Lazy Sundays At Auschwitz

[Douglas Mercer]

Douglas Mercer
June 4 2023

The dark of the film’s opening suddenly gives way to brightness and color: a family picnic by a lazy river. We then travel to the house, where Höss’ wife, Hedwig, an avid gardener, has overseen the planting of a lovely array of flowers and produce. The Hösses and their five happy children are living the dream of the Reich, having expanded east into Poland and enjoying a bucolic plenty……….

Yes sir they were on the way to paradise but then a funny thing happened. Over the treetops plumes of smoke which used to be Shecky Weinstein began to waft their way skyward up to Yahweh. Then plumes of ash dispersed by fire from the smoldering corpse of Avi Goldberg made their way through the air like tiny snowflakes glistening in the sun. But then an even funnier thing happened: of course bathers and the gardeners pay it no need, and why should they? If it even happened at all. But either way they are on their way to paradise.

Story is in 2007 the United States Holocaust museum received a mysterious album of photographs which depicted the everyday doings of the staff at Auschwitz. No sooner did the Jews there take a look at the pictures than they’re eyes bugged out, they goggled and boggled. My god they said look at all the smiling faces! Look at the laughter! Look how happy they are! Now in general Jews don’t like to see healthy and happy White people, but this was Auschwitz where little Avner Horowitz was turned into a refrigerator magnet. This is where millions of sob stories dutifully recorded for future Jew museums occurred. And they were yucking it up like they had not a care in the world. What were those evil Nazis thinking? Were they thinking anything? Were they bereft of all humanity and feeling? Don’t they know this was the Holocaust with a capital H? Why, it was the banality of evil just like that Jew philosopher said.

“As it happens, these photos are not of prisoners, but of officers, camp workers and sometimes of their family members. They depict people recreating in chairs, standing around while in uniform, taking a meal or otherwise enjoying downtime at a resort just outside the camp. Some of them are high-ranking officers within the Third Reich.”

And so a new sub genre and niche genre was born: the genre of National Socialists putting around the house on a sunny Sunday while across the way Rebecca Lowenstein’s skin was decomposed so her skeleton could be taken to the Ahnenerbe so Himmler’s men could study and perfect race science. This was Exhibit A that the Nazis were inhuman monsters. And you know the Jews, they are going to take what they deem a massive propaganda coup and run with it and milk it for all it’s worth. It’s like the old canard of how someone can listen to Mozart in the evenings and shove people in ovens by the day. After all how can a people steeped in Goethe do away with the Jews? The ovens were faked, but it occurs to me that’s the only people who could.

“Here There Are Blueberries tells the story of these photographs – what they reveal about the perpetrators of the Holocaust, and about our own humanity. The album contains 116 photos with captions in German. The figures in the photos aren’t the prisoners but the people who ran the camp. Ordinary Germans, bonding together on the job, taking part in official ceremonies and enjoying recreational activities. The pictures provide a haunting illustration of what the philosopher Hannah Arendt famously called the banality of evil.”

For Jews an article in Forward is a good start but it’s never enough when their watchwords are never again. An article? The Jews can do better than that! Just as they made a musical with catchy show tunes about Jew rapist and Jew murderer Leo Frank, so too did they turn this photo album of the master race at play and leisure into a full scale play, called Here Are The Blueberries. Apparently one of the pictures shows some Aryan women and one Aryan man smiling and having a good time and eating (of all things!) blueberries. My goodness blueberries, the Jews have blown the lid off of eating blueberries! What will the Hebrews think of next? Exposing the scandal of lazing and lolling at home? A nazi brushes his teeth—that’s evil! A nazi washes his hands—that’s evil! And German wife bakes bread and reads the Brother’s Grimm to her attentive children—that’s totally evil!. And just across the way while the heedless White people are enjoying themselves old Asher Roth was melted down and turned into a hood ornament that ended up on Heydrich’s Mercedes. It’s enough to give some Jew women playing mahjong in South Florida heart palpitations and conniptions.

“There is particular interest in a lodge that was built to provide a place for Nazi officers to vacation with their families to relieve job stress. This rustic leisure stands in stark contrast to the grim reality of the crematoria blowing smoke a few miles away. A photo of women who worked in the camp as telephone, telegraph and radio operators captures them doing calisthenics with a look of relaxed bonhomie. Another shows them on a bridge in uniform exuberantly gathered as a man plays the accordion.”

The play shows the Jews at the museum mulling over what it means for men and women to be able to take a quiet stroll and some exercise while not a hundred feet from them a gang of Jew pink corpses are being dragged from the gassing site and stuffed unceremoniously into the fire. What evil lurks in the human heart, the Aryan heart? This the Jew asks in earnest. And while they are pondering this imponderable the photos from the album are flashed on a screen so the audience can see the smiling White faces and shudder in horror. Safe to say this play is another layer in the stack of Jewish lies; everyone who has studied the matter knows the camp was so hated by the Jews because they were made to work, and the Jews are notoriously work shy. But when the play's audience goes home all they will remember is the gold teeth plucked from the mouth of an old Jewish crone while Germans sporting crew cuts and resplendent faces made some small talk.

“A photo of Höcker at the lodge serving blueberries to female personnel (the caption provides the play’s title) is all the more horrifying for seeming so serene. The smiling faces suggest a utopia, but these are the managers and custodians of a living hell. Training a sharp lens on the concentration camp at Auschwitz and a historically significant photo album that depicts everyday life not wartime atrocities, the creators of Here Are The Blueberries are examining culpability, certainly, but also the quotidian lives of the murderers.”

Quotidian lives while epochal murders are occurring! Though in fact there was never anything quotidian about solving the Jewish question, that was what was epochal and eternal. But the message of the drama is as simple as it is safe, the message is the cliché and the lie. The message is that the “Nazis” were heartless bastards, the kind of people who could countenance Ehud Greenberg being transmogrified into liquid soap right next door while they munched some tasty edibles, while they hoed in their little flower bed, while they lounged on the deck, while they walked arm in arm in the night, while they whistled while they worked, and while they swam in the lazy river. But what about Shekels Shekelstein? Why, right as you toweled yourself off in the wonderful sun Mengele is putting blue dye in his poor Shekels’ eye and a mad scientist is using the dreaded calipers to get cranial measurements at the specification of Hans Gunther. What were they thinking? Were they thinking anything at all? The cries of the Jews demand an answer. My God! Here’s what they were thinking. They were thinking they were on their way to paradise. And they were. It was that way, just around the bend, past the pile of corpses, the ones waiting for a light.

***

Now we have another contender joining the lists in the let’s see “Nazis” getting some R and R on a lazy Sunday morning while the SS tosses poison pellets into a locked room. Just so you know it takes a few minutes for the screams to stop, but the imposing White men pay it no mind, they just casually smoke their cigarettes and chit chat about the missus and about how baby Hans has the sniffles. The newest entrant is big scale movie that took the simps and scum at Cannes by storm, they oohed and awed about the precise portrayal of a loving family home created by Germans (no messes there!) even as little Sarah Silverstein was being shot in the back of the head and left to the wolves just across the way. The press uniformly said the director of this movie was “British” but let’s correct the record. He’s Jewish, all way down to his malign slanders of the master race.

“A new film (Zone Of Interest) follows, through calm, quotidian wide shots, the daily life of Auschwitz commandant Rudolf Höss (Christian Friedel) and his family. It opens with a lengthy, bucolic image of a picnic beside a placid lake. We might marvel at the beauty and peacefulness of this setting — the kind of thing fond summer memories are built on. Over the course of the picture, as we watch birthdays and tea parties and catch snippets of casual conversations, we also hear the constant churn of the death camp behind the walls, occasionally punctuated by distant gunshots and screams.”

All sorts of tall tales were circulated by “survivors” after the war, so much so that it became a cottage industry. It made the careers of hundreds of journalists and museum directors and exhibit curators. There was a cruel Mengele (the angel of death by the gods!) standing on the ramparts like a golden god or a Roman emperor with a thumbs up or down, telling some to go this way and some to go that. Children were separated from their parents, gold was removed from dead mouths, and of course Jews were turned into knick knacks and tchotchkes, which ended up in kitchens on the window sills. Bizarre Dr. Moreau style experiments were conducted, Havi Rabblesheim was put in freezing water for days on end, and somebody’s bubbe had to experience tons of pressure on her head so that one day the Germans might sail through the stars. But the cream of the lot was that Hoss used to complain that the screams of the Jews were interrupting his afternoon naps. But if you if you ever had your sleep interrupted by whiny Jews I’m sure you’d feel sympathy for him.

“Sometimes, in the evenings, we might notice the plumes of smoke, while the Höss family continues about their business. Hedwig Höss (Sandra Hüller), Rudolf’s wife, spends much of her time cultivating and perfecting her paradise garden, taking great care with the gorgeous flowers, bushes, and vines, and Glazer makes sure to give each plant a beautiful, loving close-up as she talks about the care they need.”

Those baleful and sinister plumes of smoke; that means a Jew just went up the smokestack. Coupled with a rain of ashes it is the Jews’ favorite plot device to make people drop their hearts into their boots and quake and quail in mortal fear. And that smiling group of men listening to the guy on the accordion and singing along like on a wandervogel outing? How could they be so callous? Don’t they have even a shade of sentiment or sensibility? Nope. None at all. It’s a dog eat dog world you know. Hitler said that if the Jews bring on this war things would not go well for them. So they certainly can’t say they were not warned. And anyway turning Shlomo into a bar of soap is hard work, and you need to take a break from time to time for some team building and camaraderie and listen to the oompah music.

“At the movie’s center is a dream house built on nightmares. The house belongs to a family—the movie’s opening shows this little group and some family friends, in placid wide shots, lounging by a stream flanked by lush greenery, laughing, talking, drying their pale, damp skin after a swim. Though we can’t get a close look at them, we can see how utterly secure they are in their happiness, as if the sun above had been created just to shine down on them.”

This is the master race at play. The long promised dream of a Jew free Europe is in the offing and these are the spoils that go to the victors. Sure there might be high pitched screams emanating from over there, sure there might be agonizing cries from mothers letting their little ones go, and then again probably not. But even so that’s no reason to let it spoil your day at the beach or your walk in the park. It’s just another lazy Sunday morning at Auschwitz and life is good. Shall we take a stroll along the way? Shall we sing carols in the snow? You're in the pink of health, you are hale and hearty, tomorrow belongs to you. Indeed life is so good the stench of rotting corpses couldn’t mar it; but from where you sit it smells like the fresh spring air and everything is coming up roses. There is nothing banal about it; it is beauty personified.

“The head of this robust little family is Rudolf Höss (Christian Friedel) whose hard work and loyalty have earned him rich rewards: he’s the commandant of Auschwitz. And he and his wife Hedwig (Sandra Hüller) have been granted a fine parcel of land adjacent to the camp. They’ve got an austerely elegant house that meets all their needs, surrounded by a garden of bright flowers for their children to play in. Hedwig proudly shows off the grounds to her visiting mother.”

The precious buzz of domesticity, how wonderful it is. These scenes are heartwarming to say the least; to try to twist them into something sick is a Jew trick; house and home, man and wife, kids at play. All it needs it nice White picket fence and a lemonade stand to round off the tableaux. A man’s home is his castle and his family is his pride and joy; five lovely and healthy children (a Jew’s greatest fear), that should make Himmler happy and the Fuehrer smile; with each new child you get a box of cigars. You are doing the gods’ work by day and enjoy the fruits of your labor by night. By rights some artist should paint the scene for posterity, not German Gothic, but German Splendor. And if the artist should choose to put that chimney in the distance it won’t spoil the frame but will only add a little to the message.

“The camera watches, mouselike and still, as this little family goes about their daily business, the older kids skipping off to school, Hedwig bustling around the house. Their dialogue is muted, almost as if we shouldn’t be hearing it. Most of it is so mundane we might wonder why we’re eavesdropping, but every so often we pick up a detail that meshes with historical details we know, as when Höss and a colleague discuss a design for a new, improved crematorium, nodding approvingly as they outline its ease of use: Burn, cool, unload, reload.”

A dream built on horrors? Quotidian monsters? Ordinary men doing the unthinkable? No, sorry, just the opposite. The banality of evil? No, that’s phrase is banal by now, is the canard, a favorite Jew catch phrase to make people squirm and queasy. The Jews want to turn the magnificent into the macabre, but those healthy and sane people they portray are just that and nothing else. It’s not banal but exceptional what they did, and it’s not evil but pure. But for the men themselves they were just stoics engaging in a little mopping up action, they put their boots on and it was all in a good day's work. And who can blame them after doing such yeoman’s work in the great cause of their people if they wanted to putter around a bit come a lazy Sunday at Auschwitz?

[White Man 1]

A photo album of 3rd Reich leisure sounds like a great find, it's a shame it ended up in the slimeiest hands imaginable.

[Douglas Mercer]

https://auschwitz.net/the-hocker-album/

[Douglas Mercer]

https://allthatsinteresting.com/karl-ho ... itz-photos

[White Man 1]

Thanks Douglas. I took the liberty of taking the images off the enemy sites and organizing them a little better. I'm not sure why they included the images from the camp, I doubt those were included in the original photo album. Probably for the "shock" value.

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[White Man 1]

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[White Man 1]

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[White Man 1]

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[White Man 1]

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[White Man 1]

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