The rabbi began his chanting slowly in Hebrew again. He waved his left arm toward the inmates, and one by one, they added their weakened, weary voices to the prayer.
Oseh shalom bimromav, Hu yaaseh shalom aleinu, v’al kol Yisrael, Ve'imru Amen.
May the One who creates harmony on high, bring peace to us and all Israel. And let us say, Amen.
The violinists struck up a joyful rendition of Hava Nagila. Hannah’s sore feet began to move slowly in time with the violins. The woman beside her reached over spontaneously and took hold of Hannah’s hand. Hannah, in turn, reached to take the hand of the inmate on the other side of her, smiled at her, and nodded for her to do the same with the hand of her neighbor. A few of the inmates began to sing along, weakly and tentatively at first as though they were unsure that they were permitted to do so. The sound of laughter, so alien and forbidden for these inmates for years, began to rise up like incense to the brilliant sky from the group of two thousand inmates. Hannah and the women whose hands had joined created a space between themselves and another group that had followed suit and formed a larger circle. The human chains began walking around in a circle, slowly at first, and unsurely, but as the violins and singing and laughter infused them with new strength, the circles of dancers picked up speed.
They danced for themselves and the gift of their unexpected sudden freedom. They danced in memory of loved ones and family whose whereabouts they no longer knew. They danced for those she had seen collapse in death from hard labor, and for the women in the barrack who had not awakened in the morning. They danced for those women still confined in the hell of Theresienstadt.
They danced their joy at having survived. Hannah danced for Algot Niska. They danced in thankfulness for the miracle. They danced their gratitude to the Swiss government and the International Red Cross. They danced in thanksgiving for the unnamed individual who acted in some unknown way on their behalf to secure their freedom.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Gransee: March 16, 1945
Himmler was spending noticeably less time at his office on Prinz Albrecht Strasse. He asked Kersten if they could have their next therapy session at Hartzwalde.
“You know how I like to remain here and not venture into Berlin,” Kersten said gladly.
“Berlin has become depressing for me as well, Kersten. I need to get out.”
Himmler’s chauffeur let him out of the car at the front entrance of Hartzwalde, and Kersten led him to a room that he had converted into a clinic to treat patients who were not Nazis.
About halfway through the session, when Kersten noticed that Himmler was no longer in pain but was relaxed, Kersten broached a subject, variations of which they had discussed several times earlier. Perhaps Himmler was more open to it now. And to the new proposal he was going to make.
“Herr Reichsführer, we must not fool ourselves any further. Both we Germans and Finns are known for our ability to tell and face up to the truth. We both know that his war is lost, do we not? My sources inform me that you are willing to reach out to the Allies and seek a separate peace for Germany.”
“Has Brandt told you this?”
“It doesn’t matter who told me, does it? It’s true, is it not?’
“Well, yes. I want our forces to be free from the western front in order to concentrate on defeating the Bolsheviks in the east. If the Bolsheviks overrun Germany, it will be a victory not only for them, but for the Jews also.”
“Isn’t it a little late for that strategy, Herr Reichsführer? Surely your intelligence has informed you that the Red Army has already crossed the Oder and is staging at Seekow Heights for a campaign against Berlin. Berlin, Herr Reichsführer! On the front lawn of the Reich! I advise you once more to begin considering your reputation and possible exoneration after the inevitable.”
“You are brutally honest, Kersten. Reluctantly, I have grown aware of our difficult situation.”
“Then I ask: Is there any point at all in annihilating the inmates who remain in the camps as Hitler has ordered? That’s close to 800,000 lives!”
“If National Socialist Germany is going to be destroyed, then her enemies and the criminals in concentration camps shall not have the satisfaction of emerging from our ruin as triumphant conquerors and likely slaughter us. No, they need to share in the bitter downfall since they were the cause of this war.”
“Surely you are smarter than that, Herr Reichsführer. You know perfectly well that the great majority of those in the camps are not criminals, but rather innocent Jews and Gypsies and Slavs. Hasn’t the time for stopping the carnage arrived?”
“The Führer’s direct orders are that the camps are to be destroyed by dynamite the moment the Allies are within a few kilometers of them. I must see to it that they are carried out to the last detail.”
Kersten raised his right hand and rubbed his forehead. He was beginning to grow frustrated with Himmler’s blatant inconsistencies.
“Surely you don’t still have the illusion that obeying this ghoulish order will help you supplant Bormann as the Führer’s favorite one chosen to succeed him as his successor?”
“That is the Führer’s decision alone. He is the supreme leader now.”
“And where, may I ask, has your Führer been in the past several weeks, and where is he now? Safe in his bunker, with his head in the sand—with his mistress Eva at his side, I’ve heard. Not exactly the pose of a brave leader, is it?”
“Neither you nor the Allies know what is about to hit them,” Himmler pronounced with a renewed eagerness. “This war is not over by a long stretch, Kersten. The Führer still has his secret weapon. The Brits were astounded in ’40 by the V-1 and the rest of Europe later by the V-2. But those are only toys compared to what’s coming. You’ll see; the last bombs of this war will be German ones.”
Suddenly, Himmler bent over at the middle and became as pale as a clean bedsheet. His cheeks were hollow, his cheekbones protruded from his skull, and he began sweating profusely. Kersten led him back to the sofa where he had performed his treatment earlier. He sprung into immediate action, partly out of concern for his patient, but at least as much because he needed Himmler to be past the acute pain in order for him to complete his terribly sensitive and fragile mission for the day, decidedly his most important one of the war on which the survival of the values of civilized society depended.
After twenty minutes or so of intensive massage, Himmler seemed comfortable again.
Kersten resumed the conversation where they had left off before Himmler’s attack of abdominal pains. He felt the pressure of time and a window of glorious opportunity possibly closing.
“This relapse you just experienced: It is a kind of language, you know?”
“So you keep telling me. What is it saying?”
“It tells me that a part of you, maybe not even all that deep down, knows that the secret weapon is far too late. I strongly suspect that you know in your heart, if not your head, that if the Führer has even a milligram of faith that this secret weapon, however powerful and awe-inspiring in his mind, can turn the tide and prevent an Allied victory, then he’s hopelessly deluded.”
“I could have you shot on the spot for such talk, Kersten.”
“Oh, I’m no fool. I’m fully cognizant of that. I appreciate your protection of me and your tolerance of my repulsion of the camps and skepticism of your Führer.”
“You also know my protection of you has not been totally altruistic.”
“Neither, admittedly, has been my service to you.”
“Then we’re even, Kersten.”
“You may not believe me when I say that in a way I have a high degree of respect for your single-minded devotion for your Führer. I wonder, though, if in your fits of sweaty sleeplessness, you have entertained secret doubts about his decisions.”
Himmler started buttoning up his uniform shirt without saying a word in reply. Finally, he turned back and to face Kersten and met his eyes.
“Ach, you kn
ow me too well, Kersten. I can’t hide anything from you. Lately, I admit, I have been a little unsure.”
“Doubts about his vindictive order to execute all the camp prisoners before the Allies and Russians discover and liberate them?”
Himmler didn’t say a word in response. Kersten could tell from the look of uncertainty on his face that the tragically isolated Himmler longed to be forthcoming with someone.
“I agree, there would be little point in carrying out the order. Let the damn Allies and Russians inherit the Jews! They’ll learn soon enough what a nuisance, what a danger, they are. In fact, I can’t think of a better revenge than for the Russian and Brits and Americans and Frogs to have to deal with them.”
“There is a way, you know, Herr Reichsführer, that you can evade Hitler’s order. At the same time, you will be separating yourself in the mind of the victors from Hitler and Göring and Göbbels and Kaltenbrunner and Eichmann and the rest. They will inevitably be captured and hanged in Allied or Russian prisons in short order, I am pretty certain.”
Himmler’s eyes flinched, and his face grimaced.
“What exactly do you have in mind, Kersten?”
“While visiting my family in Sweden in February, I had secret conversations with the Swedish government, the Finnish legation, and...a representative of the World Jewish Congress.”
“I was with you until you mentioned the WJC. They’re headquartered in America, are they not?”
Kersten ignored the comment. He didn’t want to get sidetracked.
“I have taken the liberty to invite representatives of those bodies to come here to Hartzwalde in several weeks for a conference to which you will be invited.”
Kersten noticed that Himmler’s face didn’t register as convincing a scowl as usual.
“Me? Here? To Hartzwalde. To meet with the WJC?” Himmler asked.
“That’s correct, Herr Reichsführer. It’s time you met a Jew in person.”
“A conference with a Jew to discuss what, may I inquire?”
“To discuss, agree to, and together to sign a document entitled ‘In the Name of Humanity.’”
“What, in the name of humanity?”
“To preserve the lives of the surviving prisoners in the camps.”
“Kersten, you and the Red Cross already succeeded in convincing me to release two thousand inmates to Switzerland last year. You’re like a Jew yourself. You’re never satisfied.”
“In a way, I’m flattered by the comparison, Herr Reichsführer.”
“I give up, Kersten. You’re a hopeless case.”
“I like to think, rather, that I am full of hope.”
“What do you want from me?”
Kersten went over to the desk in the corner of the room, pulled out a drawer, and produced a two-page document. It was the concrete result of the conversations in Stockholm in March.
“When we meet, we will want you to affix your signature on this document.”
There were three points listed in the document.
Reichsführer Himmler shall not obey, or pass on to others under his command, the Führer’s orders to blow up any remaining concentration camps upon the Allies’ approach, and no prisoners are to be killed.
The present number of Jews, which is not accurate in any case, and is disputable, shall be kept in the camps until liberated by the Allies, and are no longer to be evacuated forcibly by Germany and hidden from Allied access.
3. That all camps in which there will still be Jewish prisoners at the time of liberation shall be catalogued and made known.
Himmler took a long time to read the document. Kersten was mildly surprised at the relative lack of perturbance registering on his face.
“Kersten, you realize that you and the others and this Jew you talk about are asking me to commit treason against my Führer and the German Reich. Who is ever going to thank me for this? If I follow through as you ask, do you really think that the Jews, even the ones who will be saved by my disobedience to the orders of my superior, will remember with gratitude? If you do, then you’re the one who is hopelessly deluded.”
“History may remember you as one who released 800,000 concentration camp inmates. Besides, under the current circumstances of the war, what exactly constitutes ‘treason?’ The word is pretty meaningless and moot now, isn’t it?”
Himmler reflected silently. Kersten didn’t expect him, really, to respond.
Kersten continued. “If you’re concerned about being found out by the Führer or any of your former associates, you do not need to. They are either protecting their own skin in Hitler’s bunker, or scattering to safe havens like Spain, Portugal or Argentina. Their attention is elsewhere. Believe it or not, they’re not paying attention to you.”
“Oh,” Himmler sighed. “My days are numbered, in any case,” he declared rather matter-of-factly without the slightest hint of morbidity. Evidently, he had been envisioning the end, his own end.
He took the fountain pen Kersten was holding out for him and signed his name at the bottom of the document. Kersten then took the pen and signed above Himmler’s signature:
Felix Kersten, in the name of Humanity.
Himmler was as speechless as Finns at a wake. His gaunt face looked utterly defeated, yet strangely resigned, even reconciled, at the same time.
Kersten explained that the same document would be presented at the conference at Hartzwalde later in April. This was, he said, just the first step, but an important one, a “dress rehearsal” of the conference, the “down payment” as it were, to guarantee the final agreement.
After Himmler had boarded his car and been driven down the driveway onto the highway to Berlin, Kersten reflected on the session. Never in his life had he felt so sublimely satisfied as the moment he had watched Himmler’s trembling, slow and stilted writing appear on the document. When he affixed his own signature on the document above Himmler’s, Kersten felt that he was a representative of a great power, not Sweden or Holland or Finland, but of humanity itself. As he contemplated the lives of thousands of Jewish prisoners released eventually from the camps of death, he was convinced that he had been negotiating and conspiring in the name of an unseen power that was immensely pleased.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Gransee: April 21, 1945
The conference at Hartzwalde went much more smoothly than Kersten had expected, although it didn’t begin that way. There was some initial tension among Kersten and his guests, Walter Schellenberg and Norbert Mazur, the representative of the World Jewish Congress, on the evening of the 20th, the time scheduled for the formal negotiation with Himmler. Himmler, however, had not appeared as promised. Schellenberg and Mazur looked to Kersten for some explanation.
“I trust, Doctor, that we have not been wasting our time coming here.”
Irrationally, Kersten felt chastised by Mazur’s question, even though he understood that Himmler’s not being present was not his responsibility, but rather Himmler’s own.
Kersten went to bed that might fearing that Himmler wasn’t going to keep his word.
In spite of initial impressions, Himmler did keep his word about the release of the two thousand from Theresienstadt to Switzerland. That was a significant risk for him. But to openly defy Hitler’s order to dynamite the camps was a risk of a different order. I pray he hasn’t developed cold feet.
Kersten was awakened at two in the morning by the sound of a vehicle coming up his stony driveway. He looked out his bedroom window and was as relieved as the father of the prodigal son to see Himmler stepping out of the limousine.
The next morning, Himmler was already up and about when Kersten came down from his bedroom upstairs.
“You probably thought I’d bolted, didn’t you, Kersten?” he asked, looking as sheepish and shamefaced as Kersten had ever seen him.
“Well, yes. It was a little awkward for me after having reassured the other parties weeks ago that you had agreed to be present.”
“I was at the Führe
r’s post-wedding party in his bunker. Eva finally made an honest man of the Führer. He had told Göbbels that he didn’t want one, that he was in no mood to celebrate. But Eva Braun was fiercely adamant that there be a party. Göbbels resisted, but he knew if word got back to the Führer that he or Bormann or anyone else displeased his mistress in any way, there’d be hell to pay.”
“I can imagine.”
“I knew I was expected here for dinner at seven, but when Göbbels telephoned and explained the situation at the last minute, I knew I had to attend the party. I had no credible excuse not to. I couldn’t just tell them, ‘I’m going to Kersten’s estate to sign a document with a Jew that pledges me to disobey the Führer’s express orders.’”
“Indeed, you couldn’t. I am sure that Schellenberg understands your dilemma and Herr Mazur will forgive you.”
“I’m not aware that forgiveness is a Jewish virtue. It’s Christ who put us Christians in the position where we are obligated to forgive.”
As though on cue, Mazur descended the stairs, dressed in a black suit and wearing a black yarmulke on the back of his head to match. Kersten cringed inwardly at the patently open display of Jewishness. He wondered if Mazur was wearing the yarmulke as a passive-aggressive form of defiance of the Chief of the SS.
The two men met at the foot of the stairs. Kersten made the introduction. Himmler and Mazur bowed to each other very slightly. They were silent long enough to make everyone tense.
Finally, Himmler tried to produce a smile and shook Mazur’s hand ever so tentatively. He said something to Mazur so softly that Kersten couldn’t overhear. But Mazur responded to the comment with a nervous chuckle, so Kersten relaxed for the time being.
Accidental Saviors Page 27