In 1938, Julius Streicher wrote Der Giftpilz (the Toadstool), an anti-Semitic children’s book. The book portrays Jews as evil swindlers who rob the German people, “the Devil in human form.” It begins with a young boy, Franz, and his mother collecting mushrooms in the forest. She tells him that like there are poisonous, or bad mushrooms; there are bad people, the Jews. “…There are millions of non-Jews who do not yet know the Jews. So we have to enlighten people and warn them against the Jews. Our young people, too, must be warned. Our boys and girls must learn to know the Jew. They must learn that the Jew is the most dangerous poison-mushroom in existence. Just as poisonous mushrooms spring up everywhere, so the Jew is found in every country in the world. Just as poisonous mushrooms often lead to the most dreadful calamity, so the Jew is the cause of misery and distress, illness and death," she says to the boy. Other parts tell of a class of German boys discussing how to recognize the Jew, a German woman’s terrifying visit to a Jewish doctor, and a Jewish man attempting to abduct two young German children. 

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            Another famous Disney propaganda film gives a disturbing look into the lives of “Hitler’s children,”

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“The only thing to fear is fear itself.”
So many people try to live by this quote. Yet, the thoughts and actions of so many people are driven by fear. Not fear of any Earthly consequence. No. The fear of judgment that is so inevitably to come, at the end of their days, when all breath has ceased to cross their lips and after which there is no repentance. So many people, most every man, woman, and child, are driven by the fear of a Hell. They do in life what they can to avoid it, as if it is some place to which they must willing travel. But they do not realize, they will not simply go to Hell if they have been wicked in this life. Hell is not some fiery realm to which one is exiled for his misdeeds. On occasion, Hell will come to claim the innocent.

The word Hell has been wrongly misused. As I sit in the park, just sitting, observing, being thankful for life, I see all these people. They jog past, cellular phones in hand, whining, pitying themselves and expecting the pity of others, “Oh, I can’t pay my rent,” “Oh, she left me!” or “My life is living Hell!!” I grimace and push up my sleeve, my eyes fixing on the ink on my forearm, faded and blurred by the passing of time. How I must control myself, hold my tongue when these people complain about their “Hell.” Listen. I myself, long ago, have been claimed by hell, and I have never fully recovered, and I doubt that I ever will. It claimed my entire family; everything I knew, loved, cherished, and could ever dream. Everything that is, excepting for my pride and the breath in my lungs. As long as I kept these, I would be unbreakable.

I remember being a small child, how I would proudly wear the gold star on my coat, that which was forced upon us, as if that star and our beliefs were to be ashamed of. I would see people of my own faith upset that they had to display the stars, and ask myself, Why are they angry? Need we be ashamed of our heritage? I was proud to be a follower of the Jewish faith, proud to serve God.

But as friends and neighbors began disappearing from the streets, one by one, my mother and father grew anxious. I saw now that Jews here were not embarrassed or ashamed, they were fearful. It was not until my aunt Silje and my cousin and best friend, Tobias, vanished, that my parents, eyes glistening with tears, decided that we must leave.

It was January 5, the night before we were to leave the country. I was suddenly awakened by a crash. My mother swung open the door, terrified. “Michi! Haut!” I obeyed grabbed my blanket and scrambled under my bed as she slammed the door behind her. She kneeled down and held my hand tight.

“Michi, listen to me Michael, I do not know what will happen. They have come for us…All of us--” A gunshot rang out and our hearts became still when we heard a man, my father, cry out in agony. “Mein Gott. Nicht wie dies.” Not like this. She sat upright, frozen in horror. She barely flinched when my door began to splinter. The door crashed in, and they circled around my mother, guns at her head, shouting orders. One man kicked hard in the stomach. I cried out to her as she choked, gasping for breath. Two more men grabbed my arms and dragged me out of my hiding place. I kicked and thrashed, but their grip only tightened. The men dragged us from the room wailing, through the hall and down the stairs, where my father’s cold body now lay. “Michael! Look away!” my mother choked, but I could not avert my eyes. My father’s eyes glistened and stared lifelessly into space. I caught one last glance at him, before being thrust out the front door, blood drizzling down his chest, covering the star on his vest. This is what we get.