The Choice of a nazi

My parents, Pieter and Ada Pastoor 1939

The Choice of a Nazi

 

My parents were Dutch,

now that by itself, doesn’t mean much.

They lived in Holland miles from the strand.

During the war, like many, they took a stand.

 

My parents hid Jews in that little house,

Jews that ate and were quiet as a mouse.

Nazis searching for Jews under all sorts of covers,

even hunted for those Jew lovers.

 

Can you imaging the fright by all,

as the Nazis marched by so tall.

Complete power and authority,

to put you out of misery

 

The Nazis knocked on their door one day,

took my father in a brutal way.

Mother and grandmother cried at the door,

one soldier said “go back to your whores”.

 

That one Nazi gave me a life.

Without his deed I would not have this strife.

This happened a year before I was born,

so now you understand why I’m so torn.

 

Is this this devil’s one kind deed,

or simply another horrible weed.

I ponder this young man’s thinking,

does he look from above winking.

 

Oh, that young soldier was not an idol,

my guess is he became suicidal.

The real heroes of that hour,

those two women who changed the act of power.

 

I’m not sure what they cried or did yell,

but whatever, it rung like a bell.

Maybe it was said with their eyes,

yes, it made one soldier see the lies.

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