Visit to the Buchenwald Concentration Camp

Weimar, Germany

The day that I visited Buchenwald, I was sad and angry. I was more sad and more angry as the day progressed.  But the anger stayed with me. The anger was worst a few hours after I left the Buchenwald when I visited the castle at Marburg.  

Clearly, I should not have visited Marburg the same day as Buchenwald, but I did not know that when the day began.  

This motto is on the Buchenwald gate.

Jedem das seine: To each his own or To each as he deserves

  the literal German translation of the Latin suum cuique. 

Cruelty and cruel jokes are part of the Nazi belief in their superiority. 

Buchenwald is the first large concentration camp. Mass shootings were the primary means of execution, although more prisoners were worked to death than killed by shooting.  The bodies were disposed of by cremation in ovens, but there was no gas chamber at Buchenwald.  There were hideous medical experiments that killed thousands of the 54,000 killed at the camp.

All of this is numbing when visiting the camps: clean, orderly displays of artifacts can never convey the reality--the terror, the smell, the hate, that permeated every moment in Buchenwald.  

I felt so sad trying to imagine the terror of the victims, and so angry imaging the guards who tormented and killed the prisoners.  

Memorial to murdered Russian POWs

Around the grounds and in the museum were monuments to the various groups tortured and murdered. In addition to the Jews, the Roma people, homosexuals, Russian Prisoners of War, and political prisoners were victims of systematic murder.

Tabulation of deaths

Even the location of the this camp was hateful. It is on a hill above the city of Weimar. The camp could be seen, smelled and heard in the town below.  The location is to literally shove the stinking reality of Nazism in the face of the place where the last democratic government of Germany was set up before the Nazis took over.  As with the horrible joke on the gate: 

Jedem das seine: To each his own. 

Cruelty and cruel jokes are part of the Nazi belief in their own superiority.  Torment, torture, it's all part of being a Nazi. 

Equipment from American liberators of the camp

Inmate uniforms

After seeing the markers, the memorials, the displays, the clear evidence that everyone in Weimar knew what the camp was and what happened in it, I felt rising anger.  I knew that the Nazis would kill anyone who opposed them and that most of the people of Weimar were just hoping to stay alive, but one third of Germany voted for the racist wretch who would lay waste their country.

It was for them, the Hitler voters, the Hitler supporters, the people who cheered at the Nuremberg rallies, they were the focus of my anger.  Hitler's supporters in 1932 did not know their country would be razed and ruined and a smoking pile of rubble before they would vote again.

And my anger was compounded by thinking of the Americans who voted for Trump knowing exactly the sort of racist scum he is.  They saw more danger from Hillary Clinton.  What a joke that is now. Whatever Clinton's faults, she did not want to be a tyrant.

It will be the cruelest irony if the country that liberated the death camps and defeated the Nazis falls into tyranny by voting for a racist pig.  I have offered to bet more than one Trump supporter he will not leave office if defeated. No one has taken the bet.

And then my feelings were worse at Marburg Castle. The tour guide said Marburg is one of the best German castles and the home of St. Elizabeth, a saint so true to the Gospel she was canonized in record time.  I lost it at that point. The last thing I wanted to hear about was one German who actually lived according to the Gospel 800 years ago whose distant countrymen expelled Believers who were Jewish by birth from their Churches in 1935. Nearly all of them were killed.

Forty years ago when I walked the streets of Wiesbaden in 1976, I would look at people who were in their 60s or older and wonder, 'What did you do when the Jews were rounded up, turn your back or shove them in the rail cars.' I was not angry in 1976 and really enjoyed living in Germany, but this trip, I was angry.

Of course, in 1976, no American leader would ever call Nazis "fine people." Democracy is under attack everywhere, but in America the attack is personal. I defended this country. I did not enlist to support tyranny.

In 1976, I was forty years closer to the Holocaust in time, but I saw it as horrible history.  Now I see it as looming threat.

Above 55mph on a Bike the Spokes Sing

The position for the fastest descent

  

Just above 55 miles per hour the spokes sing.

I hear it with my crotch on the top tube,

My chest on the handlebars, my legs folded,

Pulled in close, the sound of the spokes,

Rises, a wail and a shriek and a whistle, with a

Flutter as each spoke spins up to 110 miles per hour,

Then spins down to zero for a millisecond.

The howl of the wind wraps around me, the

Angular speed of the wheels makes the bike solid,

Straight in a way it never feels at lower speeds,

For a moment I know there are four square inches of

Rubber on the road, ounces of carbon rim holding,

The tire and the tube, and my life straight up, flying

Down the hill, my eyes scanning for holes, stones,

Any danger and yet, I am grinning, singing with the

Spokes, more alive, drinking every vivid color,

Pattern, feeling. Eighty feet every second, then the

Hill levels, the trees stand up straight again, I sit up.

45, 35, 30, 20 up the hill on the other side of the bridge, the

Momentum is gone in three seconds. I spin the pedals to

Climb the hill ahead, three miles, twenty minutes, silent

Spokes now stressed with load as I stand and push the

Pedals. Their moment of weightless delight, gone till the

Next long, steep grade gives them freedom, their moment.

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Cantigny Memorial: My First Flight in a Helicopter

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My first flight on a helicopter was in 1978.  I flew 300 miles from Wiesbaden Air Base in Germany to Cantigny, France, for a ceremony marking the 60^th Anniversary of a World War I battle in that town.  Several American veterans of the battle joined French veterans to mark the Allied victory in the little French town. 

We flew in UH1 “Huey” helicopter. The flight was on a clear, beautiful spring day.  We flew at 1,000 feet of altitude. In those days before the strict safety requirements of the modern Army, we were allowed to fly with the door open sitting on the floor, facing sideways with our feet hanging to the side out of the aircraft. 

When we crossed the border from Germany to France, we went from flying over little towns and deep forests to flying over roads lined by trees. The trees were in perfect lines for a mile or more along the side of straight roads.  The new leaves and the very straight lines looked lovely as we sped along above the rolling farm country. 

Cantigny is northeast of Paris so we did not pass over any major cities. The entire village turned out for the ceremony.  It was the first World War I ceremony I had attended.  It was an honor to watch the veterans, most in their late 70s and early 80s stand to attention and salute the flags, then talk among themselves about the war they fought at the beginning of the century.

After the ceremony, I flew back on a twin-engined plane that had an open seat.  My next helicopter flight would not be for another 30 years, in 2009, when I flew in a Blackhawk helicopter from Camp Adder to Al Kut in Iraq. 

In late October I returned to the village for the first time in 41 years.  The monument dominates the very small town.  The important battle that helped change the course of the war is well documented and honored in the center of town.

Renting and Riding Bicycles in Five Countries

 Paris Training Race at Longchamp

During my five-week trip in Europe and Israel, I rented five of the six bikes I rode. The sixth bike I left at the monastery where my Cold War Army roommate is Bruder Timotheus in Darmstadt, Germany.  Each bike and rental is as different as the country in which I rode.

This was not the trip I planned. Originally I was going to ride as much as I could of the length of Israel, but my knee swelled up and hurt a lot on the day before the flight to Europe.  I rested my knee the first few days and rode with less intensity, but still had a great trip.   

PARIS

In Paris, I primarily rode the daily training race atLongchamp.  There is a two-mile road around the perimeter of the horse-racing track called L’hippodrome in the southwest corner of the city.  Every day that road is closed to traffic from 10am until sunset.  Groups of bikes and solo bikes ride the circle. Every time I could, I rode the circle, joining various groups of riders and riding their speed. The last day I rode there I did a dozen laps on a windy day averaging 19 mph.  There is a Strava segment on the 3km circle that is 21km.  Strava told me I averaged 31.7km/hr.  another time I rode a couple of laps at 14 mph with five riders in their 70s. 

One of the days I rode to the west suburbs of Suresne, Rueil-Malmaison, Chatou and Saint Germain-en-Laye.  The ride is hilly, beautiful and on a variety of roads. 

I rented the bike from Paris Bike Company in Malakoff on the south side of Paris. They rent high-end bikes for tours and by the day.  Sam Weaver, the owner, is an American who was a bike dealer in America and now has a shop for tours. He does custom bike fit for local clients. He speaks French well with a very American accent.  His rental rate for a carbon race bike with helmet, pedals and water bottles is 70 Euros for the first day and 30 Euros for additional days.  Importantly for me, the additional days do not have to be sequential.  I was in and out of Paris a half-dozen times during the five weeks I travelled.  I rented the bike for a couple of days, went to Israel and Latvia for two weeks, rode another day, left for Germany, ride two more days, went to Germany again, and then rode one more day at the end of the trip.  The bike was ready each time. 

JERUSALEM

In Jerusalem I rode different directions out of the city. In Jerusalem, leaving the city means riding steeply downhill for miles. And, of course, riding steeply uphill all the way back. In fact, the steepest parts of the ride in and out of Jerusalem are the first two or three miles.

In Jerusalem, I rented another carbon race bike from another American with a bike shop.  Moses, owner of Bike Way, is even more relaxed that Sam about the bike.  I had the bike I rented in Jerusalem for five days. When I returned it, Moses asked how many days I rode. I said four—I skipped riding one day. He charged me for just four.  His rate is $35 per day.  In February I will be in Jerusalem for eight days. I told Moses I would need a bike then, but between tours I was doing and the rainy season, I did not know when or how many days. He told me to take the bike when I arrive. When I return it, tell him how many days I rode. He will charge me for just those days. It may be just three days. That’s okay with him.

RIGA, LATVIA

I visited all three of the Baltic states in four days there: Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, but only rode one day in Riga, Latvia.  The other days it rained. A friend who lived there was surprised I even had a three-hour window to ride one day. He said it rains or snows from October to April.  The Baltic states are flat and forested with the narrow roads common all over Europe. In the city of Riga there were bike paths along the river and I saw some bike lanes in the city. There was also cobblestones and very narrow streets in the old city.

In Riga, Latvia, I rented a touring bike at Riga Bike Tours and Rent.  In November there was only one shop renting bikes. The high temperature the day I rented was 35 Fahrenheit. It was the only day it didn’t rain.  I rode for about 90 minutes along the river until I got thoroughly cold.  The rate for the day was 7 Euros, but he only charged me five for the short ride. 

BERLIN

In Berlin, I had another one-day rental. Again, not a lot of options in November when the high temperature was in the mid 30s. The rate was 20 Euros for a day or an hour. I rode around the center of the city in the area of the central park called Tiergarten.  Two years ago I was in Berlin in July and the bike culture was evident everywhere.  There are bike lanes, bike paths, bike racks, and people riding fast and slow in suits and spandex all over the place. It is a really bike-friendly city. 

LUXEMBOURG

In Luxembourg, I rode one of the city bikes.  They were easy to use. For three Euros I could ride the whole day.  I rode up and down a long hill to a medieval village in the middle of the city, below city hall.

In 2017, I rode from Belgrade, Serbia, to Lviv, Ukraine, and part of the way back to Germany. I rode a Surly steel bike with flat handlebars and an 8-speed gear set in the rear hub.  This was the first—and last—time I rode with panniers. Carrying gear on a bike is Heaven for some people, but not for me.  After the ride across Eastern Europe, I spent a week with an old friend in Darmstadt, Germany.  He is a monk. I donated the bike to the monastery.  

On this trip, when I visited my friend Cliff, the bike was there and ready to ride. I rode to nearby Frankenstein’s Castle. It’s a beautiful road, climbing steeply up for three miles of smooth switchbacks. It was repaved in 2016.  After the slow climb up, I had a fast ride down.  The Brothers at the monastery prefer their touring-style bikes and only occasionally ride the Surly. So it is there when I visit and for other visitors who might want a faster ride than the balloon-tire bikes the Brothers ride.

I have ridden in more than 30 countries on five continents over the past 20 years, including most of the countries in Europe between Portugal and Ukraine. I am not a careful person. 

Steel Vintage Bikes: Awesome Cafe in Berlin

Steel Vintage Bikes in Berlin is a café decorated with steel racing bikes from the second half of the 20^th Century. They also roast their own beans. When I walked in on a rainy evening, they had just finished roasting Rwandan beans.  I had a double espresso and walked around the café snapping pictures.  I brought home a bag of their coffee.  

Visit to Buchenwald Concentration Camp: Russian Prisoners of War

For the past ten centuries, the worst fate a person in Europe could suffer was to be born a Jew or a Russian.  For those thousand years Jews were targets of persecution wherever they were. Ordinary Russians, for nearly a thousand years, were effectively slaves. Within two decades of their emancipation in 1863, Tsarist repression began again. Russians were killed. And a million Jews were killed in pogroms at the end of the 19th Century by the same Tsarist government.

Then Russian peasants revolted in 1917.  What could be worse than being slaughtered by Germans in World War I and the rule of the Tsar?  Communism.
Millions of Russians were killed by Stalin during his 30 years of rule.

In World War II, Russian soldiers fought bravely and eventually beat the Nazi Army.  But the Russian soldiers captured by the Nazis were treated as untermensch sub human.  At the Buchenwald Concentration Camp, the museum records the fate of Russian POWs. Many were executed and disposed of in mass graves or a crematorium.

In one of the saddest moments of a very sad visit, I saw the container below.  Nazi executioners dumped the bodies of Russian soldiers in a box lined with zinc for disposal.  The sad moment came from reading a book called Zinky Boys by Svetlana Alexievich. Fifty years after World War II, the Soviet Union shipped those killed in the War in Afghanistan home in sealed zinc coffins.

Alexievich, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature for her writing on the Chernobyl disaster, compiled an oral history of the Soviet war in Afghanistan and the suffering of soldiers and families.

When I saw slaughtered POWs were dumped into zinc bins, I thought of zinc the coffins the Soviets used, and zinc trash cans--zinc keeps trash cans from rusting.

Everyone brings their own experiences into a museum.  My knowledge of Russian history added a new dimension of horror to my experience of visiting the camp.

Of course, none of the horrors perpetrated by the Soviets in any way diminish the atrocities of the Nazis.  The Nazis slaughtered Russian POWs based on race, just as they slaughtered Jews and others for the same reason.

Mount Bental and a Battle That Saved Israel in 1973

The trenches on the Mount Bental Outpost

The Yom Kippur War in 1973 was arguably the last real full-scale armored war.  The American wars in Iraq in 1991 and 2003 were so lopsided in armor and ground attack aircraft that they could hardly be called armored warfare.
 The overwhelming triumph of the Israeli Army in the Six-Day war in 1967 led to terrible complacency in 1973.  The Israeli Army very nearly lost the war in fierce fighting both in the Sinai in the south against Egypt and in the Golan Heights against in the north against the Syrian Army.

The view from Mount Bental

The battle for the Golan Heights was one of the greatest tank battles of the 1973 Yom Kippur War or any war.  If the Syrian invasion force of 1,500 tanks and 1,000 cannon had broken through the thin Israeli line, the country could have been split in half and conquered in a day.

Between the Mount Bental observation post and Mount Hermon is the Valley of Tears where the battle was fought. An Israeli force of just 160 tanks slowed and finally stopped the Syrian columns. Though vastly outnumbering the Israeli defenders, the Syrians had to move through a narrow valley. In the end 600 Syrian tanks were destroyed.  Just seven of the Israeli tanks were still in service when the Syrians withdrew after their significant losses. The crews of the 153 damaged and destroyed tanks were nearly all casualties by the time the three-day battle ended.

Today Mount Bental is a tourist destination.  At least a half-dozen buses labored up the winding climb, discharging hundreds of tourists to explore the trenches and bunkers and, of course, the gift shop.

The view is amazing and beautiful looking over both the Israeli Golan and into Syria. It must have looked entirely different with 1,500 tanks streaming out of Syria.