This is a story of my father's. We lived happily in Germany just outside of Berlin when one day my father was recruited in one of the most brutal, horrid ways imagined. In the summer of 1933, my father was told to join Hitler and his men who called themselves the Arian Race or watch all of his loved ones die.
My father, teacher of literature and family man protected us by going with them. That was the last time I ever saw him.
The following story is one from my fathers last letter to my mother before he was gunned down along with hundreds of other Nazis by the Allied Troops. He wasn't a bad man, yet he died. Not for a cause he believed in, but because of the cause. This is his story.
