This is the haunting lined engraved on the marble wall greeting you when you walk in the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. "You are my witnesses." (Isaiah 43: 10) Oh Lord, have mercy.
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As I walked in, I was handed a small booklet. (USHMM #4253)
Frieda Greinegger was born on October 19, 1920 in Michaelnbach, Austria.
"Frieda was the fourth of five children born to strict Catholic parents. She had one brother and three sisters. Frieda grew up on a large farm near the village of Michaelnback in northern Austria. The farm had cattle, horses, pigs and poultry, and the children worked long hours helping their parents on the farm. At age 12, Frieda left school to work full time on the farm."
Each visitor to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum is handed a card with the true story of someone who was affected by the holocaust. As you walk through the chronological levels of the museum, you can follow along with the events of your person's life.
"1933-39: Germany annexed Austria in March 1938. When war broke out in September 1939, my brother was drafted into the German army. Because we were short of help, my father filled out an application to get farm workers from Poland. Two Polish laborers arrived in December, an older man and a young man named Julian. We taught them German and what to do on the farm. Julian was a fast learner and very friendly."
The first level corresponds with Hitler's rise to power--Germany's economic and social devastation following the First World War and vengeful Treaty of Versailles, the political instability and impotence of the Weimar regime, and the attractiveness of Hitler's strong leadership, vision and personal charisma. You see Hitler's transformation from an unknown soldier in the German Army to a power-hungry, radical politician who ruthlessly eliminated dissent.
"1940-1944: Julian and I fell in love. My father objected--it was against the law for us to be friendly with Poles. To protect him, I agreed to move to another farm, Though we risked arrest, we kept meeting. When I found that I didn't like working on that farm, I applied for a factory job. But my boss found out and got angry. He told the gestapo about me and Julian, and we were arrested. In November 1941 I was deported as a political prisoner to Ravensbruck, a concentration camp for women."
The second level of the Museum deals with Anti-Semitism throughout Europe and the brutality of Hitler's Final Solution. It's honestly difficult to describe the methodical, calculated nature of this genocide. While the war was certainly devastating, the camps lacked the chaos of war. Rather, it was a carefully planned execution of evil, seemingly devoid of emotion or repentance. Men momentarily usurping God's place, taking into their hands the power over life and death.
"Frieda was released from Ravensbruck in August of 1943. Reunited after the war, Frieda and Julian married on April 24, 1946. They emigrated to the United States in 1948."
The third and final level discusses the end of the war, the liberation of the camps, and the return to life--full of sorrow and joy. Some of the stories end in mass graves of the tortured, some, like my dear friend Frieda, end with a happy reuniting, and some simply end with vacant eyes staring back through the ages, reminding us of humanity's devastating potential for cruelty but also its hopeful endurance.
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The day that I visited the museum, two Holocaust survivors were there, graciously answering the questions of visitors--that day, mainly curious high school girls. I hung back, listening, but I didn't know what to say. What would I say to these people who have seen and survived the unimaginable? To military servicemen and women, I could thank them for their service. To profesional athletes, 'good game.' To celebrities, 'nice outfit.' But what can one human being say to another who has seen the evil we are capable of? What could I possibly offer by way of apology for their suffering and delight at their continued life?
Lord, have mercy.
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There was one artifact that I saw that continues to burden my heart and mind.
A beautiful wooden doorframe covered in rich green paint greeted visitors to a synagogue in Nentershausen, Germany. On it was inscribed in gilded letters these words in Hebrew: "Know before whom you stand." A certain reverence, an awareness of the holiness of the true and living God, this verse reminded the faithful as the entered the place of worship to humble themselves in His presence. On Kristallnaucht, that darkest of nights in 1938, the Nazis scratched these words out, resolutely and defiantly denying that God's authority and instead asserting their own. It was not to be His way, but theirs. Not the Creator but the creation was now to be exalted. This ends in death.
When we elevate ourselves, whether under the insidious face of Nazism or the deceptive guise of triumphant humanism, be sure that evil lurks. Only when God is understood to be the Holy One, the Redeemer, the Almighty can humanity exist in goodness and peace. Oh Lord, please, have mercy.
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