Douglas Mercer
August 14 2023
The Jews are past masters at raking in the dough, are they not? It’s ironic that the people who are the filthiest of the rich always have their hands out and have no dearth of people who are more than ready and willing to shovel some serious shekels their way. And when it’s a so-called survivor and his story (ie, tall tale) that are at stake the pot of gold they corral seems to know no limits. The world just can’t get enough of these allegedly traumatized scam artists, and when they speak up about what happened to them the world stops and listens. After all these are the select group who say they eyewitnessed the evil doings of the Third Reich and saw it up close and personal. So much skepticism and outright scoffing has grown up around this event that the survivor is a figure of great ideological weight and freight for them, they are the last in the flesh living link to what they deem their meal ticket called the Holocaust. Surely they say that bubbe over there would not lie? You can’t say Shlomo or Sarah would just make it all up can you? Are you a monster? I for one don’t see why not. There’s a lot of shekels in play after all and the White race isn’t going to exterminate itself.
“The testimonies of Holocaust survivors living in the North-West of England will live on forever, thanks to a grant of almost a quarter of a million pounds. The Fed’s My Voice education program, which records and publishes for posterity life stories of survivors and refugees, has received over £246,000 from the National Lottery Heritage Fund. The charity has already published 35 books telling the first-person life stories of survivors, with a further ten planned.”
That is a lot more than walking around money. With this cash in hand there is no telling the tall tales they can tell. If there’s an old Jewish geezer about to breathe his last they’ll be able to support him on life support and wring out the anecdotes about what happened at the camps. Ten books? They won’t stop there, after all there is an insatiable appetite for this sort of thing, why just the other day a 91-year-old Jewish fossil named Ivor Perl got into the game publishing his not long-awaited tome called (of all things!) Chicken Soup Under The Tree. It’s the sad narrative of how his idyllic childhood in Hungary was torn asunder by the evil machinations and designs of a wicked Snidely Whisplash named Adolf Hitler. You can be sure the book is a bore and retails all the timeworn and shopworn chestnuts about Auschwitz like the screams in those harrowing final minutes, the scratch marks on the walls, and the ever-popular sub-genre of Mengele sightings which seem to titillate them so. But the lack of literary merit did not stop a Jewish factotum like Lord Pickles from praising the book to the skies, saying it influenced how he saw the Holocaust. Ivor claims he was forced to go on a 500-mile death march (why not a 1000 as long as he’s fibbing?) and yet somehow he managed not to die and was able to crawl into England unscathed and live a long and Jewish life.
“The grant will allow My Voice to increase its focus on education, offering in-person storytelling from survivors, putting their stories online and creating student guardians, who will each be responsible for preserving and sharing the story of an individual survivors. The funding will also allow for the recruitment of a new heritage and learning officer, who will support survivors as they tell their stories.”
They are the evangelists of the great deception. They know that one day soon that most feted and exalted person (the last survivor!) will croak so they want to get it all on the record or what they will call the record. They’ll send Ben Judah (who for a man who suffered so much does not seem worse for the wear) on a giant Jew tour, and he’ll be set up in schools and town council meetings and churches and the bookstores and he’ll keep his audience rapt with his tragic tales of woe. Not every book can rise to the level of sickeningly manipulative pathos as a Sophie’s Choice but that doesn’t mean it can’t pack a punch when it comes to weepy sentimentalism. And though the old Hebe codger is on his last legs when he’s done he’ll pass the baton to a little kike whippersnapper who will snap up his prose, enshrine it in the eternity of the internet, available to everyone and anyone at any time, and then guard it with his life by passing the tripe on and on.
“Raphi Bloom of The Fed told the JC: As time moves on, the books we produce contain crucial eyewitness testimony. We are absolutely committed that they shouldn’t sit on bookshelves and gather dust. The lessons that they teach about tolerance, resilience and hope are more crucial than ever. A select number of schools will have the opportunity of becoming Beacon Schools, responsible for sharing their ideas for Holocaust education with other schools, with far less emphasis on statistics and more on personal storytelling.”
It’s one thing to have a guardian and it’s quite another to have a beacon. The one stands sentry but the other shines a light into dark skies. And you can see why they want to eschew statistics, pesky questions like how many bodies can fit in the average oven offend their sinister sensibilities, but storytelling (ie, weaving the story out of whole cloth) suits them just fine. A storyteller can regale and exaggerate and embellish and embroider, in a trice they can turn a typhus epidemic into mass murder, they can transform work camps into death camps, and they can with some rancid rhetoric turn what they had coming into a pogrom, a persecution, and a payday. You’ll notice that that the Jews are always telling stories, and none of them are true; and when a Jew gets on a soap box to tell you he suffers uniquely and tells you his always terrible and tragic troubles hang on tight to your wallet and start manning the barricades.
“According to Juliette Pearce, the manager of My Voice, the funding will move the focus from the ungraspable statistic of six million deaths to personal local stories that enable students to conceptualize what it means to be caught up in the Holocaust. It will ensure that their remarkable life stories will live on forever and act as a powerful counterweight to the body of material that seeks to deny or distort the truth about the Holocaust. As a social care charity, The Fed provides wrap-around support for survivors telling their stories, which might be the first time they have spoken about the trauma they endured. In a joint project with Yad Vashem UK, My Voice is planning to expand the program to include London-based survivors wishing to record their life stories.”
The survivor, the migrant and the criminal are the stars of our age. They are the ones who get fawned over and kowtowed to, they are the ones who have the hard luck stories that elicit the overflowing solicitousness and concern that vault them to become the heroes and martyrs of the age. And certainly the survivor, the migrant and the criminal are the weapons of the Jews. The criminal terrorizes the White populace, the migrant replaces them, and the survivor occasions guilt which paralyzes them from fighting the first two. For the survivor is the celebrated image nonpareil. The survivor writes his books and retails his sob stories, and spins his treacle, the survivors are those lonely Ishmaels who escaped to tell thee. The survivor is the one who is unimpeachable, his testimony can’t be questioned, he’s the bedrock and the hard rock of the entire fable. And this is why they pour the money on top of them, this is why they churn out their books, this is why the guardians become their beacons, because without the emotional and melodramatic figure of the survivor the Jews would have nothing. The survivor is the one who they say walked out of those camps just skin and bones to alert and to portray the supposed evil that stalked the earth. Indeed, the survivor is so crucial to the entire hatched and elaborate plot and plan that if he had never existed the Jew would surely have invented him. Which in fact they did.
Shekels For Survivors
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Douglas Mercer
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