Fools, from Then to Now

COULD THERE BE ANOTHER HOLOCAUST…IN AMERICA?

by OPOVV, ©2013

(Oct. 11, 2013) — There are just too many testimonials stating that there were those, while walking into the “showers,” who truly believed that they were going to wash. There are reports of escaped concentration camp prisoners making it back home and attempting to warn the family and neighbors of their impending plight, but to little or no avail. People just didn’t believe in the truth because their minds were incapable of understanding the danger they were in and comprehending the extent of the holocaust, that is, until their last dying breath of Zyklon B, the insecticide of choice to gas large amounts of people packed into tiled rooms, holding as many as 300.

Try to imagine what must have transpired in the mind of a father holding the hand of his 12-year-old son, or of the mother carrying her eight-month-old baby. Believers all, that is, until the realization that it was a deadly poisonous gas coming out of those shower heads and not warm water. Let’s see if we can go back in time and follow a family arriving at the train depot of Treblinka.

We see a family of four just emerging from a boxcar, stiff from being packed so tightly that there was no room to lie down, let alone sit. They are blinded by the bright sun, having been in darkness for the past 36 hours. The train ride was twice as long because it had to pull over to make way for the troop trains heading to the front, unlike at the end of the war when the trains carrying humans earmarked for extermination had the right-of-way.

Immediately they are herded through the gates of the camp, serenaded by the camp orchestra, where they are separated, women to the left, men to the right. Children under 10 accompanied their mothers. The husband looks at his wife, unbeknownst to him, for the last time, and the wife returns the look that says, “I put my and our children’s lives’ into your hands, and this is my reward?” and, perhaps finally, the realization dawns on the husband that the stories may have been, after all, true.   Still, his mind refuses to accept the obvious, even though his eyes, ears, and nose tell him that the secret whispers of “Death Camps” were true, maybe.

They each go through another selection process, with the women who are able to do physical work, to the left; women chosen for what the Japanese called “Comfort Women,” center; children and women who are too old, pregnant, or physically handicapped in some way, to the right. The women in the right line go through the last selection process: either it’s the showers or they were chosen for “medical experiments.”

Same with the men. Those who can work, to the right; those who cannot work, to the showers on the left.

And so it goes, without stopping, day and night, trains lined up, families and whole villages going through the selection process. The inhumanity is beyond the limits of human understanding; the mind refuses to accept the facts; the horror is too much to grasp.

Father and son, walking hand in hand, but the camp is full, so instead of being chosen for work, father and son trek off to the showers. One step, and then another.

“Achtung! You will remove all clothing! You will have your head shaved, and then you will go the showers and clean yourself, to rid you of lice and other vermin. Then you will be given clean uniforms and assigned to a work detail!”

Father and son comply, and the father thinks that maybe the stories were lies, that he’ll see his wife yet again, little knowing that her dead body, still clinging to her lifeless child, is being wheeled to the ovens at that very moment.

Head shaved, the group is herded into a large tiled room; the doors clang shut, loudly; then the gas starts to seep in. Everyone panics when the realization finally penetrates their minds, and they claw one another for the vents at the ceiling, crushing the life out of the ones below, making a pile of death. Father’s last words to his son, “I’m sorry. I never heeded the warnings, and now, because I blindly supported a tyrant, our lives are forfeit, our family erased. Forgive me.” These are the last words the son will ever hear, but not the last sound. The last sounds are of screams, coughs, moans, and then eternal silence.

There is no escape, and the father throws his son off the pile, clawing over him to the top, in a life-or-death climb for the last gasp of air, but there is no escape, they all die, a pyramid of corpses. In the end all are cremated, the ashes spread on the grounds around the train depot, to be stepped upon by the next arrivals.

Obots and the vast majority of government employees are in the exact same position as those who denied the horrors of the concentration camps of Hitler. Substitute the word Obama for Hitler and you get the picture of the future of the United States. Take heed.

OPOVV