Posts Tagged ‘Holocaust’
Posted in Jimmy Carter, Obama, tagged Barack Obama, England, First Lady, Holocaust, Jimmy Carter, John Burroughs, Nazism, Obama, Thomas Mann, United States, Winston Churchill on October 31, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
Jimmy Carter and Barack Obama — Twin Sons of Different Mothers (and Fathers)
For nearly 5 years, TMQ has posted a deluge of articles on Jimmy Carter. Some were written by our staff, some by our readers, some by the media, et al. They all pretty much had the same theme in common — that Jimmy Carter is the worst President and worst ex-president in U.S. history. So we decided to catalogue all these posts and/or links to our Jimmy Carter Un-presidential Library page.
Now it appears with little doubt that Obama has earned the infamous moniker of worst president in U.S. history. (more…)
Facebook Gives Hatred a Hand
By refusing to remove groups that deny the Holocaust, Facebook is aiding the spread of hate at a time of rising racism
Facebook has decided not to remove groups that deny the Holocaust. This policy contradicts its own “statement of rights and responsibilities”, which clearly states “you will not post content that is hateful”. Facebook seems to be ignorant of the inherent danger of Holocaust denial, the deeply hateful nature of it, and international efforts against racism. It either fails to understand the responsibility it has to society, or it has placed profit far above morality. }} more…
No. It’s simply managed by traitorous and clueless liberals.
Posted in Lawrence of Bessarabia, movies, tagged Bielski, Brothers, Defiance, Entertainment, Films, Holocaust, Jews, Lawrence of Bessarabia, Movie Recommendation, movies, Nazis on February 22, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
I recommend the film “Defiance”
It’s fast paced, action packed, and based on a true story.
The Bielski brothers escaped into the forests of Belarus in 1941. They formed a partisan brigade that rescued about 1200 Jews from the Germans.
Unlike most Holocaust genre films, this one portrays Jews not as lambs to the slaughter but rather as a force to be reckoned with.
It’s score one for the good guys as the Bielskis serve the Nazis with hot lead enemas. We need more films like this one and maybe some where it’s Nazi Muslims getting the shit kicked out of them.
Another Muslim Chicken Islamofascist attempts to justify the Holocaust; Essa bin Mohammed Al Zedjali’s take is that the Jews deserved genocide: How Israel became a terrorist state. Just another run-of-the-mill anti-Semitic Arab scumbag:
It is illustrative to browse through the relevant pages of history to know the real history of the Jews in Germany. You would then come to know why Hitler had taken harsh measures against them. The entire economy of Germany, including banks, publishing houses, jewellery stores, light and heavy industries and almost all economic organisations of consequence, was under the total control of the Jews.
They muddied every aspect of the economy by perpetrating fraud after fraud on common people. This unprepossessing situation annoyed the German citizens no end and impelled Hitler to punish the Jews for their bad deeds.
The United States today finds itself in the same predicament as Germany back then. Now in the US, the Jews wield enormous control over all important decisions, whether they relate to politics, economy or media. No American citizen is free today to utter a single word about international or even national issues. This is the reason the American views on various issues being relayed to the world through the media are in fact the views of the Jews. }} more…
Posted in Shlomo Muslim PhD, tagged Arabs, Germany, Holocaust, Israel, Jews, Kristallnacht, Mufti, Muslims, Nazi, pogroms, Pope, Racism, Shlomo Muslim PhD, TMQ2, United Nations, World War II on November 5, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
Kristallnacht: We Remember
On November 9 and 10, we mark the seventieth anniversary of Kristallnacht, the “night of broken glass.”
Rampaging mobs, spurred by the Nazi leadership, attacked Jewish targets throughout Germany and Austria.
The damage was immense. Hundreds of synagogues were burned to the ground. Thousands of Jewish-owned businesses were ransacked. Nearly 100 Jews were murdered in cold blood. And tens of thousands of Jews were arrested and deported to Buchenwald, Dachau, and other concentration camps.
Their crime? They were Jews. It was as simple as that. Observant or atheist, Zionist or anti-Zionist, bourgeois or socialist, they were all subject to the same fate. (more…)
It Wasn’t A Little Hate, It Wasn’t A Little Terror, We Weren’t Even Decimated
The definition of “decimate” was to kill ten percent of a population. Any war that involves the death of even five percent of a population is considered cataclysmic; it almost never happens.
Most wars kill tiny percentages of the entire population before the targeted society buckles under and yells “uncle.” That is one of the reasons that World War II was the exception. The 50 million dead was well within acceptable parameters for such a war, but the two-thirds of European Jewry who were killed, that was way out-of-bounds. Sure, there are many, like Rev. Jesse Jackson, who tired long ago of hearing about the Holocaust. He, and those like him, aren’t interested in the lessons learned from the past. Instead, they’re interested in shaking down corporate “clients,” boinking employees, and undermining disparaging all those they view as their competition. America was built on competition. It’s what makes our system strong and healthy. To hate those you compete with, or worse, to cut their balls off, is unAmerican. Jesse the Reverend, who doesn’t want to hear about the Holocaust, has lived a long and successful life despite his many mistakes, and his son who is still young has already carved out a place in the United States Congress and a high position on Barack Obama’s team. For these reasons, I feel it is important to remind Jesse’s son of a little known fact that I’m sure his father failed to teach him:
“It is estimated that over eighty percent of the Jewish scholars, rabbis, full-time Torah students alive in 1939 were dead by 1945.”
-from “World Jewry and the State of Israel” edited by Moshe Davis, the above quote is an excerpt from the chapter by Irving Greenberg.
Posted in Videos, tagged Al Gore, False Scam, fraud, Global Warming Hoax, Global Warming Scam, Hero, Holocaust, Holocaust Survivor, Invalid Crisis Exposed, Irena Sendler, Jews, Kyoto, Swindle, TMQ2, Videos, WWII on July 18, 2008 | 1 Comment »
Glen Beck lays out the sad story of a Jewish hero who was cheated out of a Nobel Prize by swindler and liar Al Gore and his Global Warming lie machine
Al Gore: Propagandist and environmental alarmist.
Irena Sendler: During World War II helped save 2,500 Jewish children from the Warsaw Ghetto by providing them with false documents and sheltering them in individual and group childrens’ homes outside the Ghetto: }} more…
The Nobel Peace Prize: Awarded “to the person who shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses.”
Irena Sendler was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2007, but lost to Al Gore’s propaganda film.
Posted in Book Review, Nazis, tagged Ahmadinejad, Barack Obama, Buchenwald, Buchenwald concentration camp, Concentration Camp, Elie Wiesel, Germany, Holocaust, Holocaust Denial, Jew, Nazis, Night, Nobel Peace Prize on June 12, 2008 | 1 Comment »
At the gate of the camp, SS officers were waiting for us. They counted us. Then we were directed to the assembly place. Orders were given us through loudspeakers:
‘For fives!’ ‘Form groups of a hundred!’ ‘Five paces forward!’
I held onto my father’s hand — the old, familiar fear: not to lose him.
Right next to us the high chimney of the crematory oven rose up. It no longer made any impression on us. It scarcely attracted our attention.
An established inmate of Buchenwald told us that we should have a shower and then we could go into the blocks. The idea of having a hot bath fascinated me. My father was silent. He was breathing heavily beside me.
‘Father,’ I said. ‘Only another moment more. Soon we can lie down — in a bed. You can rest…’
He did not answer. I was so exhausted myself that his silence left me indifferent. My only wish was to take a bath as quickly as possible and lie down in a bed.
But it was not easy to reach the showers. Hundreds of prisoners were crowding there. The guards were unable to keep any order. They struck out right and left with no apparent result. Others, without the strength to push or even to stand up, had sat down in the snow. My father wanted to do the same. He groaned.
‘I can’t go on….This is the end….I’m going to die here…’
He dragged me toward a hillock of snow from which emerged human shapes and ragged pieces of blanket.
‘Leave me,’ he said to me. ‘I can’t go on… Have mercy on me…. I’ll wait here until we can get into the baths…You can come and find me.’
I could have wept with rage. Having lived through so much, suffered so much, could I leave my father to die now? Now, when we could have a good hot bath and lie down?
‘Father!’ I screamed. ‘Father! Get up from here! Immediately! You’re killing yourself…”
I seized him by the arm. He continued to groan.
‘Don’t shout, son… Take pity on your old father… Leave me to rest here… Just for a bit, I’m so tired…at the end of my strength…’
He had become like a child, weak, timid, vulnerable.
‘Father,’ I said. ‘You can’t stay here.’
I showed him the corpses all around him; they too had wanted to rest here.
‘I can see them, son. I can see them all right. Let them sleep. It’s so long since they closed their eyes… They are exhausted…exhausted…’
His voice was tender.
I yelled against the wind:
‘They’ll never wake again! Never! Don’t you understand?’
For a long time this argument went on. I felt that I was not arguing with him, but with death itself, with the death that he had already chosen.
The sirens began to wail. An alert. The lights went out throughout the camp. The guards drove us toward the blocks. In a flash, there was no one left on the assembly place. We were only too glad not to have had to stay outside longer in the icy wind. We let ourselves sink down onto the planks. The beds were in several tiers. The cauldrons of soup at the entrance attracted no one. To sleep, that was all that mattered.
It was daytime when I awoke. And then I remembered that I had a father. Since the alert, Ihad followed the crowd without troubling about him. I had known that he was at the end, on the brink of death, and yet I had abandoned him.
I went to look for him.
But at the same moment this thought came into my mind: ‘Don’t let me find him! If only I could get rid of this dead weight, so that I could use all my strength to struggle for my own survival, and only worry about myself.’ Immediately I felt ashamed of myslef, ashamed forever.
I walked for hours without finding him. Then I came to the block where they were giving out black ‘coffee.’ The men were lining up and fighting.
A plaintive, beseeching voice caught me in the spine:
‘Eliezer…my son…bring me…a drop of coffee…’
I ran to him.
‘Father! I’ve been looking for you for so long… Where were you? Did you sleep?… How do you feel?’
He was burning with fever. Like a wild beast, I cleared a way for myself to the coffee cauldron. And I managed to carry back a cupful. I had a sip. The rest was for him. I can’t forget the light of thankfulness in his eyes while he gulped it down–an animal gratitude. With those few gulps of hot water, I probably brought him more satisfaction than I had done during my whole childhood.
He was lying on a plank, livid, his lips pale and dried up, shaken by tremors. I could not stay by him for long. Orders had been given to clear the place for cleaning. Only the sick could stay.
We stayed outside for give hours. Soup was given out. As soon as we were allowed to go back to the blockes, I ran to my father.
‘Have you had anything to eat?’
‘They didn’t give us anything…they said that if we were ill we should die soon anyway and it would be a pity to waste the food. I can’t go on any more…’
I gave him what was left of my soup. But it was with a heavy heart. I felt that I was giving up to him against my will. No better than Rabbi Eliahou’s son had I withstood the test.
He few weaker day by day, his gaze veiled, his face the color of dead leaves. On the third day after our arrival at Buchenwald, everyone had to go to the showers. Even the sick, who had to go through last.
On the way back from the baths, we had to wait outside for a long time. They had not yet finished cleaning the bocks.
Seeing my father in the distance, I ran to meet him. He went by me like a ghost, passed me without stopping, without looking at me. I called to him. He did not come back. I ran after him:
‘Father, where are you running to?’
He looked at me for a moment, and his gaze was distant, visionary; it was the face of someone else. A moment only and on he ran again.
Struck down with dysentery, my father lay in his bunk, five other invalids with him. I sat by his side, watching him, not daring to believe that he could escape death again. Nevertheless, I did all I could to give him hope.
Suddenly, he raised himself on his bunk and put his feverish lips to my ear:
‘Eliezer…I must tell you where to find the gold and the money I buried…in the cellar… You know…”
He began to talk faster and faster, as though he were afraid he would not have time to tell me. I tried to explain to him that this was not the end, that we would go back to the house together, but he would not listen tome. He could no longer listen to me. He was exhausted. A trickle of saliva, mingled with blood, was running from between his lips. He had closed his eyes. His breath was coming in gasps.
For a ration of bread, I managed to change beds with a prisoner in my father’s bunk. In the afternoon the doctor came. I went and told him that my father was very ill.
‘Bring him here!’
I explained that he could not stand up. But the doctor refused to listen to anything. Somehow, I brought my father to him. He stared at him, then questioned him in a clipped voice:
‘What do you want?’
‘My father’s ill,’ I answered for him. ‘Dysentery…’
‘Dysentery? That’s not my business. I’m a surgeon. Go on! Make room for the others.’
Protests did no good.
‘I can’t go on, son… Take me back to my bunk…’
I took him back and helped him to lie down. He was shivering.
‘Try and sleep a bit, father. Try to go to sleep…’
His breathing was labored, thick. He kept his eyes shut. Yet I was convinced that he could see everything, that now he could see the truth in all things.
Another doctor came to the block. But my father would not get up. He know that it was useless.
Besides, this doctor had only come to finish off the sick. I could hear him shouting at them that they were lazy and just wanted to stay in bed. I felt like leaping at his throat, strangling him. But I no longer had the courage or the strength. I was riveted to my father’s deathbed. My hands hurt, I was clenching them so hard. Oh, to strangle the doctor and the others! To burn the whole world! My father’s murderers! But the cry stayed in my throat.
When I came back from the bread distribution, I found my father weeping like a child:
‘Son, they keep hitting me!’
I thought he was delirious.
‘Him, the Frenchman…and the Pole…they were hitting me.’
Another wound to the heart, another hate, another reason for living lost.
‘Eliezer…Eliezer…tell them not to hit me… I haven’t done anything…Why do they keep hitting me?’
I began to abuse his neighbors. They laughed at me. I promised them bread, soup. They laughted. Then they got angry; they could not stand my father any longer, they said, because he was now unable to drag himself outside to relieve himself.
The following day he complained that they had takenhis ration of bread.
‘While you were asleep?’
‘No. I wasn’t asleep. They jumped on top of me. They snatched my bread…and they hit me…again… I can’t stand any more, son…a drop of water…’
I knew that he must not drink. But he pleaded with me for so long that I gave in. Water was the worst poison he could have, but what else could I do for him? With water, without water, it would all be over soon anyway….
‘You, at least, have some mercy on me…’
Have mercy on him! I, his only son!
A week went by like this.
‘This is your father, isn’t it?’ asked the head of the block.
(gotta run, will try to finish later)