Hello Kim,

I’m a huge fan of yours and I adore your help to the Israeli people against the Palestinian lies and anti-semitic claims against us.

I wanted to share my story with the world, Sweden and you.

Well, I was born to my parents (duh), who emigrated from the collapsed Soviet Union in 1992. Well, my mother and her family (her, my uncle, my grandfather, my grandmother and my great-grand mother) arrived in Israel in 1992 from the Ukraine, and my father, searched for his love (my mom) that left him to go to Israel. He came here in 1993. They got married and everything, and because of my Zionist grandfather, Boris Korover, who wanted to help settle the land, they arrived to Homesh (a now destroyed town in northern Samaria, that was destroyed by the Sharon administration in the 2005 disengagement plan). Then, in 1996, I was born. Everything was pretty okay. Although my family had to work double shifts, half-time jobs and everything, to support themselves, we were happy.

That was my world. I was innocent. I thought there were no problems on this earth. I had no reason hating anyone, so why should anyone hate me?

Then, on June 11, 2001, my grandfather took his daily trip to work (he was an electrician). He, as usually, drove to Netanya. A truck appeared behind him. My grandfather respected the traffic laws and drove 60 km/h. The trucker drove past him. He drove next to the side of a mountain. The truck suddenly appeared again, driving back, but on my grandfather’s lane (!!). The truck crashed into my grandfather harshly, and he died instantly. The trucker was a Palestinian driving a truck full of explosives that he was about to detonate in the Netanya mall. He thought he could kill one Jew before he did his act, but the truck went off the road and the Palestinian terrorist abandoned it. In his death, my grandfather basically saved hundreds of lives, but paid for it with his own.

The terrorist later was captured, admitted he murdered my grandfather, escaped, and committed suicide for ”the Glory of Palestine”.

It happened when I was 5 years old. When my mother told me about that incident, unlike my brother, who cried his eyes out for days, I just took my grandfather’s glasses, stood next to the window and waited for him to come back home. He never did. I’m crying a little bit when I’m writing this, so you’ll have to excuse me.

That was the moment when I understood that people hate me, not because I am a bad person, or I did something to them, but because I’m a Jew.

My grandfather never did, not even once, an illegal or a disloyal thing in his life. He was a man of honor, of ideology, of truth and of peace. And yet, even being such a great man, the Palestinians are indifferent. They will murder the best person in the world, only because he is a Jew.

Then there was the evacuation plan of 2005, from the Katif block and northern Samaria. Homesh was one of the largest towns in northern Samaria. And again I failed to understand, why would my government destroy my home and kick me out, although I did nothing wrong. Why should I leave all my friends and the house I grew up in, just because?

Concluding all of that, is the same questions: Why do people hate me? Why do they not want me to exist? Because I am a bad person? Because I did wrong to them? And there is only one answer to these questions: Because I am a Jew.

Yakov.