The Eternal Nazi: From Mauthausen to Cairo, the Relentless Pursuit of SS Doctor Aribert Heim

by Kulish, Nicholas

  In the end, Tarek Hussein Farid was buried in a common crypt like an Egyptian pauper.

  CHAPTER 57

  Rüdiger in the meantime had returned to Germany, where the news began to travel in the very small circle of the family. He called his cousin Birgit and asked her to come down to Baden-Baden, afraid that the phone had been tapped. Rüdiger broke the news to her in the car, where they thought they were least likely to be eavesdropped upon by the police. Birgit in turn drove home and told her mother. They kept the secret for close to seventeen years.

  In February 2009, the New York Times and ZDF German television reported that Dr. Aribert Heim, the Simon Wiesenthal Center’s most wanted Nazi war criminal, had lived in Egypt as a convert to Islam and that he had died there in 1992. Reporters descended in droves on the Kasr el-Madina Hotel. Mahmoud and the other sources quoted in the story were dragged in for harsh and lengthy questioning by Egyptian state security.

  Without the actual body, Efraim Zuroff did not believe a Nazi fugitive should be declared dead. He had precedent in this. One of Simon Wiesenthal’s most important contributions to Eichmann’s capture had been to prevent Eichmann’s wife from having her husband declared dead shortly after the war. If he had been, investigators would have stopped looking for him. In Heim’s case, “there are too many question marks,” said Zuroff. “The scenario is almost too perfect to be believed … No body, no grave, no DNA, the most important test there is.”

  Meanwhile, Heim’s briefcase was transferred to the state police in Baden-Württemberg. Experts checked the authenticity of its contents. They compared the handwriting on the documents with older writing samples and confirmed that Heim was their author. The dust in the case included a form of lime that is found in Egypt. Certain microorganisms also supported its authenticity. “The extensive criminal technical analyses of the documents from the briefcase lead us to the conclusion that it actually came from Aribert Heim,” said the police in a statement. But the death certificate bore the name Tarek Hussein Farid and gave a false birth date.

  It took four more years to confirm his death to the satisfaction of the German courts. Additional documents surfaced from the second bag Rüdiger and Mahmoud had packed up when he died. The Samsonite case was too useful to leave idle, and at some point over the years someone had taken it, stashing the loose papers in one of the Doma brothers’ homes. Those papers included documentation of his name change and his conversion to Islam. The court in Baden-Baden finally declared Heim dead. Life slowly went back to normal for the Doma family. The house on Maria-Viktoria-Strasse in Baden-Baden remained much as it was.

  Yet questions still lingered about the veracity of his death. Zuroff asked, couldn’t one final escape have been possible, to Chile maybe, or Spain, or back to his native Austria? Had his accomplices wound a living Aribert Heim in white sheets like a corpse, carried him out in broad daylight for a maximum number of witnesses? Had they sworn the Doma family to secrecy and left the papers behind for the day when his pursuers came uncomfortably close to his hiding place?

  When the war ended, Heim was essentially a nobody, one of tens of thousands of perpetrators. It would have been impossible for the Allies, both logistically and politically, to round up all the concentration camp guards, to imprison every SS officer, to remove every member of the Nazi Party from public life. The willingness to find and prosecute war criminals grew precisely as their numbers dwindled.

  Today, German politicians and officers of the law don’t have to worry about Nazi-era skeletons in their closets. Far from the mark of shame it bore in the early postwar years, the contemporary German state possesses a moral authority that stems in part from its image as a country that dealt with its past head-on, a nation that accepted its guilt and rose above it, paying reparations to survivors, providing health insurance in their old age, and generally succoring those their forebears tormented. One important way to underscore that has been to stick with the legal pursuit of the war criminals.

  From the Nuremberg trials to this day, a pattern has emerged of using the criminal-justice system as a tool for teaching about the Holocaust. Deniers could not easily explain away Adolf Eichmann sitting behind bulletproof glass, or the parade of eyewitnesses describing Nazi atrocities, or the documents entered into evidence. That is one reason prosecutors have continued to put older and older defendants in the dock. Many of them are now dying as they await their verdicts or appeals, as in the case of the retired autoworker John Demjanjuk.

  Demjanjuk, a Ukrainian immigrant to the Cleveland area, was wrongly accused of being Ivan the Terrible, one of the worst guards at Treblinka. He was tried in Israel and sentenced to death, only to be partially exonerated. Demjanjuk was not Ivan the Terrible, it turned out, but he had been a guard at Sobibor. No one but him knows what he did there, but he was sent to Germany and tried using a novel prosecution theory. Merely by serving at a death camp, he was considered an accessory to the murder of everyone killed while he was stationed there. Demjanjuk might have been bloodthirsty, or he might have helped people escape. That, combined with his advanced age, made many people uncomfortable, as he lay in a hospital bed set up in the courtroom.

  Heim, by comparison, remained in our imaginations a worthy adversary, with his mocking half smile in the photograph in which he is wearing a tuxedo. Eyewitnesses accused him of murdering with his own hands. There could be no qualms about searching for him. By eluding capture for so long, Heim became the eternal Nazi in the minds of those who had sworn never to forget.

  No number of final-hour prosecutions could ever do justice to the crimes committed in the Holocaust. Reading through Alfred Aedtner’s index cards, even a researcher jaded by constant exposure to the machinery of death feels overwhelmed again by the specific cruelties. But the pursuit of Nazi war criminals is not just a dwindling exercise. It has also set a precedent for genocide victims everywhere.

  With each passing year, Heim’s complaint that only Nazis were singled out for war-crimes prosecution has become increasingly untrue. The ethnic cleansing of the Bosnian War, which Rüdiger and Aribert watched unfold on CNN, led to the creation of the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. The likes of Ratko Mladic, Radovan Karadzic, and Slobodan Milosevic were delivered to The Hague for trial. Perpetrators of the genocide in Rwanda were put before the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. On July 1, 2002, a permanent sitting court, the International Criminal Court, was created to prosecute war criminals from all nations.

  The Department of Justice’s Office of Special Investigations, dedicated to the pursuit of Nazi war criminals, was combined with the Domestic Security Section in 2010 to create the new Human Rights and Special Prosecutions Section, with a mandate to prosecute “violators for genocide, torture, war crimes, and recruitment or use of child soldiers.”

  The hunt for Nazi war criminals might have been fitful and incomplete, as in the search for Heim even beyond the grave, but it established a worthy model. Famous men like Simon Wiesenthal and unknown ones like Alfred Aedtner left a legacy beyond their pursuit of the criminals of the Holocaust, a new standard of justice amid the violent injustice of war.

  EPILOGUE

  In a surviving black-and-white photograph, Max Heftmann is dressed like a grown man in a suit and tie, but his bright grin for the camera betrays his youth. The oldest of three sons, he worked at a lightbulb factory in Vienna. He was a member of a Zionist youth club called Blau Weiss, or Blue White, and had a passion for skiing and water sports.

  At the end of 1937, with Nazi Germany’s annexation of Austria approaching, Heftmann decided to immigrate to Holland. He worked in Amsterdam as an electrician at Werkdorp, a training center for would-be immigrants to Palestine. There he met a young Dutch woman named Ray Soesman. The two wanted to marry, but Max could not get the necessary documents from Austria.

  The Nazis invaded Holland in May 1940. They shut down Werkdorp the following year. Heftmann was deported to Mauthausen in 1941. Ray was sent to the Wes
terbork camp and then to Theresienstadt. She received three letters from her fiancé. In the first two letters he implored her to write him back. In the third and final letter she received, he did not. Somehow it sounded to Ray like a good-bye.

  In 1941, when Aribert Heim performed surgery on him to remove, according to the operation book, necrotic skin tissue from his right foot, Heftmann was just twenty-eight years old. Heim was twenty-seven. Heftmann’s entry in the death book states that he passed away ten days later from an infection in his lower left leg.

  Heim was at Mauthausen as Jews from Holland were systematically killed, but those receiving lethal injections were not included in the operation book. The details in the death book, including the precise dates and causes of death, were frequently altered to cover up for executions, as Ernst Martin testified at the trial in Dachau, making it difficult to determine who might have been Heim’s victims.

  Another young Austrian discovered Max Heftmann’s story almost seven decades later. Andreas Kranebitter is part of the small but dedicated staff on the top floor of the Austrian Interior Ministry in Vienna who keep up the Mauthausen archive and are responsible for the exhibits at the concentration camp, which today is both a memorial and a teaching institute. Like many of the staffers, he started out volunteering there as part of his national civil service and stayed.

  Kranebitter’s grandfather was also an SS doctor. Like Aribert Heim’s brother, Josef, he served with the paratroopers for the offensive in Crete. Kranebitter thinks the two doctors might have known each other. Rather than a reason to avoid the history of Nazism in his native Austria, Kranebitter saw it as all the more reason to investigate the subject.

  Rüdiger Heim embodies the more fitful reckoning many Germans have with their past. He both recognizes and deplores the terrible atrocities committed by Nazi Germany in the Holocaust but believes his father is wrongly accused of the crimes he was alleged to have perpetrated. A gap exists for many people between collective guilt, which is easier to accept, and individual responsibility. It often feels in Germany as though there were many more Nazis than descendants of Nazis, when just the opposite is the case.

  There is little question that Heim served a harsher sentence—thirty years in exile—than he would have received in Germany in the 1960s, where capital punishment had already been abolished and prison terms in Nazi cases were often surprisingly short. That is assuming he was convicted in the first place. Instead of relieving his family of embarrassment by fleeing to Egypt, he inflicted far greater and far more lasting suffering on them, through decades of surveillance and questioning by law enforcement and the media alike.

  His story does not provide an easy sense of closure. If it were a movie, Aribert Heim would have been caught by Alfred Aedtner after a chase through Cairo, his arrest announced by Simon Wiesenthal. Heim would have had his day in court with the international media there to hear his defense. But his story was not a movie, and for many of those involved, the effects lingered long after his death and its revelation.

  Waltraut Böser still travels each summer to Austria to visit her half brother Peter. Lately she has found her way to neighboring Germany on those visits, where she has struck up a warm friendship with her cousin Birgit Barth. On a recent trip Waltraut brought old photographs, pictures of her mother and of herself as a young woman at around the time that she impulsively hitchhiked to see Elvis, from a downhill competition after her youthful prime where she became the ski champion of pharmacists.

  Birgit in turn shared photographs of the Heim family in Radkersburg and a poetry album, in which a young Aribert implored his elder sister, Hilda, “Wanderer, learn in a faraway place,” and “Speak as your heart speaks with itself.” In his own family, Heim is still remembered as the dutiful son, brother, and father, their personal experiences of the man trumping all the outside accusations. Waltraut was happy to learn about the sides of her father she never read about in the newspaper, though the sadness at never meeting him remains.

  “He lived his whole life beside me, and I never saw him,” Waltraut said. “For me that was the worst part—that I never saw him.” Like Rüdiger, she did not believe that he was guilty. “I quite simply could never believe that he did it,” Waltraut said. “I was not at Mauthausen, and I can’t know, but purely on instinct I can’t believe it.”

  She had inherited so many of her traits, talents, and interests from him. The possibility that he also had it within himself to commit gruesome murders was just too distressing for her. Heim impregnated and abandoned her mother, yet Gertrud told Waltraut only stories about the wonderful young man her father had been, never letting a bad word about him pass her lips.

  “She only said good things about him,” Waltraut said. “For me he was a role model.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  From its inception to its conclusion, this book has been the product of many people’s labor. Elmar Thevessen was an integral part of the original story about Aribert Heim for ZDF Television and cannot be thanked enough as a journalist, colleague, and friend for his many contributions.

  Christine Kay and Matt Purdy from the investigative team at the New York Times helped drive the reporting and shape the writing of the article about Heim’s hideaway in Cairo. Bill Keller was an unwavering supporter of this project and many others in his time as executive editor.

  Almut Schönfeld was a steadfast researcher and a brilliant guide through the warrens and nooks of Germany’s archives. Chris Cottrell was an extraordinary fact-checker, bringing verve and curiosity to his work.

  Not enough can be said about the team at the Mauthausen Archive at the Austrian Ministry of Interior, in particular Andreas Kranebitter, Gregor Holzinger, and Doris Warlitsch, who were equally adept at pulling out the perfect file as they were at doling out advice over a beer.

  Carter Dougherty and the Mekhennet family helped with the storage and movement of the dusty old briefcase that formed the backbone of our early work on Heim’s story. Stefan Pauly spent a sleepless night scanning page after yellowed page of Heim’s correspondence, medical records, and clippings, finding invaluable documentaries and archival materials on his own time and initiative that would inform both the article and the book. Victor Homola gave logistical and research support throughout the process. The ZDF documentary would not have been possible without the brilliance of Christian Deick. Jihan Rushdy-Koydl of ZDF was instrumental on the ground in Egypt. Nagi al Adawi was more than a driver, always there with insight and a warm smile. Luc Walpot, the former Egypt correspondent for ZDF, gave us generous assistance.

  Our stays in Egypt would have been immeasurably less enjoyable and significantly less comfortable without the generosity and kindness of Alexandra Rydmark, Hans Grundberg, JoAnna Pollonais, Frederik Matthys, and Matt Bradley, whose rooftop in Dokki, gone but not forgotten, was a clearinghouse for journalist gossip in Cairo, before and after the start of the Egyptian Revolution in 2011.

  Several people worked to free us from detention for reporting during the revolution. Our thanks go to Elizabeth O. Colton from the United States embassy, the journalist Claudia Sautter, Philipp Ackerman from the German foreign ministry, and Ambassador Michael Bock from the German embassy. Others in Morocco and Germany who prefer not to be named were equally instrumental in our release and we thank them as well.

  This book would not have been possible without the patience of Aribert Heim’s living relatives. Rüdiger Heim suffered through interminable and often repetitive interviews. Birgit Barth brought a sharp sense of humor and acute memory to our discussions. Waltraut Böser overcame her resistance to speaking with journalists and sacrificed time during her summer vacation in Europe to share her story. Friedl Heim relived painful memories time and again but was always a kind hostess, may she rest in peace. Khalid Habouchi made us feel most welcome in Baden-Baden.

  Gaetano Pisano and Blandine Pellet shared their story as well as providing deep insights into Rüdiger Heim’s life in Italy, Denmark, France, and Spain.

&
nbsp; Lore Aedtner shared memories and mementos of her late husband. Harald Aedtner spoke at length about his father. Agnes Haag shared the story of Fritz Haag, who helped young Alfred restart his life after the war.

  Fritz Steinacker welcomed us to his office repeatedly to share memories of his client and allow us access to otherwise inaccessible depositions and court records.

  Mahmoud Doma gave his time unstintingly as he shared memories of his Amu Tarek. He and his family endured difficult questioning after the initial story broke and suffered on the business side in the glare of publicity. We thank Sharif, Ahmed, and the rest of the Doma family for their assistance.

  Kamal Gabala at Al-Ahram, Mahmoud Salah at Akhbar el-Hawadeth, and Gamal al Ghitany at Akhbar el Yom helped us navigate fifty years of Egyptian history.

  We would like to thank the Jewish community of Morocco and in particular Rachel Muyal, former director of the Librairie des Colonnes bookshop, who took time to explain the fascinating history of the Jewish community in Tangier. Soraya Sebti and Abderrahim Sabir were also a great help and comfort.

  It is hard to say enough about Germany’s brilliant network of libraries and archives, from small towns to the capital of Berlin. Thanks in particular to Wolfgang Läpple at the Stadtarchiv Ludwigsburg and Garnisonmuseum Ludwigsburg, Tobias Herrmann at the Aussenstelle Ludwigsburg Bundesarchiv, Brigitte Faatz at the Stadtarchiv Bad Nauheim, Lutz Schneider at the Stadtarchiv Friedberg, Günther Berger at the Heidelberg City Archives, Gisa Franke at the Archiv der Hansestadt Rostock, Werner Renz at the Fritz Bauer Institute, and Stephan Kühmayer at the Deutsche Dienststelle (WASt).