Get some perspective

Richard Silverstein has an interesting, by which I mean exasperating, story, about rightwing hack organization Im Tirtzu's latest posterboy, Amir Benayoun. Benayoun spends the whole song bemoaning the "hate" and betrayal of the IDF by the Israeli left. I mostly want to focus on Benayoun's ridiculous lyrics, but I do think it's interesting that Silverstein notes that Benayoun was not allowed to serve in the army due to his criminal record. Apparently Benayoun's particular brand of patriotism consists of being a criminal thug, going BT, then pretending to be holier than thou while accusing his ideological opponents of hating the state. Good to know.

Here's the translation to Benayoun's song. Translation by Silverstein & some friends (could be wrong, I don't know. Other versions here and here.):

I am Your Brother

I preserve your identity
I protect your children
I put my life on the line for you
and you spit in my face

After they failed to kill me from the outside
you come and kill me from inside
I haven’t seen my mother in a month
neither my son nor my house nor my wife

I always charge forward
with my back to you
[but] you sharpen the knife
more than anything, this thought burns my soul
and you, how come you still don’t understand

I am your brother,
you are an enemy
you hate me
I love [you]
when I weep you laugh behind my back
you are killing me
why, you are my brother

I am the future
you are the past
and the present is broken between us
I go hungry for you
you gorge yourself and over-imbibe [reference to Deuteronomy 21 in which Israelite is stoned to death for such 'sins']
when my throat is dry you drink liquor
my lips are always sealed for your safety
but you deliver me to the foreigner [meaning gentiles--reference to Goldstone, NIF, Anat Kamm]

I am your brother, you act like an enemy
Why? You’re my brother

[Narrator intones prayer: He who blessed our forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob
May He bless the fighters of the Israel Defense Forces
Who stand guard over our land and the cities of our God
From Lebanon to the desert of Egypt
And from the Great Sea [Mediterranean] unto the approach of the Aravah
On the land, in the air, and on the sea

For it is the Lord your God who goes with you
To battle your enemies for you to save you
Now let us say: Amen

Honestly, about the only good thing you can say about this tripe is that it's so hyperbolic and one-sided that you have to hope it doesn't convince too many people who don't already subscribe to its views. But here are some interesting ironies I found:

1- Who in Israel relies on the army to "preserve its identity?" Hint: not the Left.

2- "You spit in my face." Watch the news. At the very least we can agree that spitting in soldiers' faces appears to be a bipartisan activity. (Gush Katif?)

3- "You sharpen the knife." Really? Let's take a census and figure out which political demographics have the guns.

4- "I am your brother/You are an enemy/You hate me/[but] I love"

No denying there are Israelis who hate the IDF. But the really scary rhetoric about demolishing the state and going after "traitors" ain't coming from lefties.

5- "When I weep you laugh."

Who was cheering Sharon's coma?

6- "You gorge yourself, etc..." My memory's gone again... remind me, which Israelis get paid government subsidies to live in large houses they otherwise could never afford? Ah yes, all those liberals.

Get over yourself, Amir. You can bitch about the left all you like. But the real ones "killing you-- and the army-- aren't the left-wingers. The sooner you realize this, the better off you'll be.

Rebuttal to Fred Phelps

First, watch this for the tune (and rage):

Hey Mr. Phelps I know that you're no pastor
And that you're no preacher no, cause you're just a bastard
Spreadin' your hate all over the place
One day you will end up with a brick in the face

You protest funerals while the parents are there
You're so cruel and heartless but you just don't care
Claim you're working for your Lord
But it's clear that you are just an attention whore
Go away please... right now... and shut up.

You hate Catholics and Muslims and Jews
And also gays, and anyone who's not you,
You can hate, as hard as you please,
You've wasted your pathetic life on your sick disease
Go play in traffic... right now... and shut up.

Hey Mr. Phelps, now, consider this a warning
Your family's worn out their welcome and your time is coming
You say celebrities are horribly wrong,
I notice that don't stop you from stealing their songs
Take a long walk... off a short pier... and shut up.

Zayde

My Zayde (not to be confused with My Zayde).

My Zayde lived alone in Brooklyn,
We rarely met, he never put me on his knee,
I tried to ask my relatives about him,
And they spoke, but with a bitter memory.

They told me about the times he used to hit them,
About his inventions that never seemed to sell,
And they spoke about the day he thought he heard God speaking,
And the messages he warned him not to tell.

Yes, Zayde made us laugh,
But Zayde made us cry,
And Zayde never backed down from a fight,
And despite it all I still loved my Zayde,
Because Zayde still taught me wrong from right.

One day Zayde decided things had to change,
It all seemed so logical to him,
The modern ways of America,
Were causing his family to sin.

So he made the announcement,
He said he had no choice,
He said God had told him this was right,
So he packed his things and then he was gone,
Off to live with the righteous in Crown Heights.

I don't know how he could have let it happen,
He didn't speak to us for about twenty years,
He cared more about us being Jewish than a family,
And somehow never seemed to shed a tear.

Yes, Zayde made us laugh,
But Zayde made us cry,
And Zayde never backed down from a fight,
And despite it all I still loved my Zayde,
Because Zayde still taught me wrong from right.

Because of Zayde my Papa never went back into a synagogue,
Because of Zayde my brother thinks it's all a crock,
Because of Zayde, I will always feel haunted,
Between what he wanted, and what I know I'm not.

Who knows what my Zayde would think of me,
If he could see me standing here today?
He'd probably ask me why I don't have peyos,
And tell me to send my shiska girl away.

But my children will be different,
My children will laugh and sing,
My children will know the beauty of Yiddishkeit,
And my children will know that I love them always,
Even if they do things that I don't think are right.

Zayde has been gone for many years now,
But his spirit still lives on, it's true,
And I know that when I'm a Zayde, things will be different,
Because he taught me all the things not to do.

What Will Hopefully be the Last Abir Post. Ever.

I know, now I'm getting sick of it, too. Stupid poetic justice.

Anyway, as is my wont, I've composed an (overly long) ditty about the whole thing. I imagine it would be best suited to some bad boy band score. Since I don't have access to a drum machine or pubescant-boy synthesizer, you'll have to use your imaginations (all of you musically-inclined Youtube video makers have the Friar's permission to use this in whatever project you like).

Thus, I present...

The Abir Song

Sometimes it seems it's hard to be a Jew,
Don't know where to turn,
Hard to know what life wants from you,
So many times you've been burned,

But there's someone you've just got to meet,
A holy family in Jerusalem,
So dust off your gi,
Get on your feet,
And let's all go join them...

Abir,
Warrior Arts,
We will show you the way,
When you've got Abir,
There's no reason to fear,
As long as you know Maneuver Haaaaay,

Abir,
Warrior Arts,
We tell you, we're for real,
We're not like those Kabbalah Center fools,
And we'll make you such a deal.

Jews from all around the world
Are joining in our quest,
From Rio to Kaifeng, to Boro Park,
As we crush evil-doers' chests,

Sure some folks are skeptical,
They think that we're swindlers with magnetic charms,
But maybe they will change their tune
When our swords chop off their arms.

Abir,
Warrior Arts,
We'll point you on the right path,
Together we will show the world
That Jews can do much more than math,

Abir,
Warrior Arts,
We'll end the exile tonight,
Nothing makes you feel like a completed Jew
Like the ability to fight.

Everyone knows Abir is true,
Even the rabbis all say so,
It'll lift up your spirit and heal your soul,
Not like that pagan Tae Kwon Doooooh,

Abir's like yoga for your brain,
It'll help you cleanse your mind,
The holy alphabet will help you out,
Even if you're old and blind!

Oh, Oh, Oh,

All these people keep coming in,
Our power can't be surpassed,
If somebody were to give us crap,
We would surely kick their ass,

Abir's an ancient secret,
Jews guarded it with their lives,
Better to be burned at the stake,
Than to explain those squiggly lines,

But we kept Abir going,
Through song, and letters and dance,
It's sort of like the Maori Hakka,
Except we still wear pants.

Don't know if you're Ashkenazi,
Or maybe Yemenite,
But you know it doesn't matter,
Everything's all right,

I learned Abir from my father,
Who learned it from his,
It's been in our family since the Middle Ages,

It goes back to Moses,
Who learned it from the bush,
Then he took his staff,
And whacked Aaron in the tuuush!

Oh, Oh Oh,

Abir...

I really want,

Abir...

I gotta have,

Abir...

Somebody buy me,

Abir...

Want to pop the top and drink down all your wisdom, Grand Master...

And crush the can against my skull...

Abir.

Weird Al's got nothing on me

(To the melody of "Under the Sea", and all apologies to Little Mermaid fans and Chabad. I guess.)

Up in Crown Heights

The rebbe always looks hotter,
When he isn’t really there,
You wanted to marry his daughter,
God didn’t answer that prayer.
And that was just too bad now,
It left an uncertain fate,
And all because the Rebbe
Was too good to procreate!

Up in Crown Heights,
Up in Crown Heights,
A bunch of Hasidim,
Think they’re such pure Yidden,
And get into fights!
Some of the Yechis are a delight,
But are they really doing Yiddishkeit?
Are they a cult,
What will be the result,
Up in Crown Heights?

Down here the Yidden are happy,
As they receive their welfare checks,
Yidden in Crown Heights ain’t happy,
‘Cause rebbe won’t resurrect.
But Yidden in Crown Heights are lucky,
Things really ain’t so bad,
When Moshiach turns out to be Shabbetai,
We all gon’ to be so sad!

Up in Crown Heights,
Up in Crown Heights,
They say they’re great,
They make us irate,
So we punch out their lights!
Every year they get a big Hanukkah light,
Over at Chabad they burn so bright,
They think they’ll go so far,
Not as cool as Satmar,
Up in Crown Heights
Up in Crown Heights
They got their menorahs
And also fedoras
Lookin’ so tight!
Even Yosef and Eliyahu,
Agree Schneerson was a pretty cool Jew
The people would holler
When he handed out dollars
Up in Crown Heights

The sofer makes a mark,
The chazzan sounds a note,
The boys in cheder,
They all learn by rote.
The shochet kills fowls,
The rebbetzin scowls,
The mohel gets a tip!
(Yeah)
The shammes he sweeps,
Tzedaka he keeps,
He hopes no one sees,
The change that he reaps,
They say the Yechi,
We eat treif in Monsey,
But at least we’re not Reform.

Up in Crown Heights,
Up in Crown Heights,
Nothing’s as nice,
As Jews with some spice,
And really nice tights!
Yes, while Bobov’s full of despair,
Chabad prays to an empty chair,
If they had a leader,
He’d stand tall as a cedar,
And they’d reunite!
All the wives’ schmattes,
Bring their husbands such naches,
Up in Crown Heights
Things work with such ease,
When the rebbe’s deceased,
Don’t confuse them with Skver,
Or they’ll cut off your hair,
Yeah I’m telling you,
It don’t pay to screw,
With those guys in Crown Heights!