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I Am a Damn Jew—And I Am Pissed Off

By: Yonah Elias

I am pissed off. I am so damn angry I could burn through marble with my breath. The world can shove it—yes, the whole world. And if that makes you uncomfortable, good. That means you’re finally listening.

I am an angry Jew.

An unforgiving Jew.

I am the Jew you get after Germany.

I’m the Jew who walks with a rifle in one hand and a Torah in the other—not to impress you, but to remind you that I know how to survive both a firing squad and a theological debate.

I’m not here for your interfaith panels.

I’m not here to make you feel better about yourself.

I’m here to remember.

And to make sure you don’t forget.

I am the Jew you expelled from Spain in 1492—before Columbus ever got to sail the ocean blue.

I am the Jew you ghettoized in Venice, taxed in France, beaten in Kiev, humiliated in Poland.

I am the Jew Stalin called a parasite, that Churchill shook hands with then sold out, that America left on the shores of Europe to burn.

I am the Jew whose parents you gassed, whose children you hid, whose prayers you mocked—and whose rebirth you now resent because I dared to survive.

I am the Jew who didn’t disappear.

I am the Jew who came home—to Zion.

And I am the Jew you hate for that.

You want to know why I’m angry?

Because the West has lost its damn mind. It’s drowning in its own vomit while hallucinating about bathrooms, borders, and BDS. It’s burning itself alive with pride parades while lighting candles for terrorists.

Meanwhile, the East is building mega-projects, high-speed trains, underwater tunnels, AI supercities—and you’re busy holding ceasefire rallies for Hamas in Trafalgar Square while your power grid gets hacked by the Taliban.

Are you joking?

You should be writing letters of apology to Israel, begging for cyber defense. Instead, you’re lecturing us about “proportionality” while your own nations rot from within, infested with ideology and cowardice like a French cheese left in the sun.

And every time I feel that heat rise in my chest—every time I want to scream and rage—I hear this voice inside me say:

“But you’re a Jew. Jews don’t act like that.”

Oh really? Tell that to the Maccabees.

Tell that to Bar Kochba.

Tell that to the Warsaw Ghetto.

And then I remember what the Torah says: “If someone comes to kill you, rise early and kill him first.” —Talmud, Berakhot 58a.

That’s not a suggestion.

That’s a commandment.

And trust me—we’ve had enough mornings to rise early.

I am that Jew, the one your grandfather whispered about.

I’m the “Jew” your teacher warned you not to trust.

I’m the Jew you thought would go quietly into the gas.

Guess what?

I didn’t.

I survived Auschwitz.

I survived British detention camps in Cyprus.

I survived Rome, Babylon, London, and Oslo.

I survived your love letters to the Ayatollah and your arms deals with genocidal maniacs.

I’m not just a survivor. I’m a witness.

And now—I’m a weapon.

Forged in exile. Tempered in war. Sharpened by betrayal.

But here’s the twist. Here’s the plotline your professors missed:

I’m not angry at the world that loves me.

Not at the righteous among the nations. Not at the brave, the just, the defiant few who stand by us.

I’m angry at the world that hates me.

The world that chants for my death then complains that I yelled too loud when I didn’t die.

The world that arms Hamas and blames me for the explosion.

The world that builds statues for dead colonialists but calls my people “colonizers” for returning to their homeland after 3,000 years.

I’m a loving Jew—but don’t mistake that for weakness.

I’ll dance at weddings and cry at funerals. I’ll host you for Shabbat and pass you the salt—but if you try to hurt me or my people, you’ll find out just how much fire is left in the Jewish soul. We are the nation that watched empires rise and fall while we kept lighting candles on Friday night.

So to the world that has lost its way:

You are no longer my moral compass.

You are a circus of madmen with nuclear weapons.

You are preaching virtue from the gallows you built with your own hands.

And I—I am a damn Jew.

I am Israel reborn.

I am rage and redemption.

I am faith with a backbone.

I am memory with a trigger.

I am the prayer you didn’t believe would be answered.

And yes—I am pissed off.

Now go ahead and share this. Let the world know exactly what kind of Jew they’re dealing with.

Am Yisrael Chai.

Not for your approval.

For our survival.

And for our eternity.