Robert Spencer, author of "Antisemitism: History and Myth," joins me for a powerful discussion about the forces contributing to the rise of antisemitism across the western world.

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Combating The Myths About The Jewish People | Robert Spencer

Lyrics
"Geen Sympathie, Maar Plicht"

[Couplet 1]
Ze zeggen: "Het is complex", maar ik zie dode kinderen
Camera’s draaien, maar niemand wil zich binden
Geen tijd meer voor symptomen of vage gesprekken
De bom valt op Damascus — wie gaat dat nog checken?
Colombia, Zuid-Afrika — roep om recht
Terwijl het westen enkel hypocriete wetten hecht
Geen liefdadigheid, nee, dit is plicht
Stop je deals met Israël, zolang er vuurlicht ligt

[Couplet 2]
Universiteiten met hun bloederige banden
Pensioenfondsen vol oorlogshandel
Het gaat niet om medelijden, maar om wet
Internationaal recht dat je nu moet zetten
Waarom zwijgt Europa als Gaza brandt?
Waarom keert de wereld zich van Palestijnse stand?
Wapens uit Amerika, stilzwijgen uit Den Haag
Maar de schande van genocide zit diep in de maag

[Couplet 3]
En ik hoor de woorden: "verdediging, proportionaliteit"
Terwijl een toren van kinderen instort in realiteit
De NAVO kijkt weg, de VN verlamd
Maar collectieve actie is wat dit vuur dempt
Snijd de lijnen door — politiek en handel
Van hightech drones tot elke euro op je bankstel
Geen import, geen export, geen excuses meer
Laat de menselijkheid spreken, keer op keer

[Couplet 4]
De Palestijnse minister zegt: "Genoeg is genoeg"
“Dit lijden is geen uitzondering, dit is de vloek
Van normalisatie met het beulensysteem"
En onze leiders buigen — zwijgen als ze het zien
Dit is niet links of rechts, dit is leven of dood
Elke dag dat jij zwijgt, is weer een kind dat doodt
Wees geen pion in dit koloniaal spel
Sluit je aan bij de mens, breek die hel

[Couplet 5]
Boycot van Shell tot McKinsey’s deal
Van universiteiten tot KLM-vliegtuigwiel
Als Gaza brandt, dan brandt ons geweten
En je kunt niet neutraal zijn bij genocide-beteken
Ze bombarderen ziekenhuizen met VS-wet
Maar wie spreekt van terrorisme als een staat het zet?
Vrede is geen slogan, het is actie in de straat
Het is de keuze: jij of de apartheid die bestaat

[Couplet 6]
Ik zeg: “Schrap die banden, verbreek het systeem”
"Want solidariteit zonder risico is alleen maar schijn"
Laat de banken bloeden voor wat ze financieren
Laat de machtigen vallen door ons te negeren
We zijn voorbij tijd van stil protest
Verantwoordelijkheid rust op elk mensenrecht
Geen sympathie, geen traan van spijt
Maar plicht — voor elke ziel in de strijd


Plicht Mandate

Mandate Plicht

It amazes me how easily us humans make covenants and agreements with God when trouble strikes, then too often, when the emergency has passed, we treat lightly the commitment we’ve made. The question is: how important are those covenant commitments we make to God? Today’s lesson will uncover just how important they are.

Hosted by: Pr Mike Browning
Guests: Kaysie Vokurka & Joshua Wood

Download the study notes at this link: https://www.3abnaustralia.org.au/resources/downloads/lgs-notes/


Check out our other video & audio podcasts for more inspiration!
https://www.youtube.com/@3abnaustraliaradio885/podcasts


The Enemy Within  - 250406

[Intro]
The King of King his power is real
It'll send Achilles chills
That power that power I rise
it all in my eyes
The Lord is my strength and im bold as a lion
my soul is on fire
That power that power
its all in my body | unstoppable
Im godly turn battle scars to astounding stars.
Rising in the light, I'm shining afar
this power keeps pumping within
and it force repels all demon all again
power is pumpin' and pumpin'  in my soul
the end is better than we begined
lord knows that power that power gon1 give us a win
[Chorus]
(Hey Hey) Im in the spirit im invincible got that power with God
Im shoding my feet wit the gospel of peace 
ceasing the evil God never gave of the spirit of fear
but he gave us the spirit of power 2x
[Verse 1 (Dr. Wisdom)]
Helmet on, shield ready, feet shod im walking steady,
I got my cross even though its heavy i feel the spirit its
heavy on me, with a jaw bone that's a thousand,
king david that 10 k
pray pray every day we aint fading away we here to stay
(adlib)
power power power we got that power power power we got that power power power

No Fear Feat. Legend, Zabalowon, Dr. Wisdom | Single Song Album

1939
“My father was a farmer and we had cows. He sold the milk. My mother was from the city, from Jaffa, so she never milked the cows—neither did I. My father died when I was three years old. At that time my mother had just given birth to my little brother, Khalil.
When I was a girl, Mahmud, my older brother, did not allow me to go very far from our house. He was a difficult person. The only time I was allowed to leave the house was when I accompanied my mother to visit her brother.
In the village there was a school for boys. Teaching took place in a tent. One of my brothers suggested that I should also attend school, but I refused to go to a boys’ school. Besides, I had become the tallest in the class, and I did not want that. Most of the time I stayed at home, helped my mother, cooked, and washed dishes.”
1948
“We heard gunfire between Jews and Palestinians in Sarona, a nearby village. I later heard that the Jews took some young men and shot them out in the fields.
Our mukhtar explained that we had to leave Salama, but that we would be able to return after a week or so. Mother decided that we should leave. It was me, my sister—who was pregnant—and my two brothers. We walked on foot through several villages: Sakija, Kafr Ana, Cheirija, Bayt Dajan, Kibja, and Shabtin.
We were hungry. We had only a small piece of bread to eat each day. We took water from wells. The water was full of red insects, which my mother strained out between her fingers.
We walked for maybe a month—I don’t know. In the end we reached Ramallah. From there we were transported by trucks to Nablus, where we stayed for two months. We slept under the open sky; we had no tent, nothing. Sometimes it rained.
Then we were taken to a guesthouse in Askar. They arranged a tent for us in the Askar refugee camp. Later they built a room for us. It was so cramped that my mother slept leaning against the front door.
My sister and her husband took over the tent. There she gave birth to a son. He died shortly afterward.”
1954
“When I was 18, I married a man who was 43. He asked my mother and my brother for permission to marry me. We had never met before we got married. It wasn’t like today (laughs).”
1977
“During Ramadan, my son Jihad had the task of walking around the Askar refugee camp to wake people up well before dawn. The Israeli army had been searching for someone in the camp but had not found him. Instead, they spotted Jihad. First they shot him in the leg. Then they killed him. According to the hospital report, he was shot 82 times. When I heard the first shots, I began to scream. He was 23 years old.
I visited his grave every day for two months. One night I was sitting on the edge of my bed when Jihad suddenly appeared. I saw him coming toward me together with another man. We embraced and kissed.
I said, ‘My son, my love, my son, my love.’ He said nothing. Then he disappeared again.
He appeared once more. That time he was riding a white horse in the fields of paradise. After I told others about his second appearance, he stopped appearing to me.”
Reflection
– Who bears responsibility for your situation?
“I don’t know.”

Nakba #53 - Subhia Salman al-Natur

1946
“I used to help my father out in the fields. We grew tomatoes, cucumbers, and
watermelons. We took the vegetables on our donkeys to the markets in Yafa
and Mulabbis. When I had time off, I played football with my friends. I did not
have a real football, so I made one out of cloth and string. My mother helped
me.”
1948
“We loaded furniture and mattresses onto a donkey and walked the whole way.
My father had to carry my grandfather on his back; he was one hundred years
old. We left the village in the afternoon and walked for two days, without food
or water. Along the way we picked oranges and apples. The first night we rested
for only a couple of hours. We reached al-Tira the following night. We had barely
settled in when the Israeli military attacked from three directions. We fled, but
my father decided to try to return to al-Tira to fetch wheat and food for us.
Meanwhile we reached a village between Taiba and Tulkarm. There were caves
there where we spent the night. My father returned with wheat flour. There was
plenty of water, and my mother baked bread over an open fire. We stayed in the
caves for three weeks before continuing to Qalqilya, in al-Diffa al-Gharbia.
Eventually our relatives found us. They came with donkeys and took us to their
village, Mas-ha. My father began looking for work.”
1967
“I was still serving in the Jordanian army. We had weapons, but I never saw any
Israeli soldiers. They attacked us only from the air, with planes, constantly.
Many soldiers in the Jordanian army were killed. I was lucky to survive. We
retreated to Mount Nebo Mousa, where we were trapped without food or water.
We were terribly thirsty. I set off on my own down the mountain to my family in
the Akbat Jaber refugee camp.
When I arrived at the camp it was almost empty; the houses were abandoned,
the doors left open. After Israel’s occupation, most of the camp’s 30,000
inhabitants had fled to al-Urdunn (Jordan). Only 5,000 people remained in the
camp, including my family. They could not afford to flee. I had brought my radio
equipment with me and heard that the military leadership ordered all Palestinians
to cross east of the Jordan River, to al-Urdunn. But I refused. My family was in
the camp, and I decided to stay in al-Diffa al-Gharbia.”
2002
“During a clash with the Israeli military here in the Balata refugee camp, my son
Khalil was killed. Another of my sons, Jihad, attempted to carry out a suicide
bombing together with a companion. They were supposed to pass the border
crossing in Qalqilya, but the Israeli army knew of their plans and was waiting for
them. Jihad and his companion blew themselves up.
I am still waiting to get his body back. It remains in Israel. I have Jihad’s portrait
here on the wall, together with his two other brothers. I have paid a high price;
in total I have lost three sons. But I am not upset or angry. There are martyrs in
the Qur’an, the Torah, and the Bible. God chose my sons to be martyrs. For that
I am grateful, not angry.”
Interpreter: ‘Abd Yusuf.

Nakba #55 - Muhammad Mahmud Harb

“My father worked as a governor for the British government, and the rest of the family followed him. He was later transferred to Safad. There we had good relations with our Jewish neighbors. That was normal. Women exchanged baked goods with one another during different holidays and celebrations.
In 1946 it finally became clear to him what the British were doing—that they were
preparing the way for the Jews to take over. His job became impossible, and he
decided to resign. He went to the King David Hotel to submit his letter of resignation.
As he stepped over the threshold of the hotel, he looked at his watch and realized
he was early. He decided to visit a friend in Mamilla in the meantime.
Shortly after he left the hotel, it was blown to pieces. The man my father was going
to visit was not as lucky. He had gone to the hotel and was killed by the bomb. This
was in 1946. Irgun was responsible for the attack, but the various Zionist
organizations constantly blamed one another. This was only the beginning.
Then came the bombing of the Semiramis Hotel and the massacre in Dayr Yasin.
That was when people began to feel real fear.
After my father resigned, he began teaching physics. We remained in al-Quds. I was
a happy teenager. I went to parties, and my aunts and cousins lived there. It was a
wonderful time. We used to go to the YMCA, where we were members. They had
leadership courses, tennis courts, a gym, and a swimming pool. It was a fantastic
place.
In 1948, the family moved to Birzeit, where my father taught and where I attended a boarding school—it felt like my second home.
Suddenly, rumors spread that something was wrong. People began pouring in from
al-Ramla and Lydda. They were fleeing and had been walking for two or three days.
I will never forget that sight. Everything was so sad; people were utterly exhausted.
Someone told us they had lost a son. One man was confused and rambling; he did
not understand what was happening. I especially remember a woman who had lost
all her belongings. Despite that, she was grateful to have survived. She said:
“Furniture can be replaced, but not people.”
My aunt told my cousins and me to cook food for the refugees. We boiled eggs and
potatoes, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers—everything we could get hold of. My
aunt also helped prepare a school building where some of the refugees could find
shelter.
My aunts and cousins had come to Birzeit to escape the unrest in al-Quds. Everyone believed this would be over in a few weeks, and that we would be able to return. But in October, we began to understand that this was no picnic.
After the war in 1967, East al-Quds was annexed by Jordan. It then
became possible again for my mother and me to visit our house. The house had
become a daycare center, so it was easy to enter. My mother began explaining to a
woman sitting in the office that it had once been her bedroom. It was painful to see
our house again. I had hoped, for as long as possible, that we would be allowed to
return. We never went back again.
The Nakba is still ongoing; the displacement is still ongoing. Everything here is so hard to predict under the Israeli occupation. When you get up in the morning and put your right foot down, you do not know whether your left foot will follow.
In 1993, during the first intifada, my son produced a song and made cassette copies
of it. He was arrested by the police and taken for interrogation at Moscobiyeh in al-Quds.
He was accused of spreading music that glorified the intifada. He was imprisoned for six months. First he was held in Ayalon prison in al-Ramla. He went through hell there. We were allowed to visit him, but I was not allowed to touch him. He sat behind a net. Later he was transferred to Prison Six, outside Atlit. The time in prison made my son more enthusiastic and determined than before. He continues to make music.

Nakba #56 - Samia Nasir Khury

Psalm 47 infused with the rhythm and spirit of Panamanian Congo culture, created to dance, to celebrate, and to affirm a shared truth: at some point, we have all lived in diaspora. Yet in God, we find a place to return, a ground where roots can be planted again.
My Panama, I love you.

תהילים מז PSALM 47

George Baramki Khury (GBK):
“My sister Laura and I lived in al-Quds, near the Mandelbaum Gate. We had two houses,
one on each side of St. George Street. I attended St. George’s School. It was a boys’
school, with both Jews and Arabs.”
Laura Khury (LK):
“Our father rented out the upper floor of our house to some Jews. He heard strange
noises—something was going on up there. It turned out they were printing counterfeit
banknotes! They were later arrested by the British.”
GBK:
“The neighborhood was mixed, and shooting between Jews and Arabs on the streets
became more and more frequent. In 1947 the situation worsened, and we were forced
to leave our house. It was no longer safe to stay. My mother had a cousin in Talbiya,
in al-Quds, a very beautiful and quiet Arab area. We moved there without bringing
any of our furniture.”
LK:
“Talbiya was a very elegant neighborhood—like Fifth Avenue in New York. One day
there was a terrible storm; it was pouring rain and hailing. We heard an awful noise
that we thought came from the storm. But it turned out to be a bomb attack on the
Semiramis Hotel in Qatamon. Entire families were killed.”
GBK:
“After we had stayed with our cousin for three or four months, a Jewish soldier was
killed in the area. Just a couple of hours later, an armored vehicle arrived with a
loudspeaker on its roof, announcing:
‘Residents of Talbiya! You must leave your homes immediately!’”
LK:
“The vehicle was a monster, with its headlights taped so that only a narrow beam of
light showed.”
GBK:
“We were alone in the house. We were terrified. When our parents came home, we
told them what had happened.”
LK:
“We couldn’t stay. It was already dark, it was raining, the weather was awful. We left
as quickly as we could. The streets were in chaos.”
GBK:
“We fled to Baqa‘a, in southern al-Quds, to our uncle’s house. Only Arabs lived there.
That was the second time we were forced to flee.”
LK:
“One evening, as I was on my way home, something brushed past my head. At first I
thought it was a bird—but it was a bullet. If I had been wearing shoes with higher
heels, I would have been killed. The shooting continued when I got home; bullets
ricocheted into our house.”
GBK:
“At the end of April 1948, after only a few weeks at our uncle’s place, we fled to
Birzeit. That was the third move. We rented a small house there, where we lived with
our grandmother and our parents. Our mother contacted our neighbor in al-Quds,
who was a British policeman. Our house was still untouched. He arranged the
necessary permits to move our furniture from Mandelbaum to Birzeit. A few weeks
later, the British Mandate ended.”
“After the war of 1948, the border was drawn straight between our two houses at the
Mandelbaum Gate. The houses stood on opposite sides of the street, and barbed wire
was stretched between them. One house ended up in Israel, the other in al-Diffa
al-Gharbia, which had been annexed by al-Urdunn (Jordan). Our house on the Israeli
side became an army post. All the windows were boarded up, and through the gaps
they fired at the other side.”
“After a few months in Birzeit, our grandmother wanted to visit two of our aunts in
Ghazza. Our father rented a car and we went along. We traveled via al-Khalil and Bir
al-Sab‘a. It was a long journey, since the shortest route along the coast was now in
Jewish hands.”
LK:
“I didn’t want to go to Ghazza. I cried to avoid it, but it didn’t help. I have never liked
Ghazza.”
GBK:
“We stayed with my aunts for a couple of weeks. Then the Israelis took over
al-Majdal, which had previously been occupied by the Egyptian army. We became
trapped in Ghazza and could not return to al-Quds. That was the fourth displacement.
We were lucky to be able to rent a new house in Rimal, a sandy area near the forest.
We shared the house with an Armenian family. We had only one suitcase with us—no
furniture, nothing. We used wooden crates and built tables, beds, and wardrobes.”

Nakba #58 - George Baramki Khury och Laura Khury

Please stay in tuned for my new album: "We are the children of the light"
I come here to spit the truth. Psalms 96:1 O sing unto the Lord a new song: sing unto the Lord, all the earth.

I am going to try my best to send out a song every 1-2 weeks. In the meanwhile enjoy.

For a wealth of life changing information visit:  3abnaustralia.org.au/radio/listen 

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One podcast - four themes: survivors of the Holocaust, the Palestinian Nakba, the second generation and Jewish Högalid. The podcast’s various projects have been funded by, among others Statens Kulturråd, Palmefonden, Victoria AB, Kungl. Patriotiska Sällskapet, Helge Ax:son Johnson Stiftelse, Annika och Gabriel Urwitz ´´Stiftelse, Samfundet S:t Erik, Lind & Co, Ordfront and private donors.

End of Western Civilization got you down? All is tickety-boo on The Andrew Klavan Show as Andrew laughs his way though Armageddon with political satire, cultural commentary, interviews and relentless mockery of racial pieties, sexual perversities, and feminist absurdities. Monday thru Thursday.

LIVE ' s ' s WAYA Session ! @freek-banning-freestyle https://www.youtube.com/live/T0cPetGv37M?si=0FLIFH3qrhLpKkRN via @YouTube 
Freek — muzikaal rebel. Jazzy boom-bap, anti-oorlog & absurdistisch. Tech-nerd, Linux-veteraan, producer, dichter in gevecht met de tijd. Welkom bij Radio Kraak. LIVE Podcast @freek-banning-freestyle Dec.8th 2025 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPSkd-7frwg. Een zender die niet bestaat, behalve in de echo van wat we ooit voelden.
De lijnen trillen, de tijd kraakt — tussen Prince en Brel, tussen glitch en gebed.
Ik ben Freek, en dit is geen uitzending, maar een herinnering die zichzelf afspeelt.
[Gelach] 'Vivid Rush' ja ik Freek Banning en beet ai natuurlijk! Welkom bij  Virtual Jam Sessions 'Radio Kraak' !
Doel? 'Ons kikker landje een beetje fris en wakker houden met als middel? ' Lol ' in het kader van dat we afsprken dat we 'Kritisch' mogen zijn maar op een vriendelijk menswaardige, beschaafde manier ! Afgesproken! Enjoy !  @freek-banning-freestyle

Soy un artista escritor panameño, que buscaba a través de su conexión con dios poder llevar un mensaje inclusivo y poderoso para unirnos como hermanos.

New tracks tagged #Israel,