A while ago, someone I know well told me of an interesting experience he had as a young man. This was in the 1970s and he had gone to live in Germany for a few months, working in a shop owned by an old lady. The owner had been in her prime during the years of WW2. On his last day before heading back to Iceland, the old lady took him out to dinner. As they sat down in the restaurant, she looked around, and then said to him:

“I can see a few of them here. But I guess it’s OK.

“A few of whom?” he asked.

“A few Jews. One can spot them, you know.”

This was around 30 years after the war. Around 30 years after the Nazi years when German society was permeated with the idea that Jewish people were a danger, danger to the health of society, danger to public health. And still, this old lady hadn’t let go of the lies. Still, after 30 years, after the disgrace and hardships brought upon her country, as a direct consequence of their willingness to succumb to and participate in spreading the Nazis’ lies. It was OK, she guessed, that they were allowed into restaurants now, but still, there was this lingering feeling, the lie lurked there, in the back of her mind. She would never be cured.