Nightmare

Jerusalem. Sof sof, finally, I drifted off. Jetlag is ever so annoying, but it’s an inevitable part of travel, the price we all pay. I was enjoying my dream, having arrived back in our homeland a mere few hours earlier. In my fantasy, a lively children’s chorale was enthusiastically singing “David Melech Yisrael.” Suddenly I awoke, shaken. The words were wrong. They were singing “Donald Melech Yisrael.” My lungs froze in panic. I couldn’t breathe.

It was a nightmare.

My imagination did not need to run wild. So much was already happening in America that was unimaginable.

Had he now brought his yearning for kingship to Israel? Could it be? In my mind’s eye I saw him at the Kotel, the Western Wall, our holiest site. He declared the place was old, battered, and needed remodeling. Look at the weeds growing between the ancient rocks. Thousands of people visit every day, and the area is hopelessly out of date. The plaza needs to be rebuilt. Maybe a fabulous new ballroom with luxurious indoor space, lots of gold trim and statues of angels, crushed velvet seating and posh carpeting. And a cleanup of the offensive beggars who are mainly illegal Latin American immigrants anyway, selling drugs, killing and raping. For a billion of the newest shekels, all bearing his image, he promised, he could make this place a showpiece. Maybe even a golf course on the surrounding terrain. “I’m a builder, and only I can do this.” Just cast your gaze on the newly enhanced White House. Who needed that East Wing anyway. It’s a hangout for first ladies who actually spent time at the White House. Melania is not such a person.

His palace, he declared, would be up the hill at the fabulous golden Dome of the Rock. He would build a new structure while retaining the brilliant glistening world-famous dome as a symbol of his own magnificence. There he would be awarded his Nobel Peace Prize. And Time magazine would print a new cover picture of him, looking regal, young, virulent, and powerful. And certainly Mount Rushmore would find an amazing spot to etch him permanently into the statue. If one of the other presidents had to be removed, so be it. And Mount Masada would do the same, obviously.

None of his advisors would dare to challenge him, on the East Wing, or the Western Wall, or any of his other self-aggrandizing projects. The price for disagreement was enormous. Disgrace. Public humiliation. Loss of formidable jobs. No. They would sit at his cabinet meetings, supporting his enormous ego, fighting over which of them could sing his praises the loudest, the most enthusiastically, sitting at the site of the old Knesset building that was to be rebuilt as a glorious forum, surrounded by masked ICE officers, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to assist him as he claimed his rungs to unlimited power. Did you think his aspirations stopped with overtaking America? Silly you!

Did any of you ever consider that this man who would be king wanted to be magnanimous or generous or benevolent or honest or honorable or kind and caring? Silly you, yet again! You surely remember the despots of history. Never forget!

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of nine. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com