David and the Amalekite Flavius Josephus, Saul’s death is announced to David by the Amalekite who brings him the king’s crown and armband. In pain, King David tears his clothes. Wikimedia Commons (public domain)
As the temps in the Gazan terror tunnels rose
To a range between 1,400 degrees Celsius and 233 degrees Fahrenheit
The underground passage became a metro to hell
A 300 mile secret labyrinth
Turned into a hellish white heat incinerator
killing terrorists, exploding rockets and disintegrating reinforced concrete bunkers
White heat bombs turning tunnels of hate into crematoria
Crematorium with the words: The wrath of G-d scrawled on its walls
For revenge, vengeance and justice are his
But payback is hell for those living like rats in subterranean mazes
A purgatory of vaporized bodies
Vapors smelling like sulfur but tasting like justice
Old Testament vengeance
Angry mitzvot
Existential biblical justice
commanded in the 613
Saul’s two-edged sword forged of revenge and justice decapitated the demonic rapists and murderers
For committing unforgivable and unspeakable crimes
For the Amaleklites must learn
Jewish lives matter
Jewish lives are not cheap
So remember what Hamas did to the Israelites
Remember what Amalek did to us
Never forget
For Hamasian crimes must not be blotted out of our collective memories
This evil must be buried deep in the rubble of Gazan tunnels
Thank you Mort for another inciteful piece.—Joanne
I stare into the mirror, horrified by a new crop of gray hairs sprouting in my eyebrows. Counting the grays, I remind myself how these grays conquered my scalp and mustache. And I whisper, “Well, that’s life.”
And as I say the word “life,” a Gabriel García Márquez quote pops into my mind:
“Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.”
I love its simplicity.
I love its beauty.
I know my public life is shared and exposed with my readers. How sad or lucky for you.
I know my private life is only shared with my inner circle. How sad or lucky for them.
Finally, I wonder, “What about my secret life?”
I share it with no one.
I’m not Catholic, so I don’t share it with a priest.
I don’t visit a psychiatrist, so I don’t share it with a shrink.
But I do share it with G-d? (Yom Kippur)
Well, it’s still a secret life because G-d isn’t going to blab about it.
I might be sharing it with my departed relatives, if heaven forbid, they’re watching me.
Who knows? But they’re not going to rat me out.
Most of my secret life is buried in the earth of my past. Where I have edited it into strands of graying memories. Memories of what could have been, if only I had done that or taken a risk. Sad memories of lost opportunities. Happy memories of courageous acts leading to unforgettable experiences.
And some of these memories turn into dreams which I do not share with friends or family.
Secret white dreams hidden in my dark secret life. Where my imagination runs wild. And X-rated scenes appear from the land of make believe.
A make-believe world filled with thoughts created in the shower or on the bowl or in bed when I am alone;
A solitude world filled with sniffs and licks and X-rated thoughts.
Thoughts not to be voiced for fear of being labeled a “pervert.”
Okay perverts, now ask yourselves, “Would anybody pay the price of a movie ticket to see your public life or your private life? You know the answer.
But confess, your secret life would draw a line of viewers circling the theater.
And we all should thank G-d, for those short gray hairs, for the genius of Gabriel García Márquez, and for our X-rated secret lives.
For they make our lives so much more interesting.
I stare into the mirror, horrified by a new crop of gray hairs sprouting in my eyebrows. Counting the grays, I remind myself how these grays conquered my scalp and mustache. And I whisper, “Well, that’s life.”
And as I say the word “life,” a Gabriel García Márquez quote pops into my mind:
“Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.”
I love its simplicity.
I love its beauty.
I know my public life is shared and exposed with my readers. How sad or lucky for you.
I know my private life is only shared with my inner circle. How sad or lucky for them.
Finally, I wonder, “What about my secret life?”
I share it with no one.
I’m not Catholic, so I don’t share it with a priest.
I don’t visit a psychiatrist, so I don’t share it with a shrink.
But I do share it with G-d? (Yom Kippur)
Well, it’s still a secret life because G-d isn’t going to blab about it.
I might be sharing it with my departed relatives, if heaven forbid, they’re watching me.
Who knows? But they’re not going to rat me out.
Most of my secret life is buried in the earth of my past. Where I have edited it into strands of graying memories. Memories of what could have been, if only I had done that or taken a risk. Sad memories of lost opportunities. Happy memories of courageous acts leading to unforgettable experiences.
And some of these memories turn into dreams which I do not share with friends or family.
Secret white dreams hidden in my dark secret life. Where my imagination runs wild. And X-rated scenes appear from the land of make believe.
A make-believe world filled with thoughts created in the shower or on the bowl or in bed when I am alone;
A solitude world filled with sniffs and licks and X-rated thoughts.
Thoughts not to be voiced for fear of being labeled a “pervert.”
Okay perverts, now ask yourselves, “Would anybody pay the price of a movie ticket to see your public life or your private life? You know the answer.
But confess, your secret life would draw a line of viewers circling the theater.
And we all should thank G-d, for those short gray hairs, for the genius of Gabriel García Márquez, and for our X-rated secret lives.
