The Non-Human Nature of the Jew
by Cholly Bilderberger
ONCE THE RIGHT questions are asked, the answers will come, sooner or later. But if the right questions are not asked, the answers will never come.
The questions in this case concern the Jew, and are basically esthetic and instinctive, as, indeed, all racial questions are. It is a truism that the Jew has puzzled the non-Jew since the beginning of time, and continues to do so. The non-Jew has always known that there is something different about the Jew, but has never been able to agree on what that something is. This difference is not the same as the differences between non-Jews. A European in Asia or Africa or the Americas, whether among sophisticated Chinese or primitive Blacks or Indians, has always been able to find a common ground for human interchange. The empire-building Englishman understood the structure of the maharajah’s court and the people in it. He also understood the blank despair of the Calcutta slums, and the courage of the Sikhs and Gurkhas, whom he took into his armies and respected. In Africa, he had the same relationship with the Arabs and the natives, especially with aristocratic tribes like the Masai. And they, in turn, understood the Englishman and other Europeans. A common understanding between races and cultures was always possible to some degree, no matter how bitter the territorial struggles and social differences.
With one notable exception. No non-Jewish race, culture or individual has ever been able to find a common human bond with the Jew. Lest I am immediately challenged by such examples as Disraeli mesmerizing the English, the European courts of the past bringing Jews in for finance and diversion, American presidents playing golf with Zionists, tearful blubbering about a certain Jew being “my best friend,” Whites like Nancy Maginnes marrying Jews like Henry Kissinger, and on and on, I must say immediately that these are not examples of what I understand by a common human bond.
In modern produce-and-consume societies, people spend a great deal of time at their jobs, but with rare exceptions they don’t have a true bond with those jobs, in the sense that their ancestors had one with farming or hunting. They perform them to make money to buy junk. This analogy extends to their extensive intercourse with Jews. The lack of a common bond is still recognized instinctively, and flares up on occasion, but is just as buried as the lack of any other human reaction — what another generation called common sense — in the ordered chaos of a produce-and-consume society. No matter how many non-Jews marry Jews, no matter how desperately the non-Jews abase themselves to Jews, it still does not follow that there is a common human bond. Quite the contrary, in fact, because a society which does everything else against its best interests is bound to have extensive surface relations with Jews and be controlled by them. How could it be otherwise?
As for examples from the past, the Disraelis, Rothschilds and the rest, any true bond between Jews and non-Jews was equally lacking then, too, but there were several compensating differences. The Jews were fresh from the ghettos and considered themselves different. They were tentative and circumspect compared with today’s Jews, and did not presume on a bond which did not exist. The non-Jews of that time were just entering the produce-and-consume, non-caring decline-of-the-west phase, and welcomed the Jews only to the extent to which their own reactions were beginning to dull. The Disraelis and Rothschilds were the exceptions, not the rule, and even with them the difference was not altogether overlooked or denied.
In any case, no matter how suppressed and buried the instinct is today, every non-Jew still feels the lack of a common bond with the Jew. In the past, when non-Jews were healthier and less afraid, they made this instinct plain. The Romans, among the first Europeans to deal with the Jews, found them comically non-human, and that refrain has echoed down the centuries. (It was still common until World War II. Well-bred people laughed at Jews — behind their backs, of course — and patronized them. This was the fashionable attitude, and thus did not require any effort, nor did it reflect any originality on the part of those affecting it. However, it was closer to the core of the problem than all the intellectual “cases” against the Jews put together.) In the Middle Ages, the non-human difference was apparent to European aristocrats, churchmen and peasants alike. They instinctively found the Jew outside the human circle, like a rock or an animal. Because those non-Jews were sure of themselves and their instincts, the Jews saw themselves as they were seen — lacking some basic human ingredient — and retreated into the ghettos. It is only in modern times that the Jew has been accepted as wholly human, no different from non-Jews in any particular. But as noted, this is a comment on modern times, not on the non-humanness of the Jew.
In the past, then, all non-Jews found Jews uniquely different. In the present, any person not deadened by contemporary life (all too few, unfortunately) comes to the same conclusion. It is not a rational but an instinctive conclusion, and all the stronger for that. If, for instance, I meet an impostor masquerading as a close friend, I do not detect the masquerade by reasoning it out, but by a sudden, instinctive realization. When I meet a Jew, my instinct tells me that he is fundamentally different from me, and from all other humanity. Until modern times, I was not afraid of that instinctive signal. But in a rationalist society, with my instincts dulled by centuries of soporific produce-and-consume, I dismiss the notion as preposterous. How can he be different? Doesn’t he have a head, two legs and all the rest? I cheerfully throttle my instinct in this as in all matters of importance, and congratulate myself on being rational enough to do so.
The questions rising from the difference are interesting: What makes the Jew different? “A Difference of Minds” would have him human-reptilian rather than human-mammalian. Perhaps, perhaps not. How should a non-human be treated? Like a retarded child? The answers will come thick and fast once the difference is conceded. In fact, the concession of the difference may well be more important than any of the answers. Obviously, such a concession goes far beyond casual anti-Jewishness — in fact, the cliché anti-Jew is often the most reluctant to see and concede the non-humanness of Jews.
My own awareness of the depths of the difference came during and after an endless flight from Russia back to the United States on an official plane with a Jew as my only traveling companion. (From boyhood I had observed Jews in every sort of setting — scholastic, social, business and governmental — and naturally realized they were different, but not just how profound that difference was.) There were engine repairs and other delays on the flight, and we ended up spending four days in each other’s unrelieved company. For the first couple of days he was simply another Jew, under his Harvard-Wall Street-Georgetown veneer, but on the third day he went a step further. His artificial vitality had drained off and he had withdrawn — into his own world, I presumed. I was just as happy to be rid of his chatter, and thought no more about it. We were on the ground at a base in Spain, but still on the plane because takeoff was supposed to be imminent. I was reading and he was staring off into space, and it suddenly came to me that I was alone. Not in the sense of being with someone who had retreated into his own world and was not talking — for such a person is still there, and I would have been conscious of another human being occupying the rather cavernous interior of the plane but totally alone, in the purest sense of the word.
I still have the notebook in which I noted my thoughts at the time, as they came in a rush:
“His shell there, but he absent. If not in private world, where? Perhaps no private world to go to. Never noticed such emptiness in any other Jew because never perceptive enough to have seen it — always too much noisy diversion. Explains a lot, though. They are never there — or here — unless they have something to playoff against — a White person or society. Imagine five thousand Jews alone on a desert island — would they exist? What would they do? End up like this one, I imagine, with the essential non-thereness exposed. If Israel didn’t have uproar, would Israel exist? Probably not. It’s an application of the old riddle: If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound. Answer: Not if it’s a Jewish tree.
Think of Jews known — Javits, Lehmann, Buchwald, Brandeis, Ben-Gurion, Frankfurter, Rothschilds by the gross — what a parade — and they all are the same in this regard, really. What about part Jews like Dillon, Loeb, the Pulitzers? Never alone with them so can’t tell. Probably the same, in some degree. Not by fractions — one Jewish great-grandparent doesn’t result in acting one-eighth Jewish all the time, but entirely Jewish one-eighth of the time, or something like that. Usually in emergencies. As when alone. Dogma: No Jew can exist alone, so they must always attach, like barnacles. But how can this be? How can there be human form, however unattractive, without a human contained therein? They are husks, but how did it happen? Sun-struck, wandering in the desert, some gene wiped out, and the lack transmitted. Or missing from the beginning. Or an evolutionary dead end, like the cockroach, each generation a repetition of the last, going nowhere. (Differing in that from Whites, who, although perpetually pathetic and ridiculous in their wrong turnings, have not yet reached the end of their evolution?)
The Jews must know instinctively if not intellectually that they are a dead end. That they cannot, do not, exist on their own, so must attach themselves to people who do exist and thus live vicariously. If they know this, even if non-intellectually, how they must despise us for not knowing it. Or for forgetting it. How awful to be a Jew, actually a cockroach creeping about to … nowhere. ‘Successful,’ in our lunatic world, but at what a price. And conscious of it, because what is all their thrashing about but the desperate attempt to be human? It kills them that they are not, so they must pretend. And what a grim pretense, because if it is exposed, life is unthinkable afterwards. Imagine it from their standpoint, inside them. You know you’re not human, and here you are, stranded in a world apparently controlled by humans. You try everything and nothing works. You end penned up in European ghettos, which seems a fair standoff. They know you, and you know you. Then your young break down those walls (1800 and after) and sail out and pretend to be human. You expect them back, but now the Whites let them in, pretend with them. This looks pretty tasty, you finally say, maybe we can get on top of the humans.
The pretence becomes enormous, all or nothing. Take the world or perish. Tremendous interruption with Hitler, but it turns out to be only a momentary return to instinctive reason, however heavyhanded, and a wonderful longterm asset. Now the balloon swells larger and larger, your hands get sweatier and sweatier, you have all your money on red and the wheel is spinning. You must make your non-humanness accepted as humanness; you must make your not-thereness accepted as thereness. Even if you’re the sainted Proust himself, that’s all you have on your mind. Mighty pretenders are in there with you — Marx and Freud and Einstein himself, all turning wine into water. The world has to believe in the illusions of a total transvaluation, to deny its humanity as non-human and to bow to your non-humanity as human. They’ll never do it. Steady … they are doing it! What it must be like to be a Jew in the midst of this incredible game!
The world does accept the illusion and thanks the Jews effusively for putting it on (using the euphemism of Jewish ‘contributions’) because the world is… sick. What would we do if we weren’t sick? Not gas them, certainly. But treat them as non-human, I imagine, which is really worse, from their standpoint. But how would that be done, in day-to-day living? Don’t deal with them until or unless they recognized their non-humanness? Probably, in some form. We would have to admit our own flaws in order to do this, to become sober enough. And they’d stroll about in some psychological equivalent of the medieval yellow hats. But loving their yellow hats, grateful at last not to have to pretend any more. If they refused -- and perhaps they simply can’t do otherwise, perhaps there is no choice — then withdrawal, leaving them alone. But they can’t be alone, it means having to face up to their emptiness, which is death, so they would shrivel up and die. But when it comes to a choice between their self-extinction and our life, there is really no choice. The joker is, of course, that we have lost our life, our vitality, so all this is theoretical. In flat fact, they have imposed their emptiness. It will not last, no more than any lie does. But it will be undone by time and circumstances — by God, if you choose. We shall not have the honor.”
If anything, those rough notes seem charitable as the amazing scenario unfolds. Like a science-fiction fable come true, the planet is taken over by the cold-blooded cockroaches (reptiles are even more scarifying) in human form, who turn the former warmblooded rulers into cowering slaves. Throwing off their human masks, the rulers finally expose themselves for what they are (already done in the case of Menachem Begin, who really does give the cockroach-reptile show away), and proclaim non-humanness as God’s master design. And believe it, because the sense of inferiority to humanness has disappeared. (This attitude is prefigured in all modern young Jews; they have lost their forebears’ sense of relative reality. But one cannot fault them; they have not had an active humanity to give them the opposed example.) The scenario differs from the usual “Planet of the Apes” fare in that the slaves refuse to counterattack, and there is no happy ending. What a story this really is! The greatest of all time, one would think, but completely ignored.
And yet…somewhere in each non-Jew faced with a Jew there is still a faint — exceedingly faint — twitch of instinct telling him that he is dealing with a creature who is not like him. He stifles it immediately, of course, but it is there. And can come out in very odd ways. Especially in marriages between Jews and non-Jews, where the non-Jews spend so much time alone with Jews that they (the non-Jews) can hardly avoid tumbling to the non-humanness of their mates. They have to redouble their efforts to deny it, but the knowledge is inevitably there.
A young White woman I know, recently divorced from a Jew, said to me of her marriage, “I was always uneasy.” We were at a large party, but out of general earshot.
“Because he was Jewish?” I asked indifferently, careful not to frighten her.
“Oh, I hardly think so,” she said with an amused smile. “He’s quite civilized, you know.” The remark was designed, I assumed, to make it plain that she had the correct attitude toward Jews — admiration — despite the marital failure, and regarded “anti-Semitism” as quainter than belief in a flat earth.
“No,” she went on, “I was just uneasy, period. I don’t know why. I’m sure it would have been the same if he’d been … well, non-Jewish, whatever that is.”
“And you’re not uneasy now?”
“Oh… yes, I am.” She paused, twiddled the stem of her glass. “I have dreams … rather intense dreams.”
“I don’t wake up screaming, if that’s what you mean. But, yes, I do wake up. And when I do, I’m shaking, and soaking wet.”
“Semi-nightmares,” she agreed wryly. “He — Mitchell — does figure in the dreams, but not in a malevolent way. They’re not altogether recurrent — I mean, the same thing doesn’t always happen — but variations of it do.” Her color was heightening, her voice coming a bit faster. “In the dreams Mitchell is always involved with people, or work, and I am nearby, uneasy. I don’t seem to be at all involved with what he is doing. I don’t know if I want to be involved, exactly, but I am uneasy because I am not. The uneasiness in my dreams — in my semi-nightmares — is something like the uneasiness I felt in real life when we were married, but then it didn’t have any specifics. I mean, I wasn’t uneasy then because Mitchell was doing something with other people and I was excluded. I was just uneasy, even when I was quite alone in the apartment and he was at work. But in the dreams, he is always there and I am uneasy because he is busy and I am not.”
She broke off, and then said, in a different tone, “I still don’t think it has anything to do with him, though. I probably just wasn’t cut out for marriage. I would have been uneasy with anyone. Mitchell wasn’t that bad.”
She wasn’t thinking, naturally, of Mitchell as Jew but as American man. But even as Jew, she was right — he wasn’t “that bad” in the sense that Woody Allen or Louis Wolfson or Milton Friedman are very bad, indeed — prototypes of the unattractive, pushy, impertinent Jew whom no one wants in his club. Mitchell was cast in the Arthur Miller mold, a lanky sort of young Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., an acceptable parody White, just the Jew to grace any club.
She was looking at me, waiting for me to say, “You’re right, Mitchell wasn’t that bad.”
I did say, “Mitchell was probably worse for you than if he had been that bad.”
She thought I meant his very superiority had been the problem. She could not imagine that I meant she would have twigged far more easily had he been a coarser specimen.
“You may be right,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m sure I would have been uneasy with anyone. I’m afraid I have a problem.”
It was a delicate moment. She was attractive, intelligent and unhappy. In theory a man — any man — could have and should have come to her rescue and said, “You are uneasy because you were married to a Jew, and the Jews are non-human. Recognition of Jewish non-humanness is not really discretionary, but a matter of life and death, a corollary to health. No one can be sane and well without such recognition and resistance. To be otherwise is to be automatically unbalanced and unwell. Even the coarsest anti-Jewishness is better than none. You can’t face what Mitchell is — or, rather, what he is not — so you have to make him human and yourself non-human. Your dreams are laughably accurate reflections of the false inversion — the pretense — which makes you uneasy. But there is a way out if you face reality, starting with Mitchell.”
But that candid little speech would not have rescued her. Quite the opposite, in fact. She would have regarded me as a lunatic “anti-Semite” and retreated even further into her shell. On matters which are beyond words — and anything to do with the Jews has come to that point, sporadic anti-Jewish chatter notwithstanding (as noted, it only obscures the central point) — one must remain silent, or Delphic at best, confining one’s conversation to the ordinary, leaving the door open.
So all I said was, “I’m not sure. Perhaps you’ll find someone with whom you won’t be uneasy. Or perhaps, if you don’t find such a man, you’ll make your peace with yourself alone.”
She smiled, “That’s awfully stuffy advice. Can’t you do better than that?”
“Oh, I can do much better.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“You aren’t ready for it.”
“By the time I’m ready for this hypothetical advice, I won’t need it, will I?”
She smiled again, “I don’t know what we’re talking about now. Do you?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good,” she said decisively, and that was that.
So we parted, and have not seen each other since. Like so many others, she is out there somewhere, slowly unravelling what happened to her, slowly puzzling through the colossal weight and insolent self-assurance of the swindle. She has been tricked since childhood into going against her instincts; there is a lifetime to be undone. Of course, it is a question whether that is possible.
* * *
Source: Instauration magazine, October 1979
* * *THE INCOMPARABLE, AMAZING music of Dresden’s Call of the Blood is now available in a digitally remastered 20th Anniversary edition CD. Crafted with jewel-like care and true artistry, this is unlike any music you have ever heard before.
Listen to a low-bitrate sampler here:
You can get your copy of Call of the Blood by clicking here.