Buchenwald, like all Concentration Camps, was hell on earth. Horrific, dehumanizing death was endemic. You cannot hear the stories of survivors without feeling some shame at being part of a species that can inflict such atrocity on its own members. For people like my grandfather, the horror of the Camps is compounded by a survivor’s guilt that forever imprisons part of their souls to private torment. To this day, the sound of a German Sheppard barking or even a few phrases spoken in German is enough to send shivers up Ed’s spine. Not quite the adventure he signed up for.
Today, on Remembrance Day, we pay tribute to the veterans and soldiers in the field of combat for sacrifices made on our behalf in places far from home. I will be thinking of my grandfather when The Last Post sounds, quietly expressing my gratitude and regret for the burden he carries to this day. I’ll also be thinking about the men and women in uniform protecting Canadian interests somewhere out there out now.
The further removed from conflict we become through geography and time, the less we realize just how horrific it is. We condemn ourselves to repeat history when we forget the lessons it teaches us. Honouring our veterans and recognizing the value and nobility of their sacrifices on our behalf gives us reason to think about the causes and consequences of war. To me, they are embodied by the policy of hate represented by Buchenwald and the toll World War II took on my grandfather.
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