In this world there are sayers and there are doers.
Plenty of us have lots to say in Israel’s defence. Blogging, writing letters to newspapers, complaining about the BBC, whatever it may be there are a good number who will offer their talents to support the Jewish state.
But how many are prepared to go that extra mile, to stand up rather than just speak up? How many are prepared to enter the bear pit, confront the haters and be counted?
The cynics will say it is Israeli ambassador Ron Prosor’s job to be one of those who stands up to be counted.
They are right of course, but I have observed Mr Prosor's modus operandi on a number of occasions now and it’s tricky to think of many who are as prepared to take on the task with such relish.
On trips to Northern Ireland and Wales and at conferences in London I have witnessed him face off against his opponents with a mix of (admittedly sarcastic) humour and steely determination.
Yesterday in Cardiff he was at his effervescent best, showing both sides of the job diplomats must perform.
First, at the Welsh National Assembly, he unveiled Philip Kaye as Israel’s first ever Honorary Consul in Britain. Many of the locals, a mixture of local politicians and civic dignitaries, seemed to not really know what to expect from a man most recently in the news for Israel’s role in the fake passport ‘scandal’.
But after a cheery introduction in which one of the politicians suggested the ambassador’s size (someone always makes a joke about his bulky frame) would have made him a perfect Wales rugby union player (it’s probably true actually, my guess would be to stick him in the scrum, probably as a prop), Mr Prosor took to the podium and put his hosts at ease.
Presumably most people who do not have regular contact with Israeli politicians expect some sort of ranting, frothing at the mouth, nutter. Instead they get a warm, almost amusing, jolly gentle giant.
Mr Prosor cracked gags about Mr Kaye’s fireworks company, paraphrased the Pesach ‘dayenu’ song to praise the new honorary consul, and congratulated the fantastic 12-year-old harpist who performed at the ceremony.
At the mini-reception afterwards he pressed the flesh and hugged the dignitaries. Everyone went home happy.
But then the other side of the job. From the reception straight to the hate-fest (pictured above, although this was the tip of the iceberg).
The welcome at Cardiff University’s Debating Society could not have been more different. Police everywhere. Security guards almost outnumbering the protesters brandishing pictures of dead Palestinian children. Doors to the lecture hall locked half an hour before the ambassador’s arrival. It was almost reminiscent of the way the BBC policed Nick Griffin’s Question Time appearance.
Mr Prosor was whisked in, flanked by his own security team of special branch men and Israel’s own muscle.
But he is not one to cower in the corner. Out he came, front of stage, chest out. He could have hidden behind the lecture hall’s desk, like a meek geography teacher in front of the blackboard, but no, the ambassador fronted up the haters with all the machismo of a prize-fighter eying up his next opponent. He placed himself a few steps in front of the front row and even urged the students to move closer, as if it were a cosy Blue Peter book club.
I wonder how many of us could do the same. To stand in front of a baying crowd and keep your cool, to lean back and let them take their pot-shots. It can’t be easy. Most of us would lose our rag, go nose-to-nose, start ranting and raving.
The questions flew at him from all angles. Settlements this, Cast Lead that. Blood on your hands, child-killer. You know the score. But Mr P didn’t flinch. Admittedly his security personnel were only yards away. Any enemy moving in to launch a physical attack would have barely been out of their seat before they were pounced upon.
There is something, though, that makes me wonder whether the ambassador wouldn’t actually quite like the opportunity to get down and dirty with some of these weedy student types.
In the past, following interruptions to his speeches, it has been known for there to be private mutterings of “I’d have broken his balls if he’d come near me” and other Tony Soprano-esque bravado.
Sure, the ambassador’s physical presence must help. His amiable deputy, Talya Lador-Fresher, at barely 5ft, would presumably struggle to match his gutsy approach (as indeed would I and plenty of other vertically-challenged Jews I can think of).
His dodgy jokes don’t necessarily help. Suggesting that Hamas could use the tunnels under the Gaza-Egypt border to smuggle strawberries instead of guns didn't exactly go down well. It only served to enflame the anger of the students in Cardiff.
The role of ambassador is a difficult one for most countries’ representatives abroad, I’m sure. But for Israel the job takes on a whole different perspective. Balancing opposing hatred with family-friendly baby-kissing social events, it is a job for a man or woman with a big heart and, it has to be said, big ‘cojones’ too.
Ron Prosor deserves a hearty slap on the back from all supporters of Israel.
