
ÌÀÑÏÈÊ!
ðóññêèé è
àíãëèéñêèé òåêñò
Âèêòîð Òîïàëëåð
Åñòü íà èâðèòå òàêîå ñëîâî - «ìàñïèê». Enough. Äîñòàòî÷íî. Ó ëþäåé áîëüøå íåò ñèë. Íåò ñèë âûïóñêàòü èõ òþðåì óáèéö, êîòîðûå èäóò ñíîâà èõ óáèâàòü; íåò ñèë âèäåòü, êàê çâåðüå ñî ñ÷àñòëèâûìè ìîðäàìè ðàçìàõèâàåò îêðîâàâëåííûìè êèøêàìè ðàçîðâàííûõ íà ÷àñòè èçðàèëüòÿí; íåò ñèë ñìîòðåòü íà âñåíàðîäíûå ïðàçäíåñòâà, ïîñâÿùåííûå óáèéñòâó òðåõ ìàëü÷èøåê... Äîëæåí áûòü ïðåäåë èëè íåò?!
Êòî-òî ñ÷èòàåò, ÷òî ýòî «óãíåòåííûé íàðîä»? Íåò, ýòî íå íàðîä. È íàðîäîì íèêîãäà íå áûë. Îí áûë ïðèäóìàí, èçîáðåòåí çà îäíó íî÷ü ñ åäèíñòâåííîé öåëüþ - óíè÷òîæåíèå åâðååâ. Ýòèì è çàíèìàåòñÿ. Ýòî ëþäè? Íåò, ýòî íåëþäè. È ëþáûå ÷åëîâå÷åñêèå, áîæåñêèå íîðìû, çàêîíû ê íèì íåïðèìåíèìû, ïîíèìàåòå?! Íèêàêèå. Õâàòèò. Ìàñïèê.Ê òîìó, ÷òî ïðîèñõîäèò, ïðèâûêíóòü íåâîçìîæíî. Íåâîçìîæíî èç ãîäà â ãîä, èçî äíÿ â äåíü, êàê ïîïóãàþ òâåðäèòü îäíî è òî æå, ìåíÿÿ òîëüêî äàííûå î âðåìåíè è ìåñòå î÷åðåäíîãî óáèéñòâà íè â ÷åì íåïîâèííûõ ëþäåé. Ïîâèííûõ òîëüêî â òîì, ÷òî îíè åâðåè. Íàì íå ïåðåâåðíóòü è íå èçìåíèòü ýòîò ïîäëûé ìèð, â êîòîðîì âûðîäêè åæåäíåâíî è åæå÷àñíî óáèâàþò ëþäåé, à ðàçæèðåâøàÿ è òðóñëèâàÿ Åâðîïà åæåäíåâíî è åæå÷àñíî êëåéìèò îòöîâ, ìàòåðåé, ìóæåé ïîãèáøèõ çà «íåäîñòàòî÷íî ãóìàííîå» îòíîøåíèå ê óáèéöàì.
ß äîëãî æèë â Èçðàèëå. ß êàæäûé ðàç õâàòàþñü íî÷üþ çà òåëåôîí, ÷òîáû óáåäèòüñÿ â òîì, ÷òî äðóçüÿ è èõ äåòè æèâû. Ïîòîìó ÷òî ÿ çíàþ, êàê ñòðàøíî áûâàåò, êîãäà ïî âñåé ñòðàíå âûðóáàåòñÿ ñâÿçü ñîòîâûõ òåëåôîíîâ - âñå ëèíèè çàíÿòû. Ïîòîìó ÷òî ñëåïàÿ ÿðîñòü ðîæäàåòñÿ â äóøå, êîãäà ñëûøèøü ñëîâà çàïàäíûõ «ìèðîòâîðöåâ», äëÿ êîòîðûõ î÷åðåäíîå óáèéñòâî - àáñòðàêöèÿ, à íå èñêîðåæåííûå òåëà äåòåé. Ïîòîìó ÷òî Èåðóñàëèì äëÿ ìåíÿ íå ãîðîä «òðåõ ìèðîâûõ ðåëèãèé», à áåëîå ÷óäî, êîòîðîå âîçíèêàåò íà ãîðå, êîãäà ïðîõîäèøü îäèí èç ïîâîðîòîâ ïî äîðîãå èç Òåëü-Àâèâà…
Ìîæåò áûòü, åñëè êàæäûé äåíü ãîâîðèòü î òîé íåñïðàâåäëèâîé, æóòêîé ìåðçîñòè, êîòîðàÿ òâîðèòñÿ â ìèðå, ýòî õîòü ÷óòü-÷óòü, õîòü íà éîòó ïîâëèÿåò?.. Íåò? Íî íå ãîâîðèòü òîæå íåâîçìîæíî.
Íåâîçìîæíî íå ãîâîðèòü î òåõ àìåðèêàíñêèõ äåãåíåðàòàõ, î òåõ ïñåâäîèíòåëëèãåíòàõ, êîòîðûå è â ýòè äíè êëåéìÿò Èçðàèëü, íà÷èíàÿ ñâîè çàâûâàíèÿ ñ îáÿçàòåëüíûõ ñëîâ: «Õîòü ÿ è åâðåé...» Òû - íå åâðåé. Òû - ìðàçü ðîäà ÷åëîâå÷åñêîãî, ñ çàïëûâøèìè ìîçãàìè, ñ äðåìó÷åé íåîáðàçîâàííîñòüþ, ñ ïðåâðàòíûìè, èñêàæåííûìè ïîíÿòèÿìè î ãóìàíèçìå. À ñàìîå ãëàâíîå - òû äàæå â áîëüøåé ñòåïåíè ïðåñòóïíèê, ÷åì ñàìè óáèéöû, ïîòîìó ÷òî òû èõ «êðûøà», òû èõ ïèòàòåëüíàÿ ñðåäà, òû èõ çàùèòà. Ýòî áëàãîäàðÿ òåáå îíè ðàñïëîäèëèñü êàê êðûñû, îáíàãëåëè äî ïðåäåëà, óâåðîâàëè â ñâîþ ëåãèòèìíîñòü è áåçíàêàçàííîñòü. Òû äàæå íå ïîíèìàåøü, «ãóìàíèñò» õðåíîâ, ÷òî òû äàâíî óæå ñàì ìÿñíèê. È êðîâü äåòåé íà òâîèõ ðóêàõ - ïîñîáíèê, çàùèòíèê, îïðàâäàòåëü. È íå êîðåæü èç ñåáÿ èíòåëëåêòóàëà, ñòîÿùåãî íàä «ìíåíèåì òîëïû» - íèêàêîé òû íå èíòåëëåêòóàë. Òû íè÷òîæåñòâî è íåãîäÿé. Áóäü ïðîêëÿò.
Êîìó íå õî÷åòñÿ áûòü ãóìàíèñòîì? Òåðïèìûì, äîáðûì, âñåïîíèìàþùèì. Âçèðàòü íà íàø ñòðàøíûé, æåñòîêèé, íåñîâåðøåííûé ìèð ñî ñâåòëîé óëûáêîé ïðåâîñõîäñòâà è ñêîðáè. Îáúÿñíÿòü íåðàçóìíûì èçðàèëüòÿíàì, ÷òî îò «ïóëü ðîäÿòñÿ òîëüêî ïóëè», ÷òî îíè ñàìè âèíîâàòû â òîì, ÷òî èõ óáèâàþò. Êàê çàìå÷àòåëüíî, âîîðóæèâøèñü öèòàòàìè èç êëàññèêîâ, ïðèîáùèâøèñü ê âûñî÷àéøèì òâîðåíèÿì ÷åëîâå÷åñêîãî äóõà, ðàçìûøëÿòü î ãîðåñòíîé ñóäüáå ìèðà, ðàçâàëèâøèñü â ìÿãêîì êðåñëå, ñëóøàòü Áåòõîâåíà, ïåðåëèñòûâàòü Òîëñòîãî, ïîãëÿäûâàòü íà êîðåøêè ïîëíîãî ñîáðàíèÿ ñî÷èíåíèé Æàíà Ïîëÿ Ñàðòðà.
Ñ÷àñòëèâ âûñîêîëîáûé ãóìàíèñò, äîñèäåâøèé â óþòíîì êðåñëå äî ãëóáîêîé ñòàðîñòè: îí òàê è óõîäèò èç æèçíè ñ áëàãîñòíûì âûðàæåíèåì ëèöà èäèîòà è òðîãàòåëüíî ïîäðàãèâàþùèìè ðåñíèöàìè, à ó åãî ãðîáà ïðîèçíîñÿòñÿ ïðîíèêíîâåííûå ðå÷è î ëþáâè, ïðîíåñåííîé ïîêîéíèêîì ÷åðåç âñþ æèçíü.
Îäíàêî íå âñåì ýòî óäàåòñÿ. Çà÷àñòóþ ëåòèò â êàìèí óìíàÿ êíèæêà, øâûðÿåòñÿ íà ïîë ïðåêðàñíàÿ ñòåðåîñèñòåìà, è åùå íåñêîëüêî ñåêóíä íàçàä ïîõîæèé íà Íèêîëàÿ-Óãîäíèêà ÷åëîâåê ïðåâðàùàåòñÿ â ðàçúÿðåííîãî òèãðà. Ïîñêîëüêó â àâòîáóñå åõàë â øêîëó íå ÂÎÎÁÙÅ ðåáåíîê, íå ÷óæîé ðåáåíîê, à åãî ñîáñòâåííûé. Ïîòîìó ÷òî ýòî åãî ðåáåíîê áûë íà òîé äèñêîòåêå. Ïîòîìó ÷òî ýòî åãî ðåáåíîê ñåë â ïîïóòíóþ ìàøèíó... È êðîâü ïåðåñòàëà áûòü ïîõîæà íà êëþêâåííûé ñèðîï, è íåëþäü ïåðåñòàë áûòü àáñòðàêöèåé, è ìãíîâåííî èçäîõëè àáñòðàêòíàÿ ëþáîâü è âñåïðîùåíèå.
Êîâàðñòâî è ïîäëîñòü òàê æå, êàê è íåíàâèñòü ê åâðåÿì, íåèçëå÷èìû, à ïðåäàííîñòü «ãóìàíèñòè÷åñêèì èäåàëàì», æåëàíèå îáíÿòü â áðàòñêîì, òðîãàòåëüíîì ïîðûâå ÿâëÿþòñÿ ëèøü ïèòàòåëüíîé ñðåäîé äëÿ çëîáû è æåëàíèÿ óáèâàòü.
Âçáåñèâøååñÿ, îáíàãëåâøåå çâåðüå ìîæíî âûëå÷èòü òîëüêî îäíèì ëåêàðñòâîì - ïóëåé. Íî äàæå ïóëÿ íå ÿâëÿåòñÿ ïàíàöååé: äðåìó÷èå àðàáñêèå êàìèêàäçå ñ ðàäîñòüþ îòïðàâëÿþòñÿ â ñâîé ðàé, çàõâàòûâàÿ ñ ñîáîé äåñÿòêè è ñîòíè ëþäåé. Ñòðàøíûé çàìêíóòûé êðóã, â êîòîðûé ïîïàë Èçðàèëü - ñ îäíîé ñòîðîíû åæåäíåâíàÿ áîðüáà ñî çâåðüåì, êîòîðîå ãðîçèò óíè÷òîæèòü âåñü ìèð, ñ äðóãîé ñòîðîíû - âåñü ìèð, âÿæóùèé åìó ðóêè â ýòîé áîðüáå.
Õâàòèò ìèíäàëüíè÷àòü, êîðìèòü, ïîèòü, ó÷èòü, ëå÷èòü, ñïàñàòü. Õâàòèò íàíîñèòü èäèîòñêèå «òî÷å÷íûå» óäàðû. Õâàòèò äî äðîæè â êîëåíêàõ áîÿòüñÿ, ÷òî ïîñòðàäàåò ìå÷åòü, ñî ñïðÿòàííîé òàì ïóñêîâîé óñòàíîâêîé, ÷òî ïîñòðàäàåò «íåâèííûé»... Êàêîé òàêîé íåâèííûé?! Òîò, êòî æðàë êîíôåòû è ðûäàë îò ñ÷àñòüÿ, ÷òî ìàëü÷èøåê óáèëè? Èëè òîò, êòî ëþäåé íà ÷àñòè ðâàë? Õâàòèò çàêðûâàòü ñâîåé ãðóäüþ èõ äåòåé â òî âðåìÿ êàê îíè ïðÿ÷óòñÿ çà èõ ñïèíàìè è îòòóäà óáèâàþò íàøèõ. Õâàòèò. Ìàñïèê.
Ñåãîäíÿ Èçðàèëü îáâèíÿþò âî âñåõ ñìåðòíûõ ãðåõàõ. Ëãóò. Ëãóò áåñïàðäîííî, íàãëî, ïîäëî. Ïóñòü, íàêîíåö, ýòà êëåâåòà íà÷íåò õîòü íåìíîãî ñîîòâåòñòâîâàòü äåéñòâèòåëüíîñòè. Òóò âåäü êàê íå êðóòè, åñòü òîëüêî îäèí âàðèàíò: íåãóìàííî, áåç ñîæàëåíèÿ, áåç îãëÿäêè íà ïðåñëîâóòîå îáùåñòâåííîå ìíåíèå, âûæå÷ü íà êîðíþ êðûñèíûå ãíåçäà è íàâñåãäà çàáûòü èäèîòñêóþ èäåþ ñîçäàíèÿ íà åâðåéñêîé çåìëå áàíäèòñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâà äëÿ âûäóìàííîãî, íåñóùåñòâóþùåãî è íèêîãäà íå ñóùåñòâîâàâøåãî íàðîäà.
Ìàñïèê.
Âèêòîð Òîïàëëåð,
èçâåñòíûé
æóðíàëèñò è ïèñàòåëü, àâòîð ðÿäà êíèã
Victor Topaller (born in Moscow, Russia) is an American political writer, television host and political analyst, as well as host of a number of syndicated radio shows. V.Topaller has authored several books and contributes commentary to various American media outlets.
A TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
In the endless stream of material passing across my desk, once in a while there turns up a piece that stands out with such clarity and force, that you cannot stop thinking about it, no matter what you are
doing.
The work that I now have in front of me is exactly of this kind: every emotional passage hits home, every word burns into your heart. It instantly grabbed my attention and wouldn’t let go until I finished this translation. I simply could not put it down, from the very first glance at the first line, to the final click of the
mouse.
I am working on this translation today, on July 20th, 2014, on the fifth day of the war in Gaza, upon receiving news of thirteen more
casualties.
Helen Brook
MASPIK!
By Victor Topaller, New York
There is a word in Hebrew: "Maspik.” Enough. No more. People can’t take any more of this: no more releasing killers from jail, murderers who walk free and continue killing. No more looking into the gloating snouts of the happy brutes, no more watching that filthy riffraff triumphantly wave the bleeding bowels of torn apart Israelis; enough looking at general festivities in celebration of the murder of the three boys ... Shouldn’t there be some limit to all this?!
Someone wants to call them “an oppressed nation"? No, they are not a nation at all, and they have never been one. In fact, this so-called “oppressed nation” was invented, concocted overnight, for the sole purpose: the destruction of the Jews. And this is exactly what they are doing. You call them a people? No, they are not a people. And no laws or standards should apply to them, neither human nor godly, do you understand? None. Enough. Maspik.
What is happening is impossible to adjust to. It is impossible to get used to this: repeating, like a parrot, year after year, day after day, the same news, with only the details changing - the time and place of yet another murder of innocent people, guilty only of being Jews. No, we can’t overturn and change the loathsome world, where the hoodlums murder people daily and hourly, while the overfed and cowardly Europe, daily and hourly berates the fathers, mothers, husbands of the victims - for not being "humane enough" towards their killers.
I have lived in Israel for a long time. I rush for the phone in the middle of the night, every time - to make certain that my friends and their children are alive. Because I know the horror of having every cell phone in the country knocked out, when all phone lines are busy. And because a blind rage boils up in your soul when you hear from Western "peacemakers", for whom a new murder is only an abstraction, and not a mangled body of a child. Because for me, Jerusalem is not just a city of "the three world religions". It is a miracle of white stone that appears on the mountain when you pass one of the turns on the road from Tel Aviv...
If every day we keep talking about this horrible injustice and ignominy unfolding in the world, will it make even the slightest, tiniest difference? No? But not talking about it is also impossible.
It is impossible to be silent about those American degenerates, those phony intellectuals, who even today dare to condemn Israel, starting each of their rants with a mandatory introduction: “Although I am a Jew…” No, you are not a Jew! You are the scum of human race, with bloated brains, with dense ignorance, with perverse, distorted notions of humanism.
But most importantly, you are even more of a criminal than the actual killers, because you are their "cover", you are their growing medium, their protective shield. It is because of you they have bred like rats, became emboldened and confident in their own legitimacy and impunity. You do not even realize, you stinking "humanist", that for a long time already, you have been, and still are - a butcher. And the blood of children is, indeed, on your hands: you - the accomplice, the advocate, the enabler. And do not try to feign an intellectual who stands “above” the "perceptions of the crowd", because you are not an intellectual. You are a creep and a scoundrel. Be damned.
Who wouldn’t want to be a humanist? A tolerant, kind, forgiving person. A humanist who looks upon our terrible, cruel, imperfect world with a serene smile of superiority and sorrow. A person who patiently explains to the unreasonable Israelis that "bullets produce only bullets" and that the Israelis should blame themselves for the fact that they are being killed. Indeed, how wonderful it must be, having partaken of the highest creations of human spirit, armed with quotes from the classics, to reflect on the sad fate of the world. How nice it is to lounge in a soft armchair, listening to Beethoven, turning Tolstoy’s pages, while glancing at the shelf with the Complete Works of Jean-Paul Sartre.
Happy is the highbrow humanist who manages to sit through life in that comfortable chair to his old age: he dies with the same blissful expression on his idiotic face, eyelashes quivering in a most charming way. At his funeral, heartfelt speeches are delivered about love that the deceased carried with him throughout his life.
However, not everyone is that lucky. Sometimes the clever book is flung into the fireplace, a beautiful stereo system is thrown to the floor, and the man who just moments ago resembled St. Nicholas turns into a raging tiger. Just because that bus was taking to school not someone else’s child, but his own. Because it was his own kid who went to that disco place. Because it was his child who got into that car… And suddenly the blood ceased to look like cranberry juice, and the subhuman villain ceased to be just an abstraction, and as to the universal love and forgiveness, they swiftly went up in smoke.
Duplicity and baseness, as well as hatred of Jews, are incurable, whereas devotion to "humanistic ideals," and the idea of hugging the enemy in a tender brotherly embrace, are just a breeding ground for hatred and the desire to kill.
For hog wild, brazen mobsters, there can only be one effective cure - a bullet. But even a bullet is not a panacea: the reckless Arab kamikazes gladly go to their paradise, taking with them dozens and hundreds of people. Israel is caught up in a terrible vicious circle - on the one hand, it is engaged in a deadly fight with the savage herds that threaten to destroy the entire world; on the other it faces the world that is trying to tie its hands in this battle.
Enough sentimentality, enough feeding, teaching, helping, treating, saving. Enough of the idiotic "pinpoint" strikes. Enough of the knee-trembling fears of hitting a mosque where a rocket launcher is concealed. Enough of the fear of hurting “the innocent" ... Exactly what innocent?! The same innocent who stuffed his face with candy and wept with joy that the boys were killed? Or the one who tore people apart? Enough shielding their children with our bodies, while they shoot from behind their backs, killing our kids. Enough. Maspik.
Today, Israel is accused of every mortal sin in the book. It is done by liars. Shameless, brazen, despicable liars. But reality should finally at least to some extent start catching up with that slander. There is, after all, only one option: eliminating the rat nests without regret, without regard to the notorious world opinion, and abandoning forever the idiotic idea of creating on the Jewish land a rogue, gangster state for a fictitious people that does not exist and has never
existed. Maspik.
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