Freedom never comes - Part 11
Stepping out of the Museum, George Fähnrich mentioned with sadness and anger in his voice: "This last painting reminded me of the fact that in this world we have voices, I mean organizations, for anything possible; for the environment, sick people, homeless people, unemployed, hungry once, same-sex marriages and alike. But...," he lifted up his voice looking over from a higher standpoint down into the Art Village surrounded by trees that gave both the relief of the hot sun. "But for thousands of years since marriage came into our lives here on earth wives cheat on their husbands and deliver to them babies from their boy-friends causing endless pain for all directly or indirectly involved. These ladies walk away for free, unpunished by the society...maybe by God. For Germany, I have calculated that about one-third of the entire population is directly or indirectly effected by it. These ladies enjoy the legal and financial comfort of the marriage while testing out another relationship before eventually jumping into the uncertainty that has become clearer to them. On the expense of the husbands and later, when the child is born, the child itself and the entire family of the husband and the family of the boyfriend to be possible husband along the way. These ladies cause so much emotional pain and financial loss yet the society in Germany and around the world simply does not seem to care. No action by the societies is taken to stop these practices and bring an end to it. No voice is there to raise concern and ensure the laws in existence cementing unfairness and wrong behavior to be changed...so people know King Solomon is still alive."
"The problem to solve is very simple, basically!" stated Heinz Wohlfarth and looked his friend straight into the eyes. "Very simple!"
"DNA testing!" answered Heinz Wohlfarth for short.
"What do you mean by that?" wanted George Fähnrich to get more details for a better understanding.
"When by law and by force the child gets tested because of its DNA right after birth and before the authorities ask for the naming of the mother, father and the name of the child, the DNA test must be out...that would solve all the problems that would otherwise occur later. Simple!"
"But that would cost a lot of money!"
Heinz Wohlfarth responded with a smile of wisdom on his face: "It is not a matter of money as the cost later, emotional and financial cost, to the society is much greater once the real identity of the child is found out."
"You are confusing me!" was George Fähnrich saying standing right in front of his friend.
"It is not confusing...it is rather simple," insisted Heinz Wohlfarth on his view of the matter. "While other issues of mankind are recently, I mean came to the attention of many for a short while, this problem has been with us societies for endless generations now...and no voice...no voice anywhere to be heard. People suffer in their own corners...all around the world...and the societies are watching unconcerned with no interest to look into the issue and address it properly. Alone in Germany, the laws concerning these fake children hurt the husbands and the children, never the ladies that have set sail from a safe harbor to stormy seas using the husbands as a back-up. These laws do not bring justice and sanity but hurt men and families for generations to come. And...," he turned around and around as if he would play a game, a well-known German fairy tale of a tiny little man dancing around the fireplace, "what strikes me most is that Media Houses and Organizations fighting for women´s rights and equality have never addressed this matter...and possibly will never do so for obvious reasons."
"You mean...," looked George Fähnrich him straight into the eyes with a serious look.
"Yes, that is what I mean," turned Heinz Wohlfarth around knowing it was time for them to leave the Art Village behind and return back to Kibbutz Ginegar, "it is high time the voice will be heard with us and fight for King Solomon to be resurrected. The motives behind this issue that why nothing has been done by the societies but unlawful laws hurt Millions of affected people is so obvious...in fact is crying into the faces of people that know and understand...that the time has come we must raise up against it and ask King Solomon to return and sit on his powerful rightful throne once again!"
"Great...strong words, my friend!" applauded George Fähnrich while getting into a car to take them back to Kibbutz Ginegar.
The night had fallen, darkness all around. In the canteen, the volunteers wrapped up their work, put chairs on top of tables, a last look around the place before turning off the light to return back to their houses. A fresh cool bruise from over the cotton fields blew all through Kibbutz Ginegar. Chicken asleep, factory still running, cows relieved from the pressure in their udder, milk cooled in metal tanks ready for the morning to be picked up by a service company, full apple containers shipped and kiwis growing strong on their bushes. Upon the mountain top lights from Nazareth were to be seen, not many though, at least enough to know the old city where once Jesus Christ labored with his father Joseph tenderly observed by his mother Maria; and before their eyes Afula to their immediate left, the small town that never seems to close its eyes in all corners, buses coming, buses going.
"How was your day?" asked Heinz Wohlfarth sitting side by side to George Fähnrich as most nights. Stones were their places to sit, simple stones but most of all, they were their own very private once, naturally carved by nature. To sit on them in the nights gave them freshness from underneath, not cold, not warm stones, fresh stones.
George Fähnrich looked into the night sky and answered: "I guess it was okay!"
"You guess?" was Heinz Wohlfarth wondering. "I never guess.... I know!"
"Good for you," turned George Fähnrich his head to his left side and looked his friend straight into the eyes. "I sometimes have the impression the more I see, the more I hear, the more my mind tries to make sense of all that I see and see in others...that I know basically less and less."
"Do you cook?"
"Yes... mean and perfect and not often," excused Heinz Wohlfahrth himself with tension on his face trying to understand George Fähnrich and what he was up to.
"To make a soup taste great, you add salt, right?"
"Yes, I guess...sorry for that," laughed Heinz Wohlfarth and looked over the cotton fields that were no longer looking like white dots in the night as they got harvested the week before.
"When you want to best soup, you need the right balance of the ingredients, herbs and spices...right?"
"When you add too much of salt, the soup gets salty and therefore no longer fit for purpose to enjoy a good meal."
"I agree," responded Heinz Wohlfarth having an idea what his friend was possibly getting to.
"Everything must be mixed well, must be in balance but when only one part of the soup is too much than it should be taking the recipe over the top beyond its limit than the whole exercise goes waste and turns around into the negative," said George Fähnrich with confidence and wisdom in his eyes. "In life...in the real world, it is just the same. When at a certain point you want to overstretch the balance and know more of a certain point, it easily turns against you, you either get mad, depressed, fall into addiction or even take your own life."
Heinz Wohlfahrth challenged him by asking: "You mean...a certain amount of stupidity, of being simple-minded is not bad...but sometimes healthier than getting down to the bottom of the matter?"
George Fähnrich was laughing at him and said: "You mean being stupid is a blessing more than being intelligent?"
"That is not what I have said...please do not get me wrong!" clarified Heinz Wohlfarth his position.
"I guess...sorry, I know possibly, what you mean," laughed George Fähnrich looking over the cotton fields to the horizon in the darkness. "To answer your question, the cows today were a bit nervous, difficult to milk them. As they did not want to stand still, they in fact stepped several times nearly on my hands, I had to be vigilant always."
"Cows are so stupid...but milk and meat...that is what they are good for!"
"When you work with cows you see they are not stupid at all. They at least will understand, the milk us for us and they eat to die and give us a good steak," could George Fähnrich not resist to crack a joke and love his head off. After a few silent moments, he had a flashback: "When I was in Turkey near Izmir few months ago on my tour down here and possibly further around the globe I worked at a farm in a tiny little village. The people were still analphabetic, especially the women of the village were not exposed to the outside world not to mention abroad, I overheard one day from a middle-aged lady saying to her friend over the phone she would never forgive a friend that had called her husband. She had shouted that how on earth can a woman, a Muslim supposed to know the Quran and rules of a good Muslim, can call a married man just like that. I still hear her voice in my ears and was surprised back then."
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