The fundamental theme of wartime propaganda can be summarized in two sentences: “The Motherland is in danger. Will you answer the call as your forefathers did?”
Yet, on the most fundamental level, the propaganda is irrelevant. The Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union began at 0400 hours on 22 June 1941. The first aerial ramming attack took place at 0425, when lieutenant Ivanov drove his obsolete I-16 fighter through the tail of a brand-new German He-111. Lieutenant Ivanov did not need propaganda. No one had to draw him a poster, sing him a song, make him a patriotic speech. His action was immediate, instinctive, unthinking. It bypassed all logic, all reason, all conscious thought. It was not propaganda that caused RAFVR Sergeant Bruce Hancock to ram his Anson trainer into a German Do-17 on 18 August 1940, at the height of the Battle of Britain. It was not propaganda that caused at least three Yugoslav pilots to drive their Hawker biplanes into fatal collisions with invading German Messeschmitts on the first day of the German invasion of Yugoslavia. It was not propaganda that drove the kamikaze and it is not propaganda, nor drugs, nor the promise of heavenly virgins that drives Hamas suicide bombers.
There is, within the soul of every normal man a fundamental instinct that drives him to rise, regardless of his creed, or race, or nation, to the defense of his Motherland as he would rise to the defense of mother, daughter, sister, wife. Unthinkingly. Selflessly. Without question or hesitation, even to the sacrifice of his own life. There is a tiny spot in every healthy, normal man’s soul that binds him invisibly to the Homeland, whether it be Russia or Poland or England or America or Japan or any other nation. This tiny spot, this invisible thread, can remain untouched, untapped for decades, perhaps for his entire life. But when the little detector in his heart feels the vibration of Motherland In Danger, whether from foreign enemies or home-grown traitors, it drives him immediately, unswervingly, out of his stupor, raising him, even despite himself, to the defense of his nation. The propaganda does not create this feeling. It merely awakens it, reminding men of things they already know in their heart of hearts, but have temporarily forgotten.
It is for this reason that no disembodied, anonymous voice from the depths of the exile would be needed to drive the Ukrainian people to the streets in bloody revolt against any lunatic government that proposes to give Lviv back to the Poles. No one would need to tell the Polish Army to mutiny and march on Warsaw in response to some moronic presidential order to forcibly evacuate Gdansk and give the city back to the Germans. And were some psychopath in the Kremlin to propose bringing international troops into the Kitaigorod and surrendering Novgorod, Pskov and Izborsk to the Germans, there would be no need to wait for the Russian people to revolt or for the Tamansky Guards Division to mutiny and march on the capital. His own bodyguard would hoist his head up on a bayonet within the hour!
But the people of Israel did not take to the streets in bloody revolt at the news of Oslo, to hang Rabin and his gang of traitors from the nearest available set of lampposts. The IDF did not mutiny nor march to crush the traitorous Sharon government with tanks in response to the order to evict the Jews of Gush Katif. No Jewish suicide bombers rose to defend our homeland after Amona. The Jewish People is sick to its very core.
Two thousand years of exile have deformed the Jewish soul. For two thousand years, the proud heirs to Joshua and the Maccabees, the nation that fought the Seleucids and Hellenists for thirty years, the nation that thrice rose in revolt against the power of Rome and killed a third of Hadrian’s standing army, tuned into a clutch of pathetic peddlers who groveled in abject humiliation, licking the jackboots of whatever bloodthirsty goyshe bandit currently held power over their filthy ghettoes. Those whose veins bore the blood of Samson and King David spent two thousand years hiding in trembling terror under the beds upon which pogromschiks raped their wives and daughters. For two thousand years we became twisted little half-human homunculi, with twisted little homunculous half-souls devoid of courage, of manhood, of the fundamental self-respect that turns a dirty animal with a penis hanging between its legs into a Man. For two thousand years we have focused on nothing more than immediate survival. The real men got killed pointlessly in pogroms or abandoned their faith, like Yonah Yakir and Baruch Feldman, to fight for alien masters and foreign ideologies that promised the Jew equality but, in the end, delivered only death. Our rabbis institutionalized cowardice to ensure the survival of the nation, ruling that no Jew was obligated to risk his own life to save another. The Torah of Eretz Yisrael was hidden, replaced for two thousand years by the Torah of Exile.
Yet the very Sages who, among the filth and degradation of dhimmi ghettoes in Sura and Pumpedita, abjectly shouted down R. Yossi’s proud assertion that “Arms are an adornment to a man”, knew that their Exile Torah would be discarded and forgotten overnight if his newly-acquired faith combined with military genius and miracles to drive the Kagan of the Khasars to a triumphal entrance through the gates of a liberated Jerusalem or were Moshiach to arrive and break, by miracle and sword, the onerous Islamic yoke that daily ground their people ever deeper into the dust.
The Zionists, too, knew that the Torah of Exile was as much anvil as life preserver, that it at once kept the Jew from drowning in the ocean of goyshe culture and yet prevented him from surfacing to stand proudly upon the rock of his own sovereign State. They may have thrown out the baby with the bathwater when they threw out Judaism in favor of an empty secular nationalism, but their hearts were in the right place, guided by Hashem to miraculously produce all the right decisions for all the wrong reasons.
Baruch Hashem, a century of Holocausts and commissars and Zionist organizers and the creeping sweet poison of American materialism have combined to drive the Torah of Exile from the hearts of the majority of our people. We have, by miracle and bayonet, a Jewish-majority entity in a tiny part of our trampled Motherland.
And yet the sickness of the exile is not gone from our crippled souls. What healthy nation would tolerate rule by cowards and traitors who seek to surrender pieces of our Motherland? Any healthy man, be he Russian or American or Pole, when presented with the likes of Liberman’s so-called “plan” for “territorial exchange” would thump his fist on the table, roar out: “THE MOTHERLAND IS NOT FOR SALE!” and proceed to beat the exponent of such abject treason into a bloody pulp. Yet the sick Jewish nation considers this cynical galutnik peddler to be a patriot! Even his opponents call him a nationalist!
And where are those who have, for two thousand years, claimed the mantle of leadership over our nation? Where are our rabbis? Where is the Rav to revive our sick, crippled, deformed national soul with the healing elixir of the Torah of Erets Yisrael? Where is the Rav with the courage to proclaim that beturbaned frauds who rule that pieces of our Motherland can be given away to preserve Jewish lives ought to be pelted with rotten tomatoes and driven into exile, if not stood up against a wall and shot?! Where is the Rav to tell our youth that their obligation in response to Oslo Treason is not to feebly wave orange ribbons but to take to the streets in bloody revolt?! Where is the Rav to tell our soldiers that, in response to an order to expel Jews, they are obligated to not merely refuse orders, but to mutiny and massacre the officers who give such orders and march on the Knesset to summarily execute the entire Government of Traitors?!
Calling all rabbis! Is there one among you in whose veins the blood of filthy, groveling peddlers has not yet wholly replaced the blood of kings and maccabees? Is there one among you in whose soul the spark of the Torah of Erets Yisrael still glows? Is there among you even one MAN?!
13 Tammuz, 5769