It was also in the summer of 1941 that my friend Helmuth Huebener told me his brother Gerhard had left him a short wave radio for safe keeping. His brother had purchased it while on duty in France. Helmuth told me he had tried it out once, and he invited me to visit him at 9:30 P.M. that night, after his grandparents went to sleep. That meeting was to be a rendezvous with destiny and would change my life forever. At the tender age of fifteen I was about to embark on a course that would bring me in direct defiance of the Nazi government. But, first, we should go back in time just a bit to introduce you to my remarkable young friend, Helmuth Huebener.

It was in Primary that I first met Helmuth Huebener. He was a shy nine-year-old and I was an exuberant eight-year-old. I was about half-a-head taller than Helmuth, but he towered over me in intelligence. He was a straight "A" student, while I managed only a good average. We found ourselves going to classes together, and in spite of our differences, we became fast friends.

. . .

It was also this year that the Nazis entered my school to enroll everyone in either the Young Folks (Cub Scout age) or Hitler Youth (Boy Scout age), whether we wanted to join or not. Because he had always been fairly quiet on the subject of the Nazis, I assumed Helmuth would feel like most Germans that it was an honor to be included. Still, I mentioned to Helmuth how much I resented being pushed into something against my will. Helmuth replied that the "Devil had tried to do the very same thing at the council in heaven before the world was formed, by putting forth a plan forcing everybody into salvation." This response surprised me, so I asked him how he felt about the Nazis. He replied, "Rudi, don't you ever believe what people are saying to you, especially in politics. They are always large in words but small in actions. Only time will tell," he went on, "because they are trying to win the working class over right now by providing employment and temporary economic gains."

"It sounds like you're not really sure of them," I said, to which he replied again, with a smile on his lips, "Time will tell."

Then I understood what he was trying to convey to me. He wasn't an ardent follower of Nazi ideology but was putting up a clever smoke screen so others could not see his real convictions and suspect his intentions. Pretty clever, I thought, and my respect for him grew even more.

. . .

The next year was an important one for the world. On 1 September 1939 the Second World War started with Germany's attack on Poland. Everybody was excited or scared. Helmuth grew very serious when I asked him how he felt about it. His response turned out to be prophetic when he replied, "The fire has started to burn-in Poland now-but soon the whole world will be in flames."

For me it was the last year I'd spend in school before starting an apprenticeship as a machinist. Helmuth had one more year left in the Oberbau. His greatest desire was to attend the university, but he knew it was unlikely he ever could.

"You have to have a rich father to attend the higher institutes of learning," he said. "So that leaves me out of the running." But he had great faith, and added, "I will not despair, for the Lord will find a way for me to continue my education."

This was Helmuth at his finest. He always managed to look on the bright side of life. His cheery disposition made it easy for him to find friends.

We attended the same Sunday School class, with Sister Eleanore Bremer as our teacher. She was a gracious lady who knew her lesson material by heart. We liked her a lot and had schoolboy crushes on her because she was very pretty and always wore sweet perfume. Because we liked her so much, we participated actively in class assignments. She rewarded us by giving us her old copy of the scriptures. She had purchased a new set for herself, but for us the old one was a real treasure.

. . .

After the noise subsided, we went back down to our watch room again to have some Gluehpunsch (hot cider) and some berliner pfannkuchen (bismarks) which my mother had baked for us. Before we had the refreshments, Brother Heinrich Worbs asked us all to kneel down and have a word of prayer. With a mighty voice he asked the Lord to give us peace, to break the yoke of the Nazi butchers, to make us free, and to prosper the cause of Zion in Germany. He also prayed for the leaders of the Church that they might have the spirit of Christ in their hearts and with love lead the flock into all righteousness despite the prevalent Nazi influence. After the prayer we looked at each other and together cautioned Brother Worbs to be more careful of what he was saying in public.

"I tell the truth and nothing but the truth, and I cannot tell a lie," he replied.

"We understand this and agree with you, but please be careful who you are talking to," we urged him. (About a year later, we had occasion to remember this sad warning when our friend was arrested by the Gestapo for making a derogatory remark on the street one day about the Nazis.)

. . .

Looking back across the years, I see how much I enjoyed my discussions with Helmuth. With each book he read, his brilliant young mind was resolving itself to the fact that the Nazi regime was evil and should be resisted. Because Helmuth had a strong sense of right and wrong, he felt compelled to explore ideas outside the narrow scope of government propaganda. That intellectual curiosity, coupled with his deep religious conviction of the basic value of each of God's children, was leading him on a collision course with the Nazi Reich.

. . .

We learned about the horrors of the concentration camps first hand from a member of our congregation, Brother Heinrich Worbs. We knew him to be a devout Christian, a simple but honest man. His only fault was that he always said what he was thinking and feeling at the time. Among friends that was okay because we would keep his remarks to ourselves. One day, while watching the Nazis erect a statue of one of their "Nazi-heroes," Heinrich remarked, "Another statue for one of those Nazi butchers!" He was overheard and reported to the Gestapo who immediately arrested him and shipped him to Neuengamme, a feared concentration camp near Hamburg. They kept him for six months. After being released he attended Church meetings again, but we could hardly recognize him. He was a broken man, a shadow of his former self. Brother Otto Berndt took him under his wing and slowly nurtured him back to where he could at least carry on a conversation. When Helmuth and I had a chance to question him privately, he told us that he was not allowed to talk about the treatment he had received. Indeed, he'd been forced to sign a paper that said he was simply there for educational purposes and had been treated well. Further, his captors threatened that if he ever said anything to the opposite effect, he would immediately be returned to the concentration camp and would never be released again.

All the time he was telling us about this he was shaking violently as a leaf for fear that they might get him again. Eventually, we calmed his fears to the point that he could tell us what had happened to him. The story sickened us. It seems that part of the "reeducation" process was to force the prisoners to stand naked, or nearly so, outside in the middle of the winter; ankle deep in snow, with their hands shackled together. To make things worse, the SS would pour water over their shackled hands, which soon turned to ice. Then they would come by and beat on the frozen hands with a rubber hose or stick to "warm" them up. While telling us of his ordeal, poor Brother Worbs was constantly looking from side to side, afraid that someone might take him back. We were appalled at the treatment he had received and of the frightened, beaten wreck they had made of this gentle soul. Six weeks later he died.

. . .

One of our friends at church was a very intelligent young man named Salomon Schwarz. He was born in Balagansk in Siberia, Russia on 2 July 1916. His mother was a Hungarian Jew who was abducted by the Russians and deported to Siberia in World War I. On the way there, she was raped by a Russian soldier. In this act, he fathered Salomon.

While in Russia, she met and married German prisoner-of-war, Hermann Schwarz. Salomon's maternal grandparents, the Lehrers, were well to do and sent money to buy their POW son-in-law's way out of Russia. With this help the family was able to return to Hamburg, Germany. Here Salomon grew through the years of childhood as a member of his stepfather's Protestant church. About the time he turned eighteen, he started to ask many questions which his church couldn't answer. His search ultimately led him to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which he joined on 7 June 1935. He was very enthusiastic about his new church and helped in the conversion of his half sister, Anna Marie. He and Anna Marie belonged to the Barmbeck Branch of the Church, which was presided over by my future father-in-law, Alfred Schmidt. They were very content in their Church associations until an unhappy incident occurred in early 1939.

Because the Barmbeck Branch had a very small meetinghouse, whenever a large group needed to meet everyone would travel to our building, the St. Georg Branch, because it had a larger meeting hall. Salomon had joined the district choir, which practiced each Friday evening at the St. Georg meetinghouse. Somehow, the branch president at St. Georg became suspicious of Salomon and one day confronted him. He demanded that Salomon produce an Aryan ID CARD, which, of course, he was unable to do. The branch president told him not to visit the branch again until he could prove he was an Aryan. Shortly thereafter a sign appeared on the entrance to the Church that said, Jews Are Not Allowed To Enter! This was directed against Salomon and others of mixed-blood lines. Because the Church had always taught the importance of tolerance for people of all races, some of the local brethren objected to the placing of such an un-Christian sign on the door of the branch meetinghouse.

When confronted, the St. Georg branch president simply said, "I am just following party lines." He'd been a member of the Nazi party since 1933. It should be noted that this was the only meetinghouse in all of Germany that had such a sign placed above its door. Needless to say, Salomon was shocked and devastated. He did not expect this in what he considered to be the true church. He went to his own branch president, Alfred Schmidt, who assured him that he was always welcome in the Barmbeck Branch and would never be greeted by such a sign there.

. . .

It was two years later, in 1941, that Salomon thought he could get an answer if he would apply directly in Berlin to the Reischssippenamt. Before he left on his journey, the whole membership of the Barmbeck branch knelt down in prayer in his behalf. While he was in Berlin to plead his case, a party member reported to the Gestapo that Salomon was not wearing the Star of David. Legally he wasn't required to wear the Star, since his case was still pending. But as soon as he returned from Berlin he was arrested by the Gestapo and shipped to a concentration camp for "educational purposes." His clothing was sent home to his mother. After carefully opening the bundle, she noticed some blood stains on it and screamed loudly, "What have they done to my boy?"

. . .

Salomon stayed in the ghetto until 12 February 1943. On that day he was transported to Auschwitz, where he died in the gas chambers.

. . .

This action disturbed me deeply. Just two weeks earlier our Sunday School teacher; Sister Bremer, had taught a marvellous lesson about Jesus' instructions to his disciples and the importance of the first and second commandments-to love God with all your heart and soul and to love your neighbor as yourself (see Matthew 22:36-40). I also thought of the scripture where the Lord differentiated between the righteous and the unrighteous when he said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" (Matthew 25:40). Somehow I couldn't shake the image of our branch president threatening one of his flock with deportation to a concentration camp simply for picking up a leaflet. When I told Helmuth of the incident, he grew very serious and said, "The evil influence of Nazism, with its disregard of human rights and feelings, is making inroads even into the Church by changing people's priorities and loyalties." Here again, I was taken aback by the depth of his thinking.

As we continued this discussion, we talked of the growing role of the party programs in the Church. For example, we often had to respond to the invitation to listen to the speeches of Hitler or Goebbels during our youth activity night before we could get on with the social activities planned for the evening. Each time the branch president conveniently provided a radio so there would be no excuse to not listen.

The influence of politics on our Church activity got to the point that it seemed to us many of our Christian brothers and sisters considered Hitler to be the "savior of Germany." Superficial parallels were drawn between the Nazi party and the Church, including its organizational structure and strong emphasis on the active participation of every member. Even the fact that the LDS Church encourages genealogical research seemed to coincide with the Nazi's demand for rigorous genealogical pedigrees that proved one's Aryan ancestry. In an attempt to coexist with the Nazi government, American Church officials resorted to public relations efforts which suggested all of the above. The most outspoken Church leader was the East-German Mission President, who published an article in the Nazi newspaper, Der Voelkische Beobachter (The People's Observer), implying that it was the responsibility of Church members to actively support their government. Dated 14 April 1939, this article caused many in the Church to feel Hitler's cause was justified. Some even included him in their public prayers, asking for divine guidance in his behalf.

Similar incidents were taking place in other churches throughout the land. Of course there were many courageous church leaders who spoke out against the Nazi's rule, but they soon wound up in concentration camps.

The Nazi's covert campaign against religion created a great dilemma for God-fearing citizens. The demands of government often intruded on the traditional goals of organized religion, such as support for one's neighbor, respect for the rights of individuals, etc. When there is a conflict between them, where does one's loyalty lie—with God or government? That was the great question for us.

In retrospect, I can't say what all the precise annoyances were, but it wasn't long before Helmuth Huebener, Karl-Heinz Schnibbe, and I found ourselves united in a growing dissatisfaction with Nazism. There were simply too many contradictions to reconcile. During the day we listened to the propaganda about Hitler and his party helping the German people reestablish their "place in the sun," while at night they, came and arrested the fathers and mothers of our friends. If the party was so great and benevolent, why should it be so frightened of dissent or free thinking? Yet, they punished even the slightest opposition.

In Church it was always Helmuth who spoke up, debating the issues. Sometimes he walked the narrow line, challenging the elders to stand up and be counted. He was told to be quiet, that he was too young to understand these things. Whenever the party members tried to subdue our thinking by reciting the long list of Nazi accomplishments, we'd think of Emerson's famous statement, "What you are doing thunders so loudly in my ears that I cannot hear what you are saying." As we watched in disgust at the great injustices being done to our neighbors and fellow Church members, our irritation grew into anger. The actions of the Nazi party and its faithful followers contradicted everything we felt to be noble and sacred. As we watched Salomon Schwarz pass through his Gethsemane, our anger grew into a quiet resolve to do something to resist the evil that now dominated our land.