Telling Holocaust stories lightens soul's burden Published April 17, 2009 By Rabbi (Capt.) Gary Davidson Front Range Holocaust Remembrance Committee U.S. AIR FORCE ACADEMY, Colo -- Tears flowed from her eyes as she hesitantly asked if I was a rabbi. I responded "yes" and asked how she recognized me. She mentioned that she once briefly met me while I was stationed at Schriever Air Force Base. I said, "We should talk after we finish here." The "here" I was referring to was the Marion House Soup Kitchen in downtown Colorado Springs. On that particular Sunday afternoon in August of 2007, I volunteered to serve food to the hungry and homeless. During my shift, several men, women and children from different cultures, races and religions streamed into the soup kitchen for a warm and filling meal. Standing behind the counter, I ladled peas and carrots on plates that were already heaped with meatloaf, gravy and mashed potatoes. There was a quiet urgency in the German-accented voice of the elderly female volunteer who wanted to talk to me. It was obvious something was deeply troubling this woman, which was why I was willing to talk with her. After our shift was over, I motioned for the woman to join me in a private room at the back of the soup kitchen. We sat down opposite each other at a wooden table, and I asked how I could be of help. "Rabbi", she said, "it's not easy for me to tell you my story, but I've been carrying this burden with me for over sixty years. You see, I grew up in Germany during World War ll. When I was a teenager, I was a member of the Hitler Youth Organization as were so many other young people at that time. It's hard for me to admit but I remember watching the Jews in my town get brutalized almost every day. When I got a little older, I took a job working for a company that provided shovels and pails for the German war effort. For a long time, I didn't know where those shovels and pails went to...but years later I found out." Taking my hand in her own aged hand, Elsa chokingly sobbed: "those shovels and buckets were sent to the labor and concentration camps. The Jews of those labor and concentration camps were forced to do heavy slave labor using the shovels and pails I provided them. As you know, rabbi, many of those people died..." Elsa's voice trailed off. After weeping for several moments, Elsa tried to compose herself but could only manage a hoarse whisper: "I feel I'm responsible for the deaths of those Jewish people! I've carried this burden with me for over sixty years and I haven't told anyone but my husband and daughter. I have trouble sleeping at night because I keep thinking about those poor Jewish people who were beaten and worked to death. I don't know what to do about the pain that's been in my heart all these years, but I wanted to tell you because I've seen you before , you're a rabbi and I trust you. Rabbi, what do I do?" she gently sobbed. How does one answer a question like that? Being Jewish and indirectly traumatized by this dark period of history, my knee-jerk reaction was to angrily reproach her for being at least partially involved in the deaths of six million of my people. But when raw emotion gave way to reason, I felt sympathy and compassion for this tortured soul. I reminded myself that she genuinely didn't know what her shovels and pails were being used for and that she was truly remorseful for the harm she unknowingly caused. After thinking for a few minutes, I looked deeply into Elsa's eyes and said: "Elsa, if you want to start the process of freeing your soul from this burden, you need to tell your story to as many people as possible. Tell them about your painful memories about growing up in Nazi Germany and share the horrors of the Holocaust. Let people know what you did and the remorse you feel. Share your story at high schools, colleges, military bases...anywhere you can. And if an organization pays you to talk, donate that money to a Holocaust victim's fund or to an organization that teaches about the Holocaust. Your freedom will come once you unburden your soul with the truth." Elsa exhaled heavily and then carefully breathed in the air as if it was her first pure breath in over sixty years. Her tears of remorse seemed to slowly transform into tears of hope. A small but noticeable glint of excitement appeared in her eyes. "Rabbi" she said with a hint of a smile "I feel a little better already... and I'm going to do just what you said." Several months later, I was pleased to learn that Elsa and I were asked to jointly speak at a Holocaust Remembrance Service at a local Air Force Base. Just prior to the service, Elsa and I hugged, and I noticed a fiery look of determination in her eyes. We were excited to be re-united and to work together as a team to educate others about the Holocaust. I spoke to the audience first, telling them the "facts" about Hitler, Nazi Germany and the slaughter of millions of innocent people. Once finished, I returned to my seat and held my breath as Elsa ascended to the podium. Speaking clearly into the microphone, Elsa introduced herself and said: "Everything the rabbi just said is true...I know it is because I was an eyewitness to the Holocaust". For the next twenty minutes, Elsa boldly told her story about growing up in Nazi Germany, watching the daily brutalities carried out against the Jews and her regrettable involvement in supplying buckets and shovels to the slave laborers. As I looked at the reaction of the audience members, I noticed that many were spell-bound by Elsa's words. I also heard an occasional gasp from the crowd or saw tears flow down the faces of some of the attendees in reaction to Elsa's chilling account. When Elsa finished, she received a standing ovation. No one was prouder of Elsa, though, than I was. I hugged Elsa and she asked "how did I do?" With a big smile, I told her she did great. "How do you feel?" I asked her. "I feel free" she said with a tear in her eye. I have not seen Elsa since that time, but I'm certain she's still telling her story to whoever will listen. Elsa's story will probably not be made into a Hollywood movie nor will it be the subject of a best-selling book. It's just one of countless relatively unknown, intimate accounts about the Holocaust. But it's a unique and touching story that was told to a group of caring Airmen at an Air Force Holocaust Remembrance Service. These stories need to be told, but just as important, they need to be heard...heard by you, heard by me and heard by anyone else who cares about humanity.