Dear Germany,

You and I just officially met for the first time.  Sure, I have driven a BMW for the last 9 years, and sure, I was so madly in love with Rob Timmermann, the stunning Aryan from Little Neck, whom I met in college.  But, to me, you were a place of horror, a place where one man soullessly and successfully rallied the masses to annihilate an entire race of people – MY PEOPLE.  I pre-judged you, and now, after experiencing six days in your historic, structured, and compunctious capital city, I’d like to apologize.

Everything I had read about Adolf Hitler was the truth, though I’m not sure I buy into the notion that the trajectory of his life would have played out differently had he been accepted into art school.  Somebody who derived such joy from brainwashing, torturing, and gaslighting would not have been tempered by Tempera, calmed by Crayola, or placated by pastels.  No, this man was nefarious, iniquitous, wicked, and depraved, yet nobody stopped him.  Germany, you, too, were pulverized by him, and the damage is far deeper than the bullet holes on the Victory Column.

We were on a tour of the Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp, and the weather was cold.  My earmuffs and gloves aesthetically paired well with my leather jacket, but I found myself wishing I had brought my Michael Kors winter coat and my hat from Iceland.  The heaviness of what was to come and what we would see also added to the chill, I’m sure.

Our dimpled tour guide from Dublin used a giant textured map to give us the lay of the land, and one was immediately disgusted by the pristine care that was taken of the SS. Their needs were paramount, their every desire fulfilled.  Spectators to bodies burning alive, they were cowards who were all too willing to carry out the psychotic demands of a madman.  The mental manipulation, such as promises of survival or extra food, with no intent to deliver on either, was oftentimes worse than the physical torture.  

We learned that the prisoners wore very thin pajamas, with no warmth and protection from the elements.  There would be roll call every day, and the prisoners would freeze.  For giggles, sometimes the leader would decide to roll call all day long, leaving the prisoners to die in the cold or become gravely ill.  I guess the ones who just keeled over got off easy, as their torture ended more swiftly, and, I suppose, with more dignity. 

Needless to say, my feelings of frostiness fled fast …

Germany, you’re somewhat stoic and robotic, but you’re also respectful and apologetic.  I felt so safe within your borders, safer than I feel in my own country.  In your country, learning about the Holocaust is mandatory at a young age.  Here, the naysayers are becoming too prevalent, and I fear that it won’t be too long before all Holocaust literature is removed from most curriculum.  

I reflect on New Year’s Eve and how police begged the public not to throw fireworks at them.  New Year’s Eve 2023 had brought chaos and havoc, and law enforcement did not want a repeat of the tumult.  We stayed local, near our hotel, as we were told to be careful.  Never ones to go to Times Square for the dropping of the ball, it made little sense that we would brave the enormous crowd at the Brandenburg Gate.  But, as midnight arrived and we stepped into the street, the fireworks were everywhere and the Roman candles presented too close for comfort.  Colorful and thunderous and tossed out of cars and off of rooftops, one understood that the lifting of this city’s stringent rules, even for a mere 24 hours, was liberating.  

I’ll take fireworks over firearms any day.  I’ll take my gummy bears without CBD and without dyes any day.  I’ll take a country that understands that we must study and learn even the most sensitive history, assuring that we don’t repeat it.  I’ll take a country that takes responsibility, shows remorse, and says, “I’m sorry.”  

Danke Schoen,

A Loyal Fan