I visit him every day on the internet before logging off.
His name is Amir Ayyad. He is a Palestinian, and lived his whole life in the Khan Younis refugee camp in the Gaza Strip. I met him about a year ago, as I, (like many people at the time) found myself in the midst of searching for answers concerning the situation in the Middle East. Exactly what it was that led me into this search remains unknown up to this point. For many of us, there seemed to have come a breaking point in the aftermath of 9/11, like the snapping of two fingers in front of our eyes, waking us from what seemed to have been a lifelong trance. I, as an individual who had paid little attention to the whole matter, suddenly in the span of a year’s time had reached a limit with respect to what was my complacency and gullibility, and in the midst of looking for answers to this riddle, I met Amir.
I credit running into him on the internet as being an act of divine providence. Looking back, it can honestly be said that it was one of those life changing events that one never seems to forget. I am sure that had I not run into him, chances are better than not that I would still be trying to sort out all of this business. In the days running up to the war, trying to make sense of anything was like playing pin the tail on the donkey in the middle of an empty field full of shouting madmen. The war machine, which wielded the most terrible propaganda and intimidation campaign in the history of mankind certainly didn’t make things any easier. With the new laws in place, people were being arrested for asking questions or making waves. Those who weren’t arrested ended up losing jobs and friends, as well as becoming the recipients of anonymous death threats over the internet or over the phone. Spies and snitches on America’s college campuses were diligently keeping an eye on anyone, including professors, who dared to exercise their right of free speech and freedom of thought. “Unpatriotic” individuals maintaining some intellectual individuality would then find themselves in the clutches of the “proper authorities,” leading to disciplinary actions of some sort. In the media, all honest discussion surrounding the origins of the Middle East conflict were shouted down by individuals who charged their opponents with the unforgivable crime of being anti-Semitic racists for opposing Zionism, yet who themselves interspersed their attacks with their own racially-laced slurs such as “raghead lover” or “Haji.”
And in the midst of this cyclone, I met Amir.
For me, his reasoning proved to be the most balanced and sensible. His argument certainly possessed a certain amount of authority, since he had lived in the midst of this conflict his entire life, and saw more of the reality encompassing the situation than any of the paid loudmouths on radio or television could ever imagine seeing. And although our discourse suffered by virtue of a language barrier, he still managed to make his point more clearly than anyone I have ever encountered, and continues to do so today. He was able, using but a few words, to convey entire chapters of comprehension and insight, and brought more truth to the discussion with just a few arguments than his opponents would attempt to bring in hours of shouting, snarling, and growling. He has never cursed me for asking questions, even when I played Devil’s advocate. He has always spoken softly and patiently, never vowing vengeance on his oppressors, even though his life has been a testimony to their inhumanity.
How he maintained his composure with me was a miracle, since I, like most brainwashed Americans, refused to consider the possibility that I could be the victim of a giant hoax. At the onset of our discourse, the haughtiness in my refusal to consider his argument was rooted in the idea that such a conspiracy of silence surrounding the injustices inflicted against the Arab peoples was impossible to maintain, particularly in a country full of such smart people like America. It was in my reluctance to ponder the terrible possibility that I had been taken for a fool over the course of several decades that fueled the largest part of my reticence and doubt. In examining the roots of my own disbelief, I have now come to understand that this is one of the biggest reasons for America’s unwillingness to consider the plight of the Arab peoples, namely just sheer pride, in addition to the shame that would accompany the process of coming to terms with the situation. Like most Americans, I refused to believe that my government could be party to something as magnanimous in its inhumanity as the circumstances he described. After all, we were America, the land of equal rights and freedom and compassionate conservatism. We were the bringers of liberty to the oppressed, and justice to the afflicted. Our whole identity was wrapped up in this pretty packaging, and for him to allege that crimes of this nature not only were taking place, but had been for 50 years, was just too much for me to consider.
In the end though, his arguments finally made their way through my thick American head by way of a single photo, the same photo by which I came to know him. As the saying goes, a picture speaks a thousand words, and this photo, which hangs on my office wall, most of the time leaves me speechless.
As I came to know him, I came to understand what life was like in the place he called home, the Khan Younis refugee camp. Prior to this, the picture that I as an American had been given concerning the Arabs was that they were a mindless, senseless people who would have benefited by the whole Zionist venture had they been more reasonable. The image that the Zionist propaganda machine had painted was that of the Arabs as an unruly people who had no just basis in their complaints or perceived grievances, juxstaposed of course with the image of the beneficent Jews of Europe who were the bringers of civilization and enlightenment. Now I have come to see that this image entertained by Americans today is but a tragic mix of folly and fantasy. For those who have eyes to see, it is plainly apparent that the real savages have been those brandishing the whips of an oppression rooted in the quasi-religious garb of racial supremacy against a people whose forefathers were the bringers of culture to Western Civilization.
Today, I have come to see that the arguments and justifications vomited forth by this enchantress known as the Zionist agenda are no different than those which slaveholders in America used to give in justifying the unpardonable inhumanity that was their own bread and butter. The tactic has been the same as well, in that rather than debating the matter on the level of depravity and debauchery that the subject truly encompasses, instead they have turned the argument in the opposite direction by attempting to champion its merits for a brainwashed people who dare to call themselves Christian. The truth given to me as a gift from my friend Amir was so different from this fantasy that it cannot be said that there is anything in the Zionist propaganda that is even accidentally right. The injustices that have been wrought against the Arab peoples is so vast and so pervasive in their scope that it is almost impossible to imagine that humans are capable of such cruelty and such stupidity. If ever an argument was to be made that the Beast of the Apocalypse was real and was living among us then one would not need to look much further than this cancer known as Zionism and consider the history of its deeds for validation of this theory.
The picture painted for me in perfect clarity by Amir’s words and personal testimony has been that of the daily nightmare in seeing his friends and relatives killed on a regular basis. Whether such has been executed by Israeli soldiers or Israeli settlers, and whether such victimization has been achieved by being shot, or by being blown to pieces by explosives hidden in toys that were left for a Palestinian child to find, in whatever manner, for these people whom history has forgotten, it has been the nightmare of the 20th century. Life for a Palestinian living in the Occupied Territories has been that of a concentration camp victim, knowing that he or she lives under a sentence of death, and who must wait out the minutes and hours of this nightmare until that fateful number comes up. Every waking moment, the Palestinian asks the question “Is this my day, or is it the day for someone I love?” And in the moments right before falling asleep, the question “Will this be the sleep that brings me to my eternal rest?”
As far as the gangsters of the Zionist mafia are concerned, all of the bases have been covered, and this event can be said to have been the near-perfect crime. Not only have those who boldly assert that they are the apple of God’s eye mass-murdered almost 200,000 people as a tribute to Cain, the first murderer and the founding father of their ideological experiment called the state of Israel, but in addition, in the interests of honoring him and his infamous attempt to lie about his evil deed, they have cloaked this blood sacrifice in the whorish garments of untruth and disinformation. In the midst of this nightmare, Amir’s oppressors have rubbed salt into the gaping wound known as the Zionist Occupation by virtue of the fact that they have held in perfect totalitarian fashion all the mechanisms of dispensing information into the collective intellect of the Western world. The situation produced by such a stranglehold has been one of the greatest causes of the hopelessness that pervades the lives of those living in the Middle East today, and has been one of the most important reasons for the cycle of violence that seems to be unbreakable. Such it has been that by the time Amir and others like him are able to take the stand and argue their case before what they had hoped was a fair-minded world, the jury pool had already been thoroughly tainted and corrupted by the poison of the Zionist propaganda machine. In such a situation, all the arguments they would make over the course of the last half century, arguments pleading for justice and comprehension, might as well have been pure gibberish to the average Western Christian for all the seriousness that was afforded to them. This scenario is reminiscent of the now infamous trials that took place in America, where the relatives of those negroes who were the victims of lynchings, shootings, or arsons could expect no justice in a corrupted legal system run by good old boys who would fix things in favor of the thugs being tried.
I must admit that I had a hard time believing the allegations made by my friend Amir, until an article came my way, written by a former New York Times reporter named Christopher Hedges, who described what he witnessed himself in the Gaza camp where Amir lived.
“It is still. And then, out of the dry furnace air, a disembodied voice crackles over a loudspeaker.
“Come on, dogs,” the voice booms in Arabic. “Where are all the dogs of Khan Younis? Come! Come!”
I stand up. I walk outside the hut. The invective continues to spew: “Sons of bitches!” “Sons of whores!”
The boys dart in small packs up the sloping dunes to the electric fence that separates the camp from the Jewish settlement. They lob rocks toward two armored jeeps parked on top of the dune and mounted with loudspeakers. Three ambulances line the road below the dunes in anticipation of what is to come.
A percussion grenade explodes. The boys, most no more than ten or eleven years old, scatter, running clumsily across the heavy sand. They descend out of sight behind a sandbank in front of me. There are no sounds of gunfire. The soldiers shoot with silencers. The bullets from the M-16 rifles tumble end over end through the children’s slight bodies. Later, in the hospital, I will see the destruction: the stomachs ripped out, the gaping holes in limbs and torsos.
Yesterday at this spot the Israelis shot eight young men, six of whom were under the age of eighteen. One was twelve. This afternoon they kill an eleven-year-old boy, Ali Murad, and seriously wound four more, three of whom are under eighteen.
Children have been shot in other conflicts I have covered, but I have never before watched soldiers entice children like mice into a trap and murder them for sport.”
And so has the music played on and on, for nearly a century, repeating itself over and over again in the lives of those who know they are the hunted. This is the diary of a Palestinian who was sentenced to death the moment in which he or she was born, and the story of a people who hunger and thirst for justice.
This process of rooting out the truth concerning the Palestinian/Israeli situation has been a journey through a hall of mirrors to say the least, an unsettling, de-stabilizing event that leaves the individual dizzy and full of nausea after it takes place. When one comes to grasp the fact that a malignancy as brutal and careless in its willingness to inflict injustice and violence upon another group of people on the basis of race is not only running around loose, but indeed shares a lascivious, illicit love affair with the world’s most powerful nation, well, after such a realization there is little room left for hope. Even less reason for hope there is when considering that virtually my entire nation of almost 300 million people have come to worship this beast, and that I used to be one just like them.
Nevertheless, I have embarked upon the seemingly futile gesture of attempting to wake others under this enchantment by passing on this gift that Amir has given to me. In trying to convince my fellow Christians who know or care to know little concerning the situation in the Middle East, I will use the arguments that my friend has used successfully with me. Unfortunately, it rarely does any good, they simply stand there as I used to do, haughty in their composure, a slight smirk on their faces as I flesh out a picture of what life is like for a Palestinian. I cannot entirely blame them, since I know that they know not what they do, and that their position on the matter is not a product of their own doing. Their position on the matter is merely one part of a program that has been surreptitiously installed and meticulously maintained on their psychological hard drives by very competent and ruthless hackers. For these individuals who shamelessly consider themselves as being enlightened by virtue of their Christian faith, there was no independent inquiry nor any genuine desire to know the truth that resulted in their present position on the matter, far from it. For the last 50 years, they have been kept deliberately stupid by means of an informational infrastructure that has defecated out Zionist propaganda on a daily basis. They and their opinion on the matter are part of a package deal that comes with the privilege of being an American today. Being an American today, and having membership in this very elite and esteemed club requires certain obligations from its members, one of which is to forfeit one’s freedom of thought and freedom of conscience in return for the badge of complacency and moral stupidity. Wearing this badge of dishonor means that all must swear fealty to the ethos of the club, an ethos that is by no means fair or egalitarian in its application. This ethos, this pledge of loyalty can be summed up simply in its costly purchase: It is the price of the soul, and all its most necessary components: Pity, compassion, justice, wisdom, mercy, et al. And once these have been forked over to the bondsman, their ownership is transferred to those who put it to their own use and for their own interests, individuals who have no right in justice to possess them in any manner, and who are, simply, the Zionists of the Apostle John’s Apocalyptic vision who “call themselves Jews, but are instead a synagogue of Satan.”
Unbeknownst to the world, and in particular to the Christian West, this war in the Holy Land has become the last battle for the soul of humanity. It has become the contest between the forces of good and evil, manifesting itself in the struggle between the qualities that raise our natures to that of humans or reduce them to that of beasts. Being such a momentous event in which matters of the utmost importance are at stake, naturally it has become a contest that has been corrupted by graft and bribery, and where might makes right. Understanding wherein lies the might these days, it is obvious now that the only rule that applies to this contest is that which brings victory to Israel and her inhabitants. Rather than allow a level playing field to exist, falling back on the confidence that accompanies knowing that the cause for which they are fighting is just and knowing that the best man will win, instead the interests of Zionism have resorted to doing anything necessary to win, no matter how outlandish or unfair. As such, in this battle of ideas and ideologies, the apologists for the state of Israel have demonstrated throughout their history the complete absense of respect they possess for any of the precepts governing right and wrong, save for those that can be successfully co-opted into effecting their own victory. In the application of these corrupted values, such individuals will on a daily basis throw sand into the eyes of their opponents, as well as into the eyes of a watching world community, all in the interest of gaining the upper hand in some fashion. These millions of grains of sand, representing the millions of lies and millions of acts of violence they have wrought upon innocent people, have been the building block of the Zionist temple known as Israel and have been used to blind the Christian West into becoming participants in the very same devilish agenda against which their Master had given his life fighting 2,000 years ago. In the information war that is so vital in keeping Wester Christians stupid and lazy, Jewish interests ply the same mechanisms of lying, bribery, blackmail and subterfuge that were the trademarks of their forefathers 20 centuries ago, and Americans, not realizing the depth of their enslavement, willingly shackle themselves intellectually and spiritually in their service.
No one should be surprised at this, as it has never been asserted that the Zionist propaganda machine is by any means stupid. On a daily basis, this propaganda machine has been able to take the most fundamental, undeniable pieces of fact and turn them into pretzel knots in such a way that they bear no resemblance to the truth in any form. By so doing, they have succeeded in robbing those under such an enchantment of the ability to follow the direction of good conscience or of an unfettered intellect. In weaving this enchantment, these masters of deception have manipulated words such as “targeted killing” to avoid the odious implication associated with the word assassination. Young Palestinian children who are gunned down in cold blood are referred to as “militants,” the bombings of Palestinian school yards are called “military operations,” and a whole list of other vocabulary phrases that have been molested so as to best serve their own interests.
In the midst of this seduction, it is easy to see how the masses will surrender themselves and their humanity to the prostitutes of Judeo ethno-centrism, who have taken the most eggregious examples of moral outrage and made them look beautiful. It is a difficult seduction to resist, and so, what I invariably end up doing in the midst of this cacophony of lies is to make my way back to Amir and speak to him. As I said, his arguments have always made the most sense to me, and in these moments of doubt, I gather my bearings by talking to him, even if it is only in my thoughts.
“Hello, my little friend, how are you? Are you well? Are you happy? Who are your parents? Do you have brothers or sisters? What is your favorite color?
And although I cannot hear his responses, I am fairly confident that he can hear my questions, for in my mind’s eye he now exists in the next world and walks in green fields holding the hand of God. For him all is serenity and peace, and he will never again feel the pain that he experienced here on earth when an Israeli bullet ripped through his tiny head as he stood looking out the window of his home. For him, there are only the sounds of peace and comfort, and he does not remember the shrieks and wailing that encompassed the last moments of his life in Palestine. And when he is not walking with God, he is playing with friends numbering in the thousands who were killed in circumstances similar to his.
“What’s it like up there?” I ask him. “Do you remember your family? You were only two years old when you died. Had you learned to say their names by that time? Do you miss them?”
I can only imagine his answers. In some manner, he probably looks in on his family from time to time, moving in and out of their dreams and thoughts, assuring them that everything will be alright someday. And although he must look forward to seeing them again one day, he would probably pass on the opportunity of being with them today in the refugee camp of Khan Younis. It is understandable, since, given the serenity and happiness that he now calls home, he wouldn’t trade that in return for living as a prisoner again in the concentration camp known as Palestine.
“What are the names of your friends in heaven? Are there really many rooms in his Father’s mansion, like he said there were? What was your home like? How did your father earn his living? Is your mother pretty? She must be, because you certainly are.”
Amir Ayyad is the face of Arab terrorism, or so those in the Christian West have been told on a daily basis. His death, a late-term abortion committed by the ultimate abortionist in the Middle East, Israel, is said to be a necessary procedure for the health of the motherland. The shedding of his innocent blood, one crime in a sea of such crimes that calls out to heaven for justice, is but a minor incidental today to a large number of Christians who consider this situation either with careless disregard or else with devilish celebration. This application of managed sentiments to the daily murder of Palestinian men, women and children is but a Pavlovian response inculcated into those Western Christians who seek the blessings of the same Jewish people whom they secretly fear and loath. The essence of his argument, the picture which speaks a thousand words and yet which leaves me speechless, is the one of him, a 2-year old Palestinian boy with a blood soaked bandage wrapped around his head who died with his eyes open. After a year of looking for the truth, I had finally found it, and it was the last argument that I needed to consider when making up my mind about who was right and who was wrong.
Well, almost the last argument, for in fairness, I needed to hear at least something from the other side. In my foolish sense of optimism, I expected that there had to be at least some pity left in Amir’s killers for what they had done, some whisp of humanity that led them to harbor at least some sense of regret. I found none, and to this day have yet to see any proof that such individuals possess even a single blood cell in their beings that connects them in the smallest way with the rest of the human race.
What I heard instead was the chuckling of course individuals who have lewdly danced about like schoolyard bullies, mocking and laughing at the destruction and misery they have delivered into the lives of Arab families for fifty years. No pretensions of regret, no feigned sense of penitent sorrow. And if after this there had been any remaining doubt, than the issue was firmly settled when I considered the cold, calculating words of one of the architects of this process of extermination, just one of millions who seeks to justify what was done to Amir and to the thousands of others like him.
“I vow that I’ll burn every Palestinian child that will be born in this area. The Palestinian children are more dangerous than the men, because the Palestinian child’s existence infers that generations will go on.”
And in these eloquent words, encompassing a century of violence and genocide, I came to view in perfect clarity the image of the beast, the harlot of the Apocalypse, Israel without her mascara. It is a nightmarish image, this that has been hidden for a century from the Christian West by layer upon layer upon layer of insulating blush and rouge, cover-ups that give the appearance of life and vitality, but which when wiped away reveal the nature of a beast possessing the face of death and duplicity. And as much as the magicians and beauticians may endeavor to paint her up in such a way as to hide the true ugliness of her visage, nevertheless they cannot outrun the history of her utterances. This promise to wipe out the children of Palestine, authored by Ariel Sharon, the “man of peace” whom George Bush and American Christians have pledged to support with their praise and their money, serves as a resume of sorts for one whose hands have dripped with the blood of Palestinians since he was a teenager. These words, by no means isolated, are but a few of those that tell the unvarnished, uncensored, ill-considered testimony of Israel’s history in the Middle East. These words are the building blocks of a nation whose existence has been outlawed by the weight of history for the last 2,000 years, and now for reasons that should be apparent to all who have eyes to see. And let not the enchantress known as the Zionist agenda succeed in lulling a Christian world back to sleep by reassuring it that these words by Ariel Sharon, the Butcher of Beirut, are an abberation in any sense. Lined up next to his testimony are the remarks of men like Ben-Gurion, Weitz, Shamir, Begin, Rabin, Netanyahu, Dayan, and every other Zionist vampire who has feasted off of the blood of the Palestinian innocents for the last century.
It is no wonder why Lucifer holds the human race in such contempt. Robbing mankind from its sense of humanity and right thinking historically has been as easy as stealing candy from a baby. How much he must laugh when he considers the effortlessness of such an endeavor in bringing before the consideration of mankind such blood thirsty individuals, beasts in human form who are then celebrated and inaugurated to the highest positions of prominence and power by fools who gladly forfeit their sense of decency and humanity. A man like Ariel Sharon and all the founding fathers of Israel can, in the midst of the bloodiest century in mankind’s history, utter promises to continue such a blood orgy, and will be given all the money and firepower they demand in carrying it out. A Christian world, in the most galling act of pretension and spiritual contradiction, will call to mind the infamous Slaughter of the Innocents by Herod, and yet will sit on the sidelines of its modern day equivalent and cheer like the stupid, soulless animal it has been trained to become by the Zionist agenda over the course of the last half century.
And so in the midst of this, I come to understand why there is this thing known as suicide bombers. I come to understand a father’s rage, who must spend the rest of his life trying to forget the last image in his memory of a 2-year old son, the face of an angel whose brains had been deliberately blown out and who died with his eyes open. I come to understand the rage of a father who knows that all his children live under a sentence of death, a sentence issued by racial supremacists who bow before no moral precepts outside of that which they have created for the furtherance of their own interests. It becomes perfectly clear why one day, a father who fears every moment of everyday that he will get “the call” telling him that his child has just been murdered decides he will take no more. A father, after desperately trying to get to the hospital in the hopeless effort of arriving before his young son dies, who then decides one day that his hunger and thirst for justice can wait not a moment longer and who makes the front page of every newspaper throughout America and the West by blowing himself up in order to kill the Israeli soldiers who did this thing. I come to understand the desperation of the Palestinian people, who know that they cannot seek redress of grievances from a Christian world that has been captured by the Whore of Babylon, these supposed followers of the Prince of Peace who have allowed themselves to be used as pawns in the program of exterminating a race of people considered by the Jews to be animals.
I come to understand how a people can be driven mad from hunger and thirst, and in such a state of madness, commit themselves to doing something that in other circumstances they simply would not choose to do.
Whether he knows it or not, Amir has become one of my best friends, if indeed not my very best friend. His gift to me cannot be measured nor compared to any other I have received in this life. Besides breaking the spell under which I have been held captive with regards to understanding the politics of my country’s involvement in the Middle East, in addition he has led me to discover something of even more importance. In considering the weight of his arguments, I discovered this thing in me, deep down there, that I had forgotten about through the many years of this unnatural sleep. It is easy to forget about this thing called the soul, since it has been one of the greatest casualties resulting from this assault on humanity known as Zionism. As much as this beast has grown in power and in viciousness by feasting on the blood of the innocents whom it has slaughtered in the Middle East, with equal voraciousness it has feasted on the blood of men’s souls. It has been one of the main objectives of the Zionist agenda in the Christian West (and more so in America) to slaughter this thing that brings humanity to the masses, this “targeted killing” that has left almost an entire civilization bereft of compassion, pity, or justice. The reason for such a program of assassination is easy to understand, since it has been the human soul and all its precepts of life that have served as the one impediment to realizing complete conquest of mankind and his existence. As such, the human soul, with its sense of right and wrong which enables it to recognize that shooting children for sport is murder, and that wiping out an entire race of people is an abomination before the eyes of the Almighty, has been targeted for extermination as well. The Zionist agenda, in its methodical application of doing violence to the soul of humanity, has succeeded in corrupting the Christian West into becoming a pitiless, bloodthirsty, ghoulish race of people willing to fight and die for the state of Israel, exactly as is taking place now. The Christian West, too stupid by now to recognize the war that is and has been waged against it, does not see the fangs on this beast. It does not hear the snarling or growling that erupts when this beast finds itself in the presence of the same compassion and justice that are supposed to be the lifeblood of Christian civilization. And having become blind and deaf to these realities, the members of the Christian West have themselves become prisoners in this holocaust called the Zionist agenda, and whose number will shortly be called up, as it has for all those who are listed as the main course in this feast of humanity.
And so, in discovering this thing, this soul, I found a treasure that I did not know existed, with more riches and wealth in it than I could possibly imagine having over the course of a million lifetimes. In allowing the humanity of Amir’s reasoning to bypass the spiritual and intellectual censorship that had been imposed upon me, I discovered the treasure of my own humanity, buried under the mounds of complacency and carelessness that had been heaped over it on a daily basis for decades. In coming to understand the same Golden Rule often repeated yet poorly considered, I became rich by its gold, and as I imagined myself in his shoes, living what he lived and seeing what he saw, I finally came to be one of those who hunger and thirst for justice.
Amir Ayyad has not only made me a survivor, but indeed a soldier. Recognizing that I was robbed of my birthright, the right of all human beings to nurture the better side of their natures and to ameliorate the beast that dwells within them, I have became a warrior in reclaiming this birthright. In this war that has become the bonfire of human virtues, where pity, justice, and compassion are hunted down and slaughtered in the same manner as are the children of Khan Younis, I came to understand the unseen depths of this war that have penetrated the lives of all those existing today. Such an individual, living in the Zionist outpost called America who realizes that he has become the hunted, and by being the hunted has joined the ranks of those whose blood stains the soil of a land that was once holy, in that moment he realizes that he too must join in this fight alongside the others who hunger and thirst for justice.
For me, I will guard this last spark of humanity that was rescued from the jaws of death, rescued from this beast known as the Zionist agenda by the heroism of a boy named Amir Ayyad. How long such a dangerous and tenuous mission can endure I cannot say, given the day’s events, but it is the least that I can do in showing him my gratitude, he who helped to rescue me from what was a certain death of sorts. As a refugee from the holocaust of the Zionist agenda that has slaughtered like sheep the last remnants of human decency and of Christian compassion, I will choose death as a free man over the life of a slave.
And assisting me in this mission is my little friend Amir Ayyad, who reminds me everyday about what is justice and injustice, and who has promised to keep a place ready for me, should I be fortunate enough one day to join him in Paradise.