HATE: The Reason I Quit Spamfighting

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Friday, July 21, 1990 16:30 PM Israel Standard Time (IST, (UTC+02:00).
I found myself in a dingy hotel, lousy aircon, but a great view. A great view of the beach across the street. What caught my eye was this weird thing happening… people were setting up row upon row of chairs — all facing the water. I couldn’t figure out to what end.

A few hours later, they filled with people from all walks of life, coming, after shabbos dinner, to watch the sunset, the beautiful Israel-only sunset. Music began to play at the nearby Apacha club at the foot of Allenby Street, and the youngest of the sun worshippers wandered off to dance, and party into the night. It was idyllic, and nice.

The day after, I left, returning to my home in Montréal, Canada.
The next week, on Friday night, July 28, 1990, at 21:00 IST, 17 lay dead on the sand, 74 injured, and 11 of those critically so. All of the dead were 18–20 years old.

Someone had placed a home-made pipebomb near a lifeguard tower, and blew up children. Kids. Teens.

Afterwards, Israelis attacked Arabs on the beach, beat Arab workers in beachfront hotels, and stoned cars owned by Arabs. Seven Arabs were injured, seven Israelis were arrested.

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