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Gheula Canarutto Nemni

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Letter of a baby killed by the silence of the world

Bye Mum,

Shalom Dad,

I have seen you only for a few instants but my time has arrived.

I love you so much, I cannot believe I will never see you again.

I was  ready to come to the world in two months, I was already imagining how I would taste my mother’s milk, I was wondering how it feels to open your eyes and find out what is around.

But none of these things will never happen in my life.

I felt the shootings going through the womb, I heard the screams of fear and terror through the amniotic liquid and I understood that something was wrong.

My hearbeat that until that moment was beating at a perfect rythm, started slowing down.

I am not able to explain why everything happened, why a man, whom I have never seen before, wanted to shoot my mum and me.

I heard people saying that all this happened because we were waiting for the bus on a disputed piece of land, that the cause that moves these murderous hands lies in the land itself.

Eighty years ago when this land was only sand, babies, infants and children who did not have time to learn how to talk and walk, were brought to the slaughter house with the same charge: Jude.

Bye grandma and grandpa,

it was an honor to be part of a family that teaches to love while our enemies go on inciting to kill.

Though I was born on the seventh month of pregnancy, though I could breath only for a few days, I can affirm with no doubts that the content of Universal Declaration of Human Rights about the right for life, freedom and safety, is not universally true.

It is not true that every child has the right to a home, a mother and father.

It’s a lie. The world does not try hard to protect every child from cruelty as the U.N Declaration on Youth Rights states.

People who were raised in hate and intolerance made me leave this world with a name, Amiad Yisrael, a name that was never called but only engraved on my gravestone.

The book of my life was closed by democratic societies and mass media that consider the death of a Jew on his land less worthy of the death of other men.

 

My dear love,

let me kiss for the last time the shroud that wraps your tiny life.

Let me say goodbye to your tiny hand and foot, to you heart that bumped inside my body for the last seven months.

Ask in Heaven why all this is happening to us. And please don’t move until you don’t get an answer.

You have been a child for a few instants before the hate of men transformed you in an angel.

Send me a kiss, my little love, a big kiss like that one I would have asked you in a few months if the incitement to violence, if the education to death, did not tear your soul away from me and from this world.

Gheula Canarutto NemniSchermata 2018-12-13 alle 12.39.29

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Why Condé Nast and Vogue do not respect Jews

An open letter to Robert A. Sauerberg, president and CEO of Condé Nast.

On October 4, 2018, Vogue Arabia published a letter by Ahed Tamimi, the Palestinian teenager who is becoming an icon, despite the culture she represents.

My name is Raya Schijveschuurder. Today I would be 31 years old.

I would be probably married and I would have my own children.

They would be the same age of my little brothers who were 2 and 4 years old when they were killed together with my parents and me, inside a pizza store in Jerusalem, seventeen years ago.

We were a happy family until 2 pm of August 9th 2001. We were eight children, four girls and four boys, the perfect balance. My parents were still young, 43 and 41 years old.

But that day we were hungry.

And we wished for a pizza and some Coke.

And my parents decided to take us to Sbarro, one of the most famous pizza stores of Jerusalem.

I chose a pizza with mushroom and olives topping.

And my mother asked me: are you sure you will like it?

These were the last words I heard from her.

A few minutes Ahlam Tamimi brought Izzadin al Masri until the entrance of Sbarro.

Tamimi knew perfectly the store would be packed at that hour. She had been studying that place for a long time.

Al Masri had a guitar with him, but from that guitar no music note would have been played.

As he entered the store that guitar played a death music, throwing 20 pounds of nails, screws and explosives in men, women and children bodies.

We have just washed our hands as Jews use to do before eating the bread.

But I never ate that pizza.

I was blown up and killed by nails that pierced my heart, my liver, my vital organs.

In a few seconds my parents, my brothers, Shoshana Greenbaum, a pregnant woman, other ten people and me, were transformed in shreds of meat.

My grandparents were Dutch.

During the war they were deported from Holland to concentration camps.

They survived to all their families and tried to build a normal life in that same country that offered them death.

They pushed their children to go and live in Israel, the only place in the world where Jews would never be discriminated for their religion.

My parents tried to build a new life in that tiny country.

But Ahlam Tamimi decided that even there Jews do not have the right to live.

When they announced in the radio there had been a martyrdom attack at the Sbarro restaurant and that three people were killed, I admit I was a little bit disappointed because I had hoped for a larger toll’, she tells in an interview.

‘Have you ever thought about the families, the children, who were victims of this attack?’ Tamimi smiles ‘No’.

Ahed Tamimi, the seventeen years old teenager who became the symbol of ‘Palestinian resistance’ was brought up in these values. Ahlam Tamimi is her aunt. Her family was defined by international media as an ‘activist family’

Vogue Arabia, a magazine that belongs to Conde Nast group, has just published Ahed Tamimi letter.

In this letter Tamimi writes: I wanted to become a football player but I don’t play here because there is no time. Instead, I have been involved in demonstrations and confrontations with the Israeli army since I was a child.

 

I went on Conde Nast code of Ethics, where you can find the following words:

Reaching more than 270 million consumers across Europe, the Middle East, Asia and Latin America, we are committed to delivering beautiful, influential content and brand experiences for individuals who demand to be inspired.

And I asked myself:

Does Conde Nast think Ahed Tamimi words should inspire  its readers?

Does Conde Nast agree that children, instead of becoming football players, should be raised in the dream to become martyrs one day?

“I hope that everyone will take part in the demonstrations as this is the only means to achieve the result. Whether it is stabbings or martyrdom operations or throwing stones, everyone must do his part and we must unite in order for our message to be heard that we want to liberate Palestine”

These are the words that Tamimi says on Facebook to her followers. 

We pride ourselves in respecting the individual no matter what gender, race, religion or orientation. We are committed to doing business in an ethical way, with honesty, integrity and humanity.

This is the message you can find on Conde Nast website.

Dear Conde Nast, mr. Robert A. Sauerberg,

you have proved to be committed to doing business.

But with this article that celebrates a teenager who was raised in death and martyrdom values, a girl whose aunt helped killing more than 15 human beings guilty of being Jews, you have not only lost many Jewish readers..

You have lost your commitment to integrity and humanity.

Gheula Canarutto Nemni

Excuse me, but I am Jew

Excuse me, but I am a Jew.
This is why a few seconds ago you could see me concentrating and praying with the deepest intentions. And now I am dancing and singing with all my passion.
You can catch me while I am begging G-d and tears are flowing on my face. And in the same time I am shouting joyous words.
I beg you pardon, but I was planned to be an unstable creature.
For 48 hours I blow a horn which sound is similar to the cry of a son, I fast for 25 hours to get all my past mistakes erased and when I arrive to the maximum level of spirituality, when a new page is offered to my life, instead of keeping calm and thoughtful, I inject myself overdoses of joy.
What can I do? I was programmed in this way.
Go and complain with my Creator if you don’t like me as I am.
If you wish to have me more aligned, more balanced and controlled.
If you were looking for a nation that is always constant and the same during time, you arrived to the wrong address.
We Jews are like the moon. Every day we are different than the previous one.
We hope you will excuse us, but we are Jews.
And you can never see us stopping at a certain point or 100% satisfied of what we have reached.
You can never catch us with the ‘arrival’ sign in our hand, because for us every finishing line is a new starting point.
We beg your pardon but we are unable to stop.
And when G-d commands us to be happy, though He knows that happiness is a feeling and feelings are quite impossible to impose on someone, when He asks ‘let the joy enter in your hearts’ a few hours away from our Yom Kippur cries, we do our best to shift our state of mind according to His will.
Excusing us once again for our eclecticism, we beg your pardon already for the coming days, during which we will put aside our reason and logic, pilpul and discussion on the Torah.
We will be very busy celebrating the simple and above every logic fact, that we have been chosen to be part of this nation.
A nation that has never stopped during the last three thousand years,
moving from tears to smiles, from the deepest faith to the greatest discussion, at a dance pace.
Chag sameach!
Gheula Canarutto Nemni
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Yom Hazikaron. And that buzz that touches your soul

Schermata 2016-05-11 alle 15.05.42This is our nation.

A nation of people who stop their crazy run, their fast cars, their surfing the net, their thoughts, in the middle of the highway, in the middle of the day. And think. About those who gave up to their lives in order to allow us to breath and walk and live freely on our land.

This is the Jewish nation.

Women, men and children who fight for a carriage in the supermarket and who usually run to get the first place in the row. They, who argue over every tiny detail. Yet it is they who are able to be one. Letting their thoughts overcome differences in a common and shared sorrow and pain.

These are the Jews.

Businessmen, teachers, professors, artists, workers, engineers, doctors and dreamers. Who, in the middle of a new project, during a coffee in a bar, while withdrawing money from the bank are able to shift their minds from their routine and concentrate on deeper things.

These are our soldiers.

Young men who have just started understanding what life is, what they can be when they grow up and end up in a battle field with only one aim in their head: to defend and protect their nation from any evil and harm.

This is the sound of the soul.

This long buzz that enters through our ears during Yom Hazikaron, that strikes the core of our hearts and teaches us that a real hero is not the person who jumps from a plane or climbs a dangerous mountain. But a person, maybe not so physically strong, who can walk besides you on the sidewalk and sit on the same bus and then suddenly, when you and others are in danger, can jump and climb to guarantee you a future life.

During this day, in which the world just goes on, a whole country and nation stops to think and thank those young angels who turned off their own dreams to let mine and yours become true.

During this day in which memory is not an intellectual box, but a life credo and system. Where those who are not here anymore become a pulsating image in our lives.

During these moments I raise my eyes above and thank G-d for the privilege of being part of this unique Jewish world.

Gheula Canarutto Nemni

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/yom-hazikaron-and-that-buzz-that-touches-the-soul/

An open letter to the Jewish nation (and its writers)

Haaretz
Haaretz

It’s 1 a.m.

Men are gathering in synagogues for Hoshana Rabah night. This is the last call for asking G-d for a good year. During the next twenty five hours G-d will put on our yearly destiny, a seal.

I am trying to pray but my thoughts constatly run in another way. The two young parents killed just in front of their kids and now two more men. All of them, only because they were Jews.

I look at myself in the mirror. I have two eyes, a not so perfect nose, I have two hands and I use my legs to walk.

What makes me different from the rest of the world? When members of my nation are brutally killed in front of their children, or in the streets of their holy city, while trying to reach the western wall, the world is silent. This is a fact.

For the world my blood has a lower price compared to others, my humanity has a lower specific weight.

Strong of my ancient experience,  I don’t expect anything new from there.

This is an olam hasheker, as our rabbis define it. In it, lies, do reign.

In it countries that raise their children in terrorism are chosen to defend human rights.

My expectations are going in another direction.

To the direction of those who stood up, just a few minutes after an innocent Palestinian child was shot by somebody whose identity has not been discovered yet, ready to make a strong J’accuse against the observant world.

My expectations are directed towards those who open their computers everytime a Jew is suspected for a negative act and shout ‘we cannot stay silent in front of this’.

 

I was taught by my rabbis we are made of body and soul.

While we can see the other’s external manifestation, we are not able to see its untangible one.

At our shabat table Jews of every color and observance degree sit. I respect everyone of them, for what he/she is.

We Jews are a whole body, when a part hurts all the body suffers.

When something happens in my nation, I do not need to analyze the religious background of a Jew to feel empaty with him.

It cannot be that a kipah, and zizit, a hunkerchief covering a woman’s head, make a difference for those who are always in first line to defend human rights. It cannot be that a victim is defined ‘ultra-orthodox’, in an Israeli newspaper.

My love for my nation is too deep to dare thinking my suspects can be right.

I hope  with all my heart to be wrong. I hope to see in a few hours all the israeli newspapers flooded by condemantion words.

I hope to see all those famous Jewish writers and journalists, who asked rabbis, teachers, politicians, to condemn acts before waiting to see what really happened. I hope to hear from them these words.

‘Our hearts are full of sorrow, we cannot be silent anymore. We will not stop asking the condemnation of these barbarian terrorist acts by all the arab world’.

When I see these words, I will now peace has really a chance.

Because in order to be able to get peace with your neighbors, you need firstable to be able to live in peace inside your own nation.

Shalom comes from the root shalem, whole. You cannot get real peace if you are not whole inside yourself.

May G-d seal our year with real shalom

Gheula Canarutto Nemni

What Haaretz pages become abroad

To the attention of Haaretz,

the following rows you are hopefully going to read, are written in a place where Hebrew is not the official language, where IDF is not the national army, where on Yom Kippur there are cars on the streets as in any other day of the year.

I am writing you from Italy, but it could be from Paris, Antwerp, London, Marseilles. It could be from any other town in the world.

But Israel.

The place you write from.

The place where you look at reality and decide to describe it, in your peculiar way, to readers who live abroad.

To people who, after having read your rows, will decide. If to like us or hate us with all their hearts.

Here, outside from Israel, life is not easy for us.

We deal everyday with international news web sites that dedicate cubital headlines to Israel, calling it with words they don’t dedicate even to the worst, unrespectful of human rights, countries of the world.

We read everyday newspapers that dedicate pages and pages to humanitarian problems in Gaza and a rare few rows to the constant threaten, the terroristic menace that Israel is facing since years.

We face schemes that show the number of victims from both sides. As we were in a competition where the part with more casualties, wins.

Here, Israeli reality is manipulated through mediatic strategies. News about Jews are not treated in the same way as news about Darfour. They are not as news about Nigeria or Mosul.

Here, reality becomes different when it is colored with white and blue.

I know history quite well. These, who are reporting the news about Israel around the world hoping that more and more people will condemn it, will be against it and, at the end, will hate me for being a Jew, these people are the children of the children of those who prepared in Spain the autodafes for my ancestors, they are the offsprings of those who ran with their horses and swords to cut the beard and the head of my forefathers, they are part of a culture which took Jewish children, women, elderly and men, and melted their bodies in crematoria in order to get forever rid of all Jews .

When all these things are delivered in my life through a non Jewish channel, I turn the page, I digit another website name, I turn off. And I engage my own little campaign.

I try to go around and tell the truth. I want people to know the real Jewish ideals that walk with an Israeli soldier, that make him offer food and shelter to children, though he knows he is at risk of being blown up by an infant adapted explosive belt.

I describe to Europeans, to professors, to other Italian mothers and friends, the moral principles that hold back an Israeli soldier’s hand from protecting himself, only beacuse he has just seen his worst enemy hiding behind a woman with a baby, a terrorist protecting himself with a human shield.

But often, when I try to show our real face, to bring truth to surface, to cut the legs to the millions of lies the world is reading and telling, most times I get the same answer.

I get a link to your website, an article of yours.

And from there, the step is too short.

From your message to the next stage.

Where your shouted words against Israel become weapons in the hands of our enemies.

Where your pages become part of 2014 antisemitic libels, where Jews have always that ugly nose.

Where your rows become part of the stones thrown to Synagogues and Jewish shops at the sound of ‘death to the Jews’-

Where you become the Jewish justification for the beatings of French Jews, for hating and cursing every man who goes around with a distinctive Jewish symbol, for killing two Israelis in a Belgian museum.

This is the way your news are internationally used.

Antisemitism can be cherished by a Jewish point of view.

Why am I addressing you?

Because you and me, we all descend from one common soul.

We share a common root, a piece of Heaven engraved in out hearts, with all Jews scattered around the world,

We share thousands of years of persecution and hatred.

We share songs. We share food and ideals.

We share life as a the highest goal.

We share history and past.

And hopefully, with G-d’s help, a better future, for all of us.

 

Dear journalist of Haaretz,

the world fears one thing most.

It fears our unity, our capacity to be one, despite different visions, despite different ways of living our religion and identity, despite different languages spoken at home. Because they know.

That when we stay together, when we close our eyes and forget the colors of the flags that are hanging in our homes, when in 40,000 we answer ‘amen’ to the kadish of a chayal boded’s father because we don’t want him to feel alone, these are moments that make us stronger and stronger. Stronger than the world.

Stronger than the ancient dream of our enemies.

To see us, one day, G-d forbids, disappear.

This is not an opinion matter. Not anymore.

This is a life matter. Mine and of all the millions of Jews who live abroad.

Please, before writing and publishing, before spreading around news, before adding fuel to the antisemitic fire, take in consideration the collateral effect of every word of yours, think if it will make stronger the seventy wolfs, that surround the Jewish lamb.

Before pushing ‘send’ for an article, dedicate a last thought to us, your brothers and sisters, whose hearts are always praying for our nation, for our land. NewspapersAnd for you too.

Gheula Canarutto Nemni

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am writing you from Italy. I am writing you from Europe. I am writing you from a place where people come in touch with the Israeli reality, through news, through mass media, through your articles and words too.

 

 

You are sitting there, safely and protected, you are among your nation. Maybe people who don’t think like you will stop you during an inteview, will react with comments to your written rows. You are there, among Jews.

 

We are not. People here don’t know who we are, most of them ignore what being a Jew does mean. They don’t mind where we come from, waht are our life missions. They often ignore on purpose our signals, our will to let ourseves known. They prefer to imagine, to guess, and, when it comes to inform themselves,

 

 

Your words are attached to the stones that are thrown towards Jews in French towns. The way you tell the world the Israeli reality, cutting and pasting some parts according to your vision of the world, is a weapon in the hands of antisemites.

You have a responsibility.

When I discuss with somebody, trying to bring back impartiality in the environment, I am always answered with an article of yours.

Your articles are the proof, for our enemies, that they are true. That they have the right to harm us, to put our lives in danger,

Zionism and ultra orthodoxy

Yom Haazmaut and observance do not run on parallel binaries. Yom Haazmaut and orthodoxy (just to satisfy those who love branding people and separating them into groups) can, surprising those who do hope the opposite, walk together. And go on in a shared path of ideals and vision. I am talking about a kind of Yom Haazmaut that lasts for a whole year, and not just for twentyfive hours a year.

Yom Haazmaut is the day during which Jews from Israel and the diaspora, remind themselves and the world how strong is their attachment to their homeland, This link to our land is generally called zionism. But zionism can and has to assume endless colors. The color that most of the people know, is the one of barbecues, grilled hot dogs and not fit for old people, high volume music, that pervade all available parks around Israel. I have many friends who enjoy in this way and most part of my family does it too.

Some of these people, once the party is ended, go back to their routine, which consists in sitting at negotiate table with our enemies, thinking sometimes more about their personal glory and geopolitic strategies, than about the present and future survival of our nation. They hand whole pieces of our land to hypotetical peace partners who are not ashamed to declare openly their real dreams: The distruction of the Jewish nation.

I am grand daughter to a woman who, as she became head of Italian Jewish Women Association, reminded in her first speech that aliah means to rise, to grow and advance. Because Israel is the land where a Jew goes to improve himself, where following Torah and and its laws is much easier than in any other place in the world. Her position lasted less than twentyfour hours. Her zionism was quite different than her electors’.

I chose as a teacher a man who, addressing his students used to say: The defence of our land is in your hands. When you study Torah you provide the land with a spiritual shield. But if you are not in the mood of studying for ten hours a day Talmud or Shulchan Aruch, wear an uniform and go and fight. Your blood is not more precious than everybody else.

A man who, addessing to Tzahal soldiers who fought and were wounded, said he did not agree on the term used to define them, nechei Tzahal, the handicapped of Tzahal. They were not handicapped but privileged. They should have been called mezuianei tzhaal, the best among all soldiers. Because, he said, if an individual has been deprived of an organ or a limb, this means G-d gave him other special strenghts to face and overcome these physical limitations.

A man who approached every single soldier whispering ‘thank you’ with a look they rarely have seen directed to them. A look of respect and not full of pity.

A man who, when politicians were speaking about giving land for peace, was losing his voice shouting to the world the danger they were putting every single Jew acting in this way. The land of Israel is holy and sacred, as holy and sacred is the blood shed by our soldiers for putting in Jewish hands these pieces of land.

If being a zionist means only going out to the parks with a big barbecue and dressing yourselves in white and blue, this is not what I was taught.

If being a zionist goes much beyond and means to give all yourself, spiritually and materially, for defending and making only grow up our forfathers land, I, Alba Soliani Rabello’s grand daughter and Lubavitcher Rebbe’s student, I will never permit to anybody to deprive me , with the excuse of affiliations, of this ideal of mine.

 

Gheula Canarutto Nemni

Schermata 2014-05-06 alle 00.04.22Schermata 2014-05-06 alle 00.04.22

May your soul, Eden Attias, rest in peace

eden-attias

Good bye little boy whose life was robbed in a middle of a dream.

With that sweet snack in the pocket that mum has given you when you were already out of the door.

With the phone ringing because she wanted to know how far you were from the military base where that coffin on wheels was supposed to take you.

Good bye to your dreams, to the family you will never build.

To your room, to your music, to all the things and people you loved.

You have now millions of brothers and sisters praying for your soul.

Feeling the pain of your mum and dad like a knife in the heart.

Tonight, in front of our renewed shabat candles a special prayer will be whispered for you.

That your future life will be like the name you were given at eight days. Eden. Only that. Only paradise and good.

And from above, where we are sure, angels are embracing you welcoming you like a king, ask G-d to protect all his children. On buses, on their way home, in synagogues, schools and battlefields.

Dear Eden Attias, may your departure from earth be not in vain, making the world understand that peace is possible only with somebody who is taught from childhood that life and not death is the most precious and desirable gift.

May your soul be tied for ever and ever with the bond of life.
We all love you
Am Israel

Gheula Canarutto Nemni

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