Posing as "German non-Jew" journalist exposed liberal activists hatred - B'tselem Palestinian Holocaust denial

Submitted by Jack D H (United States), Aug 20, 2022 at 21:02

Journalist Tuvia Tenenbom: What did I hear in Judea Samaria when I disguised myself as a "German journalist"

The writer, Tuvia Tenenbom, used his German journalist's certificate and gained the trust of Palestinian celebrities and "peace activists", who told him things they would never say to an Israeli journalist. His book 'Tfos et haYehudi' (Catch the Jew) is a documentary document about anti-Semitism and self-hatred.

Tovia Tannenboim, 29.08.14

[http://www.nrg.co.il/online/1/ART2/613/104.html]
[https://www.makorrishon.co.il/nrg/online/1/ART2/613/104.html]

Example chapter

A different kind of rabbi, "Rabbi" Eric from Rabbis for Human Rights, is waiting for me at dawn the next day. "Rabbi" Eric receives huge funding from various organizations and he must deliver the goods. Today he delivers the goods. He is wearing a t-shirt that says "We are all Araqeeb" and is standing next to a commercial vehicle that he arranged for me to take me to an olive vineyard in the village of Burin in the West Bank, near Nablus. There I will join the Palestinians who are supposed to helicopter their olives later today.

He will not join me, as he was in Burin yesterday, but he is paying for the car and the driver, so that I can participate in the sacred mission of his organization to "serve and protect" the Arab olive muskies. Dan, an Israeli activist working for Eric, will join me. Morris, who came from Kenya, and is one of Eric's activists, also joins.

Morris studies conflict resolution and international peace and is happy to take part in the "rabbis' campaign for human rights" to protect the Arabs from the Israeli soldiers and settlers who seek to "harm" them. Morris, a man whose life's mission is to achieve world peace, checked and inquired around the entire world and discovered that there is one force that threatens international peace: Israel.
Just a few days ago, the news reports, Muslim extremists entered a shopping center and massacred the shoppers by amputating their limbs one by one, in an attack that shocked the world with its brutality. It happened in Kenya, Morris's homeland, and one could assume that if Morris had sought to apply his conflict resolution techniques to a troubled site, he would have been in Kenya by now. But no, he is here.
I ask him to explain this to me, but instead of an answer he smiles nervously and stares at me as if I were the devil incarnate.

Abu Rami from Jerusalem is the driver of the van. He was once the driver of Uri Avneri, the oldest Israeli "peace" activist, and today he works with "Rabbi" Eric. While driving, he points out interesting sites. For example, on a house at the top of a hill: "This is the house of Moshe Zer, the chief settler!" Don't ask me what that means; I have no idea.

At a good hour we arrive at the village, and soon we will be on our way to the olive grove, to protect the Arabs who live there from the brutal (supposedly) Jews. A Palestinian farmer greets us. He was shot by two settlers some time ago, a year or so, and the marks can still be seen on his body, he says. what is your name? I ask him. "Bruce Lee". Did he really say Bruce Lee, or was he trying to say something like 'Brosley'? I'm not sure, but I answer: nice to meet you. my name is kung fu.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the wind is blowing cool on our faces, and the settlers, so I am informed, are very close to here. The atmosphere is warm. It is possible that a confrontation with the settlers is brewing and I am very excited. But first we have to climb up the hill to the olive trees. I almost fall ten times, since the way up is quite steep and there are stones that slide out of place as soon as I step on them - but what can't be done to help people save themselves from being killed (supposedly) by Jews. Everything.

We come to Bruce Lee's trees and pick olives. I thought to Tommy that we would serve as guards against the agents of evil, not be taken from the ranks, but it turns out that I was wrong: I did not notice the word "to serve" in "to serve and protect". Dan and Maurice, energetic servants that they are, work tirelessly together with Bruce Lee on one olive tree, picking the elusive greenish creatures that fall from the tree into a sack on the ground.

"The settlers are killing us," Bruce tells me as the black man and the Jew labor to serve him. How many of you have been killed by the settlers' fire so far? Dan, secretly listening to my conversation with Bruce Lee, intervenes immediately: "You can see it on the Internet". I ignore Dan and continue with Bruce Lee, asking him again: How many of you have been killed by the settlers so far? "two". When? "In 1999 or 2000".

Quite a long time has passed since then, and Bruce Lee looks at my face and realizes that he failed to make me fear the Jews. But Bruce Lee is a smart guy, and he knows that there are white people who need a good story to start fearing the Jews. Stories start with emotions, and Bruce Lee wants to touch the heart of kung fu.

A few days ago, he tells me now, a settler saw an Arab praying on the hills and told the worshiper to stop praying. The Arab disobeyed the Jew and continued to pray. The settler immediately got off his horse and shot the Arab in the middle of the prayer. I didn't know the settlers rode horses, but I don't know everything, of course. Did you see that with your own eyes, Bruce Lee? "My neighbor told me." Bruce Lee asks for my ID. I am a German journalist, I tell him. "Thank you for reporting the problems of the Palestinians to the Europeans. We are happy about the European boycott" on settlement products. You're welcome, Bruce Lee. Bruce Lee is a smart man. Give a compliment to a German like me, and he immediately blushes and spins with joy.

Dan and Maurice, I notice out of the corner of my eye, do not stop working. I look at them and come to the conclusion that these are not olive dappled muskies, but the energy and good will make up for what they lack in skill. An hour passes and still not a single murderous settler is in sight, and this is not happy news for "Rabbi" Eric. He must have prayed a special prayer to God to help him so that he grasped the Jewish brutality from the first tool, but God was (acting as if) "lazy" and did not send the "malicious" .. settlers to kill us.

Soon the rabbi decides to intervene in view of God's lack of response to his prayers.
He calls me to help. If you want, he says, it can be arranged to take you in a car—another car—to see the evidence of the terrible crimes committed by the Jews in the past. I find it absurd that many would try so hard to prove that they were... They are murderous creatures, but I love the theater of the absurd—didn't I mention that before? — and I say that I would be happy to be driven to the places where the Jews killed the innocents. A guy named Zakaria, Rabbi Eric informs me, will arrive very soon to pick me up.

But before Zakaria arrives, Bruce Lee invites us to eat with him - hummus with beans and pita. We eat under a nice olive tree, and Bruce tells me again that he was shot by two settlers, and adds two more details: they are brothers, and he knows them. what are their names He doesn't know their names, he says, he only knows them inside out. Does anyone know? Yes. There was an Israeli police investigation into the case, and charges were filed in court. In court, as far as I know, accusations cannot be made against a 'face'; There must be names. With whom are the names registered? I ask him. Judith from Yesh Din, an Israeli organization that protects the legal rights of Palestinians, so he says. I make a note to myself to find this lady and find out the details.

In the meantime, Zakaria arrives. He is a Palestinian from the village of Jit, and has a business card that defines him as a "human rights coordinator". I climb into his impressive commercial vehicle, equipped with the latest technology, and he takes me for a ride. "What do you want to see?" Everything. He takes me to the village of Burin. We were already in the village's olive vineyard, and now we are going to the village itself. We get there in a few minutes. In this place, I think to myself, the angel Bish Gada dances every day.

Everywhere here I see depressing poverty that is hard to look at. Yes. This is what most of the world's news consumers think is in Palestine, and here I see it with my own eyes. The international media, it turns out, is telling us the full truth. I have to breathe some fresh air and I go down to buy cigarettes in a small shop - more of a hole in the wall than a shop - and I look at the smoke rising from my mouth. Beyond the smoke and across the street I see a group of children, and before a moment passes I start playing with them. They enjoy it. And I enjoy them. Sweet, happy, God knows why.
These children open up to me, to the stranger. For those who need proof that children can be happy in this Dakhpin Valley, welcome to come here. I try to compare it to Great Neck in New York, where I lived quite a few years ago. Great Neck is one of the richest suburbs in America, and the children there receive the best care, the finest education, the brightest toys, the most nutritious food, the red-roofed houses—in short, the most everything.

Were the children there happier? Will it be possible to see them walking down the street together with a smile on their faces, with a shared laugh accompanying all their actions? Absolutely not. The children in Great Neck suffer from the disease of the adrenal gland, but the children of Burin do not even know that such a disease exists in the world.

I delight in the sight of Burin's children and continue to play with them. Soon, more and more children join. I make up a song a o e i a o o, and we all sing together, very loudly. The best street theater ever in Burin. To Zakaria, a rabbi for human rights, the children and I look like crazy people. He looks at me and the children, and tells me that this show reminds him of an Arab proverb: "If your friends are crazy and you are not, your sanity will not help you". Meaning, of course, that now I'm free to do what I want and he will have to run with me. I like this.

A man from the other side of the street is trying to find out what kind of show this is, and he approaches us. He introduces himself: Munir. He is also, believe it or not, a human rights activist. To be precise, he works for Yesh Din, an Israeli NGO generously funded by the Institute for Foreign Cultural Relations (Institut für Auslandsbeziehungen or IFA) and other bodies. The unfolding event—two Arabs who are paid by Jews to catch bad Jews meet on the same street corner—seems Kafkaesque to me.

What is happening in front of me is the following: left-wing NGOs in Israel are constantly looking for injustices against their people and compete with each other to recruit local spies. Just in case it doesn't come, I ask Munir if he knows someone named Yehudit. Yes, of course he knows. Why didn't I ask him before? She was here a moment ago! Well, I didn't ask you before because I didn't know you before. can you call her He gives me her phone number.
Judith tells me that she knows everything about Bruce Lee and the settler brothers, except that there is a tiny problem with it: "I don't know what the name" of the settlers is. It's on my computer, she says, and in ten minutes I'll find it. No problem. I have ten minutes, ten hours - take your time. A few minutes later she calls. She has no name. Wait a minute: isn't there a legal case, files, or whatever? "You will have to find out about that with Muhammad." Who is this Muhammad? "Lawyer". can you give me his phone number "He's in Umm al-Fahm," she says. I thank her and hang up. There is no point in further investigating this matter.
Life goes on and Zakaria takes me to a house where the Israeli army burned one of the rooms. Munir joins us. Zakaria parks his big black van next to a black room in the house. It's a great image, I must admit. I enter the room, a small room, and indeed it seems that the fire has burned its walls.
Munir tells me the story: "Last Saturday, at half past four, the army arrived in the village. Two soldiers got out of a jeep, came close to the first house and threw a bomb into it... So the children and the people started throwing stones, and then many soldiers from the army arrived, ten jeeps. They threw three gas bombs into this house. Two little girls and a baby were inside the house and the children were suffocated. People came and took the children out. I called the fire department and they extinguished the fire from the outside, from the window." (So went their "story").

Why did the army do this? "It happens every day that the army comes here and throws bombs, and the children throw stones." Every day? "Every two days". were they here yesterday "No". So they will arrive today. What time do they usually arrive? "Around four". Now two. I'll wait here. There are only two hours to wait. Now I have two hours to kill, and I'm thinking how to use my time wisely. An idea occurs to me: since the Israeli army comes here every two days and throws bombs into the houses, I can see many burnt houses here. Can we see more burnt houses? IM asking. "No".

This does not look good. The German wants proof of Jewish (so called) brutality and they tell him stories and don't give proof. The Germans, what to do, are a nation that seeks proof by nature. Well, we are in the Middle East and Allah is nobody's sucker. Allah gave his people reason, and so the owner of the house calls out and says that she took a picture of the incident with her cell phone. Everything can be proven! Can I see the pictures, in case the phone is on you? Yes, call her and you can see the pictures. you are welcome. The lady is going to get the phone. Then she comes back with the phone. magnificent. Can I see the pictures? Well, not exactly. The pictures are gone. The phone, how sad and strange, broke down.

I understand that I should rather wait for Mahdi to "come down" from the sky than wait for the IDF to appear here, so I decide to go back to the car with Zakaria and drive away. Rabbi Eric is calling. The phone is on speakerphone. Rabbi Eric and Zakaria speak Hebrew, a language Tobi the German does not understand. I am a German Gentile. "Rabbi" Eric tells Zakaria that if I am willing to stay a little longer today, no matter how long, he should drive me and show me things. 'Rabbis for human rights' will pay the cost, says "Rabbi" Eric.

This is refreshing news. Zakaria tells me that he spoke with "Rabbi" Arik on the phone, and that he, Zakaria, will drive me for about another hour and then return me to Abu Rami, who will return me to Jerusalem. I object. "Rabbi" Eric asked the German, me, to come here and I want to know what exactly my Jewish friend told him. Zakaria has no choice, since the "rabbi" is my friend, and he must be honest with me.

He meanders here and there, telling me that "Rabbi" Eric brought up several options, but he, Zakaria, thinks that another hour of driving in the area will be enough. I tell Zakaria that I want him to drive me as long as necessary. This is what I want and I think the rabbi will be happy if this is what happens. I want to see more, I tell him. I want to see places, I want to see people, and I want to see houses. I am a crazy man, I remind him, and I want to be taken to see all the horrible things the Jews are doing here. Let's go to the mountains, to this hill, to this road - that's what I tell him.
Zakaria realizes that he is dealing with a completely insane man, a German who is a friend of a Jew, continues to drive. We see beautiful houses and I want to photograph them. Zakaria doesn't like the idea, just as Atef was not enthusiastic about me seeing the beautiful houses of the rich poor - but I insist. You have to stop for a moment so I can take a picture, I tell him. What is the name of this village? I ask him. "Burin". Yes Yes. The same Burin I visited before. Only that Zakaria, before I told him where to go, took me to the poor part of the village. And only there. He and the "rabbi" wanted me to see poverty, and I almost believed their story.

I take a few pictures on my iPhone, and we continue driving. As we drive, I see two flags flying from the top of power poles and other tall buildings. I ask Zakaria what the nature of these flags is. "The green flag is Hamas, the yellow flag is Fatah." It seems like there is a big competition here between the two. We continue to travel, village here and village there.

I notice one sign that repeats itself in various villages and roads: USAID (the American Agency for International Development). I guess America spends a lot more money here in Palestine than I imagined. We continue to travel. Suddenly, on one of the roads we are driving, we see an Israeli military jeep in front of us. "They (the young people) will throw stones at him", says Zakaria, and then the soldiers will "return fire". Let's follow the soldiers, I tell him, and see what happens. I want to see fire! Quite naturally, the German wants to see the Jews shoot young Israelis.
We follow the jeep until it suddenly stops. Why did the Jews stop? I wonder. "They are setting up a barrier!" Just like that. The Israeli army is driving the people here crazy. Israeli soldiers, when they are bored, amuse themselves by torturing the Arab people; Suddenly they set up barriers, stop people, and god knows what else.

We arrive at the jeep, but there is no lightning checkpoint here, as Zakaria's version says. Cars don't stop and we pass him without interruption. I look at the jeep moving away behind me and see that one of the soldiers is getting ready to urinate. The Zakaria checkpoint is actually a urinal checkpoint. Pee is free, as the Russian prostitute said.

We continue on our way. I'm driving Zakaria crazy, that's clear. I make him drive through lots of wonderful houses and beautiful neighborhoods in Palestine. If "Rabbi" Eric knew how I spend his money he would have a heart attack. And while we are driving next to the wonderful houses and spectacular views of the Arabs, Zakaria's phone rings.
Someone from North America is on the line and he really, really, really, really wants to help the Palestinian people and save them from the Israeli criminals. Where should he go, he asks Zakaria, to see with his own eyes the "terrible crimes" of the Israelis? Zakaria is also very happy to help a caller in need from North America. The caller from North America, for the record, is from the Christian human rights organization EAPPI. He is a "good" Christian, and between prayer and prayer he seeks to "help" those in need. The organization, it turns out, is very busy in the Holy Land. Anna Maria, the Swiss beauty I met in Al Quds, and Michelle, the ugly French woman I met on the bus, are also here courtesy of the same organization.

Zakaria tells him that it's great that he called. We don't work on Shabbat (rabbis keep Shabbat), he tells him, and Friday is only half a day (for the very same reason) so a good Christian would be very helpful. It would be great, Zakaria tells the beloved Christian, if he also records what he sees. Amazing how this system works! People land in the country with cameras to find "bad" (sic) Jews. If this dude devoted the same amount of energy to South Central Los Angeles he could find a decent amount of shocking photos to show the world, but I'm guessing he's afraid to walk the streets of South Central.

Zakaria continues to drive. We arrive in Qalqilia and I have no idea where else I will ask Zakaria to take me.

So I tell my man that now I want falafel. Zachariah stops by the falafel stand through gritted teeth.
While chewing the falafel, the super agent turns and turns in his head where to go from here, when suddenly he notices a sign: Rawabi.

Rawabi. I remember the name. Some time ago I was given a leaflet, I don't remember who gave it to me, about Rawabi, "the first planned Palestinian city" - a city being built from scratch by "contemporary" Palestinians ... The pictures in the brochure were spectacular, and I remember this new city flying the biggest Palestinian flag ever. It will be wonderful to see her! I tell Zakaria that I have decided where I want to go now: Rawabi.

Rawabi? Why Rawabi? It's seventy kilometers out and seventy kilometers back. No way! I insist. I must see Palestine. Zakaria is doing his best to dissuade me from the whole story, but he has no chance. You can't talk sense with crazy Germans, I tell him. point.

• • •

Have you ever been to Rawabi? Rawabi is being built these days. More than a billion dollars have already been invested in the city. Many millions more will be invested, inshallah. Rawabi. Have you ever seen Rawabi? When you enter Rawabi - the name means 'hills' in Arabic - you realize that you have entered heaven. The future city stands on top of a mountain, which makes you feel as if you are standing on top of the world.
Although Rawabi is still under construction, its first tenants should move in next year. At the entrance to Rawabi you can see a huge flag, a Gulliver flag, gargantuan - and the sight is stunning. Yes, it's just a flag, but what a flag! A flag surrounded by grass, other flags, statues and music that seems to emanate from every corner of the earth.
I chat with one of the people here and ask him why the flag is so big. He winks at me and says: To poke the Israelis. We laugh about it. I take a few steps from the flag and enter Rawabi's sales office. What an office! This office is an exhibition hall from the-best-of-the-best, and it displays a scaled-down model of the new city, including the buildings, the various urban centers, the planned roads and everything you would want to find in the city. and much more.

The architectural design of Rawabi is simply amazing: it combines art, advanced technology, comfort, wealth and beauty. When you see it, it's hard to imagine an existing city that compares to it, even in the wealthiest countries. Rawabi is glamorous and wonderful, full of inspiration and fascinating. she is wonderful Rami, a well-dressed man, explains to me the wonders of the place. Using a laser pen, he points to the miniature model of Rawabi and shows me some of the buildings that will be in Rawabi: a convention center with an indoor theater, an exhibition hall, a science museum, a cinema, shops, cafes, boutiques, a supermarket, a football stadium, a five-star hotel, an amphitheater , mosque, church, town hall.

I stop the man. He talks too fast for my taste. I don't see a church here and I ask him to repeat the last sentence, because I lost it. He willingly agreed. The red laser point points to the places while he speaks: "Here is the mosque, here is the church, here is the town hall". He points to the mosque when he says "mosque" and he points to the mosque again when he says "church". I don't see a church. where is the church Oh, he tells me, yes, they don't have the church in this model, but they will update it soon.

There is a church or there is not, I have wasted enough of "Rabbi" Eric's money and I tell Zakaria that I am ready to return. We make our way back and "Rabbi" Eric calls. Zakaria speaks on the other line and has no time for a Jew. He screams at him, as they scream at a mad dog: "Get off the line!" Rabbi Eric, an obedient Jew like him, gets off the line. A beaten J.., a disgraced J.., a small J... At this point I feel bad for Eric. He worked so hard to please the Palestinians, at the expense of his people and country, and in return he is humiliated. I do not say anything, since I am not supposed to understand what is said in Hebrew.

• • •

Before my mind becomes completely paralyzed, maybe I should talk to someone else - neither an Arab nor a Jew. European will do. What about His Excellency Lars Faborg-Andersen, the EU ambassador to Israel?

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