This is my last post. And no doubt my hardest. It was 1967. The Six Day War in the Middle East had begun. I was 11 years old. I was in North Africa. I was witness (albeit indirectly) to a horrific event that took place in Tripoli, Libya where I lived. This was never reported in the Western press for political reasons (Oil).

At least 18 innocent Jews were murdered by Mobs of Libyans. The vast majority were trapped in their businesses, one by one, as their stores were set on fire. They (the Jewish merchants) were blocked from escaping their businesses and they were deliberately burned alive. We knew some of them personally, and frequented their businesses.

The smoke from this atrocity rose up and settled back into neighborhoods, it smelled of death. Those of us who lived there, inhaled some of this ash. The pillars of smoke are reminiscent of the smoke coming from the stacks of the crematoria of Dachau, Germany, in 1945.

I am a Messianic Jew, and these were my people that were burned alive. As my family and I evacuated to escaped a similar fate, our witness to this event was reenforced as we drove by the burned out streets and businesses in Tripoli. This was real war. The city was in shambles and there were many dead.

I dedicate this post to my Jewish brothers and sisters who gave their lives in those days for no other reason than their faith. They rest in the arms of Hashem today. Amen.

As I have looked back on this time in my life, this particular trauma has provoked such grief in me, that I have not seen since my father died more than 30 years ago. The anger and grief in me has not subsided after all these years.
It is one reason why I have PTSD, CPTSD and IED.

"Tzarati lefanav agid, agid" - I will tell him of my troubles