Hysteria in overdrive

At first we in the bureau didn’t know what had hit us. Moreover, I am ashamed to say, we even laughed at first: “Tents, eh? Now they will at last understand the hilltop youth.” Maj. Gen. ‏(res.‏) Yemindror, who has the most foresight of any of us, even predicted: “And now, after Huldai gives them the boot, with God’s help, we’ll see if they will dare to support the evacuation of Migron.” And at first, even he, the Leader, didn’t sweat at all.

Well, really, who is there left for Bibi to be afraid of, after he vanquished Big Obama and Little Abu Mazen, and the whole peace process? After his dazzling triumph over the foreign demonstrators at the airport? After his crushing victory at sea over the frightening flotilla of one boat carrying a few old-timers? ‏(And just for comparison: Even Churchill, as first lord of the admiralty, suffered defeat at Gallipoli and the Dardanelles.‏) Who and what can pose a threat to Bibi now, after he managed to hold himself back and didn’t pee his pants ‏(as far as I know, at least‏) when Lieberman passed him in the corridor a few days ago with thunderous silence? Not only did Bibi not sweat‏ − at first he even chortled.

	Illustration.
	Photo by: Eran Wolkowski

“Wait, there’s a surprise coming,” he told us and winked.

“Pizza for the students?” I winked back. “Some sort of trick by the First Lady? Like back then?”

“More sophisticated,” he replied.

And in fact, he did surprise us − in the cabinet meeting: “Not only do I greet the housing protesters: I call on them to come to the Knesset and help me push through the Israel Lands Administration reform!”

He’s still the one and only. A magician! We laughed and slapped each other heartily on the back, me and Reb Yankel from Anatot, and Pinkas, the chief of stuff. But when I went over to the tea cart by the window and looked out, the skullcap almost dropped off my skull.

“They are really coming!”

“Who?”

“Everyone! All the Israeli-Shmisraelis!”

And come they did, bearing placards, beating on drums, shouting, raging, filling the whole plaza. Dear God, what is happening here? Where are they all coming from? Master of the Universe, what do they want from us? First, all kinds of peace mediators show up and drive us crazy, then the Palestinians stream in over the Syrian and Lebanese borders, after them the demonstrators by sea and the infiltrators by land and the fly-in by air − and now from down below, from Tel Aviv. Why don’t they leave us alone?

They are flocking toward us in their masses, calling for a revolution, for Tahrir-Shmahrir; they want housing, a life, a livelihood and all the other treasonable stuff of typical, drugged Sheinkin types.

We had a feverish meeting.

Bibi said there is no cause for concern, but we saw ourselves reflected on his sweating forehead. “I want to hear suggestions!” he said, pounding the table with his fist. “Suggestions for the page of talking points and slogans that we will distribute to them later.”

Yankel gave us an update: According to his sources, those involved are merely a handful of radical lefties who support Olmert and Hezbollah. “My brother-in-law came back from synagogue on Shabbat and saw naked girls there and someone drinking hashish.”

“I heard that one of the demonstrators kicked a garbage can − and those hooligans have the gall to accuse the Yitzhar settlers of burning fields and launching ‘price tag’ operations?”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” I shouted. “It’s all political!”

The page of talking points was drawn up quickly: The Olmert and Rabin governments are to blame for the bureaucracy that is causing the housing crunch, but we are trying to correct that. The greens are to blame. The left is making it hard to build in the territories. Mapai and its nonsense are at fault. The pinko media are inflating the situation. The New Israel Fund is involved. The demonstrators are involved in acts of terrorism. And besides that, they are spoiled. Let them live in the periphery. And most important of all: It’s all political.

Within half an hour all the above slogans had been declaimed by our “stretcher-bearers,” as we call our newspaper, our state radio station, our talkbackers and our group of “implants” in the general media. We went to sleep with the feeling that the offensive, too, had been contained.

The next day − was it possible? The assault of the anarchist pinkos had only intensified. Even though we have our own new broadcasting authority chairman, our own new Israel Radio director and our own new board chairman of Channel 2 News, the masses nevertheless flooded the streets. It’s absolutely unbelievable how the nihilistic left is able to fill whole streets and squares in Tel Aviv, even though according to our assessment ‏(and reports from Yankel’s brother-in-law‏), this is really a demonstration of no more than 1,700 Trotskyites.

Another feverish meeting.

The Leader was boiling mad and sweat dripped off him in big drops: “How is this happening? I want solutions! Solutions and suggestions − now!”

We − the ministers and I − started to stammer and stutter and quarrel among ourselves over all kinds of ideas: rent control, massive construction of rental apartments, improving public transportation from the periphery, subsidizing young couples, etc. − but Bibi intervened: “When I talk about ideas and suggestions, I am referring to the really important issues, such as which of the Kahlons we will send for a prime-time appearance on Channel 2 in a commercial during the final of ‘A Star Is Born.’ I suggest that it be Kahlon himself.”

“And afterward we will be able to accuse him of subversion,” I suggested. Bibi wrote it down.

We then moved to a survey of the progress of the demonstrations, hunching over a map marked with arrows, with the Leader.

Yemindror reported: “The offensive is concentrated here, here and here, while at this point − next to Habima Square − it splits into a flanking movement.”

The Leader put on glasses, bent over and looked at the map, and then, rather complacently, made a circular movement with his hand: “And I understand that when they reach the center they will encounter forces of Im Tirtzu?”

An oppressive silence descended in the room. Bibi looked at each of us in turn. Yankel cleared his throat, but he was only able to utter the words, “My dear Leader ...”

“My dear Leader,” Yemindror plucked up his courage and said instead, “My dear Leader ... There is no counter-demonstration by Im Tirtzu or by any other force ... Moreover, the masses are already calling for your removal and comparing you to Assad and Mubarak.”

You could have cut the silence with a rusty commando knife. Our Leader raised a very shaky arm and removed his glasses, trembling. In an almost inaudible voice he ordered everyone who didn’t have an apartment of his own to leave the room − apart from me, Yankel and Yemindror.

As soon as the last of the group closed the door after them, all the hell of the frustration, anger and horror landed on our heads: “How can it be!?! What’s happening here?!! After all, we formed a government that represents almost half the population!! For two and a half years, we didn’t do anything that might upset anyone from the coalition! We sacrificed the needs of the nation on the altar of total isolation just to survive − so why is my chair suddenly shaky?? How can that be? You gang of traitors!!! You nothings!! I should have done to you what Stalin did to his officers!!”

After this eruption of rage he fell backward, spent. He looked defeated, wiped out. I myself felt that my collar was choking my throat, as he sputtered one more sentence, with bent head and broken voice: “I should have listened to Sara. I should have appointed her dentist’s brother to be the administrator of Facebook.”