For This House Shall Be Destroyed

The funeral procession had stretched as far as the eye could see; black shawls, scarves, knit and black yarmulkes, hatless, long-haired, religious and not. Sefardi mingled with Ashkenazi, Chasidic with Rabbi Kook's disciples, men, women and children. Black-garbed, traditional, modern-clothes-wearing, young and old, infants and youth. Thousands had followed the black-shrouded casket to this auditor

Isaac Kohn,

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Arutz 7
It was the whistling sound of the wind, blowing through the cracks in the wall, that woke him up. Interesting. He didn't notice that crack before. But, then again, the whole house was practically falling apart; the slamming screen door on the porch was a constant and he has long since ceased to pay attention to that. Nor did he bother with the peeling paint in the corridor walls and the ceilings; the leaking pipes stained the once-lacquered floor with large rust stains, the smell of mold and mildew reeked from every corner, from every room of the house. Here and there, he noticed, the seeping water has loosened the mortar; in the dining-room wall, a few bricks were already exposed. Fissures appeared out of nowhere, chinks of mortar fell on his bed. And more rust. Every nail in the walls seems to have been exposed, the moisture causing thin streaks of rust to slowly inch their way downward.

Last night, he smelled the odor of smoke. Was something short-circuited inside the flimsy, paper-thin walls? He wondered.

He inherited this house from his father. It seems that only yesterday his grandfather built it. Some called it a 'house of cards' and warned his grandfather that the construction is not sturdy, the mortar has no substance, the bricks, porous. He was forewarned that the architects were too extreme, bereft of true customary understanding of what it takes to build a proper house; the material they used was inferior, second-rate.

The blueprints, he was told, were unconventional, radically different from the original, illegal; the owner of the land, the landlord, has long-objected to the folly of altering the agreed upon terms of construction. The 'closing' specifically stated that the original terms and plans of any future building can never be altered. His grandfather was warned of dire consequences should the builders proceed in their obstinate path of deceiving the landlord. But his grandfather refused to pay heed; praising the 'new methodology' of construction, he proceeded in defiance of his original, signed and sworn contract to adhere and to follow, not to stray. 'Follow these lines of demarcation and your house will stay firm, be erected on solid ground,' pleaded the owner's agent. 'Strictly conform to my precise plans and instructions and your structure will withstand the assault of nature and time; the braying neighbors, angry at the 'infringement' will fail in their attempts to dislodge you. Your home shall be an impregnable fortress. I, the landlord, shall guard the gates of your home. Do not tamper with the plans, nor modify nor change....' Not only did they change and alter, the construction did not at all resemble the original.

BANG! The screen door slammed against the tilting frame, the young man set upright. BANG! Foreboding black clouds floated ever closer and the winds seem to be gathering strength and power. A cold, bone-chilling rain began to lash across the yard. He became suddenly aware of the thunderclap as it crashed across the heavens; streaking lightening lit the darkening skies. An ominous disquieting feeling chilled his bones; the young man shivered.

There was a knock on the door.

'Who's there?' he asked.

'A messenger,' replied the voice on the other side of the door.

The young man rose quickly to open the door. A dignified old man, wrapped in a talit, smiled sadly and motioned to him to follow. He doesn't know why, but he did. Curiosity? Fear?

The huge funeral parlor was crowded, every seat was taken, thousands stood against the walls, in the aisles. The galleries were overflowing; in the passageways and corridors loudspeakers were installed so those who can not see will still be able to hear the eulogies. The ushers walked up and down the aisle; never has he seen such a multitude of mourners. Outside, the alleyways, the walkways, the sprawling lawn, every inch of space was occupied. As far as the eye could see, the throng of people swarmed towards the huge building; orderly, quietly, purposefully they moved forward, intent. Mobile communication stations were placed in every strategic corner; the antennas stretched skyward, words spoken inside the hall will be transmitted to the enormous crowds on the outside. They stood, they watched.

The funeral procession had stretched as far as the eye could see; black shawls, scarves, knit and black yarmulkes, hatless, long-haired, religious and not. Sefardi mingled with Ashkenazi, Chasidic with Rabbi Kook's disciples, men, women and children. Black-garbed, traditional, modern-clothes-wearing, young and old, infants and youth. Thousands had followed the black-shrouded casket to this auditorium, eyes focused intently.

He stood with mouth agape, his eyes wide with awe. Where was the old man? In the sudden rush and bewilderment?

There! There he is. And he is beginning to speak. The young man listened, enraptured.

'Brothers and sisters,' his hand raised in a gesture for silence; an immediate hush fell across the assembled.

'Secular Zionism, is dead!' the speaker's voice thundered. 'And the house built on false pretenses, cheap material, twisted plans and misaligned blueprints is on the brink of collapse. A house of sand built on weak stilts against precise instructions, can not forever stand. A wall built without foundations, is nothing more than a pile of bricks; strong winds blowing incessantly will cause the wall to collapse like a house of cards.'

The thundering voice bellowed in the hall; the silence was total, the anxiety, thick and palatable.

The speaker continued: 'The illegitimate child of secularism, born in sin, raising the hand of rebellion against G-d, is about to be put to rest, slowly murdered by the hands of its own creators. How much better had it been aborted (the only abortion to have been approved, certified and celebrated by those continuing to beat the path of tradition) and never to have seen the light of day. The daily, gruesome spectacle of secular Zionism's supreme egotistical indignity, presented to the world, resonates onward; another nail driven into secular Zionism's coffin, joined together by arrogance and other self-serving actions of self-hating Jews. A coffin built of laws to desecrate the Shabbos and to allow the free importation of swine. A coffin built with the spectacle of assimilated marriages, wholesale murder of the unborn, trampling of the faithful, contaminating of kashrut. A coffin built with irresponsible speeches by the Oslo criminals, evil treaties negotiated with the enemy, pilots questioning the legitimacy of self-defense, refusing to set out on missions to prevent, to protect, to deter. Knesset members rushing to physically protect the arch-murderer from Israeli reprisals; speeches by self-righteous, Jew-by-error, traitors.... "We are occupiers! Theirs is a legitimate gripe! We, Jews, are the killers and this land is their land. Give back, return, evacuate." Another deportation of Jews... to where? And not a tear shed, not a sigh uttered, not a grave visited.... The murdered, the widowed, the orphaned Jews. The defiance of G-d, the rebellion, the embrace of falsehood, the betrayal of Judaic morals and truth. No! my friends, a house built over a hollow abyss, shall not for long survive and may soon collapse. The cracks, the fissures, the disintegrating mortar....'

There was a stirring; here and there a wailing voice tore through the silence. People, nervous, uncomfortable, whispering. A child, restless, began to cry, his mother's comforting hand stroking his hair.

He couldn't listen any longer. He struggled and pushed and cajoled his way out. He then began to run.

'Faster,' he heard himself urging more speed and stamina. Panting, sweating, exhausted.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and stared. There, on the porch, still wrapped in his talit, stood the old man, motioning to him to come closer. The young man walked over and up the rickety stairs.

Smiling, the old man took his hand and softly whispered: '...and if you shall not pay heed to these words... this house shall be destroyed....'