A note to the mayor
Dear Mayor Bloomberg,
Here’s the view from the 31st Floor.
There he was, my brother-in-law, a NYC Fireman. Up on the 31st Floor of the World Trade Center on a sunny morning not too long ago. It was just months after his daughter’s bat mitzvah. It was just a little over a year from his son’s bar mitzvah. It was a week after I saw him at my sister’s house, bringing his son home. For the parents were divorced, but friendly still. He and I chatted and joked, as we had for years. I knew him from the time he was 13 or so, shortly after his bar mitzvah. Right when he started dating my sister. The childhood romance between the grandchildren of immigrants, brought to marriage, and too typically in America today, to divorce. His family from Germany, from where they escaped the oppression, and before the Holocaust, now denied it happened by the builders of mosques. Hers, and mine, from the Czech Republic, home of the oldest still functioning synagogue in Europe. I knew him well, that fireman. He who won several times NYC’s fireman of the year award. He who won accolades from Mayor Giuliani long before there was a whisper of jets through the clear skies.
Then he disappeared. Just gone. Not a molecule of him recovered from the 31st Floor. It was like he was beamed up to God, passing by all the normality of death. He joined 3000 others. All just puffed out of existence by a crude and nihilist philosophy. A philosophy that still has no compunction with blowing up discos of happy people, nor of pizza shops of munching children, and decent people in shopping malls, nor of blowing up churches, synagogues, airplanes, and even other mosques. They destroy market places and schools. They kill with wanton disregard for all humanity. They do so in the most demented way possible; by strapping a bomb to themselves and pulling the trigger. Massacre, suicide and murder in one fell swoop of a hating rage. Not a day goes by without the atrocities sanctioned by the mosques, and supported by the mosque goers.
With the carnage still fresh, the blood still wet, with the body parts unaccounted for, with the mourners still gathering through the smoke and falling debris, they, these worshippors of death, celebrate in the streets. They shout from their mosques the glory of the gore. They kill, and they are happy. Others are happy and they are enraged, and call for death in the most cruel and inhuman ways. Ask any of the beheaded. And yet you invite them in among our midst.
They call for death as part of their life. They will destroy, they say, all in their path. That sunny morning when an icon of the greatest American – and greatest world city – of which you purport to be mayor of — was so brutally destroyed they were dancing in the streets of Baghdad and Cairo. From Jakarta to Tripoli, from Nigeria to Jordan, they sang in the streets of their great contribution to science, and unto the glory of the love of death, and still hatred dripping from their very pores for those who might have survived. They did the same here in the mosques of America. They joined in, they public spoke. They said the destruction was good. Or worse, they spoke by not saying a word. Bereft of all humanity, they do the worst God’s creatures are capable of. It’s not even war in any traditional sense, but an inchoate rage against our greatest thing – humanity and the earth we live on. They despise themselves, apparently, and will now take it out on everyone else. You now encourage an outpost of the hateful rage.
This contribution to science was “how does one carefully sift through the remains of two 110 story buildings looking for the smallest shred of a life snuffed out for the glory of our death-loving philosophy?” That was the question that they wanted asked. We answered, by going through millions of tons of debris to find the answer to that question. Nothing of my brother-in-law was found. Not a molecule. So we don’t know, or rather, there’s no end to knowing. But you’ll have the hate filled singing the praises of this science of destruction right here in our nation.
He was probably in the stairwell, unable to see that glorious sunshine of that morning, when the structure shuddered and shredded the bands of steel, and gravity took over. He would have been unable to look down and see where the mosque to his death is being proposed by the death-lovers of NYC. You and those politicians who call for the mosque are no longer of us. But against us. There’s no other call for it. You are joining in the celebration of death. Not a mosque on this earth does not call for the death of the “infidel” as they so imperiously define us, including you. They scream for our death. They have no other words. You may be first by their reckoning, a Jew, the worse kind of infidel by their reckoning.
People who drive planes into tall towers, to have their deeds celebrated in village, hamlet, town and city of the self-declared enemies of us, should not have their deeds celebrated in a mosque. Of what purpose is this place? Not a one of those mosque ridden countries has a synagogue, not a one a church of any Christian denomination. Not a Hindu Temple. Indeed, not a single sort of religious entity that is there in that great diversity of NYC is allowed in the land of mosques. You call for our tolerance? And yet you are silent on their hate, their death-love, their lack of tolerance. You say invite them in, to show we are good. And they get up in their minarets and call for our deaths. Now we will have another place to hear the muzzein call for the death of the infidel, which is us, they so clearly say. We are to tolerate our own death? This is your tolerance?
They announce that they want to open the building on September 11th itself. And sooner than the towers going up over the cemetery of 3000 Americans. Perhaps you would encourage a Nazi center at the gates of Auschwitz on the anniversary of Kristalnacht?
They say, in most quarters of that hateful swath of sand from Morocco to Islamabad, that no Jews were killed there at the WTC. I’ve heard this many times. From people of all sorts. I confront them with my brother-in-law. I’m not prone to bring up such a disaster for my niece and nephew, losing their father. Watching on TV the horror as the news about their father became slimmer and smaller in the great scheme of things. But I’m ready with a video of his funeral, or memorial, since there was no molecule to place in a box of any size. It took place at one of NYC’s largest synagogues. 5,000 perhaps were inside. Tens of thousands lined Lexington Ave for blocks north and south. Thousands more filled the streets to the east and west of the avenue.
Not a sound was to be heard, as we, his family – his wife, the mother of his children, and those two young kids – and too his mother. His family, my family, walking from the synagogue’s offices, where we gathered, through the silent crowds, standing intensely below huge American flags hung from firetruck ladders raised up high, like a continuing 21 gun salute. The 20 minute or so walk, lead by the Rabbi, was one of the longest I ever took in my life. And the most moving, by far. For I saw, it was America out there in those streets. Every color, every ethnicity. Every race and nationality. Every age and sex, and condition and mindset. Tens of thousands brought together in one purpose. At the same time tens of thousands gathered at 3000 other funerals. Millions of Americans in the most diverse cavalcade of peaceful humanity ever seen on earth. Not the false diversity of the NAACP or the president, or even of you, but the real diversity of Americans in arms with each other.
You do not want to see such crowds against this mosque gather in your streets, Mr. Mayor. But that’s what you’ll get.
This mosque is, to quote Mohammed himself – haram – it is forbidden. It is against every bit of rational humanhood. For to invite those who would kill us, as they state so clearly over and over again they want to do, into our great cities, so that we might hear the calls for our death is demented. It’s sick, Mr. Mayor. And you have no right to allow those who would kill us, into our homes and towns to effect their murderous plots. You are of them, and that cannot stand.
I’m not anymore into the niceties of political correctness. The last few days has seen astounding revelations about the anti-Americanism seeping into our nation. When a professor of law, like a certain Zasloff of California, call for repression of the press, we are too far removed from mere niceties.
When a proud civil rights organization just makes base and unprovable accusations against fellow citizens. Then they are aided and abetted by so-called journalists who say just throw accusations of racism and who cares at who. When our very president works between his golf games to destroy jobs in America and you say nothing Mr. Mayor, well, then we’ve all just gone to far.
When you come to us and tell us to shut up and take it you are joining into the destruction of this country. And that is not going to happen. It’s bad enough that you join, like my own senator, in the economic wreckage of this administration, but then you call for a mosque to be built over a center of trade – by people who ban virtually all forms of commerce. They hate woman, and you call for tolerance of them. They hate Jews, and you say we should like them. They ban our religions from their prison-nations, and you say this is fine, this is their culture. And then you welcome them into so that they might ban our religions on our own land. Just as they say, as they have said for 1400 years – Death to the Infidel.
No Mr. Mayor, this is not a good idea.
I can’t go on, really. For it is too infuriating. I shall go out to look up at the moon which we went to. And try not to think of the crescent moon that leads to our deaths.
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