The Holocaust

by Gene Shelburne

“Parochialism” is a put-down word. People raised in a parochial setting are supposedly limited to a single, narrow perspective of life. They can’t see the big picture.

I’m grateful for at least one aspect of the parochialism inherent in being raised in the Fifties in the Texas panhandle. We were so sheltered from the ugliness of the world around us that I managed to live 19 years before I knew that anybody on planet Earth hated Jews. Several of my good friends in high school were Jewish. And I didn’t even know it! (I liked them just as well after I found out.)

In my freshman year of college I randomly selected “Anti-Semitism” from a list of possible research paper topics. “Where have I been all my life?” I wondered, as I read horrid news reports of the discrimination Jewish G.I.’s encountered when they returned home from the war against Hitler’s forces in Germany. Anti-Semitism was tragically alive and well on both sides of the Atlantic.

In the years since, the grim truths of the Nazi Holocaust have haunted me. The ovens of Dachau had been cold for 37 years on the gray, drizzly day when I got there, but that visit forever marked my soul.

Writers like Corrie ten Boom made the horror of the Holocaust more real for me. I’m not sure why, but the paragraphs in The Hiding Place that bothered me most were the ones where she described the incredible passivity of the Jews when the Nazi storm troopers came to take them away. “Why didn’t they run, or scream, or resist in some way?” I cried out. Like sheep, led to the slaughter, those incredibly talented people lined up to die.

So I took immense pleasure in my friend Victor Knowles’ description of a plaque he saw at the Sobibor Death Camp on the border of Poland and Ukraine, where 250,000 Jews died in 1942-43.

According to this bronze plaque on the stone wall near the entrance to Sobibor, Jewish prisoners revolted on October 14, 1943 and overpowered their Nazi guards. Three hundred people marked for death escaped that day.

“Yes!” I exulted when I read of their rare courage. That’s the kind of pluck I would have expected from a proud people being slaughtered by the millions.

Then I look homeward and marvel at how much we Christians are like those German Jews. For we, too, watch with passive silence while millions are killed and their bodies are burned following abortion.