God's Hand

Staring at me from the table top, these apples look so sweet

Their divine flavor is not for me.

Alas, they will go forth, to a family I rarely see.

My dead boys, who sacrificed everything.

My dear wife and other children, dying of starvation

The only respite, stolen apples from the table of the Kaiser.

Their only relief, sweetness unavailable to the rest of the nation.

Sitting atop the staff, all of whom I appoint.

This war is lost by those who I chose to lead it.

My choices are not mine.

They cannot be.

Just as the apples showed up on the table today,

The hand of god is in everything, even the most unbearable.

If not, then you are lost.

General Moriz von Lyncker was the Chief of the Military Cabinet for Kaiser Wilhelm II throughout World War I. His job was to appoint all who led the German military. As part of the Military Cabinet, General Lyncker was by the Kaiser’s side, sitting at his table during dinners. After one such dinner, upon the departure of the Kaiser, the General noticed apples remaining on the table. Knowing full well they would be taken by another, he seized them for his own family, sending them back home to his wife. He did this because his own family, along with the entire population of war blockaded Germany, was starving. As the scion of a military family himself, General von Lyncker’s sons all went into military service. He lost two of them by the summer of 1917. When his brother-in-law wrote him to say the war was lost, and it was all for nothing, General von Lyncker replied back “If you do not want to see God’s hand in everything, even in the most unbearable, you are lost.”

Sometimes we cannot see our own actions for what brings us suffering. When that happens, we often attribute the suffering to God’s hand. There may be an invisible hand in all things, but it’s our rational choices which bring forth our own realities. General von Lyncker was an advocate of War with Russia and France until 1915, at which point he realized he may have been mistaken. Was his hand forced by God, or simply the norms of the world in which he was raised and lived? Either way, choices matter, and his choices bore consequences, just as all our choices do, every day.

If you do not want to see God’s hand in everything, even in the most unbearable, you are lost.” Experiencing the First World War Alongside Kaiser Wilhelm II. Episode: http://media.podcasts.ox.ac.uk/chri/ww1/2014-02-25-chri-ww1-5.mp3. Media: http://media.podcasts.ox.ac.uk/chri/ww1/2014-02-25-chri-ww1-5.mp3. Sent from Podcast Republic.

Height

Pounding against the walls of my head, my heart’s dramatic rush of blood shoots adrenaline throughout my body.

 Before me crumples the German officer whose surrender I was taking until he pulled his .38 pistol on me.

 A bullet from my rifle drilled a hole in his face where his left eye used to be.

 Why did he have to do that?

 I didn’t want to shoot him.

 Frozen in place, I simply stare down at the body.

 Why didn’t you just surrender?

 You could have lived.

 My eyes lift off of his lifeless body, though my rifle still points directly at him.

 Moving toward eye level, I realize I still have to take the surrender of the rest of the Germans falling out of this bunker.

 They are quiet, shuffling peacefully with arms raised, toward me.

 I don’t want to shoot them too.

 Please, surrender.

 Eying the first man in line, I can’t see any signs of resistance.

 Can I trust this one?

 Lowering my rifle, I reach out to begin frisking him.

 His arms stay raised as I pat all up and down his body before passing him on to Lucas, who stands about 10 feet away.

 Thank you for surrendering without incident.

 I eye the next one. He is also passive, arms raised.

 Patting him down, I don’t feel anything, so pass him on as well.

 This is so much better than shooting them.

 I get into a rhythm of turning to the next German, patting him down, then passing him back.

 No looking at faces.

 Just get the job done.

 German after German passes before me.

 How many men were in this bunker?

 Turning to the next German, I’m taken aback as my eyes fall upon his lower chest.

 I start patting him down, but have to reach really high to get to his armpits.

 Chuckles ring out behind me, though I pay them no heed.

 I just want to get this over with.

 Turning to laughs, I can tell several men behind me are finding something funny.

 What are they laughing at?

 I pass the prisoner back, turning to the next one.

 Frisking three more prisoners, I finish the group before turning around to see the Germans and my fellow Canadians all looking at me with smiles on their faces.

 What the hell is going on?

 Lucas approaches me, big grin across his face.

 “Roberts, that was a hell of a sight!” he says.

 “What are you talking about?” I reply.

 “You frisking that giant!” He counters, as if I should know what’s going on.

 “Oh, the tall one?” I offer, not really thinking anything of it.

 “Tall, they say he’s the tallest man in the whole German Army.” Lucas laughs.

 I look across the men standing there to the giant within the German ranks. He towers above all the others.

 Wow, he is really tall.

 “We all got a good kick out of you straining to reach up to him” Lucas says has he puts his arm around my shoulder.

 I’m glad someone can laugh about something today.

 I’m exhausted.

Corporal Bob Roberts was overseeing the surrender of dozens of enemy solders during the Battle of Normandy when he processed the surrender of a 7ft 6in German. Standing at 5ft 6in himself, Corporal Roberts initially did not notice the man’s height. Roberts had been shaken moments before by having to kill a German officer who had pulled a pistol on him, rather than surrender.

 Only after processing the Giant was Roberts made aware of the height discrepancy between himself and the tallest man in the German Army. His mates, as well as the other German prisoners of war, had a good laugh watching him try to frisk a man two feet taller than himself. They even captured a picture of the event.

 Levity at war may be the only way to get past the rest of it.

Rest

Four braided metal ropes are all which separate me from the ocean beyond. Spaced evenly, one above the next, they serve as a small fence against an accidental fall.

It wouldn't take much, just a little hop.

Shining off the water, the half moon above the Atlantic Ocean looks bigger than it did at the Front.

Everything looks bigger than it did at the Front.

Our eyes were narrowed.

Our existence focused.

Our awareness fine.

Shimmering reflections of the moon, itself a reflection, dance on the crests of choppy ocean.

It’s all a reflection, isn’t it?

Aren’t I?

A reflection of this time.

A reflection of my experience.

A reflection of what the world has endured.

My left foot rises, finding a place to rest on the bottom metal braided rope.

Many no longer have the chance to reflect.

Josh, Tom, Eric, Mark, Gene. . . the whole lot of’em never made it out.

My right foot rises off the deck, resting on the second metal braided rope.

Pushing against my groin, the top rope tells me I’m almost high enough.

I can’t reflect anymore.

I don’t want to reflect anything again.

My left foot leaves the bottom rope, rising to the third.

This may be high enough.

Leaning forward, my knees push against the top rope.

Maybe this will set me free.

I lean forward more, loosening my feet from the metal rope.

This will end the guilt.

My feet slip off the rope as I fall forward, face down toward the glistening waves.

Cool air rushes past me as I descend toward the water.

It’s cooling me.

It’s soothing.

It’s liberating.

Charles Whittlesey, commander of the 308th Battalion of the 77th “The Lost Battalion” took his own life in 1921 by jumping overboard from a ship at sea. Whittlesey was in charge when the battalion was trapped behind German lines, losing most of the 550 men under his command. He never recovered from this loss, blaming himself and his leadership abilities for it. In war, even good people, who are quality commanders, can break when situations beyond their control destroy all they hold dear.