No, no, no. Don't stop it now.
It started, let it work. Let it bubble. And thanks to Odad Kotler, who sat down and wrote "Herd of Beasts" for himself, knowing it would cause a commotion, and aimed for that commotion and enjoyed every second of it.
So first of all you need to tell him: Forget it, Kotler. It's not you. Don't think for a moment that it's you. You're just a symbol. A stand-in in the movie around you. You're old enough and have a catchy enough name to serve as a symbol, so don't enjoy yourself so much.
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Although the "Speech of the Beasts" will be talked about for many years to come, no one will remember whether it was Kotler or Waxman or Silberhorn or Katzenstein. They will vaguely remember some Ashkenazi name. But the matter itself needs to be talked about and talked about. Take advantage of the fact that it happened and talk about it.
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We need to talk about the terrorism of opinions, about the commissars. About a herd minority that tries to impose its opinions and doesn't understand that it's doing something that won't be done. Kotler's minority, of course, which has for so long refused to accept the fact that this country is not just his neighborhood, but something much broader.
Regev and Bennett are commissars of opinions? The right is trying to impose its opinions? What do you say? Look around you, Kotler, and tell me and yourself how many religious people you see at work. How many Arabs. How many Mizrahi. How many immigrants. How many from the periphery. Go through the list of members of the repertoire committees of the Cultural Basket and mark with a marker everyone who is not from your neighborhood.
It will be short. There are one or two decorations in each committee and that's it.
So instead of us coming together and protesting against this impossible situation, you and your friends come together and whine arrogantly. And we need to talk mainly about the fact that there is one thing that is problematic about the responses of the side that is repeatedly hurt by these Kitler gibberish. The responses are always insulted responses that say "How dare you say in public what you all think in silence.".
This is the crux of the problem, in my opinion, and it even appears in last week's parasha: "And we were in our eyes like grasshoppers, and so we were in their eyes." Because what needs to be said in response to these words is not "How dare you," but "What the hell are you talking about?".
Hi, Kotler. We don't really think that you and what you represent are the glory of Israeli creation.
The Tel Aviv creation that you champion is poor in content, narrow-minded, outdated, and carries no message. Local creation that is not connected to the dynamics of social change in Israel, that does not make use of the inherent tribal conflict, that does not constantly reformulate the context in which it is created, is weak and powerless.
A cultural milieu made up of people who look the same and think the same, decays and decays, acquiring mold and rust.
The fact is that on the one hand, we read and study and know Aristophanes and Rabbi Akiva, listen to Matti Caspi and Avraham Fried, are familiar with Agnon and Rabbi Soloveitchik, visit Rachel in the Sea of Galilee and Baba Sali in Netivot, are intrigued, interested, see a broad, beautiful, unique and spectacular picture, and on the other hand – the darkness of Egypt. Narrow horizons.
Self-convincing oneself in an imagined image of enlightenment and belonging to something vast that does not exist.
The fact is that one side is open to receiving everything. Both what he produces at home and what Kotler produces for him in Tel Aviv. And the other side – Nada. Stuck deep inside his own ass and completely unaware that there is a big world outside the darkness of his underwear.
The fact is that my friends and I, members of this generation, are trying and succeeding in leaping past your cultural mediocrity and seeing a great light.
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What happiness fell upon me that this week I was privileged to perform at Mishkenot Sha'ananim in Jerusalem, at the Rehovot Culture Hall, in front of police officers in Tiberias, at the Ort Afridar in Ashkelon, and at the Cameri in Tel Aviv.
More than I enjoy standing on stage, I enjoy hugging the audience at the exit and celebrating an Israeli mosaic. Every now and then an elderly woman who has never seen a light bulb in her life comes up and says something like: "It's very refreshing to see someone like you (!) who is funny," and I am momentarily seized by a strong urge to take off her cox-or-namir and say something sharp to her, but then I remember that she is not at all to blame and I am seized with great joy that I am the messenger.
The late Uri Orbach would allow himself, in intimate forums, to whisper under his mustache: "We are better.".
He went through what I and many of my friends are going through in his short life. He was a huge creator, full of talent and self-confidence, who spent half of his life working in areas where he was a guest and had to prove himself. To be nice, to impress.
So are my generation. We don't have much respect for most cutlers. Most of the time we despise them and wonder what all the fuss is about, but we bow our heads and blend in. Come on. Why fight?.
But every once in a while, when the monster rears its head, it's a great opportunity to take off the gloves and say out loud: Hello Kotler. We're better.
• From Kobi Arieli's Facebook page
