Aging Capriciously

For the next several weeks, my blogs are going to consist of “autobiographies” written by some very special people.  They have one thing in common.  They are all dead.  Some have a burial place and some were simply discarded like pieces of trash.  Their stories will be told by the deceased themselves.  They cry out from the fields, rivers and graveyards to speak.  I have heard their cries.  They want to tell their stories to you.  They want you to know what their living and dying was for.  They chose me to be the medium for their voices to be conveyed to you.  I do not know why or how I was chosen.  I do nothing but repeat in 12 pt. font the stories that they tell me.  There are many more dead who want to be heard, but for now I have only agreed to share eight of their tales.  Each of the dead will give you a brief vision of their lives but much more importantly to them, they will give you a vision of their deaths.

Ephraim the Jew

My name is Ephraim. I was born to a Jewish mother and a Jewish father in Germany.  My parents and great grandparents were all born in Germany.  We were not rich but we made a living over the years in various trades.  My family was all hard workers and I was taught the value of hard work and an education at an early age.  We were proud to be Germans.  My father had served with distinction in WW I and my great grandfather had served in the earlier Franco Prussian war.  We had many musicians and writers in our family and were proud that we could contribute to the rich German cultural heritage of our homeland.

One day, some young men started throwing stones at my father and me as we came home from work.  We arrived home with bruises and cuts but no broken bones.  My mother said that things were getting worse for Jews in Germany and that she had heard of many such incidents from other friends.  My father said she was being an old woman and should not worry so much.  This was just the result of a bunch of hoodlums and the government would soon arrest such bullies so that the streets would be safe again.

Weeks and months went by.  More assaults!  More bullying!  Everywhere we turned it seemed that people hated us.  The government passed Pro-German Laws to protect “Pure” Germans.  Somehow this seemed to mean that we Jews were now the enemies.  We were no longer Germans.  Our businesses were taken away from us.  Our jobs were taken away from us.  Then they took our freedom away from us.

They took us in trains to these large detention centers.  Smoke and flames were visible from numerous chimneys when we arrived.  Some people whispered that these were Jews who had been cremated.  It was too horrible to conceive.  It could not be true.  We were whipped, kicked and herded off the rail cars.  An angry looking German soldier in a black uniform with skulls and lightning bolts directed each person either to the right or to the left when we fled the cars.  Women and young children went one direction.  Men and young boys went the other direction.  My mother and sister went to the right.  They waved and said good bye.  “We will see you soon.”  “We must go to the showers first.”  We never saw them again.

My dad and I were assigned to work details.  Food was meager and work was hard.  We labored with very little rations from before sunrise to well after sunset.  My father died a year later.  He was nothing but skin and bones.  He said: “I am sorry.”  Another year later and I could not get up and go to work.  The guards came for me one day and said, “You are garbage and you are no longer useful.”  Two other Jews were forced to pick me up.  They carried me to a large pit.  I noticed many other bodies in the pit.  They threw me in the pit with the other bodies.  A guard shot me three times.  “Like shooting fish in a barrel he said.”  I was shot once in the head and twice in the chest.  He laughed as I twitched and as the blood oozed out of my veins.  I was surprised that it did not hurt as much as I thought it would.  I could feel my soul leaving my body.

Finally, I was looking down at my distorted figure and it was no longer twitching.  Even the blood had stopped oozing out.  The guard who shot me had lit a cigarette and was enjoying a quick smoke before returning to another work detail.  I watched for a while as other men and boys were carried to the pit and murdered.  I could no longer bear to look.  I decided to go find God and talk to him.  I was confused and angry but I thought that perhaps a talk with God might straighten things out.  My spirit left this hell on earth.

I am dead many years now and I am still searching for God.  I want to know what we did to deserve such a fate.  We worked hard.  We paid our taxes.  We treated our fellow Germans with respect.  We worshipped on the Sabbath.  We upheld all of the commandments.  We were good people.  We were good Germans.  Why did they hate us so?  What did we do to cause this suffering?  Was this some kind of a test?

I think God is hiding from me.  He is nowhere to be found.  I have wandered now for years and still I find no God.  I know he exists.  I believe in God but I think he is avoiding me.  I think he may be ashamed for letting this happen.  I swear my soul will never rest until I find God and ask him this question:  “Why?”  But what if he doesn’t know the answer?

Time for Questions:

What is an Anti-Semite? Why do people still hate Jews? What did any Jews ever do to deserve such a fate?  Are you an Anti-Semite?  What can you do to help fight Anti-Semitism?  Do you try? Why not?

Life is just beginning.

“I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”  ― Elie Wiesel