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Riddle

From Belsen a crate of gold teeth,
from Dachau a mountain of shoes,
from Auschwitz a skin lampshade,
Who killed the Jews?
Not I, cries the typist,
Not I, cries the engineer,
Not I cries Adolf Eichmann,
Not I, cries Albert Speer.
My friend Fritz Nova lost his father –
a petty official had to choose.
My friend Lou Abrahms was beaten and starved.
Some men signed their papers,
and some stood guard,
and some herded them in,
and some dropped the pellets,
and some spread the ashes,
and some hosed the walls,
and some planted the wheat,
and some poured the steel,
and some cleared the rails,
and some raised the cattle.
Some smelled the smoke,
Some just heard the news.
Were they Germans? Were they Nazis?
Were they human? Who killed the Jews?
The stars will remember the gold,
The sun will remember the shoes,
The moon will remember the skin.
But who killed the Jews?