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Timebinder, v. 1, issue 4, 1945
Page 7
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hausen, and other places of well-known names. Here in this house were living a large group of refugees from all over Europe. The Soldier met three Jewish boys who remained out of the thousands who had been in one camp. He met a group of jolly Greek girls, several buxom Polish girls, men from Germany, a girl from Amsterdam who had lived in Germany under an assumed name and forged papers. He heard the stories they had to tell and they were all the same stories that the newspapers had just told. Stories of the crematoriums and the treatment and the murders. They would reminisce among themselves about the times they had at the various camps. "Remember the day they put 500 through the crematorium?" He knew that never again could anybody claim the falsity of atrocity stories. Never again could anybody say that they were just propaganda as they had after the previous war. Too many people had seen the real thing this time. He had supper with them that evening. He was their guest, and although later on he became hard-boiled about them, at that particular moment it was one of his greatest experiences to sit at the same long table with these people, break bread with them and talk with and listen to them. For they were people back from the grave, and as the Polish doctor said, they needed new birth certificates. They had many questions to ask -- after first divulging the inevitable information that they had a cousin or brother in the Bronx or Cleveland or Chicago. They all wanted to know things regarding their tribe -- nationalism clung tenaciously. For instance: How many Jews were there in the American Army? That was easy and pleasant to answer -- at the same time giving the lie to various items of German propaganda regarding a war being waged for the Jews while there were no Jews in the Army. Then there were questions concerning Fascism and anti-Semitism in America. Those he was bitterly ashamed to answer, he gave it to them straight. He told them that Fascism was there In America all right but that the Americans were aware of it and were combatting it. And as he said that he hoped that he was not telling too much of a lie. All through his visits with these people the conversations were a babel of French, German, Greek, Polish, and even English. Still, by virtue of the German and the Yiddish that he knew -- at times he wasn't sure which he was speaking -- he was able to speak to all of these people, and the ironic through came to him: this, then, is the real reason for studying languages in school: so that when a war comes and you are sent overseas you will be able to speak to the people there. The further thought came: the ultimate end and purpose of his three years in the Army -- the work, the training, the stu- 7
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hausen, and other places of well-known names. Here in this house were living a large group of refugees from all over Europe. The Soldier met three Jewish boys who remained out of the thousands who had been in one camp. He met a group of jolly Greek girls, several buxom Polish girls, men from Germany, a girl from Amsterdam who had lived in Germany under an assumed name and forged papers. He heard the stories they had to tell and they were all the same stories that the newspapers had just told. Stories of the crematoriums and the treatment and the murders. They would reminisce among themselves about the times they had at the various camps. "Remember the day they put 500 through the crematorium?" He knew that never again could anybody claim the falsity of atrocity stories. Never again could anybody say that they were just propaganda as they had after the previous war. Too many people had seen the real thing this time. He had supper with them that evening. He was their guest, and although later on he became hard-boiled about them, at that particular moment it was one of his greatest experiences to sit at the same long table with these people, break bread with them and talk with and listen to them. For they were people back from the grave, and as the Polish doctor said, they needed new birth certificates. They had many questions to ask -- after first divulging the inevitable information that they had a cousin or brother in the Bronx or Cleveland or Chicago. They all wanted to know things regarding their tribe -- nationalism clung tenaciously. For instance: How many Jews were there in the American Army? That was easy and pleasant to answer -- at the same time giving the lie to various items of German propaganda regarding a war being waged for the Jews while there were no Jews in the Army. Then there were questions concerning Fascism and anti-Semitism in America. Those he was bitterly ashamed to answer, he gave it to them straight. He told them that Fascism was there In America all right but that the Americans were aware of it and were combatting it. And as he said that he hoped that he was not telling too much of a lie. All through his visits with these people the conversations were a babel of French, German, Greek, Polish, and even English. Still, by virtue of the German and the Yiddish that he knew -- at times he wasn't sure which he was speaking -- he was able to speak to all of these people, and the ironic through came to him: this, then, is the real reason for studying languages in school: so that when a war comes and you are sent overseas you will be able to speak to the people there. The further thought came: the ultimate end and purpose of his three years in the Army -- the work, the training, the stu- 7
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