After about 15 minutes, Magda’s screams subsided and turned into whimpers.

My ears ached, for even with my hands covering them, Magda’s shrill cries pierced my eardrums.

I removed my hands from my ears, lifted my head off of the massage table and opened my eyes to see Magda rolled up into a ball.

The photographs of her children were gone.

With each of her whimpers, my brain charged into a Q and A session.

What do I do with this nutty, naked, Nazi lady?

Whimper.

I haven’t a clue.

Well, a small clue — we’re both naked.

You’ve dealt with this problem before.

Yes, I’ve dealt with several certifiable members of the opposite sex.

How did you handle them?

Whimper.

No, those solutions won’t work. This is special case — it’s Magda “F’ing” Goebbels. Hitler’s unofficial “first lady” and Goebbels’ wife.

Well, what do you think all those other Jewish-men-for-the-day do with a naked Magda Goebbels?

Whimper.

Who knows? I’ll ask her.

Whimper.

Am I being tested? And by whom? And how do I pass the test?

By G-d?

By the devil?

By the keeper of the keys to the pearly gate?

Now that I’m in hell, does this mean that the devil exists?

Of course, hell is the work of the devil.

Whimper.

Am I really in Hell?

Whimper.

This room is air-conditioned.

This room is odorless.

I thought hell would be hot and smelly, like rotten eggs or sewer gas or hydrogen sulfide or methane or flatulence.

Maybe this Nazi bitch is tricking me. Maybe this ain’t hell. Maybe I’m in purgatory or Gehenna; after I expiate my sins, I’ll be going to heaven. After I cleanse and purify my soul, I’ll be on that one-way train to the pearly gates.

What does G-d want me to do to this blonde, blue-eyed bitch?

Now that’s one hell-of-a-tough question.

Is G-d watching and grading me on my performance. Does he or she have time for such trivial tasks? Or is that task delegated to some low-level angel?

Whimper.

What would Moses, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob do to Magda Goebbels?

Whimper.

Why the hell, am I in hell?

I bet a lot of people end up asking that question.

Why me? Not enough sacrifice, not enough prayer?

Whimper.

Okay, okay, I failed to follow most of the 613.

I even broke some of the top ten.

And I partook in a bunch of those seven deadly sins.

But overall, I was a pretty good guy.

I’m a believer. I went to temple on the high holidays. I gave tzedakah. I did mitzvahs. I participated in tikkun olam.  That should count for something.

G-d must run a really tight ship, with the highest standards for me to be stuck naked in a room with a naked Magda Goebbels.

“What did I do wrong? Why me?” I cried.

Where am I going to be sent after I leave this room?

Whimper.

Maybe Magda can give me a clue?

Whimper.

Having heard my cry, Magda stopped whimpering.

I looked into her tear-filled eyes and asked, “How are you doing?”

“I’m recovering. Those pictures of my kids drive me nuts. I should never have murdered them. You don’t know how many times those photos are flashed on these walls.

I climbed off of the massage table and asked, “Magda, for how many more hours am I stuck in this tiny room? I’m getting claustrophobic.”

“I’ll tell you, I promise, but before I do, please tell me everything you know about me.”

“I know that you were considered the unofficial “first lady ” of Third Reich.

I know Adolf Hitler was the best man at your wedding.

I know that you went to Hitler to get him to break up your husband’s affair with a Czech actress and your plan worked.

I know that your mother’s second husband, Richard Friedländer, was a wealthy Jewish merchant. Your stepfather adopted you and you took his last name. But when your stepdad, Richard, was sent to a concentration camp, you didn’t lift a finger to save his life. That’s gratitude for you.”

“Mort, you got to understand, I was the wife of the Minister of Propaganda. If I did anything to help a Jew it would have had consequences and repercussions.”

“I know that you had a Jewish boyfriend, a Zionist — Haim Arlosoroff. That during your relationship with Haim, you briefly wore a Jewish star, learned Hebrew, joined Haim in Jewish youth club meetings and you even planned to emigrate to Palestine with him.”

“Wow, you really do know a lot about me.”

I continued, “Arlosoroff is famous for having negotiated the Ha’avara Agreement with the Nazis. This agreement allowed 60,000 German Jews along with some of their property to immigrate to the British Mandate of Palestine. Those people and their assets were highly instrumental in the creation of the Jewish state.

In 1933, Haim was assassinated in Tel Aviv. There’s a theory that your husband, Joseph, was involved in Haim’s murder. The theory goes your husband had it done to protect you and his reputation.

Finally, you gave the world a pigeon-eye view of the depth of Hitler’s hatred for the Jews, when you repeated his words to your sister-in-law a month before your suicide. “You know how I told you at the time, quite frankly, what the Führer said in the Café Anast in Munich when he saw the little Jewish boy, you remember? That he would like to squash him flat like a bug on the wall… I couldn’t believe it and thought it was just provocative talk, But he really did it later. It was all so unspeakably gruesome…”

Magda stood up and while walking by me conveniently brushed her body against mine.

Had my lecture had excited her?

Had those memories turned her on?

I watched Magda climb on the massage table, lay on her back and positioned her body in a provocative manner.

I stared up at the room’s white ceiling, raising my opened hands toward the heavens and cried out.” G-d, what do I do?

I woke up laying face down, on my belly, on a massage table.

My eyes focused on the grout lines running across the tile floor.

“Those tiles are as white as hospital sheets.”

Cold air rushed across my naked body and  I wondered, “Where am I?”

“Why am I naked?

I hadn’t a clue.

But I shivered, lifted my head and stretched my neck.

My cracking cartilage broke the silence.

And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw her.

She was naked.

“Am I dreaming?”

She crouched low in the corner of the room, with one of her arms covering her breasts, while the other tried to hide her mound.

I sat up and observed a frightened, shaking, middle-aged woman.

I seemed to recognize her.

That face, that hair, that Roman nose, those eyes filled with fear.

Hadn’t I seen her in old newsreels, before and during the war?

Yes, that was it.

Yes, I had seen her in movie theaters standing next to Hitler—smiling, surrounded by her husband and her children. A bunch of blonde-headed kids.

Yes, her husband was the notorious anti-Semitic, Nazi Minister of Propaganda.

Yes, his speech to Nazis fanned the fires on Kristallnacht.

Yes, he, with Hitler’s backing, completely supported the extermination of the Jews.

Yes, she was Magda Goebbels—the wife of Joseph Goebbels.

And yes, she was infamous.

She murdered six of her seven children.

During the last days of the war, Magda resided in the führerbunker.

Where she and her husband decided to copy their leader by taking their own lives, as well as their children’s.

First they drugged their children and then Magda placed and crushed ampoules of cyanide into their sleeping mouths.

Then Magda and  Joseph committed suicide.

This fanatic murderer gave her kids names that started with the letter “H” allegedly in honor of Hitler  –Hilagard, Helga, Helmut, Hedwig, Heirun, and Holdine.

Now, I knew where I was.

I was in hell with a naked Magda Goebbels.

I was in a 10′ x 14′ sterile white room with no doors or windows, only a massage table and the wife of one of the biggest Jew-baiting and Jew-hating men in the Third Reich. This anti-Semitic bitch was a prominent Nazi —a close ally, companion and political supporter of Adolf “Fucking” Hitler.

For untold seconds, I tried to wrap my arms and my brain around my predicament,.

What do I say to this evil monster?

I thought and stared in silence.

Playing it safe, I said,  “My name is Mort. Who are you? And where are we?”

Now she stood and I saw her in all her glory—stretch marks and all.

“I’m Magda and we’re in Hell.”

“Holy crap!

G-d, please let this be a  nightmare.”

“Sorry, Mort, I’ve been here for quite a while and this isn’t a bad dream.”

As tears formed in my eyes, I rattled off three questions:

“Why me?”

“Why here?”

“And why with you?”

“Sorry, Mort, I haven’t a clue.

But it’s not that bad for you. You’re only here for a day and I’m here for eternity.”

“Only a day?”

“You’re not bullshitting me.”

Magda’s eyes ran up and down my body.

“No sir. You’re my Jew-for-the-day. I get a new one every day.

What could be more cruel?”

Magda spewed out the word, “Jew” as if spitting poison.

I guessed Magda’s time in hell had no effect on her hatred of the Hebrews?

“Is the purpose of hell to rehabilitate lost souls?” I wondered.

I didn’t think so.

“Magda were you famous?”

“Mort, don’t be coy. Your eyes give you away. You know I’m Magda Goebbels. You know why I’m here. You know a hell-of-a-lot about me and I know absolutely nothing about you.”

“Magda, you’re right. I do know a whole lot about you.

I also know it was easy to get caught up in all the Jew-hatred in Germany, even the killing of one and a half million Jewish children, but to kill your own kids—your own flesh and blood—with your own hands.

As if on cue, on each wall there appeared one 5’x5′ photograph.

I recognized the photo.

It was one of the iconic Holocaust pictures of Jewish boys and girls on their liberation from Auschwitz—some of them wearing the prisoner striped pajamas and some of them as young as four-year-olds— pulling up their sleeves and showing the cameraman their numeric tattoos on their forearms.

But there was a difference.

Instead of the faces of Jewish children, these kids were blond-haired. These were Magda’s children. Their faces replacing those of the Jewish kids. These were the children Magda murdered—Hilagard, Helga, Helmut, Hedwig, Heirun, and Holdine.

Magda let out a screech and collapsed to the floor.

She wailed uncontrollably, flaying her naked body against the photographs.

I climbed back onto the massage table, face down on my belly, placed my hands over my ears and focused on the grout lines running across the tile floor.

All the while thinking, “Yes, there is a G-d.”ABOUT THE AUTHORFlorida’s Jewish short-story writer, speaker, film producer and retired attorney. He has authored, “A Hebraic Obsession”, “The Hanukkah Bunny” and “The Greatest Gift.” He produced an award-winning short film entitled, “The Stairs”. Movie can be viewed on my TOI blog. Mort is a correspondent for the Fort Lauderdale Sun Sentinel Jewish Journal.RELATED TOPICS

Dear Mort,

I’m an admirer of your common sense approach to handling tough problems.

Here’s mine:

Even after the last presidential election, I still have acquiesces who are blindly following the path to hell and proclaiming the righteousness of a conman.

They allow G-d’s works to fall into ruination while they live in a state of total confusion and denial.

These lost souls are intentionally destroying Tikkun Olam.

They mock the educated, the reverent and praise the stupid.

They display their prejudices as if they were trophies.

They are not in partnership with G-d.

They even refuse to help the less fortunate.

They cannot see or speak the truth.

They unrelentingly pursue evil.

They lie on top of a lie on a bed of lies proclaiming:

There was no insurrection on January 6, 2021;

The crowd at the Capitol building was Antifa dressed up as Trump supporters;

There’s no need to investigate the Insurrection because Donald Trump is still president; he will be back in the White House in August.

The election was rigged or stolen, just wait for the results of the Arizona audit;

Obama wasn’t born in the USA;

There is no lie too big or too small for them to parrot into my ears;

Trump was the best and the smartest president ever.

These sycophants have all the answers.

They blurt them out faster than I can think.

They have memorized their answers, as if they are reading off of a script.

They enjoy the destruction of:

our environment;

our democracy;

our alliances;

and the slaughter of our children with machine guns.

Everything they say or touch turns to shit.

Instead of building a better world, they tear it down.

Instead of performing good deeds they bring no honor to G-d’s sovereignty.

What should be done to these admirers of dictators, liars, cowards and scum?

How should I respond to their craziness?

Some of them claim not to be members of QAnon but I think they’re all card-carrying members.

Please help.

Signed—A Distressed Citizen that Loves America

————————————————-

Dear American Citizen,

Many of my readers have posed the same questions.

And here is my response.

When they start spewing their crap tell them you’re a believer in tikkun olam—

In mending the world, in fixing the world, in repairing the world, in making the world a better place.

Then look them in the eyes and say, “Fuck off!”

Believe me, you’ll feel better.