Nazi boycott of Jewish businesses (Wikimedia Commons)

I found a plethora of articles about Ben and Jerry’s boycott of Judea and Samaria plastered across the internet.

As I read each article, I smelt something in the air.

The smell of youth, revolution and manhood.

The smell of passion for a cause.

For I once I was a man of action, a man of the ’60s, and a man of the streets.

Fighting the good fight for truth, justice and the American way.

For I once fought the cops in Chicago; inhaled their tear gas and cried.

For I once missed being clubbed in the head by inches.

And for times in my life “Protest” was my middle name.

Yes, I protested in the battle for Civil Rights, in the Stop the Vietnam War Movement, in the Let My People Go Out of the Soviet Union rallies and in the Stop-Putting-Babies-in-Cages Marches.

So, I felt I had no choice but to drive up to Waterbury, Vermont.

To make my voice heard.

To scream at Ben and Jerry, “Sell your damn ice cream to the Jews of Judea and to the Semites of Samaria.”

To scream at the tourists licking their cones: When the Nazis boycotted Jewish stores, we understood. When the Arabs boycotted Israeli goods, we understood. But when our favorite ice cream boycotts Judea and Samaria, we don’t understand. And we shall never forget.

So I packed up my psychedelic VW camper with protest signs and provisions: Four bottles of Boone’s Farm, three packages of Twinkies, a six pack of  Joya’s Marble Halvah, a box of rugelach from Katz’ Bakery, two glass jars of Yehuda Sweet Gefilte Fish–Straight from the Holy Land, paper plates, plastic glasses, plastic cutlery and napkins.

Yes, my hippie van with the peace signs and red, yellow, blue and orange flowers painted all over its exterior and the words: Flower Power, next to the words: Make Love Not War, next to the words, B&J Time To Reverse Your Anti-Semitic Decision.

Yes, my vehicle with the bumper stickers that read: “If it’s rocking, don’t bother knocking” and  “Ben & Jerry’s Ain’t Kosher With Me!.”

And yes, as a revolutionary, I crawled up I-95 into the belly of the beast, deep into pro-Palestinian leftistland and into stench of Bernieville.

Yes, I’m on a mission to go into Ben and Jerry’s Waterbury Factory and Ice Cream Shop’s parking lot with my bullhorn and chant: The time to change your mind is now! and One, two, three, four, Ben and Jerry’s will be no more!

And yes, I shot out a bunch of emails, inviting my Zionistic buddies to the protest and telling them the who, what, when and where to meet off of Route 100 in Waterbury.

And yes, I packed my VW camper with handmade, hand-painted picket signs.

One read: Ben and Jerry’s “Keep Your Sticky Finger Boycotts out of the Middle East.” Another: My Lips Will Never Again Touch Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream.”

And yes, I jumped into the van, turned on the engine and listened to Greta Van Fleet’s, “You’re The One.”

And at that moment, I was the one.

The one ready to fight the anti-Semitic ice cream dragon.

The one who drove and pictured a boxing match between Ben and Jerry’s and small Jewish kid.

B&J  throws the first punch. It’s a low blow into the kid’s groin and B&J yells, “You’re not allowed sell our ice cream in your occupied territories.”

The kid retaliated with jab after jab into B&J’s jaw and gut–Jewish grocery chains stop selling B&J, an employee of B&J resigns due to their policy, state governors threaten pulling state investments out of Unilever, Israeli politicians label B&J anti-Semitic and B&J loses its kosher designation.

The jabs bloody the nose of B&J.

The jabs bruise the body of B&J.

B&J hits the mat hard.

And after a ten count, the referee announced that David has vanquished Goliath.

Quietly B&J retracts its boycott.

And altz iz  gut.

I smiled.

Victory is as sweet as a Baskin Robbins on a hot summer day with a Vermont summer breeze caressing your face.

It felt good watching the small Jewish kid punching the crap out of the anti-Semitic bully.

And as I waited for my friends to arrive, I pulled out my bullhorn and toured the grounds

I climbed up the hill; spotted the infamous Flavors Graveyard.

Here the dynamic duo of ice cream entrepreneurs paid homage to all those flavors that didn’t cut the mustard.

Flavors that died due to a lack of customer love.

As I read each headstone, I wondered, “What did that taste like?”

Then I saw a wooden gate with a Magen David carved into its center.

I smiled.

How becoming.

For I didn’t realize the Ben and Jerry had a Jewish section in their creamery cemetery.

But two New York yids not having a Jewish section would have been a shonda.

I opened the gate and studied the witty epitaphs on the granite headstones

In Memory of Gefilte Phish Ice Cream (1981-1982)

She was an acquired taste not to be eaten in haste.

For those who loved her, “Gefilte was not half bad with carrot and horseradish sprinkles.”

Gefilte had almost no following outside of NYC except for those with large wrinkles.

The week before Passover Seders she was a big hit.

The rest of the year customers didn’t give a shit.

May she R.I.P.

Here lies Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream (1978-2021)

The brainchild of two Jewish lads, Jerry Greenfield and Ben Cohen.

Both of them come here often and you can hear their moan.

They sold their company to some Brits, who allowed the B&J board to lose its wits.

Their boycott drove customer’s brains to bits.

Death due to a lack of customer love and to prejudices of her board.

May B&G rest in peace in heaven in the the company of the Lord.

As a cool Vermont summer breeze caressed my face, I closed my eyes and wondered,

“When will the first replica of the Ben and Jerry’s graveyard be erected in Judea or Sumaria.

And where the hell are my friends and when will they get here?”

“Hey Mort, what’s all this clamor I hear about this Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.”

“Well Buddy, there’s this British corporation, Unilever—which is listed on the New York Stock Exchange under the symbol UL, selling for $58.69 a share (Full disclosure to readers: I have already sold my considerable block of UL shares) that years ago bought an iconic American ice cream company called, Ben & Jerry’s.”

“Mort, everybody has eaten Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream. If I may say so, it’s pretty good stuff, especially that Cherry Garcia flavor. It’s a bit expensive but they have a high butterfat percentage, high-grade chocolates, fresh nuts and berries.

I watch as Buddy runs his tongue over his lips, and listen as he says, “I’ve got a craving for a Ben and Jerry’s cone right now.

You know, I even took my wife and kids to their museum and country store in Vermont. We tasted a whole bunch of flavors in those white paper sampler cups: Strawberry Cheesecake, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Chocolate Fudge Brownies, Phish Food and Half-Baked. I still remember those wooden cut-out black and white cows grazing in the fields around the store. I still got my tie dye Ben and Jerry’s T-shirt. It’s a trippy, psychedelic explosion of reds, yellows, blues, oranges and purples and my refrigerator magnet, which reads: “Not Made by West Bank Settlers.”

“Well, these two nice Jewish boys from New York State created Ben & Jerry’s way back in 1978. These boychicks, these phishers, Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield are two quirky, fun-loving hippies, that start selling “Vermont’s Finest” ice cream out of an abandoned gas station in Burlington. These marketing geniuses gave their ice creams flavors funny names—i.e. Chunky Monkey. And lo and behold, after a number of years, B and J goes global.”

“Mort, ya know your right, I’ve eaten their ice cream in Hayarkon Park in Tel Aviv.”

Well, 43 years after its creation, Unilever pulls its pints of heavenly sweetness from the grocery shelves in Israel’s West Bank settlements.”

“Why is Unilever pulling this kinda crap?

Don’t they realize that political acts have financial consequences?

Don’t they know that Jews eat a ton of ice cream?”

“Well, a whole bunch of pro-Palestinians—living in Vermont— threatened to harm their business if they didn’t go full blown BDS on Israel and Unilever caved and compromised. They said, “Jews you can sell and buy Ben and Jerry’s in Israel but not in the settlements.”

“WTF! Damn Brits.

Mort, I just got a frightening picture in my head. I imagined of one of those black and white Holsteins grazing and munching on sweet New England grass, puking her guts out when she learns that Israeli settlers ain’t eating her creamy ice cold delights.

“Buddy, that’s a real scary image.”

“But Mort, since we’re two quirky and fun-loving hippie Zionists, how do we fight this existential threat to the Jewish State.”

“Well, I’ve given this problem some deep thought and here’s what I recommend:

Remember the big picture. B&J is just one small company in the huge Unilever conglomerate.

Remember small fries hook small fish from the piers.

And the big phishers take their boats out to sea for the big catch.

So if we want  to be effective, we must fish with the big guys, send a message to all 400 Unilever divisions. We must focus on the conglomerate’s 400 products: Hellman’s Mayonaise, Lipton, Knorr,  Axe, Lifebuoy, Ponds, Lux, Dove, Pepsodent, Noxzema, Suave and Vasoline. For those that are actively participating in this economic battle, look for the UL “U” shaped logo on all of its products—not to be confused with circle around the “U” found on kosher products.)

Folks when shopping always remember that Nestlé and Proctor and Gamble products are there to fulfill your needs. I know you can live without Unilever products—maybe be not the Hellman’s.

Always follow the money. If UL’s stock prices fall— their executives lose compensation as well as their jobs. That will teach them not to mess with the Zohan.

Learn you enemy’s history. I read on the internet that Unilever has a sordid past. They have been accused of using forced and child labor and of shooting rubber bullets at its workers on strike, and they severely underpay their workers worldwide. To top it off, they even sold Nigeria to British colonizers in the late 19th century.

“Well Mort, Unilever has a lot of gall. With that history, they ain’t no angels.

But that’s one-hell-of-a-good plan you’ve created for this sticky problem.

I know if people follow your plan, those West Bank settlers will be licking Ben and Jerry’s, “Spank Your Monkey” ice cream all summer long.

“Sorry Buddy, it’s called “Chunky Monkey.”

I use to think that there were two types of Trump supporters.

Those that were members of QAnon and those that were not.

Boy was I wrong.

I use to think there were the batshit crazies versus the mildly delusional.

Boy was I wrong.

The batshit crazies attended his rallies. They carried large hand-made “Q” signs painted in red, white and blue stars. They dressed in “Q” tee shirts and when they were interviewed by the media you knew they were certifiable.

The bat-shit crazies attended his hot summer rallies—like Dead Heads or Parrot Heads—and were willing to drive 500 miles to see their messiah live on a stage.

But then I learned that the Trump advance team combed through the audiences before his arrival on stage, telling his fans, “Please hide their Q signs. Please put those signs back in your pick-ups. We don’t want the TV audience to know that we’re all “Qs.” Please reverse your “Q” tee shirts. Wear them inside-out. The President wants us to disguise who we are.”

Isn’t it funny that Trump wants QAnon support but doesn’t want their visible presence at his rallies.

Sounds pretty deceptive.

Sound pretty Trumpian

Then it hit me, smack in my noggin,

“All Trumpers are QAnon.”

And the reverse is also true.

All QAnons are Trumpers.

There ain’t no division line.

Most Trump supporters wear their tee shirts inside out.

Like Kluxers they don’t carry their membership cards in their wallets.

Like Germans that supported Hitler but never joined the party.

Like racists that smile into Black faces, while their white-hooded, dry-cleaned robes hide in the back of their bedroom closets.

Like parrots or the walking dead they have memorized their lines well.

Like they heard them over and over again on Fox News:

There was no insurrection;

Trump is still the President;

Biden stole the election;

Wait until the recount reverses Arizona;

Trump will be back in the Whitehouse in August;

The Insurrectionists were tourists;

The provocateurs were Antifa;

The “Big Lie” is liberal, socialist propaganda only fit for CNN or MSNBC;

Trump was, is and will be again our President. Just you wait and see;

He was our best President.

So if any of your acquaintances say any of the above lines.

Do you know what they are?

They’re Trump-supporting members of QAnon.

Maybe they don’t pay “Q” dues or maybe they don’t visit the “Q” website on a daily basis or maybe they don’t own a “Q” tee shirt but if they parrot or say any of the above lines they’re members of QAnon.

And now that you know it,

to think otherwise would be a big lie.