White Awakenings 
A Jew for Jesus & a Girl in the Library

Carl Spitzweg, "Mineralogist in the Grotto," c. 1880

953 words

Editor’s Note:

“White Awakenings” is a series of autobiographical reflections on the different paths individuals have taken to racial awareness, whether it was a single event that led to an epiphany or a long process of observation and study. Each author also strives to give us a sense of his or her personality, since the goal of this series is not merely to inform but also to allow readers to form personal connections with our authors.

This series is open to everyone: writers, activists, and spectators who might want to take their first steps toward a more active role. Each article can have a distinct title. Articles can range anywhere from 400 to 2,000 words, but most should come in under 1,500. I hope to publish the best of these articles as a book. Email me if you want to discuss an article.

Looking back, it is difficult to remember precisely how my awareness of the Jewish problem emerged. At the time, it was not clear to me that there was an evolution going on. Therefore, I was not taking mental notes of the changes taking place in my thinking, when they occurred, or why.

I started out extremely naïve about Jews and their role in society. True, my father was anti-Jewish, but for a variety of reasons this did not rub off on me. If anything, it had the opposite effect.

By the 1970s and early ’80s I was philo-Semitic. I was deeply impressed by Jewish literature, like Bernard Malamud’s Pulitzer Prize-winning anti-white novel The Fixer (1966). I invariably read every issue of the American Jewish Committee’s Commentary magazine (then edited by Norman Podhoretz) from cover to cover. And I even swallowed whoppers like “A land without a people for a people without a land” whole, without batting an eye.

Today I can only shake my head in wonder.

During those fogbound years, two small incidents made an impression on me, albeit without contributing directly to the formation of anti-Jewish sentiment. Indeed, one of them I did not associate with Jews at all, and only recognize it as such in hindsight.

Rather, they stuck in my mind as odd little incidents that did not quite “fit” for some reason.

A Jew for Jesus

The first incident involved a letter to the editor of the college newspaper from a member of Jews for Jesus. It must have been prompted by a dispute, but I no longer recall the circumstances.

Jewry and most Jews roundly hate Jews for Jesus because the organization proselytizes Jews in an attempt to convert them to its Judaized form of Christianity.

Part of the man’s letter asserted that Jews are taught, from childhood on, that they are superior to Gentiles. The writer went further—stating that Jews explicitly learn active hostility toward, perhaps even hatred of, non-Jews. It was a noteworthy statement, strong enough to make an impression on me at the time, and indeed ever after.

Curiously enough, it did not teach me a lesson. I did not exclaim “Ah hah!” No light came on. I lacked context. I could not attach the information to any larger empirical framework or world view. I had no knowledge of race, much less Jews. It simply stuck in my mind as an anomalous but somehow significant fact.

It was only in retrospect that I could say, “Well, duh!”

The Girl in the Library

The second incident, which occurred around the same time, took place in a city-owned library I patronized in a major urban setting.

One day I checked out a stack of books on a variety of nonfiction subjects. The girl at the counter was in a communicative mood, while I, as usual, was not.

She was young and attractive. Her hair and skin were dark. Although I was racially unconscious, I definitely did not see her as colored. You might say she had naturally “tan” skin. Her voice was soft and appealing.

In contrast, I was tall, blond, and blue-eyed.

The girl made a remark about the number of books I was checking out. When I didn’t respond, she followed up with a comment about the wide variety of topics.

Finally, feeling compelled to say something, I said, “Well, I have very catholic tastes.” “Catholic”—as in “broad and comprehensive.”

The impact of this innocuous remark upon her was extraordinary. She absolutely clammed up, refused to speak or even look me squarely in the eye as I attempted to make small talk. It’s difficult to put into words; you had to experience it. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what the deal was.

Although I have no proof—or even evidence for that matter, apart from the nature of her job, the urban setting, and the girl’s dark hair and complexion—that she was Jewish, I honestly have no doubt that this was the case, and that the unexpected, casually-dropped word “catholic” is what tripped her wire. The possible double entendre, in conjunction with my racial appearance, freaked her out.

Years later, this remembered experience drove home to me that Jews are always hyper-aware that they are Jews—and that you and I are not. They’re hyper-alert to anything that remotely suggests you’re onto them. It became obvious to me that whites must learn to recognize the Jew, become sensitive to the presence of the Jew, see the Jew, as clearly as they see us. We must never think that they are white. Ultimately, both peoples, not just one, must have this worldview.

Jews never lose sight, even for a moment, of the radical difference between our two races. It is uppermost in their minds at all times. Whites who labor under the delusion that Jews are remotely like anyone else they interact with are seriously mistaken.