Cult of Death

Iran’s Death Machine Runs on Hate 

There are few sights in modern politics more fascinating than a Western activist waving a rainbow flag while defending regimes that would treat that same rainbow flag the way a hungry goat treats a cardboard box.

It is one of civilization’s greatest magic tricks.

A gay man in Tel Aviv can get married abroad, walk down the street holding his partner’s hand, attend Pride, sue the government, insult the Prime Minister, vote against the government, protest the government, and spend his weekend arguing with strangers online about hummus.

A gay man in Tehran gets a very different civic experience.

Yet somehow Israel is the villain.

Because reality apparently took a vacation and left the interns in charge.

I am a religious Zionist. I believe in God. I believe in Torah. I believe in Jewish tradition.

I also believe that when people start hanging, imprisoning, torturing, hunting, and terrorizing human beings while claiming God signed off on the paperwork, somebody should stand up and say, “I don’t think the Almighty authorized this memo.”

Call me old-fashioned.

The Islamic Republic of Iran has spent decades presenting itself as the guardian of morality. This is a bit like Jeffrey Dahmer opening a nutrition clinic.

The regime’s idea of virtue involves secret police, political prisoners, public executions, forced confessions, censorship, and a level of state paranoia that makes Soviet bureaucrats look emotionally secure.

And somewhere buried under all of that repression are gay Iranians forced to live lives most Western activists could not endure for a week.

Imagine having to monitor every conversation.

Every friendship.

Every text message.

Every glance.

Every rumor.

Every accusation.

Imagine knowing that the wrong person hearing the wrong thing on the wrong day could destroy your future.

Now imagine being lectured about morality by the people creating that fear.

That is Tehran.

Then we move to Gaza.

The same Gaza romanticized by people who think Instagram infographics are a substitute for reading.

The same Gaza governed for years by Hamas, a movement whose vision for society resembles what would happen if ISIS, North Korea, and a medieval dungeon somehow had a baby.

The Western activist insists Hamas is misunderstood.

Perhaps.

A shark is also misunderstood by the tuna.

The problem is that reality keeps interfering with the narrative.

If Gaza were the progressive utopia described on college campuses, there would be Pride parades.

There aren’t.

There would be LGBT advocacy organizations operating freely.

There aren’t.

There would be public celebrations of sexual diversity.

There aren’t.

Funny how that works.

The rainbow revolution seems to end precisely where the people carrying rainbow flags claim paradise begins.

Then comes Ramallah.

Now, I know the script.

I’m supposed to pretend everything is wonderful.

I’m supposed to ignore the fear, the social pressure, the threats, the reality many Palestinian LGBT individuals themselves openly describe.

I’m supposed to nod politely while activists explain that all problems somehow lead back to Israel.

If a Palestinian man stubs his toe in Ramallah, somebody in Brooklyn immediately blames a settlement.

The dedication is impressive.

The logic less so.

Then we arrive in Afghanistan.

The Taliban have done something remarkable.

They managed to create a government that makes every bad idea from the seventh century look cutting edge.

Women erased.

Dissent crushed.

Minorities terrified.

Gay people forced into hiding.

Human rights treated like a foreign disease.

And yet somehow, somewhere, there is probably a sociology professor explaining why the real problem remains Israel.

The commitment to the bit is extraordinary.

Now let’s talk about Israel.

Not perfect Israel.

Not fantasy Israel.

Real Israel.

The Israel where people argue about literally everything.

The Israel where two Jews can hold three opinions and then form a committee to investigate a fourth.

The Israel where religious peo

ple, secular people, conservatives, liberals, socialists, capitalists, mystics, vegans, soldiers, professors, and professional complainers somehow share the same country.

 

In Tel Aviv, gay people dance openly by the sea.

In Jerusalem, they march through the streets of one of the holiest cities on earth.

In Haifa, they live openly in a city where cultures mix in ways most of the Middle East still struggles to comprehend.

Nobody is being dragged into a prison cell because they attended Pride.

Nobody is facing execution because they fell in love with the wrong person.

Nobody is disappearing into a state security apparatus because of a private relationship.

And this is where the hypocrisy becomes so large it deserves its own zip code.

The same people who cannot stop talking about human rights suddenly become very quiet when human rights are violated by governments they find politically fashionable.

The same people who claim to care about oppressed minorities become remarkably flexible when those minorities are being oppressed by anti-Western regimes.

The same people who demand moral consistency from Israel often cannot locate their own.

The silence is deafening.

As a religious Jew, I reject the lie that cruelty equals faith.

Cruelty is not faith.

Terror is not faith.

Persecution is not faith.

State-sponsored fear is not faith.

If your version of religion requires prison cells, secret police, torture chambers, and executioners, the problem is not the victim.

The problem is your religion has become a hostage situation.

The God of Israel does not need morality enforced through terror.

Truth does not require a noose.

Faith does not require a prison.

Holiness does not require victims.

The greatest indictment of Tehran, Gaza’s rulers, and the Taliban is not that they are religious.

It is that they have convinced millions of people that brutality is religion.

It isn’t.

It never was.

And every time a Western activist waves a rainbow flag while defending regimes that would happily bury that rainbow under six feet of dirt, another piece of common sense quietly packs its bags and leaves civilization.