
Executive director @StandWithUsPort ✍️ @TimesofIsrael @Substack
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November 9th. Schicksalstag — the Day of Fate. The day the Kaiser abdicated in 1918, the day Hitler attempted the Munich Putsch in 1923, the day the Nazis unleashed terror during Kristallnacht in 1938, and the day the Berlin Wall fell in 1989. A day to remember that democracy is not an acquired right, but a fragile thing that can be lost in an instant.
Yesterday in Philadelphia, just as in 1938, they tried to attack Jewish shops. The community responded en masse, filled the restaurants, and turned the 'boycott ride' into a wave of solidarity.
In Amsterdam, the fourth major 'Rode Lijn' gathered, according to the organisers (Amnesty, Oxfam Novib, Save the Children and the like), around 200,000 people. Many dressed in red, Palestinian flags, signs reading 'Stop the Genocide' and 'No money for genocide.' A group of masked activists displayed banners saying 'We Support Hamas'. Dutch broadcaster NOS recorded it. The distinction between 'supporting Palestine' and 'supporting Hamas' remains a red line that some prefer not to draw.
In Berlin, a man climbed the flagpole in front of the Reichstag, tore down the German flag — the symbol of post-Wall unity — and hoisted the Palestinian flag. In 1933, Hitler did something similar, he tore down the flag of Weimar democracy and replaced it with the swastika. History, as we can see, repeats itself exactly.
During Kristallnacht, between 9 and 10 November 1938, more than 1,400 synagogues were destroyed, around 7,500 Jewish shops were vandalised, and about 30,000 Jewish men were arrested and sent to concentration camps. It was the turning point at which antisemitism ceased to be merely law and rhetoric and became a state-coordinated pogrom.
Today, on the day that marks the 88th anniversary of the tragic night of Kristallnacht, more than a thousand synagogues and Jewish institutions around the world will keep their lights on throughout the night to commemorate the event. Light in dark times is a powerful symbol of memory and resilience, when democracy and peace — as November 9th itself teaches us — do not defend themselves.
#SpreadTheLight
The videos of the floods and snowstorms in Gaza are so bad that even the Palestinians are complaining — Westerners aren’t stupid, if they want them to keep sending money, they have to present better propaganda.
And I’ll add, the problem is when Westerners start having a weather app on their phones and confirm that it’s not possible for snow to fall in Gaza at 20 degrees and sun. Or when they find out that the water and drainage system left by the Israelis disappeared because Hamas decided to make rockets with the pipes.
Preparava-me para escrever algo semelhante quando percebi que alguém já o tinha feito. Está aqui tudo escrito, concordo com cada palavra.
Os abutres do dia seguinte
O Governo declarou a situação de alerta para o dia de hoje. Escolas fechadas, serviços públicos não essenciais encerrados, actividades ao ar livre suspensas, um apelo para que quem pudesse ficasse em casa. Um dia de excepção, decidido com base numa previsão.
Não é coisa que se faça habitualmente em Portugal. Nos Estados Unidos é rotina. Mandam-se evacuar condados inteiros antes de um furacão chegar à costa, sabendo que muitos mudam de rumo e chegam a terra como simples tempestades tropicais.
Decide-se para o pior cenário e o custo económico é aceite como prémio de seguro.
Entre nós, a memória devia estar fresca. Em Janeiro, a Kristin entrou por Leiria e, em pouco mais de duas horas, a região perdeu cerca de 30% da sua riqueza. As tempestades desse início de ano custaram pelo menos dezanove vidas.
E, no entanto, aí estão eles, previsíveis como a chuva. Uma sociedade habituada ao conforto da cidade e desabituada dos desconfortos que a natureza impõe tolera mal tudo o que lhe altere a rotina. Se a tempestade não for a anunciada, dirão que o Governo exagerou, que o país parou por nada. São exactamente os mesmos que estariam a pedir demissões se uma árvore tivesse caído sobre um autocarro escolar ou se Leiria se tivesse repetido.
Primeiro capitalizam o incómodo, depois capitalizam a tragédia. São os abutres do dia seguinte, e alimentam-se de qualquer desfecho.
A prevenção tem um paradoxo bem conhecido de quem trabalhou em informações: quando resulta, não se vê. A cheia que não matou ninguém porque as pessoas estavam em casa não é notícia. Mas uma decisão destas não se julga pelo resultado, julga-se pela informação disponível quando foi tomada. E os modelos divergiam. A previsão do tempo não é cálculo exacto, é probabilidade. Perante um fenómeno que não se controla, quem decide prepara-se para o pior.
Há três razões pelas quais estas decisões são bem-vindas, mesmo quando o pior não chega. Previne-se contra aquilo que não se domina. Faz-se um exercício nacional à escala real, obrigando Protecção Civil, bombeiros, autarquias e operadores a articular-se sob pressão verdadeira, porque estes mecanismos só se oleiam usando-os. E, no pior cenário, os efeitos de uma catástrofe ficam drasticamente reduzidos.
Há ainda as empresas. Depois da pandemia e dos incidentes de cibersegurança, nenhuma organização séria pode dispensar planos de contingência operacionais. Um dia de alerta não tem de ser, nem deve ser, um dia de paragem. É uma oportunidade rara de testar em condições reais os protocolos de continuidade de negócio, que são cada vez mais uma exigência certificável para quem gere infra-estruturas críticas ou é estratégico para o país. A empresa que hoje simplesmente fechou as portas não sofreu uma tempestade. Descobriu que não estava preparada.
Ao Governo deve reconhecer-se o cuidado com que preparou esta decisão e a coragem de a tomar sabendo que seria criticada fosse qual fosse o desfecho. A capitalização política tem limites. Quem critica do sofá, com a luz acesa e a casa seca, devia responder ao menos pela memória curta.
Prevenir pode parecer excesso. Não prevenir, quando corre mal, tem outro nome: negligência.
Preparada para o Charles — compras feitas, retirados todos os objectos, plantas e diversos tarecos do exterior, pontos críticos isolados, stock de café, livros e uma pilha de trabalho para despachar.
Vemo-nos do outro lado do apocalipse, amiguinhos 🌈
🇪🇸 While we were all distracted by the several elections, Spain formally declared a migratory emergency in the Canary Islands after roughly 7,500 people in 122 boats reached the archipelago in the first ten days of November, the great majority of them landing on El Hierro.
That island, home to approximately 12,000 residents and a hospital with around thirty beds, has in recent weeks absorbed arrivals equivalent to well over half its permanent population, local authorities had already described the situation as unsustainable before Madrid’s announcement.
The port of La Restinga, a fishing village of fewer than 700 people, has become the principal reception point for vessels carrying hundreds at a time, while the island’s modest infrastructure is asked to process, house and medically screen numbers that would test a mid-sized city.
The French outlet Frontières released footage of Red Cross volunteers enthusiastically welcoming illegal migrants who arrived by boat at the port of La Restinga, on El Hierro.
Another attack to ‘liberate’ Palestine — this time against Joe Biden in Dublin.
They chanted things like ‘Genocide Joe’, ‘blood on your hands’ and ‘shame on you’ and threw objects and milk.
What this action is going to liberate beyond the usual stupidity is anyone’s guess.
The Maldives doesn’t want Israeli tourists, their money or their investments.
Oh well… that’s a shame, but who cares about the Maldives?
Come to Portugal instead — enjoy our friendly people, weather, beaches and food. You might even find your long-lost cousin from the Inquisition era.
How to tell if your girlfriend is a spy.
Via @PixBuilds
Jensen Huang, the genius who went from a Denny’s in Kentucky to turning Nvidia into a multi-trillion-dollar colossus, ended up in the middle of a hurricane, sending a contrite email admitting he cheated on his wife with an executive allegedly tied to a Chinese intelligence operation over chips.
A beautiful American success story that wound up in a board investigation and national security concerns. After all, what’s the point of building the chip empire if, in the end, you fall for the most banal of espionage tricks?
And what if this is just the case that came to light? How many other top CEOs in global technology, those visionaries who control AI and the future of semiconductors, are living out their own discreet version of the same plot — between board meetings, leather jackets, and encounters that mix lust and espionage?
I have been following closely the events unfolding today in Philadelphia, it is deeply moving to witness such a powerful and unified response in support of Jewish spaces.
What we are seeing is not merely solidarity—it is the clearest answer to antisemitism. Thousands have gathered, not in silence or afterthought, but in immediate, visible defense of a community under threat.
This is how it must be done, every incident, large or small, met with a response that leaves no room for doubt or isolation.
In Philadelphia, a city that prided itself on welcoming everyone, a 'boycott ride' by bicycle was planned to target restaurants owned by Jewish proprietors around Rittenhouse. On the eve of the anniversary of Kristallnacht, the organizers singled out places such as Mac Mart, Huda, Goldie, Dizengoff, K’Far Café, and Schlesinger’s solely because their owners are Jewish or have ties to Israel, using language that called for these 'Zionist establishments' to leave the city and described the owners as “disgusting humans.”
Seeing officials—from Mayor Cherelle Parker to Governor Josh Shapiro—reject this boycott outright, stressing that freedom of speech does not include the right to make Jewish businesses feel unwanted, was important. But what mattered even more was what ordinary citizens of Philadelphia and other cities chose to do.
Instead of empty tables, the restaurants received an extraordinary wave of support. People lined up for the solidarity food crawl, ordered takeout, bought gift cards, and filled social media with messages of solidarity. The owners described the response as overwhelming—phone calls, emails, and in-person visits that drowned out the hostility. JewBelong posters scattered across the city put it plainly: 'Running over Jewish businesses isn’t a peace plan. Boycott the boycott ride'. Neighbors, business associations, and Jewish community organizations stood with the restaurants, making clear that the most powerful response is simply to show up, eat, and refuse to let these spaces become isolated.
Today, as the bicycle route and the response gatherings unfold, what one sees are full restaurants and a city that, for the most part, rejected the premise of the boycott. There were confrontations and the police were present, but the dominant story is the number of people who decided that businesses owned by Jewish proprietors belong in Philadelphia and that attacking them on the basis of identity has no place here. In a moment that could have been one of isolation, the response was the opposite, a visible, practical, and deeply personal demonstration that these restaurants and the communities that sustain them are not alone.













