Michael Babel

Farewell, Israel... or The Last Utopia


russian hebrew

Book 1: ATTEMPTED MURDER (beginning)

Appeal to the Police


On 3 July 2003 (perhaps one day before that) someone called "Gidon" gave me a call. He invited me to his office at the Givat Shaul industrial zone in Jerusalem, in the Sapir industrial buildings, building # 4.

Such an invitation is a usual thing. I am an engineer, have been a free-lance for 26 years, my personal data are in the telephone directory.

What is unusual, when I asked him for the office number he answered that it is situated on the middle floors. There are four floors in the Sapir buildings.

“Then what number is it?” I asked him. “Near the staircase well,” he answered.

This was a usual thing, when there are no numbers.

What was unusual was the uncertainty about the floor.

But "Gidon" gave me two telephone numbers: 02-6520464; 054-406459, that I was to call when I drove up.

It is usual for people to come to meet you, if it is difficult to find them.

The appointment was for 6 July, at

This was quite usual for all Jerusalem. It was not a late hour.

What was unusual was the lateness of the hour for an industrial zone. At this time the huge courtyard between the industrial buildings that is usually blocked with cars is empty, all the offices are closed, nobody is there, people work only until

On 6 July at I told "Gidon" on the phone 054-406459, that I would be 15 minutes late.

It is usual for people to expect punctuality.

The unusual thing was that he suggested to me not to hurry and to meet later – at

At I drove into the huge stone pit between the industrial buildings, only a very few motorcars were in it. Immediately behind the carriage-entrance I turned aside and stopped between two motorcars.

I went out quickly. There was silence like in a cemetery. I glanced over the houses that constituted the walls of the pit, all with open exposed comdors.

On the fourth floor of building # 4, I saw the only man in all this emptiness. The man looked towards me, he had something in his hands.

I wanted to wave to him, but he disappeared towards the staircase well.

I dialed the two phone numbers. One was switched off and the other did not work.

I sat down in my car and closed the door. I continued to phone.

Suddenly, there was an explosion in the air from a motorbike without any muffler. It raced from one end to the other of the vast courtyard at a terrific speed.

I commanded myself not to crane my neck and not to move. The long foreboding minute vanished with the disappearing motorbike.

Slowly I drove in low gear and drove away from the courtyard.

It was Empty roads leading from empty industrial zone. Traffic lights all green. I drove far away fast.

At the phone rang. “Michael, where are you?” asked "Gidon" astonished and scared. “In

Agrippas Street
,” I answered.

I drove to the Police Headquarters to make a complaint about the attempt on my life.

This is quite usual - a phone call after a meeting that did not take place. And if I am to blame for this, then the answer is unequivocal: Go to hell…

The unusual thing was that "Gidon" was silent.

“You have been lucky,” I said, making a blunder.

What is usual - people would have hung up the phone long ago.

The unusual thing is that "Gidon" did not hang up the phone.

“You have been lucky, lucky indeed,” I continued to blunder.

Then I hung up the phone...


It is not for the first time some people want to destroy me.

This time in the industrial zone, so as to say that the Arabs or the criminal world did it.

Last time, two years ago, another agent had invited me. His name was "Morris" (his phone number then was 050-520621) – he invited me to a deserted field way off the Gilo neighborhood (it is exposed to terrorist fire from Beit Jala).

It was he, the same agent "Morris", who emerged again some days before the agent "Gidon" and invited me again to some place. I did not listen to the end and answered that I did not work.

Well, then it was "Gidon" who gave me a phone call...

Are "Gidon" and "Morris" really not agents of the secret police?...

There were some other traps, too.

For instance, a beating up in the Rose Garden near the Knesset building with the only objective that I would hit back and would be sentenced to five years in jail. The photo cameras clicked unceasingly.

But the prison did not materialize – I did not strike back… and so was not sentenced to prison.

But are these bipeds with the photo cameras not secret police agents?...

From the Inquisition to the KGB there is the same story: “Give us the man – and there will be a case”... Or destroy him...

Even if some criminal is found, then all the same behind him is the secret police that is eavesdropping upon me 25 hours a day and has not prevented the attempt on my life.

The secret police of the State of Israel, i.e. the State itself, is interested in destroying me.

They are interested in destroying my thoughts and my books.

I am proud of this.

Three days after the attempt on my life I handed over to the printing house the manuscript of the trilogy: “My Israel”, “The Busybodies”, “Farewell, Israel… or the Last Utopia”.

The book was published on 29 July 2003. (At first in Russian, in Hebrew it will appear within two to three months, with the help of the Almighty.)

In this book I write that this State will not survive until the year 2018.

The secret police replies: “But we will destroy you today!”

The Russian KGB dared not to destroy me in 1972 because of “My Israel”.

The Israeli KGB dared to in 2003 for “Farewell, Israel…”

Kind people ask me: “Why do they persecute you?”

It seems they know that they can destroy me."