Da Techguy's (no longer backup) Blog

then read this:

In Sheba’s pediatric hemato-oncology department was Mohammed Abu Mustafa, a four-and-a-half-month-old Palestinian infant. Protruding from his tiny body were pipes attached to big machines. His breathing was labored.

“His days may be numbered. He is suffering from a genetic defect that is causing the failure of his immune system,” said the baby’s mother, Raida, from the Gaza Strip, when she emerged from the isolation room. “I had two daughters in Gaza,” she continued, her black eyes shimmering. “Both died because of immune deficiency. In Gaza I was told all the time that there is no treatment for this and that he is doomed to die. The problem now is how to pay for the [bone marrow] transplant. There is no funding.”

Pretty sad story, the irony of course being that here is a Palestinian kid in an Israeli Hospital in the first place, the story goes on as the filmmaker realizes something (emphasis mine)…

“I got to her after all the attempts to find a donation for the transplant had failed,” he relates. “I understood that I was the baby’s last hope, but I didn’t give it much of a chance. At the time, Qassam rockets falling on Sderot opened every newscast. In that situation, I didn’t believe that anyone would be willing to give a shekel for a Palestinian infant.”

He was wrong. Hours after the news item about Mohammed was broadcast, the hospital switchboard was jammed with callers. An Israeli Jew whose son died during his military service donated $55,000, and for the first time the Abu Mustafa family began to feel hopeful. Only then did Eldar grasp the full dramatic potential of the story. He told his editor, Tali Ben Ovadia, that he wanted to continue accompanying the family.

…Yup those nasty evil Jews decided to come up with dough so the kid might have a future. And what was the future the mother dreamed of for the kid? One Guess again emphasis mine:

And Eldar was angry. “Then why are you fighting to save your son’s life, if you say that death is a usual thing for your people?” he lashes out in one of the most dramatic moments in the film.

“It is a regular thing,” she smiles at him. “Life is not precious. Life is precious, but not for us. For us, life is nothing, not worth a thing. That is why we have so many suicide bombers. They are not afraid of death. None of us, not even the children, are afraid of death. It is natural for us. After Mohammed gets well, I will certainly want him to be a shahid. If it’s for Jerusalem, then there’s no problem. For you it is hard, I know; with us, there are cries of rejoicing and happiness when someone falls as a shahid. For us a shahid is a tremendous thing.“

Even assuming that she was afraid to say something different on camera it is really something.

I’ll say it again, if the Jews were even half of what the Palestinians and the Methodists thought; the Palestinians would have been wiped out 40 years ago. And if the Arabs were in the Jews place, there would not be a Jew alive in Israel.

This is Radical Islam, it can’t be negotiated with, ignored or changed via nice words. It can only be changed from within, surrendered to or destroyed.

And the longer you ignore the problem the less likely that change option will exist.

Via Elder of Ziyon and Memeorandum.

Update: In case you’ve forgotten this has been going on for a long time. Weekly standard Aug 19, 2002:

Downstairs, before we left, the head of the hospital, an Israeli named Audrey, was showing me the children’s waiting room. I couldn’t help but notice, all around, an Arab woman with her son, an Arab family over there checking in, Arab children playing with the toys while waiting. The doctor saw the look on my face and laughed. “Oh, yes, we treat everyone.” I guess I was astonished. She just shrugged. “We’re Jews. This is how we live. It’s also for the future. They’re not going anywhere, and we’re not going anywhere. There will eventually be peace. There has to be.” When? A month? A year? A hundred years? More? She didn’t know. I had to say it. You’re incredible. You take everyone, you treat everyone, no one goes first, no one goes last, you just go in order of who needs help. That’s, like, Mother Teresa stuff. “We’re not saints, we’re just doing our jobs. It’s not easy, I admit. And it gets hard when they cheer when the bodies are brought in.” I looked at her. What did you say? She sighed. “Yes, it gets hard when they cheer.” This was one of the times during my trip when I held up my hands and said, “Stop. Wait.” I turned and walked away to breathe deeply for a minute. I wonder if they’ve restocked that mini-bar. Yeah, probably. It’s a good hotel.

Can anyone explain to me why we are giving these Palestinian bastards any tax dollars at all? Yes I said bastards, how cruel of me, I should have said barbarian bastards. And yes I’d still treat their wounded and sick. Just because they are barbarian bastards doesn’t mean we should be.