Nowadays, you’d need to become a freshly out of school rabbi to make Aliyah; and even then, in any day, your ass might be showing up on the blacklist.
So apparently holding hands lessen the pain; great, let’s all sign along “Kumbaya my Lord.”
Hypothetically, the Jewish nation could impose all its current Jewish people to go through one quick and unique conversion for some, and for others a second. And this one quick and unique assessment/regiment will suggest all the current Jewish people, naturally, to whether consciously or unconsciously to either consciously or unconsciously choose to take a sit or a walk; as a scaled worldwide sifter that would make Israel and its people pure—a world deprived of any goy to ever shit on your head, on your blood, on your star—once more. One world. One people. One race.
I’ve got the Jewish DNA ancestry proof, the Jewish medical research proof, the Jewish family name connection proof; And what do they want from me—a letter.
I’ve just found out on my birth certificate that my Jewish grandfather’s name is from a Sephardic Jewish surname of Hebrew origin which has its roots in the same place where now is Jerusalem.
I have been crying for the thoughts of my days sitting in a Jewish conversion class amongst the goyim; a grim and a disgrace. What has become of us.
So I have made contact with the government of Israel and my request has been accepted; Israel wants me—back.
In the goy’s worst case scenario, my Jewish blood is going to be converted into Judaism.
“We need Proof Of Judaism,” what about I take a bullet in my head instead.
So I have started the paperwork process for making Aliyah; the transitional ascension, to my homeland Israel. With the past challenges of paperwork needed for sex reassignment surgery under my belt—no pun intended, I digress—thereof, I just know that I can go through just anything. Literally. Anything.