ed note–as we point out on a regular basis, there is something intrinsically and dangerously abnormal about a group of people who celebrate yearly religious feasts focused around the destruction and misery of others, and what’s worse are those groups who celebrate the destruction of others by making pastries said to resemble the body parts of those destroyed peoples.
If any other group, especially those of the Christian or Islamic pedigree, maintained similar ‘celebrations’, such religious expressions would feature powerfully in topics of discussion highlighting the intrinsic evil that such religious celebrations were and, just as importantly–how they–like the dorsal fin of a shark sticking out of the water’s edge–were an indicator of something much more dangerous lurking underneath.
HOWEVER, when these celebrations happen to originate with Judah-ism, somehow–as is always the case–all the normal rules don’t apply. The entire affair is nothing but ‘harmless fun’ when in fact, if intelligent and civilized Gentile societies bothered to study the particulars of these ‘celebrations’, they would see how they themselves feature as ‘stand-ins’ both in the present and in the future, for in the collective mind of Judea that has been morally and rationally incapacitated by the dark, deranged and dangerous teachings of Torah Judah-ism, ALL Gentiles (and their civilizations) are ‘Haman’, all peoples/countries are ‘Persia,’ and ‘Purim’ is a never-ending, 24/7/365 year-long event.
Now, as far as our deranged Hebrish writer is concerned, please nota bene the following–
1. His absolute and unapologetic glee recounting how ‘his’ people murdered others, en masse (75,000 according to their ‘religious’ lore) in an event for which there is no historical proof whatsoever.
This is important for several reasons–
A. The complete absence of human empathy or objective morality on his part, 2 of the (many) human qualities that are obliterated in a mind subjected to the dark and deranged ‘protocols’ of Torah/Talmud Judah-ism. The only thing that comes close are those barbaric cultures of the past such as the Aztecs, Mayans, Incans, etc who cut the hearts out of living humans as a sacrifice to their ‘gods’.
B. How this absence of empathy for the suffering of other humans helps better contextualize/explain how a ‘state’ such as Israel engages in periodic and ritualistic bloodbaths of innocent men, women and children, in truth, modern-day re-enactments of those same aforementioned manifestations of human sacrifice, to wit–
–as well as millions of other pieces of pictographical evidence indicating beyond any shadow of doubt the deranged and demented mental health of a ‘state’ that has been disenfranchised of any semblance of compassion, morality or humanity as a result of its religious/cultural beliefs.
ALSO nota bene how our deranged Hebrish author center-stages DJT as the modern-day ‘Haman’ whose political career was destroyed by the forces of organized anti-Gentilism, a fact that–despite not making its way into the level of discussion that it should, given its importance, nevertheless–is a fact beyond dispute to those who just bother to open their eyes and see for themselves.
Times of Israel
As a 10 year old, I loved Purim.
I loved the whole Megillah.
I loved that for a week before the holiday, my mom walked from our Woodridge home to Mortman’s bakery and purchased 12 hamantaschen—three prune, three poppy seed, three cherry and three apricot.
I loved all four fillings.
Yes, my mom bought them for me.
Yes, they’re my favorite triangular-shaped, fruit-filled pocket butter cookie.
Come to think of it, they’re the only triangular-shaped, fruit-filled pocket butter cookie.
Yes, I relished noshing on those hamantaschen and I still do.
Thanks Mom for all the love.
And after I finished the cookie, I sang:
Oh once there was a wicked, wicked man,
And Haman was his name, Sir.
He would have murdered all the Jews,
Tho they were not to blame, Sir.
So based on lyrics of that tune you may ask: ‘Is there anything as good as munching on the warm ears of Haman with a cold glass of milk?’
Of course not!
Eating the ears of a Persian viceroy who wanted to kill all the Jews in the kingdom.
What could be better?
I remember that painted on my milk glass was a picture of Daniel Boone: wearing a coonskin hat, standing in the forest, aiming his long rifle at a ‘redskin.’ The Indian wore red war paint, brown moccasins and yellow feathers in his hair. He held a rust-colored tomahawk which he aimed at Daniel’s head.
And even as a 10-year old, I had known that Native Americans were Daniel’s Hamanites for they were ready to kill all the white settlers living on the frontier.
So in 1959, I paraded around the Woodridge Congregational Synagogue wearing my raccoon cap and holding my BB gun. I was prepared to kill any Hamanite daring to show his face in our temple.
And if my trusty BB gun failed, in my pocket rested my wooden gragger ready to deafen and smash any Hamanites who entered our temple.
For even as a 10-year-old, I understood that there will always be more Hamans, and there will always be another Persia.
And now as a 71-year old, I still love Purim.
But now I love drawing and creating Purim costumes.
Costumes worn by modern-day Hamans, drawn on my yellow legal pad, using my #2 soft graphite HB pencils.
On the first yellow page, I sketched Marjorie Taylor Greene enjoying the pleasures of her Orgasmatron 3000 dressed only in King Ahashveyrosh’s crown.
On the second page, I penciled a middle-aged, Proud Boy wearing a Capitol Building T-shirt emblazoned with the words, ‘I survived the Capitol Insurrection—January 6, 2021.’
He stood arm-in-arm with another Proud Boy wearing a T-shirt which read:
‘My President called for an insurrection and all he got me was this lousy T-shirt.’
Resting on both villain’s heads were black and orange MAGA baseball caps and in their hands, they held Confederate flags attached to bloodied five-foot poles.
Viceroys hung off of their lips as they mumbled to each other—as seen in the cartoon dialogue box—’Six Million Weren’t Enough! All the Jews in this kingdom must die.’
On the third page, I drew Mordechai and Queen Esther blasting Hamanites on the steps of the Capitol with their trusty Israeli-made Jewish laser beam rifles.
And finally, in my last picture, Haman swings from the gallows, as Esther and Mordechai sign a decree that five hundred of Haman’s followers and his ten sons also be hung.
They knew how to handle insurrectionists and the meaning of retribution in the old days.
And standing in the lynching party crowd, I drew a kippa-wearing Jew, a Kohen, telling another Jew—of course in the dialogue box—about the rope or cord used to hang Haman.
‘I heard they used a secret cord that snapped his neck and pleased the Lord, Hallelujah’
As I penciled in the word, ‘Hallelujah’ I felt tired. So I put down my pencil and picked up a prune hamantaschen.
I noshed on it and I gulped it down with some ice-cold milk.
And as the delicious mixture reached my stomach, I burst out in song:
Oh today we’ll merry merry be
Oh today we’ll merry merry be
Oh today we’ll merry merry be
And nosh some hamantaschen.
And Esther was the lovely queen of King Ahashveyrosh
When Haman said he’d kill us all,
Oh my how he did scare us.
Mordechai her cousin bold
Said: ‘What a dreadful chutzpah
If guns were but invented now,
This Haman I would shoot, Sir.’
When Esther speaking to the King
Of Haman’s plot made mention
‘Ha, ha,’ said he, ‘Oh, no he won’t!
I’ll spoil his bad intention.’
The guest of honor he shall be,
This clever Mr. Smarty
And high above us he shall swing
At a little hanging party.
Of all his cruel and unkind ways
This little joke did cure him
And don’t forget we owe him thanks
For this jolly feast of Purim.
Pretty good memory for a 71-year old.