bassa velocità

                                      Metaphysic

People who spend most of their natural lives riding iron bycicles over the rocky roadsteads of this parish get their personalities mixed up with the personalities of their bycicles as a result of the interchanging of the atoms of each of them and you would be surprised at the number of people in these parts who nearly are half people and half bicycles.

Brian O' Nolan ( pseudonym Flann O' Brien,1911-1966) The Third Policeman

Days of darkness

_{By Gideon Levy}

journalist of Haaretz

In war as in war: Israel is sinking into a strident, nationalistic atmosphere and darkness is beginning to cover everything. The brakes we still had are eroding, the insensitivity and blindness that characterized Israeli society in recent years is intensifying. The home front is cut in half: the north suffers and the center is serene. But both have been taken over by tones of jingoism, ruthlessness and vengeance, and the voices of extremism that previously characterized the camp's margins are now expressing its heart. The left has once again lost its way, wrapped in silence or "admitting mistakes." Israel is exposing a unified, nationalistic face.

The devastation we are sowing in Lebanon doesn't touch anyone here and most of it is not even shown to Israelis. Those who want to know what Tyre looks like now have to turn to foreign channels - the BBC reporter brings chilling images from there, the likes of which won't be seen here. How can one not be shocked by the suffering of the other, at our hands, even when our north suffers? The death we are sowing at the same time, right now in Gaza, with close to 120 dead since the kidnapping of Gilad Shalit, 27 last Wednesday alone, touches us even less. The hospitals in Gaza are full of burned children, but who cares? The darkness of the war in the north covers them, too.

Since we've grown accustomed to thinking collective punishment a legitimate weapon, it is no wonder no debate has sparked here over the cruel punishment of Lebanon for Hezbollah's actions. If it was okay in Nablus, why not Beirut? The only criticism being heard about this war is over tactics. Everyone is a general now and they are mostly pushing the IDF to deepen its activities. Commentators, ex-generals and politicians compete at raising the stakes with extreme proposals.

Haim Ramon "doesn't understand" why there is still electricity in Baalbek; Eli Yishai proposes turning south Lebanon into a "sandbox"; Yoav Limor, a Channel 1 military correspondent, proposes an exhibition of Hezbollah corpses and the next day to conduct a parade of prisoners in their underwear, "to strengthen the home front's morale."

It's not difficult to guess what we would think about an Arab TV station whose commentators would say something like that, but another few casualties or failures by the IDF, and Limor's proposal will be implemented. Is there any better sign of how we have lost our senses and our humanity?

Chauvinism and an appetite for vengeance are raising their heads. If two weeks ago only lunatics such as Safed Rabbi Shmuel Eliyahu spoke about "wiping out every village where a Katyusha is fired," now a senior officer in the IDF speaks that way in Yedioth Aharonoth's main headlines. Lebanese villages may not have been wiped out yet, but we have long since wiped out our own red lines.

A bereaved father, Haim Avraham, whose son was kidnapped and killed by Hezbollah in October 2000, fires an artillery shell into Lebanon for the reporters. It's vengeance for his son. His image, embracing the decorated artillery shell is one of the most disgraceful images of this war. And it's only the first. A group of young girls also have their picture taken decorating IDF shells with slogans.

Maariv, which has turned into the Fox News of Israel, fills its pages with chauvinist slogans reminiscent of particularly inferior propaganda machines, such as "Israel is strong" - which is indicative of weakness, actually - while a TV commentator calls for the bombing of a TV station.

Lebanon, which has never fought Israel and has 40 daily newspapers, 42 colleges and universities and hundreds of different banks, is being destroyed by our planes and cannon and nobody is taking into account the amount of hatred we are sowing. In international public opinion, Israel has been turned into a monster, and that still hasn't been calculated into the debit column of this war. Israel is badly stained, a moral stain that can't be easily and quickly removed. And only we don't want to see it.

The people want victory, and nobody knows what that is and what its price will be.

The Zionist left has also been made irrelevant. As in every difficult test in the past - the two intifadas for example - this time too the left has failed just when its voice was so necessary as a counterweight to the stridency of the beating tom-toms of war. Why have a left if at every real test it joins the national chorus?

Peace Now stands silently, so does Meretz, except for brave Zehava Gal-On. A few days of a war of choice and already Yehoshua Sobol is admitting he was wrong all along. Peace Now is suddenly an "infantile slogan" for him. His colleagues are silent and their silence is no less resounding. Only the extreme left makes its voice heard, but it is a voice nobody listens to.

Long before this war is decided, it can already be stated that its spiraling cost will include the moral blackout that is surrounding and covering us all, threatening our existence and image no less than Hezbollah's Katyushas.

                                      20 Luglio

a 24 anni mi ritrovai sulla cima del mio piccolo mondo,dal quale potevo guardare fino al mio ombelico e trovare che in fondo il paesaggio era niente male-
avevo una infinita serie di garanzie e privilegi derivati dalla mia professione,alla quale ero arrivato con una certa cocciuta caparbietà e passione-
i miei vecchi,persone mille volte più in gamba di me,non avevano avuto nemmeno una oncia di quello che io potevo permettermi-
mi sono sentito inutile,colpevole-un sopravvissuto.
certi odori,ci nasci dentro e non riesci a lavarli mai completamente

ho deciso di fare altro,di farlo bene-come meglio sarebbe stato possibile fare,per me,allora-
avrei potuto viaggiare,molto,e vedere da vicino-
avessi avuto un analista ne avrei fatto un alcolista,sicuro-
ero molto più giovane allora;sono molto più vecchio adesso-

ho conosciuto persone eccezionali,pezzidimerda,delinquenti eleganti e riveriti,poeti nati in capanne ed in capanne morti,dimenticati-
pensavo che sarei riuscito a graffiare il cielo con la mia rabbia-mi sono ritrovato,a volte,con la merda che riempiva le brache-
ne ho prese tante ed ogni volta fui grato a chi mi picchiava
il dolore mi avrebbe permesso di ricordare tutto

oggi voglio ricordare i fotoreporter,cineoperatori,giornalisti che ogni giorno rischiano la pelle per dieci righe in cronaca o un servizio da Pulitzer,una foto che verrà pubblicata ed un altra che verrà giudicata inopportuna-
io li ricordo tutti

qualcuno batte il calcio d'inizio

                                        bambini

chiuse le scuole,deposti gli zaini,poco interessati a tonitottilippi,i bambini gonfiano piccoli sogni come palloncini (tubus in fabula)ed aspettano di vederli diventare storie-
non è noia,è solo una differente concezione del tempo,diversa dal suono della campanella,dalla cadenza dei rimproveri-piccole trattative con la vita
arriverà anche per loro,purtroppo,il momento dell'orologio al polso-

così,nonostante il caldo che affloscia,lo stentato miagolìo di un microbo di gatto che ha scelto il vicolo sotto la nostra finestra per lanciare un disperato esseosse diventa un putiferio di piccoli cuori-
breve consulto:

di gatti ne abbiamo già due al terzo ho idea che
il piccolo in arrivo imparerà a miagolare prima di renderci orgogliosi
e scemi genitori epitetati con mamma&papà-
quindi: telefonare a parenti e conoscenti 
" vuoi un gattino?   no!"
indi: preparare cartelli da appiccicare ovunque sia possibile catturare l'attenzione di cuori gentili,capaci di passare ore a guardare le acrobazie della felina-
poche e concise direttive;mucchio di fogli e pennarelli
la fantasia è tutta loro,il gioco,la voglia
un altro palloncino lanciato verso il cielo
questo,per me,è il più bello