Vergeltungswaffe 2 -- Pox Germanica Today

Vergeltungswaffe 2. The children and grandchildren of those d-mn things are still plaguing us. Some even use a potent kim chee pickling liquid as fuel, or a soupy yoghurt raita.

Hitler may have been stopped in his attempt at destroying the Nation-of-Israel-in-exile in Europe, but the nasty spawn of those V2s are alive and well and threatening to drop in at any time.

OK, the Germans got the world out into space, and to the moon. Werner "Paperclip" Von Braun is essentially the father of the American space programme--with a lot of others pitching in. Fine. But it doesn't end there. Aside from American, British, French missile programmes, that d-mn V2 also went east to the Soviet Union, and the net result was a Ukranian premier shooting a Russian astronaut into space, with a German missile, from a launching site in Kazakhistan, and a Soviet military well-stocked with long-distance missiles. So from Germany, the technology went to the Soviet Union, then off to China, who along with the USSR shared or sold to needy others. Like North Korea, Iran, Pakistan. The consequences of actions taken in one year may take many more years to reach their maximum deadliness, and be quite unexpected.

The Persians are threatening Israel with that same V2 legacy today. Might there be a secret axis of North Korea, Iran, and maybe someday a more radical Pakistan? What of the Russians? Just what is the mix of business and imperial ideology in Moscow these days?

I suppose it must be said that our Jericho III owes something to the V2 as well. But then again, we don't need to talk about a Pox Judaica, as the world already views us as some kind of unsightly blemish.

I apologize now to the all Germans who of course had nothing whatsoever to with building the V2 as an offensive weapon to be used against civilian targets, joining the NAZI party by consent, supporting Hitler, going along with the anti-Jewish laws, willingly participating in prison cruelties or death camp executions, or regretting the demise of the 3rd Reich.

Signposts in Life

Photo taken on Har Bental, a volcanic cindercone hill on the Golan plateau. It is at about 1300 meters (4000 something English feet). There is a coffee shop up there, and a stunning view of Har Heirmon, still covered in snow though it is warm down below.

I am certain to have something to say about this later. Signposts in significant spots are intriguing. They invite comentary. The selection of some places, and the absence of others, is surely someone's commentary about something.

Purple Tree Season in Israel

This is a shot from my apartment balcony of Presidents of Israel Street, the main drag through Karmiel, and a nice view of the central parks area and beyond.

Bensch on a beach at Shavei-Tzion

My wife and I spend a lot of time walking on the beach from Naharyyah out past Shavei-Tzion, most of the way to Akko. This is part of the stretch north of Haifa up to the Lebanese border. Now, I have never had a Lebanese boarder, though I did once have a Welsh boarder who came with an apartment I rented. Not as in Welsh border collie, but actually an Israeli born and raised in Cardiff, devoid of any organic, patriotic or cultural connection to the dark and brooding Cymric state. In any case, it was a mighty peculiar situation. He was just there, and occaisionally he paid rent for his room. We took over the rental from a young man from Krugersdorf, South Africa who had hurt his back while doing his national service in the Israeli army and couldn't take all the stairs. The apartment in question was a fourth floor walk-up. Rather incidentally he mentioned while passing the key into our hands that a fellow from Wales lived in the second bedroom. He was saving up money to get a place of his own, so that his wife, a moshavnik from Lancashire, England originally, could come up to Karmiel. Well ok.

As it happened, the owners of the apartment quite correctly demanded the right to approve of our tenancy. The husband was from the states, but the family boss, his wife was from Scotland originally, but both were Israeli kibbutzniks for a long while already. We were a bit nervous about our living situation as there was a severe shortage of housing at that time, and every day El Al jumbo jets were landing at Ben Gurion International, and boats were docking at Haifa port, filled with newly released Jews from the former Soviet Union. Israel ended up with a million new citizens during that year.

So we met the Scots-born landlady-in-waiting on a chilly, rainy evening at a very unglamorous street cafe by the central bus station in Haifa. The caffeine in the turkish coffee, though considerable, barely compensated for the drowsing effect of the carbon monoxide fumes. Names were exchanged, hands were shaken, hesitancy overcome, cordiality exhibited; a contract was signed, and the deal sealed with that fine, internationally acceptable medium of cash (on the barrelhead). With thousands of immigrants living in caravan cities and even tents, that apartment was an answer to our prayers.

I may have mentioned to the Scots-born balaboosta that I was a long-time player of the Scottish Highland bagpipe, and that may have helped.