Waltz with Mesabaha

Arik and I had been up at the border for 2 weeks. The war had started a few months ago, when some Lebanese chefs made a big plate of hummus. Of course, we Israelis couln’t lose face – so we made a 4 tonne plate of hummus.

After that, things quickly got out of hand. A plate of hummus landed on the outskirts of Kiryat Shmona, hurting no one but causing damage to a cow (the milk had a strange flavor). Hizbullah immediately said they had nothing to do with it, and UNIFIL forces began to search for the culprits.

The IDF, as usual, had to retaliate – especially after the Second Lebanon War – and to regain its deterrence factor. They never believed in UNIFIL anyway. Just 30 minutes later, IDF planes were dropping plates of hummus on Beirut, Tyre and Sidon.

The next day, the Israeli Navy enforced a naval closure on Lebanon. After that, they began shelling suspected launch pads with chick peas from sea and from land. The pictures in the international media didn’t go down well. President Obama called for an immediate truce, but neither side would budge.

That’s when Arik and I were posted to a base near Metulla. The stench was amazing. Hizbullah hummus is deadly. It looks nice and creamy on the outside, but don’t let that fool you. Or should I say, ful you. Hehe, a little black humor in these dark days never hurt, right?

Their hummus is extremely acidic. Once it hits, all of us run to the bathroom with diareha. Arik thinks it’s the urine: “Those f-cking Arabs, they piss in the hummus. Why do you think it smells like ammonia?!?! And does that REALLY look like olive oil to you? Really?!?!”

He might be right. But I pity the Lebanese now, swimming in that chunky Israeli hummus from Abu Ghosh. I always wondered how that made Israeli-Arabs feel, knowing their hummus was being used against their brothers. But that’s the MidEast for ya, a real melting pot…

One day, Arik said he heard the air force was dropping leaflets warning people to leave a certain area before they bomb them with mesabaha. I told him that would be against the Geneva conventions, and Arik lashed back at me: “Oh! And I guess fondue is legal, right?!?!?!”

I couldn’t take Arik anymore. I couldn’t take this f-cking hummus war anymore. My pita helmet was so soggy already, it barely kept me safe.

But I knew I had to stay strong for my country. The whole State of Israel was in bowel movement. Jews and Arabs alike were projectile vomiting on the streets.

We all knew there was only one way to stop this war. And we knew Bibi was hesitant to use it, especially since the scientists at the Dimona plant said that the effects could spill over in to the northern part of Israel, if the weapon was eventually used.

But it had to be done. And after 2 weeks up north with Arik, Bibi gave the order. An F-16 hovered over Beirut, and at 12:00 exactly, just before lunch, Israel dropped a hard boiled egg on the capital of Lebanon.

To make sure the job was done, 10 Apache choppers spread chopped parsley and buckets of olive oil over the damages of what was left of the Paris of the Middle East.

It’s been a long road for me since then. The physical wounds are gone, and I’ve stopped shitting myself. But the mental recovery has been much more difficult. Everytime I see a plate of hummus, I get flashbacks. And run as fast as I can to the nearest crapper. Only to find out I need to do number one.

P.S. Despite the war trauma, I’m thinking of opening up (yet another) hummus joint in Tel Aviv, called “I Pity the Ful“. Whaddya say?


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