Bombastic Sunday Morning

I had an amazingly happy weekend, I’ll spare personal details in such a widely read magazine, but Sunday’s U.S. support in bombing Iran I received like a cherry on top.

G-d is Amazing. He is Our Best Friend, I’ve noticed lately that everything I pray for, comes true. The Chosen People are just like that.

I spoke very badly lately among Friends about Trump, now I think, maybe all he’s done recently was a deliberate misdirection? A kind of Iranian decoy? That master was playing.

One thing’s for sure, the moment I found out was amazing. Yes, for the third time I use this word, not by accident. It was simply as Noa Kirel sang, that is, phenomenal.

It was around 03:00 am, and I was in the bath dealing with my French affairs, perhaps improper to name them, but greetings to you, Monsieur Baguette, companion and le camarade of this wonderful, historic event. The notification on my phone that brought the news was a beautiful interlude to our rendez-vous.

And those views on the beach near the American military base, which the whole World admired today and everyone, except the blind, was enchanted by. So beautiful. That aerial shoal of metal birds. All of it — those planes, that battle formation, that squadron, that glorious parade — the most beautiful thing I have ever seen with my own eyes. The memory alone moves me and stirs my tear glands, which produce a tear full of pride and Zionism, that runs down my Jewish cheek, like the Jordan through Galilee.

Since I’m no longer mad at Donek, I’ll once again joyfully shake my hips in my USA-flag Ralph Lauren skirt, just like on the day he won his second election.

Thank you, Donald, if you were here, I’d give you a kiss. You’re invited to the traditional European summer, once you’ve won the war, of course.

À bientôt!