`108 Outside the Temples of Molech
Chananya Weissman
July 9, 2021

Each of the last two days I joined brave warriors dressed as regular people, trying to talk people out of endangering their children at the very last minute. Satan's minions came dressed as Magen David Adom medics, offering candy, music, and fun to entice little people. Whatever it takes.

On Wednesday we went to Har Homa, a neighborhood on the outskirts of Jerusalem that has a high concentration of young, religious families. These people believe that getting injected with the whack is an act of Zionism. They fervently believe that all state institutions are sacred gifts from God to expedite the final redemption, not forestall it. The IDF is the holy of holies, and must be revered no matter what.

The fact that all these institutions conspired to destroy Gush Katif, and relentlessly persecute the most devoted lovers of the land, has not changed their slavish worship of the state and its institutions. If you want to understand cognitive dissonance, see the settlers hugging and kissing the soldiers who came to destroy their homes and their lives. Then watch them gush with the greatest of pride when their own traumatized children join the IDF, where they will follow the tradition of mindlessly following orders for the greater good. This will include needlessly sacrificing their lives on the altar of world opinion and fleeing from rock-hurling Arabs, lest they be prosecuted for a disproportionate response. Kol Hakavod LaTzahal.

How in the world could we hope to talk any of these people out of injecting their children with a dangerous dose of Zionism?

Still, we went.

The Molech service took place outside a community center. The children could enjoy watching medics on stretchers feign being sick, perhaps as a morbid sort of coming attraction. Maybe one day they will get to be on the stretcher, when a physical breakdown totally unrelated to the whack kicks in.

We fanned out and offered information to people on the street. Many of them politely took our flyers, which warned them about the risks of the injections that they were not being told, the devastating tragedies they have already caused, the recommendations of numerous doctors for children not to take it, and more. Nearly all of these people continued toward the Molech injection centers unfazed. A religious person must have faith, after all.

There was festive music, religious Israeli pop songs favored by young settlers of the land. No one seemed bothered by the fact that we are in the middle of the three weeks of mourning the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash, when music and parties are forbidden. The religious rites of Molech include music and parties to drown out the screams of the children being sacrificed, and these rites supersede the laws of the three weeks. The injection events must be properly celebrated.

Our presence was not welcome. Initially the medical stooges, all of whom were from the Dati Leumi camp to resemble the locals – everything is planned – ignored us. They were quite busy, much to our dismay. But then some people from our group holding signs near them caught their attention. I was down the street and didn't hear what words were exchanged, but the police were called. Two Gestapo harassed our people and made them move a few meters away from the entrance and onto the sidewalk. The Gestapo instructed them to move to the other side of the street as well – nothing more than lawless bullying – but our people held their ground and there was no further incident.

I tried to emotionally detach myself from the sight of so many beautiful children being marched to the pharmaceutical gas chambers, where minutes later their bodies would be permanently altered and not for the better. Many of these children were being doomed to serious illnesses, infertility, and death before our eyes, while music played.

Two boys on bicycles were passing me and took a flyer. They stopped. They read the flyer. They took a second flyer with additional information and studied it. I desperately prayed for God to save them.

After a minute or so that felt like an eternity before the Heavenly Court, the two boys turned around and rode back the way they came, away from the Molech temple. I imagine this is what it felt like to pull someone off the train to Auschwitz.

Later another boy on a skateboard approached me and asked for a flyer. He promptly ripped it up and tossed it on the sidewalk. He started to mock me and verbally abuse me for being against the Molech service. “Shame!” he taunted me. I pointed at the shreds littering the sidewalk. “That isn't shameful?” Just then I noticed the other two boys on bicycles, who had returned. They witnessed what had happened, and once again turned around and rode away.

The other boy continued to taunt me, bragging that he had gotten the injection, as if spiting me. “It's your body,” I noted, then ignored him.

Some other children with a lot of artificial confidence in their ignorant positions argued with us, but I disengaged from them quickly. I was not interested in arguing with people, certainly not deranged, mentally ill, thoroughly brainwashed people. It was simply not worth the time and energy, especially when there were so many other people to potentially engage. Let them think they won. They will learn the hard way.

Although many children were sacrificed at the Har Homa Molech temple, it's quite possible that the event fell short of expectations. It was called for 5-8 PM, but by 6:30 the music had stopped and the MDA stooges were driving away their ambulances. Interesting.

Yesterday I attended another such event in Beit Shemesh. This one was called to run from 4-10 PM. I had a little trouble finding the place, a community center on a side road. Fortunately, the loud music from the DJ outside – this time primitive disco music – helped guide me. To my great surprise and delight, this was the DJ's sole contribution to the event.

The place was an absolute ghost town. I stood there in the broiling heat for two hours, and counted a grand total of five parents bringing children to the Molech temple. Of course, that is five too many, but this was unbelievable. There were nine of us who had come from Beit Shemesh and distant places to make sure people were offered information about the whack. Who would have imagined that we would outnumber those who came to sacrifice their children?

The DJ played music on and on to an audience of zero. The MDA whackers were bored out of their minds and very frustrated by our presence. No doubt they would have to report to the Amalekites above them that the children weren't being offered. The evil ones would not be pleased.

After we waited a while, a harried mother approached the Molech temple with two children. Someone in our group tried to engage her, and she reacted hysterically. As she walked by us she stuck her fingers in her ears, screaming at us. She went inside and apparently made quite a scene, because the managers of the community center, a man and a woman, came out to confront us several times.

We calmly explained that we were not harassing anyone, and were simply offering information to parents that they were not being given. These managers themselves were ignorant about the whack. Later the man would ask me for a flyer, and I gave him two different ones. I don't know if he wanted to learn something or if he had sinister motives, but I wasn't worried about it.

As is typical of these interactions, the male supervisor tried to intimidate us, while the female supervisor threw a fit. The former demanded that we not stand near the entrance, even though we have every right to stand on a public sidewalk and talk to people if they wish. They both were upset that we were getting involved, arguing that it's other people's children and not our business.

Other people's children and not our business.

Although everyone was standing around doing almost nothing – there were no customers, I gleefully taunted the female supervisor – they called the cops on us as well. This seems to be the playbook.

A tall Moroccan cop confronted us minutes later and asked us what we were doing there. “Are you against the vaccine?” he demanded. God forbid anyone should be against the vaccine. I told him I was there to give people information, that's it, though others readily admitted that they were against the vaccine.

The cop wanted to make sure that we weren't pressuring anyone. Of course not. We don't pressure people. That's what the Molech people do. That's what thugs in uniforms like him do.

Although he desperately wanted to bully us, since that's his job, he really had nothing. He finally ordered us to stand a few meters away from the entrance to the community center. I didn't care; we were standing a few meters away in the shade anyway. Others in the group, God bless them, argued that we have every right to stand near the entrance, since it's all public property.

I told one of our people that the cop needed to achieve a victory for his own ego. These cops are specifically chosen because they are lowlifes, lacking virtue, talent, or any reason to feel good about themselves. They are given a uniform and a weapon, and now they can feel like a boss. They are loathsome people.

Our people tried to explain to him what was going on with the whack, but he kept interjecting that he didn't care, that wasn't his business, and we better stay away from the entrance. He said if any of us goes past the entrance he will arrest us, since the community center is private property. Who owns it? The city. He wouldn't accept any arguments that a community center run by the city, completely paid for by tax dollars, is public property. Step inside and he will arrest us.

He then asked the others to translate for me, since I claimed I don't speak Hebrew so well. I looked straight at the Gestapo and told him “I understand BS in any language.” I generally refrain from“colorful” language, and do not wish to stoop to the level of an Israeli police officer.

“BS?!” he thundered.

“Yes, BS,” I calmly replied. “If we go inside you will arrest us, even though it's public property. You're just a bully.”

The cop was clearly upset that some American guy in a baseball cap was calmly disrespecting him, clearly not intimidated. American Olim in Beit Shemesh with their tzitzis hanging out are supposed to fear Israelis in uniforms and revere them. We are supposed to consider them holy and terrifying, like ministering angels.

A woman in our group called him a Nazi just following orders, which I have no objection to, and this seemed to rattle him even more. He had won his little victory – we wouldn't stand by the entrance – but he had utterly lost the confrontation. We waved and jeered at him and his wordless little female partner with a machine gun as they drove off.

Unfortunately we would not succeed in turning back any of the other four parents, though the interactions with them were more amiable. The most disturbing interaction was with a father in an NCSY Kollel shirt who was bringing his son to be sacrificed. One of our people passionately informed him that two relatives of his had died from the whack. The father listened but was unmoved. I urged him not to whack his son; there was no harm in waiting and his health was not in danger, but once he took the whack there was no way to get it out of his body. Just wait.

The father would not wait. Molech needs children.

My friend asked him what had convinced him to do this. The father said their doctor had told them his children should get whacked. I told him that the doctors are reading from a script, they have not studied the whack, and if they speak out about it they get fired. Please, get informed and decide for yourself. No dice. The doctor had spoken.

I will note that this Jew is the sort that learns Torah on a scholarly level and considers himself most enlightened in worldly matters as well. He tends to deride so-called haredi Jews and Chassidim for blindly following a certain rabbi and not thinking for themselves (criticism which is in fact often justified). Nevertheless, this same person is blindly following a doctor and refusing to consider information from other doctors, gambling the health and life of his own son with this obeisance. Enlightened intellectualism at its very finest.

My friend asked the father who his doctor was, and he said Dr. Rosenberg. I don't know who Dr. Rosenberg is, but he will burn in the hottest chambers of hell. Enjoy your paychecks from the Ministry of Health and whatever accolades you receive, Dr. Rosenberg, because that will be the sum total of your reward for your wretched existence. You will burn with all the other needle-pushers and Gestapo bullies, while the souls of all the people you harmed will haunt you.

Let's close on a positive note. One of the ladies in our group, a nurse, bravely engaged the bored medics and managers of the community center. The latter had nothing else to do, and she has a way with people, so they spoke with her. I don't know if she gave them pause about their involvement with Molech, but she managed to have a friendly exchange with them. These people are fools who have been programmed and brainwashed by the establishment. It will take a lot for them to be deprogrammed – so much of what they deeply believe in and devote themselves to is a lie – but I appreciate her efforts.

After a couple of hours in the heat, and no more customers to be found, I bade farewell to the angels in our group and went on my way. We didn't manage to turn away any parents, but that was mainly because they weren't interested in the first place, at least on this day. In spite of all the evil propaganda and manipulation, they knew. God works wonders even in the darkest of times.

No doubt the Amalekites will not be pleased. They will plan more sinister propaganda, more collective punishment in the form of lockdowns and other restrictions, more attempts to turn the people against one another, and more ways to intimidate those who bravely stand in their way.

We will not give up. We will not sacrifice ourselves or our children to their death cult. We will stand with God and God will stand with us.

Eat your heart out, Amalek. You're going down.