The Verdict of Viktors Arājs – Late Justice for the 70,000 Souls Massacred in Latvia JJ

July 1941, the city of Riga, Latvia, where war had just swept through like a storm, leaving behind countless corpses, gun smoke, and sheer terror. At that moment, German forces poured in from the west. Soviet troops retreated eastward, and the power vacuum was quickly filled by the new arrivals. In that chaos, a young man stepped forward. Viktors Arajs, a former police officer, a law student, seeking an opportunity to assert himself. Immediately after that, Viktors Arajs became one of the most notorious serial

killers in Third Reich history. Under his command, over 70,000 Jews, Roma, and political suspects in Latvia were erased from the map of humanity. Yet, it would take more than three decades after the war for Arajs to face justice, a delayed verdict, but one heavy with conscience. But, can a verdict ever wash away the blood that has soaked deep into the soil of Riga? Before the war, around 95,000 Jews, accounting for 5% of Latvia’s population, had lived here for centuries. They were journalists, teachers,

doctors, artists, the soul of the Baltic community. But, within a few months, they vanished. Every neighborhood, synagogue, and Jewish market was burned down. And amidst those flames, Viktors Arajs and his unit, the Arajs Commando, became the main instruments of massacre. What could make an educated man, a former officer sworn to uphold order, turn into an executioner of the people? And when justice arrives too late, does a verdict still carry meaning for victims who never lived to hear it? From Latvian police officer to commander

of Arajs Commando. Born on the 13th of January 1910 in Baldone Parish, a small town in the former Russian Empire, Viktors Arajs grew up in difficult circumstances. His father, a blacksmith, was drafted in 1914 when World War I broke out and never returned. His mother, of Baltic German descent, raised two children in poverty and hardship. That deprived childhood, coupled with the rise of far-right nationalist ideology spreading across Europe in the 1930s, instilled in Arajs an obsessive hunger for power. After completing his

mandatory military service, he entered the Faculty of Economics and Law at the University of Latvia in Riga in 1932, and joined the elite student fraternity Lettonia, a group of youth with extreme nationalist leanings. When the economy declined, Arajs left university and joined the police force in Riga and Zaube, where he married Zelma Zeibote, the daughter of a wealthy shop owner. He would later use her surname to hide in Germany after the war. In October 1938, a few months after their wedding, Arajs left the police

force. He was known as a man who craved control, cold and ambitious, always seeking ways to climb higher, even if it meant relying on the powers that be. In 1940, the Soviet Union occupied Latvia under the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. Within a year, tens of thousands of Latvians were deported to Siberia, among them many intellectuals and priests. When Nazi Germany entered Riga in July 1941, many Latvians welcomed them as liberators. Arajs saw in that moment the opportunity of his lifetime. At 19 Valdemara Street,

in an abandoned police station, Arajs met again with Hans Dressler, a Latvian interpreter serving SS Brigadeführer Franz Stahlecker, the commander of Einsatzgruppe A. After a brief conversation, Arajs received an order to form a Latvian unit to maintain order and deal with the Jewish question. From that, Arajs Commando was born. Initially, it had around 300 members, but quickly expanded to 1,500. They were not professional soldiers, but students, ex-soldiers, and radical civilians, people who wanted to act

without asking why. The Riga night fire, when synagogues became crematoria. The 4th of July, 1941. Riga, the capital of Latvia, only three days under Nazi occupation. Flags with swastikas had just been hung on administrative buildings. Citizens did not yet understand what was coming, but the atmosphere on the streets had changed, tense, chaotic, and full of hatred. Rumors spread through the city. Jews are communists. They betrayed Latvia under the Soviets. These words were broadcast via loudspeakers and the German-friendly

newspaper Tevija, signaling a sanctioned purge. The first to receive orders was Viktors Arajs, who had just formed Arajs Commando, the German-backed auxiliary police unit. The Great Coral Synagogue on Gogolya Street was the center of religious life for Riga’s Jewish community. The temple had stood for nearly half a century, a place for prayer, where children learned to sing and read the Torah. That morning, Arajs Commando soldiers surrounded the neighborhood, herding Jews from neighboring houses into the synagogue,

about 20 people, mostly women and children. The doors were locked from the outside. Some tried to escape through windows, but were immediately knocked down. A gasoline barrel was brought and poured over the frame. An officer pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it inside. Flames erupted. From outside, people heard breaking glass, screams, and the final prayers in Hebrew. A Latvian witness later testified in court in 1961, “We were forced to watch. Anyone who looked away was beaten.” German soldiers filmed it while Arajs’s

men laughed loudly. At the same time, in the northern part of the city, a similar massacre occurred at a synagogue on Stabu Street. The commander there was Herberts Cukurs, a former famous Latvian pilot, now Arajs’s deputy. Within two days, at least three synagogues in Riga were destroyed, and nearly 400 Jews were killed. This was the first mass killing in Latvia under German occupation. This was not spontaneous. In a report sent to Berlin afterward, SS Commander Franz Walter Stahlecker wrote, “The uprising

of the Latvian population against the Jews has been successfully organized. We merely provided technical assistance.” A convenient justification to legitimize crime. The massacre was directed, filmed, recorded, and sent as proof of the effectiveness of local collaborators. Those who carried it out, Arajs and his men, were no longer auxiliary tools. They had become part of the killing machine. The Biķernieki operation, green buses, and unmarked graves. Just weeks after the synagogue burnings, Arajs Commando’s

killing machine began operating on a steady schedule. These were no longer spontaneous attacks. From now on, killing was organized, scheduled, and reported as an administrative task. In central Riga, public buses once used to transport workers were repainted, marked with police insignia. They no longer ran fixed routes. Their new destinations were the Biķernieki Forest, just 6 km northeast of the city. At Arajs’s headquarters, a weekly list of people to be relocated was made. Mostly Jews from Riga, but also workers,

intellectuals, and those accused of being pro-Soviet. They were seized on the street, dragged from their homes, or denounced by neighbors. Each week had two to three transport rounds. Groups of 30 to 50 people were crammed into the green buses, doors locked from the outside. On top, Arajs’s guards manned machine guns. A Latvian witness, Jānis Petersons, recounted in the 1965 files, “I saw those buses pass through the city center. No license plates, only the smell of gasoline and fear. Biķernieki

Forest had once been a peaceful recreation area for Riga residents with trails, small ponds, and grassy fields.” From the summer of 1941, it became a secret execution ground. Victims were herded off the buses, stripped of all belongings and clothing. Men were beaten if they resisted. Women had to carry their children to the edge of pre-dug pits, about 2 m deep and several dozen meters wide. The killing proceeded like office work. Each shooter had an hour-long shift. Some drank to ease tension. A few joked

while changing shifts. After each session, reports were sent to the SS, listing the number of people processed and weapons used. Cold lines read, “Riga area completely cleared, Judenfrei.” By the end of summer 1941, Biķernieki alone accounted for about 4,000 Jews and 1,000 alleged communists killed. The graves were shallow, only lightly covered with grass. When the wind blew, locals said they could still smell the scorched earth. Today, in Biķernieki Forest, small stones stand in place of tombstones.

Each stone bears the name of a person, a family, a city. In Biķernieki, the forest is no longer a refuge. It is a cemetery for those who never got to speak their final words. The Rumbula massacre, the killing machine operates for 2 days, November 1941. Riga sank into its first winter under Nazi occupation. Snow covered the old streets, but it could not hide the fear spreading through every apartment in Riga Ghetto, where over 30,000 Latvian Jews were confined. Food was scarce, medicine absent, disease, hunger, and

despair were constant companions. Around 4:00 a.m. on the 30th of November 1941, whistles and shouts echoed throughout Riga Ghetto. German SS men, police, and Arajs Kommando surrounded the entire area. The order came, “Everyone bring personal belongings, comply with the count, leave the area immediately.” The plan, devised by Friedrich Jeckeln, SS police commander of the Baltic region, was for Einsatzgruppe A and Arajs Kommando to cooperate. Execution site, Rumbula Forest. 11 km southeast of central Riga.

Time, within 1 day to eliminate the entire ghetto. About 1,700 German and Latvian soldiers participated. Arajs Kommando was responsible for escorting, guarding, collecting property, and maintaining order along the route. Around 5:00 a.m. The ghetto gates opened. People were herded into the streets. Children, elderly, women beaten with rifle butts, shouted at in German. “Schneller!” “Los!” Those who fell were shot on the spot. The groups marched in the cold for 11 km toward Rumbula. Arajs Kommando flanked

them on both sides, ensuring no one escaped. Three large pre-dug pits, each 10 to 15 m long and over 2 m deep, were ready. When the first group arrived, everything ran like an assembly line. Each group of 10 to 20 had possessions and clothes taken, then were led to the edge of the pit. They were forced to lie face down on layers of previous victims, then shot in the back of the head with 7.65 mm Walther pistols. After each round, a new group was brought in. Gunfire continued for 12 hours. As night fell, snow covered the uneven

graves where over 13,000 people were executed in 1 day. Eight days later, on the 8th of December 1941, the process repeated. This time, remaining Riga Jews plus German Jews brought from Berlin, Frankfurt, and Hamburg. Some German prisoners thought they were being resettled in the East. When they saw piles of clothes and luggage, they realized the truth. Another 12,000 were executed. In total, 2 days saw 25,000 lives extinguished. One of the largest massacres in the Baltics, second only to Babyn Yar in

Kiev. When the gunfire stopped, only absolute silence remained. Riga had become Judenfrei, completely free of Jews. After the war, when the Soviet Red Army returned, they found dozens of mass graves. Many bodies still had winter coats, scarves, and children’s belongings. Survivor Frida Michelson, a woman who lived by feigning death in a pit, wrote in her memoir, “I survived Rumbula.” She felt the warmth of the bodies around her. She pretended to be dead, barely breathing. When night fell, she crawled

out of the pit. The sky over Riga was black, not with clouds, but with smoke from the fires. From Latvia to Belarus, the blood-stained hand does not stop. In early 1942, after Riga was declared Judenfrei, German forces expanded operations eastwards. Following the Wehrmacht units were the Einsatzgruppen, responsible for rear guard protection, a euphemism for the systematic killing of civilians. After completing their tasks in Latvia, Arajs Kommando was deployed by Franz Walter Stahlecker to assist in Bandenbekampfung

campaigns in Belarus, nominally anti-partisan operations, but in reality, systematic extermination of civilians suspected of helping them, peasants, women, and even children. In Belarus, in areas like Vitebsk, Mogilev, and Polotsk, Arajs Kommando, the Latvian unit that terrorized Riga, assisted in cleansing operations. Villages were surrounded from dawn. People gathered in central squares. Germans filmed and photographed each scene as proof of mission accomplished. In a March 1943 report to Berlin, the SS

commander wrote, “The Latvian auxiliary units have shown themselves to be particularly efficient in carrying out the tasks of cleansing the area of hostile elements. In every operation, villages suspected of aiding partisans were burned down, and the inhabitants dealt with accordingly. What they call effective is, in reality, the systematic destruction of entire civilian communities. Exact statistics are unknown, but thousands of civilians were killed.” In the Polotsk campaign 1943, Arajs Kommando, alongside

Schutzmannschaft 22, burned 10 villages in 2 weeks. His efficiency in exterminating civilians led Arajs to be promoted to to lieutenant colonel. This was the peak of his power, but behind the praise lay blood and ashes. By the end of 1943, as the Red Army counterattacked, many areas in Belarus were burned, villages gone, no inhabitants left. In Latvia, where Arajs’ Kommando had been seen as a model unit, the aftermath was horrifying. Of approximately 95,000 Jews before the war, over 70,000 were killed.

Soviet investigators later wrote, “Wherever Arajs Kommando passed, the population map was wiped clean.” In 1944, as the Soviet Red Army approached Riga, German strength in the Baltic weakened considerably. Moral in Arajs Kommando fell, and desertions rose. In August 1944, the unit was officially disbanded. Most soldiers were merged into the Latvian Legion Waffen-SS. Some were killed in combat, others fled to Germany. Arajs also withdrew, carrying the status of a legitimate SS officer, temporarily

evading justice. Delayed justice, St1 Jail, the Hamburg trial of 1979. After the war, Arajs was captured by British forces during their screening of SS prisoners. However, due to a lack of direct evidence and witnesses, he was released in 1949. He later fled to West Germany, living under the name Viktor Zeibote, his ex-wife’s surname. He worked at a printing shop in Frankfurt and lived a quiet, unnoticed life. Two decades passed, his name gradually fading from memory, until a group of young prosecutors in

Hamburg reopened the case of Einsatzgruppe A, the unit that massacred tens of thousands in the Baltic region. In the Bundesarchiv archives, they found personal files of an SS officer named Viktors Arajs. Finally, the last piece fell into place. The man living under the name Viktor Zeibote in Frankfurt was him. Survivors in Latvia and Israel began speaking out. Among them, Zelma Shepshelovitz, a Latvian woman who survived the war, recounted what she had witnessed, Arajs’ brutality, humiliation, and executions.

When the testimony was read, the courtroom fell silent. On the 21st of December 1979, the Hamburg court announced the verdict. “No order, no obedience can justify crimes against humanity.” Viktors Arajs was sentenced to life imprisonment. A late verdict, but the first recognition of justice for the man who had commanded Arajs Kommando. In Kassel prison, Arajs lived quietly for 9 years. He never admitted guilt, never asked for mercy, never showed remorse. On the 13th of January 1988, on his 78th

birthday, he died of a heart attack during a short trip outside. No funeral, no one to see him off, just a note in the prison record, “Deceased, natural causes.” The legacy of Viktors Arajs and the echoes of Rumbula Forest. Nearly four decades after the Rumbula massacre, the Hamburg trial could not bring back the 70,000 Latvian Jews who were robbed of their lives. Yet, its meaning endures, a solemn reminder that history may be forgotten, but justice must never be allowed to sleep. Viktors Arajs was

neither hanged nor shot. Instead, he spent the rest of his life behind the cold walls of Kassel prison, where each passing day was an unseen stroke of justice. No gallows, no verdict spoken, time itself became his final executioner. Today, in the Rumbula Forest, once filled with gunfire and cries of despair, only the wind remains whispering through the pine trees like a prayer. The ground where tens of thousands fell is now covered in moss, yet every step still feels like walking across memories

that have never rested. On the cold gray stones, many names seem long forgotten. But every winter, Latvians, Germans, and Israelis come here, lighting small candles in the freezing air, letting the trembling flames speak for what words can no longer express. Third, Reich history is not just the story of Hitler or Himmler. It is the story of those who watched. It is the story of ordinary people choosing silence when right needed to be spoken. When duty blinds conscience, each of us could become another Araj just in a

different circumstance. A question for all of us. If you were living in 1941 when evil was disguised as order and duty, would you choose to stay silent, to stay safe, or dare to speak out against tyranny? Share your thoughts in the comments section and don’t forget to subscribe to the channel to look back at moments in history and not miss stories that make us reflect on who we really are. [Music]