Birkenau: The Gate of the Inferno

Birkenau


“The Children. Oh sweet Lord, please be with the children.” These were

my thoughts as I saw truckload after truckload of Jewish families being dumped into

the pits like undesired garbage throughout the day. I felt sick. No not sick; I felt

disgusted, nauseous, disturbed. My head was spinning with the foul images of

helpless children being incinerated to a lifeless form of ash and bone. My gut

twisted like a raging hurricane at its pinnacle. I only wish my body had perished

within a tempest years ago. I have not the slightest desire to withstand the visual

molestation I endure here at Auschwitz. If tolerating the torment that occurs here

has courage then, I have no courage. If this disturbs me so horribly, then why don’t

I hurl my body between an innocent Jew and the incinerator? I can not figure this

question out as I serve here at Auschwitz for the great country of

Germany. “Great?” A more appropriate adjective would be bloodthirsty or

heartless. I take so much pity on these people. Most of the innocents lived

blameless lives and some, even when they were being put into a noose, praised

God and prayed for the dead. The Nazis think they are better than these

people,but I say not. I could possibly categorize every SS in Poland as a habitual adulterer,

slanderer, gossiper, blasphemer, or gambler.


I work for this country that is bent on death, but I consider myself a good man.

Or I used to rather. This was before I served Germany. Now I consider myself a

murderous Nazi Gestapo. I still did nothing even when Jesus and I knew I needed

to. I was raised in a Christian home in Munich in Southern Bavaria. Every Sabbath

we attended the Evangelical Lutheran Immanuel Church of Munich and then served

every time the doors were open. After I graduated from high school I decided to join

the Army. It was about the turn of the Nazi party, the young energetic Adolf Hitler

and his party had given Germany the hope it needed after a long economic crisis

and tragic world war. Hitler was slowly taking control, but God only knew the

corruption and bloodshed that would ensue from this most unwise election, but I

cannot blame any German. In retrospect any wise man would’ve elected Hitler: he

was a staunch Catholic, had no criminal record, and was a visionary and

charismatic leader. Hitler, I dare say, was a genius of sorts, in that fashion.


Several months after basic training, I was stationed at the newly constructed

Auschwitz, as a guard. Few people could figure out why the new leaders had

started building facilities like these, including my family and myself. I soon found

out. Not long after getting settled into Auschwitz they passed the Nuremburg laws.

This was closely entailed by the forcing of the “yellow star” then they started to deport the Jewish people. It

started up mildly but over about a year of two it went from imprisonment to
cremation. The situation had heated up.


Now it seems I am qualified to watch children being flung into what seem to me

to be the gates of hell. All while ensuring stability and peace so that as many

people as possible can make it to the blasted ovens. Even outside, in the crisp

Polish air, the stench of roasting human flesh cannot escape our scents. Everything
was under full swing. The ovens were ignited, the death chambers fueled, and the

gallows were built to standard. I used to be so excited to serve my country, now I

find I just wish my life to be over if I have to watch one more ruthless murder.

These events cause me to think that maybe God is sending a message to the

Jews of our world. Surely, the God of Abraham could not allow such an evil. I

started to feel as if I were cursed like the faithful Job.


Normally I did not notice the people as they passed through Birkenau.
One day, however, one family seemed to catch my attention. I recognized them

from a small town in Transylvania. Not long before I joined the German Army I traveled to


Transylvania with my father, who was doing business in Ukraine and oddly enough

we would always stop in Sighet. Odd because Sighet is very small and remote, and the chances I would see someone from there I recognized were slim. My father loved that small town. “I would love to retire

there,” He would always say, “It is very quaint and peaceful.” On my excursion

through Sighet I remember seeing two characters. One of which was the boy I saw

here at Birkenau. The other was an apparent cabalist trying to tell stories of the

cruelty of the Hungarian army. No one believed him or even listened to him

including myself. I did no want to believe allies of the country I will soon be serving

could be this way. I deciphered (still in Sighet that) the boy was a Jew considering

The Cabalist was supposedly the boys mentor and the majority of the Sighet

population was Jewish. It seemed odd though that I would run into the boy here

though it made perfect sense.


I didn’t do anything as they passed in the line but watch. He was

clinging to his father tightly. I saw him looking about, though not to blame. A boy

his age (or a human of any age for that matter) should not witness this. His looks

jolted back and forth between soldiers and the fence. I could see in his eye he

thought, as well as I, that he was heading toward the pit where the infants burned.

He looked as though he wanted to run for the fence. I knew he would be shot

before he ever made it and even if he didn’t I think I might have saved him the pain

of electrocution or fire with my own weapon. He moved closer becoming ever more

sporadic. I could almost see the fear and the reflection of Hell’s flame in his eye as

he stood before the pit. I could see in him the desire to run; to get shot in the head

rather than to be burned to death. I lunged forward in an act of willpower. It was

merely reaction, in my own mind I wanted to help the boy. I started to take action

by stepping between him and the fence with my hand on the trigger. Would I shoot


the boy? Would I let him go and let him get electrocuted? Incinerated? Beaten to

death? I felt helpless. There were such difficult decisions to make with such a

short time to make the right ones in. My steps took me between the pit and this

small Jewish boy. I redirected him to the work line. I think I might have felt more

relieved than the boy. Apparently the Jews were not the only people to notice. The

commanding officer warned me of such a thing. Resistance is a deadly crime in

Nazi courts. He re-assigned me. I was to work at the crematorium now.


Pale and withering, the Jewish families, not picked to work for Germany ,started

lining up. I was to become Death. My new duties were to operate one of the machines responsible for burning a multitude of Jewish peoeple to death . I started by watching, thankfully, without

victims. I learned how to operate the infernal device. Now it seemed I was the

Gatekeeper. I watched as people entered it before, now I was to force them in.

This day my humanity ended. This was to be my first subject. I stared into the



weeping face of a 10 to 12-year-old girl who was apparently separated from her

parents and looked as if she died yesterday from starvation and distraught. I didn’t

want to do it no more than I did wanted to watch outside at Birkenau, but I risked

the gallows or a bullet if I did not. I picked her up and laid her on the slide that was

still warm and reluctantly wheeled her inside. Will I do something? Is this really

happening? Slowly she went in until I could not see her face any longer: I did not

want to see it. I tried to activate the contraption, but my hands had become like

lead against my sides, and I could not. I waited for a millennia hoping in my

hesitation, the little girl could magically escape. It was hopeless: my supervising

officer who was already frustrated by my insolence, did the deed for me. He

stormed over and pulled the lever. Even though I only saw her face for a split

second, the scream that pierced the air that day was more then suitable to induce

an image of that girl burning to death by my hands. I regurgitated as to get rid of

the feeling inside me.


I wish I could’ve forgotten that day that drained the life from my soul forever. Sadly, I

couldn’t. I couldn’t save that boy and his father from death that was still most likely

to find them in this camp. I couldn’t save that little girl today and this night I cannot

save myself. My soul is condemned forever. I will always be remembered as a

Nazi. This night on the 13th of January, 1944 I will attempt one last thing to

exterminate the images from my mind. It will probably only end up taking my life,

but hopefully there I will have peace between what I’ve witnessed here and my soul

and Jesus Christ. My name is Niklas Weber and I am a guard at Auschwitz

extermination camp. My story is just one of the possibly hundreds of thousands of

people’s that will die here. Niklas pulls from a holster the loaded Lugar handgun.

Take a good look at what has happened. I am writing this so the world and

everyone in it will never forget what happens to humanity when the so-called

righteous are dormant when the wicked stir.


After contemplating his thoughts and re-reading the text, Niklas asks himself if this

is something that should be done.


Then he thinks of the boy and his family, and also of the young girl from the

crematory.


Shuddering, puking, and crying he puts the barrel in his mouth.