I am aware that the words I have encompassed in this letter will never be enough to heal our shared pain. However, I am writing to you to express the thoughts that have been consuming me; the ones I should have shared before I had to leave. Perhaps if we could have conveyed our feelings towards each other about the horrors we witnessed—the ones that occurred while we stood idly by—there would have been different results. Therefore, I’m going to elaborate on my experiences during the darkest time in our nation’s history. I was always fond of our cozy little farm, nestled on the peaceful outskirts of Dachau. I was proud of what we accomplish on our beloved farm; we had brought it up from nothing and done so completely on our own. Those days,
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This harsh realization came to me the day the allied troops, who at that point seized control of Germany, paid a visit to Dachau concentration camp. Never shall I forget that day. The day we were treated rightfully like criminals, rather than the undeserving victims who died in that horrible camp. We were responsible for the lives of countless individuals, who were burned indignantly in those hideous chimneys and left to float around eternally in a tainted blue sky. They showed us what we had done when they wheeled the remains of those not subjected to the flames of the crematorium through the sinful streets of our town. In that wagon, we saw the faces of men, women, and even occasionally a child. We observed their shrunken and frail bodies with expressions of horror and helplessness on each of their faces; the last emotions they felt before they were robbed of their futures, identities and dignity. Their bodies told us stories of humiliation, intense suffering, mistrust of man and God, and the overwhelming grief. They told us of the endless days of meaningless persecution, all occurring while we stood by idle. The grief one feels at a funeral for one person alone is difficult to handle. When the masses of bodies were transported through town, it was as if a thousand funerals for a thousand individual people occurred at one and the grief was
This harsh realization came to me the day the allied troops, who at that point seized control of Germany, paid a visit to Dachau concentration camp. Never shall I forget that day. The day we were treated rightfully like criminals, rather than the undeserving victims who died in that horrible camp. We were responsible for the lives of countless individuals, who were burned indignantly in those hideous chimneys and left to float around eternally in a tainted blue sky. They showed us what we had done when they wheeled the remains of those not subjected to the flames of the crematorium through the sinful streets of our town. In that wagon, we saw the faces of men, women, and even occasionally a child. We observed their shrunken and frail bodies with expressions of horror and helplessness on each of their faces; the last emotions they felt before they were robbed of their futures, identities and dignity. Their bodies told us stories of humiliation, intense suffering, mistrust of man and God, and the overwhelming grief. They told us of the endless days of meaningless persecution, all occurring while we stood by idle. The grief one feels at a funeral for one person alone is difficult to handle. When the masses of bodies were transported through town, it was as if a thousand funerals for a thousand individual people occurred at one and the grief was