In less time than it takes for someone to spell the word "loser", Shimon Peres, Labor Party leader, spoke out angrily. Thus railed His Losership: "Eight hundred people can't hold hostage Israel's future."

Isaac Kohn,

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Arutz 7
"Defeat!" screamed the morning headlines. The Labor Party's secret implant, otherwise known as Ariel Sharon, received another slap in the face as the Likud members voted to reject Labor's inclusion in a coalition government. 'We have our own garbage,' the vote seemed to indicate, 'there is no need to bring in more trash.' And the garbage, it seems, will remain outside till it rots.

In less time than it takes for someone to spell the word "loser", Shimon Peres, Labor Party leader, spoke out angrily. Thus railed His Losership: "Eight hundred people can't hold hostage Israel's future."

Eight hundred? Surely, you jest. The thought of eight-hundred minor, insignificant people holding Israel's future hostage in direct contradiction of Mr. Peres' agenda is abominable, to say the least. Yet, Israel's most recent-to-present history bears the indelible blood imprint of only one man. One man who has held Israel's future hostage to his whims and pandering to arch-murderer Yasser Arafat. Shimon Peres, a man who has embarked on a search and destroy mission vis-a-vis anything relating to G-d and country; a man who felt no revulsion in celebrating his wretched eightieth-year, while his cherished client was spilling his brothers' blood.

Eight hundred, indeed!

Yes, Mr. Peres. Eight-hundred sane individuals cast their vote to repudiate your imbecilic vision of a torn-apart Israel; eight-hundred Jews who decided that they will do what they can to stop your suicidal mission. The vote was not so much a rejection of Sharon's negotiation efforts, but rather a repudiation of the self-destruction you are foisting on Israel. Not every one is blind, Mr. Peres. Some have the ability to see beyond the rosy color you are spraying. They see the dark, ominous clouds gathering. And they intend on resisting the storm you are creating.

Approximately 1,500 tombstones lie across the country, Mr. Peres. Fathers, mothers, grandparents, brides, grooms, babies, infants and the unborn lie buried in the hallowed grounds of the Holy Land. Mounds of dirt cover them; only yesterday they lived, laughed, cried and loved. Only yesterday, the chosson and kallah looked forward to their day of eternal unity, their future. But your client, Shimon, decided otherwise.

Only yesterday, it seems, the little girl, her face smudged with chocolate ice cream, laughed in delight. A mother waiting at the curbside, waiting for her little child coming home from kindergarten. And a soldier on his way home for a Shabbos meal with his anxious family. Only yesterday....

Only yesterday... you gave them guns. Thousands of guns. And as you gave them ammunition, you smiled and you hugged and celebrated with the murderers, while we continued to bury our fallen. You connived and undermined every plausible effort Israel employed to defend herself. We begged, and we cried and we demanded that you stop your complicity in the genocide of your own people. But you laughed and you smiled and you continued, indefatigably, to reassure and to cajole and to pretend. The buses exploded in flames, bodies strewn for hundreds of meters. The little child in the arms of his suddenly forever-silent mother, whimpered; the nails and shrapnel tore through his little body. "Mommy! Mommy!" Only yesterday....

The rescue squads worked around the clock - ZAKA, MDA, Hatzoloh - while the Chevra Kaddisha funeral cars continued onwards in an unbroken line to the cemetery. The wounded lay in the wards of hospitals overloaded with injured and maimed. The orphans, bewildered, knew not where to turn as the thousands silently walked past the open graves; their parents' graves. They waited expectantly, hoping that you'd arrive to comfort, to ease the pain you helped create. They waited. And waited. But you never came. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after. But today is the tomorrow that was promised yesterday. And you didn't come. You didn't show up to touch a mourner's shoulder or shed a tiny little tear for all the blood and pain and death you helped to bring.

You were too busy, after all. In political positions and much after, you traveled the wide world. And instigated and double-talked and garnered every possible Gentile willing to listen to your anti-Israel, pro-Arab scheme. You bent the ears of politicians, foes and semi-friends alike and promised them what they wanted to hear. You planned, Mr. Peres, untiringly, single-handedly or in consort with other self-hating Jews, to build the coalition and fortifications needed to dismantle the State of Israel. You urged the world to pressure Israel, to threaten and to warn. You, the architect of the Oslo War, designer of the Road Map, spokesman for Yasser Arafat, retractor of Israel. A betrayer in the multi-colors of the rainbow. Even today....

The hunger for power and the unquenchable thirst for the political trappings drives this semi-senile octogenarian has-been to place ego and self-gratification above all else. The fool-turned-betrayer is once again raising the black flag of defeatism and capitulation and celebrates the Israeli surrender as some sort of victory. Lest one forget by whom the seedlings of the ongoing Oslo War were planted, let us remember clearly that it's the bitter by-product of this man's reckless ambition and blind, pro-Arab stance.

Dear Mr. Benedict Shimon-Arnold: The tombstones are silent. Were they able to speak, what would they say?