Response to 'our wretched Jewish state' by Ellie Katsnelson

A long but fascinating ramble from a clear-cut insider Yid.
Although nothing is know about Katsnelson, she speak with the authority and knowledge of one who knows; of one who's long-suffering involvement has brought more than a bit of deep distaste for the Synagogue of Satan devotees.
It sounds as if she's possibly been trapped against her will with the Jews - maybe for a long time. She understands the overarching soullessness of the entity that they call their (godless) Father - and what it is that IT demands of ITS followers. IT permeates what's left of the essence of all who follow IT. And Katsnelson knows that it is the blood sacrifices and sex simultaneously, along with the making of money that are the biggest turn ons for the psycho-soulless followers of IT.
And she also likely knows she will be hunted down and murdered in a nanosecond, should she reveal herself. I say: 'bravo' to her for her courage in expressing this.

May she remain protected, even at close range.

Love
SK
*****
http://www.darkmoon.me/2014/our-wretched-jewish-state-by-gideon-levy/

Ellie Katsnelson says:
July 8, 2014 at 10:13 am
Good evening,

A good Israeli friend of mine, possessed of robust powers of intellect, recently suggested to me that I should occupy my time in writing a little imaginary piece about the dark clouds of terror that may soon descend upon America, an idea which, I must admit, I found slightly complicated; for, knowing intimately the poverty of my powers of composition, I have always thought myself ill-equipped for the task of writing, and so, to be asked to exert myself to such extreme productions, productions which, as I said, is way beyond what my paltry talents would ever permit, and thus without the slightest hope of ever satisfying those whom I shall soon condemn to read, I, at first, and not without a little relief, declined, gently, only my friend’s unmistakeable and not exactly unforceful imputation of pusillanimity on my part ultimately caused him to prevail and the poor little Ellie me to succumb, hence my involuntary decision to satisfy his strange request, knowing full well and well in advance that no serious reader will give it full attention, and deservedly so, since, after all, what does not satisfy the writer, cannot possibly hope to satisfy the reader.

Not knowing where to begin, I thought I should start bedaubing my fine Aramat pages at that turning point in the coming age in America, namely, the herding of the masses, that is, you, into concentration camps, colloquially known as FEMA, since I thought it just, as well as proper, that it is futile for the Americans to grieve over imagined injuries when the real ones are just around the corner. But here, too, I struggled, (incidentally, and, perhaps, not entirely unconnectedly, despite my fabulous patrimony, I have always been a struggler), for, thought I, where exactly in the camps do I begin: just before, or just after their establishment? Knowing that my friend Aaron would not grant me the privilege of using his superior, Jewish, literary brain, an impossibility really which, even if he had, would only serve to slide me into falsity, error and guilt, since, after all, his brain is his and mine, mine, I decided to rely completely on my own little womanly self, that is, me, sometimes tender, sometimes Jewish, and so I began the description of life in the camps right in the middle of it, even if the gentle owner of this site, and the even gentler readers of her finer productions, should conclude, either singly, or in concert, with the aim, of course, of extenuating the sharpness of the awful Judaic pain which I am soon to inflict, to utterly and immediately obliterate, with or without any ratification of their gentle gentile consciences, or the perturbations of their tender Christian souls, however mild, equitable, just, or soft, from this space, as delusional, my description of the very near future which here on in I intend to record. For, whoever arrogates to himself the right to call himself truthful and capable, when in fact he is not, deserves nothing but contempt, after which, ostracism, after which, beating, since, having unjustifiably injured those who have politely acquiesced to hear him, and offended those who have offered him space, he ought not to decry, nor to shirk, nor to calumniate them, when, as a consequence of their fulminations, and the blasting curses of their larynxes, they demand to come raging back at him, first with words, then with noise, then with fists, since nothing destroys back more, nor ameliorates the soul less, than the clever suspicion, and the inevitable detection, however difficult, or easy, of the false claim to please. Such, friends, is life.

Here, then, is what I wrote, though I again and well in advance urge the readers not to overbrood, nor needlessly to despair, at the genuine disconnectedness and the discordances of my hideous prose; for, should they cherish the hope ever to attain to the lonely eminence of Writer, let them emulate instead the fine writings of the mysterious Lasha Darkmoon, and those of the even more mysterious Signor Montechristo, (now here’s a name to reckon with!), and not the Judaic butcheries of mine, and always to recall the honest admission ejaculated above, that if ever a person lived on this earth whose head and hands were most ill-equipped for the art of writing, then that person would most certainly be me, the woefully talentless but spirited little Ellie K.. Truth may insult, you know, but it is falsity which causes us to be despised. Thus forewarned, I shall now tell of the near future, the future which, when finally effected, and soon after consolidated, shall, by nook or by crook, extirpate all pathetic persuasiveness to forgiveness, destroy all miserable notions of mercy, annihilate all wretched claims to fairness, eradicate all appearances of goodness, and, finally, finally!, stab a rusty Judaic dagger in the hearts of all pursuers of liberty, of all seekers of freedom, and of all thirsters of virtue, since, after all, my dear friends, the future I am about to describe, shall be nothing less than the soon-to-come JEWISH RULE OF AMERICA. Thus forewarned, and the uncomplicated Preamble no longer detaining us, let me begin.

… And so, friend, as we said, the little communities of FEMA, then, separate, decorative and pretty little quarters in and by themselves that they shall be, shall produce in you, Americans, feelings so lovely and good, that they shall almost instantaneously dismiss from your memories in particular, and from your minds in general, the idea that, outside the camp, you ever had it so good. Omnipresent communistic amenities and colourful blue-and-white decorations shall at first excise, and later obliterate, all vexations and perplexities which at first and upon entering may have perturbed your minds; for, everything being the same, same motives will prompt you, and same fears will keep you in check. Hope, that great deceiver, will be allowed you, but we, Jews, shall never allow those hopes to develop into possibilities; for, animated by the possibility which Hope not infrequently engenders in those minds whom Hope has in fact deserted, who knows to what heroic deeds you may aspire. Thus, ill-affording to allow you to entangle our enforcement of you, we shall conquer all efforts on your part that may lead you to some future schemes, however imagined, of liberty and freedom. Beating shall be instituted, (See, The Anti-Humans: Student Re-education in Romanian Prisons, 1971), spying shall be encouraged, and all the efforts on the inmates’ part, however cunning or otherwise, to overpower our resolve, and diminish their effect, to subdue them, shall result in their immediate and total liquidation. Evil Jews.

As the time progresses and life in the camps increases in happiness, we, Jews, shall institute the collective psychological analysis of your better half, a la Christianity, that great deceiver, and bring into being confessional booths for your wives and daughters, though severe prohibitions shall be enforced upon all the males who deign approach the sacred structures previously unannounced. And, unlike the cold, musty, dark, detached, melancholy, soulless boxes of your previous religion, which we, Jews, of course, have by now destroyed, our booths shall be handsomely carved and beautify adorned, wherein our solace-distributing Jewish priests and your unhappy wives and daughters shall spend many hours uninterrupted, and your fine ladies’ formerly whispered truths shall now be encouraged to be pronounced with a chest voice – better like that. Each handsome cubicle shall be so devised, that the fair sex shall be seated ever-so-slightly above our priests, a small detail, perhaps, but one which shall make them feel all the better there, a feeling which shall quietly pronounce to them that there, and only there, within the confines of the cubicle and in the presence of the Jew does the feeling of spiritual expansiveness truly materialize. With the passage of time and the gaining of trust, your wives and daughters, previously comforted by you, shall now begin to feel discomforted in your presence, and now you, grown up men that you shall become, and faced with such unpleasantries, shall begin to seek your own admission into those confessionals, a privilege to you long prohibited, and not without reason. Of course, our long and candid discourses with your wives and daughters shall have more than apprised us of the contents of your soul, that soft metaphysical tissue of which man is really made of, so by the time you enter our enclosed space, we shall be in possession of more knowledge of you than even your own mothers ever did possess. Evil Jews.

Infected with the same zeal as your ladies in coming to the confessional, expressing the same appreciation and fondness to us for our delicate treatment of you, every testimony of yours which you shall render in writing to the world outside the camp shall consist of nothing but of felicitous feelings, of happy and pleasant thoughts, thoughts and feelings which, though they may reach the recipients in the dead of night and in the starkest of winters, shall make them feel as though they are in the middle of summer –that’s how happy we intend to make you feel. Evil Jews.

But of all the souls within the camp, a solemn promise shall be given you that none shall fare better than your little ones, that is, the children, who never come to life without some blessing or another. They alone shall be allowed to roam outside the enclosures, free as fawns, happy as nightingales, glad to be beaten by the winds and stumble and fall over the crooked branches. Never shall we allow them to so much as learn the pronouncing of the word ”unhappiness,” let alone teach them the meaning of it. Those inconveniences and perplexities of life which have long weighed their now-interned parents shall be postponed them for as long as it is humanly possible, and we shall endeavour to continuously entertain and induce hearty laughter and even warmer thoughts in them by presenting their impressionable young minds with the delightful little stories of our Holy Book, yes, The Hebrew Bible, the very same book which your own parents often read out to you when you were little, – remember?–, before tucking you securely into your cosy little beds. ‘Here!’ we shall say to them, ‘this is Noah’s Ark. Now, say Te-ba: ”T-E-B-A-A-A!,” shall come the refrain. ‘Great!,’ we shall say. ‘Now, say Jo-che-bed: JO-CHE-BED!,” shall chime back the sweet voices of the little ones. Little by little we shall teach them how to read and speak the language of their forefathers, that is, Hebrew, and guide them, letter by holy letter, through our own lexicons and books and point to them all the fabulous deeds which had once made the Hebrews, that is, their forefathers, ever-so-famous. As we progress through the lexicons, the letter J shall be most conspicuously and scrupulously avoided, for it is here, under this melancholy letter, that the painful name of JESHUA DI NAZARETH makes its first mournful appearance. And we shall do this for no other reason but from our genuine wish to avoid the painful perturbations which the souls of your little ones may feel upon being presented with the history of that… ”divine” slayer of the Jews. What for to deform young minds with the history of savages, eh? Remember: we have brought them in here to improve them and not to injure them. Moreover, your children, now being inured to us, may well feel the pain of their Hebrew forefathers which the great ”Redeemer” and his followers had so often and mercilessly so inflicted upon them. No, and no again!: the name JESHUA DI NAZARETH shall simply no longer ever be, not ever! ‘Wolves with wolves,’ we shall say to them, ‘and doves with doves.’ That really is how it shall be. Evil Jews.

As mournful Time passes and the little ones evolve with us, each and every day after returning to their parents’ modest quarters, they shall burst in through the door with joyous expressions and feelings, expressions and feelings like, ”Papa, Mama, how nice it is here! I really like our Jewish teachers,” words which the soul-numb Papa and Mama will instantaneously echo; for, being completely out their power to alter anything within and without, they shall have no choice but willingly to embrace that which their children now so genuinely feel. Incapacitated by fear, and comforted by that doomed feeling that there is no escape, you shall now begin to embrace your children and their thoughts and feelings warmly, warmer, perhaps, than you formerly did when you were free: deep within the recesses of your now-carefully re-arranged psyche, you really will begin to concur with our promise earlier pronounced to you that, any quest of future happiness can only ever be obtained strictly and solely within the enclosed space of the formerly dreaded walls. Simply put, you will begin to love the camp, and the camp, in turn, will begin to love you back. The Russians told us this, and we, though unacquainted with their histories, believed them, for their tears moved us, you see, their tears. Tears move man, you know, tears move man, except, of course, when they trickle down the cheeks of the hook-nosed, ugly, dirty little Jew: THEN nothing and no one ever moves, save the Jew himself! The pencils of the Sun may afford warmth, and the fragrant scent of a rose may even cause a lover to love the more, but nothing, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! that you do for us shall ever cause us to feel for you; for, whilst The Universal Creator may have forged the firmament, and added life where no life ever could be added, he is yet to add the chambers of love and gratitude to our brain; and every single Jew, and here I repeat myself, EVERY SINGLE JEW, WITHOUT EXCEPTION! carries within himself such a chamberless brain. Oh, if only you really knew us! if only you knew us! Evil Jews. Evil, evil Jews.

And why, really, why should we, Jews, mourn your passing, eh, or, as that author has it, The Passing of the Great Race? Why should we feel for your present state? ‘Is this not,’ a cold, hard, matter-of-fact Jew will say to his American enquirer, ‘is this not what you Americans have long desired? I mean, did you not eagerly and with much gladness flung open your gates to us? Was it not you who said that you wanted us alone to renovate your lives? to make them better? happier? more cheerful? Were you not hourly told when you were little that salvation can only come from the Jews? Yes,’ the cold Jew will continue, though this time with a touch of feigned feeling, – for oh, how we, Jews, can feign! we are wholly made up of manufactured feelings! –, ‘yes: we see the sorrow that has engulfed your race, but why didn’t your men rise to obviate the danger? Where were your poets, your thinkers, your writers to warn you that, as a race, we, Jews, have no other aim in life but to destroy all order in all societies? Listen, you,’ the Jew will continue, now slightly impatiently, ‘you Americans have no Fichte, and that cathartic revolution and national bliss effected by that…’ – and here the Jew will pause –, ‘…that, Hitler, that, friend,’ the Jew will say, ‘is no more likely ever to come into being in your lands than Hope ever has of existing within those dreadful camps behind us. Come now,’ the Jew will gesture to his sad American listener, ‘come: he who neglects to commit those deeds most necessary to ensure his survival, cannot expect salvation to be handed him by those who have come here to destroy him. YOU WILL ALL DIE!’ the Jew will now unapologetically tell the heartbroken American man, ‘all of you, without exception, babes and all!’ And as the Jew speaks thus, the utterly devastated American, no longer able to combat his sorrow, forces, with great exertion, one very, very last query with his now-new Jewish lord, and asks him a most pertinent question indeed, namely, who it is that shall be doing the actual killing? ‘Wh-o-o-o-o-o-o?’ the Jew will astonishingly ask back, his eyes now veritably excited, ‘wh-o-o-o-o-o? Why, but your own Americans, my friend, your own little American brothers and sisters, that’s who. I mean, haven’t you heard of the Baptists? and the Anabaptists? and the Shmanabaptists? Don’t you know who the Christian Zionists? and the Dispensationalists? and the Luciferians are? No!’ and here the Jew will interrupt himself, his previously calm voice now raised to that neurotic, oh-so-common Judaic shriek, ‘no, and no again! It shall not be us who shall kill you, but your own American brothers and sisters; they shall be the ones who shall plunge the blades into your loins and pump hard bullets into your heads. We, hah!, we ourselves never kill, you know, our religion forbids us. Remember Jeshua, that hairy dog? Him, too, we wanted to kill, but we ourselves never laid hands on him – what for? we even shrieked at every nail the Romans drove. So,’ and the Jew will here conclude his brilliant, prosecutorial speech, ‘let me once and for all remove that burden which so visibly plagues your heart, and let me assure you, O American, that there is no better purgative for the soul than watching die those who are unworthy of life.’ Evil Jews.

And so, and in so saying and returning to the panoramic vistas above, as you become inured to the life in the camp, outside each and every such enclosure, though never too far but not too close either, there shall come into existence sights so horrific and strange, as to make you wonder whether indeed there is any point in continuing to suffer. For, dug in a perfect straight line and stretching as far as the horizon permits, cold, black, mass graves shall hungrily await all those whom we, Jews, have deemed worthy of a bullet, that is, you. The ”deposits,”– for such shall be your new designation and not victims, – ”victims” too crude for us –, the deposits shall arrive in the dead of night and in trucks, a la Cheka: black trucks, unnumbered trucks, signless trucks, themselves as amorphic as those who navigate them. On the side of each such truck, a most homogeneous and ingenious contraption shall have been fitted, whereby as the vehicle proceeds slowly along the open graves, a mournful tray shall appear, atop which there shall roll an even more mournful conveyor belt, carrying, as such belts tend to carry, weight, though now, the black weight imposed upon them shall be in the form of dead American bodies, that is, you: bodies of babes who had only recently learned how to breathe, of handsome lasses and lads in the spring of their lives, of happy fathers and even happier mothers, whose sole wish in life had only been to see that happiness multiply. Slowly but carelessly, certainly without feelings, – we, Jews, have feelings only for the members of our own race –, as the trucks move, the belt shall begin to literally deposit those bodies, that is, you, in the shallow, cold hole below, and shall thus trudge along on its lachrymose journey, until it has reached such a point that the conveyor belt shall, by the very lightness of its load now, announce to the soul-dead American driver, probably your former neighbour, that for all its wish, it simply has no more bodies to convey to the gaping earth below. This understood, the driver shall now begin his langorous journey back, and return to the lifeless morgue, so as to reload, of course, only to immediately be supplemented by another driver, who shall continue the same grim discharge of your bodies at the point where his soul-dead colleague had left, making certain that the macabre affair will roll, and roll, and roll, and roll, until that horizon, formerly far and beyond reach, shall no longer afford a distant prospect. Evil Jews.

At the point where the trucks of death had begun rolling, a Jew will watch. Jews like to watch, and they never read fast. With his arms crossed and hawk-like eyes firmly fixed on the inhuman task being carried out in front of him, he shall exhibit his approval or disapproval to another fellow Jew who, in the style most managerial, shall now make a motion to another, different driver and a different vehicle, both more monstrous than the one which had preceded it, to move in and to finally complete the ghastly process. A Paver and a Roller rolled into one, the vehicle shall have been constructed specially and especially for the purpose; for, its axles being inordinately wide, the steel beast shall drive over and above your graves, without touching either end, and, as it moves, its earthmoving hand in front shall deposit hard gravel over your bodies, and the massive ball-wheel behind it shall compact that hard earth, and thus, literally, seal for ever the sad fate of those Americans down below, that is, you. Evil Jews.

Back in the camp, the nocturnal life of the firmament having now engulfed you and your little ones, the Jews who had overseen the ghastly procession shall converge, – demons always converge after a hard day’s work –, and, ledger book in hand and cigarette in mouth, shall begin carefully to inscribe the awful happenings of the previous hours. ‘See here,’ a Moshe will say to an Ephraim, ‘five-thousand-two-hundred-and-sixty-four, and all this in a single night! Not bad, eh, not bad, he-he-he.’ Ephraim, a la manière sadistique, shall enquire with his diabolic fellow Jew, and say: ‘Excuse me, Moshe, but is that figure with or without interest? – Hah! Ha-Ha! Hah-Hah-Hah… Hahaha, Hahaha, Hahaha! Maybe both will laugh, maybe only Moshe will expose his irregular, nicotine-stained teeth – who knows. Maybe the whole room will burst in such a roaring laughter as to turn that sad, sad evening into a night most merry. Speaking of fun and murder, did you know that Roza Zemlyachka and Béla Kun, those two mighty lions of Judah, after having helped shoot 8,019 White Russians in the Crimean city of Kerch in a single night of October the eighth, 1927, had hurriedly gone back home, and, once inside, had fucked each other in blood-stained uniforms for four hours without a break! Hah! Imagine that, if you can! First you kill, and then you fuck. I told you demons converge after a hard day’s work, didn’t I? They always do. Dark Jews. Dark, dark Jews.

Of course, with the exception of the Jews and their soul-dead American drivers, no one will have witnessed the grizzly scenes in the forest, and every trace of the crime shall carefully have been erased. Jews do not like leaving traces of their crimes, you see, and if ever they do, it is always only so as to insult the brave and eventually triumphant investigator who, upon discovering the footprints of the real malefactors, discovers also their one last distorted message to him, saying, ‘Yes, Sir, Madam, it was us, Jews, who did this. Now, what are you going to do about it?’ But, though traces of the crime shall have been removed, and no good, living American could ever bear witness to those black deeds, the nightingales will have seen, and the fawns will have felt, and the tress, oh, the trees! how they, too, will have been shaken! Jews have this power, you know, to move Earth. ‘Flectere si nequeo Superos,’ our own Sigismund Shlomo Freud was fond of saying, ‘et Acheronta movebo!’ This, perhaps, should be the motto of my criminal country Israel, eh? GIVE ME A PLACE TO STAND AND I SHALL MOVE THE EARTH! But, I have strayed. As the same heart-bleeding affair is repeated night, after night, after night, after night, with time Nature herself will begin to exhibit signs of unhappiness. Beautiful Earth will begin to hurt; for, its bowels, now filled to the brim with unwelcome corpses, and her formerly undulating meadows now stuffed with phosphorus and bile, the grand old dame will become… heavy, uneasy, oppressed, unquiet, mournful, for though She knows better than anyone else that She, too, is firmly fixed within the immutable law of perpetual flux and change, poison was never meant to be induced into Her bosom, and the unready babes, whom the Jews have rammed within Her heart, have driven a spiritual dagger through Her; for, She is a Mother, you know, our Nature, a Mother, hence our felicitous term for her: Mother Nature. But, will the darksome Jews really care? I mean, does the Devil care what happens to man and Earth? Who here, for example, – and be honest now, yes? –, who here knows that the Bolshevik Jews once withered an entire sea, eh, an entire sea, just so it could suit their diabolic purpose? Imagine that: to utterly and completely cause a SEA to vanish! O, people, a SEA! a SEA! not a lake, not a river, not a rivulet, but a SEA! I tell you: a hundred Tituses may come and go, and ten-thousand Hitlers may hold the world in awe, but never again in the life of man shall one single solitary Jew so much as feel the blade on his deathly epidermis, let alone be killed by others with it, simply and solely on account of his being a Jew. Those felicitous times are gone. And this, not because mankind possesses unbounded love for the Jew, (though such beasts are not infrequently found), but rather because the Jews, having died so much, have now conquered Death, and, as a natural consequence to that, have now themselves become Death, that is, Death personified, and who here can apprise anyone of the manner, of the fashion, of the way of killing Death? No one. Carefully observe the rubbery eyes of Michael Chertoff. Assay in your mind the bilious temper of Alan Dershowitz. Analyse and dissect the unmistakably criminal haughtiness with which Bibi, The Great, struts the world stage, and you shall see that, the more we look at them, the nearer their Father, the Devil, shall we get. Moshe, the dutiful manager of the killing fields, and Ephraim, the ugly, little, painfully dark humorist – these two spiritual invalids may have been inventions, but Michael Chertoff is not an invention and he is a Moshe; Alan Dershowitz breathes and lives and he is an Ephraim; and as does Bibi, and we all know who and where Bibi is. I tell you: all three have a place to stand; that place is called America; and, by God Almighty, how they intend to move it! Evil Jews.

My friend, Dostoyevsky, once said to his fellow Russians that, if the Jews ever gain power in Russia, they will skin the Russians alive. They ignored him. The Jews came, the Jews saw, the Jews skinned. It is dangerous to ignore a seer, O friends!, dangerous indeed. And when in France better minds lived and worse tempers eventually prevailed, the beautiful Charlotte Corday pointed to the Jews as having poisoned the mind of Marat, and thus, by extension, soon intend to kill the soul of France. Within hours the Anti-Judaic bitch was seized, BY HER OWN FRENCHMEN!, (remember this little point), and, soon after, was her beautiful white neck separated and segregated by her captors with the aid of the more delicate part of the dreaded guillotine. ‘Some of our deepest unhappiness,’ says another friend of mine, Schopenhauer, ‘come from not acting when we ought to act, and from acting when we ought not to act.’ He knew, the irascible, little devil, he knew, for it was the German Jews who had cunningly relieved him of two-thirds of his great patrimony in a not-so-well-known now Mexican swindle. He called Jewish hands, ”diabolical clutches,” and said that, ”it is far more holier to shoot a Jew, than to go to the church.” Ha-ha! Bravo Schopi! And it is from him that the German proverb, ”Before shaking the hand of the Jew, always count your fingers,” has come down to us. But, alas, when he inscribed his honest thoughts of them on paper, the Jews patiently waited for the Bröckhaus copyright of his works to expire, just so they could purchase it, and, as Jews always do, immediately expurgated all the passages which they deemed to be offensive or unacceptable to their Jewish race. It is for this reason and this reason only that today’s readers of Schopenhauer will never be able to read those golden words again; the Jews have simply deleted them. Evil Jews.

I tell you, and I tell you again: you Americans may strongly believe in God, and love profounder than a human heart can ever love Jesus, Christ The Lord; but, though Jesus may save the soul, and God, the Great, may move mountains, you should never, ever forget that, in a world peopled by Jews, in matters of self-preservation a gun is a more reliable friend and ally than both Father and Son put together, and now I speak reverently of Him. No nation on earth is holier than Russia; no people believe more in Him than they; and no hearts are more touched by Him than theirs, and yet…? and yet…?

”God has punished us,” rather erroneously declared Solzhenitsyn, – even the great err –, ”because we, Russians, had forgotten God.” Now, this utterance of the great man may sound noble, – it certainly sounds penitential –, but, if I were him, I would have said, ‘We are being killed because we are not killing our Jewish killers.’ That’s how you speak, because that’s how it was and soon shall be. For, believe me, when the evil Jews come to cut you, you shall have no time to find God, since, by such earth-shattering time as that, God himself shall have abandoned you. The Russians told us this, and this time, knowing full well their histories, we most certainly believed them, since it was us, our Jewish diabolical clutches, that all along had done their cutting: mother, father, babe and all. Eventually, He, the Beautiful He, triumphed and returned, and Holy Russia may no longer bleed, but, across the azure Atlantic, in the great lands of the brave and free, something else has also returned, and that something else is the Jews. The scourge of Cosmos may own the presses, and it may proclaim loudly that the earth and man are here to only serve their needs, but, I tell you, when the Americans, the world’s finest race, finally decide to act, there shall exist no cavity on earth that shall cover them, no lying shrieks of anti-Semitism that shall preserve them, and no appeals to the conscience that shall spare them, for, having long overplayed their withered Judaic hand, having long defamed the speakers of truth, and having calumniated and debased numberless souls, this time, the Jews, will have pushed one nation too many: America. And so, when the clarion call to arms finally comes ,– and it shall come, – and when the beasts of prey shall finally have fattened, let every long-suffering American mother hear, let every long-grieving American father take note, and let every long-offended American son and daughter prepare, for the judges of the Jews that they shall have now become, they shall break forcefully into every wretched synagogue, they shall enter violently into every Jewish home, and they shall furiously invade every counting house, for now, the long-dormant American lion shall have awakened, and, by God Almighty! he shall cut down every living Jew on earth.

”There is no better purgative for the soul,” said above the Jew to the American, ”than watching die those who are unworthy of life.” Unbeknown to the Jew, the American, apparently gone, was quietly listening. We, too, can be false.

Good evening, and thank you,

Ellie K..

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPwYPhEN6Lc

http://en.metapedia.org/wiki/Rozaliia_Zemliachka