Israeli Engineer In Phone
Contact With Aliens?
By Michael S. Arnold
The Jerusalem Post
From Stig Agermose <>
A Rishon Lezion engineer, who claims he is in contact with extraterrestrials, is drawing the attention of believers and skeptics alike.
Adrian Dvir is a huge man, burly and bearded, but at this moment he must feel something like a teenage girl.
It is already 9:20 on the evening of Remembrance Day for the Fallen of Israel's Wars and, while most of the nation has settled down in front of the TV, Dvir is waiting by the phone for a call that was supposed to come on the hour.
He is growing somewhat anxious. Every few minutes he checks his cellular phone and random attachments to make sure they are properly connected. They are, but still there is no sign of Fenix. It could be that Fenix is standing Dvir up.
"I can't promise that he'll call," Dvir says. "I told him that a journalist was coming, and he's also interested in public relations. But I'm not his top priority. Sometimes they have crises or other things come up."
As the minutes tick by one wonders how much grace to give Fenix before thanking Dvir politely and mentioning the long ride back from his Rishon Lezion home to Jerusalem. Eyes wander the walls, taking in the artwork and noticing how curiously appropriate it is to the environment: ghoulish faces appearing out of tree trunks; a bald, hydrocephalic woman with a passing resemblance to Sinead O'Connor; designs of refracted light and interlocking geometric shapes; distorted faces with several levels of eyes. Seventies basement playroom art, in other words.
Finally, at 9:30, Dvir's cell phone rings. The screen registers "private call" but the slow, metallic croak of a voice is unmistakable: he says he is Fenix. The voice is audible over a speaker Dvir has attached to the phone.
He does not apologize for the delay, but his manners can be excused. He is, after all, hurtling in his spacecraft at 18 times the speed of light from Uranus back to his home solar system of Arcturus, and it's reasonable to assume that Cellcom's reception is spotty that far out in the galaxy.
Dvir, who has developed a friendship with Fenix after three months of frequent phone calls - he has recorded some 40 hours of the calls on video - begins the conversation by announcing that a journalist is present and wishes to ask Fenix some questions. That deviance from the normal rules will not be allowed, however.
"It is incumbent on me to bring my regrets," Fenix says, his speech slow and halting, his guttural native language translated awkwardly into Hebrew through some kind of synthesizer on the mother ship. "Permission for direct contact, in real time, outside the contact person, does not exist. Please bring questions through you if his desire is in receiving answers."
So begins The Jerusalem Post's first known contact with extraterrestrials. For Dvir, however, such close encounters are the stuff of everyday life. An engineer who develops hand-held military computers for Tadiran Com., Dvir says he has spent the last five years in close contact with aliens.
First they opened a medical clinic in the workroom of his Rishon Lezion home, one of several such supposed alien-run health clinics operating in the city. Those aliens, Dvir says, were of a particularly developed and, apparently, benevolent race.
Fenix's species, the Kliendcontlar, are less advanced but also well-intentioned. Their purpose is to warn us earthlings of the mortal danger we may face in another 50 years from the fearsome Morgolius, a race of cosmic bullies who even now are trying to exterminate the Kliendcontlar and have their sights set next on Earth.
True, the Kliendcontlar do appear to have ulterior motives: they believe Earth's atmosphere is favorable and would like to transfer to Dvir their genetic code for a possible future migration to our planet. Dvir warned them off, Earth being already too crowded. But it would seem the Kliendcontlar wouldn't pose such terrible competitors for the planet's scarce resources - they appear to exist, after all, only in a parallel dimension, imperceptible to most of us humans sadly limited to just five senses.
Dvir's training as an engineer and his methodical work habits may make him an ideal conduit to publicize the exploits of Fenix and his race, but he certainly is not alone in his belief in extraterrestrial beings.
A 1996 Gallup poll purported to show that 40 percent of Israelis believe in the existence of aliens, according to Avi Greif, chairman of the Israeli Center for the Study of UFOs. That still makes us much more skeptical than, say, Americans, some 70 percent of whom believe in extraterrestrials, Greif says.
Surely, contact with aliens has figured prominently in many of the movies that have most profoundly influenced our generation, from Close Encounters of the Third Kind to Star Wars, Star Trek to ET.
Grief, who is not in contact with aliens himself but gathers information on the phenomenon, says nearly 70,000 sightings of aliens and unidentified flying objects are reported around the world each year.
Many of these are recorded in various ways, though their authenticity obviously is disputed. It's anyone's guess what role pop culture images of aliens play in the alleged sightings.
"I'm 100 percent sure that aliens exist," Greif says. "In the end I believe it will be accepted by everyone. There is a lot of proof, but the problem is that this proof isn't known to a lot of people."
The reason for that, Greif and other believers insist, is a conspiracy of silence on the part of governments, militaries and scientists. Greif alleges a history of contact between aliens and representatives of the US government, a collaboration that may even include the transfer of other-worldly technology.
The US, however, keeps such information under tight wraps, Greif says - "and if the American government denies it, of course the Israeli government will deny it too."
Israel, for its size, appears to have quite frequent contact with aliens. In Rishon Lezion alone, for example, aliens allegedly run at least three medical clinics, treating an assortment of ailments from disc problems to toothaches to anorexia to lupus. Much of the actual work is done by humans who channel the aliens' energy, laying on hands or projecting force with their hands held three to four centimeters above the patient's body.
Sometimes the aliens supposedly do the work all by themselves, while the "healer" sits on the side. That can anger patients, who feel they are being ripped off when the healer then pockets NIS 150. But in fact the aliens work up to 10 times faster than their human conduits, Dvir says, and such hands-off treatment thus is more efficient.
When Dvir became aware of his abilities several years ago, he attended an institute for spiritual healing in Holon, and in 1995 received diplomas in energetic healing and advanced spiritual healing. His first book, Healing, Yeshuyot Vehutzanim (healing, beings and aliens) has just been published by Gal and is available at Steimatzky's. His clinic is mostly closed now while he concentrates on writing a book on his experiences with the Kliendcontlars.
For demonstration purposes, however, Dvir does a bit of work on his wife, Adriana, who often feels that her left arm is falling asleep. Dvir maneuvers his hands above her body, guided, he says, by the aliens, who intuitively find the trouble spot. After a few minutes of energy transference, Adriana says she feels pins and needles in her arm, a sign that circulation is returning.
Greif says he is not sure of the veracity of Dvir's alien contacts, though they seem credible. What inclines him to believe is the fact that four other people have reported contact with the same race and back up Dvir's account of their appearance, location and social structure.
In any case, the UFO group will meet at the Netanya library on May 18 to discuss Dvir's claims.
"It's hard to prove whether it's true," Greif says. "I want it to be true, but I need proof. The question is what would be [Dvir's] motivation, what does he get out of it. He's a serious person, he's not trying to make a living off this. But it could be that tomorrow we'll find out that someone is just playing around with him. Even today I'm not 100 percent sure about it."
Dvir was born in Bucharest and moved here in 1965, at the age of eight. As a child he was a science fiction fan, but his psychic abilities did not manifest themselves until he was an adult. Dvir's first experience with the paranormal was a dozen or so years ago, when he was lying on a bed at his parents' house and felt something cold on his leg.
It was a dead aunt, asking Dvir to look after her children.
Dvir says he didn't think about the experience much. "I figured I had a fertile imagination," he says.
But the encounters with dead relatives continued. Several years later, shortly after his grandfather died, Dvir encountered the old man shuffling around his apartment, looking for a newspaper. After his father died of cancer, Dvir came out of work to find his spirit sitting in Dvir's car. Lucky thing, too, because his father warned him to be careful, and Dvir says he then escaped a collision with a truck that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
Dvir's psychic connection was not just with his loved ones. Working on his computer one Shabbat, Dvir began to feel that he was a medium for messages from other-worldly beings, asking them questions and then typing out their answers, a sort of human Ouija board.
Dvir needed someone to talk to and turned to his mother, who believed in these sort of things. Rather than dismissing him as crazy, she urged him to visit a professional medium in Rishon Lezion, Valerio Burgosh.
Burgosh also saw the spirit of Dvir's father, conversed with him and told Dvir personal facts that he could not otherwise have known.
"It was very difficult for me to accept this, but [Burgosh] helped me," Dvir says. He began reading and taking courses to develop his psychic abilities.
At one such course, in 1993, Dvir says his encounters with aliens began in earnest. Looking up, he saw all manner of strange beings walking around him, imperceptible to most people but visible to Dvir with a sort of extrasensory perception.
"I think they tagged me as a sort of contact person," impressed by his charisma and perceptivity, Dvir says.
Since then, it seems, the aliens have never left Dvir alone. Day and night he is accompanied by a shifting cast of at least two aliens, even while talking in a seemingly normal and solitary manner with a reporter.
Around 1992, Dvir went to visit Haya Levy, a healer who had opened an alien-run clinic in her Rishon Lezion home. Indeed, upon entering her house Dvir saw a gallery of aliens. He found her treatment effective and her support important. The aliens began negotiating with Dvir to open another clinic in his apartment.
Levy's contact with aliens began some 15 years ago on the Negev moshav, Sadot, where she lived at the time. Sitting with her children in the garden of her home, Levy received a telepathic SOS from a spaceship that needed a spot for an emergency landing. She invited them to land at Sadot.
A little while later, Levy was in her kitchen when she felt a strong impulse to go outside. There she found a small, petrified man with a strange accent. She invited him in for a cup of tea.
After the tea, the man disappeared without a trace or even so much as a thank you, but Levy's contact with aliens had begun. Most of the aliens with whom Levy has contact look like human beings, she says, but not all. Prof. Bach, for instance, has skin like a lizard and is completely bald. Maya has silver skin and blue eyes like those of a fish.
About eight years ago, when Levy was suffering from disc problems that had confined her to bed, the aliens offered to treat her, she says. She was skeptical, but after just an hour of treatment she was able to walk again. After five days of treatment she was fully mobile and able to carry things.
When the aliens proposed the joint-venture clinic, Levy accepted. Alien treatment has an 87 percent success rate, she claims.
"My ex-husband is my No. 1 client. He's the biggest believer," Levy says. "The results speak for themselves."
Levy's importance for Dvir goes beyond her status as a role model. When the Kliendcontlars began calling, Dvir was skeptical. He asked his cast of resident aliens, who said Fenix and crew were legitimate, but Dvir wanted more corroborating evidence.
He spoke to Levy, who did not know of the Kliendcontlars but ran a background check with her aliens. They supposedly vouched for Fenix and his race, confirming certain crucial details such as Arcturus' red sun and the planet's ecological problems.
On January 22, Dvir and Adriana were on their way to a restaurant when his cellphone rang. It was Dvir's 41st birthday and it might have been a wellwisher, but the caller kept hanging up.
During dinner the phone rang again, and this time the caller stayed on the line. He identified himself as Forth, a 358-year-old Kliendcontlar whose job it was to make contact with other civilizations, according to Dvir.
Dvir spent most of the dinner talking not to his wife but to the alien.
Dvir asked Cellcom to check the origin of the calls, but the company said the number was blocked. In any case, as the telephone connection continued and the aliens offered consistent answers to Dvir's questions, he began to believe.
"At first I thought someone was making fun of me, but when he kept calling I realized it was serious," he says. "You know it's not someone from here doing it, because they would do it for one day, two days, and then get tired of it."
Forth initiated the first few conversations and then, being near retirement age - the race's life expectancy is some 400 years - he handed the Dvir file to his deputy Fenix, who at 200 is just entering the prime of Kliendcontlar life. (Forth died this week, alien sources informed Dvir.)
Certain details about the race and Kliendcontlar society emerged from Dvir's inquiries, he says. The Kliendcontlars stand about one meter tall - "above ground level, of course," in Fenix's words - have gray skin, two arms and two legs, three fingers on each hand, green blood and DNA composed of four basic building blocks.
Their society is rather totalitarian: religion is outlawed on pain of death and the government determines each newborn Kliendcontlar's spouse and profession, performing genetic improvement surgery shortly after birth to prepare him for his career.
Our conversation with Fenix proceeds on two tracks. Dvir asks more sophisticated questions fit for an anthropologist: what is the Kliendcontlar's justice system like, do they have the death penalty (yes), does the Whole Universe Organization's charter require member states to help a starship in distress (yes), can workers in different tasks be identified by uniform (yes).
My questions are more prosaic: does Fenix have a family (wife and children, all of whom work in communications), does he laugh (yes, although he hasn't told a joke in 100 years), does he speak English (no), does he know anything about Israeli politics (no), what does he eat (the microwave story), what proof can he offer that he really is an alien (it's not his concern, "facts will come about," whether humans believe him or not).
Fenix appears baffled when I ask if he will have to pay for the 85-minute phone call from the environs of Uranus. Dvir has to explain to him that on our planet one pays the makers of telecommunications equipment for their service, a concept foreign to Arcturus, where there is no money.
Fenix appears delighted to hear of The Jerusalem Post's international circulation - "this is excellent," he says - but declines the invitation to deliver a message to the human race on its pages.
At one point Fenix grows tired of my questions, many of which he has answered in previous conversations with Dvir.
He lights into Dvir in his slow, tortured, alien way. "At this moment it is my wish to give you a sort of friendly advice," he tells him. "If additional contact will be made with you, with extraterrestrial contact people, my advice is, it is upon you to prevent rhetorical questions. This thing does not add anything.
Information that you ask a question on, and you know the answer to it, this thing bears witness, thus the extraterrestrial contact man thinks about you as a character lacking understanding, lacking culture, lacking principles. Because this thing is very important, it is upon you to prevent rhetorical questions."
Dvir accepts the reprimand with grace. At the end of the conversation, they make a date for another conversation the following morning.
"This is real," Dvir says to me at the end of the conversation. "This is a real alien."
His colleagues at Tadiran have mixed feelings about his alien contacts, Dvir admits. Some come to him for treatments. Others grow visibly uncomfortable when he begins to discuss his experiences and ask him to stop talking about it. A company spokesman declined to be interviewed.
Dvir's wife Adriana is a little skeptical too. She does not see the aliens who traipse around her apartment day and night.
"I'm more rational. I want to see proof," she says. "But who knows, maybe it's true? Maybe I'm the limited one and I'm missing out. He's always been more sensitive."
Dvir's 9-year-old son, Effi, appears a little confused by it all. Asked if he believes in the aliens, at first he says no. Asked to elaborate, he doesn't answer.
Asked again if he believes, he is noncommittal. Adriana asks Effi whether or not he believes, and this time he says yes.
"Of course he believes," she says, then turns back to Effi. "What, do you think your father is talking nonsense?"
Effi shakes his head no.
Considering how unusual his ideas sound, Dvir has gotten a surprising amount of attention from the media, appearing in television, radio and print interviews. The publicity has apparently reached across the heavens; shortly after the first news article appeared, Dvir says he got an introductory e-mail from an alien named Ayami from the solar system Sirius. Ayami bore greetings from his King Agnemnon, and said he would contact Dvir again in five years.
Perhaps the media attention can be explained because of the seriousness of Dvir's day job and his obvious intelligence; he does not come across as a flake. This week Dvir appeared on Judy Shalom Nir Mozes' television program on Channel 2, Jude Morning, but Shalom Nir Mozes came away unconvinced.
"I made fun of him with all my strength, but very gently," she says. "It's nonsense. I don't believe in any of these things. But I'm in favor of freedom of expression and letting anyone speak."
It is tempting to see Dvir as a lonely man of faith. It is not considered outlandish in this day and age to believe in God, who doesn't even bother to telephone. But mention aliens - even those considerate enough to call on your birthday - and you're immediately dismissed as a little wacky.
"People have quirks," Shalom Nir Mozes says simply when asked how she thinks Dvir himself can believe in aliens.
Tel Aviv University psychiatrist Ilan Kutz says the phenomenon of alien contact is the same experience that in former times might have been called prophecy.
"If you look at what these people are really saying and you take the aliens out of it, the message is that I've been chosen by a special power and endowed with a special force," Kutz says. "It's very reminiscent of stories we hear throughout ancient times. This experience requires an external entity to make the experience whole. In former times this used to be the experience of revelation or the religious experience. It has to be somebody not only far away but far above."
Part of the move from religious terminology to the realm of science fiction stems from shifting cultural references over time, Kutz says.
"These claims are not new, it's the language that is new," Kutz says.
"The language today has changed from religious language to scientific language. In former times paranoids used to say that they are Napoleon or that somebody speaks to them in a holy voice; now they say the TV speaks to them. Napoleon is out of fashion."
This is not to say, Kutz stresses, that aliens do not exist; he believes the chances are as good as not that they do. Yet without firm proof of their existence, the choice to believe in them is essentially a highly religious one.
"We all need to believe in a higher being in one form or another," Kutz says. "From an evolutionary point of view it gives us a big advantage.
It allows us to withstand difficulties, even at times against all odds, because there is all the time the promise that there is somebody out there looking out for us and safeguarding the world order. I think it's built in in humans to turn to a mightier power because it really maximizes survival."
Kutz dismisses the physical descriptions Dvir and others offer of the aliens they see.
"It's always the same story, always the same lack of evidence," Kutz says. "People are feeding off each other. When I was a child, aliens were green and had big antennae. Once the pictures of aliens with big eyes were shown, then everyone started seeing them."
Dvir and Levy say their belief in aliens is not a matter of faith, but of proof - proof that the rest of us can not see because of our limitations.
"It's all a question of openness," Levy says. "If you're open, you can believe in things you can't see physically. If you're not open, you trust only your five senses. Those people are limited, in my opinion."
Dvir believes the day will come when interaction with aliens will be considered normal.
"People who had contact in previous incarnations, they know it's possible. Others are scared and they don't want to know about it," he says. "But there are aliens out there. One day we'll have to meet. We'll have no choice but to get to know one another."
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