student report #3
Kurt Wittmann (Kurt.Wittmann@T-ONLINE.DE)
Thu, 8 May 1997 13:52:00 +0100
Hello everybody,
I have received some very frinedly and interesting reactions on my students'
reports. Edward Behrendt asked if German students are not taught anything about
what the Holocaust. Of course they are given a lot of information and insight
about this matter of extraordinary importance, especially for us Germans.
I have chosen two reports out of 30 which my class wrote. There are also some
dealing with Holocaust. Since they most of them have their origin in interviews
that the students made with parents, relatives or so, it might be that the topic
of Holocaust did not turn up too often, was shunned somehow.
Nevertheless I am sending you one report that has to do with it. I would be glad
to receive more reactions from you out there about what my students wrote. It
would be interesting for me and, of course, for them, as well.
BORN TO FIGHT
(Historical Fiction)
These are the memories of a twelve-year-old boy, who lived in a small village
near Munich during World War II .In his memories, he will tell us how cruel it
was to see what was going on with the Jewish people.
"It was about midnight, when I woke up. My father was busy packing his bag,
because he had been ordered to go to the front. His exercise was to fight for
the Germans. Our family was a strictly catholic family, we didn't mind the Jews
but we didn't like them, either. So far I had been proud of my father, because
everything he did was professional. Before my father left the house, my mother
gave him a kiss, the last for a long, long time.
On the other morning I had to go to the "Hitlerjugend", a community, which
included all boys of my village. Our teacher told us, how we had to behave, if
an air raid started. We should leave the open space as soon as possible, then we
should try to reach one of the six shelters in our small but lovely village. And
if we saw an injured person, we should give him a hand, unless it was a Jew. We
were told, that the Jewish people weren't persons but they were like animals.
They drummed us, that the Jews were inferior and it was an impossible thing to
have a relation to somebody, who liked Jews or was a Jew. At this time, we
absolutely believed that. Because we didn't understand this. In the future, I
was going to change my opinion.
Everytime, when I asked my mother about the lessons in the "Hitlerjugend", she
didn't give any response. Nowadays I think, she said nothing, because she didn't
want to see what happened to the Jews. It was our strict religion, which my
mother forced to ignore the outrages of the "Gestapo" and so on.
Two weeks later, after a further "Hitlerjugend"-lesson, my mother sent me to the
butcher and to the baker. We got our weekly food there, which wasn't enough for
the whole family. It was impossible to get some juicy meat, because everything,
which the farmers produced, went to the soldiers at the front. There was nearly
nothing for the children and wives at home during World War II. And naturally
the export was stopped, too. And so I went to the butcher, but what happened.
The windows of the shop were broken and the glassdoor, too. I looked through the
windows, and what did I see: the shelves were empty. I turned around and decided
to leave, then I heard somebody crying. I looked back and what I saw took my
breath away: Some German soldiers dragged the butcher into a lorry and drove
away. I liked the butcher, who was an old and friendly person. I asked myself
what he had done.
When I was back , and I ran, I asked my mother immediately what had happened to
the butcher. I didn't expect an answer by my mother, but she gave a simple
sentence: THE GERMANS DON`T LIKE THE JEWS. But her face gave me more answers
than her words. Since that moment I hated the Germans.
When I lay in my bed this night, I imagined, that the soldier, who pushed the
butcher, could also have been my father. And so I hated my father, too. Maybe he
had no feelings towards against other people, either. Maybe he had already
killed somebody - a horrible imagination. But on the other hand, I looked
forward to that day, when my father came back. There were so many emotions in my
head.
I've often thought about the scenes in front of the butcher's shop. I haven't
succeeded in forgetting them.
It was March the 15th when I was informed that my father had died in the war,
near Moscow. My mother was crying the whole night, but I didn't lose any tear.
Naturally, I was depressed that my father had lost his life, but the most
important point was that this way my father couldn't kill any people any more.
Because I thought my father regretted every shot he had fired. And so my father
was happy himself that he died before he killed more unguilty people."
Nowadays, 57 years later I hope than I can prevent other people from starting a
war. It doesn't matter if somebody dies in this war or not, the main thing is
that it doesn't start.
And please bear in mind that the soldiers are only the instruments for the
state. They're persons, too.
Thank you for your interest in my memories.
Peter Bauer
(composed by Christian Ackermann)