De dwazen van Parijs: ‘Zij mogen dan wel geweren hebben maar wij hebben bloemen!’

machte02Geschifte Belgen en Fransen willen ISIS bekampen met bloemen en kaarsen…

Terwijl in een theater in Parijs het bloed van onschuldigen van de vloer werd opgedweild, raasde op het internet een video, getiteld “Zij mogen wel geweren hebben maar wij hebben bloemen“, in sneltreinvaart de wereld rond.

In de clip vertelt een jongen aan zijn vader: “Wij zouden Parijs moeten verlaten want Les Mechants (de slechteriken) hebben geweren en zij zullen ons komen doodschieten.” De vader verzekert zijn zoon dat, hoewel de slechteriken wapens hebben, zij (de Fransen) bloemen en kaarsen hebben. “Zullen de bloemen en kaarsen ons beschermen?” vraagt de zoon. Wanneer zijn vader bevestigend antwoordt protesteert de jongen “maar bloemen doen helemaal niets!” Hij krijgt een geruststellende omhelzing van zijn vader en de clip eindigt met de interviewer die aan het kind vraagt of “hij zich nu beter voelt”, waarop de jongen bevestigend knikt en breed begint te glimlachen.

Deze video werden duizenden keren ge-“shared” en ge-“liked”. En inderdaad, wie kan onbewogen  blijven voor Westerse deugden zoals bv. leven boven de dood, cultuur boven het barbarisme en het goede boven het kwade? In een daad van verzet, weigeren beschaafde mensen om te haten, verdrijven de stank van moord en wreedheid met geurige bloemen en geurkaarsen, omdat beschaafde mensen geloven dat haat “de terroristen zal geven wat zij willen.”

Neen, dat zal het niet.

Een psychopaat kan niets voelen en of u hem nu haat of niet, dat maakt voor hem helemaal niks uit.

Wanneer een psychopatische islamist mij afslachtte met zijn machete, deed hij dat met zoveel geweld dat zijn slagen mijn ribben deed knappen en meer dan dertig botten verbrijzelde. Zijn enige emotie was wrevel: hij ergerde zich dat een gekarteld mes niet de ideale tool was, omdat het blokkeerde in het bot, waardoor het ‘lastig’ was om het er weer uit te trekken terwijl mijn bloed over zijn kleren gutste. Ze hakten erop los zonder woede. Moord was een nonchalante, alledaagse aangelegenheid, zo gewoontjes als de sigaret die ze rookten nadat ze ons bloed van hun messen hadden geveegd.

Deze koelbloedige Palestijnse psychopaten, die een machete in de ene hand houden en een Marlboro sigaret in de andere, zijn exact hetzelfde soort islamistische maniakken die onschuldigen vermoordden in Parijs. Zij zijn de zonen van het Kwade, dood in hun zielen en ongevoelig voor de nobele moraal van Westerlingen die weigeren om te haten.

Following the Paris attack, live on British television, someone “photobombed” the shoot and cursed ISIS. Immediately the broadcast returned to the anchor who shuffled in her seat while apologizing profusely for the “unexpected bad language.” Given the backdrop of slaughtered corpses piled up on the floor, I would be surprised if anyone with any decency, would actually be offended by hearing someone rage at ISIS by telling them to “fuck off.”

Repression of rage in the name of culture, and sanitizing language in response to savagery, is an inverted, delusional, trivial, misplaced and dangerous morality — as if clean speech is the dominating virtue.

Rage is not a dirty word, it is not a moral failure. It is a moral necessity and it is a virtue.

We must rage at those who try to murder us and our children, because murder is the most cosmic and irreparable violation known to both man and mankind. Murder steals from families and plunders the unborn generations. Murder grieves friends. Murder rips out souls from communities. Murder wounds a nation and murder irreparably damages our world.

After the murder I too, had no hate. Barren of rage, fury, contempt or disgust, I was wrapped in a protective and balmy dressing of indifference that covered the deep, dark, psychological lesions. I could reel off details of Kristine’s execution with the same passion as reading a bus timetable. And most horrifying of all, I knew that if I ever again had to have the “misfortune” of witnessing a human being chopped up before my eyes, I would be able to watch it happen while smoking a cigarette.

Like any dressing though, leaving it in place would result in infection, gangrene and ultimately death. I had at some point to remove it by owning my right to rage.

And it happened.

The nights were never-ending and even the days felt like night. I clawed my pillow and drenched it with tears. Rage came, rage went and rage came again. It appeared unexpectedly in verbal outbursts on innocent bystanders, or as unleashed fury on unsuspecting walls.

Yet despite the long night, the sun did rise again. It shone its light in the form of those mature and brave enough who validated my rage and simultaneously did all that they could to engage me with the mundane and all that life has to offer.

And thus I embarked on The Rage Less Traveled.

On The Rage Less Traveled, I am compelled to make our world a better place, because once again I have tasted goodness.

On The Rage Less Traveled, I am compelled to act against evil. I make it my business to write letters and lobby governments, to do what I can to ensure that the cold-blooded, Palestinian, psychopaths who tried to murder me, will no longer receive a monthly salary of American and European taxpayers money.

On The Rage Less Traveled, I speak on behalf of victims of Palestinian terrorism, those who are no longer here to speak for themselves.

On The Rage Less Traveled, I empower Jewish students on American campuses who are experiencing antisemitism — that same hate that enabled a Palestinian Islamist to hack to death an American Christian because they thought she was Jewish.

Yet on The Rage Less Traveled, there are terms and conditions.

I have to accept moral limitations. I must not take vengeance into my own hands and I am forbidden to disseminate hate speech. It is not for me to indulge in an untamed fury that holds every single Palestinian, Arab or Muslim accountable for the heinous deeds of two savages spurred on by the incitement in the Palestinian Authority — an authority whose almost daily targeted, executions of Jews, alarmingly mimics Nazi policy.

The Rage Less Traveled is a lifelong path, a road of anguish and tears, yet one of contentment and hope. I have always believed that we should befriend those different than ourselves because it challenges stereotypes, cages bigotry, tempers xenophobia and enriches our own world. It has not been easy for me to reach out to Muslims since the attack, but by both owning and limiting my rage, I have managed to travel to Egypt (an Islamic nation) to meet an Egyptian peace activist. Further, I have helped a Palestinian friend via social media kickstart his small business and lastly I have hidden a Muslim teenager in my house at the risk of my own life. Mohammad Zoabi, a Muslim, was ironically the victim of Islamist death threats.

We must rage: and it is at Islamism, that we must rage.

Righteous rage will impel decent people to act, not out of generic and immoral vengeance, but to specifically and legally target an Islamism that wants to murder Judeo-Christian heritage and butcher the “infidels” who do not submit to their Sharia inferior ideology of hate.

Islamism infests Western school curriculums. Islamism infects media. Islamism is rampant in Western “charities.” Under the guise of helping “poor Palestinians,” Islamism channels donations to fund terrorism. Islamism is preached in sermons in European mosques. Islamism speaks on street corners and in public parks. In the name of free-speech, and in French, Flemish, German, Swedish, Spanish and Cockney accents, it spews out hate, vilifies “Zionists” and calls for Jihad against the only democracy in the Middle East. Islamism marches on the cobbled streets of Europe demanding the implementation of Sharia Law. Islamism ensures that Jewish schools and synagogues need protection night and day. Islamism contaminates the workplace by demanding that Christians who wear a cross to work are fired on the grounds that “it is offensive.” Personally speaking, I find the bullying, intimidation and murder of “infidels” far more offensive than a necklace hanging around someone’s neck — but that’s just me.

If Europe’s non-swearing, candle-clutching, flower-holding, ‘Imagine’-singing, decent civilians, do decide to eventually take a stroll down The Rage Less Traveled, they will learn that it is the only path that prevents Western Civilization from imploding. Further, if Europe’s non-swearing, candle-clutching, flower-holding, ‘Imagine’-singing, decent civilians do decide to eventually stroll down The Rage Less Traveled, they should let themselves be guided by Israel, because Israel knows the way. Even though we continue to endure terrorism, we temper our fury by exercising both prudence and tolerance by treating Jews, Muslims and Christians as equal and important citizens in a democratic State — a multi-cultural phenomena that is glaringly absent in any Arab land.

The Rage Less Traveled is the hardest way but the only way. The alternative routes are paved with the thousands of beheaded torsos of Eastern Christians, the strewn corpses of Boko Haram and the mutilated bodies of Yazidi children. There are also no flowers on these roads except the forest cyclamens drenched in the blood of my Christian friend and the only candle that burns, is her Candle of Memorial that flickers and refuses to die.

door Kay Wilson

bron: The Times of Israel [lezen]


Kay Wilson is a British-born Israeli tour guide, jazz musician and cartoonist. She is the survivor of a brutal terror attack that occurred while she was guiding in December 2010. Since the attack, she is in a demand as a motivational speaker and also speaks to audiences on issues of human rights and justice for victims of terrorism. She is a lecturer for StandWithUs, OneFamily Together, MDA and is registered at the Israel Speakers’ Agency.

Met dank aan Tiki S. voor de hint: “Een wijze les voor het (nog stééds) ignorante Europa dat nog stééds weigert te begrijpen waar het gevaar vandaan komt……….. en ik bedoel niet Israel.”

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