Sunday, June 13, 2010

Captain Stabbing and Friends

The original Latma video, which I'm assuming everyone in the world - well, at least 2.2 million Youtube viewers, last time I checked - has now watched, has been taken off Youtube, allegedly due to a copyright violation. I'm not sure how much sense that makes, since it was the official LatmaTV Youtube Channel that posted the LatmaTV produced video. So, in case some of you are left scrambling to find it again, here's the wonderful skit in its entirety, including the setup with Captain Stabbing.



I've been away the past week or so, having driven down to Miami, Florida with a friend. Nevertheless, I heard the LatmaTV song at least twice on conservative talk radio stations during the trip, with audiences in the millions of listeners. This song really has the potential for cult status. Captain Stabbing, Mr. "Itbach al Yahud", is just awesome! The mark of longevity is whether people more vocally talented than I begin to create parodies. As for the Flotilla crew, it's steaming along, with a Facebook Group and T-Shirt to capitalize on the success of "We Con the World".

That said, and not discounting the humor of the video, I feel there is something deeply sad about this skit; a certain resignation at a world which, once again, feels itself emboldened to callously, nay, zealously, bargain Jewish rights and Jewish lives. It is, perhaps, fitting that the return of insanity be met with absurdity, for to take darkness seriously would be tragic, indeed.

I'm reminded of a poem by Marie Syrkin; a gem I recently encountered on the prefacing pages of 1948, a comprehensive historical account of Israel's War of Independence, by Benny Morris.

David
by Marie Syrkin

Suppose, this time, Goliath should not fail;
Suppose, this time, the sling should not avail
On the Judean plain where once for all
Mankind and pebble struck, suppose the tale
Should have a different end: the shepherd yield
The triumph pass to iron arm and thigh,
The wonder vanish from the blooming field,
The mailed hulk stand, and the sweet singer lie.

Suppose, but then what grace will go unsung,
What temple wall unbuilt, what garden bare;
What ploughshare broken and what harp unstrung!
Defeat will compass every heart aware
How black the ramparts of a world wherein
The psalm is stilled, and David does not win.

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