So these european colonisers actually sold the land back to the indigenous Jews when they chose to return to europe, and now they're accusing Jews of stealing the land and expelling them? Lmao
yep they invented the nakba to project and distract from the way they treated jews living in muslim lands. 850,000 forced refugees and guess where most fled to lmao
(the nakba’s number is like 750,000. hilarious coincidence hmmm)
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(trigger warning for depression, suicide, negative self talk)
Isaiah opened his eyes, not realizing they had ever been closed. His face was flattened against a pillow that he’d never washed once in his life, his saliva dried and sticking to his face. It was the only sensation he could register, the rest of him felt numb. Except his mind, the second he registered that he was awake his thoughts immediately and obsessively drifted.
No one called you. You slept in. Wasted your day. You’re useless, you’re not happy, you’ll never be happy. No one likes you, you’ll never be okay.
It was like background noise, or tinnitus, Isaiah fished around for his earbuds and stuck them in his ears. He chose a song at random, setting it to loop, and turned the volume up as far as it would go to the point his phone warned him of potential hearing damage.
“Sanctus Espiritus redeem us from our solemn hour,
Sanctus Espiritus insanity is all around us!”
The noise drowned out his thoughts as Isaiah checked his phone, no notifications. No one called, no one texted, no one messaged him. Isaiah started at his phone, he didn’t know what day it was until he checked. Sunday, two o’clock. He had indeed wasted his entire day, one of the two days he had off work. Spent sleeping.
Slowly he sat up, he was still wearing the same old jeans and black t-shirt that he had been for the last three days. He chugged water from a bottle he kept by his bed and it washed away some of the grime in his mouth and throat. He plopped back down in bed, unwilling to get up. There wasn’t much reason to, what would he do? He scrolled on his phone, for what felt like five minutes but turned out to be thirty. Until the heaviness of not moving outbid the desire to remain in bed.
“Can't believe my eyes
How can you be so blind?
Is the heart of stone, no empathy inside?
Time keeps on slipping away and we haven't learned
So in the end now what have we gained?”
Isaiah had a breakfast of fried eggs, shit coffee, and a cigarette. All tasted like near nothing except heat and a vague texture. His mouth was gummy and everything felt so lethargic. He ate at his computer desk, it was still on from last night where it opened to an in-progress google doc. Lyrics, rather incoherent ones, strung together in a melody Isaiah couldn’t recall. He briefly removed his earbuds to try and hear the melody through his lyrics in his mind.
Instead all he heard was: You’ll never finish it, it's shit anyway, no one likes it, no one cares, even if you did finish it no one would listen.
He attempted to focus on the lyrics, but he could scarcely even focus on the words, it was like he was cross eyed. It seemed rather pointless anyway, maybe he’d finish it, share it with friends, they’d ignore it or give him some vague praise lacking nuance just to be polite. But no one would be moved by his work, no one would think about it for more than a second. So why should he? Isaiah put his earbuds back in.
“Are they themselves to blame, the misery, the pain?
Didn't we let go, allowed it, let it grow?
If we can't restrain the beast which dwells inside
It will find its way somehow, somewhere in time
Will we remember all of the suffering
'Cause if we fail it will be in vain”
Still no messages, he hadn’t talked to anyone in a week. No one wanted to talk to him, probably because he was a downer, probably because all he talked about was how down he felt, because that's all he talked about. That and his shit songs.
He looked around his desk, every inch was stained with coffee and tobacco. There was a pile of mail and papers which he poked at. Bills, bills he could barely pay, he would have enough by next week but then barely anything for food. Certainly not enough to afford the fast food Isaiah kept ordering to do his door because he hadn’t the desire nor the energy to cook for himself anymore.
There was another letter, from his mom, typed and not written by hand. He didn’t want to look at it, it just reminded him of what he was trying to avoid. His dad was dead, and he couldn’t go to the funeral, he couldn’t afford a ticket. His mom had reminded him that it was his fault, his fault he was a broke deadbeat, his fault he’d never gotten a proper job, his fault he wasted all his money. His fault.
Isaiah checked his phone. Still no messages.
He got up and went to the washroom, which was also filthy. He looked at himself in the mirror. He hated his eyes, he hated his white hair and pale skin, everyone who ever teased him was right; he was an ugly bastard. No one wanted to look at him, no one would ever love him, he didn’t look good, think good, act good, there was nothing good about him. No one. What was the point?
Isaiah grabbed his keys and went outside in the same dirty jeans and sweater he’d slept in. To where his motorcycle sat waiting. It was the only thing he ever cleaned or maintained, though he hadn’t had insurance on it in forever. He’d just drive away from the cops if they tried to pull him over; he wished they’d chase him longer than they did. It made Isaiah feel alive.
He didn’t bother with a helmet and just started riding, the wind blew against the sweat and grease that coated him and forced out the gunk just enough. He felt awake for just a minute. Revving the engine he went far beyond the speed limit. He rode until he made it to the Roberto Clemente Bridge.
It was early in the morning and the stress were empty. Isaiah pulled up to the side of the bridge and hopped off his bike. He liked it up here, he liked high places. They felt freeing, like he was a bird perched or something. He’d tried to explain the feeling in his lyrics, but it never came out right.
That's because you’re shit and you’ll never be good.
Isaiah turned his music up and checked his messages. Still none. He scrolled down to Iris’s name. It was early, she might be awake, dumbass always had the weirdest sleep schedule. His finger hovered over her name. He thought of what he would say, how he would spill out to her that he was… he was what? Insane, manic, depressed? It was too much, too much to put on her. Isaiah remembered the first few times he’d revealed a percentage of what was in his head to her, the concern, if he told her the rest? No one could take that burden, she’d leave, block him, and she’d never talk to him again. And she’d be right.
No one called. No one messaged. No one listened to his songs. No one cared. Isaiah fingered the beads around his neck, trying to remember the words of the divine chaplet, he couldn’t remember them. He couldn’t bring himself to say God’s name. Not when his feet teetered on the edge of the bridge and the water was all he could see.
Why, why not, maybe then they’d care, maybe then he could finally have some say and pull in his life. Maybe his songs would be looked over as brilliant, the last words of a man about to die. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway, he’d never have a wife, or kids, not like he’d wanted, he’d never have people depend on him or need him. Isaiah thought himself inconsequential, even as he took a step forward.
He saw himself, from above, the cold water absorbed his body. It sank, hard and fast, his eyes were still open. It was cold.
“Sanctus Espiritus…”
It was getting darker, something was tugging at him, pulling him upwards, or was it downwards? Directions had no meaning.
“Sanctus Espiritus…”
Whispers, whispers all around. Laughs, a joke, a smile, voices. His friends. Iris, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.
“Sanctus Espiritus…”
He was sinking deeper. Isaiah cried out, his hands reaching out, towards his own arm, his own body. This wasn’t right. Iris, Iris would cry, his friends would cry. Their voices swirled around him, mixing with other sounds, the sound birds and the wind, people laughing, voices singing. He smelt fresh pancakes and bacon, incense from Sunday service. It all mixed together with the crying whine of a guitar riffing through the void. Gritting his teeth Isiah lunged forward and grabbed his own wrist.
In a moment he was cold and wet, water filled his lungs, but he felt no need to breathe. He pushed out, and the water retreated. The waves parted for him like the wind was cutting through them, and everything came suddenly back into clear focus.
“SANCTUS ESPIRITUS,
REDEEM US FROM OUR SOLEMN HOUR”
Isaiah launched himself with these winds that seemed to bend at his command onto the shore, he heaved and retched and the water came free from his stomach and lungs. But there was no pain.
“SANCTUS ESPIRITUS,
INSANITY IS ALL AROUND US”
Isaiah remained on his hands and knees shaking, not from cold, but from something else. His throat let go a sound, he was crying, and laughing, and screaming. His fingers dug into the sand of the bank, everything just coming out at once.
“SANCTUS ESPIRITUS,
IS THIS WHAT WE DESERVE,
CAN WE BREAK FREE?
FROM CHAINS OF NEVER-ENDING AGONY?”
Eventually Isaiah ran out of tears and he collapsed, he felt… light. He was soaked, yet didn’t feel as cold as he should have. Though he wasn’t warm either. It was like all that weighed on him was just for a moment relieved. He fished out his phone, which amazingly still worked and was still playing on loop. He paused his music and scrolled through his contacts. He clicked on Iris’s name.
“Good morning,” he typed.
“Good morning!” Iris replied almost at once, Isaiah smiled.
The chief oversight body responsible for monitoring American foreign assistance has unearthed evidence that an additional 101 staffers at th
United Nations staff are literally jihadists.
USAID Inspector General finds 101 additional UNRWA school teachers, principals & staffers are Hamas terrorists who participated in the October 7 terror attacks.
You’re asking me to look to Europe, a continent steeped in antisemitism with over a millennium’s worth of history of discrimination, persecution, forced conversion, pogroms, and mass slaughters of Jews (to say nothing of the Holocaust), as some sort of neutral moral arbiter of the Israel-Palestine conflict?
A cabal is from kabbalah. Judas -- traitor -- means just Jew. Armenians and Catalans agree. The Dutch call dishonest people Jews. If you steal in Danish, you Jew. In English, someone greedy is a Jew, swindling is jew ("The Jew was jewing him out of his hard-earned money")
The Finns agree.
In fact, I am inventing a rule of thumb.
If, in your language, a word for Jew, or a derived term, also means something along the lines of "someone greedy" (or another Jewish stereotype) you are not a neutral country. The one exception I will permit is the US, possibly, on the basis of our large Jewish community and (so far) lack of explicit, murderous, governmental antisemitism. This rules out, among others, French, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Romanian, Turkish, Greek, Portuguese, Russian, Polish, and Albanian, as well as others I'm too lazy to dig through on Wiktionary.
Languages having terms is not decided by a majority vote and does not mean that everyone who speaks the language decided to officially institute it. It means some quantity of people who speak that language are antisemitic. This is not a spiritual contamination that spreads to other speakers of that language. Since language expresses concepts and does not create them, your standard means that the only people on Earth who get to have opinions aren't even monolingual Israelis, it's only people who can't tell you what those opinions are because they have global aphasia.
See you have a basic point that the rule was a bit over exaggerated but I feel like you’ve missed that language reflects the culture that speaks that language. Old words get removed from common context for being insensitive all the time. It’s why we don’t call Native Americans Indians or Black People Coloureds anymore among other examples. If these words are still in common use it’s a sign that the culture that uses them doesn’t disapprove of those sentiments.
Nobody is going to comment about the fact that the term 'Judas' meaning traitor is actually specifically derived from Judas Iscariot? Like, it's not a general term, it's a specific biblical reference, to the SPECIFIC individual said to have betrayed Jesus to the Romans in the New Testament, to receive a bounty for the act?
In 2021, Swarovski (the company that makes the very sparkly crystals you see in certain jewelry, on figure-skaters' twinkliest outfits, on red carpet dresses), decided they didn't want the grubby fingers of small-time jewelers, clothing designers and costumers and crafters on their shiny beads and rhinestones anymore. They decided to limit their sales to "luxury" and couture creators, not girls who sell stuff on Etsy. The tenor of their press release on the subject was snide and insulting. Resellers (like your favorite bead shop) would no longer be allowed to carry their product; the average Jane on the street would not be able to purchase them. You could only get them if you had an authorized business agreement that bound you to very strict brand behavior. And those of us who still had good stock of the crystals would no longer be "permitted" to use the brand's name in our listings for sale.
Every bead shop and craft supply place and many, many small clothing makers--wedding shops, prom and dancing dress suppliers, the sort of salt of the Earth mom and pop time machines of shops that are the backbone of the field--scrambled to find something that could replace them. The last of the stock dwindled quickly, all of us grabbing what we could get while there was any chance of it, and then it was gone and we no longer had any access.
I was Big Pissed about it at the time. It was just so goddamn stuck-up, when wholesalers and indie jewelers had made them so much money, when some people I knew--when *I!*--had been brand-loyal for decades. But with no recourse, everyone pivoted fairly quickly, most of us to Preciosa Crystals. Those are Czech, quite sparkly, and considerably less expensive than Swarovski. The faceting method they use is different, but not worse; any differences are hardly noticeable when you're seeing them as a hundred pinpoints of light.
Well, out of nowhere, Swarovski just dropped this:
https://www.harmanbeads.com/swarovski-brand-policy-update
"Effective June 1, 2026, Swarovski updated the distribution and brand usage policies introduced in 2021. Businesses may now purchase Swarovski Crystals without signing a Brand Control Agreement, and Authorized Distribution Partners may once again sell Swarovski Crystals to resellers, including bead stores and online retailers. Businesses may also use the Swarovski brand name when following Swarovski’s Proper Use Guidelines. Designers, manufacturers, artists, brands, retailers, and resellers are now eligible to purchase Swarovski Crystals through authorized distribution channels."
They want us back. A lot of the companies who could have kept a brand relationship with them also have swapped to Preciosa, over the last half-decade, in solidarity with indie creators and out of a sour awareness that it could be them, next. And it doesn't hurt that Preciosa was able to expand their line quite a bit now that everyone who wanted sparkle had no choice but to go to them.
And I'm not seeing nearly anyone who intends to return. The feeling is, "Y'all told us to fuck off! Off we fucked! And now, that's what you can do, too!" I'm seeing a lot of "How many of us did you stab in the back?" comments from the people whose money they're hoping to attract.
And personally I'm sitting over here all rubby hands, mean snickering, because they really thought they were going to be able to outclimb the people who actually provided all their profits, and now here they are, hat in hand.
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not only did Jews own all the slaves, they also owned all of the boats used to transfer slaves AND sold all the slaves to others. because yknow. the Jews™️
The worst thing about this conspiracy theory is that it’s completely mathematically impossible. To believe it you have to be either really stupid or really racist. Or both.
It's not an outlier or an old thing either. Very popular in academic circles for a while. Even with Paul Coates, the father of Ta-Nehisi Coates. Who has written on Israel and Gaza while lacking any kind of actual subject matter expertise and lazily comparing it to US history. (IIRC he took a 2 week trip over there?)
One is forced to wonder how Coates grew up and how he sees Jews given his dad's publication work. And how many other people feted as 'wonderful academic/literary voices' by the kind of people who read the New Yorker and staff political campaigns and consider themselves sober principled intellectuals are just a tiny bit quieter and less obvious about their conspiracist leanings.
National Book Foundation said it ‘supports freedom of expression‘
What are your thoughts on the West Bank settlements?
I think the current situation in Area C (where Israel has full civil and security control) has to change. It is morally wrong that Arabs who are not Israeli citizens in Area C have no part in a government which decides so much about their lives.
Area C, though, has only 5% of Arabs in the West Bank.
About 55% of West Bank Arabs are in Area A (with PA civil and security control) and another ~40% are in Area B (with PA civil control and Israeli security control).
The PA was offered ~94% of the West Bank and ~6% of Israel proper in exchange for peace. The PA walked away from that sort of offer twice.
I think Israel's security forces (controlled by Itamar Ben-Gvir) are failing to treat Jewish violent terrorists in the West Bank the way all terrorists should be treated. Ben-Gvir helps legitimize Palestinian violence in the eyes of the international community, and I'd be grateful if some Israelis would teach me the appropriate Hebrew vocabulary for cursing him.
I think Israel doesn't really have a path available to leave the West Bank.
Think about it.
Imagine Israel decides to pull out of the West Bank unilaterally, like they did in Gaza in 2005. What would happen?
There'd be an immediate security vacuum, which would generate an armed contest for control. The PA wouldn't win all those contests, so there'd be at least a burst of violence between West Bank Arab factions.
Then the land would be used, as Gaza was as a staging ground from which to launch attacks on Israel.
Even if the PA decided for the first time that they'd be willing to offer security guarantees, they would be utterly incapable of delivering on them - because they're corrupt, incompetent, and incapable.
---
A way out would start with leaders who want peace, have a stake in peace, and who want a state more than they want to destroy Israel.
Such leadership would gain enormous amounts of international support (political and material) to build up the infrastructure to faciliate actual governance of the West Bank, making it possible for them to offer meaningful security gaurantees.
For more on what would have to happen for peace to become possible, see this (very long) series of posts
the problem is that any single authority which manages to solidify power over those areas (be it hamas, fatah, hizbolla) will without fail find out that the areas are not sustainable if at peace within and towards Israel. there simply is no economy and no industry, and no desire to change that.
and the condition to get fed by e.g. Qatar is to remain at war with Israel, requiring the "slow burn" of permanent minor terrorist attacks as the minimum.
so call me a monster, but a permanent civil war among fakestinians in both gaza and whatever they keep of the west bank is a viable solution. the problem is to maintain the conflict intensity so that the loss rate stays slightly above their breeding rate. because if those areas accumulate a larger surplus of fighting-capable population, we all know how that is getting used.
An extra delightful thing about Project Hail Mary is that, eventually, humans WILL go to Erid, and Eridians WILL visit Earth. And there's every likelihood Rocky will be there to see it.
For one, humans on Earth likely continued to breed astrophage, trying to minimize its range or damaging effects - any number of things. Rendering it sterile would be ideal, of course, but it was likely impossible until the mission succeeded. You can damn well bet your ass Stratt was out there chaining scientists to workbenches, trying to find or force a silver lining. She wouldn't be wrong: Astrophage IS an excellent source of fuel, which means it has great potential. PLUS!! the discovery of Taumeba gives you a way to control it.
Erid is only 16 light years away.
Imagine humanity pulled back from the brink, striving together to produce not one but TWO (at least!) huge joint efforts to save ourselves and each other. Project Hail Mary was followed the Taumeba Project, surely. The world comes together again.
I, however, like to imagine there was a third plan.
I think meeting Eridians became a worldwide obsession. Ryland Grace's legacy can be nothing but a collective triumph, though his contact with intelligent alien life is somehow second to saving the Earth and who knows how many other systems. Once saved, the next major project would surely be meeting our interplanetary friends. How would we say "hello"?
Let's say Earth's initial overture is a simple probe, Voyager style. What do you send? Well, they know Grace may still be out there, or at least was/is known to Eridian culture. He's the one link; the only common element.
The probe launches, and what it's full of is love for Ryland Grace. His childhood pictures. Interviews with his students. Thousands of statues and dedications and documentaries. Videos of worldwide celebrations of the Day of Grace. Kids' drawings of Rocky with laboriously-written thank you notes, thick with crayon so the Eridians can see. We love him too. We love you already.
Given their longevity, I imagine Rocky and Adrian opening the probe together, trilling over memories of their old friend. Stories they only heard about secondhand or not at all. Joy and triumph and thankfulness and hope, all in one small interstellar package. Amaze amaze amaze.
peeling those sour rainbow gummy strips into long thin strings and putting them into cheap energy drink to create something im calling battery acid spaghetti will update once ive finished it
You know that whole "how do we mark nuclear waste sites in a way that people of the future will actually listen, given that heartfelt warnings just increase curiosity"?
Don't do this. The sour coating on the strips floats off in little balls of unincorporated powder, the energy drink flavor is covered by the sensation of small pockets of dry sensation slowly covering your tastebuds. the acidity is overpowering.
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saw someone write a post that hitler (orchestrated the holocaust) would have loved ben gvir (an iraqi jewish man) (iraq) (where the farhud happened) (the pogrom that happened in part because of nazi propaganda and ideology) (hitler was a nazi).
someone in the replies was like "even hitler (guy who carried out the holocaust) (the holocaust) (genocide which the global jewish population has yet to recover from in nearly a century) wasn't as on the nose about his antisemitsm as ben gvir is about his racism (with the example they gave being the noose pin) (small metal pin in support of a law that has yet to kill a single palestinian) (a law that will be shot down by the high court anyway) (no such high court existed to protect jews from the holocaust in nazi germany)."
if i can't get reparations for seeing this inane antisemitic bullshit on my feed i think it should be legal for me to murder these people for one day a year, purge-style
I’ll never forget the time my parents said they were going out for a few hours, and left my siblings and me at home by ourselves (ages 9-14), and instead of going nuts or just sitting around, we all rushed and did our hair and makeup and got dressed as fancy as we could; sister pulled out the wine glasses and grape juice and made an hors d'oeuvres platter, another googled how to play poker, pulled out chips from a different game, dimmed the lights, and we set up a fancy 4-person gambling den at the kitchen table and played until my parents said they were on their way back with dinner. Then we quickly picked everything up, washed our faces, changed back into our casual clothes, and pretended nothing ever happened. They never found out.
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