Ghouls Who Profit From Blood Money

I’d like to begin this post by telling you some sort of heartwarming story that has purpose and meaning. I’d like to capture your imagination and make you shake your head in amazement in my ability to spin a yarn and teach a valuable lesson, bit I am far too angry.

You see I just read an article that makes my blood boil, Nazi doctor Josef Mengele’s diary up for sale.

“Nazi memorabilia collectors are expected to push the price for the diary and letters of the “Angel of Death” responsible for thousands of murders at Auschwitz to at least £40,000.

Infamous as Hitler’s “Angel of Death”, Mengele experimented on prisoners at the death camp without anaesthetic and became obsessed with twins, hoping to be able to clone perfect specimens of the Aryan race.”

I find myself searching for words to describe this. This beast of a man who bears responsibility for unspeakable atrocities. This animal who escaped the sort of punishment that he so richly deserved.

There are limits to free speech. There are limits to decency and this seems to be testing all of them.Who are these Nazi memorabilia collectors that the article refers to. Are we to believe that they are good people that are just interested in WWII gear. I find it hard to believe that the collectors are not part of modern hate groups.

And even if they aren’t it just strikes me as wrong to sell such an item.


I first learned about the doctor when I was around seven or eight. You don’t forget those stories. You don’t forget tales of those who murdered your family. I have often referred to having a thousand sisters. Two of the thousand are twins. The doctor had an unhealthy fascination with twins. I remember having a nightmare about trying to protect my sisters.

I remember the anger I felt for so many reasons. I remember wondering why I didn’t hear more stories about people fighting back. As a kid the only story that I really knew was the one about The Warsaw Ghetto. It wasn’t until I was older that I learned about other groups of resistance.


My children are playing now. I can hear them laughing. It is music to my ears and it reminds me that the doctor did end his life with the knowledge that he had failed. I won’t lie and say that it is completely satisfactory. I don’t know whether I buy stories about the Purim code. Some of that seems a bit too neatly wrapped to me.

All I know is that he should have met the same fate as Eichmann, who incidentally should have been captured far earlier than he was.

I think that tomorrow I am going to contact the auction house and ask them if they enjoy profiting from blood money.

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