May It Be a Sweet Year

To the Jews of Jerusalem, Holy City, whose sovereignty over the eternal and undivided capital of the Jewish state of Israel is disputed and oppugned, though it is as ancient as King David’s: May it be a sweet year.

To the Jews of Judea and Samaria, whose every stud hammered and floor tile laid in that magnificent, empty lunar landscape summons the disapproving scrutiny of allies and the menacing outrage of foes, and who must contemplate the possibility of expulsion—or worse—every day for the sake of a “peace” with a people whose declared war against them has never abated: May it be a sweet year.

To the Jews of Ashkelon, Ashdod, Be’er Sheva, Sderot, Sde Boker, Mitzpeh Ramon, Eilat, Netanya, Tel Aviv, Haifa, Tsfat, Rosh Pina, Tiberias, Mahanayim, Kiryat Shmona, and all the kibbutzim and moshavim of the Negev and the Galil and the Golan—ha am im ha Golan!—who live every day under a death warrant issued by Israel-hating nations passing increasingly sophisticated weaponry into the hands of their proxies, Israel’s bloody, baleful neighbors to the south and west, north and east, for whom even the sacrifice of their own children is tolerable—worse, a cause for celebration—in the name of destroying Jews: May it be a sweet year.  

To the Jew of Gaza, Gilad Shalit, whose Rosh Hashana this year will be spent, as have the last five, imprisoned in a Hamas hell-hole: May it be a sweet year.

To all the Jews of Israel, surrounded, admonished, maligned, despised, threatened, condemned, attacked, wounded, murdered: May it be a sweet year.

And to the Jews of the United States whose astoundingly self-negating souls are fixed as if by bolts to the chilling heart of a president and a party and a politics progressively ill-disposed toward Zion: Please, wake up, wrench out those bolts, free yourselves, and tell the truth, before the Jewish homeland is destroyed by the erosive thrust of its friends and the blazing bombs of its enemies. And may it be a sweet year.