Chapter 20: Set Me a Watchman, O Sons of Abraham (Honest Adolph Volume III)

Wallace Runnymede Novel

Saul gazed, enraptured, at the marvellous scene unfolding before his eyes.

Sally’s dim eyes sparkled with a light that had not been seen in years.

She could never have imagined such marvels were possible.

Jim, sleepy-eyed, snuggled against her breast.

Saul tried to memorize as much as he could of the astonishing script.


But then, did anyone notice the expression in Cohen Cohen’s eyes which is often found in Jews? A kind of ‘sagely innocence,’ which is found almost independent of the virtue of a person. Even in the tail, one may discern the virtue of the head.


I don’t know if this is something which is purely subjective impression: it says ‘I know, I know. And yet…’


Well, if all this is not purely my imagination, it probably stems from the ageless millennia of persecution and stubborn tenacity of the most enduring and courageous nations on earth. 

One has to be careful, of course, not to fall into philosemitism, which is sometimes a kind of ‘soft racism,’ insofar as it idealises; which is also a kind of hatred. Obviously, there are disloyal Jews too, like Lenin, who asked ‘Is it good for Humanity,’ rather than ‘Is it good for the Jews?’

But as a generalization, there is an inscrutable indefatigability, however difficult it may be to discern.


This much, at least is clear:

The antisemite is the first and only Christ-killer.

The one who insults and torments the covenant people of God is guilty of an eternal Crime Against the Light. 


Such people put the means of grace beyond their wretched carcasses forevermore.

It has often occurred to me that the day the last Jew is martyred, or driven weeping from the faithless claws of the Occident, the patience of History will finally have run out.

The Goyim have had too many chances to mend our ways.

The time will come when will we are judged for our uncharitable callousness; for our stiff necks, and for our hearts of stone.


Woe worth the day…

Set me then a watchman, and let him run to and fro in the shadow of righteousness….

For I cannot bear the setting of the sun.


At length, the curtain fell.

Saul snorted, twitched his eyebrows, and gestured to the door.

Sally paused, and gingerly placed her hand on the cheek of this strange, crazy old man with the heart of gold.

She kissed him on both cheeks; Alan, a couple of rows away, scowled and coughed aloud at this prissy, continental Euroweenie gesture.

Startled, Saul put his hand on his breast.

All of a sudden, he broke into his usual hearty grin, picked up his cane, and swung out; such a beautiful spring in his step, he had not felt or imagined for a long, long time.

Author: Wallace's Books