Our car traveled smoothly along the paved roads of the German countryside, making its steady way towards the horrific concentration camp. A wealth of natural beauty whizzed past the windows, sending messages of life and renewal to all who took the time to listen. I gazed in silent wonder at the fields of wheat, fruits and vegetables basking in the warm sunshine. Brilliantly colored vegetation marched in orderly rows to the horizon, disappearing modestly into the heavenly azure expanse.

There weren’t any buildings to disturb the growing wonders, and we allowed ourselves to be charmed by Germany’s innocent face. I temporarily forgot the gruesome sights awaiting us at the culmination of our journey, lulled into relaxed enjoyment by rural society.

A large chimneystack looking menacingly from behind a thick, fortified wall abruptly pulled me out of the induced serenity. I saw rows of barbed wire and imposing watchtower structures, and I knew that we had arrived. Dachau was nestled amongst beautiful fields and orchards, disguising its despicable colors. I pictured the chimneys belching out thick clouds of smoke. The smoke spread out over the calm, peaceful environs, bearing tidings of atrocious deeds committed behind the barbed wire enclosure.

How was it possible that the thousands of Germans who picnicked gaily amongst the fields of greenery did not notice the black smoke? Didn’t they realize that the cries of pain were not a figment of their imaginations? Hundreds of German civilians passed the gates of Dachau on a daily basis. How did they explain the monstrous crematoria, the harsh-looking sentries and the yards of barbed wire?

The Germans’ insistent denial about the crimes perpetrated under their auspices was an obvious lie. It was impossible to believe that they had all been deaf and blind while Dachau was transporting its prisoners to a world full of pain and anguish. I was amazed by the fact that an entire nation could blatantly utter the same senseless lie without batting an eyelash.

The world mistakenly blames only members of the Nazi party for the atrocities committed during the Holocaust. In truth, every civilian who resided in the accursed country during those ill-fated years had lent a hand to the merciless killings. Silence was their deadly weapon, and selective blindness was their ammunition. They saw the clouds of black smoke and they heard the heart-wrenching cries of anguish, yet they chose to remain indifferent. Their apathetic attitude was as destructive as the murderous actions of the Nazi puppets.   

Our car rolled to a stop before the gates of the infamous death camp. I stepped out of the vehicle, trembling with apprehension and barely controlled fury. The indignities bestowed upon my brothers and sisters filled my heart with a confusing mix of anger and sorrow that threatened to explode in the heat of the moment.

An extensive chart greeted me upon entering Dachau. It hung on the wall, listing all the smaller concentration camps situated around Dachau. We had entered the mother camp, where most inmates were processed and killed. Any extras or remnants were shipped off to the smaller death camps, where they were duly disposed of.

A large, empty area was cordoned off in the center of the camp. The 10 barracks that had served as the Jews’ living quarters during those terrible years had been razed to the ground, to remove the last vestiges of incriminating evidence. In their stead stood a simple marker announcing that the empty lot had once been the site of several ramshackle buildings.

I walked deeper into the camp, and met up with the symbol of barbarism. The gaping mouths of the crematoria sneered at me with typical German pride, insinuating that it never regretted the mass murder it had committed. My eyes stared into the blackness within, searching for a sign of life. I wanted to see those pious European Jews swaying calmly over their Gemaras. I looked for the warm Jewish mothers cooking up a storm in honor of Shabbat.

I strained my eyes to find images of the past, but my efforts were in vain. A vast blackness stared me in the face, quashing all pictures of a world gone up in smoke. Revered grandparents, devoted parents and innocent young children had all traveled the same painful path. Their travails had ended in a single puff of smoke that spread tales of hatred throughout the polluted German atmosphere.

With bowed shoulders and a quickened heartbeat, I walked away from the gaping ovens. Our next stop was the museum that had been erected as a memorial for the thousands who had passed through the gates of Dachau. The dreadful events were recorded in full, gruesome detail for posterity.

“Why don’t you spend your vacation in this museum?” my heart screamed to the indifferent German public. “Take one look at what your revered ancestors did, and maybe you’ll stop valuing your  Aryan blood to such an extent.”

“Where were your famous measures of modernization and civilization when these crimes were committed? Why did they choose to hibernate during those difficult years?”

Swallowing my pain, I firmly resisted the urge to flee. My nation had been subjected to a devilish scheme, yet they had remained faithful to their Father until the very end. The least I could do in their memory was to learn about the atrocities committed against them.

I took out my sefer tehillim and recited several psalms. The age-old words of Dovid Hamelech reached out to me in the forsaken concentration camp, giving meaning to an inconceivable human tragedy. Songs of praise mingled with cries of pain, as I sought relief from the One who had planned it all.

Standing before the blackened crematoria, I recited the prayer of ‘Kel Maleh Rachamim’ in honor of the deceased. I felt powerless in the face of such uncompromising evidence, and the holy tefillah restored some of my peace of mind. The thirty thousand kedoshim had ascended to their proper places on high, and they were certainly praying on our behalf.

We walked out of the camp quietly, dragging our feet over the paved roads. The car engine disturbed the graveyard silence, pulling us back to the present. As we traveled past the beautiful fields, I couldn’t hide my distaste for the German scenery. These grounds had been cultivated while my innocent brethren had been shoved into stifling barracks. German families had enjoyed their vacation days amidst a profusion of greenery, taking no notice of the screams emanating from a distant death camp.

I vowed to publicize the atrocities I had witnessed throughout the entire world. Let everybody hear about the so-called innocence of the civilian population. The cruelty of the Nazis was a known fact yet few people discussed the murderous indifference of the German citizens. Dachau’s location left no doubts as to the apathy of the Nazis’ anonymous assistants.
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Rabbi Hecht’s 50 years of rabbinical leadership began in Brooklyn. He is Rabbi Emeritus of Congregation Shaare Zion.