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attapullman · 5 months

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Someone Will Hear | Robert "Bob" Floyd 18+

Summary: When everyone else retires to bed after Friendsgiving, Bob has other plans for you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings & Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x f!reader, 18+ ONLY as always, smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex (m and f receiving), creampie, praise kink, cum play if you squint, sex in a house full of people, mostly porn without plot. It’s cozy season. It’s Friendsgiving season. It’s Bob Floyd Fucks season. Season greetings to all who celebrate.

“Guess we’re the sole survivors.” Bob’s breath is hot on your neck. Those warm, strong hands skim down your sides. If you turn your head slightly you can catch the remaining scent of mulled wine on his breath.

To be fair, everyone had agreed to a second movie. An afternoon crowded around mismatched card tables stuffing your faces with overcooked turkey (Javy) and undercooked sweet potatoes (Mickey) quickly turned Friendsgiving into movie night while your stomachs settled. And everyone had still felt rowdy and wine drunk enough to start the sequel. Or so it seemed. Not even ten minutes in Bradley was shuffling himself to Natasha’s guest room with a soft yawn. You hadn’t even noticed the rest of the squad excusing themselves, your head cushioned between overstuffed cushions and Bob’s welcoming chest. Your head swivels around to confirm that you two are the only ones left in his front seater’s living room.

But one press of Bob’s lips on your neck has every thought leaving your brain. He’s been impatient for the past hour. Your thigh pressed between his legs, your nails scratching down his back, the tiny kiss pressed to his wrist when he removed a pesky hair from your brow. It’s taken every ounce of will to not fuck you right on the loveseat where everyone could see. Docile, sweet, cozy you is his favourite to defile.

Hands slip under your sweater. One admiring the smooth texture of your skin, while the other quickly finds purchase over your bra, fingering the delicate material. Instinctually you keen into his hand, desperate to feel those skilled fingers tease. A not-so-subtle nudge against your thigh reminds you of the thick appendage he indulges you in daily. Twice if you ask nicely. There is truly no greater pleasure than sex with Robert Floyd.

It’s too much. Your body surges forward, fingers curling in softly gelled hair as hot mouths collide. Tongues twist and curl, desperate to devour. How does he taste so good? He barely drinks and yet you’re drunk off his kiss. Your needy fingers bring him closer - feeding your addiction to his touch - before sense returns and you tug his head back.

“We can’t do this.” The kisses he presses to your jaw say otherwise. “This is Natasha’s couch. Her house. Everyone’s here. Someone will hear.”

He isn’t the least bit concerned. Intertwining your fingers and brushing them against the unmistakable bulge that has made you walk funny on more than one occasion. “Don’t worry, everyone’s asleep.” A light kiss to your jaw. “Look at what you’ve caused.” Another addictively delicate kiss to your neck. “You have to fix it.”

Your brain holds fast to the belief this is a bad idea, but the tidal wave of arousal that floods through you wins out. Your fingers stroke along his covered length, straining against his zipper. Everyone is fast asleep, you can be quiet. Bob watches the fight leave your eyes, the swell of your chest under his hand as your nipples tighten. He knows he has you right where he wants you.

His hand leaves your waist and strokes your jaw. An adept finger runs along your bottom lip. “Say it, baby. Tell me you want me to fuck you on the couch while all our friends are asleep.”

The depraved moan that leaves your mouth is too loud in the quiet house. His heavy hand clamps over your lips. “Say it quietly like a good girl.”

Your whimper out, “Please fuck me on the couch while all our friends are asleep.”

The grunt he lets out is low but carnal. Arousal stilling the air as you anticipate how he’ll play with your body. That strong, lean-muscled torso leaving yours as he settles between your thighs, opening them up like a present before guiding your pants down each leg; soft, spongy kisses replacing the denim. Once discarded, there’s a slight burn in the muscles as your thighs swing as wide as possible to accommodate his broad shoulders. He already has his mouth latched over your panties, the soaked lace his appetizer before the main course.

“Mmm, always taste so good, baby.” The words are muffled he’s so deep in your core. You can feel his finger slip through your soaked folds, pulling the lace back from where he eagerly devoured. Instantly replaced by a deliciously warm, wet tongue that wastes no time in re-acquainting itself with your pussy. It’s his second time enjoying you today, but every time is just as devoted as the first.

Words catch in your throat as he licks along your inner walls like a starving man. His nose presses against your clit harder and rougher as he searches for the spot that makes you see stars. He’s only reached it once with that short tongue, so quickly relinquishes the search to his long fingers. His right hand offering you one finger for pleasure, but filling you with two once it’s confirmed you’re stretched enough. Eyes roll back in your head when his left hand trails along your sternum before slipping three thick fingers in your mouth, effectively muffling the obscene moans you’re emitting. He pulls back for a breath. “That’s it sweetheart, show me what a good girl you are.”

His pupils are blown, sapphire turned obsidian. Eyelids drooping, a red tint to his cheeks…Bob looks every inch of fucked out pussy drunk as he breaks eye contact to worship your clit. Mouth swiping over the bud, suckling it as his fingers thrust harder. The white hot edges of an orgasm fuzz your brain, excitedly awaiting when he hits that spongey spot. You pant around his fingers in anticipation. So drooly for him, his little pet.

But one spit-slicked thumb press to your clit changes plans. Your body suddenly cannot comprehend the ecstasy he’s showering you in and the edge of the cliff is suddenly there. And then you’re careening off it, brain spiraling in orgasmic nothingness, one hand wrapped in his hair while your mouth drools around his fingers. Bob’s tongue unrelenting, dedicated to licking you through your pleasure as his thumb guides each spasm. Hips rubbing against the couch as he chases his own relief. Not stopping until you’re whispering “S’senstive” around his digits and squirming for relief.

Your eyes are heavy as your highly trained aviator raises himself to his knees, taking in the vision of your half naked body. The house is still quiet, and you bask in your glow under his watchful eye. Not the end to Friendsgiving you expected, but a nice treat before Bob drives you home. You reach down to fix your panties when strong fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Let’s take those off for this next part.”

Bob is not an ostentatious guy. Never draws attention to himself or makes a fuss. But his cock? It strides in heavy and thick and demanding every ounce of your attention. You can’t look away from him. Breaths still heavy as he recovers from feasting on your dripping pussy. Sapphire eyes hold your gaze as he unbuckles his belt and teases the button of his corduroys. The anticipation heavy between you. He knows you would do ungodly things for his cock, based solely on the filthily descriptive letters you’ve sent him while on deployment. The man believes in old-fashioned letter writing and eats pussy like a king. Of course you worship his cock.

Unable to handle the wait, your fingers fly to his crotch. Unhooking the button and pulling down the zipper with zero finesse. Now that he’s promised the gorgeous stretch of fucking you, you want nothing more. As he unbuttons the respectful tartan button up he’d chosen for dinner, slipping the fabric from his shoulders, that all-consuming fuzz clouds your brain again. Growing only stronger as he slips the pants from his hips before removing a monster of a cock from tight cotton. Your mouth waters as he slips one veiny hand around the head and stokes down firmly.

Your mouth opens instinctually.

A large hand wraps around the back of your neck, guiding you hungrily to his lap. His thumb rubs along your pulse as he traces your lips with the tip. Bob loves how your lips are always a shade darker than his cock. When you’re ready, you tilt your head and swallow him down.

“So good baby, feels so good.” You can tell he’s already on the edge of wanting to swear. “Your mouth was made for me.” Bob’s too far gone to indulge in your velvet mouth, wanting nothing more than to feel your tight walls squeeze him. Currently unsure whether you both can stay quiet, but he’s willing to die trying.

He slips a few more inches past your lips and enjoys the way you swallow along his cock, breathing through your nose as your hands wrap around his creamy thighs. Shudders rise up his spine as delicate fingers trace along his cum-filled balls. Too much of that and he’ll paint the back of your throat with salty cream. He’s already so close.

Before you can lose yourself in the rhythm, his hand is pulling you back gently by your neck, helping you out of your sweater. The material hugs you and he’s been thinking about your tits all night. Bob regularly has dreams about suffocating between them, enjoying his last breaths with one nipple in each hand. He can’t properly appreciate them in Natasha’s living room with a ticking clock, but this will satisfy for now. Gentle hands guide you onto your back, on display for him upon the cushions. His lips descend down your chest - hot, wet kisses to your flesh, nose tracing the cups of your bra. A rumbled grunt warming the valley between when you stroke his spit-covered cock and bring it to your dripping cunt.

“Bobby…please…” Your voice is low, still afraid of waking one of the house’s occupants. But as his tip catches on your entrance need overtakes sense, a moan slips past your swollen lips. “Need you now.”

A swift flick of his hips and he’s inside you, giving you a moment to adjust. Years later you’re still experiencing the continued stretch, one his colleagues would raise eyebrows if they knew what heat he was packing. His fingers soothe over your upper arm, lips still praising your chest. Loving ocean-blue eyes trained on you, anticipating your needs.

Hands slip over his shoulders, soothing over the broad muscle to distract yourself. Nails biting into the flesh as he accidentally twitches before you’re ready. You’re faintly aware that the movie ends, the soft glow of the credits bathing you two in low light as you determine if you’re ready for Bob’s engorged cock. He presses a kiss to your jaw before whispering in your ear. “I love you. You’re such a good girl for me. I love you so much.”

His words have worked and your hips slip forward, begging him to fill you up. Feeling impossibly full as he gently thrusts between your folds. Peppering your chest in affection-filled kisses. Your mouth clamped shut to keep pathetically desperate moans from filling the quiet house. He sinks deeper and deeper, words of affirmation falling from his tongue, until the neatly trimmed hair around his cock is drenched in your essence.

He shifts down to his forearms, surrounding you in his scent, his touch, his aura. Chests touching, nowhere else to look but those cerulean pools of blue that had you falling on day one. From this angle your leg can hitch around his waist, opening up your pelvis to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. His balls slapping against your cunt as he continues his deep, forceful thrusts. Your mouths slot together in a desperate bid to stay quiet, both of you working quickly toward the edge with the fear of anyone in the house discovering you.

Your fingers trail from his shoulders to hair, pushing a wayward strand from his forehead. You pull away from his lips to whisper in his ear how good he feels, how he’s made for you. He looks debauched, his tongue slipped between thin lips as he concentrates on thrusting his way to the spongey spot of your cervix. This is the kind of pinpoint accuracy he doesn’t win accommodation medals for, but he always finds his target with you.

“Keep quiet, baby.”

Hands clamp to your mouth as Bob delivers a hard thrust to your cervix, blanking your brain as white spots fill your vision. His lips quirk as you move your hips, chasing the feeling. Sweat-slicked chests pressed together as he rams himself inside of you again and again, your muffled moans the sound of victory. This is exactly what he wanted when he settled himself behind you on the sofa. Such a perfect girl for him.

You’re so close to the edge, his hot breath on your neck, the stretch of his cock driving you home. If you close your eyes you can feel your orgasm within reach. Bob adjusts his weight, still pressed against you though as he can’t bear any space, and brings his fingers to where you two connect. Your aching clit happily accepting the controlled circles as hips slap together, too loud in the house to be mistaken for anything else. He whispers one last praise against your lips before you crumble before him.

Your walls squeeze around his shaft, forcing Bob to slow his hips and enjoy the tight sheath of your pussy. Back arching into firm chest as one low pornographic moan escapes right into his mouth. Small spasms wracking your body as he continues to drag himself in and out of your warmth. Chasing his own orgasm as you spin back to earth. Your droopy eyes and sleepy smile spurring him on, his happy cockdrunk girl. Slamming hips against yours one last time before bottoming out - garbled grunts of warning filling the space between your mouths - before pushing every creamy drop of his seed deep inside his babygirl. The creamy ring around his cock forgotten as his cum fills every available space.

Panting, unable to open your eyes, you regain your bearings in the dark room. Everything is still silent, the promise that you’ve kept your dalliances private. The warmth of Bob’s skin grounding you to the moment. You love him so much.

After too much time has passed and your skin itches with dry sweat, Bob finally pulls out. A wicked grin upon his lips as he pushes his cum back inside you; partly for his own pleasure but also for the safety of Natasha’s couch. Wrapped in a throw blanket, he whisks you to the bathroom to clean up (sweet kisses and praise included) before redressing and tucking you both in for the night on the cramped couch. His legs are too long and you both want to stretch out, but it works out with your knee between his thighs and your head between a cushion and his chest.

While hours have passed, when you open your eyes it feels like you’ve only just drifted off. The living room is still dark, but the rest of the house is bustling. Reuben and Mickey are making coffee while Jake loudly brags about the perfect shot he pulled on his new espresso machine. The sweet smell of pancakes fills your nostrils. Bradley’s specialty, and you can slightly hear the tail end of whatever he’s humming as he works the stove. You snuggle in closer to Bob, who has also woken up to the chaos of his squadron making breakfast.

The two of you fight off reality for a moment longer before joining in the kitchen. All assembled look disheveled, having slept in their Friendsgiving formals and most spending the night on the guest room floor because Rooster won’t share a bed. Joking accusations fly around as Jake complains of neck pain.

You’re tucking into the offered pancakes when the rest of your group joins the kitchen. Javy looking well-rested because he slept on ten inches of memory foam in the primary bedroom. Natasha, however, doesn’t seem as pleased after a night of comfortable sleep with a partner. And when you see what’s hanging off her finger it makes sense. With a pinched face, she slowly holds up the pair of charcoal grey briefs.

“Floyd, why were these under the couch?"

#robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd fic #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fan fiction #robert bob floyd smut #bob floyd smut #top gun maverick smut #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader

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extinctionstories · 11 months

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Once, there was a bird called a Heath Hen. It lived all along the coast of New England, from Virginia all the way to Maine. More abundant than wild turkeys, these grouse-like birds fed Americans native and colonist alike; some believe that it was actually heath hen that graced the table of the first Thanksgiving.

Yet countries grow, and so does the demand for food. Like the passenger pigeon, the bounty of heath hens seemed inexhaustible…until it wasn’t. By 1870, the heath hen was gone from the mainland, occupying only a tiny oasis on the island of Martha’s Vineyard; by 1900, there were only 70 in the world.

But humans had begun to notice the animals vanishing around us—to realize that there steps we could take to make it stop. Protections were put in place, and the birds began a recovery. In 1915, at least two thousand heath hens called the island home.

During the following nesting season, however, after years of misguided suppression measures, a wildfire ravaged the preserve, devastating the ground-nesting birds. Now lacking shelter, birds that survived the fire were easily picked off by predators. Efforts were made to rebuild yet again, but there just weren’t enough birds left. The final heath hen died in 1932, after having been alone for 4 years.

One of the stories that always sticks in my mind about heath hens comes from the people who went out searching for survivors after the fire. They spoke about finding female birds, burnt or suffocated by smoke, still sitting on their nests—their last act, to shield their young.

Those charred hens had no way of knowing that the eggs they guarded were some of the last the world would ever see—no conception of the ideas of rarity or foresight that might cause a human to go to lengths to protect such a nest. For them, it was enough to be a mother, whose child would always be as precious to her as if it had been the only one in the world, worthy of protecting with her life.

An epitaph of Jane Seymour, third queen of Henry VIII, who died in childbed, went, “Here lies a phoenix/by whose death/another phoenix life gave breath”. My above art was painted in clear acrylic medium blended with ink and the ashes of burnt feathers, and is titled ‘There Were No Phoenixes on Martha’s Vineyard’.

#extinct birds #extinction #extinct #heath hen #extinct animals #extinction stories

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thats-very-like-a-whale · 5 months

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Being a Jew or a Muslim in the world has gotten much scarier in the past month, and the number of takes being normalized on the Internet that are actually just blatant hatred of Jewish and/or Muslim people is deeply worrying, so here's a list of clarifications about the Israel–Palestine conflict:

The Jewish people have a right to exist in the land of Israel. The Jewish people trace our history in the region back thousands of years, and there has been a continuous Jewish presence in Israel since the Bronze Age.

The Palestinian people have a right to exist in the land of Israel. They have existed in this region, on his land, for hundreds of years.

Claiming one people has the right to exist here but the other people does not means you hate that group of people. If you believe Palestinians have the right to an autonomous state in the land of Israel but the Jews do not, you are a Jew-hating antisemite. If you believe the Jews have a right to an autonomous state in the land of Israel but the Palestinians do not, you hate Palestinians.

Zionism is the ideology that the Jewish people have the right to build a national homeland in the land of Israel. Since the foundation of Israel, being a zionist purely means you believe that Israel has the right to exist. As such, being “anti-zionist” makes you antisemitic.

The Jewish people did not colonize the land of Israel, like, ever. There has been a continuous Jewish presence in the land of Israel for thousands of years, and the major waves of immigration to Israel - called the Aliyot - were during the Ottoman and British occupation of the Levant.

Saying “the Jews are all white European colonizers” is deeply misinformed, antisemitic, and racist. There are Jews - many of whom live in Israel - from Egypt, Iraq, Morocco, Sudan, Iran, Turkey, Afghanistan, Ethiopia, Algeria, Tunisia, Iraq, Georgia, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and most of the rest of the Middle East & north Africa.

Wait but why are there so many "white" (Ashkenazi) Jews in Israel and around the world? Well in 1933 there were 9.5 million Jews living in Europe. In the years 1933–1945, the Nazis genocided 6 million of them. Currently the Jewish population of Europe is around 1.3 million, and today there are still half a million fewer Jews than there were before the Holocaust. Most of the Ashkenazi survivors of the Holocaust immigrated to Israel, and many others immigrated to countries like the US.

Following the 1948 Israel–Palestine war, roughly 700,000 Palestinians were displaced from their homes. In the years before and after the war, 900,000 Jews were expelled from various Muslim countries.

I'm going to continue to reblog this post with more clarifications about the I/P conflict. Feel free to reblog w/ stuff you wanted to add, and feel free to send me questions/comments in my asks. Stay safe everyone ❤️

#israel #jumblr #palestine #war #israel palestine conflict #ישרבלר #ישראבלר #cw war #gaza #israel palestine war #gaza war #israel hamas war #palestinians #hamas

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fairuzfan · 2 months

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(This got soo much longer than I meant for it to be omg... sorry about that!!)

American Holocaust by David Stannard is a flawed book with some dated language, but of everything I've read, I think I like its explanation/argument against this weird sort of... competitive genocide stuff. I'm gonna butcher it a little by cutting out a LOT in order to not nuke your inbox with a super long ask, but:

[…] To say this is not to say that the Jewish Holocaust-the inhuman destruction of 6,000,000 people-was not an abominably unique event. It was. So, too, for reasons of its own, was the mass murder of about 1,000,000 Armenians in Turkey a few decades prior to the Holocaust. So, too, was the deliberately caused "terror-famine" in Stalin's Soviet Union in the 1930s, which killed more than 14,000,000 people. So, too, have been each of the genocidal slaughters of many millions more, decades after the Holocaust, in Burundi, Bangladesh, Kampuchea, East Timor, the Brazilian Amazon, and elsewhere. Additionally, within the framework of the Holocaust itself, there were aspects that were unique in the campaign of genocide conducted by the Nazis against Europe's Romani people, which resulted in the mass murder of perhaps 1,500,000 men, women, and children. [...]

Each of these genocides was distinct and unique, for one reason or another, as were (and are) others that go unmentioned here. In one case the sheer numbers of people killed may make it unique. In another case, the percentage of people killed may make it unique. In still a different case, the greatly compressed time period in which the genocide took place may make it unique. In a further case, the greatly extended time period in which the genocide took place may make it unique. No doubt the targeting of a specific group or groups for extermination by a particular nation's official policy may mark a given genocide as unique. So too might another group's being unofficially (but unmistakably) targeted for elimination by the actions of a multinational phalanx bent on total extirpation. Certainly the chilling utilization of technological instruments of destruction, such as gas chambers, and its assembly-line, bureaucratic, systematic methods of destruction makes the Holocaust unique. On the other hand, the savage employment of non-technological instruments of destruction, such as the unleashing of trained and hungry dogs to devour infants, and the burning and crude hacking to death of the inhabitants of entire cities, also makes the Spanish anti-Indian genocide unique.

[…]

A secondary tragedy of all these genocides, moreover, is that partisan representatives among the survivors of particular afflicted groups not uncommonly hold up their peoples' experience as so fundamentally different from the others that not only is scholarly comparison rejected out of hand, but mere cross-referencing or discussion of other genocidal events within the context of their own flatly is prohibited. It is almost as though the preemptive conclusion that one's own group has suffered more than others is something of a horrible award of distinction that will be diminished if the true extent of another group's suffering is acknowledged.

Compounding this secondary tragedy is the fact that such insistence on the incomparability of one's own historical suffering, by means of what Irving Louis Horowitz calls "moral bookkeeping," invariably pits one terribly injured group against another […]

Denial of massive death counts is common--and even readily understandable, if contemptible--among those whose forefathers were the perpetrators of the genocide. Such denials have at least two motives: first, protection of the moral reputations of those people and that country responsible for the genocidal activity (which seems the primary motive of those scholars and politicians who deny that massive genocide campaigns were carried out against American Indians); and second, on occasion, the desire to continue carrying out virulent racist assaults upon those who were the victims of the genocide in question (as seems to be the major purpose of the anti-Semitic so-called historical revisionists who claim that the Jewish Holocaust never happened or that its magnitude has been exaggerated). But for those who have themselves been victims of extermination campaigns to proclaim uniqueness for their experiences only as a way of denying recognition to others who also have suffered massive genocidal brutalities is to play into the hands of the brutalizers. Rather, as Michael Berenbaum has wisely put it, "we should let our sufferings, however incommensurate, unite us in condemnation of inhumanity rather than divide us in a calculus of calamity."

The whole thing is available to read on the Internet Archive if you're interested. (This part starts on pg 149, if you'd just like to have the full context without the parts I chopped.)

Additionally, Carrol Kakel's book The American West and the Nazi East, while imperfect, too, is also very useful in getting at the core issue with these arguments and what makes them harmful--regardless of intent. I'm gonna spare you and not quote too much from this one, but the general gist of what it's about and argues in favor of is summed up like this in its conclusion:

In the case of the Holocaust and its contexts, the new ‘optics’ helps us see that – contrary to the prevailing image of ‘industrial genocide’ – many aspects of the Holocaust are akin to earlier ‘colonial genocide’. It is worth noting (and emphasizing) that the distinction I make between ‘colonial genocide’ and ‘industrial genocide’ is not to suggest some type of crude and arbitrary ‘partitioning’ of the Nazi Holocaust; it is, rather, to suggest and reassert the (settler) colonial roots, content, and context of the Nazi project in the ‘Wild East’ – a content and context linked, in Hitler’s and Himmler’s ‘spatial’ and ‘racial’ fantasies, to the ‘North American precedent’. And finally, the new ‘optics’ also allows us to understand that the ‘genocide and colonialism’ nexus holds the key to recognizing the Holocaust’s origins, content, and context; that the Nazi Holocaust is not a copy – but an extremely radicalized variant – of earlier ‘colonial genocide’; and that ‘holocaust’ is not a separate category from, but the most extreme variant of, the blight on human history we call ‘genocide’.

One of the more infamous examples of someone trying to argue against comparison (at least in the NDN circles I run in, anyway) was Deborah Lipstadt claiming that "[What the United States did to Native Americans] was not the same as the Holocaust" because, she says, "The Native Americans were seen as "competitors" for land and resources. There was, therefore, a certain logic-horrible and immoral as it was-to the campaign against the Native Americans."

Just for context, the full paragraph from her blog post:

What the United States did to Native Americans was horrendous. I have not studied it closely and it's not my area of expertise, however, it seems clear that the treatment of the various Native American tribes was revolting. However, it was not the same as the Holocaust. The Native Americans were seen as "competitors" for land and resources. There was, therefore, a certain logic-horrible and immoral as it was-to the campaign against the Native Americans. [Please note: I am NOT justifying the attacks.] The German campaign against the Jews had no logic and was often completely illogical. People who were "useful" to the Germans were murdered or exiled, e.g. slave laborers in factories producing goods for the Wehrmacht and scientists who were producing important technological advances for the Germans. In a prime example of illogic, in June 1944 at the time of the landing at Normandy, when the Germans were truly on the defensive, they used precious ships and men to go to the Island of Corfu and deport the 1200 Jews who lived there. They ended up in Auschwitz. Approximately 100 of this old Jewish community survived.

This is obviously a repulsive take, but the bizarre rationalization of abject evil isn't what I think makes this such a good example of the big issue at the heart of the constant emphasis on "uniqueness." There are plenty of people who hold these "exceptionalist" beliefs without taking it that much further and dismissing other genocides altogether. No, the thing that makes this such a perfect encapsulation imo is the very first sentence, where this historian, this professor of "Holocaust Studies," this woman who's ostensibly spent most of her entire life studying genocide openly admits she's never really bothered to look into what, exactly, happened to all those Indians way back when.

This is ultimately what I, personally, see as the main issue with this line of thinking. The harm doesn't necessarily come from holding the Holocaust up as "worse" than any other genocidal event, though that way of thinking definitely has its own problems, but from holding it up as fundamentally different.

It's the way this view holds it up as completely separate, in its own little bubble of history where we can study it and analyze it and teach about it all we want... all without ever having to broach the subject of colonialism. You can have entire classes where you study every single minute detail of this one specific genocide without ever having to mention or--god forbid--criticize the system that's driven pretty much every other instance of it.

Deborah Lipstadt has spent the better part of a century learning everything there is to know about the Holocaust, but in all that time, she's apparently never felt the need to look into the events that its perpetrators openly and repeatedly referred to as their inspiration.

This is what makes this sort of framing so dangerous imo. You can spend your entire life educating yourself about genocide, but if it's only in the context of one genocide and the belief in the uniqueness and incomparability of that single event is core to your understanding of both it and your worldview as a whole, you will still be completely incapable of recognizing the signs when it starts to happen again.

this is a really informative ask. thank you so much for sending this in (love the citations haha) i think it adds a lot to the overall discussion.

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matan4il · 22 days

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Daily update post:

Since this morning, Hezbollah has been firing rockets at Israel's northern towns. There is at least one man dead, identified as 25 years old Zahara Bashar, an Israeli Druze, and 2 people injured as a result of this on going attack.

This is a reaction by Iran-funded Hezbollah to a strike by Israel yesterday on a different terrorist organization, al-Jama’a al-Islamiyya (the Islamic Assembley, an ally of al-Qaeda), and following even more Israeli military activity in Lebanon, meant to stop a senior member of Fatah (the ruling party of the Palestinian Authority) from smuggling Iranian-funded standard explosives and additional weapons into Israel for terrorist attacks. As one TV military reporter I was listening to yesterday explained, the difference between improvised explosives and standard ones is in how lethal they are, for example when a small amount is attached to the side of a vehicle, the difference is whether one person gets killed or ten.

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I've written about Israel still waiting for definitive proof that Marwan Issa, Hamas' #3 in Gaza, has been killed in a military strike. Yesterday, we got an official confirmation of that. This means that out of the 4 Hamas leaders that are on the top of Israel's list, two are gone. We're still left with Yahya Sinwar (#1) and Mohammed Deif (#2). Most Israelis tend to think that if Israel manages to kill Sinwar, Hamas will likely surrender, and the war would be over.

As Israel's military operation in the Shifa hospital continues, here is a really important batch of testimonies from captured terrorists, about how, once the IDF left this place, they returned to it, exploited it assuming they'd be safe there, and how they were not alone, with defined areas for the Hamas terrorists, and others meant for the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) terrorists, cynically using spots such as the maternity ward.

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A military reporter published the fact that Israel has refused permission for Turkey and Qatar to participate in air drops of humanitarian aid into Gaza. The reporter frames it as a political decision, but consider what it means that Qatar and Turkey are both politically hostile countries - that there is no way for Israel to verify they would not try to air drop military aid to Hamas. At the same time, I wanna highlight what this info also means, and hasn't been talked about... It means that every time you hear about yet another country air dropping aid into Gaza, that's done with Israel's permission. And there are way more countries permitted to do this than refused. This is one of many things that should make it clear that Israel is NOT targeting regular Gazans, and is making every possible effort to make sure they are getting humanitarian aid, while trying to minimize how much this aids Hamas (and in that sense, prolongs the war).

These are brothers Neria and Daniel Sharabi.

On Oct 7, they were at the Nova music festival. Not only did they survive Hamas' massacre, they also helped to save others. Since then, they've started a fund to help the survivors, and in order to raise money, they've been traveling abroad, telling their story, mostly to Jewish communities. A couple of days ago, they were traveling to Manchester, in the UK, when they were asked at the airport upon arrival what their religion was. They recount that after disclosing they were Jews and what they were there to do, they encountered hostile reactions, including being told (according to a TV interview I heard with them), "We don't like what you're here to do," and "We have to make sure that you are not going to do here what you are doing in Gaza." They were detained for a couple of hours, before being allowed in. The brothers said they're convinced this was motivated by antisemitism based on being questioned about their religion. The incident is said to be investigated.

This is 40 years old Amit Soussana.

She was kidnppaed to Gaza from her home in kibbutz Kfar Azza, and among the hostages released in late November. A lot of Israelis remember her as the hostage who was captured on film trying to fight off the men taking her, with no less than 7 of them (yes, Israelis have counted) involved in her abduction:

We've had private testimonies from Israelis about having been raped, we've had public testimonies from Israeli who have seen the physical evidence of the Hamas rapes, we've had public testimonies of Israelis who have witnessed those rapes, and we've had public testimonies of hostages, who've heard from their fellow captives about the sexual abuse the latter have gone through. All that wasn't enough for some people, who continued to deny Hamas' sexual violence. Now, Amit Soussana is the first Israeli to come forward and publicly talk about the sexual assault she had suffered at the hands of Hamas. Her testimony has been published in the New York Times, and for anyone without a subscription, other publications have quoted parts of it, like Times of Israel. A part of me really hates that Amit might have felt compelled to speak because of the doubt cast at raped Jews. Another part thinks that for the second time, she is showing outstanding bravery. And yet another finds it hard to believe that this will make a difference. Those who are dead set on not believing Jews, essentially calling us all liars, will do the same to her, and when they do, I hope she won't have to witness that firsthand. But in a sense, if their doubt is indeed the reason why she felt she had to speak up publicly, then it's clear that there's already been damage done to the victims of Hamas' sexual violence.

This is 35 years old Uriel Baruch with his son.

Uriel was married, and a father of two. He loved techno music, and on Oct 7 was attending the Nova music festival along with a friend, Michael Yoav, who was murdered there (his body was found shot in the car in which the two were trying to escape). Uriel was kidnapped. Yesterday, the army was able to confirm to the family that Hamas had murdered him while in captivity, and is still holding Uriel's body hostage. The number of Israeli hostages in Gaza is 134, and the official confirmations of death indicate that no more than 98 are still alive, though some count Hamas claims as well, in which case no more than 96 are. May Uriel's memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack #resources

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girlactionfigure · 4 months

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THURSDAY HERO: Benjamin Levin

Killing Nazis at age 14

Benjamin Levin was a young resistance fighter who, as one of the notorious “Avengers,” spent World War II hiding in a Lithuanian forest, emerging only to kill Nazis or bomb their supply chains.

Benjamin was born in Vilna in 1927. His father Chaim was a successful businessman and the family lived a comfortable life. In 1941, however, Chaim was tipped off that Nazi Germany was about to invade Lithuania. As Jews, that meant the Levins’ days were numbered. Chaim quickly sold his business at a loss, used the proceeds to buy weapons, and went into hiding with his family.

At the time, Benjamin was a 14 year old juvenile delinquent who’d started smoking at age 8 and was member of a street gang. After the German invasion, he chose not to stay with his parents in their hiding place, instead joining the fierce resistance group known as the “Avengers” led by Abba Kovner. Benjamin was an immediate asset to the group due to his unique combination of exceptional bravery and diminutive size. His baby face and unassuming appearance enabled him to avoid attracting attention, even in enemy territory.

Hidden in a Lithuanian forest, the teenager and his fellow Avengers killed Nazis, bombed their transportation lines, and smuggled life-saving food and medicine into the Jewish ghettoes. It was later estimated that the brave band of guerrilla fighters had killed 212 Nazis. Their policy was “take no prisoners.” In 1944, the Jewish fighters helped the Russian army liberate Vilna, after which they marched through town looking for Nazi collaborators to execute.

Benjamin’s parents survived the war in hiding, but when they returned to Vilna to reclaim their home, their former neighbors murdered them on the spot. With nothing to keep them in Europe, Benjamin and his sister moved to pre-state Israel, where he joined the Jewish militant group Irgun, fighting the British occupation of Palestine. Benjamin was in charge of helping Jewish survivors in Europe relocate to Israel. Benjamin’s street smarts and people skills served him well as he traveled through Turkey and Syria with European Holocaust survivors.

The Soviet army did not appreciate Benjamin’s work rescuing Jews from behind the Iron Curtain, and in 1947 he was arrested and sent to a Siberian gulag. After a year, Benjamin was released from the gulag and hitchhiked his way to Southern Europe, where he reconnected with the Irgun in Italy. The organization arranged for him to enroll in college and earn a degree in mechanical engineering. He was assigned to the engine room of a ship that sailed around the world, collecting money, weapons and volunteers to fight for the Jewish state.

The ship was called Altalena, and headed to Israel with hundreds of Holocaust survivors on board, as well as Jewish volunteers from around the world, and a cache of heavy ammunition secretly donated by France. When the Altalena reached Tel Aviv and tried to dock, the ship came under fire by the Haganah, a rival military group. Under machine-gun fire, young Benjamin leapt off the ship and swam to shore, then snuck into the country unnoticed. He had been through so much in the previous several years, had lived so many lives and assumed so many identities, that he actually forgot his own birthday. Later, he decided to make Passover – the festival of freedom – his official birthday.

Benjamin met his wife Sara, a Hungarian immigrant, in Israel, and ironically she was serving with the Haganah when they fired on the Altalena. Together they had two children, and moved to New York in 1967, where Benjamin worked as a mechanic and owned a gas station. In the 1990’s, Benjamin was interviewed extensively by Steven Spielberg as part of the Shoah Foundation oral history project.

For decades, Benjamin was an in-demand public speaker at New York high schools, where he spoke about the Holocaust and his remarkable life. Toward the end of his life, Benjamin was unable to speak, but he insisted on continuing his school appearances, with his son Chaim – named for Benjamin’s father – doing the speaking for him. Chaim remembered how much Benjamin loved interacting with students, and described his father as having “an enormous amount of energy and joy and love.”

Benjamin Levin died on April 13, 2020 at age 93. The last survivor of the Avengers, Benjamin died during Passover – his adopted birthday.

For heroically fighting Nazis and saving European Jews, and for educating generations of New York schoolchildren about the Holocaust, we honor Benjamin Levin as this week’s Thursday Hero.

#Thursday Hero

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