Sacrificed on the Altar

It is likely that after the periphery-dwellers' ritual of humiliating the no-longer-admired chanteuse, some of them tossed and turned because their conscience was bothering them.

Let us now turn up the volume on the radio, ladies and gentlemen, and enjoy the last of the songs by our Mizrahi singers before they are banned. Because I have the feeling they are going out of style with dizzying speed - all those musical heroes who, until not long ago, brought some bogus joy and plastic glamour into our miserable and empty lives.

Soon the dream of the current protest will come true and all of us will be citizens with equal rights; our children will imbibe social justice with their hot chocolate every morning; there will be no more tycoons, on the one hand, and abjectly poor people, on the other; we will all be free of worries about earning a living; and every worker will have an apartment and a car, and his children will have day care that doesn't cost a cent. When all this happens, who will still need your wails and trills and the beat of your drums - you, Mizrahi singers, who came into the world only to mask with a smokescreen of illusion the bleak reality of people who are sunk in debt and can't make it to the end of the month?

Now, ladies and gentlemen, we are in the first phase of the purge. Our plan is that, in addition to the tycoons and the monopolies, we will also cleanse this country of those who for generations have systematically polluted the songs of good old Eretz Israel with despicable Levantinism, and have brought us closer culturally to the Arabs, the Turks, the Greeks and other punks. Feh! Enough! We are not Arabs. We want to go back to being a civilized European country. We want Shlomo Artzi! Scram, all you crooners of "Mediterranean song," as you call your contemptible genre. Get outta here, you and all the dark world you represent!

So, please, have no regrets, ladies and gentlemen, about what is happening to Margalit (Margol ) Tzan'ani. Somebody had to be sacrificed on the altar of the changes we are experiencing at present. Remain silent and say to yourselves that you are thankful it was she and not you. Be thankful she was stupid enough to put her neck under the blade and to express aloud - on television - her reservations about the revolution of the spoiled north Tel Aviv brats, and did not assess correctly that these spoiled brats are the ascendant power now, and one would do well not to irritate them. True, ladies and gentlemen, prima facie, there is no causal relationship between Ms. Tzan'ani's vitriolic remarks about the spoiled brats' revolution and her detention by the police on suspicion of resorting to ties with a crime organization in order to threaten and extort money from her manager. However, the fact is that there is indeed a connection. Even a very deep one.

The connection is that "the people," overcome by its new revolutionary fervor, decided to throw Margol to the dogs. But those who did this job, this dirty work, were not the spoiled brats themselves. They would not dirty themselves with this. The ones who did their work for them are people from the periphery, the unfortunates who until not long ago numbered among Margol's traditional fans. They came to her performance in Be'er Sheva last Saturday night to spit on her in public, to curse her vociferously, to scream "We don't want you" and "Shut your filthy trap." With astonishing tenacity and vulgarity they shouted at her there.

Presumably, those unfortunates who decided to show how much they hate Margol did it out of a feeling that the current revolution is also offering an opportunity to people who aren't exactly north Tel Aviv spoiled brats to "hitch a ride" on the spoiled brats' ascendancy. But to this end, they have to try super hard and to declare in public, and even harshly, that henceforth they love everything the spoiled brats love and hate everything they hate. And Margol is part of this package.

It is quite likely that after the periphery-dwellers' ritual of humiliating the no-longer-admired chanteuse, some of them tossed and turned in their beds that night because their conscience was bothering them for so easily sticking the knife in her heart. But then God moved and the miracle happened: All at once the stone weighing on their hearts was rolled away when it turned out that, apparently, Margol - how should we put this? - is someone who could be associating with criminals, even if she is not a criminal herself. What a relief!

And along the way, as they say, revolutionary Israel's new basket of values was ratified: Henceforth, there will be no more admiration in public, on television, of brutish muscle flexing - neither by heroes of the underworld, nor heroes of the uppermost crust. No more succumbing blindly to the sinister charms of people who think the law is not intended for them, only for other people.

In the state of social justice into which Israel is morphing at present, in the blink of an eye, ladies and gentlemen, blue-eyed crooners will sing songs of praise to those good boys in blue who, with unbelievable efficiency, apprehend possible lawbreakers less than two days after the public decides that, as far as it is concerned, said possible lawbreakers have done their job and can go - they and their filthy traps, too.