Two years ago I've been to Germany.
I was just before leaving the army after an extended service (5 years) and joining an IT startup in Tel Aviv, So I thought I should travel just a bit before doing that, with a friend.<p>The most memorable day of the trip was our last one. We've rented a bicycle to ride to Teuflesberg, and on the way back we took the train (with the bike). Little did we know - one must pay an extra fee to get bikes unto the train, so we were fined.
The whole encounter consumed too much precious time, and we were about to be late to return the bike.
A hasty apologetic call to the bike owner, and 30 minutes of intense bike riding forward - and we were there.<p>While we were about to leave the store, the daughter of the owner (~50 years, or so) asked us where we were from. After we've told her we were Israelis, she offered us a ride to our motel.<p>During the ride, we've got to talk about everything - politics, history, and whatnot. And somewhere around the Jewish graveyard, she has told us about her father.<p>She told us about her father, as she remembered him - a kind, gentle, and loving man.
And that he also served in the Wehrmacht.
That reading about the war, and remembering the man her father was to her was almost oxymoronic. And that he had never talked about the war.
The two of us read and hear testimonies by the survivors, and talked with them. But that was our first time hearing something close to a testimony of someone from "the other side".<p>That story resonated with me.
The Israeli holocaust memorial day was held yesterday, and that story came back to me. If anyone of you, German readers, would be able to share his grandparents' story from the war, It'd mean a lot to me.
(If you're not German, but would still like to share your grandparents' story - I'd also like to hear that!)