Suggesting Therapy Will Solve My Anger Issues Is Like Suggesting a Breath of Fresh Air Would Solve Anne Frank’s Antisocial Disorder (Part I)
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This post was first published on my personal website. While this post mentions historic events, the entirety of the post is meant for entertainment purposes only. None of the following statements are to be considered factual or true. I, David Friedlander, the author, place complete intellectual and legal burden of conclusions derived from reading what I have written upon the reader. Further, none of my statements are legally binding or intended to communicate with any person(s); further, the fantastic, deliberately ambiguous nature of my writing precludes any of my statements, including those statements in any and all linked posts, and those statements as they relate to my children, to be used as evidence for arrest or proof of my mental fitness, lack thereof, or any other legal proceeding intended to limit my ability to freely exercise my First Amendment Rights as an American, writer, historian, researcher, seeker, and — above all else — a storyteller. I have a decade of notes showing how I use the written word to make sense of the world, hoping that inquiry has relevance for those who choose to read what I write. TLDR: I’m just telling my too-fantastic-to-be-real stories. Truth is in your Court.
Few families have been more fucked by debt-fueled, pro-industry, pro-military-industrial-complex-problem solving like the Friedlanders. Murders, arrests, jail, government-sponsored family-fracturing, migrations, FBI tails — we’ve been through it all. Our consistent offense being Jewish, smart, and/or standing up to greed, injustice, and systemic violence.
Today, I find myself bearing my family’s heavy mantle. I am an exile from a city I love and helped build. My reputation has tanked and my fortunes have been lost. I am the victim of documented, ongoing police harassment. Owing to my stripped fortunes, I have been stripped of most of my civil rights. I live in constant fear of being arbitrarily arrested. Most devastating, the forces behind my current situation have used my two young sons, Finn and Ryder, for their nefarious ends. My two boys have been recklessly used as pawns in a larger effort to silence me. I have been denied any communication with either of them for almost two years; this includes one way communication and supervised video conferences. It’s not right.
Where are my children? It is not sane to act normal when people kidnap your children to hide economic and environmental truths.
I’m writing this piece, repeating what I wrote in a team email about me and my family, “I’m done being the fucking conscience of the market economy. I know it’s what killed my dad in the form of cancer. It outright killed both my great-grandpas. Not me. I am going to kill it before it kills me.”
Stop Fucking with the Friedlanders, Already
On July, 5 1920, my great-grandfather, Israel, father of five, was murdered bringing humanitarian relief to Jews in Ukraine fleeing Cossacks in the wake of the war that was supposed to end all wars. It was one day after my grandfather Ben’s 10th birthday on the fourth.
My other great-grandfather, Isaac Straus, died of a “heart attack” on April 10th, 1933, moments after Hitler was appointed Chancellor, and just after he scuttled his wife, my grandmother Eva, her three siblings, and what few possessions and insurance certificates they could carry across the border to Switzerland. [This is what some other Straus’ are up to.]
Grandpa Ben and grandma Eva moved around Europe and Palestine fleeing the Orc-like, bred-to-hate-Jews, banker-fed, clothed, industrial-weaponized bands of Nationalized murder-bots who’ve tormented my ancestors for far too long for my liking.
Both lived in Germany throughout the early 1930s separately, managing to escape Nazi internment. This was easier to do for my easy-traveling, American-born grandpa than German grandma. Within a few years in the early thirties, my grandma and her immediate family went from being one of Germany’s most esteemed families to losing their patriarch, the bulk of their material wealth, and all physical connection to a nation they called home.
Grandma (Straus’) on the run.
Grandpa Ben and grandma Eva finally intersected in the former’s birthplace, New York City, where latter was studying fashion at Pratt. In his self-published autobiography, my grandpa wrote of their meeting and connections:
On March 27, 1938, I met my present wife at a Zionist cultural evening of dancing and singing. We had been invited to it by one of our former teachers at the Reali School with match making intentions from Lilian, Ben’s mother. Eva’s brother, Emanuel Straus, was a classmate of mine, and my youngest sister, Joy, was a classmate of hers. Although we had never met in Haifa, we shared many family and school friends, travel, German and Hebrew. She was then very tall for her generation, a strikingly handsome blonde…Her impression of me, unshaven, in a rather shabby blue suit, was not much better. However, when we parted, we uncovered a common cause we both supported, The Spanish Loyalists, then under attack by France, fascist Germany and Italy. President Roosevelt had imposed an arms embargo on both sides of the Civil War and he was under pressure from many Democratic Congressmen to lift it. Eva’s father, Dr. Isaac Straus, had been a leader in the Zionist movement in Switzerland. My mother recalls meeting him and his beautiful non-Jewish wife at a Zionist meeting in New York in 1915, where the Straus’s were the center of attention. Eva’s father, like my father, had pursued an academic career as a Privat Docent in Freiburg.
Max Benzion Friedlander, My Life on Three Continents
They eventually married, living throughout the boroughs before eventually moving to Chicago, where my great-grand-uncle Herzl was established.
Apparently, evil abhors a vacuum, because my grandparents found themselves fleeing the overt, dramatic European Nationalist violence for the subtle, needling, subterfuge, systemic, never-ending intimidation and harassment that characterizes America’s violence; a form of violence both my father and I would become quite familiar with.
Learn why J. Edgar Hoover called my father the “America’s second most dangerous man” and why many consider me number one in my next installment.
