Kaddish

Today is November 9th, for a number of reasons significant in German history – but those aside, two most prominent remain in the general memory and can be depended on to be bombarded on the public to make sure no one forgets.

So yes, I remembered November 9th without so much as glancing at a single news-rag or mainstream-TV. I remembered. On the one hand, the synagogues which burned, the glass of these and of Jewish shops which lay shattered on the street, some hundreds who were killed or had taken their own lives in despair. On the other hand, the fall of the Berlin Wall. Both instrumentalized by the Merkel-State and the press to make it look good and her opposition look bad.

And I said a Kaddish for all those who’d lost their lives to the two Socialist totalitarian regimes in the German 20th century. A Kaddish for those many, many disenfranchised Jews who’d died during the pogroms of Kristallnacht. And a Kaddish for those equally many – or more – disenfranchised East German citizens who were shot, murdered, trying to flee the realities of Socialism by climbing or tunnelling under that Wall. (A Wall which “no one had any intention of erecting” – one day before exactly that went into effect on August 12th, 1961.)

I said a Kaddish for the victims of the two Socialist Germanys: the National-Socialist which could offer a Kristallnacht, and the Communist-Socialist which could offer a Wall with a death-strip, specifically and exclusively to hold its own citizens hostage – with the doublethink logic and propagandistic doctrine that it was “to keep others out”.

I see a day when I will recite Kaddish again, adding the victims of the third Socialist totalitarian Germany – now being assiduously worked on by the very “Never-Again” Cult which Merkel and all of her lackeys and lackey offices, agencies and organizations, lobbies, media, unions, clerics, in a climate reeking of the red-green Stasi atmosphere embodied in the SPD, The Left, The Greens, and their “Anti”fa. And all of this on Merkel’s watch, with her blessing.

The party which will not be sucked into this brazen annual instrumentalization and manipulation is the AfD – for which it will get roundly slammed in the press and by all the political sluts of the mainstream established parties. Because the AfD alone knows what authentic historical memory and remembrance means.

Addendum: But wait! It appears that very little was this year – for the first time in my memory – broadcast on television concerning the two above mentioned events! What was yet more important, and revealingly all the more confirming of my conclusion? Ah! The November 9th “October Revolution” glorifying Lenin’s heroic struggle (Sein Kampf, of course!) and reminding us not to give up altogether on Socialism after all. Merkel & Co. are certainly taking that to heart.

The Morning I Killed Erich Honecker

One late morning in February 2016, I awoke from a dream. I'd been dreaming nice little dreams lately and sleeping well, as I normally do when I do sleep.

When I'm not working shift, most frequently evening duty (driving Tour for AWO), or writing poetry or short essays for my "Colfax Ave. Writing" Blog, or tracking and researching and posting and commenting on German/EU-ropean current developments, or visiting or getting visited, or attending funerals, or being there for my son(s), or making home videos for my two granddaughters who don't know I exist, or performing my prayers and meditations, or demonstrating every free Monday evening with Bärgida (Pegida-Berlin) and/or writing and delivering public addresses for the same - with screaming, frothing "SA/ntifas" at our necks separated by a massive police escort in our favor...

When I'm not doing these and have my week-day evenings off, my Tuesdays and Thursdays, on occasion even Wednesdays and/or Fridays as well, I'm training hard and mercilessly (the only time I'm ever seen sweating) at Krav Maga no-nonsense self-defense - and while I'm on that, that prior Thursday was a workout which topped anything I'd ever had in my life. (To think that I'd once entered the Army thinking I'd be getting just that...what a laugh.)

So late that following Saturday morning, I awoke from this dream. Whatever mixed sequences preceded it, this scenario was abundantly clear and in one decisive moment harrowingly real, entirely literal, in full detail. I was consciously, i.e., objectively dreaming and guiding it, as well as actively and emotionally involved in it - both, as does occsionally happen. Yet let it be understood, I stand by what I did in the dream and that I dreamt it, that it was "real" and at the same time symbolic of course - needless to say. What occurred, until I abruptly awoke from it (having to get up and allow for waking time before heading off to work), and how I interpret it, follows:



In a shabby little Berlin flat (not ours, only fictional), and only the front "hallway" at the entrance and a side room and a small kitchen, were my partner Rana, my son Joshua or Joshi, and myself - and Erich Honecker in person. He was already aged, had just lost his GDR and his position of power, he was sort of on the run, and he was wanted – dead. For whatever reason we knew that much, and for whatever reason we had him in our flat, unbeknownst to anyone. We were under no obligation or orders or instructions or contract to anyone - no Intelligence services, CIA or BND, none, nor against their intentions either - we acted single-handedly, entirely on our own. And decisively.
 

Rana and I were in partnership on this, I called the shots. Joshi was alright with it, as will be shown. We were occupied with how and whether and when we would make our move. Best I recall, Honecker came out of the side room chasing after Joshi, and that's where I took matters into hand. I grabbed Honi and pulled out a dagger I already had on me, slightly curved, very sharp and long enough for "Mack the Knife". And I stuck it to him in the back, in the right side of his back - it was terribly real, not even "surreal" but just real. I've never done anything like this before nor would again, and any prior dreams similar to this at all have always been more comic-book like and fantasy, this felt horribly real. I noted that to just "stick" would only hurt and I needed to go through with it and drive it in and kill him. And while it was in itself sickeningly against my nature - especially an unarmed and relatively defenseless, yet decidedly  dangerous, "elderly person" - I knew without further hesitation that this had to be carried through and I would take action and stand by it whatever the consequences. However, in the dream I also knew that, as his demise was wanted by the Federal State and the Allies both, I would not be prosecuted, so that wasn't even an issue.

I drove the knife in and really felt what that would be like, I did not relish this in the least, I did it because it had to be done. I recall muttering as I braced myself, "God forgive me for what I'm about to do - and stand by me in this, give me strength!"

He struggled and succumbed, I gave him another in his gut, or his chest, and let him fall onto a low bench. I let Rana know it was a done deed, and grimly humored her by commenting, "Well, the Intelligence services will come calling now to take me on their payroll, I guess." She gave me a nasty look communicating, "Like hell you'll work for them!" and I assured her I was kidding.

This was done but for one purpose: in service to Germany, to the nation, to the sovereignty of this people. Now. Today. And for a future. In confirmation of just that, as I went toward the kitchen where he lay on that low bench to check if he was in fact dead and not suffering further or faking it, my lad Joshi came to my left side and kissed my cheek and told me in Doitch, "Papa, I love you." The odd thing here was that he held something like an unlit, thick round white Advent candle against his lips and against my cheek as he "kissed" me that way, rather playfully child-like of him. (In reflection, that may have been "the future" kissing me with a clear symbol of the Church altar.)

I turned to check on Honi, assuming he was now deceased, and quite interestingly took his hand or laid mine on his and began to recite the Kaddish(!) over him, notwithstanding that he was certainly no Jew, and I had just murdered him by my own hand, and in cold blood at that. And notwithstanding that he'd had it coming. Still: Kaddish. But he wasn't still. His eyes went open, and all I thought was - "Oh, so he's not dead yet, no Kaddish, premature." Then he expired. And there I abruptly awoke.

 

So what do I make of this? While in the dream Honi was of course as mentioned, a useless defenseless unarmed old man, "no longer" dangerous - symbolically speaking however: he was the embodiment of a resurrected dinosaur which is dominating Germany today. (That other monster I could as easily have driven a knife into, namely his still living wife Margot now in Chile, had said Socialism would return and rule Germany. So I killed her husband, something I could only do - but at least that - in dream.) Honi is the evil of a Communism which wants to come back.

Far less are the irrelevant NPD or neo-Nazis the stinking cadavers of the Walking Dead we need to concern ourselves with, than are the Orks and Walking Dead of The Left, the Greens, the "Pirates" who advertise "Bomber Harris Do It Again!" and legislate and lobby for pedophila and gender-mainstreaming and Islamization and the flooding of "refugees" to out-populated Germany and EU-rope in general. And the SA/ntifa (schooled both by them and by the old fossils of the RAF) as they scream at us, frothing at the mouth: "Deutschland ist Scheiße - ihr seid die Beweise!" and "Nie wieder Deutschland!" and such, and worse.

All these and their antisemitism, their racism (driven by a gravely pathologically narcissistic nihilism of German self-hatred and fantasy about every other ethnicity) against actual native Germans and actual native Europeans (West or East) - and who with their verbal and real, physical aggression and proneness to actual violence, all the while courted, excused or overlooked, and coddled by the politcal elite, by the media, the churches, the trade unions, the establishment of the cult of multi-culti and Gutmensch political-correctness. Against dissent, against free speech and unmolested peaceful (or at least non-violent) assembly, against all contrary or confrontative inquiry, reflection, inspection or introspection. They exercise pressure, scare tactics, mob psychology and enjoy lobbying clout which is denied us by the malignantly maligning and fact-challenged, lying press and elite.

And they want our youth, they want the next generation - Honi was after Joshi, my Joshi. My Germany, my Germans. My Europe. What America does is out of my hands entirely, I am not even voting this election. The States are so self-secure and self-satisfied as a whole, they will as usual only even sense and feel what's coming much much later, and won't even get the effect until much later. Europe is now, Germany is now, Berlin is now. My Berlin. Here and now.

So I killed Honecker.

Speak the Kaddish: Mourning Has Broken

Grief is my foe, not the loss –

for in the Heart is nothing lost that is dear, and no one – no!

On this I will not bend.

Grief is my adversary – the loss, my battlefield.

Oh, sacred, poignant grief – gentle, brutal,

penetrating and seering, merciless and compassionate.

I will not submit.

                        

Everyone meets you alone; each on his, on her own terms

is met by you – but are you mocking me

or beckoning with a smile – all surreal, all so real.

A sharp pain and a dull, so blunt, which is worse…

I am tired from it, I sleep in fits, waking knowing –

the departed is still departed, however often I awake.

Alone I encounter you, gray, uncomforting and cruel;

alone on this field called Loss,

barely seeing through the mist,

though the sun be out and shining –

oh, what is this mist!

Is it the tears?

Are they mine, then let them be mine!

Are these my tears?

Then I will shed them and shed many,

I will not submit.

The scar you leave me

must not heal for me to be whole,

I will carry it, I will caress it,

and I will meet you with all my strength

and all my wrath and all my tears now,

on this field of battle.

I will embrace you, Grief,

and with my tears and Love’s faith,

I will prevail and overcome you and break you,

again and again as often as you like – until

I’ve consumed you, absorbed and digested you.

And I will speak the Kaddish and extol the Name,

and I will triumph.

Now Mourning has broken, now may it begin.

    

 (Lazarus Hospice, Berlin)

 (at Terezìn Concentration Camp, May 1992)

 

 

The Song That Lets Sorrow Tell The Truth 

https://www.theblaze.com/columns/opinion/the-song-that-lets-sorrow-tell-the-truth?utm_source=theblaze-dailyPM&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Daily-Newsletter__PM%202026-06-14&utm_term=ACTIVE%20LIST%20-%20TheBlaze%20Daily%20PM&tpcc=email&sailthru_id=5d4314820564ce180d4d6b23&mb=Y