It's 5:30 a.m. now. In 30 minutes, the guards will come to
wake us all. 200 convicts, concentrated together in a god
forsaken building, only waiting for the first sight of
either a sophisticated way of escape - or death.
As for me, I'm not sure what I prefer. There's not much for
me to escape to or for. Whatever it is that was once
important, whatever I thought mattered enough to fight for,
kill for, and maybe die for (and if god willing remaining a
hero in the hearts of all) was gone. Gone for good. I try to
look back at everything I've been through, to comprehend the
real situation I was living in by disregarding my feelings
of love and hate. I can't. I seem to be unable to control
myself anymore. My own body has now turned against me... Now
what'll be my salvation?
6:00 a.m. Time to start the day. Ladies and gentlemen,
welcome to hell on earth.

I was never happy (never too happy that is, if to say
without too many exaggerations).  There were always all
these feelings of pain, sorrow, disappointment, fear
and...hate.
The year was 2002 to the birth of the so-called Son of God,
and I was 16 years old. All I tried to do was to be as
pleasant and kind as I possibly physically could.
I had this severe madness of automatically placing myself
beneath the feet of the other, it felt much easier.
I didn't mind giving up my argument even though I was
clearly right, or being the one to ask (sometimes even beg)
for forgiveness even though I was the one suffering the
greater mental damage, as long as I turned out to be good.
Good of heart, good of soul, good of values. I wanted to be
as good as I could, no matter what the personal cost might
turn out to be.
Why did I want to be good? Because that was who and how I
was, that's how I was made and that's how I was born.
They say that deep inside every individual lives through
endless attempts of making himself feel good and achieving
the things that make him happy.
As for me, the joy of others was my pleasure. Through their
smiles I laughed, through their victories I triumphed,
through their love I was hugged.
Today I'm not so sure whether I wanted to make myself or
them happy, but it doesn't change anything. They were the
same, my joy and theirs, they were one.
At a certain very early point of my life I had discovered
that struggling to be good wasn't my choice, but my destiny.
Three commanders were put in charge of securing the quest
and making sure the goal is achieved.
The first was my conscience. It was first because it was the
first to be discovered. At a certain age I realized that the
sometimes insignificant line between good and bad had begun
to seem to me as the most crucial thing on earth. Whenever I
did something that did not seem ten million percent right,
I'd feel this knife-stab above my stomach, and the only way
I had of achieving the craved relief was to confess my
actions and be forgiven.
The second and most powerful of all was my heart. My heart,
which was and still is definitely the strongest, largest
organ of my entire anatomy, had always driven me to be kind
to others, and to allow them much more then myself, since
they deserved it and I apparently didn't. All I did deserve
was the pleasure of helping them achieve their joy in
whatever way I found optimal.
The third was my spirit, which was made to weak to fight for
me, so that I never will fight, only aid and make peace with
all.
By the cursed year of 2002 I was 16 years old. I was, of
course, not a little boy anymore; that's what everybody
thought. But I was. I remained a little boy with no true
ability to defend myself,  huge heart and conscience, living
as a Light Knight in the name of others' sake.
My conscience never failed me. I could never do a thing my
gigantic codes of moral didn't allow me too, and if because
of my lack of ability and inner strength to resist (due to
my weak spirit) I did commit an awful sin, then my
conscience would torture me day and night. And that's what
they all were, from breaking a person's heart to
accidentally breaking something important to someone, they
were all awful sins to me and my conscience, regardless of
what they were in real life and in the eyes of others.
As for my heart, it had learnt the sweetest secret of them
all - how to love.
Every time I woke up in the morning, every time I ate,
worked, slept or breathed, I had a target. My life had a
meaning. I was on a spiritual supernatural divine mission to
achieve true ultimate joy to myself via myself (and for once
not via others).
She was the first thing I thought of when I awoke every
morning and the last thing I saw before as I drifted away to
dream- land. She filled my entire heart and soul, my entire
essence, my entire world. And she was so pretty...
However, she did not desire me. And my heart, since it was
so big, kept being hit and wounded so many times by so many
things concerning her.
I've spilt numberless tears as a payment for learning this
secret of love, and to buy my life a meaning.
Now you shouldn't get me wrong, to love is the ultimate
pride, the ultimate power. I had a meaning, I had a dream, I
had her in my life. Just as a friend, but still...she was
there, making me tremble with excitement every time her eyes
met mine.
She was inside me and all over me, she filled every part of
my body and she made my heart grow to even bigger measures.
Sometimes I felt I loved her so much my chest was about to
explode with love.
One day I hurt her, and I hurt her badly. "I hate you!" she
screamed at in tears and slapped me.
The memory of her deep dazzling eyes, bleeding tears of
pain, will never leave my mind, ever...

So I was in love, disappointed, and always, always hurt
because of my oversized, over-sensitive heart.
I hated my life in 2002.
However, I knew that since I feared death I might as well
get used to it.
And I needed help. Something to find comfort in, something
that would save me. I needed a friend I couldn't even
define.
My days were spent screaming at my family and hitting walls
with rage until my knuckles were too swollen for me to be
able to straighten my hand, and my nights were spent crying
and hugging pillows, fantasizing about someone who would hug
and calm me, someone who would care.
I once had that somebody, that one special loved friend
you're so thankful to have...but that somebody left me. All
the love I had for her couldn't make her stay, and she
walked away leaving me traumatized.
The night she left, 12.10.00, was the night I lost faith. I
lost faith in mankind, in love, and in myself. I figured
that if all my love couldn't make her stay, then love means
nothing, and if I loved her so much and she left, everyone
can leave...and everyone eventually will, because that's
just what they are and that's the way the world is (in some
books it's called "Desertion Anxiety" and I still suffer
from it as I write).
It took me six months to come back to life, to somewhat
recover from the catastrophe. Six months, about twenty poems
and millions of never- ending tears. But I was back.

By that year of 2002 I was already a new man. I had learnt
how to stand up for myself, how to demand justice for myself
as well as for others, and I'd learnt that I, too, deserve
happiness.
I still couldn't allow my self to have fun at the expense of
my morals or to deliberately hurt people in any way ,even
when I should have, but I was now a person, not just a slave
of humanity.
I was surrounded by good friends, along with two real soul
mates. One of these soul mates was my one and only loved one
for the past two years and a quarter (but who's counting
huh?) and that brought me many smiles. I could feel she
cared for me as a person, that I could share with her and
trust my life to her, I felt both happy and proud.
I began to regain faith in life, in the power of love...
However, these days were only numbered and very seldom came.

I kept being forced to realize how different I was. I was
too sensitive and too babyish in spirit, and I was too much
aware of morals. I cared too much for everything and
everyone. I hated it.
My psychologist told me that somewhere I had chosen to be
this tortured saint because it suits my heart and
personality, because I believed that's how it should be and
that it would make me a better person, because I must suffer
so that others won't have to... I couldn't contradict that
even though it embarrassed me so much...
Every day was like its follower. I kept needing more love
than the world could give and giving more love than the
world could take.
Pain, sorrow, fear... not one moment without the fear of
being left alone...alone...alone!!!!

The year 2002 was the year that broke one of my sacred moral
codes. I learnt to hate. Really, viciously hate others.
They were called our cousins and they lived as our separated
neighbors in our own country since 1948.
We always had troubles with them, but lately it had gotten
worse. So much worse. Too bad to bear!
No one was safe, nowhere. They went on sending their suicide
bombers, exploding vehicles and armed assassins in order to
kill us in great numbers.
In response, we tried to take down their leaders and to hold
them back a little by bombing some empty buildings and
destroying the pathetic outposts of their forces known as
Force 17. None of that was nearly enough, but we had to keep
our humanitarian beliefs, the world hated us enough for
being Jewish and being terrorists would only add to our list
of sins.
While executing these minor operations of self-defense and
being constantly criticized, mucked and hated by the world,
we tried with everything we had to reach an agreement with
them by negotiating, but they just wouldn't stop.
I'm sure we would've cracked and taken care of them
eventually, but the American Empire just couldn't let that
happen.
Thus I'd learnt to hate. With every wounded man, dead woman
or bleeding baby I saw on the news my hate grew bigger and
stronger.
By the end of 2002 my hate for them and all their people and
religion was defined and complete, and it was stronger than
my love for mankind.
I placed them on a lower lever. They weren't human. They
were beasts.

It was then that I established the ideology of the SFA -
Social Fascio Anarchism, based on my beliefs. And on my
hate.
I was a 17 year old boy, disappointed with his country and
with his world. I never felt I was getting enough love, and
all these feelings of frustration and fear led me to feel
beastly, untamed hate.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the sacred supreme Jewish race!" I
began my first speech in a small field behind my school.
"You should never negotiate out of fear, but you should
never fear to negotiate!" I quoted JFK's famous saying, "And
right now our country is doing both! Our path in this life
has been blocked with the blood of our innocent brothers,
because of traitorousness and evil of our now defined
enemies! And I have simply had enough!" Here I stopped for
applause, but the 13 people who were there didn't agree with
my decision. "Hurry up and get this show over with, I have
things to do!" said one, so I quickly continued.
"Every day we hear about another explosion, another terror
attack, another man's life being taken. The world can't
defend us, the government will not defend us and the army is
not being allowed to defend us. Only we can defend
ourselves! And I'm not gonna stand aside with my thumb up my
ass watching my brothers murdered and my country taken
hostage by a bunch of manipulative preposterous self-
righteous bloody- handed so-called freedom fighters who are
trying to kill me!!!"
This time the applause came. My audience, who had pretty
much had it as well with the inefficient ways in which the
country dealt with the situation, liked what it heard.
"So I say that enough is enough! It's about time the filthy
f

ing murderers pay for their crimes! I will not rest one
more day until our will is acknowledged and our revenge is
taken! If I have to fight, I'll fight! If I have to kill,
I'll kill! And if I have to die, I'll die! But my brothers
will live in the fearless quiet they deserve! Now who's with
me?!"
13 hands were quickly raised towards me, a gesture that
wouldn't have shamed Hitler himself.
I sounded like a Nazi and I felt like one, but my hate was
blinding me. I was already on a hating power-trip.
We began publishing ourselves with fliers and internet pages
and began to collect many supporters, members and sponsors.
We began to illegally purchase weapons and ammunition and to
plan battle tactics and action strategies.
One day we received a one million dollar check from a
Catholic millionaire who hated Islam. He claimed to have
been looking for a youth organization such as ours since the
Kamikaze assault on the world trade center.
That was the signal to begin being serious.
We created ourselves a command center, connected to
satellites, brought over some radio equipment and trained
our members in combat.
Apparently the original number of thirteen plus the one
hundred and ten that joined weren't the only ones supporting
our goal.
Via our new web-page, hundreds of young frustrated people of
the ages of 14-17 joined the organization.
We were fascist in our beliefs about the hegemony of our
country, social in our beliefs about treating our people,
and anarchist in our beliefs about self-defense against
hostile factors.
Our first action took place the day a bomb went off in a
kinder-garden. 37 children of the ages of 4-5 had died,
along with two teachers.
My speech was said in tears.
"37 kids, babies, died today! Did they know what an Israeli
is? What a Palestinian is? What hate is?! I think not! They
were brutally slaughtered only because of the pure sadism of
our enemies! Well, today we break the silence!!!!"
50 of us carrying guns drove to a Palestinian school and
carried out a total massacre.
100 young Palestinians died. We had a total success.

By the year 2004, the SFA had 2,500 members in Israel, and
it had already been responsible for the death of 1,100
Palestinians and 407 terror actions in response to their
attacks on us.
The Palestinians were finally ready to negotiate, but they
demanded that our leaders stop us, which they couldn't do.
We were ghosts.
By day we went to school, studying, expressing ourselves and
socializing.
By night we were death warriors, fighting for the safety of
our brothers and the destruction, total destruction, of out
enemies.
I must say that with all due respect, I wasn't a good
leader. From time to time my heart, conscience and spirit
would work their tight grip on me again and I would fail in
making decisions, both political and military.
Eventually the condition grew worse. By next year we will
have been operational for two years now, and you couldn't
expect that to go without any unexpected yet hazardous
interruptions.
First we had the traitor incident, when we discovered
someone was selling our secrets and plans to the
Palestinians.
It took us three weeks and 34 dead agents to discover who
the traitor was.
Had I agreed to use less humanitarian ways of investigation,
we would have found her within three days... she was a
strong left winger who decided to bring us down by herself,
that's what she said. She had this cute Moroccan accent and
very pretty long hair.  You had to admire the girl's
courage, yet mock her beliefs...
Then there was the great rebellion in school against us,
when some of us were accused of taking part in this "terror"
organization... these people, who were in fact agents of
SFA, denied everything and got away safe, but the fear
remained.

As for me, I kept on doing my best.
However, there came a time where I had to spend all my time
at the headquarters. So I stopped going to school or my
house.
By the time I remembered it would be a good idea to call and
tell my family that I was ok, they had already reported me a
missing person.
Mom for some reason didn't sound too angry or too worried,
she asked many questions I of course couldn't answer and she
sounded very serious, but she now knew I was ok, that I was
not involved with the law or the police and that I would be
back at home and in school sometime this week, and that was
all I needed.
The next time I went to school was three months later.
Half my friends didn't even say more than three words. Some
of them, I don't know how, found out about what I was doing
(or maybe they just guessed...)
A good friend of mine came to me and hugged me, and then
said "I think you ought to run and hide, you're not safe
here!"
I didn't understand what she meant, but it was clear that I
wasn't going to leave without seeing her.
When I found her, she was in the arms of another.
As I approached her the massive pain in my heart grew larger
and larger. I looked at her face... All my life I was
looking for the absolute joy...and I've found it her eyes.
"Hello" I said.
"Hello! Look who's decided to show a sign of  life!"
"Can I please talk to you?"
"I'll see your later my sweetie, ok?" said he, gave her a
loving kiss on her lips, and went away.
Sweetie... that was my name for her, she was my sweetie!!
"How have you been?" I asked
"Good, excellent!" she said. She was trying to make it clear
she didn't think of me, didn't miss me, didn't need me...
"Who's that?"
"That..." she said with a big true smile, "Is the most
wonderful man on earth..."
That's what she used to call me... tears gathered in my
heart.
"Since when..."
"Listen!" She interrupted me, "I'm so sick of you messing
with my life! If you decide to forget about everything and
go stick yourself somewhere fighting a war against people
who actually know how to, that's your problem! Just don't
come back here expecting me to ever trust you or your
so-called love again!"
"But..." I began, trying not to cry, "But nothing!" she
interrupted again.
"I found love, I found joy, and I'm not going to let you
ruin it for me! So just go away and fight your stupid little
war, but get out of my life!"
The tears came out... pouring like waterfalls, running like
Carl Lewis.
"I'm sorry..." I said "I love you...all the best to you, my
sweet."
And I left. Just walked away, away from her, away from my
pain.
Very soon, like many other times, my pain gave way to
frustration, which rapidly turned to rage. Great untamed
rage.
I returned to the base. Running swiftly, only hoping to
accidentally run into something and pass out, I reached my
headquarters.
As I was unlocking the main gate I felt a cold metal on my
back.
"Freeze!"
I now realized I had been careless. They had followed me.
They had found me. They had me.
The blow to my head knocked me unconscious, and when I awoke
with a severe headache I found myself tied with a rope near
the police station.
Minutes later the cops came and took me to the base.
They confiscated everything, and then placed me under arrest
until my trial.
I had no knowledge of just how many laws I had broken, but I
didn't care so much.
One of the letters I received while I was being held before
my trial said "Our sincere apologies for the end of your
Isareli-Hizballa terror organization. We'll send your
regards to your sweet. Farewell."
The letter was signed by "The Meretz Militia".
Suddenly everything made sense. The traitor, the school
knowing about me, my arrest...
I wasn't the only one with an underground, but theirs was
obviously much more experienced and organized.
I began thinking how they found out about me, and how the
heck did they know how to find me.
I also began thinking where my strong left-wing mother
actually went each time she drove to "her diet group", "her
job meetings" or "the psychologist"... Maybe she was
actually going there, maybe she was cheating on her
husband... and maybe she was giving whatever she could of
herself to her country in the best way she knew possible, in
the Meretz Militia's headquarters. I remembered the
conversation we had about out Moroccan maid's daughter whom
she met in her diet group and what lovely hair she had...
Maybe I was just paranoid, and maybe I was now too hurt to
believe the shocking truth I had just come to realize.
Thus my war had ended, but the agony of defeat had only
begun.
It hurts to lose your war, especially if it's something you
truly believe in.
It also hurts to lose a good friend, and the one you love.
I have managed to lose them all in less then three years.
They sentenced me to a life-time in prison, the same prison
where they held any other terrorist caught alive in Israel.
There have also been rumors about stalling the decision
until after my 18th birthday so that they can lock me up in
a real prison for real criminals.
I was fighting for my country which I loved so much, and
they named me a terrorist, a criminal, a traitor.
In any other period of time that would've been the most
painful, hurtful thing that could happen to me, but I was
still thinking about her.
I remembered the first day I saw her, the first time I
danced with her, the first time I realized that her face was
the one I wanted to see first thing every morning and last
thing every night for the rest of my life.
All I had now was a picture I managed to sneak into my
cell.
I heard that among the people I was a hero, that the SFA
survived and that they've sworn to continue the fight
against the Palestinians and to take revenge on "The Meretz
Militia" and its leaders. "Just don't hurt my mom..." I
thought to myself and burst into insane laughter.

The SFA was doing fine without me, and they kept repeating
they'd release me in no time and that everything would be
fine, and that I'm a hero.
I wondered how much I actually cared... None of that
mattered to me anymore. Right now I couldn't care less if we
gave them the whole of Israel and went to live under the
ocean, and I didn't care if one of them entered here right
now and ended my life. Part of me actually prayed for that.
Every day hurt more than the last. I kept thinking about her
constantly.
I found myself a nice job in the kitchen, and I saved every
agora until her birthday.
I had a friend but her a teddy-bear and some chocolate, and
I wrote her a poem.
A week later the package came back. "Leave me be" it said
"I'm trying to forget you".
I cried and I screamed. Screamed so hard the guard had to
come in and knock me unconscious.
When I awoke, it was 5:30 in the morning, and I knew that in
a half hour's time another day would start.
Another day of thinking about someone else touching her and
loving her and of her enjoying it. Another day of knowing
I'll never see her again and that I'll miss her and crave
for her forever. Another day of pain and strife being
harassed and picked on by the other prisoners, who by now
took my picture of her and had a daily auction for it. You
might be surprised, but here in prison, where you don't have
any real women, some people would pay just as much for a
photo.
If only they knew just how much this photo really was
worth...

"My dear sweet,
Don't worry, this is the last letter I'll ever send you, I
don't want to bother you anymore.
I know you feel I failed you and that I lied to you again,
but trust me that was never my intention.
Had I known that things would turn out this way I would have
never established the SFA, and not because I was announced a
traitor by my own cause, but because I lost you... You who
were my bird song every morning and my stars every night, my
whole world, my whole life.
I think about you every day, all day. I try to sleep at
nights, but it's too difficult... In a way, you're always
with me, and you always will be.
I pray to God every night to look after you for me now that
I can't, I asked him to send his angels to kiss you for me
every night in your sleep, and that he'll show you nothing
but compassion and joy.
Farewell my sweet, all the best and all my love to you.
Sincerely yours for the last time and forever,
N.R, Head Commander of SFA"