excited at all for the lesson. He hated lessons, finding them to be boring.

After about an hour and a half, they go out to her car, driving to his dorm like always. However, as they got closer, she realized that the truck was slowing down. 

“Shit.. shiiiiiit!” Raya exclaims. She pulls into the parking lot before her truck breaks down. “No!! Ugh, well, looks like the car finally gave into it’s old age… Shit!’ she yells again, kicking a tire.

“It broke?” Ezekiel said behind her.

She groans. “Yes. Sadly, yes.”

“Is there anyone you can call?”

Raya pulls out her phone and anyone who can help her is currently closed or about to close. “Guess I’m sleeping in my truck tonight.”

“No, no! Don’t do that. It won’t even turn on. You’ll be stuck in a completely hot car with no air.”

“I’ll get a bottle of water or something so I won’t die.”

He shakes his head sternly. “You will not sleep in your car.”

“Well, where do I sleep? Your dorm?”

He perks up at this. “Not a bad idea!”

“Huh? Wait, no, Ezekiel, I was being sarcastic-!”

But it was too late. Before she knew it, she was being dragged into the building, walking up the steps to the third floor, and is now in Ezekiel’s dorm room. This was her worst nightmare. Because now that she was the guest of someone’s home, by the law of politeness that her mom drilled into her at a very young age, she… had to socialize.

Just kill me now, she thought as she sat on the couch.

“Do you want some pomegranate juice?” he asks her.

She really didn’t, but out of forced politeness, she says, “Sure.”

He nods, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of juice, handing it to her.

She sips a little bit of it and nods. “So, I’ll just sleep on the couch. Your roommate won’t mind, right?”

Ezekiel shakes his head. “He usually spends the night at his girlfriend’s house, anyhow.”

“So you get the whole place to yourself? Lucky.”

“It gets lonely.”

“Ya, I bet it would for you, seeing as how you grew up with a big family.”

He smiles at her. “You listen to my stories?”

“Um.. ya? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Most people just tune me out.”

“Oh.” She’s considered doing that many times, but sometimes in his stories, he’ll say something absolutely crazy that it draws her attention in completely. Plus, as much as she hated to admit it, the guy was really nice, and ignoring him would make her feel really bad. “Well, I haven’t.”

“Thank you, Raya.”

He sits on the couch next to her and now suddenly she feels the awkward silence and damnit, she feels like she’s turning into Ezekiel. “Do you miss them?”

He laughs. “Have I not made it obvious?”

“Well, you have, but.. I just don’t really get what’s there to miss. I go most days not thinking once about my family.”

He gives her a pitying look. “Is that not lonely?”

“I dunno. Not really. I mean, what’s lonely?”

“Well.. it can be different for many people. For me, it’s a desperate desire for someone near me.”

“I don’t feel that. I mostly just feel.. Bored.”

“Is that not also a form of loneliness?”

She thinks about that for a bit. She’d never considered that. “To be frank… I don’t even really care about my family all too much. Like, ya, they’re my family and stuff, but like..I could take or leave them. That’s how I feel about most things.”

“What an awful way to live,” he says bluntly.

“Maybe. I’ve only experienced anything remotely close to how you feel about your family once.”

“What was that like?”

Raya thought about that evening. The smell of Hojuelitas, her dad’s scruffy beard, the way he held her and how she fell asleep in his arms quickly, only to wake up in her bed the next day, the only time she’s felt anything but apathy for waking up in the morning. There really was only one way to describe it. “Almost like a fairytale.”

Ezekiel nods. “I think you just need to find your joy.”

“Maybe joy is just overrated.” “I think cynicism and misery are overrated. You see those themes a lot more in what are considered great works of literature.”

“Look at you using these fancy words,” she smiles. “Damn, I’m a good teacher.”

He rolls his eyes and hands her a blanket. “Whimsy is where fulfillment lies, I think.”

“Ya, well… maybe you’re just enlightened in a way I’m not.”

He bellows out a laugh. “I’m anything but.”

“I’m serious, Ezekiel. Really, I am.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Why do you love your family?” Raya asks.

He looks at her and smiles before shrugging. “Because love is where the force of the world holds purity, without it would be ruin.”

He steps out, going to his room and Raya wonders where he may have stolen that quote from. It sounds straight out of a motivational poster you would see in a guidance counselor’s office.

But even still… She thinks about what he said for a moment before grabbing her phone. She stares at the screen for a couple of minutes before opening it and going to the family groupchat. Raya hasn’t texted in this groupchat in over a year. And she had to think.

Why did she just not care?

And why did she care so much about the fact that she didn’t care?

She was a walking paradox of apathy and overwhelming anxiety.

And she realizes something. This is the first time in a long time she’s felt really.. Anything. And it’s in the home of some random boy she tutors.

But as she feels the warm blanket, the stiff couch, the taste of pomegranate juice, and the smell of a homemade candle, she can’t help but wonder if this is what home feels like? It was almost like that memory with her dad, but with the opposite emotion. And what was home but not a swirl of all kinds of different emotions and memories and feelings? That was how it was supposed to be.

Here, on the couch of a boy she wanted so badly to feel indifferent to, she felt at home.

She goes to Ezekiel’s room and knocks on the door. He opens it.

“You’ve been crying,” he notes.

“Have I?”

“I think so.”

She wipes her face with the back of her hand. She observes him and she feels like she’s seeing him for the first time. He doesn’t have a forgettable face. He has a mole on his neck and under his eye, he has a round face, he has a dopey smile, he has gray eyes, he has dimples. And he is the most interesting person she’s ever seen in her life. “I think I felt something,” she says. “And I don’t know what to do.” She hated how much she sounded like a child.

He smiles a bit and laughs, shaking his head. “Raya. You don’t need to do anything. You just need to feel.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“Because I know myself.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I know myself at all.”

“Well… I can help.”

She wants to cringe, because she knows this is cheesy and she’s being cheesy, and this is all so dumb, and feelings are dumb, but damnit… Damnit… This was the most warm she’s felt since she was held by her dad that one evening, that one memory that kept her from thinking she was incapable of emotions.

“I want help. I think. No, no, I definitely do.”

He laughs and takes her hand. “And that’s the first step.”

[tesalicious2]

Kortac Headcanons:

They all have a secret handshake

Just seems like it, it can be adapted to fit all of them at once

It’s actually quite impressive to watch

Food shall be stolen, it doesn’t belong to you

Unless it says your name and that it’s from a family member will they leave it alone (most of the time, Oni steals sometimes)

They all get along pretty well, but some of them don’t share anything about their past at all

König, Oni, and Fender are perfect examples of this. You will not know anything and they will not share

Sometimes though they answer super vague to mess with people

All of them learn some of each others language, not great at all but know ‘thanks’, yes, no, and a few curse words.

Everyone agrees Arabic is super difficult and makes no sense

(My dad is Arab and I tried to learn it. You want to make a word plural? Ok, there are 16 different ways to do it and no rules to know when to use it. Memorize the plural and singular and that’s it. It’s bs.)

(Also, you leanr standard but no one speaks that, they speak slang and it’s horrible. But I do know some)

Sometimes care packages from family will show up for some of them. It’s often books, foods specific to that region, and photos of family/important moments.

König had a sister who’s a ballerina and she’s amazing.

Callisto and Stiletto met her once and they hit it off. Two badass mentors yes please.

There was definitely vulture shock on all fronts. Something harmless to everyone would greatly offend one specific person.

There were a lot of presentations about office etiquette in the first months.

Oni and Horangi hate each other and do not try to get along. But if you make fun of Asian Countries or are like ‘all Asians look the same’ they will become a force to be reckoned with.

[theculturedmarxist]

If you talk to an ordinary American, or, in my experience, if you talk to an average Israeli, for that matter, they don’t know anything about who the Palestinians are. They don’t know where they come from, they don’t know how they live, what they believe, and they don’t want to. Right? Because that just complicates things… – historian Sam Biagetti.

Last month, The New York Times conducted a series of interviews with a number of American Jewish families and the way they have been dealing with what the paper calls a “generational divide over Israel.”

The Times notes a trend that has been developing for a long time—younger American Jews becoming markedly more critical of, sometimes downright hostile to, Israel than their elders. The piece looks at “more than a dozen young people…[who] described feeling estranged from the version of Jewish identity they were raised with, which was often anchored in pro-Israel education.”

One such person is Louisa Kornblatt. She is the daughter of liberal Jewish parents, who grew up experiencing the cruelties of anti-Semitism in suburban New Jersey. Her grandmother “had fled Austria in 1938, just as the Nazis were taking over.” Partly as a result of this legacy, Louisa Kornblatt “shared her parents’ belief that the safety of Jewish people depended on a Jewish state” as a child.

However, her views began to shift once “she started attending a graduate program in social work at U.C. Berkeley in 2017.” As she recalls it, “classmates and friends challenged her thinking,” with some telling her that she was “on the wrong side of history.”

While in graduate school, “she read Audre Lorde, Mariame Kaba, Ruth Wilson Gilmore and other Black feminist thinkers,” who further made her re-think ingrained assumptions. Eventually, “Kornblatt came to feel that her emotional ties to Jewish statehood undermined her vision for ‘collective liberation.’”

“Over the last year, she became increasingly involved in pro-Palestine activism, including through Jewish Voice for Peace, an anti-Zionist activist group, and the If Not Now movement.” She now goes so far as to assert, “I don’t think the state of Israel should ever have been established,” because “It’s based on this idea of Jewish supremacy. And I’m not on board with that.”

Also interviewed are the parents of Jackson Schwartz, a senior at Columbia University whose education there has significantly altered his outlook on Israel:

“The parents of Mr. Schwartz…said they listen to him with open minds when he tells them about documentaries he has seen or things he has learned from professors like Rashid Khalidi, a prominent Palestinian intellectual who is a professor of modern Arab studies at Columbia. Dan Schwartz said his son helped him understand the Palestinian perspective on Israel’s founding, which was accompanied by a huge displacement of population that Palestinians call the Nakba, using the Arabic word for catastrophe.”

“It wasn’t until Jackson went to Columbia and took classes that I ever heard the word Nakba,” Dan Schwartz said.

These interviews are hugely instructive for two reasons. For one thing, they demonstrate very clearly why power centers are so critical of higher education, especially in the humanities: They are afraid young people might actually—horror of horrors—learn something, particularly something that challenges the status quo.

American culture overflows with accusations from parents that their kids went off to college only to be “indoctrinated.” But at least in these instances, the opposite is what happened—far from being brainwashed, the kids read books and learned history, and were forced to think hard about the implications. In other words, higher education did exactly what it is supposed to do—forced students to encounter and engage with perspectives and thinkers they otherwise never would have.

In reality, most parents (and certainly media outlets) who complain of indoctrination are actually worried about education—that is, that their children will develop more nuanced, critical and informed views of the world after engaging with unfamiliar viewpoints. Such aggrieved elders don’t see it this way, of course, largely because they themselves never shook off the propaganda of their youth. Indeed, they likely are not even capable of perceiving it as such. But that is what it is.

The interviews from the Times piece also demonstrate what Sam Biagetti refers to in the quote that sits atop this article: the phenomenon of older Americans who profess attachment to (and presumably knowledge of) Israel, displaying aggressive—no, fanatic—ignorance about basic Israeli/Middle East history.

That Mr. Schwartz had never heard of the Nakba until his son learned about it from Rashid Khalidi speaks volumes about the way young people in this country are “taught” about Israel, as well as how much their parents actually “know” about it. It is the equivalent of a German father professing fierce attachment to the German nation-state, but never hearing the word “Holocaust” until his child tells him about it after learning the history from a Jewish professor.

The new documentary Israelism explores this issue of younger Jewish people raised to reflexively identify with Israel and to view it as a “Jewish Disneyland,” but who changed their minds (and behavior) upon encountering the brutal realities of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza.

It is a powerful film, one that takes a look at the too-often ignored indoctrination regarding Israel taking place in many Jewish day schools, the way younger people are starting to de-program themselves from it, and where they go from there.

Directed by first-time filmmakers Erin Axelman and Sam Eilertsen, Israelism largely follows two protagonists whose experiences mirror those of the filmmakers.

The first protagonist, Eitan (whose last name is never revealed), grew up in a conservative Jewish home in Atlanta. Typical of such an upbringing, he was steeped in pro-Israel PR.

He recounts that “Israel was a central part of everything we did in school.” His high school routinely sent delegations to AIPAC (the American Israel Public Affairs Committee, also known as the “Israel lobby”) conferences.

Outside of school, the PR continued. He describes going to Jewish summer camp, where each year the staff included a group of Israeli counselors, brought in “to connect American Jews to Israeli culture.”

This included having the children playing games designed to simulate being in the Israeli military, including the use of actual Israeli military commands.

The film intersperses interviews of its protagonists with interviews of prominent individuals who promote this Israeli PR.

For instance, Rabbi Bennett Miller, the then-National Chair of the Association of Reform Zionists of America, asks with a laugh, “does [my] average congregant understand that I’m teaching them to become Zionists? Probably not, but it is part of my madness, so to speak.”

Enamored with what he saw as the glory of military service, Eitan told his parents that he was going to join the Israeli military rather than go to college. He had always thought of Israel as “my country,” and learned from numerous childhood visits there that he “fit in” better in Israel than in the United States.

During basic training with the IDF, he was trained as a “heavy machine gunnist” [sic] with an emphasis on urban warfare. After seven months of this, he was deployed to the West Bank. His life in the IDF involved operating the various checkpoints which comprise the apartheid system, as well as patrolling Palestinian villages on foot in full gear with a bulletproof vests. He recounts that on such patrols, the mission of his unit was to make their presence felt, in order “to let them know that we were watching.”

His encounter with the occupation changed him forever. “Even though Israel was a central part of everything we did in school,” he recalls, “we never really discussed the Palestinians. It was presented to us that Israel was basically an empty wasteland when the Jews arrived. ‘There were some Arabs there,’ they said, but there was no organized people; they had really treated the land poorly. Yeah, there are Palestinians, [but] they just want to kill us all…” Furthermore, “It was always presented to us that the Arabs only know terrorism.”

His role as an occupier made him see things rather differently. He witnessed IDF soldiers needlessly abusing captives, who were blindfolded and handcuffed, thrown to the ground, kicked and beaten. He despairs that he “didn’t even speak up,” something he is visibly still struggling with. And, he says, “that’s just one of many stories that I have from my time in the West Bank. It took many years to really come to terms with my part in it. Only after I got out of the army did I begin to realize that the stuff that I did [from] day to day, just working in checkpoints, patrolling villages—that in itself was immoral.”

After great difficulty, Eitan has begun to publicly speak out about his experiences, though he notes that it took a long time, and that on his first attempt, he was not able to make it through without crying excessively. Since then, he has gotten better, and continues to pursue this necessary work.

Israelism’s second protagonist is Simone Zimmerman. Zimmerman’s grandfather settled in Israel; he and his immediate family were some of her only relatives to escape the Holocaust. Zimmerman herself was raised in a staunchly pro-Israel household, attending Hebrew school from kindergarten through high school. While in high school she lived in Israel for a period as part of an exchange program, which was just one of many visits.

These organized stays in Israel routinely involved her and her friends dressing up in Israeli army uniforms and pretending to be in the IDF. She participated in Jewish youth groups and summer camps which, like Eitan, immersed her in a steady diet of pro-Israel propaganda. Summing up her childhood experience, Zimmerman explains that “Israel was just treated like a core part of being a Jew. So, you did prayers, and you did Israel.”

Like Eitan, she was familiar with AIPAC: “AIPAC is just the thing that you do. Like, going to the AIPAC conference is just sort of seen as a community event.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, almost ten percent of her high school graduating class ended up joining the Israeli army, and many of her summer camp and youth group friends did as well. This is the power of effective propaganda instilled from a young age, Zimmerman observes. “The indoctrination is so severe, it’s almost hard to have a conversation about it. It’s heartbreaking.”

Israelism contains footage of this indoctrination in action inside Hebrew schools.

Scenes of teachers excitedly asking classes of young children, “do you want to go to Israel too?” and the children screaming back, “YEAH!!!” are reminiscent of the similarly nauseating kinds of religious indoctrination made famous in an earlier era by films like Jesus Camp.

Some of these scenes can be glimpsed in the trailer for the film. Older students are seen reading copies of Alan Dershowitz’s book The Case for Israel, which was famously exposed as a fraud by Norman Finkelstein years ago. Zimmerman herself gets to look at some of her old worksheets and art projects from her elementary school days, all of which in some way revolved around the Israeli state.

Other than enlisting in the IDF, Zimmerman had been told that the other major way to be “a good supporter of the Jewish people” was to become an “Israel advocate.” Choosing the latter path, Zimmerman became involved with Hillel, the largest Jewish campus organization in the world, when she began attending the University of California at Berkeley. Hillel, too, worked very hard to instill pro-Israel beliefs in her. She describes being trained in how to rebut “the ‘lies’ that other people [were] saying” about Israel.

The film explores the nature of Hillel’s work fostering pro-Israel activism at college campuses across the country. Tom Barkan, a former IDF soldier and “Israel fellow” at the University of Connecticut’s Hillel chapter, says, “name a university in America, we probably have a person there.” Barkan’s mission is to turn Jewish college students into either Israel advocates or military recruits. While he warns eager students that joining the IDF will not be easy, he wistfully tells them that it will be “the most meaningful experience that you ever go through.”

Former Jewish day school teacher Jacqui Schulefand works with Barkan in her role as Director of Engagement and Programs at UConn’s Hillel branch. Her love for the State of Israel is inseparable from her identity as a Jewish person, which she proudly explains. “Can you separate Israel and Judaism? I don’t know—I can’t. You know, some people I think can. To me, it’s the same. Yeah, you can’t separate it. Israel is Judaism and Judaism is Israel. And that is who I am, and that is my identity. And I think every single thing that I experienced along my life has melded into that, like there was never, you know, a divide for me.”

Schulefand describes joining the Israeli armed forces as “the greatest gift you can give,” and notes that “we actually have had quite a few of our former students join the IDF—amazing!” But her demeanor sours when she is asked about criticisms of the country. In a tone combining incomprehension with a hint of disgust, she laments that “somehow, ‘pro-Palestinian’ has become ‘pro-social justice.’”

It was this sort of pro-Israel advocacy network that organized Simone Zimmerman and other students to oppose what they perceived to be “anti-Semitic” activities such as student government legislation favoring the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement against Israeli occupation, and other measures critical of Israel.

To prepare for such confrontations, she was handed talking points that told her what to say—accuse critics of being anti-Semitic, of having a double standard, of making Jewish students feel unsafe, etc. Describing her feelings about BDS and the Palestinian cause at the time, Zimmerman says that “I just knew that it was this bad thing that I had to fight.” She remembers literally reading off the cards when it came time for her to make the case for Israel.

However, such work inevitably brought her into contact with people who challenged her views. She encountered terms like apartheid, ethnic cleansing, and illegal occupation. “I thought I knew so much about Israel, but I didn’t really know what anybody was talking about when they were talking about all these things,” she said.

Growing up, she was barely taught anything about Palestinians, much like Eitan: “The idea that there were native inhabitants who lived there [when settlers began to arrive] was not even part of my frame of reference.”[1] To the extent that her upbringing provided her with any conception of what a Palestinian was, it was that a Palestinian was someone “who kills Jews, or wants to kill Jews.” But now she was dealing with actual Palestinian students and their non-Palestinian allies, who told her things she found alarming.

Zimmerman went back to Hillel, embarrassed that she and the other pro-Israel advocates were not doing a good job refuting the information they had been confronted with. When Zimmerman asked what the proper responses were to specific criticisms directed at Israel—other than shouting “double standard” or “anti-Semitic”—no one provided her with any. “That was really disturbing for me,” she says. She was flabbergasted that “there are these people called Palestinians who think that Israel wields all this power over their lives and don’t have rights, don’t have water. What is this? How do I respond to it?” “How is it that I am the best the Jewish community has to offer—I’ve been to all the trainings, all the summer camps—and I don’t know what the settlements are, or what the occupation is?”

This anguish led Zimmerman to see the occupation for herself, the summer after her freshman year. This was her first time “crossing the line” into the West Bank. The film movingly details her experiences there. She listened to Palestinian families describe routine instances of being beaten by the IDF, and the harsh realities of life under military rule.

She befriends Sami Awad, Executive Director of the Holy Land Trust, who works to give Americans tours of the territory. An American citizen born in the U.S., Awad describes encounters with American kids who have joined the IDF, people “who just moved here to be part of an army to play cowboys and Indians.” He remarks on the absurdity that “Somebody…comes here from New York or from Chicago, and [claims] that this land is theirs.”

Awad’s family was originally from Jerusalem. His grandfather was shot by an Israeli sniper in 1948, and the rest of his family were evicted by Israeli forces soon after during the Nakba. They have never been allowed to return, and have lived under occupation ever since. Nevertheless, Awad is an extraordinarily empathetic person, having made a career out of trying to teach Westerners what life is like in the West Bank, in the hopes that they will use what they learn to effect positive change. He recounts visiting Auschwitz, and says that the experience gave him an insight into “inherited trauma” and how it shapes the conflict today. In the film he comes across as optimistic:

“I really believe that there is an emerging awakening within the American Jewish community…From American Jews, coming here, and listening to us, and hearing us, and seeing our humanity, and understanding that we are not just out sitting in bunkers, planning the next attack against Israelis, that we do have a desire to live in peace, and to have our freedom, and to walk in our streets, and to eat in our restaurants, and like we – I mean it’s crazy that I have to say this, that we are real human beings that just want to survive and live, like all other people in this world.”

Zimmerman also meets Baha Hilo, an English speaker who works as a tour guide with To Be There, another group that helps people understand the reality that Israel imposes on the West Bank. His family was expelled from Jaffa in 1948 during the Nakba. They were forced to settle in Bethlehem, sadly believing that they would eventually be able to return to their homes.

Hilo discusses his frustration that Israelis get to live under civil law, whereas Palestinians like him must live under the humiliating military law of the occupation: “When an American goes to the West Bank, he has more rights there than I have had my entire life!” The film takes care to note that Americans play a major role in such realities: “Of the roughly 450,000 [illegal] Israeli settlers living in the occupied West Bank, 60,000 are American Jews.” Some readers may recall the famous viral video of an Israeli named Yakub unashamedly stealing Palestinian homes while conveying a breathtaking sense of entitlement.

Hilo laments that, “From the day you are born, you live day in and day out without experiencing a day of freedom.” His astonishment at the audacity of Israelis, particularly those who are also Americans, mirrors Awad’s: “What makes an 18-year-old American kid who was given [a] ten days’ trip for free in Palestine, what makes him want to come in and sacrifice his life? Why would a foreigner think it’s ok to have superior rights to the rights of the indigenous population? Because somebody told them it’s [their] home.”

While happy to make such friends, Zimmerman nonetheless says of her time there, “I don’t think I realized the extent to which what I would come to see on the ground would really shock me and horrify me.” This experience often changes people. The filmmaker Rebecca Pierce is interviewed on her own visits to the West Bank, and her reaction is in line with Zimmerman’s. Pierce had always been opposed to using the word “apartheid,” but once she saw the reality of the situation, she changed her mind immediately.

The protagonist of With God on Our Side (a 2010 documentary critical of Christian Zionism), a young man named Christopher, had a similar reaction, specifically at the behavior he witnessed from the Israeli settlers. Each year a group of them converges on the Arab section of Old Jerusalem to celebrate Israel’s capture of East Jerusalem in 1967. Christopher witnessed the festivities, which featured a massive crowd of settlers wrapped in Israeli flags, shouting “death to Arabs” repeatedly as they danced through the streets.

A large group identified an Arab journalist, surrounded him, began chanting at him and flipping him off, to the point where the police had to be called. Christopher was visibly shocked at all this, glumly remarking that he “felt ashamed to be there.” This same celebration is also seen in Israelism, and the Israeli chants are as deranged as ever: “An Arab is a son of a bitch! A Jew is a precious soul!” “Death to the leftists!”

Zimmerman’s experiences led her to become a co-founder of the If Not Now movement, a grassroots Jewish organization which works to end U.S. support for Israel. They have engaged in activism targeting the ADL (more on them in a moment), AIPAC, the headquarters of Birthright Israel, and other organizations which directly contribute to the perpetuation of Israel’s occupation. “We decided to bring the crisis of American Jewish support for Israel to the doorsteps of Jewish institutions to force that conversation in public,” Zimmerman says.

Israelism contains powerful scenes of younger Jewish people engaging in this work. Many come from similar backgrounds as Eitan and Simone. Consider Avner Gvaryahu. Born and raised in Israel, Gvaryahu also joined the IDF. His combat experience ultimately turned him against the occupation. His whole life in Israel, he had never been inside a Palestinian home, but was now being tasked with “barg[ing] into one in the middle of the night.”

By the end of his service, he had routinely taken over Palestinian homes and used them as military facilities. No warrants were needed, and no notice was ever given to the families who were living there. He reflects back “with shame” on how violently he often acted toward the residents in such situations. Gvaryahu is now the Executive Director of Breaking the Silence, an organization of IDF veterans committed to peace.

“There are a lot of Jewish young people who see a Jewish establishment that is racist, that is nationalistic,” Zimmerman explains. Jeremy Ben-Ami, the President of J Street, agrees. “They’re really, really angry about the way they were educated, and the way they were indoctrinated about these issues, and justifiably so.”

While such courageous individuals often receive quite a bit of hatred from their own community (Zimmerman says, “The word I used to hear a lot was ‘self-hating Jew.’ Like, the only way a Jewish person could possibly care about the humanity of Palestinians is if you hate yourself”), their numbers are growing, and one hopes that this will continue. Israelism was released a few months before the terrorist attacks of October 7th and Israel’s genocidal response, events which make the film timely and important.

Since October 7th, we have seen many of the tactics and talking points used to justify Israel’s crimes that the film depicts return with a vengeance. Chief among them is the by-now ubiquitous claim that calling out Israeli atrocities is somehow anti-Semitic.

Zimmerman is anguished that “so many of the purported leaders of our community have been trying to equate the idea of Palestinian rights itself with anti-Semitism.”

This applies to no one more than Abraham “Abe” Foxman, who until his recent retirement was the long-time head of the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), an organization masquerading as a civil rights group but which is really a pro-Israeli government outfit which has long sought to redefine anti-Semitism to include “criticisms of Israel.”

These efforts have borne fruit—“The Trump administration issued an executive order adopting” this definition of anti-Semitism “for the purposes of enforcing federal civil rights law,” Michelle Goldberg notes in The New York Times. Foxman says in the film that “it hurts me for a Jewish kid to stand up there and say ‘justice for the Palestinians,’ and not [say] ‘justice for Israelis’; it troubles me, hurts me, bothers me. It means we failed. We failed in educating, in explaining, et cetera.” Many Israel supporters seem to share Foxman’s horror that Jewish people sometimes care about the well-being of people other than themselves.

Israelism explores this deliberate conflation of anti-Semitism with anti-Zionism. Sarah Anne Minkin, of the Foundation for Middle East Peace, is deeply bothered that “The way we talk about anti-Semitism isn’t about protecting Jews, it’s about protecting Israel. How dangerous is that, at this moment with the rise of anti-Semitism?”

Indeed, the film contains footage of the infamous Unite the Right rally featuring hordes of white supremacists marching through Charlottesville, Virginia, with torches, screaming “Jews. Will not. Replace us!” over and over, as well as news footage of the aftermath of the Tree of Life Synagogue mass shooting.

One of the chief tasks of Israeli propagandists has been to conflate such acts with anti-Zionist sentiment. Genuine anti-Semitism of the Charlottesville variety is (obviously) a product of the far right—recall that President Donald Trump famously referred to “very fine people on both sides” of that incident, an unmistakable wink and nod to such fascist groups.

People who comprise such groups, the type who paint swastikas on Jewish homes, are not the same as peace activists marching to end the Israeli occupation. This should not be difficult to understand. But the Israel PR machine has done a marvelous job confusing otherwise intelligent people on this issue.

Also quoted in the film is Ted Cruz, who like Trump is a regular speaker at AIPAC events, and who like many Republicans pitches his political rhetoric to appeal to the very reactionaries who espouse genuinely anti-Semitic sentiments. This does not stop him from having the audacity to refer to criticisms of Israel as anti-Semitic, shamelessly insisting that “the left has a long history of anti-Semitism.”

The American right wing has been hard at work lately, trying to convince gullible people that the rise of actual anti-Semitic incidents is the result of critics of Israel. The New York Times’s Michelle Goldberg reports that “Chris Rufo, the right-wing activist who whipped up nationwide campaigns against critical race theory and diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives, told me he’s part of a group at the conservative Manhattan Institute workshopping new policy proposals targeting what it sees as campus antisemitism.”

Such efforts apparently convince many liberal-leaning people to agree with UConn Hillel’s Jacqui Schulefand, who as noted above believes that “Israel is Judaism and Judaism is Israel.”

If you believe this, it is understandable how you might come to see criticizing a government’s policies, or the political ideology (Zionism) undergirding them, as anti-Semitic. I do not often profess gratitude for President Biden (indeed, I am really hoping the “Genocide Joe” label sticks), but it was nice to see him publicly state that “You don’t have to be a Jew to be a Zionist. And I’m a Zionist.” This pronouncement clarifies something that the Israel Lobby likes to obscure—that Zionism is a political ideology, like “conservatism,” “socialism” or “libertarianism.”

As such, critiquing it is not racist or anti-Semitic, even if the criticism is inaccurate.

It is always important to consider the ways in which assumptions held uncritically can lead one astray, especially assumptions ingrained from a young age, before people possess the capacity to sufficiently question what they are being told. Israelism is a powerful, thought-provoking film that does this spectacularly. And it does so for a topic that does not get as much attention as it should. Discussions of Christian propaganda are fairly common (again, think of Jesus Camp, or even With God on Our Side), as are denunciations of the kind of Islamic fundamentalist propaganda that comes out of places like Saudi Arabia.

It is almost too easy to go after the Mormons or the Scientologists. But the indoctrination taking place in many Jewish schools gets comparatively little attention. I have written previously of my admiration for people, like Naomi Klein, who frankly discuss the troubling fact that Israeli PR defined much of their early schooling. It is important to have an entire film devoted to the subject. People might not like what they see, but they need to see it.

Israelism is streaming here until January 31st.

[gothhabiba]

hi! sorry to bother and if you've answered this before. of course, you dont have to answer this. you mentioned in one post that you were still learning Darija and also your posts on scolarship are very interesting. ive been trying for a while to learn my dad's language since i didn't grew up speaking it, but have always been interested in persian literature and the evolution of the language so this has been a difficulty for me. i was wondering if you have any tips on improving the way a language is learned, since you're amazing at explaining things and making even complicated subjects clear.

Thank you and have a nice weekend!

Thanks for the compliment!

I don't think that I have anything like my own original foolproof method for learning languages; this is the first language I've self-taught for which there aren't a lot of materials, and everyone learns differently. Here's what I've been doing & what I can broadly recommend when learning a language for which there isn't an enormous amount of teaching material:

Be specific about what it is that you want to do in the language. Chop this up into small sections. So, instead of "I want to learn [language]" (an enormous, vague, impossible task—even native speakers do not know 100% of their languages), think "I want to be able to understand recipes," or "go to the market or a restaurant," or "make small talk and general conversation," or "text friends and family," or "read literature," or "read theory" (and for those last two goals you might have a waypoint goal of "read storybooks" or "read materials intended for language-learners or children").

I began by learning the Arabic script (resources for this abound, and the abjads used for Persian and Darija only add a few characters), and I always write Darija in this script (even though most people write it in the Latin script) to get practice.

I also learned the standard phonology at this point. But the phonology for Persian and Darija are different and involve fewer consonants than Arabic, since some of them have merged, so you won't need to worry about the Standard or Classic pronunciaton of some of the letters. The Wikipedia page for Persian phonology should be a good resource; the IPA symbols for various sounds are noted, and they have explanations of how the sounds are produced and playback that you can listen to. Note that there are obviously regional variations in phonology, but this is a good start. This is a script with a pretty standard orthography, so at this point you can theoretically pronounce any word you read (with diacritics).

cut for length:

I took inspiration from how I had been taught French and divided information up into "units" (first greetings and introductions; then numbers and colours; then telling time; then time including days of the week and months of the year, words for "today" and "yesterday" &c.; the weather; family; then personal pronouns "I" "you" "me" &c. and the verb "to have" to begin forming simple sentences such as "I have three sisters" or whatever—you'd also want to learn "to be" at this point, but Darija doesn't often use it—then I decided that my first priority after very basic conversation was cooking, so I learned terms for food items and cooking verbs).

If you can find online resources or textbooks that will teach you things in units of this type, all the better (I got started on speakmoroccan.com). If you can't, try following an online course or textbook for learning another common language (such as French, German, Spanish, English) but substitute out the vocabulary terms by using a dictionary (for Darija I used tajinequiparle).

You may be able to find some materials (at least greetings, introductions, numbers and the like) on YouTube—I recommend using these even if you can find these same terms elsewhere, to get practice listening to the language.

I feel that I learn best from textbooks and by understanding the syntax and grammar of sentences in depth. However, the materials I've consulted for Darija (and there aren't too many materials in existence) tend to give lists of words but no grammar, or example sentences that are translated in full with no explanation. Even materials that do go into the grammar (such as the Lonely Planet phrasebook) are targeted at tourists and do so with an ethos of "good enough" that may fudge the details to make them more similar to French (which is the language the book is in). So I write down and compile example sentences that I come across (there's an English/Darija dataset already in existence to help with this kind of thing) and compare them to each other to determine which word means what, which affix might be the marker for past tense or infinitive or the object pronoun or whatever, and write down my guesses to test as I go. This may be more difficult without an education in linguistics, but probably not impossible.

I separate my studying into two phases, which I go back and forth between: creating study materials, and learning from those materials. Creating study materials means finding words and writing them down in my little book, figuring out grammar and writing out the rules, writing down example sentences, and making flashcards to learn vocabulary terms (with one or more example sentences on each one).

Studying from those materials involves running through the flashcards and coming up with new example sentences for each term (so I see the side of the flashcard with the English "banana" and come up with a sentence in Darija that's something like "they have eight yellow bananas"). You could also have flashcards separated by category (pronouns / numbers / verbs / nouns / adjectives) and pick a flashcard at random from a few categories (the selection "I" / "sixteen" / "want" / "new" / "oranges" prompts you to construct and speak the sentence "I want sixteen new oranges" in your target language); this is basically analogue duolingo.

As you go about your day, name objects and colours you see and talk to yourself about actions you undertake; try to 'translate' as many thoughts as you can into your target language.

You can also construct dialogues or short compositions at the end of each "unit" you finish. Write a dialogue between two friends greeting each other after not having seen each other for a while. Write a composition about your family members; explain how they're related to you, what they look like, &c. Look up any vocabulary that you notice you're missing.

Once you have a decent vocabulary base, you'll be able to start reading. If you can find writing that's intended for children or language learners, that's great! There may also be fora or message boards online devoted to conversation in your target language. If you can find a dictionary from the target language to a language you understand, this becomes a lot easier—unfortunately I haven't found one for Darija (the lack of a standardised orthography would probably make one difficult to make). Persian has a history of being written that Darija doesn't, so you may have more luck on this score than I did.

I have an "index" in the back of my little book with abbreviations for each of the sources that I get vocabulary from, and I use these abbreviations to take note of where I got sentences, phrases, and vocabulary terms from (whether dictionaries, textbooks, youtube, online courses, online fora, reddit, academic / linguistic articles, &c.). This is so that I can return to these sources and verify what I've written down, just in case; and also because different vocabulary terms are used in different regions, so it's a good idea to have a way to look up who uses which terms.

If I come across anything by serendipity (whether in an academic article about some sociological aspect of Darija, or in the dictionary I've been using, since there's no complete words list that I can find so serendipity is the only way to discover some of the words that are in it), I write it down then and there regardless of how useful I think it will be to me immediately. This is because I have no way of knowing whether I'll ever come across it again! I don't need to memorise it right away, but maybe I'll want to learn it later.

I don't think this will help you, but for some minority languages or dialects there may be a colonial language other than English in which materials for that language are easier to access (for example, I tend to search for Darija resources in French, not English).

[unpickled-olive]

brain is healing

I've always been depressed, but before grad school, I had interests. I was teaching myself woodworking, building things, drawing plans, and restoring rusty hand planes. I had bought my first ever digital microphone and was recording (bad) music. I was practicing the violin on a semi-regular basis.

I also had hyperfixations. I always loved the experience of being obsessed with something for a few weeks at a time, even if I felt empty when the feeling passed. Spending three weeks learning about homesteading, or being a travel therapist, or rollerskating, or learning Arabic.

Grad school wasn't a decision I made out of passion but out of necessity. After getting my Bachelor's in Linguistics (not a hireable degree but an extremely interesting one), I went as far I could with entry-level jobs before going broke and having a mental breakdown. So I decided that if I couldn't find a job I was passionate about, I would get one that where I could 1. decently support myself, 2. do something meaningful for others, and 3. have the freedom to pursue passions outside of work. My dream job became one where I worked 3.5 days a week.

The conclusion was to build upon my background in linguistics and go into healthcare via speech-language pathology.

But when grad school started, I noticed how quickly all of my passion evaporated. Over night, there was suddenly no more planning, drawing, violin-making.

From week 2 to week 100 of school, I didn't have any thoughts about it. I was emotionally drained and too busy to think about enjoying life. I felt like I'd sold my soul for a stable job and when summer and, winter breaks didn't allow me to do anything but sleep, I figured I would be like that forever.

The one creative thing I did that entire time was write a short little sci-fi story. While trying to read a research paper in the student lounge, I suddenly had an idea and deleted the notes I was taking. For three hours, I did nothing but sit there and type. But due to how inundated in academia I was, it was both super morbid (a story about how Earth is the only planet where life degrades and dies due to ageing) and super academic (it took the form of a research paper written by horrified alien observers). I was so in that world that the only thing I could write had an abstract, an intro, a methodology, a results section, and a discussion.

I'm currently 4 months free of grad school (I say like I'm in recovery), and I've noticed that passion and interest are slowly dripping back into my life. I've spent the last few days reading about Proto-Indo-Europeans, just for fun. I read a BOOK. I'm contemplating building an English joiner's bench. I'm even motivated enough to post something personal on a blog no one will ever read.

These days, learning feels like it takes more effort than it did before. I have this feeling that there isn't room in my brain for any more things, so I shouldn't get too excited. It feels like that, and like the inertia of not having exercised in so long. But I notice this feeling lessening with each month.

This is all to say: grad school couldn't kill my soul forever—it could only kill it for two and a half years.

[maryjanewagner]

Exams, Jobs, and Procrastinatory Contemplations about My Future

Yesterday’s comparative politics exam went fairly well, I think. I estimate I’ll get a B, though I know I missed some definitions and could have delved deeper into the essay portion. Anything lower would be disappointing, even though I studied effectively for only two or three days, I realized that with just a bit more effort I could have secured a perfect score.

This realization is both empowering and potentially dangerous. It reinforces my tendency to procrastinate throughout the semester. If I can perform well in exams (six this semester) without attending tutorials or lectures, where I often feel frustrated with peers or professors merely reciting slides, why bother showing up at all? The only events that seem worthwhile are seminars led by professors or researchers, where attendance dwindles, offering a chance for productive and interesting exchanges, contrary to sitting in lecture halls with 300 or more people.

But I do acknowledge the downsides of this approach, the most significant being the lack of social interaction and potential friendships. Next semester, I plan to attend more events, even if it doesn’t significantly impact my performance. Perhaps it's time I learn to be disciplined and follow the conventional path. Successful students attend all classes, even when unnecessary. Maybe I should take inspiration from them.

Anyway, writing this is another form of procrastination from studying for my Public International Law exam tomorrow. I’m not even halfway through the material, having started only today! But I needed to capture these thoughts before diving back into study mode.

Today, I signed a contract for a job at the café in the arthouse cinema. I’ll be working 15 hours a week, which seems substantial, but I need to finance myself completely from October when my student loans stop. Speaking of loans, I owe 20k Euros. In Germany, debt is uncommon, and I feel a mix of shame and anxiety, especially since my academic progress has been slow. I changed my course to politics and law in 2022, aiming to finish my bachelor’s by 2026. Alongside, I’m pursuing certificates in International Law, Islamic Cultures, and Islamic Law, hoping to also enhance my skills in Persian, French, Italian, and Arabic.

Considering this, I turned down a job offer from the student union for a position in the center for cultural and international matters. Though it sounded appealing, I realized it involved mundane tasks and uninspiring colleagues. Conversely, the café job offers daily interaction, free coffee, and free arthouse movies. Plus, the flexible hours fit my schedule better.

I hope to excel during my probationary period at the café, especially since I was unexpectedly fired from a previous job a month ago. I believe in my abilities as a waitress and will strive to be friendly and competent. On a positive note, I’ve been invited to the summer festivities at the cinema and café next Monday. Looking forward to it!

[justxrandomxlivia]

We won't let you fall again!

Masterlist

Summary: Your day started with oversleeping and ended with an Iraqi lieutenant and an American lieutenant holding your hands? Who would have thought that falling into an ancient temple you've been searching for months would change your entire life?

Warning Sign: Mention of weapons. That's all. No monsters in this story, just an ancient temple and two countries that hate each other.

Word count: 3910 o.O

AN: JASON AND SALIM! Two men I couldn't decide between. I know I'm not the only one, so here you get two wholesome men. I'm struggling with the idea to continue the story in a second chapter, or writing just a little more extended, more romantic/smut ending. I will see if you guys want me to or not ;)

“Ah it’s going to be colder today. Finally.” Mumbling with a sleepy voice, I rolled over in my bed. It’s not comfortable, but It’ll do. Slowly rising from my deep slumber, I realised that the sun was quite high already. “What time it is?!!” I yelled and jumped off the bed, checking my phone. “2 pm? You must be kidding. Why did nobody wake me?” I ran over to my stuff and got dressed quickly, then I left the bedroom. Meeting the owners of the house. “Good morning.” I said while hustling to get my shoes on. The oldest man laughed: “No morning. After noon.” I looked him, he pointed to the table, where was some coffee and bread on a plate. Letting my shoulders drop, I smiled at him. They are all so overly kind, if I would just be better in learning their language. I sighed and took my one shoe off again, then I sat down and thanked him. We are supposed to pay them 20$ the week. But my team and I decided to pay them 50$ per week each. What Is a lot of money for them. And for their kids. It’s never a bad thing to give more. After I was done with my little breakfast, I suddenly heard helicopters. Two I would say. I know the risks, Iraq and the USA are still on a warpath, but this area here should be fine. It’s quite isolated. There is a small town in the near, with some market for local farmers. Nothing to get for the US.

I got my plate cleaned and got back to the main door, taking my shoes on, grabbing my bag and left the house, just to found myself surrounded by soldiers. They were pointing machine guns at me and yelled at me. The helicopters were right above me, then flying into the distance a little bit. My legs got shaky, and I couldn’t say anything, I got on the ground and one man tied my arms, then he led me back into the house. He pushed me down next to few of the house owners. A couple of minutes passed before a woman, wearing sunglasses entered the room, behind her was a man: “Everything clear, ma’am. No violence needed either.” He’s American. From the south I would even say Deep, long, slow words, with an immense rolled sound, must be the south.

The woman kneeled next to the shepherds and talked to them one by one, in Arabic. They answered her one by one, and her face grew more and more annoyed. She then kneeled in front of me: “What about her? Doesn’t look Iraqi to me.” She said and the man briefed her: “She was about to leave the house, hat a bag with many notebooks and various archaeologic books. All English.” She nodded at his words and spoke. “Then I’m sure you understand me girl?” I shook my head and raised an eyebrow: “It’s called racism. Saying somebody doesn’t look like a certain nationality. Girl.” I huffed at her. Her eyes grew big and the man behind her, tried clearly not to laugh. She then looks at the man behind her, “You said books in her bag. A passport too?” he only shook his head in response. “My passport is in my pocket.” I told her and she stood up. “Check her lieutenant.” She told the man, and he put his gun aside, walking to me.

He then pulled me up and patted me down. As he found my passport he chuckled, “British.” He gave the passport to the women. “What’s your business with the house owners?” She asked. I looked her dead in the eyes. “I’m an archaeologist. My team and I stay here, because the location where we work is only couple of miles from here.” She sighed at my response. “This is a waste, those are just shepherds, the activity he was seen, must have been you then. What was Eric thinking. Untie her lieutenant. Sergeant, untie the shepherds.” She said waving at another man and left the room. - “Thanks.” I said as the man untied me.

“So, your name is y/n? That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” The lieutenant said as he walked me to the main door. “First, thanks, but second, I’m not a girl, I’m a 29 years old women.” – “Guess I messed up already. No date then?” he stopped and looked back at me. I giggled at him. “Well maybe, mister military, you can come visit me sometimes when I’m back home. But it’s quite a long way from the USA to London.” I gave him a light nudge at the shoulder, without a warning he came two or even three steps closer, looking into my eyes. “To visit a beautiful woman like you, there is no way to far.” He whispered at me. With that he opened the door and signed me to go through. I stepped outside and searched for a little card in my bag. “Here, Lieutenant. Call me.” I offered him a business card, with a big smile, he took it. “University of Oxford. My luck, by the way, It’s Jason. Have a nice day ma’am.” He said waving me off. I waved back and walked to my car.

As I just turned away from Jason, shots fired. “Fuck!” I yelled and jumped in cover of my car. Then all I could realise, was chaos. Shots, bombs, crashing helicopters, yelling and screaming people. I tried to get around the car to hide near the old stable buildings, when suddenly the floor collapsed. “y/n!” Jason yelled from my left as I looked at him, I felt how everything underneath is breaking apart. “NO!” I tried to jump away, but almost lost balance, when a strong hand gabbed my arm and pulled me back up. A man with an Iraq uniform pulled me up “Go this way!” he pointed to the mountains, I didn’t care who he was, he saved me and I started running again, just then. I fell again. And this time for good. Everything turned black.

As I opened my eyes, I felt a sharp pain in my whole body. I looked around and realised right away where I was. “Holy shit. Found it!” I jumped up, just to regret it right away, as my body felt like broken. Stretching and checking for any wounds, I was shocked how lucky I got. A few scratches and bruises. But nothing serious. Then I took my bag and checked for my camera. Still working, great. I took photos of the immense pillars, old statues and Jason. Wait, Jason? “JASON!?” I yelled. – “Y/n! Are you alright?” out of nowhere, Jason appeared and came right away to me. He checked me left, right, up and down. I tried to calm him down, but he seemed nervous. “Jason, I’m fine, really.” – “No, maybe you have some injuries we don’t see right away.” – “Jason, I’m serious!” I yelled at him and pulled him by the shoulders. “I’m just a little cold. But it’s alright.” I tried my best to convince him that I was fine. He let out a deep sigh, and eventually calmed down. “I don’t have anything to warm you up. I could hug you, but that wouldn’t last long.” He smiled at me concerned, but I nudged him at the shoulder, “Yeah yeah, you just want some physical contact. Let’s check if somebody needs help.” He nodded at me and followed me through the darkness.

After quite some time striving through the darkness and me taking pictures from almost everything. We heard a male voice from behind “Put that gun down and turn slowly around.” I didn’t hesitate and lifted my arms up and turned around. “It’s you!” I said, looking at the Iraq soldier who saved me the first time I was falling. He smiled relieved at me, and I took my arms down again “You saved me, thank you.” I said, but then I realised Jason had turned around, but he had his gun aimed tight. “Don’t do anything stupid, boy.” The man said to Jason. “I can say the same to you, old man.” Jason hissed back. I took a deep breath and moved slowly between the two guns. “No one is shooting anyone, if I am here. Please.” My words were trembling. Not sure if I would make it out alive of here. The Iraq soldier lowered his gun and put it back into the holster. “I don’t want to spill anymore blood.” He spoke slowly, approaching me carefully, “You look like you are cold.” He said and took his jacket off.

“Don’t you fucking go any step closer to her. Y/n, get behind me, now!” Jason yelled, slowly approaching me as well, just that he had his damn gun still aimed. “Jason, stop it.” I said, placing my hand on top of his gun, slowly pushing it down. “I trust him. He saved me, not even knowing who I am.” – “I don’t.” Jason cut me off. The man lifted his arms, in one hand holding his jacket. “I know who you are. Your name is y/n l/n. You are an archaeologist. My son, Zain, has been running around your research area, every day for the last two weeks. He talked about you a lot.” He spoke slowly handing his jacket over to me. I took it. “Thank you” I spoke quiet. “Yeah, I know Zain. He’s a smart boy. Wants me to take him back to England.” I giggled at him. “It’s his birthday today. My name is Salim.” He smiled at me. I can’t let Jason harm him. Technically seen, I know Salim. What am I supposed to tell his son. Sorry, your dad died, because he tried to give me his jacket. I shook my head, throwing the jacket over my shoulders, I looked at Jason once more. “Come on. He’s not the enemy.” Jason only looked at Salim, with distrust. Then Salim spoke to Jason, directly. “You want to get out of here, so do I. We must work together. Not shoot each other.”

Jason finally took the gun down. “I’ll keep an eye on you.” He said, pointing at Salim. I nudged Jason slightly against the shoulder. He will have bruise by the end of the day. Then we continued the way to find others. What felt like hours, were actually only a couple of minutes, but the fact that these two were arguing the whole time about military, racism, politics, terrorists and other stuff like lieutenant ranks, was killing every last nerve of me. As walked some ancient stairs up, I heard voices arguing. I pressed each of the two man a finger on the mouth, so they would finally shut up. Then pointed to the big door at the end of the stairs. Salim and Jason both, walked past me with aimed guns. I stayed behind and waited for a sign. It took too long for my taste, so I entered the room quietly and stood next to Salim. In the big room where machine guns, tables, radios, papers and more. It was the heart of this temple. An old archaeologist station. Just as I wanted to check the papers, Salim pulled me back. I looked at him and he looked at me, then around the room. As I followed his view, it was clear the situation was tense. Iraqi soldiers and Americans were with aimed guns standing against each other. Just Salim and Jason didn’t pick a side. “It’s a damn order Kolchek!” A blonde man yelled. “I don’t take orders 200 ft below the surface.” Was Jasons answer. What badass.

“Ehm, excuse me.” I spoke and walked a few steps in front of Jason and Salim. Both men grabbed me by my arms and wanted to pull me back. “I got this, don’t worry.” I spoke, they hesitated but let me go. I took around 3 steps more and spoke softly. “My name is y/n l/n. I’m an archaeologist. And a professor at the University of Oxford. I don’t have anything to do with both of your countries, and honestly not much knowledge about the current issues between you. But technically seen, you are on my research territory. I would really not like to call the local police, or clean your blood from ancient coins, so if you’d be so kind and do not fire a single bullet on MY ground. Would be so wonderful. Thank you.” I looked back and while Jason smiled amused, Salim was shaking his head. I ignored all military personal and made my way to the tables. 10 years of drama class is finally paying out, they have no idea I was terrified to the bones. One by one soldier eventually took their guns down and they made a hand sealed deal, to not shoot a bullet on or near my research territory.

It worked. Good job. As I checked the first papers, I realised, this is like heaven. I took more photos from everything. This time, again from Jason, but also from Salim. Both smiled at the camera. “Come on y/n. We have to get out of here for now.” Jason spoke as he followed the others. “What about all this then? This is the only reason I am in this country at all.” I asked frustrated. Jason chuckled, “You’ll come back. But now we need to go. It’s not safe.” I let out a sigh and started following them, as the most people left the sight, Salim, Jason and I were the last. They talked different this time, more like allies.

As we made it closer to the surface, I could see the sun finally again. It was warmer here than down back there. Different helicopters were heard, people yelling, dogs barking. They must be searching already. Ropes hang down and flashlights were blinding us. I tried to cover my eyes, what was not a good idea, so close next to an underground cliff. With a crack, the ground beneath me broke and I all felt was the heavy forces of gravity. “Y/n!” was the last thing I heard before the heavy impact on a sand pile.

First my back, then my face, then both hands and at last the back again. “Ouch, Fuck!” I cursed with an echo. As I opened my eyes, pain everywhere. Looking around and above, it was almost pitch black. I gave my bag to Jason earlier, so luckily my camera didn’t come down with me. But also, my flashlight was not with me. Slowly I tried to get used to the darkness and to see anything. I touched along the cliff where I have fallen from. I heard echoes, but it was inaudible, what means I’m either deaf or I’m very deep. Following the cliff to the right, it ended in water. With wet shoes, I turned around and walked to the left. My hands along the ice-cold stone, they slowly froze. Luckily, I have Salim’s jacket, my arms would be more bruised. I continued walking along the cliff as I felt that the ground got higher. I might could climb out of here. If the others think I’m dead? Trying to shake that thought away, I pushed myself the higher grounds up and felt how the light slowly came back to me. It seems my eyes were partially blind due to the fall. So, I might have not fallen that deep.

It feels like hours as I finally reached an open area where lights came from ahead. Still far away. To my bad, I started freezing again. This time, it felt more like I was freezing because I was alone. I sat down to the cold ground. “Why does every time go everything wrong. And why does nobody care for me.” I muffled beneath my breath and closed my eyes. “You really thought we wouldn’t care?” A southern accent ripped me out of my thoughts, I opened my eyes and saw Jason above me. “She’s here!” He yelled across the area; it echoed in the entire cave. Jason smiled at me and began stroking my face. Then Salim came from behind him. His face was a mess, a mix of horror, fear, worries, but happiness. “What are you doing here?” I whispered, not believing if I might hallucinate. Salim looked confused and Jason chuckled, then said: “What do you mean? We- ” Salim interrupted him: “We came for you.” At his words, my eyes started tearing up, but my mind was a mess of emotions, incapable to say anything.

Jason helped me up, then he lifted me on Salim’s back. “I’ll be behind you, so you can’t fall off.” Jason spoke softly, rubbing my back. Salim turned his head a little, “We won’t let you fall ever again. I promise.” He whispered to me. As they started climbing towards the surface I started to cry silently. How do I deserve them. My life was all the opposite of support, care and understanding. But these two give me the feeling I’m worthy to be alive. As if they really care. I just met them hours ago, but I have the unbelievable urge, to never let go of them. I wanted to thank them, but no word left my mouth. “We’ll be taking you to a hospital.” Jason said from behind us. I shook my head heavy. “No… They’ll maybe… send me home.” It was so exhausted. Salim spoke a little louder now, “But you need to rest Habibti. No arguing.” – “What you said?” I heard that word before, what I wasn’t sure what it meant. Salim chuckled, “It means ‘my love’.” He called me his love? Was he thinking the same about me as I was thinking about him? Or is this standard kindness in Iraq. Anyway, he was right. I feel more and more like I’m fainting; my body hurts bad. But I know I didn’t break any bones. 

After a while, we finally reached the exit to the surface. Salim let me down slowly, Jason helped, so I won’t fall. “I’m alright. You can stop pretending that every bone of mine is broken.” My voice was angry. I was a little frustrated, they acted as if I have been a small child. Jason took my chin in one hand and whispered. “We will not let go of you anymore, next time you fall, you might break your neck.” He was right, but still. A little less overprotection please. “Let’s get her out of here.” Salim tied a climbing rope around me, from above two people were standing. “Pull her up guys.” Jason yelled above. Then Jason and Salim started climbing themselves. “You know, I grew up in caves, temples, pyramids and castles. I know how to climb.” I crossed my hands in front of my chest and puffed my checks in protest, as they pulled me up slowly. “Y/n stop arguing. You have fallen very deep, you might pass out, let go of the rope and fall again.” Salim spoke concerned. “I promise you, once we made sure you are on solid ground and doctors gives their ok. You are free to do whatever you like.” He said, Jason cut him off. “Except going down here again. First this must secure. I guess the local police will do that?” I nodded at him. “Yes, they usually do. First, I just want to take a shower and then sleep.” Both men laughed and agreed.

Reaching the surface, the sun almost blinded me, then my heart stopped beating. The shepherd’s hut was in bad condition. Parts have fallen into the ground; few smaller buildings were destroyed from bombs and bullets. “The poor people. Their homes. This must have been the worst day of their life.” I sighed and sat on the ground to take in the information, my eyes gave me. Jason stood beside me and laid his hand on my head. “Sorry about that. We will find you another place to stay.” – “No.” I said, “I will of course stay here and help them where I can, just as my team will do, probably.” Then Salim kneeled next to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “For now, the police have to secure the area.” He spoke softly. “You should come with me. To rest.” His warm smile was so beautiful. I look him in the eyes, ready to speak as Jason’s huffed so loud, few people around us were suddenly looking at him. I looked at him worried and saw how he frowned. “To your place? Yeah, sure.” He shook his head and turned to leave. Salim stood up, “I hoped you’d come with us as well, or maybe join us later, when you get a free from your duty.” As Salim spoke, Jason stopped.

“As if you would want me there. You want to have y/n all for yourself. I’m not blind!” he spoke loud and angry. But also, sad. He didn’t even turn around to face us directly. I got up from the ground and wanted to walk to him, but Salim stopped me. “And I am not blind either. I see how much you care. Just as I do. And I know, you and I care for each other, just as we did, when we worked together to get her back.” Salim was so calm, I doubt I could ever be mad at him, and it seems Jason thought the same. He turned around, his face eventually softer. But before he could speak, I took Salim’s hand and reached out for Jason as well. “How about that date we talked earlier, Marine. I think I owe you two some nice dinner? For getting me out there.” Jason smiled at my offer and took my hand. “Alright, alright, you got me all wrapped around your finger. So, where’s your place? I think I can’t join right away, but I’ll be there for dinner then.” His voice was finally as it was when we met earlier. Not that tense, not worried, just Jason. Salim chuckled and wrote a little note for Jason. He hugged me tight, before he had to return to his team.

Salim and I started walking to my car. “What a miracle that piece of junk didn’t went diving.” I said honestly surprised. Salim and I laughed at my really bad joke and got in the car. He drove, first to my research place, to inform the others about what happened. “They won’t believe it.” I sighed. “Not until they come back to the hut and see with their own eyes.” Salim said and gave me an assuring pat on my shoulder. I nodded, “Yeah, and I can’t wait to put my legs up, everything is sore.” I sighed again. He chuckled and brushed over my arm, “first, you need to take a shower. I will not let you get in my bed or couch that dirty.” I laughed and took his hand in mine. Holding hands, we made our way. I can’t wait to see Jason again. How can you fall for two people. I guess it’s because I have a very big heart. Maybe? Polyamorous it’s called. I’m not sure what future will hold, but I’m thankful for the moments I will have with the two. Every single second.

So what do you think? Second chapter? Or should i just extend the ending a bit? Or is it fine that way? Please let me know ^^

-Livana

[mavrla]

I graduated three years ago from my master’s program. I finished with a straight-A average, got the best grade on the scale from my thesis, and got picked to a research group for a multidisciplinary project from a bunch of qualified candidates. I was told by my supervisor and by the person who graded my thesis that I should continue my studies on PhD level. I wanted to continue my studies on PhD level. So what did I do when I arrived back from Rome?

Started teaching in middle school. 

The reasons were (mostly) financial: COVID shut me the opportunity to return to my old place of work, and I got offered a teaching position after sending applications to practically anywhere I could imagine working. The idea of having a job that I had an education for was alluring, too, even though I never really wanted to teach for a long term.

I have now taught in middle school for 2,5 years. I don’t particularly like the job - I like to teach, yes, and both religion and history are lovely subjects with many opportunities - as the everyday demands with cramped classrooms, students who need more individual support that it is possible for one person to offer (while still teaching all the other kids in the classroom), and the angry parents are quite a lot to deal with. They also create the kind of challenges I don’t particularly want to solve, nor have the resources to solve. On a personal level, I don’t feel like I’m moving forward or learning to be a better teacher, and so, with all this cynicism that is just increasing every day, the entire purpose of my job is to survive for a day, a week, a month, until the next vacay. Which I need to use to gather my strength and rest. The sheer noise of school/classroom makes me want to go directly to sleep after each workday. 

In short, I’m working in a job that could be interesting, but isn’t that for me. I need to find an out before I get even more burnt out than I already am.

The obvious choice, the dream choice, would be going back to the academia. But, as we all know, it isn’t that easy. PhD applications are a challenging project, where you need to stand out as both an excellent scholar and a person that is agreeable enough to work with. And trying to stand out as a middle school teacher who just *wants* to return to academia because she can’t tolerate the idea of staying in the classroom for any more time is... difficult.

I always feel like I’m not enough to apply anywhere. I might have a curious mind, but my imagination is lacking and it has always been very difficult to me to find a fresh angle to any given topic - which, to me, sounds like an essential skill to a PhD student. My English is better than it has been, but I’m still not anywhere near native speaker level, and I have little other language skills to compensate for that. I read French, Italian, and German all to some degree, but I’m not capable of writing or conversing in them. As a historian, my knowledge of ancient languages is lacking, too. My Latin isn’t as good as it should be. My Greek is barely there, as are my Hebrew and Arabic. I know I can study more, I know I *have to* study more, but still, the feeling of being just too incapable of doing anything with these skills lingers.  

I know I can write. The problem is I hate writing. After graduating, I have participated in two different article collections, and it's been an honor, but I still enjoy reading other people’s thoughts far more than I enjoy vocalizing my own. So, this has lead me to think that perhaps I don’t want a PhD, perhaps I just miss the academia - getting to read and converse and enjoy being surrounded by curious people who love the same sticks and stones I do? Maybe academia in itself is my happy place, but taking the next step there isn’t for me? 

So maybe I should leave my job and apply for another master’s. I could do history, as I already have a strong background there, or Islamic studies, psychology or philosophy, as I used to minor in those. I could expand my expertise and study something like gender/intersectionality studies. Or I could just try to apply to some prestigious school and see if the grass is greener in there, if that would make me feel like I was able to conduct original research sometime in the future.

At the same time, I feel like doing a new master’s would not only be a financial suicide but also taking a step back - a step I have already taken and completed relatively successfully. I have ideas that I love, I have willingness to pursue these ideas and see where they would take me, but taking the next step and trying to sell these ideas feels so terrifying that it’s debilitating. I have spent so many days lying in my bed reading fanfiction when I could have sent emails to some professors I know could help me (or ignore me, which probably is the more realistic worst case scenario in comparison to the imaginary derision and laughter I’m expecting in my head).

I feel so tired and confused and alone with all these thoughts and dreams and hopes and fears. Some days, they just hurt me more than they usually do, and today is just one of those days.

[fateheartblog]

HC: Sapphire Incense and Love Languages

A Zachary/Dorian one-shot piece, from a few years after the end of Fateheart

Some time in the early years of the new Harbour, the Fateheart-Rawlins are sat in a café in India, drinking local wine and not focusing very hard on the task at hand, which is for Dorian to teach Zachary Arabic. This series of dates is less about learning languages, at which Zachary is naturally, effortlessly terrible, and more an excuse for Zachary to listen to Dorian speaking to him in a tongue he does not get to hear at home in the Harbour, where all is translated automatically.

Dorian smiles at a word as he passes it to Zachary, getting him to repeat it, amused at the sound of it in this context. At his husband's inquiring look Dorian expresses that this is an Arabic term of endearment which he uses often with him - but Zachary, who usually cannot see his lips in the particular moments when he whispers it, has had no reason to notice before that Dorian is not saying it in English.

This leads to Dorian confessing that most of what he says in the bedroom is Arabic - not only because it is his oldest tongue and therefore his most natural avenue of expression for profound feeling, but because the language itself is uniquely rich with its lexicon of love poetry, its potency of imagery and sound and tenderness. This revelation makes Zachary almost irrationally upset, which takes Dorian by surprise, reaching for his husband's hand across the table, startled by the ferocity of his reaction.

Zachary demands to know what else he is missing - how much of the experience of Dorian's voice he is being cheated of by the muting overreach of the Harbour's translation powers. Dorian is astonished, as he flicks through many of the things he has murmured against Zachary's skin, to find that Zachary is crying.

"What do you mean? You're speaking to me in Arabic and I don't get to hear it? You're telling me you love me but I'm getting it second-hand? This isn't - I'm not blaming you - I'm not - well, I think I am angry, actually, but not at you - I'm angry at what I'm missing. I want - I can't believe this. You've been speaking to me but your voice is being obfuscated. You're telling me I don't get to hear the way you love me - the way you truly, most authentically love me - the way you - god, Dorian, I LOVE the way you talk to me. I love the things you say to me. It's almost as important to me as the way you touch me. You know this. You know how much I love your voice. I can't believe my own husband's voice has been hidden from me. I feel like I've - sorry, I'm sorry - I feel cheated. I don't want the watered down version of this. Ever. I want YOU. I want to hear you. I want to hear what you actually say to me. In the words you actually use to say it. I don't care if I don't understand it. You think there is anything you could say to me that I wouldn't understand? In any language? I want you and I cannot believe that all the moments I've been closest to you I've actually been a step further away than I thought. God, okay, we're fixing this, Dorian. I'm not having this."

These years of their lives are late enough into Dorian's work routing out the remaining Cats that it is safe for them above the world, so at Zachary's demand these café afternoons turn into bar and restaurant evenings, which turn into hotel room nights, which turn into balcony dawns and river-bank mornings, basking in the starlight of a world which draws no veils between the stories one tells and the words used to tell them.

These nights away from home are a fresh delight, but they are also a compromise. The two of them long to bring this newest intimacy of language home with them. After a month Zachary thinks to ask the kitchen if there is a way to lift the translation in their apartment - even just in the bedroom - even just for an hour - even just once. And at his scrawled, heartfelt, handwritten note, the kitchen sends back a lighter and a long, thin box filled with many, many sticks of incense. The coating of the sticks is a rich sapphire blue and the box itself has a navy velvet lid and a gold base.

Zachary takes a stick and lights it, snapping shut the ornately wrought lighter and placing it next to the burner on the dresser. The scent is spiced and vibrant, eucalyptus and nutmeg and woodsmoke, like cloves and saffron and bergamot, resin and winter and oak. The silver smoke thickens the comfortable darkness behind the low lights of their bedroom. He steps back to his husband, breathing deeply.

They wait for a moment. Dorian takes his hands, watching his husband's eyes follow the twisting grey into the shadows. He opens his mouth, tasting the scent in the back of his throat, potent but comfortable, familiar and rich. He calls Zachary's attention back to him by asking a question in a language which now, in this new air the Harbour has gifted them, remains for both of them in its original language.

Zachary looks up at him, his face falling into a delighted smile. As he kisses him, tasting the words which he is now getting to hear as they were originally nurtured for him, a tiny part of his brain wonders if this might finally be the incentive he needs to actually learn some Arabic. Not that it matters. He has known and loved these words already, and is drowning once more in the voice that speaks them.

-

by BoogleBoot

Read Fateheart here if you haven't already

[kick-a-long]

It’s vital to not conflate Jews with the current Israel government nor Hamas with Palestinians. These are four distinct groups who should be treated differently depending upon organized action and opinion. They also have very different historical perspectives and values.

Hamas is funded and directed by Iran and billionaires in Qatar. They see Gaza’s civilian population as soldiers, wombs for soldiers, and human shields called martyrs. There’s very few Gaza residents that can exist without supporting Hamas. They have no economic opportunity or education outside becoming a militant or letting Hamas make their schools, hospitals, businesses, any civilian structures into arms depots or military installations.

The Israelis had been protesting Bibis government for graft and trying to eliminate checks on power for months before October. They, on the whole, want to live a two state system where Palestine has a government system that provides for them and live in peace without constant rocket attacks and terrorism. This may have changed since a huge percentage of their population (especially peace advocates were targeted by Hamas and left out to hang by Bibi in October)

Hamas has fucked any chance of there being any kind of peace between Israel and the Middle East. It has destabilized the WORLD, not just the entire region. Russia may also be involved since they want eyes off of Ukraine in my opinion (aka I can’t prove it.)

Zionism is just saying that based on the current and historical facts, most countries can suddenly and violently start killing Jews. There should be a Jewish state where Jews can escape persecution. That place is Israel because it’s provably indigenously Jewish (this isn’t to say Palestinians are not indigenous. Palestinians are indigenous to the land also but many even outside Hamas are vocal about wanting Jews to die) Israel has history, dna connections, cultural artifacts, first hand accounts in the Torah as well as first hand historical accounts from all over the ancient world in all different languages that Jews originated there.

Zionism has a lot of meanings. Anti Zionistist was how neonazis spread antisemitism after and before WW2. It’s a neonazi dog whistle. There are probably some people that don’t use it like that but the vast majority use it to call for violence against Jews. Even if they have no ties to Israel and have never even thought about it before.

Hamas are headed and funded by non Palestinian Muslim theocrats that also hate and kill other sects of Muslims, Muslim women, Jews who have had to flee to Israel and anyone who is not a “Muslim” as the most radical and violent fundamentalists describe it. Many Iranian expatriates will tell you how cruel these states are to Muslims. These countries do not let Muslims practice as they choose. They don’t want Jews to exist at all. They consider Christians targets as well. These are not Muslims or people of faith. They use faith for control and suppression of anyone anywhere in the world.

Antisemites online and at protests will lie and deceive to steer the conversation away from helping people into hatred of Jews. They don’t like Arabs, they want anyone who isn’t white to die or be expelled. They say anti Zionist so they can cloak, “all Jews are greedy and control the media and the world governments” into “Zionists are preventing media from covering the facts” or “Zionists control how Biden responds to Israel” or “Zionists are Nazis, didn’t they learn anything from the holocaust?” Which quickly Becomes “hitler and osama bin Laden was right to kill (((Zionists))) who control Washington and New York!”

you've reblogged some posts about how people hide their antisemitism in antizionism. I'm trying to educate myself further, could you please explain how?

It's great that you are reaching out to educate yourself further.

Zionism as an ideology just means that the State of Israel should exist in one form or another in Southern Levant.

Zionism is not an inherently violent ideology. Just like with any ideology, there are those who are violent and those who aren't. Not all zionists are jews and not all jews are zionists.

Zionism also doesn't mean that Palestine can't exist. Palestine isn't even mentioned in the base ideology of Zionism. You can have zionists who believe in Palestine not existing, however that is not zionism. That is an added on opinion to zionism, like a side to a main meal if we are to use a metaphor.

If you believe in a two state solution, you are a zionist as you believe that the state of Israel should exist.

Some people hide their antisemitism behind antizionism. People who do that usually wouldn't have the opinion that they do about Israel for other countries. Whilst not all Israeli citizens are jews, Israel is mostly comprised of jews. The fact that a person is having a certain opinion only about a jew majority country and not any other country is cause for concern. What about that country is different to other countries? The answer is a majority Jewish population.

An example of anti a country when it's really about hating jews, which does not involve Israel is South Africa's immigration policy in the 1930's. SA limited the amount of immigrants from countries with a high Jewish population but did have any limits for low Jewish population countries. On the Wikipedia page about that, it is called antisemitism and I think most people can agree that it is antisemitism as the only reason why those high Jewish population countries are limited is because if their high Jewish population.

So as you can see, before Israel's existence in the modern world, jews have faced antisemitism hid as being against a country.

If the amount of jews a country has is the only difference as to why they are getting special treatment negatively vs other countries, that is antisemitic.

Genuine critiques of the Israeli government is valid and is not antisemitism. Critiques of the Israeli government which you wouldn't have about any other government is antisemitic.

A lot of people will call unvalid critiques antizionism even though it counts as antisemitism.

The best way to know if someone is hiding their antisemitism as antizionism is to go "does this person hold the state of Israel to different standards than other countries" if the answer is yes, then you are seeing antisemitism.

Another form of antisemitism being held as antizionism is if someone views all zionists as being violent and anti Palestine. As I touched on earlier, zionism is not inherently either of those two things. Yes some people can be both of those thing, a zionist and violent/is anti Palestine, however zionism is inherently neither of those things.

If you believe that a state of Israel can't exist without Palestine being destroyed, why? Because it's never been successful as peace? Communism has never been successfully implemented yet a lot of antizionists believe in Communism and don't think doing so is wrong or harmful. Israel has never broken a ceasefire before. So its not like there hasn't been attempts for Israel to exist alongside Palestine from Israel.

If someone believes that all zionists are violent and hate Israel, it also poses the question of why someone believes that an ideology born by jews is inherently violent?

Now getting into my personal opinion to take this as you will.

Antizionism is impossible to implement without harming jews. If you got rid of the state of Israel, what happens to the jew who lived in Israel?

Jews are not allowed to immigrate to Gaza by Hamas. Hamas wants to kill all jews. Do you really think that will stop once Israel no longer exists? What's the other alternative? Forcing all jews to immigrate to other countries? How well do you think that is going to go when over 6 million people need to move to other countries. Think about refugee crises. Those have not been handled well. Do you think that potential crisis of having to rehome 6 million jews will be handled with ease? Wanting either of that is antisemitic not antizionism.

A one state solution for either country will not work and therefore a two state solution needs to be put in place which Israel has wanted since its existence in the modern day.

[rotzaprachim]

.

[intuitive-bbloom]

🎃👻What lies in your subconscious that you need to heal. Shadow work.👻🎃

Hello my lovelies, how are you doing today. I decided to make this pac for the spooky month of October November 👻 What is deep within you that is negative and brings this hurt? The unknown. The fear, sadness, anger? You don’t know? Okay let me give you the breakdown before we hop into this.

Shadow self.

You’ve probably heard about it or not, but what is the shadow self? You must be thinking. The shadow self according to me is the part of yourself you’re not aware of or you might be aware of it but choose to ignore it, the dark part of yourself that you don’t like that manifests itself in your character and interactions with people. To me, it usually reveals itself when you’ve hit a certain low vibration but most times you can notice it in your day to day life. That sadness, anger, greed, self sabotaging nature that is all within us is the shadow self.

However, this is something you can’t destroy. It is energy hahaha and energy can neither be created nor destroyed but can be converted from one form to another. That’s the first law of thermodynamics and it’s cool to see it can be applied here, take it as the balanced symbol of Yin and Yang, day and night. The two are different but can not exist without each other, without night there is no day, and in the Yin and Yang symbol there is a little of both in each other, they are independent but still intertwined in each other. But here is one thing, there is balance, Yin doesn’t overshadow Yang and vice versa, there is equality and that is the way life should be.

The same applies to you, a person. You should embrace your shadow self but not let it overtake your identity and lose balance. Now let’s get into the pac now you know what your shadow self is. It’s time for Shadow work.

But before you start asking, “What is shadow work?” Lemme give you a watered down version of what it is.

Shadow work is the step by step process of embracing yourself, flaws and all and making improvements to better yourself.

⚠️Know this, shadow work is not an easy thing to do but it will pay off in the end, it can take weeks, months, years and even a lifetime but you know what, in the end it’ll be worth it.⚠️

Okay enough explaining! Let’s get into the piles shall we! ☺️😂😂

How to pick?

I recommend taking in deep breaths and bringing yourself to a calm state before choosing the image you’re most drawn to, you can visualize a line in your mind while repeating which one should you pick and when you feel connected, choose the one you want to read. You can choose more than 1 pile. 🧡

Disclaimer

These images aren’t for me, I got them from Pinterest, I don’t own any of them.

Pile 1

1010

Uranus

February

222

Family

Latin

Ram

2nd house

Taurus

Luxury

Gladiolus

Man

Hello there pile 1! It occurs to me that the pain you need to heal has to do with your family and stability, you might’ve grown up in an environment where there was never enough money to cater to your needs or the lifestyle you craved. There was a lots of ups and downs in your life, major highs and lows, you probably had to mature quickly at a young age to adapt to such environments and start working to support your family. For some of you, you might come from like Hispanic/Arabic homes and there’s strong masculine energy in this pile. Your inner child needs some work to be done, also if you have limiting beliefs that you’ll be just like someone in your family who isn’t a good person or mentor, cut such thoughts away. You need to strengthen your resolve and persevere through, you’re not going to be in that situation you were in before, of never having enough money, affection, love or anything. You need to heal your mindset and willpower. I suggest journaling and letting out your thoughts and manifest your dreams. You’re a strong manifester and do you often get headaches, you seem to be an over thinker because my head hurts. You need to learn to trust in divine timing and go with the flow of the universe, meditation is highly recommended.

Have a nice day pile one! Like and reblog 💕💕

Pile 2

Sister

You’re worth it

A little patience doesn’t hurt

Gemini

Moon

September

Worker

I love you

Jaguar

Love yourself

Hello there pile 2! Wow. You seem to have self esteem issues, were you often compared to the women in your life? Like your sister for example or your best friend? You bottle up your feelings believing you’re an inconvenience to other people in your life, you don’t want to burden them with your feelings and that’s not true, your feelings are just as important like everything else! It’s so sad the way you think and that’s something you need to work on, your self concept is destroying you from the inside, you’re worth so much pile 2! Even if you don’t feel like it, you are! Just like a pebble on the sidewalk someone will see you and love you, that pebble feels like it’s just another stone amongst the rest of the pretty ones but you’re just as special as any other! You have your own beauty, quirks and talents that people appreciate, they love you and I suggest you start doing the same and stop focusing on all your imperfections and focus on the good stuff that makes you, you. You need to look within yourself and try to look for where this stemmed from and confront it, while you’re doing that be journaling and keep finding ways to improve yourself and love yourself. I love you pile 2! You’re strong and you will pull through!

Stay safe pile 2! Like and reblog! 💕💕

Pile 3

I will not hurt you

I love spending time with you

Foreign

You’re worth it

Broken

Dreams

Jaguar

Keep your balance

000

Uranus

Phoenix

Pisces

New horizons

Ram

Pile 3 you have similar energies to pile 2, so if you were drawn to that pile too I suggest you check it out. Now unto the reading, It seems to me you have been betrayed by someone you trusted, you put in all the hard work, sacrificed your time, love, money and more but was left in the dust. You believed them/this person and they made you doubt yourself, question your reality and what not, gaslighted you if I may add. They pulled your wings and dulled your shine, snuffed out your fire and left you broken and in the dumps. But I want you to know that this is a period for transformation, you need to heal these past traumas and put yourself out there, you can’t keep hiding in your shell and blending in to not get noticed. You’re worth everything you desire, your dreams and ambitions and hope all matter! So don’t downplay it just because someone did, you need to rise from the ashes of this hurt and burn brighter, your light needs to return. You have to stop holding onto the past and peoples opinions of you and move forward to claim that new beginning you deserve. New love and new friends, be strong pile 3, I’m rooting for you.

Have a nice day pile 3, your dreams are worth every dime and effort! Like and reblog 💕✨

Pile 4

Inner beauty

January

You’re extraordinary

Raven

Mars

Sun set

Politics

Soul family

Let your walls down

Snake

Hello there pile 4! Do you think people only like you for your appearances and not what you have to bring to the table, that you’re just an accessory to them and you’re more than that, that you’re an able bodied person who has a mind of their own and opinions, who debates, who can talk and bring awareness about topics but people pay you no mind and downplay what you have to say? It makes you so mad and angry deep down inside that people have reduced you to this, your passion is being ignored and swept over and all you can do is bottle it up, all you can do is hide your true self for the sake of others. Please don’t dull your shine flat the expense of others, you need to live your life unapologetically, if this current environment doesn’t allow you to express yourself, you need to leave, you need to put a close to this chapter to finally be at peace with yourself. You’ve gotten so used to making yourself so small and recluse that you’re afraid of being your true self with new people, but I want to tell you that your soul family is coming soon and you wouldn’t have to do that anymore. You’ll be able to be yourself and accepted without a care in the world. Live your life Pile 4, step into your power.

Have a nice day pile 4! I’m rooting for you! 💕💕 like and reblog!

𝔹𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕞💕✨