Jews & Musical Theatre - My Jewish Learning

Jews & Musical Theatre - My Jewish Learning

YID With LID: U.S. Middle East Policy Becomes Clinically Insane

YID With LID: U.S. Middle East Policy Becomes Clinically Insane

IMMIGRANTS!!!

Maybe we should turn to our history books and point out to people like Mr. Lujan why today's American is not willing to accept this new kind of immigrant any longer. Back in 1900 when there was a rush from all areas ofEurope to come to the United States , people had to get off a ship and stand in a long line in New York and be documented.

Some would even get down on their hands and knees and kiss the ground. They made a pledge to uphold the laws and support their new country in good and bad times. They made learning English a primary rule in their new American households and some even changed their names to blend in with their new home.

They had waved goodbye to their birth place to give their children a new life and did everything in their power to help their children assimilate into one culture. Nothing was handed to them. No free lunches, no welfare, no labor laws to protect them. All they had were the skills and craftsmanship they had brought with them to trade for a future of prosperity.

Most of their children came of age when World War II broke out. My father fought along side men whose parents had come straight over from Germany , Italy , France and Japan . None of these 1st generation Americans ever gave any thought about what country their parents had come from. They were Americans fighting Hitler, Mussolini and the Emperor of Japan. They were defending the United States of America as one people.

When we liberated France , no one in those villages were looking for the French American, the German American or the Irish American. The people of France saw only Americans. And we carried one flag that represented one country. Not one of those immigrant sons would have thought about picking up another country's flag and waving it to represent who they were. It would have been a disgrace to their parents who had sacrificed so much to be here. These immigrants truly knew what it meant to be an American. They stirred the melting pot into one red, white and blue bowl.

And here we are with a new kind of immigrant who wants the same rights and privileges. Only they want to achieve it by playing with a different set of rules, one that includes the entitlement card and a guarantee of being faithful to their mother country. I'm sorry, that's not what being an American is all about. I believe that the immigrants who landed on Ellis Island in the early 1900's deserve better than that for all the toil, hard work and sacrifice in raising future generations to create a land that has become a beacon for those legally searching for a better life. I think they would be appalled that they are being used as an example by those waving foreign country flags.

And for that suggestion about taking down the Statue of Liberty, it happens to mean a lot to the citizens who are voting on the immigration bill. I wouldn't start talking about dismantling the United States just yet.
KEEP THIS LETTER MOVING. FOR THE WRONG THINGS TO PREVAIL, THE RIGHTFUL MAJORITY NEEDS TO REMAIN COMPLACENT AND QUIET. LET THIS NEVER HAPPEN!

I sincerely hope this letter gets read by millions of people all across the nation

Pundit Press: Vote in Our Poll: Do You Believe that Obama is Wrong in not Releasing the bin Laden Death Photos?

Pundit Press: Vote in Our Poll: Do You Believe that Obama is Wrong in not Releasing the bin Laden Death Photos?

YID With LID: Obama To Global Warming Moonbats "Just Wait Till My Second Term"

YID With LID: Obama To Global Warming Moonbats "Just Wait Till My Second Term"

THIS IS WHY I CARRY A GUN (GUNS & AMMO VERSION)

I am a newspaper columnist by trade, and host a daily radio talk show.

And once or twice a week, to get ideas and to clear my head, I take walks through the neighborhoods of the city where I work. Just an amble, to see what's going on and to visit with people. Over the years, it's been a great source of stories and personal enrichment.

And through it all I've never had trouble. I go to the worst parts of town, and talk to cops and crooks, and because I treat people with respect and kindness, they treat me the same way. Until last week. Last week, as I write this, something changed. And I'm not sure how I will react to that in the long run, but I know that I'm here to consider it because of my gun.

It was a beautiful day, bright and warm, and at 3:30 in the afternoon I had just passed an elementary school. There were low-income housing projects on both sides of the street -- a busy, city thoroughfare -- and scores of people were out happily enjoying the sun or visiting on their stoops. I was half watching a group of teen-agers playing basketball when I heard running footsteps approaching me from behind.

I turned and saw a young man strangely dressed in a winter coat and hat. He started to speak to me. I kept walking. He said several words, the only one of which I could understand was, "money." I looked puzzled and he repeated himself. Still not able to make out what he was mumbling I said, "I'm sorry, but I'm not understanding you. What did you say?"

He was clear this time: "Give me your money."

I kept walking, like I always do with panhandlers, and said I didn't have any money. He reached over and touched my pants pocket, seemingly feeling it for its contents, and repeated his request. I kept walking, and repeated my refusal.

"Hey, I'm going to stick you," he said. "I'm going to shoot you. Give me your money."

As he spoke he was pulling his hand from his coat. I braced and watched it, and saw it come out empty. And I kept on walking. We were surrounded by possibly hundreds of witnesses, it was broad daylight, the police cruise that street constantly, and this guy was reading like a chump to me. So I figured he was nothing more than a panhandler, and a rather unimaginative one at that. So I repeated my refusal and I kept walking.

And when he clubbed me I remember the only sensation I had was one of wonderment. Holy cow. So this is what that feels like. My glasses broke and flew and my head felt strange and separate. I wasn't really dazed, and I wasn't angry or afraid. I was mostly shocked that this guy wasn't leaving me alone. And that's all I wanted. To be left alone.

I don't know if there is an instinct for that, but I just somewhere deep felt like I wanted to walk down that sidewalk and right now something was happening to me that was very bad and was going to keep me from doing that.

That's what I realized later, as I stood in the circle of cops and started coming down.

But in the bewilderment of that split second after he pounded my head there were only two things. Simple things, unconscious things, urgent but not frantic. Get a good grip and bring the weapon between us.

My carry gun varies with my clothing. That day I had a .45 AMT Back Up in an Alessi inside-the-pants holster above my right hip. It is a small gun and the trigger pull is beastly and the kick is substantial and I realize all that now but then it just distilled into the primal need to get a good purchase on the gun.

And bring it up.

He was closing, lunging I think, and his arms were up. And I never quite looked at him directly but I stepped back and saw the ground between us and his body coming in and I knew I had to see the gun on his chest. Not the sights, and not aiming or even quite pointing, but on top of the two-dimensional image of his trunk I wanted to see my hands and the AMT.

I saw it about the same time he did. And in the instant before a third instinct would have sent a MagSafe at point blank range into his chest he stopped and turned and ran. And I was left there with a throbbing head and broken glasses and a new perspective.

And here's the point I want to make.

It wasn't like I imagined. It wasn't like in the Army, when we thought we were young fire-eaters. There was no anger, or hate, or macho. It was a passionless fight. Mechanical, automatic, unconscious. There is no swagger in this tale. I am not some kind of big man now. A conditioned response was stimulated, and if that stimulus had not been removed when it was, I would have killed a man. And I do not glory in that.

But because of that response, and because of that gun and my God-given right to defend myself, I got to live. And three hours after it happened I was walking my family down another street, going out for ice cream, talking to my kids and laughing.

And that, if you don't already know, is why I carry a gun.

- by Bob Lonsberry reprinted from Guns & Ammo magazine, copyright 1997. 

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