On stones

Of the stones I retrieved from my father’s gravesite, I kept seven.

(I retrieved many more than seven and tried to foist some stones on other members of my family; they seemed lukewarm about it, but some of them humoured me and took a few stones. I also ensured that a few shovelfuls of sand, the underlayer beneath the pine forest’s topsoil filled with fine sparkling crystals, was placed in a reusable shopping bag, of which I kept one small jar-full that had to be tested by the TSA before I could fly out of Boston.)

One of these stones will be thrown in the sea for tashlich. What I normally do is carry around a hagstone all year, throw it into the sea on or shortly after Rosh HaShanah, then search the pebbles for another hagstone to carry with me for the next year. This year, my hagstone was lowered down on top of the woven casket, so I will instead throw one of the stones I took back with me. It was difficult to choose one but I settled on one of the quartzes, perhaps slightly less remarkable than the others but compelling in its own way, which in however many dozens of years will look beautiful having been tumbled beneath the waves. I’ll then pick up a hagstone to take over for his memorial service.

Another of these stones – the first I saw, which prompted me to begin picking stones from the sand as we were shovelling it back over the casket – is the one I hold every night when I say kaddish with the online minyan. It’s an American minyan, so the timings are awkward, but not as awkward as some I’ve come across, and in any case it’s the only daily kaddish minyan which works with my schedule. But one of the participating rabbis always strums a guitar when saying the bracha for studying Torah, which reminds me of a youth pastor and makes me cringe. Nice guy though. (And my camera’s off so he can’t see me cringe.)

I hold this stone as the Zoom meeting starts, feel it slowly warm up as the rabbis speak, squeeze it in my palm as I say kaddish and, after I’ve left the meeting, press the warm stone into my cheek. I used to think to myself, I’ll put the stone down as soon as it starts cooling down, realising that as I held it to my cheek it wouldn’t actually significantly cool down and I’d have to make the decision to put it down. Lately, though, when I put this stone against my cheek having held it tight in my hand for about a quarter of an hour, I think, It doesn’t feel warm enough. Did I hold it tightly enough? How can I get it warmer?

I’ve decided to try and fly over for his yahrzeit next summer, and put this stone on his grave. I’m the only one saying kaddish for him, so I hope he can somehow feel, stored in this stone, eleven months’ worth of prayer. I have great faith in the memory of stones. In the probing curiosity of trees, who encircle the grave and whose roots snake through the sand beside it. Even if the energy I convey to the stone merely gets grounded in the Earth, or slurped up by those trees, it will perhaps be enough.

I’ll be left with some sand and five stones. Not sure what I’ll do with them. Maybe every once in a while I’ll take one, clasp it tightly between two palms, and try to warm it for a few minutes. That warmth, my care, those stones, are all that remain. בָּרוּךְ דַּיַּן הָאֱמֶת

The Saturnine deity: origins and characteristics

It is relatively easy to link HaShem, the supreme God of Judaism, to the Saturnine deity – indeed, the Canaanite god El, who alongside Yahweh was the major influencing deity of Judaism, was commonly syncretised with Saturn. However, to fully understand the implications of linking HaShem with the Saturnine deity, we must explore the Near-Eastern origins and features of this deity.

Hesiod’s Theogony, which was imported into Roman religion, describes Cronus – syncretised with Saturn – as the son of Ouranos and Gaia.1 When Ouranos angered Gaia by imprisoning Cronus’s monstrous older brothers, Cronus conspired with Gaia to castrate Ouranos, thereby inheriting his power. Cronus then presided over a Golden Age, a time when humankind did not need laws to guide them because they naturally comported themselves according to the greater good.

Gaia, however, was angry with Cronus for not freeing his brothers, and she predicted that his son would overthrow him as Cronus had his father. Fearing her prophecy, Cronus ate the children his wife Rhea bore him until she tricked him into consuming a rock instead of his youngest son, storm god Zeus. Upon maturation, Zeus did indeed rise up against Cronus, freeing his siblings from Cronus’s belly and imprisoning him in Tartarus, the deepest pit of Hades.

The first interesting thing to note is that Ouranos, Gaia, and Zeus are all of Indo-European origin. Ouranos, linked with the Rigvedic god Varuna, represents the night sky; Zeus, like Rigvedic deity Dyaus, represents the daytime sky; and Gaia hearkens back to the reconstructed Proto-Indo-European earth goddess Dheghom, variously paired with both the daytime and night sky in different pantheons. However, Cronus does not have an obvious Indo-European origin. Where, then, lie the roots of this prototypical Saturnine deity?

The answer is linked to the fact that Hesiod’s work was almost certainly influenced by an older Hurrian text, Kingship in Heaven,2 which itself demonstrates a development of both King Lists3 and Separation of Sky and Earth4 motifs. Much of what is known about the Hurrians stems from their influence on the Hittites, although treaties referencing Indo-European deities have been found whilst excavating the Hurrian kingdom of Mitanni. The Nuzi texts, which have been used by archaeologists to provide more context to the Book of Genesis, also hail from Mitanni.

Kingship in Heaven differs from Theogony in several interesting ways. In it, primordial chthonic god Alalu reigns upon the heavenly throne for nine years before being deposed by his cup-bearer Anu and fleeing to the underworld. Anu, a sky deity borrowed from the Sumerians, then rules for nine years, but his cup-bearer Kumarbi moves to depose him. The title of ‘cup-bearer’ deserves mention here – within this context it could refer to a son, servant, or perhaps vizier. It also calls to mind the cup-bearer constellation of Aquarius, ruled by Saturn in traditional astrology.

After being deposed Anu flees to the skies, but Kumarbi pursues him and bites off his genitals. Anu then gloats to him:

When Kumarbi had swallowed Anu’s manhood, he rejoiced and laughed. Anu turned back to him and to Kumarbi he spake: ‘Thou feelest joy about thine interior, because thou hast swallowed my manhood.

‘Do not feel joy about thine interior! Into thine interior I have laid a seed: first I have impregnated thee with the heavy Weather-God; secondly I have impregnated thee with the river Aranzaḫ [i.e. the Tigris]; thirdly I have impregnated thee with the heavy god Tašmišu. Three fearful gods I have laid as a seed into thine interior. In the end thou shalt have to strike the rocks of the mountains with thy head!’

In a motif reflected in The Contendings of Horus and Set,5 Kumarbi angrily spits out Anu’s genitals, which sire the three rival gods – including a conquering storm god – from the ground instead.

We can therefore surmise from the thematic content of Kingship in Heaven that the Saturnine deity first became clearly defined in the Near East, situated at the crossroads between the Indo-European pantheon (reflected by Anu’s role) and the Egyptian pantheon (reflected by succession motifs). Indeed, Kumarbi’s name is potentially Semitic in origin, further reflecting Egyptian influence. One could theorise that the unique cosmology of the ancient Near East stems from the union of a native Semitic population (Akkadians) with a peaceful, technologically superior immigrant population from the Indian subcontinent (Sumerians?), but such theories are beyond the scope of this present work.

Within the god Kumarbi can be found the signatures of a number of other Near-Eastern deities, all enthroned at the top of their respective pantheons. The oldest of these is the Sumerian Enlil whose first definitive attestation occurs in early 3rd millennium BCE, although the series of signs comprising his name has been found in tablets dating to the late 4th millennium BCE, possibly referring to his cult centre of Nippur. Though Nippur was never the seat of a ruling dynasty, Enlil was seen as conferring legitimacy to Sumerian rulers through his approval. Interestingly, by the Babylonian period of the early 2nd millennium BCE, Enlil – or Ellil, as he was known by then – had peacefully conferred his authority to his nephew, the storm god Marduk, who in a familiar pattern superseded him as the King of the Gods.

Enlil’s name change during the Babylonian period is also interesting due to parallels with the Semitic god El, whose cult was potentially established as early as the mid-3rd millennium BCE in Syria before spreading widely throughout the Levant, and with whom Enlil was syncretised along with Cronus. One of El’s epithets was ‘ab šnm, which possibly translates to ‘Father of the Years’, reflecting the Saturnine deity’s association with time. El is prominently represented in Ugaritic myths as the father of the gods, and along with Dagan is characterised as the father of Baal-Hadad, the Ugaritic iteration of the storm god worshipped in various guises across the Near East.

Dagan also bears mentioning because, although he is less well-known than other Saturnine deities, his cult was among the most important in Bronze Age Syria and, like El, is attested in pre-Sargonic 3rd-millennium BCE texts. In his role as conferrer of kingship, Dagan was frequently associated or syncretised with Enlil, and his epithet ‘Lord of the Offspring’ reflects his assumption of Enlil’s role as father of the gods. His consort Shalash is also paired with Kumarbi, further entrenching Dagan within the mould of Near-Eastern Saturnine deities.

Furthermore, Dagan’s ritual cult holds particular interest for its motifs later reflected in Jewish ritual. Of special concern for this author is the zukru festival performed every seven years by the city of Emar in Dagan’s honour:

[The zukru festival was] held for seven days, starting with the 15th day of the first month, that is the first full-moon day of the new year. It is interesting to note that this month is designated by the Sumerogram SAG.MU, ‘head of the year’, in the festival text…while in the annual-ritual text it is called Zarati…a word most probably related to “seed” and “sowing”…. This suggests that the zukru ritual and festival took place in autumn, the season of sowing.6

Here we have a Saturnine deity being celebrated with an agricultural festival every seven years, echoing the Hebrew shmita year at the end of the Torah’s seven-year agricultural cycle, during the first full moon after the ‘head of the year’, which plausibly correlates with the Hebrew New Year of Rosh HaShanah taking place in the autumn. Dagan’s zukru festival therefore coincides exactly with the week-long Jewish harvest holiday of Sukkot.

With this Near-Eastern context in mind, we can begin to examine the Saturnine deity as a whole. What characteristics are shared by these gods which formed the early basis of the Saturnine deity?

Kingship

Every iteration of the Saturnine deity sits at the top of his respective pantheon of gods. This father figure is deferred to as the ultimate king and confers the office of kingship to men. In later iterations of the Saturnine deity, this god directly presides over a Golden Age. The Saturnine deity then transfers his kingship to a younger storm deity. Earlier Saturnine deities, such as Enlil, effect this transition peaceably, whereas later ones cede their kingship by force. Interestingly, this seems to correlate with the Bronze Age collapse, at which point Chaoskampf motifs are incorporated into the Saturnine cosmology.

Kingship is the most obvious unifying characteristic of the Near-Eastern Saturnine deity, but it is far from the only one. In fact, it behoves us to question the Saturnine deity’s role as both kingmaker and King of the Gods. What qualifies this deity to occupy the kingship role?

Harvest and grain

Another common feature of the various Near-Eastern deities syncretised with Saturn is that they all have a close association with grain agriculture and the harvest. For example, Enlil is given the epithet ‘Lord of Abundance’ in a third-millennium hymn, and in parallel with HaShem receives ‘first-fruit offerings’ from other gods. As the patron of farmers, Enlil was also associated with the constellation Boötes, said to depict a plowman.

Dagan is also strongly associated with the harvest, as previously discussed with the zukru harvest ritual and festival which were central to his cult. Feliu’s seminal monograph on Dagan cites Philo of Byblos as having proposed the most widely accepted etymology for Dagan’s name, that being the west Semitic word dgn, meaning ‘grain’.7 Interestingly, an Indo-European etymology has been proposed more recently which relates Dagan’s name to *ghdem-, or ‘earth’, further cementing his status as a chthonic god.8 Though these etymologies have yet to be proven and the extent of Dagan’s association with grain is unclear, he, like many other Saturnine deities, is paired with various fertility and grain goddesses as consorts, including Shalash (also paired with Kumarbi, as discussed previously) and Enlil’s consort Ninlil.9

Therefore, like scythe-bearing Saturn and his grain-goddess consort Ops, these Near-Eastern deities presided over the annual grain harvest. It behoves us to ask: what is the connection between grain agriculture, first found in the Near East possibly as early as 21,000 BCE,10  and kingship? Bottéro offers a helpful hypothesis:

There was little (primarily winter) precipitation in Mesopotamia, and its two rivers had few and weak tributaries. The soil was devoted to raising sheep and large-scale grain crops. The inhabitants realized one fine day that they could expand the territory watered by the rivers, and thereby increase productivity, by digging canals branching off from existing sources of water. … Such an undertaking eventually created a much better nourished workforce and made it indispensable to have some organization and above all a centralized, energetic, and disciplined management, one that brought together, at least for the irrigation work, villages that until then had been independent.11

Bottéro’s hypothesis is additionally interesting due to its link with irrigation and life-giving water, both strongly associated with HaShem.

Fermentation, decay, and death

That the Saturnine deity confers kingship by presiding over the grain harvest also links him to other processes surrounding both grain and harvesting generally. Most compellingly, the Saturnine deity is linked with the brewing of beer, which is postulated to have begun possibly even before the baking of bread.12 Beer was a ritual drink in ancient Sumer which was integral to Enlil’s worship, offered alongside both bread and wine.13 The ritual importance of fermentation is later reflected in the debauched Roman holiday of Saturnalia, an annual week-long festival in Saturn’s honour which occurred at the winter solstice, which featured ritual intoxication and social role subversion similar to the festivals honouring Bacchus.

Given that the process of fermentation is essentially controlled decay, the Saturnine deity’s link with fermentation also opens up other related associations, particularly with death. It’s easy to see that a god involved in both the harvest and fermentation of grain is well-placed to assume a wider role as a death-dealing god. However, this creates a unique challenge for efforts at syncretism, as most deities associated with earth, the underworld, and crops such as grain are female. Indeed, the ruler of the underworld in ancient Sumer was Ereshkigal, and as mentioned previously, the Indo-European earth goddess Dheghom was also regarded as ruling the underworld.

It is precisely this contrast, arising from the unique cultural context of the Near East, which gives rise to the Saturnine deity’s most interesting shared aspect.

Male appropriation of female power

Scratch below the surface of Hesiod’s Theogony and the Hurrian Kingship in Heaven text upon which it’s based, and the Saturnine deity’s androgyny quickly becomes apparent. Both Cronus and Kumarbi become ‘pregnant’, Cronus by swallowing his own children and Kumarbi by swallowing Anu’s genitals. However, perhaps in reference to attitudes towards receiving practitioners of gay sex in the Near East,14 these ‘pregnancies’ are treated as a subversion of the natural order – something which could be reflected in the child sacrifice rituals of Saturnine deities such as Ba’al Hammon in Carthage.15

When the above attributes of the Saturnine deity are taken all together, a picture emerges of a male deity using female generative power, particularly as present within the process of agriculture itself, to entrench a male power system. This is particularly interesting when considering the Near East context, given that Enlil’s city of Nippur rose to prominence in parallel with the city-state of Uruk, where Venusian deity Inanna had her cultic centre.16 Anu, later cast as the Saturnine deity’s nemesis, also had a prominent cult in Uruk alongside Inanna. Perhaps this early competition between city-states influenced the Saturnine deity’s role as a usurper of power – female power specifically.

In the Near East, at the nexus of Indo-European and Egyptian-Semitic belief systems, we therefore have the emergence of a deity of power, reflecting a shift in social roles accompanying the rise of grain agriculture in the area. Viewing Saturn’s power as an appropriation and subversion of traditional female power is instructive – the earth’s fertility now falls under the domain of the King alone. This formulation of the Saturnine deity has enormous ramifications both for subsequent religions arising in the Near East, such as Judaism, as well as for modern-day Saturnists seeking a fuller understanding of their great and terrible God.

  1. Barry B. Powell, The Poems of Hesiod: Theogony, Works and Days, and The Shield of Herakles (University of Californa Press, 2017), p. 37. ↩︎
  2. Hans G. Güterbock, ‘The Hittite Version of the Hurrian Kumarbi Myths: Oriental Forerunners of Hesiod’, American Journal of Archaeology, vol. 52 issue 1 (1948), pp. 123-134. ↩︎
  3. John Dillery, ‘Time: Berossus, Manetho, and the Construction of King Lists’, in Clio’s Other Sons: Berossus and Manetho (University of Michigan Press, 2015), pp. 55-122. ↩︎
  4. A. Seidenberg, ‘The Separation of Sky and Earth at Creation’, Folklore, vol. 70 issue 3 (1959), pp. 477-482. ↩︎
  5. Alan H. Gardiner, ‘The Contendings of Horus and Seth’, in The Chester Beatty Papyri, No. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1931), pp. 13-26. ↩︎
  6. Masamichi Yamada, ‘The zukru Festival in Emar: On Royal Cooperation with the City’, Orient, vol. 45 (2010), pp. 111-128. ↩︎
  7. Lluís Feliu, The God Dagan in Bronze Age Syria, translated by Wilfred G.E. Watson (Boston: Brill, 2003), p. 279. ↩︎
  8. Ibid., p. 281. ↩︎
  9. Ibid., p. 290. ↩︎
  10. Dolores R. Piperno, et al, ‘Processing of wild cereal grains in the Upper Palaeolithic revealed by starch grain analysis’, Nature, vol. 430 issue 7000 (2004), pp. 670-673. ↩︎
  11. Jean Bottéro, Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2001), p. 8. ↩︎
  12. Brian Hayden, et al, ‘What Was Brewing in the Natufian? An Archaeological Assessment of Brewing Technology in the Epipaleolithic’, Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, vol. 20 (2013), pp. 102-150. ↩︎
  13. Samuel N. Kramer, ‘BM 23631: Bread for Enlil, Sex for Inanna’, Orientalia, vol. 54 issue 1/2 (1985), pp. 117-132. ↩︎
  14. Vern L. Bullough, ‘Attitudes toward Deviant Sex in Ancient Mesopotamia’, The Journal of Sex Research, vol. 7 issue 3 (1971), pp. 184-203. ↩︎
  15. Anthony J. Frendo, ‘Burning Issues: mlk revisited’, Journal of Semitic Studies, vol. 61 issue 2 (2016), pp. 347-364. ↩︎
  16. Julia Krul, ‘Chapter 1: The Historical Background of the Anu Cult’, in The Revival of the Anu Cult and the Nocturnal Fire Ceremony at Late Babylonian Uruk (Leiden: Brill, 2018), pp. 9-78. ↩︎

It’s not the apocalypse

Nearly 80 years ago, a munition which killed hundreds of thousands of people in one go and levelled two cities was deployed twice, and only twice.

The shadow of those mushroom clouds stretched across the ensuing five decades. Schoolchildren cowered helplessly under their desks during useless shelter drills. Military standoffs escalated, then de-escalated into standard proxy wars. Countries with might, money, and brains hoarded (and continue to hoard) these weapons. Then, over a very short period of time in the ’80s and early ’90s, one of those countries ran out of money. Victory was declared, with credulous academics even proclaiming the ‘end of history’ (how did that age, Fukuyama?). All was well in the West.

Over 100 years ago, toxic clouds of mustard gas felled entire villages-worth of young men, fighting and dying together in ‘friendship brigades’. Whoever was left got mopped up with machine guns or horrific trench diseases, and whatever wretches were left got sent home with shell shock. Society got pretty wild after that war, because people hadn’t been that close to death at that scale since probably the Black Death.

(About 700 years ago, entire towns were claimed by the Black Death.)

About 150 years ago, after two groups of Americans decided to kill each other and efforts to rebuild society along a fairer paradigm were abandoned, new technology enabled a small cadre of already-rich men to hoard unimaginable wealth on the backs of disenfranchised immigrants and impoverished child labourers.

400 years ago, slavers from one continent forcibly and violently uprooted entire tribes of people in another continent to be raped, murdered, and worked to death in a third continent. (Let’s keep it short and not get into what Columbus did to the Caribs 150 years before that.)

Throw a dart at the course of history, and you’ll land on upheavals such as these. The world is always ending. A new world is always beginning. Where you are in the emerging order is predicated on how tightly you cling to the old world. Perhaps this post should have been titled ‘It’s always an apocalypse’. Because it is.

What does the word ‘apocalypse’ lend to this moment in history? What does it ever lend to any point in history, except to aggravate the limbic system?

I’m reminded of the phenomenon of semantic satiation. Repeat any word over and over again, and it loses its meaning. This then allows those with a vested interest to re-form the word with any definition they care to supply. Try it. Apocalypse. Genocide. Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

My advice is worth nothing, because it’s free. I’m just some disembodied person on the internet who writes books nobody reads. But here you go:

Just live, as best you can. The apocalypse is here, and has always been here – it’s the sea in which we swim. Learn to ride its currents, and know that sea creatures expect death and never sleep.

Just live your life.

Hyperborea

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———- Forwarded message ———-
From: [redacted]
To: syzygy@ilhawaii.net
Cc:
Bcc:
Date: Tue, 18 Jun 2024 09:53:49 +0100
Subject: Hyperborea
Hi Syzygy,

I occasionally revisit Terence’s site, which I first found on one of my school computers in the late ’90s when I was 11 or 12, probably by searching for ‘unicorn’ or something. I remember checking the website again sometime between the new millennium and the September 11 attacks, when I learned of Terence’s passing. Every once in a while I come back to it.

It has of course been 24 years since his passing, and nearly 12 years since the eschaton. What was it, do you think? It occurs to me that the nature of the internet has markedly changed in the past decade – perhaps this is what was meant by ‘infinite novelty’, although sitting at my work computer bouncing around the same 5 or 10 websites no longer feels novel. Or maybe it was the interaction between this ‘infinite novelty’ and other societal elements, like a political shift rightward or even the creation and mass implementation of AI / machine learning.

My ex links the eschaton with Kryon, who has somewhat hedged by saying that its meaning will only become clear 18 years later – so in about 6 years. Kryon’s interesting, although my lack of trust in my ex perhaps affects my ability to trust in Kryon.

Basically what I’m saying is please bring Terence back somehow, I miss him.

Best,
[redacted]

Gender as a social contract

In the ongoing culture war about gender, there are two clearly defined sides. A binary, if you will. One side believes that biological sex, unlike gender, is innate and immutable. The other side believes that gender, unlike biological sex, is innate and immutable. Both sides are very loud. They’re also both wrong.

Why are they wrong? First of all, whilst biological sex may be innate, it certainly isn’t immutable. Anyone who has viewed medical transition up close can testify to this. About six months into my ex’s transition, she smelled different. Her anatomy functioned differently, which is frankly why I don’t give credence to fears about rapists undergoing long-term HRT gaining access to female spaces. And good grief, her personality changed. She went from an unhappy, argumentative man to a full-on Queen Bitch. There was a lot more to it than ‘a man in a dress’.

Second of all, gender is neither innate nor immutable. Whilst some trans people do identify as their chosen gender from a young age, this is simply not true for many trans people I’ve met. I’ve seen gender dysphoria from a tender age, from puberty or early adulthood, from middle age, and from later in life. To try and impose a standard backstory on the phenomenon of gender variance not only flattens the diversity of transgender experience, but is also a reaction to the West’s cultural Christianity rather than a genuine reflection of how and why people choose to medically or socially transition.

So how can one accurately explain gender? Well. It’s a construct, but not in the way that either faction has considered. Put succinctly, it’s a social contract based upon perceived biological sex.

Why does it make a difference framing gender as a social contract? For one thing, it explains why people get angry or defensive when someone in their life chooses to transition. It also explains why trans people get angry or upset when someone in their life misgenders them.

Gender was perhaps the very first social contract ever imposed. Its origins lie in the division of labour surrounding childbirth and rearing. And of course, for as long as this social contract has existed, gender variance has also existed. Although the collection of technologies within medical transition have grown with time, there have always been people who rejected or otherwise lived outside of their imposed social role.

Gender as a social contract also explains why different societies have developed different gender roles. Indeed, one could view the modern trans rights movement as a large-scale attempt to rewrite the Western social contract, with multiple good and bad implications. Though other societies also have trans people, much of the language of liberation has been formulated within the Western cultural context, which perhaps partially explains backlash against trans rights in other parts of the world. Something that advocates for the rights of the gender variant would do well to mull over.

And of course, framing gender as a social contract is also helpful because the concept of human rights is itself a social contract. A social model of gender therefore doesn’t depend upon whether or not gender or biological sex is innate or immutable – it is simply the right of an individual to renegotiate their social contract, just as it’s the right of society to impose its own reasonable parameters on such negotiations.

The knife edge of the West

This weekend there’s another protest at the defence firm with an office in my town, as Israel is one of their clients. There have been multiple protests there since 7 October, and yet nothing prior when UK defence firms sold arms to the Saudis to murder civilians in Yemen. Wonder why.

This past week it was revealed in +972 Magazine that the IDF employs AI in its target selection process, in a programme codenamed Lavender. A horrible development – but hardly new. BAE Systems first began developing its Taranis drone in 2007, and it’s designed to be ‘fully autonomous’ for most of its mission. I remember reading about it in 2013, around the time of the Snowden revelations. Nobody’s mentioned Taranis this past week (or Snowden for some time before that). Wonder why.

Israel mistakenly targeted and killed 7 aid workers a couple weeks ago. Amid international outrage, the IDF quickly conducted an initial investigation and fired or disciplined all officers involved. Could it have opened to an external investigation? Perhaps, but what would the external investigation achieve that hasn’t already been achieved by the internal one?

Meanwhile criticism included the claim that this was the worst targeted killing of aid workers ever. I seem to recall that nearly ten years ago, in October 2015, the United States called in an airstrike on a field hospital in Kunduz, Afghanistan, killing dozens of doctors working for Médecins Sans Frontières. The Department of Defense took 6 months to release its findings, and there’s never been an external investigation. People seem to have conveniently forgotten about this.

Wonder why.

I can only conclude that much of what is being protested about Israel and its conduct is simply stuff that other Western powers, who have more successfully exported their violence to Elsewhere, have been doing for the past decade or more. It is indeed a feature of Western policy to export violence, usually in service to the key trade routes which bolster Pax Americana, and which buttressed Pax Britannica previously, possibly even back to the time of Pax Romana, the West’s original sin. If the violence is Elsewhere, reasons the West, then it isn’t Here.

Like so many other things, this falls apart in the case of Israel, which since 1967 has been obliged to ally itself with the West. Violence has come to Israel since its inception as a modern state, setting it apart from countries such as the United States or the UK – but it is only in its ability to fight back that Israel is scrutinised as a Western power. Israel therefore represents the vulnerable frontier of the West, its killing knife edge far more visible than the invisible violence that is the West’s trademark.

This makes Israel a lightning rod for anti-Western sentiment, from protesters within the West who can’t see the violence Elsewhere which directly affects them.

Last month I saw a poem circulated that completely exemplified this – ‘There’s laundry to do and a genocide to stop’. In this poem, the author makes clear that Israel stands in as a metaphor for everything the author cannot control in his own life – from rent rises, to Covid, to climate change. As though any and all of these things aren’t inextricably linked, in little and large ways, to the Western exportation of violence in service of securing resources.

Rent rises? Inflation – I mean ‘cost of living’ – has skyrocketed since Ukraine.

Covid? We still don’t know whether the gain-of-function research in Wuhan was bioweapons research, and likely won’t know for at least 50 years.

Climate change? Petrol exchange has been dominated by dollars for the past 50 years, and threats to that status quo are met with – yes – more violence.

But sure, fixate on Israel whilst you do your laundry.

Perhaps this focus on Israel is by design. It’s not especially hard to envisage that the former strongholds of Christendom would be more than happy to let the sole Jewish state take the fall for their violence. Israel thus becomes the hypervisible scapegoat for all Western violence, despite being no more or less violent than any other Western state – albeit about 10 years behind in its implementation.

We can only hope that, as begun by the Abraham Accords, Israel is fully folded into the Near East’s Sunni faction as a result of this war. This would have the effect of elevating other Middle Eastern countries – notably Saudi Arabia – to Western status, thus increasing scrutiny of the violence they inflict within the region and potentially decreasing the false regard of Israel as a novel outlier. But I won’t hold my breath.

On climate change and the cull

I’ve long believed that human society has an inbuilt mechanism activated when we become too numerous: we cull young men.

How else is one to explain the perennial nature of brutal and pointless wars? As the mother of boys this frightens me, but we get nowhere if we can’t see and identify truth.

Consider the First World War, which I would argue has been unsurpassed in both brutality and pointlessness. (And I say this as an Ashkenazi Jew.) A jumble of countries, all vying for the same resources, all in the Earth-opposing throes of the Industrial Revolution, passed a tipping point somehow and decided to send their young men to go die in ditches in heretofore unfathomable numbers. Why, if not to cull them? The Second World War at least had a clear casus belli.

I think about this as a series of proxy wars between Nato and the Sino-Russian alliance hots up, all contesting critical land and resources. All of these wars also have a clear casus belli, to be sure. When Taiwan gets drawn in, I’m sure it will be for good reason. But the net result will be an archipelago of battlegrounds on which both sides can test the latest weapons tech. A cull.

I remember speaking with a friend when Trump was president, and she was rereading the Mahabharata for comfort. In that ancient epic, the human actors despoil the Earth and are then compelled by the gods to kill against their will, because it is their dharma – their duty. I return to another thing I’ve believed for a long time: we have always done this.

Fuck You, I’m Jewish

I didn’t leave the Left – the Left left me.

No, I won’t go to your march. I won’t be your token Jew chanting ‘From the river to the sea’. Fuck you.

No, I won’t call Israel’s bombing in Gaza a ‘genocide’. Yes, I agree that Netanyahu’s a fascist. No, that doesn’t mean that he’s a ‘Nazi’. If Israel wanted to slaughter Gazans wholesale in concentration camps, it could have done it by now. How dare you talk to me about genocide.

No, Israel isn’t intentionally targeting civilians. It’s just really fucking hard to minimise casualties when the terrorist group you’re fighting has spent the past two decades embedding its infrastructure under hospitals and schools, and it’s actively trying to prevent Gazans from evacuating to areas with relatively less attacks, and the civilians are actively lying to you about the use of hospitals as command-and-control centres so you have to capture the hospital and seize the surveillance footage to prove it. And then people still bleat about a ceasefire.

No, I won’t be calling for a ceasefire so Hamas can go murder more Holocaust survivors and babies, so it can inflict more violence that one journalist compared to the Rwandan genocide. Not until the hostages are freed and Hamas’s capabilities are destroyed. If all you amateur military strategists would like to get in touch with the IDF to tell them your foolproof strategy to minimise civilian casualties in Gaza, please do so. Otherwise, fuck off.

No, I don’t believe everything I read in Israeli papers. But at least I’m not mindlessly repeating Hamas propaganda. The death toll in Gaza is high. It also doesn’t distinguish between civilians and combatants. But I suppose that doesn’t matter, so long as those pesky Khazars disappear from the Middle East.

And you really think that Palestine’s going to be an indigenous queer utopia, with your ‘Queers for Palestine’. Why don’t you ask Ahmad Abu Marhia how that worked out for him. You think the Islamofascists are going to hold free and fair elections, when Hamas hasn’t held one since 2006. You idiot.

A few weeks ago a rumour started that Hamas had burnt a baby to death in a kitchen oven. I don’t know if it’s true, it hasn’t been confirmed by either belligerent. It’s frankly horrifying that it could be true. But hey, you think it’s Israeli propaganda! Let’s joke about it on X! Haha, baby in oven! With or without baking powder? Hahaha.

Go fuck yourself.

No, I no longer wish to receive your indigenous rights emails, when you can’t even speak out against a pogrom. Palestinians are indigenous to the Levant, yes, I know. So are Jews. You think otherwise? Fuck you.

No, I no longer wish to read your lefty-leftist magazine, when you publish a profile of Palestinian refugees in Scotland (itself not objectionable) and you quote one of them for the fucking headline: ‘How can the occupier have the right to self-defence?’ Fuck you. (No, I’m not going to link to it.)

And furthermore, fuck your Palestine flag profile pictures. Fuck your ‘open-air prison’, which is somehow full of luxury resorts. I wonder if Hamas put their rockets and tunnels under the 5-star resorts, or just under densely-populated urban slums? And for that matter, maybe if Hamas had spent a fraction of their fucking money building up Gaza’s economy instead of diverting all their funds to line their pockets and kill Jews, Gaza WOULDN’T NEED A HUNDRED AID TRUCKS A DAY.

Meanwhile you’re sucking up their propaganda and rubbing shoulders with actual neo-Nazis. You’re launching arson attacks against Jewish cemeteries and synagogues. You’re hunting Jews in airports. Jews have been attacked in their homes, for fuck’s sake. Do you care? Or would you rather rip a poster of a kidnapped baby down?

If you can’t stomach what it’s going to take to root out terrorists who literally cite the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in their founding charter, if you can’t stand to watch Israel while it once again does the Sunni-faction Middle East’s dirty work, then shut up and GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY.

And as for me, I will never fucking march with you again. Fuck you, I’m Jewish.