Dozens of snake eggs found in Australian school sandpit


Wildlife rescuers retrieve 43 eggs thought to be from of one of the world’s most poisonous snakes, the eastern brown

Students at a school on the New South Wales mid-north coast have learned a valuable lesson: sandpits make great snake nests.

Wildlife rescuers were shocked when a call to remove about a dozen eggs from a sandpit at a school near the coastal town of Laurieton, 350km north of Sydney, became rather more dramatic.

Continue reading…

This Week in Egypt- Week 52-Last Week of 2017


Top Headlines

  • Gunman kills 9 in Egypt church attack claimed by ISIS
  • Egypt hangs 15 militants convicted of 2013 Sinai attacks 
  • Egypt security forces kill three suspected militants, arrest 10 others
  • British woman accused of bringing 300 painkiller tablets into Egypt jailed for three years 

 Main Headlines



  • Egypt has hanged 15 militants who were convicted of carrying out attacks on security forces in the Sinai Peninsula in 2013
  • A British woman has been convicted of smuggling 300 painkiller tablets into Egypt and jailed for three years
  • Egyptian military provides security alongside police during Christmas celebrations
  • Egypt’s Shoukry proposes World Bank as third party on Ethiopian dam technical studies
  • Presidential hopeful Khaled Ali calls for new electoral…

View original post 1,073 more words

Waiting for her cry: The day that changed my life forever

­­The scariest moment in my life came about one minute after the event that changed it.

February 13, 2017, 3:55 p.m.

It’s a regular Monday afternoon. I am on my way to pick up my older kid, Emma, from school. She is nine years old.

The Monday a week earlier I lost my temper with one of her teachers. She was always keeping the kids in class — 15, sometimes 20 minutes after the final bell. Parents would wait outside impatiently, wasting time on their smartphones. Some, like me, had probably made arrangements to leave work early so they could pick up their kids on time.

It was disrespectful. So I gave her an earful.

This Monday I am ready for a fight if she does it again… Well, I don’t know what, but I am ready. This is about time. My time. My minutes. My seconds.

It didn’t matter, though. Emma is already waiting outside in the hallway. A bit early, actually. Before 4 p.m. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“How was school, perach (flower)?”


She gets her laconism from her father, obviously.

“Yalla, let’s go home,” I say. She gets into the back, right seat of the car and we head off.

* * *

“Tell me more about those moments. The moments before,” my shrink asks me.

“They’re just moments. They’re regular. A dad picks his daughter up from school. Routine and normal. Naive.”

“Why naive?”

“Because I’m totally unaware of the evil that will occur. I have no control over what will happen.”

“You think this happened because of evil? Evil people?”

“Yes. Evil and greedy people.”

“And you have no control?”

“Of course not. Look at what happened.” 

* * *

4 p.m.

We drive south from the northern edge of Bat Yam on the border of Jaffa, down the boardwalk to the newer neighborhoods of the city. There’s construction all over the place, some of it menacingly blocks the sea view.

As I pass by the skeleton of a new hotel that seems to add a new floor each week, I listen to the daily rant of radio talk show host Anat Davidov. It’s an economics program on 103FM, and today she’s talking about the impending strike of crane operators in Israel — they are demanding more money and better safety protocols at building sites. Nothing will come out of it, I remember saying to myself in my usual cynical tone. The weak shall remain weak. I look at another building site on my right. This one is going to be apartments. It’s called “Home & Sea.”

4:06 p.m.

I turn left at the light, and then left again into the parking lot. It’s a big lot that serves three massive residential towers, each with about 100 apartments. I search for a spot, slowly. Today, in retrospect and with a newly found respect for time, my time, my hours, my minutes, my seconds, I remember that feeling, that I was looking very slowly for a spot. I finally see one, right in front of our building. But it’s a bit too tight. I like it when I can open the doors without worrying about scratching another car. The search continues.

4:07 p.m.

I find a spot not too far away and start to pull in. I finish parking, and as I reach for the key to turn off the ignition, I see some sort of shadow. I think it’s from the rear view mirror, or one of the windows to my right. It makes me turn my head in that direction, and as I do the loudest sound I have ever heard pierces my ears. The car starts to shake and jumps in the air.

And then, the crushing begins.

I hear metal crushing and glass breaking. The right side of the car is slowly coming toward me. The windshield in front of me has become a million different pieces and it’s coming my way. It feels like it will touch my nose any moment.

I can’t move. I’m frozen in my seat. But I’m screaming. Sounds that I never knew were inside me are now booming out of my throat. I’m roaring in fear. The crushing seems to go on forever. I feel like this is it. This could really be it. Whatever it is, this might be the end.

When it finally stops I start screaming her name. “Emma! Emma!! EMMA!!!!”

No answer.

I turn my head right to look at the back seat. But it’s so dark now. There is no light. There is no car. The roof has totally collapsed.

I try to unfasten my seatbelt. It’s not working.


Still no answer. Why won’t she say anything? I try to open the door. Nothing. I’m panicking — shaking like crazy.

For some reason I decide to try the lever that reclines the seat. As it goes back, I try the seatbelt again. This time it opens.


Still no answer.

* * *

“What are you thinking then?”

“That I’ve lost her. She’s gone.”

“How long did you feel like that?”

“Forever. I think it was a minute, but it lasted forever.”

“Where are you now on our stress level, from 1 to 10, here, while you’re recalling it to me?”


“Eight. What are you feeling right now? Physically.”

“My heart is pounding. Feels like there’s a weight on my chest. It’s hard to breathe,” I say as I feel my knuckles turn white from grabbing the armrests.

* * *

I try to open the door again. It’s stuck. I bang on it with my shoulder a few times with all the weight and strength I can muster, and finally it opens. I rush out.

There are huge amounts of dust and debris. So much metal. It feels like a war zone. I turn around to look at the car. It takes me a second for my brain to comprehend what my eyes are transmitting to it: there’s a massive crane on the car. The crane from way across the street, from “Home & Sea.” It fell mostly on the right side of the car, where Emma was sitting. There’s no way I can get to her side.

“Emma!!! EMMA!!”

16797086_10155061259519100_1139090704197838853_o (1)

* * *

“You see the crane on the car. You don’t hear Emma. Where are you now on our stress level?”

“Nine,” I barely manage to whisper.

“OK. You’re doing very well, Ami. Can you go on?”

I wipe the tears on my face. The lump in my throat is too big to say “yes,” so I just nod.

* * *

I decide to try and get to her from my side of the car but I need to climb over some massive pieces of metal. When I’m over them, there’s still one piece of metal between me and the car, so I reach over it to try and get to the door handle.

And here it is. This is the scariest moment of my life. My hand reaching out, fingers stretched, not knowing what I will see when I open the door.

But I open it.

She’s there, alive. Lying across the back seat. She looks at me in the most frightened gaze that I fear will haunt me to my grave, and says “Aba?”

“Emma!!!! It’s OK. It’s OK. Come, come, put your arms out!”

I can’t get any closer, so I lean as far as I can over the bars. She reaches out toward me, and I manage to put my hands under her armpits. But since I’m so far from the car it’s hard to pull her out. I take a deep breath and yell as I use everything I have to pull her over the bars.

“You’re OK! You’re OK, Emma!” I hug her as tight as I can. “Can you stand? Emma, can you stand up?” She’s not answering me. She’s not with me. I try to put her on her legs, but she doesn’t seem to want to stand. I pick her back up. We need to get out of there. That’s all I know. Before something else falls.

* * *

“Hey, have a seat. How are you feeling today?”

“Good. I was with some friends yesterday, and I told them that there might actually be one good thing that came out of all this. They were quite moved by it, to be honest.”

“Really? Tell me.”

“You know how some men are jealous of a mother’s bond with their children? Well, maybe jealous isn’t the right word. I don’t know. Anyway, there’s such a special bond that mothers have. You know, with the baby growing inside them, and then the birth itself. There’s that physical, biological thing that men aren’t as lucky to have. I think that I, and maybe other men, we yearn for a bond like that with our kids sometimes.”


“And I was thinking about those moments, or minutes, I don’t know how long it lasted, that I couldn’t hear Emma. That I needed to get to her. Those moments when I pulled her out with every bit of strength I had. There was something primal about it. It’s like I was on auto-pilot. There was no ‘me.’ There was only ‘Emma.’ Like, this biological pull, this blood bond. This bear-cub kind of animal instinct thing. It was one of the most real and powerful emotions I ever felt. I don’t know, but I kinda feel lucky to have felt that.”

“I’m very happy you told me that. In fact, I’m quite moved by it, as well. It’s really an intense feeling you had.”

“Just don’t start crying, OK? You’re the shrink.”

* * *

There’s some more debris I need to climb over with her. Suddenly she feels heavier than I remember. I start running away with her. As we get farther from the car, I look down at Emma and notice there’s blood on her shirt. As my gaze lowers, I see that the blood is coming from me. I’m dripping all over her.

I raise my hand to my head, and when I bring it back in front of my eyes it’s all covered in blood. I suddenly understand that I don’t know how bad I’ve been hurt. I feel faint, like I might collapse soon. I push to get further a few more steps, and decide to lie down so that I don’t fall while holding Emma.

As I lay on the pavement holding Emma I begin to yell for help. In a few moments someone comes and holds me down.

“You’re OK! You’re OK,” he says to me.

“My daughter! Is she OK?!”

“She’s OK, she’s OK! Lay down. Lay down!” he says as he keeps pushing me down while I try to check on Emma. Another neighbor is holding her.

“Oh my God, is that your car!?” he asks me.

“Yes, the Mazda.”

“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it! God loves you. Do you hear me!? God loves you!” he yells at the car, or at me. I’m not sure.

* * *

“Does God love me? Does he hate me?”

“Do you believe in God?”

“To be honest, I’m agnostic. But I can’t help but feel someone or something is trying to tell me something.”


“It can’t all be a coincidence. There’s too much that happened for it to be coincidence.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Like I’m going crazy. Like I need answers. Now.”

“Answers to explain the coincidences.”

“Well, like I said. I don’t think they’re coincidences.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, minutes before I was hit by a crane a woman on the radio was talking about the crane operators strike. As she spoke about it, I actually drove right under the specific crane that was about to fall on me. The crane fell exactly on my car, exactly on Emma. People who see the car don’t believe anyone should have survived. But the weirdest thing is what happened to the other car.”

“Your other car? It was also damaged?”

“Yes. But it was parked in a totally different area.”



“In the underground parking lot. Part of the crane crashed through the cement and penetrated into the underground lot. It’s a massive lot, with hundreds of cars. There were only two cars that were damaged in the underground — one of them was our second car.”


“Yeah, that’s the reaction I get from most people. The radio, the crane, both family cars — out of the hundreds above and below — totally destroyed, one of them with me and my daughter inside it. It’s almost like a script for a very bad movie. So, I guess you see why it’s not going to be easy for me to just sit here and say it was all chance.”

“And how does the evil fit into this?”

“I don’t know yet. But it does. It’s there. I’m still working on that.”

* * *

“Go get my wife! She’s upstairs!”

She was upstairs, indeed, and was already on her way down. Karen heard the crane operator screaming as he fell 70 meters to the ground. Then, the huge bang made her look out the window, where she saw me trying to get Emma out of the car. I can’t imagine that picture ever leaving her memory.

“Ami!!! Are you OK?!” Karen looks at me in shock. My bloodied face must have scared her to death.

“Yes, yes! Go to Emma! Stay with Emma!”

Emma still hasn’t spoken, or made any sound whatsoever. “Is she OK? Karen, is Emma OK??”

“She’s OK, Ami. She’s OK. Lay down.”

And then it happens. Emma snaps out of her daze and suddenly realizes something is very wrong. She begins to cry, but it’s not like anything I’ve ever heard from my daughter. It’s a howl, a wailing that I will never forget.

It is the most piercing, painful sound I have ever heard.

* * *

“Why do I start crying so hard every time I reach this part?”

“Well, it’s the bond, for one. Parents who are involved in traumatic incidents with their children tend to react in similar ways as you are now. I think there’s also some sort of release you feel, too.”

“How so?”

“Well, remember what you told me Karen thought about those moments?”

“Yes. That we were waiting for a sound, a reaction from Emma. She said it’s almost like when a baby is born, waiting for the baby to cry.”

“Exactly. Her cry meant something similar for you.”

“Yes. She was alive. Reborn.”

* * *

The ambulance comes and puts Emma and me on wooden boards, and braces around our necks. They put us inside. Karen sits in front, a paramedic sits between us in the back.

“You’re going to be fine, Emma. Don’t worry, Aba and Mommy are right here,” I say as the ambulance speeds along the highway to the hospital. I’m trying unsuccessfully to keep my cool through the tears.

“Shhh, you have to calm down, sir,” the paramedic says.

“I know. I know. Give me your hand, Emma.”

She reaches across and we hold our hands tight, our eyes gazing at the swerving ambulance’s ceiling.

“We’ll be alright, sweetie,” and the tears just don’t stop. 

* * *

“Whatever you decide is good. I’m here if you need or want to come back.”

“That’s good to know. Really.”

“And don’t forget to do the things that can help. Like the mindfulness we practiced. And if writing helps, then go ahead — write.”

* * *

This will be my final post on +972 Magazine.

I’m not leaving the site because of any ideological differences or any other grievances. Quite the contrary. It’s difficult to explain why I would leave the media outlet for which I am most proud of working; the one I helped establish; the one that never paid me a dime; the one full of the brightest people I’ve ever met; the one that gave me friends for life. The one that is making a difference.

Writing here on +972 has helped me for years. It helped me find my voice. It helped my career. And most importantly, it helped me take part in the fight for justice in this land.

So I guess it’s fitting that as a farewell gift, +972 is helping me one last time — this time helping me deal with my PTSD.

I chose not to write about the occupation in my last post. Or the other political struggle I’ve recently joined: to lower the number of deaths on construction sites in Israel. I guess what I needed right now was to share those life changing moments with you.

So, thanks to the readers who endured my rants, comic strips, videos, and occasional serious opeds. And thanks to all the former and current folks at +972. I love you very, very much.


Israel indicts Palestinian teenage girl who punched soldier: army

This is how a state indicts itself for being an overbearing occupier and just plain foolish. OFER PRISON, West Bank (Reuters) – Israel indicted a 16-year-old Palestinian girl on Monday on charges including assault for punching an Israeli soldier in the face two weeks ago, an incident which made her into a hero for Palestinians and was seen as humiliating by right-wing Israelis.

topNews?d=yIl2AUoC8zA topNews?i=hX7AhTihdqg:gSYollksBjA:V_sGLi topNews?i=hX7AhTihdqg:gSYollksBjA:-BTjWO

Lorde called a bigot in Washington Post ad over cancelled Israel concert

We know who the bigot is and it is not Lorde


Advert placed by ‘America’s rabbi’ Shmuley Boteach also accuses singer’s native New Zealand of prejudice against Israel

A full-page advert has been placed in the Washington Post calling Lorde a bigot, a week after the New Zealand-born singer cancelled a concert in Israel.

Related: Lorde cancels Israel concert after pro-Palestinian campaign

Continue reading…


Me with grandkids on my birthday

Me with grandkids on my birthday

(I’m not old, I’m perennial)

It’s the last day of 2017 and I’ve been 80 for 10 days. Here’s what’s bad about being 80:

I can’t run

I can’t ski

It’s hard handwriting thank-you letters which is the polite way to do it

(osteoarthritis is responsible for all the above)

Here’s what’s good about being 80:

People are solicitous, asking if I want to sit.

They open bottles for me and let me go first.

I don’t get groped or harassed

I can fall back on “Well, I’m old,” to justify mistakes

My strong muscles which have always been there have suddenly become a remarkable anomaly to people who hug me

I’m viewed as an elder (even though I feel like a newbie)

I can look back over 8 decades and hence can remember:

When song birds and empty spaces were plentiful

When there were only 2 billion people in the world and consequently less stress, clean air and water, way less traffic, more opportunity to pull yourself up by your bootstraps

When it was safe for a kid to play alone, outside, in the street or the forest

All the challenges and tradegies that I survived (hence, I know I can again)

How to make lemons into lemonade & not sweat the small stuff


I’m less scared of embracing uncertainty

I’ve had time to learn to forgive and the time to reflect and learn from my experiences

I know what I need so I can jettison what is unnecessary

I’m less susceptible to stress (“This too shall pass”)

I no longer hold grudges (with the exception of Henry Kissinger and Dick Cheney both of whom I still believe should be tried for crimes against humanity)

I’ve learned to be more tolerant and patient

I have less ego stake in outcomes

I know there are many things that I will never do or do again and it doesn’t matter (start a new business, go to Myanmar, drive a Ferrari, learn to sail, get married, etc)

So, for me, there’s way more positives than negatives about being smack dab in the midst of oldness. But then, I have my health.

One more thing: There has never been a time in my 80 years when I have felt what I’m feeling today: utter terror that our country is being taken into a possible dictatorship, with a KGB-type intelligence/surveillence; that poor people, people of color, formerly well-paid blue collar working people, will never again be able to afford good schooling, a home, health care, freedom from violence and stress and that too many won’t even know it’s happening because they aren’t getting true news/facts.

2017 showed us—at least those of us who are still able and willing to access truthful news—that the threats to our democracy and to our environment are far worse than any of us dared imagine. The seeds of fascism are all around us.

So my plea to those who follow me on social media is to harness every ounce of your abilities, imagination and courage to do all that you can, in collaboration with others, to stop the destruction of Democracy and civil society. Join others in non-violent efforts not just to resist but to transform the social and political landscape. I am doing it by working with groups on the ground in various parts of the country who go door to door, finding out what people are worried about and helping them understand why those now in power do not intend to help them. Quite the opposite. There are so many people and organizations out there working to educate potential voters and to build long-term people’s movements with the aim of establishing a vibrant, democratic civil society. We must make it possible for single mothers to earn a living wage and have access to affordable child care; do away with mass incarceration and the privatization of prisons; sexual harassment and violence against women must end; former unionized workers must be retrained for the new economy and given jobs not promises; student debt must be forgiven and schools must be improved for all young people; our public lands must be protected and all forms of extraction halted; racism must be made a shameful (and acknowledged) part of our past. There is so much to be done and all of it is possible if all of us can muster the will and determination to fight back against what’s happening.

Greed and selfishness are not the pillars of a stable society so let’s be fierce in this New Year.