“Quite simply, sir, you’ll need all the pity you can get,” continued Azariah, “because this country is surrounded on all sides by such bottomless pits of hatred. And has such bottomless pits of loneliness, because no one can stand anyone else. And this, if you ask me—I mean all the loneliness, the backbiting, and the hatred—is not only the very opposite of Zionism, it’s a sure prescription for disaster. No one loves anyone. No one even loves you, sir. They make fun of you behind your back. They say you’re a patsy, a half-and-half, a sell-out, a nebbish, a sissy, a finagler. They talk about you like Nazis. Even using anti-Semitic language. A shylock. A hymie. A cheap Jew politician. That’s how they talk about me too. Don’t you interrupt me, Comrade Yolek! You should be glad I haven’t told Eshkol the things you say about him. And I pity you too because everyone hates you as well. There are people on this kibbutz for whom you couldn’t die too soon. Most of Kibbutz Granot, and even one or two people here in this room, call you Yolek the Monster. They even say it was you that Yoni was running away from. So you better let me talk, because I’m the only one on this whole kibbutz, if not in this whole country, who still knows the meaning of compassion. It’s the heart of darkness, I tell you, all this hatred and backbiting. And all along you’ve been lied to and kowtowed to. No one loves anyone, sir, not even on a kibbutz, any more. It’s no wonder Yoni cleared out. The only one who loves all of you is myself, and Rimona loves me and she loves Yoni. When you were tastelessly joking a few minutes ago about knocking each other’s teeth out, you were simply telling the truth. Because you hate each other’s guts. Yolek is green with envy of you, Mr. Eshkol, just as you are green with envy of Mr. Ben-Gurion. If we Jews hate each other so much, why be surprised that the Gentiles hate us? Or the Arabs? Srulik is dying to be Yolek. Yolek would do anything to be Eshkol. Eshkol would give his right arm to be Ben-Gurion. Hava would gladly murder you all if only she could get up the courage to poison your tea. And then there’s Udi and Etan and your son Amos, who do nothing all day but talk about killing the Arabs. This is a snake pit, not a country. A jungle, not a commune. Death, not Zionism. When Hava calls you all murderers, she knows what she’s talking about because she knows the truth about every one of you. Not that that makes her less of a murderess herself. She’d kill me right here and now if she could, like a bug. And that’s all I am. But not a murderer. No, sir. Maybe you’ve forgotten that Rimona and Yoni had a baby girl, Efrat. She died because death has been rampant here. But I’ll give them a new child. Rimona and I still haven’t forgotten what love is. And it’s only because I love you all so much that I’m telling you there’ll be a war soon and that the writing is already on the wall.”