The Jewish Dog by Asher Kravitz

Author:Asher Kravitz [Kravitz, Asher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789655242225
Publisher: Penlight Publications
Published: 2015-01-05T10:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

After the officers’ visit, Georg grew callous and distant. On the days that he went to school, he came home angry and grumbling. His mother tried to reach out to him, but he kept his answers curt and shut himself in his room. He would stay behind his closed door until his friends called him to join the youth movement activities. Only when he went with his friends to the youth movement did a spark of excitement appear in his eye. This spark grew when he’d unleash me on Gypsy children after the activities.

We went to the youth movement with Lars, Paul, and Richard. I enjoyed watching Georg marching with his friends. He was so graceful, swinging each arm and leg with perfect coordination. After the marching exercises, Georg and his friends would listen to their counselors.

“Who are we protecting ourselves from?” the counselor asked.

“From Jews and Bolsheviks,” the well-trained Lars replied.

“And what does the Führer demand of us?”

“Obedience and sacrifice,” Georg recited.

Later the boys would race and wrestle. The moments when I had to watch one of the older boys bring Georg to his knees were as painful for me as they were for him. I jumped, barked, and lost control. Each time, I tried to go to my owner’s aid, but the chain attached to my collar held me fast. I almost choked myself in my attempts to intervene and help Georg.

The best part of the youth movement was the hunting. At the end of each activity, the little Hitler Youths would depart in small groups to hunt Gypsies and Judes, singing a chorus of hate as loud as they could.

Bringt uns her einen Jud

Auf dem Spiess ergeht ihm gut

Und dann singen wir laut

Haut den Schlangenkopf, haut!

Let’s go find a dirty Kike.

We’ll impale him on a spike.

Then together we will shout,

hit the snake head. Knock it out!

Armed with bludgeons, Georg and his friends released their anger on each Jew that crossed their path. Men and women of every age and size were struck, with no discrimination. The excitement of the hunt awakened repressed instincts. A slumbering voice was stirred by the sound of trumpets. The pack would not rest until it smelled blood. With flashing eyes I released my anger as I chased the dirty Jews. The smell of their fear ignited my dark side. The cheers coming from Georg and his friends were fuel for the fires of hell flaming inside me.

But as I lay me down to sleep, I was revisited by the gloom of that day long ago, when I had hunted the black kitten with Karl Gustav and the tag club. The burden of regret was unbearable. One day, I entered Georg’s room and found his closet door open. I examined myself in the mirror before me. There was a strange glimmer in my eye.

On one of the many nights of vagrancy, Georg and his friends recognized a young Jew. Although the street was dark and the Jew had his back to the pack, his hunched stride and curved back exposed his ethnicity.

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