Foreword: As it turns out, the real-life Otto Kumm did not die until after the dawn of the 21st century. Apparently he lived well into his 90s. Be that as it may, and without further ado: Otto Kumm Recollects By Andy Thomas We were desperate in those last days of February, 1945. The botched Ardennes offensive of the previous December-January had left us short of Antwerp, so there would be no separate peace with the Western Allies. We were alone, betrayed by drunken Churchill and the crippled Roosevelt. The bolsheviki were closing in from the East. We had fought with skill and bravery in the East before, and it was time again. This was to be our last offensive of the war, and I can remember looking at the assembled troops prior to the jumping off of the assault, and I could see it, like the dark, doomed words of a poet on his deathbed written upon each and every one of their faces. Some had been hastily brought up from the hospitals, and added to my Tiger Battalion. We mounted our tanks, like the Teutonic Knights of old, preparing to make one last noble charge. Our Tigers - Panzer VIBs - with their long 88s were the best. Don't let anyone tell you that the IS-2 was better. The Americans had nothing really but heavy artillery. What they lacked in bravery or panache, or quality of their tanks, they simply had made up for with a heavy volume of high explosives, preceding each new attack as they had swept across France and the Low Countries just months before. The war was lost and we knew it. Yet we fought on because by then we knew nothing else. We yet believed in our Fuhrer. It was the strangest thing, knowing on the one hand that the war was lost, yet remaining at once loyal to our leader, and enthuiastic about this new assault. I suppose that the glimmer of irrational hope had not yet quite faded for us. We headed out that morning through the deep mud, and we fought inch by inch along the shores of Lake Balaton, into a town with a river running behind it. The bridges were all blown. My memory is fuzzy here, it having been a past life and such. We were fighting for the heart and soul of European civilization. We knew of what the bolshevikis had done in Russia, and we were trying to stave off the Eurasian - oriental - hordes. For what has ever come out of the East save for complete despotism and utter lack of respect for life? At least that is what we would say and think among ourselves. We had long hair, and beards if we liked. We called each other comrade, regardless of rank. From our Divisional Commanders on down through the ranks, everybody fought, and no one ever quit. And now, we tried to take the town that we might establish new bridges and cross the river. Oh yes, it was the Sio Canal! I can't remember anything else about the name of the place. Kilometers to the East (we were attacking in a Southward direction), our flank was disintegrating. That one morning we assembled in the dawn, for one last push on the town. We had all manner of animals in our ad hoc formation: Panthers, Tigers, Grizzly Bears, Elephants, Rhinoceros. As we mounted our tanks once again, a single plane flew overhead. It was the most beautiful aircraft I had ever seen, and it was one of ours. It was a jet, an ME-262. There has never been another aircraft like it, neither before nor since. Somehow it was like a symbol of our dying hope; don't ask me how. I remember thinking as we went forward that last time toward the town, that at least the bolshevikis had less artillery than the Americans. That is to say, the bolshevikis probably had more artillery overall, but less per kilometer of front. As I had said, the Americans were really defined by that one thing, consistently murderous artillery barrages prior to any attack. In contrast, the bolshevikis sometimes attacked without any artillery support whatsoever. As we approached the town, we knocked out some 15 or 20 anti-aircraft guns which had been set up in some woods before the town proper. But town or city fighting is not the balliwick of the Panzers, and our escorting Grenadiers were thin in their ranks. At least they fought with every ounce of energy they had, yet it was not enough. Soon we were beaten back. Soon we had run out of fuel entirely. Soon all of our functioning tanks were lost to bolsheviki air attacks, or encounters with their heavy armor. Man for man we had been better, but there had never been enough of us. If only the Americans and English had, with their heavy bombers bombed the bolshevikis, rather than us. If only they had never given material aid through Murmansk to the North and Persia to the South. If only we had ever had that last fabled battalion at any critical juncture in the overall campaign. If only, if only, if only: If only we had defeated the Soviet bolshevikis, there would have never been a Mao, never been a Ho Chi Minh. Yet as you and I both know, we were all sold out long ago. The Mao thing was pre-programmed and Chiang was intentionally shafted by the USA. Incredibly, the USA was at the same time forming both the nascent CIA and NASA with the best and brightest of the Nazis as their core; and don't forget the Japanese scientists they added into the mix. We won't even touch upon Montauk at this juncture. Today, in this life I'm a 'jewish' porn star. I have a high voice and I'm balding, but my cock is huge and I have a great deal of self-control. I love to fuck any lady, jewess or shiksa. But that's boring stuff. Besides, what is a 'jew' other than - much like the nazis - a scapegoat for your problems? I mean tell me, what really is a jew? I know that I love my G-d, but beyond that, of these discussions I see there and about, all over the internet: It looks sometimes as though the ADL agents are mimicking "neo-nazis" (hint: There will never again be nazis, you stupid twats. The SS I knew and loved would have chewed up and spit your kind out. We were tough. Modern man is not.) On the other hand, sometimes it appears as though the neo-nazis are mimicking the ADL-types. And every one of them, almost without exception is completely and utterly full of shit. This includes the ones who are sincere in their beliefs about that period of hystory, and the ongoing drama involving the Zionists in the Middle East. By the way, would somebody give the Palestinians a bunch of casinos to run, already; the way we - in the USA - give casinos to the indians in order to placate them? Could we tie their tubes, spray them with BZ; something, anything? I will say this though: If you believe that we, the Jews are running everything; well that's sort of like how some blacks and other 'coloured people' think that "whitey" is keeping them down. At its heart, it - this belief that the "jews" are controlling everything - means that you believe yourselves to be inferior. So, at what point do we - each of us - decide that we are the only ones responsible for our own conditions? I guess that's just too much to ask of the likes of say, a Hillary Clinton minion for example. And I bring up this Clinton character (caricature) and her morally destitute followers as an example, simply because she is the epitomy of a hand-wringer; the type of person who is really bringing the USA to its knees with their constant attempts at undermining anyone they might be envious of in life; the type of person who never believes in their fellow human, but would rather that the state control every aspect of our lives. These types of attitudes, left unchecked, will one day make the horrors of Soviet bolshevism look like a walk through the park. In truth, we as individuals have the power. And what of this G-d of which I've spoken? Well, so many of us have had that so wrong for such a long time, that it isn't even in the least bit funny. What we've been taught - particularly those of us who were raised Christian - is that there is this all-powerful G-d who is by the same token, completely irresponsible; that humans are the ones without power, yet responsible for everything. In point of fact, quite the opposite is true (and I believe that my Jewish upbringing in this life has helped me with this): The truth is that, G-d is completely ineffectual, yet utterly and entirely responsible; and that by the same token, we as humans are completely without responsibilty, and we hold all of the power. You just have to know this. Everything else aside, you must know this. Anyway, life as a porn star might look great to some of you cuckolded eunuch types. Let me tell you though; no matter what you do - or don't do for that matter - you will suffer in this world. Everyone suffers, yet in a slightly different way from everyone else. The bottom line is that you always have to give something to get something, and you can never have it all. Also, if you want to be a man, concentrate on your life's work. Fucking chicks is hardly a sign of a great man; and that's where our culture is so bogus. Well, that's one area among many where our culture is bogus. But I'll take it, particularly in contrast to what is coming back to me as memories of my past life. It is good to go from agent of destruction - Schwere Panzer Abteilung Commander - to agent of female pleasure. Who knows what the next life will bring? Just remember, you're a shining star, no matter who you are. So no matter what you do; do it with great passion and intensity. Give life your best shot. And always remember that in the midst of all of this suffering and terror, there is such great beauty and joy as to be beyond compare. Just look for it; or perhaps rather, allow yourself to see and experience it. I remember at Normandy, we were in the 1st SS Panzer Division. We had not yet fully assembled as a complete formation and were instead deployed piecemeal about the area surround the Normandy beachead; our Tigers here, the Artillery Batteries there; single Battlions of Mechanized Infantry deployed around and about. These were penny packets we added to the defensive positions already established by other friendly formations. Our reinforcements, the better part of two medium panzer battalions had not yet arrived on the days just following the invasion. It would be weeks before they would arrive, and then they would be so understrength, and the campaign so already decided, that they were of little use but were rather at liability of being trapped along with the formations they'd been sent to reinforce. On the day of the invasion, the magnificent Heer division, Panzer Lehr launched a counterattack, seeking to drive a wedge between the British and American sectors of the overall beachead. This was a division of some 20,000 men, loaded with crack panzer crews and outstanding mechanized infantry. They were augmented further by a battalion of captured french tractors, armored and with large guns added. The Panzer Lehr jumped off into the initial attack with confidence, but that was quickly shattered by a devestating Allied naval barrage. The attack was smashed almost immediately by the 15 inch rounds from the British battleships Nelson and Rodney, backed by myriad 11 inch fire from supporting cruisers, and an murderous addition of hundreds of 4.5 inch guns from the destroyers just off of the beachead. After the attack, armored vehicles hung there in flames, sideways from trees. It was an otherworldly scene. As an aside, perhaps the result of this aborted counterattack sheds some light as to why the Wermacht did not attack the stranded British Expeditionary Force on the beaches of Dunkirk, some 4 years earlier. It could be that the result would have been much the same; that the guns of the mighty Royal Navy would have smashed Guderian's panzers; then as they did now. Reinforcements for the defense of the beachhead were slow to arrive. Logistically, OKW and OKH put out an order to move only by night; daytime vehicle movement was nigh impossible, what with complete Allied air superiority over the all sectors of the battlefield, and Western Europe at large. Yes, by then the once-vaunted Luftwaffe had been swept from the skies. Miracle weapons such as the ME-262 had been too little, too late. When the bolshevikis attacked in the East on the 22 of June, 1944, some two and a half weeks into our corresponding defense of the Atlantic Wall in France, we knew things were grim. We were being bombed incessantly at home, by the Americans in the day, and the British at night. At least some of these were 1,000 bomber raids; where the Allies would send - in a single raid - upwards of a thousand bombers over the target. Nonetheless, we had yet at that time to even fathom the horrors of the Allied firebombings which would take place in 1945. For it was yet the summer of 1944, and despite our precarious position on the battlefied, we were hearing of secret new wonder weapons which might yet win the day. One day shortly after d-day, Michael Wittman from our Battalion went with his Tiger I or Panzer VIE (yes the Tiger II was the "B" version, and the Tiger I was the "E" version) into the British-held Villers-Bocage. He single-handedly knocked out something like 35 British tanks, and 50 light vehicles. It was one of the greatest single feats of tank combat of the entire war. I remember about the time of the clash at Arnhem, we refitted both our 1st SS (Liebstandarte) Panzer and the 12th SS Panzer (Hitlerjugend) Divisions. The 2 Divisions together would be called the 1st SS Panzer Army, commanded by none other than Sepp Dietrich, the old barroom brawler by then being in charge of 2 excellent large-sized divisions. Liebstandarte had come a long way from being just a single, reinforced Brigade! Dietrich had commanded the Liebstandarte on the East front, where we had stormed through Maripol and on into Rostov in the Donets basin, before winter and the full weight of bolsheviski counterattack had combined to push us back into the steppes of the Ukraine. I can remember being in the Liebstandarte Recon Abteilung in that Summer of 1941. I was in an armored car. We had a decent 20mm autocannon; that weapon was well-liked by the troops. It took 10-round magazines. It would go 'pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop' if you were to load a full magazine and then simply pull the trigger on the gun and hold the trigger down. In combat against the bolsheviki light tanks we could nearly always gain the upper hand, even though our armored cars were wheeled and not tracked; and we had very minimal armor protection. Anything from an enemy 12.7mm machinegun - on upwards to the 45mm and 76mm cannons and above - was a threat to our armored cars. One advantage that we had on our 8-wheeled cars was that there were 2 drivers; one in front and one in back. The car had an excellent series of "reverse gears" which the 'rearward' driver could shift through when he was the driver. This ability to quickly 'reverse,' and gain high speeds could often get one of these cars into cover before the bolsheviki tanks could zero in with their 45mm guns. For example, any hit from that 45mm gun found on their light tanks, on upwards to the 76mm guns of the t-34s and KV tanks would have meant certain disaster for one of our armored cars. Luckily, during that summer many of the soviet tank crews were poorly trained, and short on ammunition for their guns - if they had any at all. Also, their vaunted T-34 and KV tanks were in limited supply; although admittedly there were many more of them in the South where we were, as opposed to the Central and North. In a typical encounter between the armored cars of our recon abteilung - and our towed 37mm antitank and 75mm infantry guns which we could quickly set up - versus the soviet light tanks, we would come out on top. If on the other hand our recon abteilung were to encounter the t-34 or kv tanks, we would have to quickly retreat. Our 20mm guns were useless against both the T-34 and the KV. Even the 37mm antitank guns which we could hastily deploy were soon nicknamed, 'door knockers' by their crews. There were only 2 areas on the T-34 which could be penetrated by the 37mm 'antitank' gun at any kind of range; they were small weak spots in the turret armor, left and right about 30 degress of of the front center. Of the KV tanks, our 37mm guns were useless. Oftentimes, when encountering the T-34s or KV tanks, we would call in fire from our 150mm artillery batteries, and try to immobilize them at the very least with a rain of high explosives. Oftentimes, we would bring forward an 88mm 'anti-aircraft' gun and set it up anywhere within 2 or 3 kilometers of the soviet tanks, and blast away. The 88mm gun could definitely handle the T-34s and KVs. One time, we got an 88 for our recon battalion, and mounted it on a truck. It must have scored 20 or 30 kills before the soviets finally got a hit on it with one of their big guns. Yes, sometimes the soviets would put 152mm and 122mm artillery pieces in a direct-firing role, and now and then the effect was devestating. You certainly didn't want to be anywhere near a 152mm high explosive shell when it went off, even if you were inside a heavy tank! There were a few other methods for dealing with the heavier bolsheviki armour. First of all, if we were fortunate we could radio in for a Stuka attack. If the Stuka could find its target, its 1000-pound bomb was plenty to knock any tank out. Secondly, if we could immobilize one of the behomoths by a track hit, then our infantry could sneak toward it and plant demo charges. Sometimes even this would fail, particularly against the KVs. Lastly, we would sometimes aim at the gun of the KV tank, and if we could score a hit on its gun from say a side angle, it was enough to damage the gun and make it unusable. Through all of this we knew one thing for certain; the bolshevikis were not to be trifled with. This was a real war! It wasn't some dress rehearsal as the campaigns in Poland, France, and Yugoslavia and Greece had seemd to have been. In any event as I said, our victories carried us to Rostov, and then we fell back. We fought a Winter defense, but the main thrust of the soviet attacks were around Moscow. So there in the South things weren't quite as 'hot' for us that winter, as they were for our Heer comrades in the fighting up in the Center. We fought forward again during the Spring and early Summer of 1942. For example, we helped force the way into Rostov once again as a precursor to the Summer campaign at large. That - the 2nd Rostove battle - was some heavy fighting! During the late Summer of 1942, we were taken out of the line to refit. We were being made into a full-fledged Waffen SS Panzer Division, rather than a Motorized Infantry Brigade as we had previously been. As an aside, the reason I include the word 'Waffen' is because we were the 'fighting' SS, and not the prison camp guards which comprised the other branch of the SS. In contrast, Teddy Eicke's 3rd SS Division - Totenkopf - was made up out of a rotation of volunteers, and those from prison camp duty. Our next major action was after the Stalingrad debacle, in February and March of 1943. There at Kharkov we blew a hole in the soviet lines; we destroyed something like 500 of their tanks in the process. Where they had anihilated our 6th Army at Stalingrad, their victory on the Volga had led them to an all out pursuit of our remaining Southern armies. They were going for the knockout blow, and it had led them to overextend themselves all of the way into Kharkov. There at Kharkov Hitler had told the local commander - Waffen SS General Hausser - to hold onto Kharkov at all costs. Hausser had given Hitler the big "sod off" and retreated his Panzers from the city. Hausser linked up with some reinforcements, and they retook the city; it was perhaps the last major nazi victory on the Eastern front. The line had been ripped wide open, yet there was mud on the ground. It was 2 meters deep in some places. So we never exploited that gap. It may have been our last chance, mud or not. As it was we moved on to the battle at Kursk in July of 1943. There our Southern or right pincer gained an enormous number of kills, both from the new Stukas attack aircraft with the 37mm auto cannon, and the guns of our Panzer IIIs and IVs. The newly-formed Panther Battallions suffered from a number of mechnical problems, such as their engines catching on fire. So Kursk had been more of a teething - a 'debugging' - for the soon-to-be-famous Panther (Panzer V), than any kind of actual major engagement. Indeed, our Mk III and IV tanks had been the workhorses of Kursk. Of course the Independent Tiger Companies had been there alongside us, but they were few in number. As it was we managed to knock out upwards of 700 or 800 Soviet tanks in our Southern advance alone. Our Northern pincer had not fared nearly as well, having been more or less completely bogged down from the opening hours of the battle. But our Southern advance had almost carried the day; rolled their flank. It wasn't nearly the great soviet victory they portray it to have been. It was admittedly though our last large offensive in the east. We would fairly well be constantly rolled back at all points along the front for the following nearly 2 years; until the end of the war. We were sent to Italy after Kursk, and there we managed to refit as we bottled up the Western Allies' advance. The Elephant Tank Destroyers which had fared so poorly at Kursk in an offensive role, became what amounted to deadly semi-mobile antitank pillboxes in defense of the mountains of Italy. The frontal armor on the Elephant was inpenetrable by any Allied tank gun, at practically any range; including point-blank. It was also immune to direct fire from all but a few of the largest allied artillery pieces. Even the 90mm anti-aircraft gun - the American equivalent of our superlative 88s - had extreme difficulty dealing with the Elephant frontally. After the defensive fighting of 1943, we were refitting in earnst in early 1944. Many of our cadre - NCOs and Officers - were parcelled out to the nascent Hitlerjugend; 12th SS Panzer Division. Our veterans were made cadre there as well, and led the enlisted teenagers. The Hitler Youth (Hitlerjugend) and Fuhrer's Escort (Liebstandarte) never practiced any drill and ceremony. Parades were for idiots as far as we were concerned. In other words, while so many of us lived by then only for the next combat; the aftermath battle was really nothing to celebrate in our minds. It was to be participated in - even vigorously sought out and executed - but never to be celebrated in between battles with silly parades. As an aside, I think that the parades are part of the face of democracy; which is by definition government of the weak, by the weak. Of course Mussolini was big on parades; but of course he was a bit light in the loafers. Admittedly, even Hitler had parades, but that was for the women. In contrast, we as Waffen SS had no romantic illusions about war, and thus no need for drill and ceremony. Instead, we Waffen SS were practical in that regard. We spent the time for what would have been drill and ceremony training in any Western army; spent that time on more wargames and gunnery training instead. Many of us had long hair and, we often were unshaven. Everyone referred to everyone else as 'comrade.' There was much less pulling of rank than found in the soviet, or even Western armies. Indeed, often the bolsheviki generals would sit miles away from the combat, drinking vodka and eating cavier, poring over maps and smoking cigars whilst their troops died in great numbers on the front lines. In contrast, the Germans had by far the highest rate of officer casualties - including generals - of any army of the entire war. This was because they were often in the front lines, alongside their troops. And this was more true of the Waffen SS, save for any group of soldiers in the entire war, other than the Canadians; or perhaps the Japanese. At Normandy, the Amis and Brits called the Hitlerjugend, 'crack babies' and they called the Canadians the 'Commonwealth SS;' the former because the Hitler Youth Division was (as mentioned before) in large part, made up of extremely well-armed and fanatical teenagers; and the Canadians were the toughest-going troops of the entire Commonwealth. If you don't believe this latter factoid, just look at the ratio of Canadian participation and casualties in the 'British' campaigns of the war. You will find both a wide participation and a high number of casualties, all out of proportion to the Canadian population as part of the Commonwealth during that time. When people putdown the Canadian military prowess, it's just like people calling the French weak. The Canadians are actually great fighters. Of the French: They had been so depleted by the 1st war that they were in no mood for a 2nd. Their politicians had failed them, as well as their commanders. They had actually had - in many regards - better tanks (panzers) than us in May of 1940. But theirs were poorly commanded, and fed into the larger battles as 'penny packets,' whereas ours were brilliantly commanded, and concentrated together in order to gain a breakthrough or breach in their lines, and fan out into their rear. And that is more or less what happened during the French campaign. It was - in retrospect - perhaps von Manstein's greatest moment. You have to give the French and the British credit though. They both built large numbers of tanks during the first war, and Germany had virtually none. The failure in the Allies and the French in particular in between the wars, was to grasp the fundamental of mobile operations; or what the western press would later dub, "blitzkrieg." All of this talk of battles and hardware and commanders and tactics aside, I can remember life in the 1930s, there in Berlin in my hours away from the boys. I would go to the Negress' apartment and we would spend many splendid hours together in making love. The Nazis appalled yet fascinated she; an artist of neither small means nor talent. For she was a gifted composer and used to play the piano into the wee hours of the night, whilst I smoked a bit of opium and some fine cigarettes, and slowly sipped cognac. Her grandfather had been a freeman and had discovered a cache of Aztec gold in the Mexico of the late 19th century. She had moved to Europe in order to study music and languages. My SS comrades used to make fun of me about my girlfriend, but it seemed for the most part to have been good-natured. Because when it comes down to it, all of the women can be beautiful. The racial stuff of the nazis I paid lip service to, but I realized that we can generalize until the cows come home about which 'race' or group of differenty colored or shaped people has the 'best' overall 'traits;' yet none of it mattered to me. The negress showed me great love and gave me great inspiration. She was able to live fairly normally until a bombing raid killed her in 1944. I think it was her staunch anti-bolsheviki stance in life which had gained her sanctuary in the midst of 'racially pure' Nazi Germany. In any event I learned from her that it is wise to look at each person on an individual basis, because everyone is born with a gift; at least one additional great gift in addition to that one gift we all share; lovemaking, or in its opposite, warfare. Everyone shares this - to borrow from Steve Vai - 'passion and warfare,' yet each had at least one additional characteristic or great gift; and thus an attendent great flaw as well. How do we obejectively rate these, 'gifts' and 'flaws' in any event? Because for instance a Picasso painting is utter garbage to one viewer, and yet a piece of magnificent art to another. Could we objectively determine that Da Vinci or Michaelangelo were great painters, regardless? I always liked Salvador Dali. I can remember the time I told my parents that I was a reincarnated tank or panzer commander from the 2nd world war, and my mother read me the riot act; yet her eyes were laughing. My father let my mother have her say, a bemused look on his face. Then he calmly told me that he didn't know what the true story was of the persecution of the jews under the nazis, and that there was a chanced that mainline jews - jews 'out of the loop' as it were - may have been duped as well as everyone else as to the true story. He thought that gaining Israel - at least in its ongoing state of affairs - was a joke of a consolation for anything which may or may not have happened, in any event. He added that, given human nature in general it might have been easy for the average jew to have been hoodwinked with a sob story. Today, he considers that the whole thing might have been a setup all along; create this long drawn out drama regarding the 'holocaust' and then tell everyone it isn't really true; that would certainly set the gentiles at odds with the jews; and perhaps this is what the real players - the ones behind the thrones and the banking desks - had had in mind all along; smear the jews. Dad didn't deny that there had been camps, and deaths. It is the numbers which some revisionists claim don't add up which bother him. It is the antics of the Wiesels and Wiesenthals, and the proliferation of in-your-face, 'holocaust museums' which irks him. He flat out told me then that such chutzpah could only one day bite the jews of the world hard in the ass. He said as well that he didn't really let it bother him, and that he believed in G-d and that G-d was not always a monster but rather often times instead a being of great beauty, and grace; and love even. Then he told me about the Germans; what his parents had told him; what magnificent fighters they'd been; evil or no. He said that the Germans of the war make the Arabs of the post-war era to look like complete amateurs. He went on to boast of the prowess of the Israeli army; for even though Israel is beleaguared on all fronts and an international pariah today; in the '50s through the '70s she held out great hope to all jews everywhere. He got a gleem in his eye and described his own days as an Israeli tank commander, in - ironically enough - a French-built AMX tank which itself had a literal copy of the German Panther's superlative 75mm gun. He told me of how he and his own comrades had employed both an intimate knowledge of the terrain with their willingness as tank commanders to ride with the hatch open, that they might see much better than their 'buttoned up' arab foes. He went on to say that one thing he doesn't understand is the soft stance of Olmert. Dad is one of those, 'do it or don't do it' kind of people. I guess I'm a bit like that myself. Anyway, he continued and said that Israel should either conquer the entire Middle East, or get out of there. He sees no in-between. He thinks that perhaps an alliance with China will enable the Israelis to take over the area and that there might be peace at last. He knows that there won't be any peace for as long as the Israelis sit, threatened not only by from without, but hampered by an intractable refugee problem from 'within.' He thinks that we should take over the place, then give all of the arabs some kind of 'good deal' so they don't live in anger and hatred. He thinks we should show them that we can succeed where their own arab leaders have failed them for all of these years. He told me that if we were to stay in the region, that divying it up with the Iranians is a must; that the 2 countries could form a great alliance. His idea is to have the Iranians administering Basra, Tel Aviv handling affairs in Kurdistan, and the Americans in control of Baghdad. As for the Arabian penninsula, the 3 countries - Israel, Iran, and the USA - could divvy it up. They could form a Sunni/Wahabist enclave around Mecca. Just keep the arabs in there, and find some way to make them happy. My father went on and on like this for awhile, mother looking on with twinkling bemusement as, 'dad was just being dad' and at some point I told him that I 'got his drift' and he suddenly went silent and just sat there smiling as he lit up his pipe. Even if his delivery was a tad maniacal, and the thoughts streamed forth in a sort of ramble; I agreed with him on one salient point: The nation of modern-day Israel needs either to a) disband, or to b) expand across Arabia. There really is no in-between, and to continue to pretend that there is - that there is some kind of middle ground - is to deny the obvious. In other words, the current situation in the Middle East is untenable; untenable for everyone involved. Interestingly, my father and I have engaged in many of these kinds of 'outlandish' conversations over the years; for example sometimes discussing the purported Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion in hushed tones in the dead of night, or holocaust revisionism, or who the 'jews really are,' or what it is that 'really makes a person jewish,' or what had been Hitler's big blunders, or how the V-1 was the predecessor to the modern-day 'cruise missile' and the V-2 the harbinger of what we know as 'ICBMs,' or the sellout of Czechoslovakia in 1938. Sometimes we would discuss the Torah versus the Talmud versus the Qabalah. In the discussions on the Tetragrammaton versus the demiurge, I once informed both he and mother that I believed the demiurge to be an indespensible being; the author of this world of motion and matter, and that the real, all-powerful Tetragrammaton is but an outwordly unconcsious 'treasury of light' or 'celestial choir.' I went on to tell them that my personal deliverer was not a man - either from the past, present, or the future - but rather the idea of a giving woman; a chaste woman who waits for me as though I'm the only male who ever lived; and that this woman could present herself in this fashion to any and all males who would at once seek her out and heed her call. I told them of how she - this 'Chemical Christiana' as I call her - was the representative of the demiurge on earth, and that it could be easily seen that the demiurge goes by none other than the name 'Lucifer.' At the time of this revelation, mother was outwardly taken aback, yet again her eyes belied her words. They - both of them - had this calm understanding as though I had been - ever since birth - expected to arrive at this point in my metaphysical development. Father didn't even argue my main points, but rather my terminology, saying that such the offering of such information as to my beliefs really wouldn't gain me any traction in my dealings with the ostensibly christian gentiles. He told me that perhaps I should use replacement - or code - words for both the Chemical Christiana and Lucifer - and perhaps even the word 'demiurge' - so as not to foment any riots as I went through life. There, I took his advice to heart and have since avoided 'spiritual' or 'religious' topics when dealing with anyone having any connection with 'christendom,' be it the Catholic ('junior jew') variety or one of the more freewheeling sects which make up the body of Protestantism. There is simply virtually no one connected with christianity who can avoid practically frothing at the mouth at the mere mention of the word 'Lucifer,' and the idea of a Chemical Christiana really seems to throw them for a loop as well. For myself though, the Chemical Christiana represents that woman I could never have, yet by the same token saves herself only for me. As an erotic film star, coupling with women has become more or less a routine affair; more of a boring job than any kind of boost to my own self image. Thus the idea of a chaste woman is highly appealing. It does never cease to amaze me though how so many women seem to care only about my package, and my self-control, and my baldness and high voice really don't factor into their equation. Either way, it is interesting how - at least these days in the USA - there are these 'size queens' who have seemingly never heard of the kama sutra and samadhi: These women seem to have no idea that - no matter what a male's package size - if a couple are copulating, and they simply remain joined without movement (or with very little movement), that after a time both will experience the most incredible 'pleasure' possible between two lovers; a spirtual union. Indeed, to the contrary it seems as if many of these females really need the 'friction' and 'motion' type of sex, which although it can be a halfway decent experience is nothing compared to the practice of samadhi. And the beautiful thing about tantric sex is that self-control is the only requirement for the male; package size has nothing to do with it. Anyway, I've fairly well told you all there is necessary to tell; about my past life, my current life; and the at once constantly fluid yet eternally resonating nature of judaism. As for the war, Hitler probably would have been stopped by the shells of the Royal Navy at Dunkirk. Of course, if the skies had been clear, the Royal Navy would have either been collectively resting at the bottom of the English Channel, or they would have retreated out of range of our Luftwaffe whilst the BEF would have been smashed. As it was, with the cloud cover the BEF actually had, I can't see any way our panzers could have approached within reach of the guns of the RN. At the battle of Britain, hystory tells us that the only thing which saved the Royal Air Force was Hitler's decision to abandon bombing the airfields, and to bomb the cities instead. At the point where that decision was made - in response to Churchill's having ordered the first raids on Berlin - the RAF was literally on its knees. The switching over to the attacking of civilian centers had given the RAF the chance to rebuild their airfields, and thus win the Battle of Britain. As for Czechoslovokia, it is no small irony that Germany could have been defeated in 1938, if only England and France had been willing to fight 'alongside' the Czechs. As it turned out, we gained the Skoda armaments works without having fired a shot, and by the time of the invasion of France a scant 2 years later, we were able to fill out a full 4 of our 10 panzer divisions with nothing but the fine Czech-built tanks. The 35t was a great runner. The 38t was even better still. These tanks were yet in service for Barbarossa in the Summer of 1941, and while the PzIIIs and PzIVs would gain reputations for reliability problems over vast distances, the Czech tanks ran like proverbial champs. As for the super weapons, we nearly brought England to her knees in 1944 with the V2s. The V1s were easy enough to shoot down, but the V2s were an entirely different animal: They would simply drop in out of the sky with 2,000 pounds of high explosives, and detonate at some random place in London. Before the last launch site had been captured by the Allies along the coasts of France and Holland, the Londoners were on the verge of rioting. Right there we had nearly won the war. If we had held out in France for say - 2 or 3 more months - the British government would have been forced to have sued for peace with us, for our V2s would have pounded them into submission. Perhaps the most interesting parts of the war are what happened in the background. It was in the background where we Nazis were attempting to 'manipulate the Vril;' the Vril being that 'essence' or 'fabric' of existence, yet out of sight of the human eye. If an entity were to master the Vril, that same entity - human or otherwise - might then gain control of the earth, and even worlds beyond; within and without. This is what I had been alluding to before, regarding Montauk, Long Island. While we in Germany were working to contact the 'hidden others' - Supermen from Thule and the like - and manipulate the Vril, strange experiments were going on over on the other side of the Atlantic; experiments in space/time, the details of which to this day have not seen the full light public scrutiny. I suppose you could say, 'well the people who don't know about these things are subhuman' - like sheep needing but to be fleeced by their masters - but you should very well know as well as I do that such thinking is a very slippery, slippery slope indeed. When does the hero become the goat, and vice versa? What makes we as individuals, or as members of 'select' groups so certain of our own supremacy? It seems to me that the moment you write off your opponent, your opponent strikes you down. Hystory is replete with examples of this. You can reduce it to its most basic form by looking at a - fairly simple in the grand scheme of things - game of chess: How many times has a great player's overconfidence cost him the game? Whatever the case of all of that, the Nazis were attempting to find that ultimate power. So were the Americans. You can bet that, any and every group or organization with any kind of funding - throughout human hystory - has more often than not sought this same thing. Some people do it through prayer, either individually or in groups; the same goes for meditation. Some people do it through the research of ancient metaphysical literature, such as the mythical Necromonicon. Some groups build machines, applying electricity and strange principles of hidden physics. In any event, far and wide, round and about; the world over we as humans are constantly trying to 'manipulate the Vril.' Perhaps that there is the crux of it; making the world to suit yourself is the biggest ego trap of all. Anyway, after the war the Americans imported many Nazi rocket scientists; and these formed the core of the nascent NASA organization. Others were recruited from the SS; and these hooked up with the existing OSS operatives in order to found the CIA. So as it turns out, our own American hystory is steeped in Nazi ties. No matter what they bleat on the news about those 'evil nazis,' we as modern-day Americans are perhaps their - for the most part admittedly unknowing - metaphysical descendants. I think this sums it all up: None of the roads we set upon ever lead where we thought they might. The world is nonsense. For those who wish to know, there are vast mysteries which stretch far beyond the milled grist which gets foisted upon us publically in our schools, or by our mass media. Once you know too much, then you might be utterly insane. The only thing I can say is, follow your heart. I know it sounds utterly vapid, especially to the macho-man types who think they live by cold, calculating logic alone. Seriously though; consider simply following your heart; no matter what slings and arrows such might bring upon you. Have a look around. Is love what you think it should be? Is happiness what you were told by the television speaker that it should be? Perhaps love is something entirely different than that which most of us would ever consider it to be. Perhaps happiness isn't even something to be pursued. Look at it this way: Say that one day you're finally happy, just the way 'everyone' told you that you should one day be; they told you this your entire life long. Do you think though that you might have to sacrifice a great deal of your inquisitiveness in order to gain such 'happiness?' Is it possible that you might have to be a tad bit unrealistic, in order to gain 'happiness?' The truth be told, to be happy you give up a great deal; a great deal of the richness of life. And do you think that G-d - demiurge or 'real' G-d alike - is without suffering? If the answer is that 'god' suffers, then why should we as humans expect to be without suffering? What is it that has happened in modern-day America, that we expect to live without pain, and to be happy? Where did we get such a completely unrealistic idea of life from? Who is feeding these notions? Who in their heart of hearts even desires such a state? Well I'm just rambling now. You've read of my exploits in a - whether real or imagined - past life. You've read a bit of my own personal thoughts on what it means to be a jew. Perhaps someday I will have more to add. There is, after all so much more of what could be spoken; regarding bolshevikis, nazis, and jews ad naseum. Hopefully though I've given you the reader some sort of 'crux;' at the very least some food for thought. Hey, and it might even be kosher. One last thing, of what I had mentioned earlier in this narrative, about the 'Orientals' being 'anti-life.' I don't really believe that. We - all of us - make up 'life,' for better or for worse; ashes to ashes, yada yada yada. And in my own heart of hearts, jewishness is a mental state. It has literally nothing to do with bloodlines, but is rather an attitude. And I've come across members of the 'lost tribes' from every race, creed, and color; from every walk of life. To quote the great Ronnie James Dio, 'it's all just a mystery; not what you want to see; all just a mystery; just like you and me.'