What goes around...

Comes around.

Surprise surprise, my settler friends. You're weeping, and your pain seems great. So how about a taste of your own medicine, for a change.
Bitter? How odd. Maybe you'd care to look back and see what you and your fathers have been doing for the past two thirds of a century.

Sure. I'll give you a hint. How about people like you, driven out of their houses, out of their villages, stripped of their nation, and left to crawl across borders looking for a place they can call home, because their own home was taken away from them.

Ring a bell?

"Oh, is this your living room? your kitchen? your tree? is this your identity? is this your life? great. I'll take it. You and your flock can spend the night in the backyard, but it would be nice if you'd vanish forever, sometime around the break of sunrise."

How about a carillon now?

Yeah I figured you'd remember. And I figured you'd act like you didn't.

Careful not to understand this the wrong way. No sides taken here. Both you and the sons of Palestine dug deeply into my land's side every single time you could. And the wounds are still oozing. To forgive you would be divine. And I am only human.

Yet when you weep and cry foul, while you're all guilty as sin, I refuse to just shut my mouth up and listen.

You might eternally bicker over borders, you might kill each other over land and religion, or you might all perish in the deep sulk of a giant earthquake. Right now, I don't care. But I do have a piece of advice for you. Kill all you want, displace and destroy all you want, but remember, as I know you will, that history is its own copycat, and that what you did yesterday might come back tomorrow and haunt you for years to come.

What goes around comes around. That's how we like to put it. And that, my settler friends, is what I hope you are now less likely to forget.