Kosher Eucharist / יוקאריסט כשר

I’ve never been a big fan of the Iraqis. As America’s most recent jaunt into that delightful sandbox has amply demonstrated, Iraqis aren’t even worthy of that tenuous, European-oil-interest-applied ethno/national identity, being an artificial nation of squabbling tribes who start blowing up each other’s mosques approximately five minutes after the downfall of their brutal strongman, like a peculiarly Middle Eastern variant of fireworks. They haven’t contributed much of anything to world society besides a body count and a few billion oil barrels, which contrary to the apparent beliefs of certain Western governments do not constitute a valid reason for the existence of a country, ever since they chased out their ancient Jewish community with a heartwarming, Nazi-style pogrom in the Jewish quarter of Baghdad. The only good things I can attribute to Iraq are its (former) role as a counterbalance to its wacky neighboring state, and its invasion of Kuwait. And I’ll only give it that because the only thing more irritating than anarchic/dictatorial Arab pseudo-states are the tiny and grossly wealthy Arab oil states, who can’t seem to think of anything better to do with all that money than build artificial islands in their harbors, erect massive and pointless buildings, and engage in child slavery – and assuage their guilt for all that drinking and whoring by funneling billions into the pockets of their more religious, AK-toting co-religionists.

But the Iraqis have just performed the ultimate transgression. They executed Saddam.

Too early.

Yes, yes, I understand that they can be a tad bloodthirsty as a society (or lack thereof), and I’m sure if I had lived under the Ba’athist thumb for decades I would be itching to get a rope around that fat neck too and let those blood-soaked leather shoes swing, but would it have been impossible for them to wait just a few more days?

I don’t ask for no reason. You see, Chris and I have a tradition in which, upon the death of someone we dislike, we exult and dance. When Yassir Arafat met his untimely end (untimely because he wasn’t stillborn), we clasped hands and twirled and hopped around the room while giggling like schoolgirls in a sheer, morbid fit of glee. But Chris won’t be in Israel until the 4th of January. Which means that, because the Iraqi people couldn’t hold off for less than a week, we have been cheated out of an exuberant celebration that is rightfully ours.

My only consolation is that Chris will be in Israel for three weeks, and death seems to be in the air lately. I mean, they can’t keep Castro hooked to that life support system forever, if only because Cuba doesn’t have that much electricity, and there’s a certain former US president whose number is up (Nixon…dead; Ford…dead; Reagan…dead; you are an aberration), so we’ll keep our fingers crossed and our dancin’ shoes at hand.

But really, I’m in far too fantastic of a mood to get as angry about this as I should.