Oh, yeah, this’ll work. Fatah terrorists are signing agreements that they will no longer murder Israelis. Even Zakaria Zubedei is putting his signature to these worthless pieces of trash.

Scores of wanted Fatah militants in the West Bank have turned in their weapons, under an arrangement in which Israel will grant them effective amnesty as a gesture to Palestinian Authority Chairman Mahmoud Abbas.

The Prime Minister’s Office, apologizing for an earlier denial, acknowleged Sunday that Zacharia Zbeidi, head of the Fatah Tanzim militia in the West Bank city of Jenin and one of the highest-profile Fatah commanders on Israeli wanted lists in the territories, is among the nearly 200 militants to whom Israel plans to offer amnesty.

Most of the fugitive militants have signed documents that announced their resignation from the paramilitary organization and a promise to refrain from terrorism. As of Saturday night, nearly 150 of the 178 militants had signed the document. Scores of them had turned in their weapons by Sunday.

Olmert apologized to the bastard? Olmert apologized to the Jew-killer? WTF is wrong with you, Israelis? Why can’t you bring his government down and put someone in who might actually call a terrorist a terrorist?

Olmert is also going to let the head of the DFLP into the West Bank. The DFLP is the organization that perpetrated the Ma’alot massacre, of which commenter Alex Bensky wrote:

I was living in Israel at the time and the kibbutz tv had tape of the massacre on the evening news. I watched the soldier gather outside the school, heard the command to charge, heard firing, and watched the soldiers sprint towards the school as more firing was heard.

Something seemed amiss–I don’t mean slaughtering children, I mean something about what was going on seemed odd. It wasn’t until they showed the tape again that I figured it out:

As the soldiers were dashing towards the school you heard intense firing, but none of it was from the assaulting troops and there was no sign of shots at the soliders…none falling, no little clods of dirt kicked up. I finally got it: The firing was coming from inside the school but the Palestinians weren’t firing at the troops. With Israeli soliders attacking them, rather than defending themselves they were spraying the schoolchildren. Killing Israeli soldiers wasn’t the point; it was killing children. Which they did, more than two dozen.

This is the man that the Olmert administration thinks has changed.

But Deputy Defense Minister Matan Vilnai said Saturday that “We need to view the request of the PA Chairman regarding Hawatmeh’s entry into the West Bank favorably, especially since it does not involve entry into Israel and it is for a limited period of time.”

“Even though Hawatmeh dealt with terrorism in the past, under the current circumstances he is proving to be a person capable of contributing toward leading the Palestinians toward a more rational condition,” Vilnai added.

I’ll tell you what I think: I think that Abbas has turned out to be as good a liar as Arafat. He is gathering terrorists to him just like Arafat, and isolating Hamas—until they are useful to him—just like Arafat.

Nothing has changed. Only the names of a few of the players. Olmert is proving to be as stupid as every other Prime Minister who thought the Palestinians were ready for peace. They’re gathering their forces, is all. Watch.

Summertime is kid time. They’re out of school, and they need to be watched or sent to camps or given some kind of activities so that they don’t pass the summer in the near-endless boredom that summers were for my generation. I’m betting that if my summers had been as structured as the summers of kids today, I would not have messed around with certain things that were better left un-messed around with, if you know what I’m saying. In fact, one of the last things I said to Sorena tonight, on the eve of her leaving for three weeks of music camp at Interlochen was, “Don’t do anything I would have done. Don’t break any rules.”

I can’t really believe I said that, but, well, I don’t want her to do the things that I did. Not that she will. She is a much more responsible child, what with her parents being a hell of a lot more aware of what she does, when she does it, and where she does it. Our childhoods are worlds apart in more ways than age.

But back to kids. It’s been Baseball City over at the G. place, since Nate’s team got into the playoffs, and then Nate got onto the All-Star team. And since I was watching the playoffs, I got hooked into watching the All-Star games on Thursday and Friday night, and again this afternoon. I missed most of today’s game, what with Gracie choosing this morning to throw up on my blanket. But I got there in time to be chosen as Nate’s designated ride home. Sarah had that honor the other night. Not because he loves his mother more than his father. Nope. It’s because his Gameboy was in her van. And Nate chose my car not out of any extra affection for Aunt Meryl, but because I took the top off the Jeep this morning, and riding in Aunt Meryl’s car would be cool. (Okay, maybe a little was the novelty of riding with Aunt Meryl.)

I’ve spent a lot more time with Sarah and the kids than I have in a while, and since I’ve been spending more time with them, it tends to engender setting up days in the future to spend even more time with them, and dammit if that doesn’t multiply into spending even more time. Ergo, the Aunt Meryl role. Today, I watched the end of Nate’s baseball game, drove Nate home, laughed my way through the lunch/snack hour (too complicated to explain, but boy, Max is a stubborn little guy), played Battleship with Jake until the new Pokemon movie that none of them had ever seen came on TV; torn, Jake ultimately gave up the Battleship game and chose to watch the movie.

My other plan for the day was to have dinner with Sorena. I won’t see her for at least three weeks, and possibly five weeks if I don’t catch her during the day between when she gets home from Interlochen and when she takes off with Heidi for a two-week family vacation. But dinner plans got changed due to Sorena wanting to have Mexican tonight. I can’t stand Mexican, and have given up even trying to find a dish that I can bear in a Mexican restaurant. So we decided I’d come over after we had all had dinner (separately). This was decided shortly before the Battleship game was canceled, so when the game was done, I took my leave, declining to watch the Pokemon movie with the family, and raising my eyebrows at Sarah’s knowledge of all things Pokemon. I am blissfully ignorant of all but Pikachu, because even though Nate and Jake and Max and even Rebecca have tried to educate me, I have perfected the art of smiling and nodding and coming out with some sort of comment as they flash the Pokemon cards at me and tell me their stories, all the while making sure that none of that information sticks in my brain. I haven’t got much HD space left in there, and they have yet to figure out how to expand our aging brainpower. It’s bad enough I still have the lyrics to songs like “The Night Chicago Died” in my head. No Pokemon, please.

Several hours later, I was at Heidi’s. She was out front, tooling around with her fish pond. Heidi and I chatted a while as the frogs stared at us. These frogs are, well, I imagine they’re an insecure person’s worst nightmare. They look just like a rock if they want to, and they want to most of the time. So you’re staring down at the pond and suddenly you realize that a rock is staring back at you. It’s a good thing I’m not insecure. I stare right back at them.

Sorena finished packing, and she and Heidi and I chatted a while. Sorena has to audition on Monday for placement in one of the two orchestras. This will be her first ever audition on her own. Heidi and I spent a fair amount of time trying to explain various relaxation techniques in the hopes that she can use them on Monday. I hope it helps. I know our girl; she’s going to be very, very nervous for that audition. She doesn’t need to be. She’s very good. Sorena is one of only three people her age in the Richmond Youth Symphony Orchestra, and one of the three is only in it because s/he is the only one who plays the viola. Which makes Sorena, technically, one of only two people her age to make it into RYSO.

It took a while to say goodbye. I didn’t want to leave, Sorena didn’t want me to leave, and, well, it’s a tough goodbye for her. Three weeks is a long, long time to a thirteen-year-old. She has a Visa check card in her wallet now as a parting gift from Aunt Meryl for some extra (and safer) spending money at camp.

You know, I have only one nephew related to me by blood, but I have lots of nieces and nephews. I really like that. I really like kids. It’s so easy to make children happy. And it’s so amazing to see them grow up. Max and Rebecca were babes in arms when I first met them; they’ll be six in October. That’s how old Jake was when we met that day. Now he’s eleven and teaching me new elephant jokes (and making up his own!) and is able to hold his end of a conversation when we go somewhere together.

And Sorena—well, watching her grow up is an education in and of itself. She’s thirteen now. I’ve known her since she was three, and I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing what she’s like when she’s twenty-three. The years between now and then are going to be fascinating. And filled with music.

She really is very good.