The Kindly Ones

He knew what he was talking about. In Cherniakov, the SP had arrested the president of the regional Troïka of the NKVD, along with one of his colleagues, and had sent them to Zhitomir. Interrogated by Vogt and his colleagues, this judge, Wolf Kieper, admitted he had had more than 1,350 people executed. He was a Jew in his early sixties, a Communist since 1905 and a People’s Judge since 1918; the other one, Moishe Kogan, was younger, but he was also a member of the Cheka and a Jew. Blobel had discussed the case with Rasch and Oberst Heim and they had agreed on a public execution. Kieper and Kogan were tried before a military court and condemned to death. On August 7, early in the morning, officers from the Sonderkommando, supported by Orpos and our Askaris, conducted arrests of Jews and gathered them together in the market square. The Sixth Army had made available a propaganda company car with a loudspeaker that wound through the streets of the city and announced the execution in German and Ukrainian. I arrived at the square toward late morning, accompanied by Thomas. More than four hundred Jews had been assembled and forced to sit down, their hands clasped at the back of their necks, next to the tall gallows put up the day before by the Sonderkommando drivers. Beyond the Waffen-SS cordon, hundreds of onlookers were flooding in, soldiers especially but also men from the Organisation Todt and from the NSKK, as well as many Ukrainian civilians. These spectators filled the square on all sides; it was difficult to clear a path through them; about thirty soldiers were even perched on the metal roof of a neighboring building. The men were laughing and joking; a lot of them were photographing the scene. Blobel was standing at the foot of the gallows along with Häfner, who had just returned from Belaya Tserkov. In front of the rows of Jews, von Radetzky was haranguing the crowd in Ukrainian: “Does someone have an account to settle with one of these Jews?” he asked. A man emerged from the crowd and kicked one of the seated men, then returned; others threw fruit and rotten tomatoes at them. I watched the Jews: their faces were gray, they looked anguished, wondering what was going to happen next. There were a lot of old men among them, but some quite young ones too. I noticed that in the cordon of guards were several Landsers from the Wehrmacht. “What are they doing here?” I asked Häfner.—“They’re volunteers. They asked to help.” I made a face. A number of officers could be seen, but I didn’t recognize anyone from the AOK. I headed toward the cordon and questioned one of the soldiers: “What are you doing here? Who asked you to stand guard?” He looked embarrassed. “Where is your superior?”—“I don’t know, Herr Offizier,” he finally replied, scratching his forehead under his cap.—“What are you doing here?” I repeated.—“I went to the ghetto this morning, with my comrades, Herr Offizier. And then we offered to help out, your colleagues said yes. I had ordered a pair of leather boots from a Jew and I wanted to try to find him before…before…” He didn’t even dare say the word.—“Before they shoot him, is that it?” I said sharply.—“Yes, Herr Offizier.”—“And did you find him?”—“He’s over there. But I haven’t been able to speak to him.” I returned to where Blobel was. “Standartenführer, the men from the Wehrmacht should be dismissed. It’s not normal for them to participate in the Aktion without orders.”—“Leave it, leave it alone, Obersturmführer. It’s wonderful they’re showing enthusiasm. They’re good National Socialists, they want to do their part too.” I shrugged and rejoined Thomas. He gestured to the crowd with his chin: “We should have sold tickets, we’d be rich.” He snickered. “At the AOK, they call this Executionstourismus.” The truck had arrived and was maneuvering under the gallows. Two Waffen-SS had Kieper and Kogan come out. They were in peasant shirts and had their hands tied behind their backs. Kieper’s beard had turned white since his arrest. Our drivers placed a plank atop the truck’s side, climbed up on it, and started attaching the ropes. I noticed Höfler standing apart, smoking glumly; Bauer, Blobel’s personal driver, was testing the knots. Then Zorn also climbed up and the Waffen-SS hoisted up the two condemned men. They were placed standing below the gallows, and Zorn made a speech; he spoke in Ukrainian, he must have been explaining the sentence. The spectators were yelling and hissing, and he had difficulty making himself heard; several times he made gestures to silence them, but no one was paying any attention. Soldiers were taking pictures, pointing at the condemned men, and laughing. Then Zorn and one of the Waffen-SS placed the nooses around their necks. The two condemned men remained silent, withdrawn into themselves. Zorn and the others came down from the board and Bauer started up the truck. “Slower, slower,” shouted the Landsers, who were taking photographs. The truck moved forward, the two men tried to keep their balance, then they fell over, one after the other, and swung back and forth several times. Kieper’s pants had fallen around his ankles; below his shirt, he was naked; horrified, I saw his engorged penis, still ejaculating. “Nix Kultura!” a Landser bellowed, and others took up the cry. On the posts of the gallows, Zorn was nailing signs explaining the condemnation; they stated that Kieper’s 1,350 victims were all Volksdeutschen and Ukrainians.