Substitute Horizons – Language Mutation III

Yon Hazikaron and Yon Haatzmaut

Paulo Rosenbaum

Contrary to the preaching of the revisionists, testimony and witnesses are the only irrefutable documents of history. We hear, here and now, whether we like it or not, admitting it or not, that the long march of intolerance still has its voice guaranteed. Inside and outside national states. It is in individuals, it is found in institutions. One of the proofs of this bitter repetition is the obsessive metaphor with an anti-Jewish and anti-Zionist content that has been taking over speeches and narratives.

Now, in order to justify an operation, the proportion of the executioner’s “Jewish blood” and its equivalences is invoked. The propaganda machine includes a gigantic lapse in critical analysis on the part of the media. And now he dares to blame the victim for the aggression, as the ex convicted candidate confirmed in an interview with a once expressive American magazine. It is not just about the reckless use of language that has taken on alarming contours. It is to make it the opposite of the work of building freedom and justice. It is the perversion of meanings and perhaps a crime against decent literature. Not that it should become prescriptive, but that it should refrain from associating itself with ideological and dated perfidy.

It seems to persuade life that errors like this rule as rules against exceptions. Going forward, the evil evocation issued by politicians and leaders is anchored in fear. So it has been when they exhort demonization. News that spreads in the same common air and with the same ghostly vigor. It insinuates itself, as in recent waves of pestilence, through an invisible and indecipherable energy, despite being embarrassingly palpable. It is found in the unpalatable mouth of the foreign ministers and in the not very courageous didactics of the West. The West whose neutrality bounces off victims to end up housed in the solidarity vest of decision-making offices. That finds in the strategic omission the same devastation of the cities opened in recent wars.

Now we’ve all learned. Language is a wild cradle. Which in wartime leaves only meaningless furrows. The accusations against Israel usually come from generalizations, organized by the language that plots and confuses. Despite the artificial polysemy that the term has recently taken on in the mouth of historical anti-Semitism, the real Nazis and their ideological accomplices still know how to use it like few others. They come as erratic swarms to spread fanatical pollination among uncritical flowers. “You’re the Nazis” became a kind of alibi slogan guaranteed to carry out the actions that typified the Third Reich.

What then would our substitute horizon be? The one we still, astonished, have not seen. One that will replace promises of annihilation with processes of integration. Our people, that is to say, no people who are not a majority will henceforth accept relative amendments. Nor will it accept unjustifiable deaths. Will not accept manipulated charges. Sometimes the weekly rest, the Shabbat, is not enough to guide the rest, nor the mourning to train suffering.

Our substitute horizon? Stay adrift? Surrender to the passage of a time that does not progress? Capitulate before the sea of injustices and foreseeable calamities? Without an enormous load of objection to the volume of attacks, the future would indicate a repetition of a tragedy of Shoah proportions . And how should we act? contemplative? Adopting stoic imperturbability? Under a slow and majestic tread slip between the orange tiles of Jerusalem? Or in the intermittence of a faith that oscillates between sunrise and sunset? Between an unknowable sea that will never be completely crossed?

What do you offer me horizon? Beyond Nothing, beyond the promises of posterity? Of cordial acceptance of an unchosen fate? Or will it be another one of the enigmas that no one dares to scrutinize? What does the horizon reveal to us? The inappropriate calm of meaningless days? Or the certainty that everything is just the same experiences with the protagonists taking turns?

What can horizon tell us? That we are a mere stage for your performance? Today the ashes of an unsuspecting shroud rain down on us. And it doesn’t just wet the exhausted Jews My father was in the same storm. as well as all ancestral generations, and seem to claim it.

It is no longer a matter of tomorrow, the trance has imposed itself today, violent as only invisibility can provide. Vulnerability is a naughty aftermath. Trance is imposed by an arbitrary absence, hostage to a plague.

I predict it will not be common ground, or a life of unmotivated joy. Rather, you will weave a web of ties to create the feeling of ending. But what they didn’t count on is this little imponderable. We don’t really know to whom the horizon belongs. To us, who without the pretense of alignments are cohesive?. I know that you are not an oracle, nor can or should predict what we lack.

And that’s why we suspect that the fusion of horizons is just a chimera if the plumb isn’t laid out on flat ground. A fictional ending for those who expected reality. Why then does it still haunt us with hope, horizon? With expectations that will never arise and with promises betrayed by reality?

If I could risk it, I would answer that our vision has incorporated you without understanding what the big picture means. The one that will remove us from the vulgarity of common sense to show us a brand new belonging.

Without parties, without rigid foundations, in a malleable horizon that interposes its protection column. Which simply miraculously separates the tyrants from the righteous.

Elected, this would be the substitute horizon: who knows how we would know the spherical meaning of the word shalom?

That under sirens, or violins, your 74th anniversary of existence be like this!