It was a time in 1936 when the political climate in Austria became very scary. Adolph Hitler, had become chancellor of Germany and was threatening to take over large parts of Europe. It was particularly frightening for the Jewish people who were the object of his hatred. Suddenly, in Vienna, Jews were forbidden to enter certain restaurants, their children were not allowed into schools, windows of stores of Jewish businesses were smashed, Jewish people were forced to wear identifying yellow arm bands. It was a gradual but incessant assault on the lives of the Jews. Hitler had managed to annex Austria to Germany in spite of the protestations of the Austrian people. Historically, it is believed that it all started with the reoccupation of the Rhineland which was taken away from Germany with the treaty of Versailles at the end of World War 1. Hitler claimed that it rightfully belonged to Germany, but in reality his true motive was to prepare the country for war.
But, in Vienna, on Taborstrasse 36 in my parents apartment, the people there were smiling as my parents presented their newborn to the family. It was a happy occasion in comfortable surroundings. The apartment was consumed by paintings, oriental rugs, comfortable arm chairs and cases of butterflies that my father had collected (a hobby that he developed as a boy in Romania). My brother Franzi was very bright five and a half year old, and usually the center of attention, however, on this day all eyes were on me. In my father’s biography he stated rather clinically, that I was a “wonderful specimen.”
According to my mother, it was one of the happiest times of her life. My father had achieved his goal after years of study and now at long last, he was a practicing physician. He was married to the woman he’d been engaged to for 9 years. They had two children and my father’s medical practice was thriving. It was part of the so called Golden Age of Vienna when Jews had become assimilated and were accepted into the larger society. The cultural scene was vibrant, filled with talented and prominent Jewish writers, artists, musicians and scientists. Vienna at that moment was a glorious place to be.
However, the smiles would turn to despair and normal life would turn out to be fleeting before the catastrophe arrived. The nightmare that was to befall Austria within two years was unthinkable and hard to imagine. As for me, I would be ripped away from my place of birth, my father, my brother, grandparents and my coddled existence. Originally, I was named Johanna and called “Hannerl” or affectionately “Hannerle” but very soon I would be in other countries; in one I would be called “Juanita” and in another after that, “Joan.”
After reading my father’s biography, which was a detailed account not only of his life but an epic version of our family history, of the second world war, of our ancestors, extended family and of his fears, hopes and dreams, I realized that my part, from my perspective should be added also. Our immediate family, my mother, father, brother and myself were separated for many years during the war and I have vivid and important memories that perhaps my children and grandchildren will be interested in knowing about. My story is also an example of what children went through, sometimes called “second generation survivors,” it is believed that their experiences are just as traumatic and sometimes even more so than those of their parents. So, I write this from from what my mother told me, from my father’s biography and from my brother’s accounts but mostly from my memories of those traumatic years.
In Vienna the horrors begin….
One day my father came home from seeing his patients and found my mother sitting by the radio listening to the news, crying. The vote to keep Austria independent from Germany had failed. The Austrian premier Kurt Schussnigg had resigned. He was the last hope of holding ground against Hitlers demands that Austria be annexed to Germany. It was the beginning of the end of the life for Jewish people in Vienna and the rest of the world would feel the reverberations. He had been reading the newspaper every day and listening to the radio with a fervent dream that somehow someone would step in and condemn the horrible insanity, the assault against innocent Jewish people, but no such voice arose. There was no help from anywhere. Now, his greatest fears were realized and all hope was gone. He was afraid. Some people demonstrated in the streets and some carried sjgns and placards opposing the takeover. But the Nazi’s overrode and disregarded the peoples votes and pleas. Sure enough, in March 1938, the Nazis marched into Vienna, boldly carrying flags and singing in a spectacular parade. To everyone’s amazement Austrians suddenly lined the streets and welcomed the invaders by throwing flowers at them. Others such as my parents were looking out of the windows horrified, in fear and disbelief. But the terror were just beginning…
From that moment on, everything changed. The outright persecution of Jews had begun. About 40,000 people were arrested. Also at our house… my father received a letter from the new Nazi government ordering him to close his medical practice and to sell his medical equipment and furnishings. He had only recently opened his office inheriting my grandfather’s patients and territory (called something like rayon district). He was proud of his achievements. His waiting room was filled with patients (some of them were possibly part of the German military). Above and beyond this, he was receiving acclaim for his discovery of an ointment for colds made out of snake venom, called Viperin which was used by rubbing it into the inside of the arm. It was patented and produced by a pharmaceutical company in Vienna. It was selling with success and gaining attention in the newspapers, citing this miraculous cure. He was on the verge of really huge success and fame. It was all going well for him and his dreams for the future seemed attainable. It seemed unimaginable and preposterous that it could end so quickly just his life was taking shape. He therefore did not respond to the letter. At one point two young Nazi’s arrived at his door demanding that he come with them, that he was under arrest. He thought quickly and demanded to know why they did not know that he was exempt! He announced that he was a lieutenant during the First world war and that there was the rule that he could not be arrested. He handed them a telephone book and told them to immediately call their superior to ask him about it. They were stupid, fumbled with the telephone book and did not know who to call. So thankfully, they left. He had successfully bluffed his way out of that situation. But then, the second letter arrived. It stated that must sell his all his office equipment and furniture. If he did not comply the letter threatened his immediate arrest. this time it was very serious. and he was finally forced to make the devastating and wrenching decision to leave his beloved Vienna.
my father and Franzi leave Vienna
After days of frantic arrangements my father and my brother Franzi, who had been switched from one school to another and finally wound up in a Jewish school which he hated, left Vienna and headed to Paris where there were family members; cousins, aunts and uncles. It would be years before we would see other again. My father had in some way received two visas for Havana, Cuba. He would leave Francis with my mother’s sister, Lisa and then continue on to Havana on his own. Franzi protested wildly; begged and screamed to please, please take him along. He pleaded and cried not to leave him but nevertheless, agonizing as it must have been for my father, he was determined to continue on his way without him. There were many influencing factors. One was that it was believed that the climate in Cuba was not healthy for children. The Viennese were perhaps somewhat provincial in their attitudes towards the tropical climate afraid of the unknown. Another reason was that there was a plan that my mother would pick Francis up on her way to America However the timing did not work out, the borders with France closed and the visa regretfully did not arrive in time. This episode was a demonstration of the confusion of desperate people panicked, scrambling in all directions to where ever they could find a place, to escape to. Nevertheless, this decision to leave Francis behind in France turned out to be devastating for him and put him in mortal danger and created a wound that would not heal.
On the other hand, for my father, the timing to leave Vienna could not have been better. It was extremely fortunate because a few days later, again, two young Nazi’s came to the door to arrest him. My mother was able to announce confidently that he was not at home and in fact, he was no longer in Austria! The Nazi thugs left without their prize….it was incredibly lucky!
After my father left, my mother and I were evicted from our apartment on Taborstrasse and had to move in with my grandparents into their apartment which I believe was on Holland Strasse. I was two years old and this was the first episode in a series of disruptions to my normal life. Although, now had no father or brother I do not remember if I was aware of these disruptions at that moment and even if I had been my grandparents compensated and filled the vacuum by indulging me in every way they could think of. My grandmother made special meals for me, she fed me and I read in letters that I was allowed to sleep in her bed with her at night.
One of my earliest memories was at about this time while visiting my grandparents Benjamin and Gina, I climbed up behind my grandfather’s armchair while he was reading the newspaper. I wanted to brush his hair but I used the wrong side of the brush. I knew it was the wrong way and was surprised that he did not object. He just let me tap or hit his head perhaps because he loved me so much and said I was “betamt.” To me it was evidence of how tolerant and kind he was; so sensitive that he wouldn’t risk hurting my feelings. This only meant that the tragedy he was to face later would be even more unjust.
Still how can one understand the situation? It must have been unbearable for my mother. She clung to her parents, fantasizing that they could protect each other. Although it was 1939 and Austria was now part of Germany, and although the Nazi’s were gaining power every day, victimizing the Jews more and more, she was able to stay for a while. My mother explained that some of the Nazis remembered that they had been patients’ of my fathers and even grandfather’s and were grateful for their help to them, they thus treated her as “frau doctor” and gave her some latitude. On the other hand, there is a photo of my mother wearing a yellow armband taking me for a walk in the Prater. A Nazi guard in the background was about to chase us out of the park.
Looking back, it is hard to imagine what was going through her mind. She must have been torn apart with the dilemma about not wanting to leave her parents and yet making her own way with her little daughter, to safety.
my grandparents…
My grandfather was a physician, legendary for his generosity and idiosyncratic beliefs. He gave away food from his own kitchen to patients who he thought needed it, much to my grandmothers chagrin. When finishing a meal at the table he would demonstrate how economical and thrifty he was by licking his fingers theatrically picking up and eating crumbs from the tablecloth. He was famous for not wearing an overcoat even in the most bitterly cold days of winter. Moreover, he was known for taking a cold shower every morning which he theorized was a source of good health. Perhaps this belief was correct because he survived until was eighty years old when he was murdered by the Nazis. He had a great and active mind, studied philosophy, wrote about the universe and developed an interest in Bhuddism. He became a Bhuddist late in life, as he was seeing the end, he presciently wrote papers and letters about the futility of material possessions. These theoretical essays arrived via letters to us in Havana. Soon, however they were deported to a small town in Poland, Kunow a stepping stone on their way to a concentration camp and to their demise.
My grandmother was warm and beautiful with a generous heart. She loved hosting dinners for friends and family and the household was the center of hospitality for hundreds of cousins, aunts, uncles and friends. She was admired and beloved by all. She reveled in her three children, Hedy, Lisa and Erich. Her high moral principles, combined with a wonderful sense of humor made her the centerpiece of the huge family. (my grandfather had seventeen brothers and sisters). (See Francis’s description of Dr. Benjamin Ziegler).
the Nazis advance…
Hitler had taken over the Sudetenland in Czechoslovakia although he was warned even by his own Generals that it would be impossible, he was provided the opportunity by an agreement with Neville Chamberlain of Britain whereby Hitler promised not to invade other countries if he would be allowed to take over the Sudentenland. Leaders were trying to appease Hitler so that he would not continue his maniacal path. That was one of the most tragic mistakes of the war. It was the downfall of all of Czechoslovakia and the beginning of the invasion of other countries. To trust Hitler was like making a deal with a devil.
escaping from our beloved Vienna…
Before my mother and I were allowed to leave Vienna we had to have documentation for our visas. Our lives depended on getting out of Vienna as quickly as possible since my mother had waited until the last minute. But the new Nazi government created obstacles wherever they could. Children had to be tested to see if they qualified and were not mentally disabled or retarded. It came time for me to be tested in a doctors office, I was asked to recite my name and to count up to ten, however, absolutely refused to open my mouth. I did not like the Nazi official interviewing me. He looked mean. My mother was desperate, she coaxed me and begged me to please say my name and to count, but I stubbornly refused. Finally, the official gave in, actually laughed, and wrote “normal” on the form. My mother was incredibly relieved and told me later that he must have been swayed by my Aryan appearance, my blue eyes and blond hair. In any case, we were able to get our visas. Later I found out that my father breathed a sigh of relief across the oceans, when he heard that we were successful in getting the visas.
“my doll is Jewish”
In December 1939, very sadly and reluctantly my mother and I left Vienna, not realizing then that we would never again see my grandparents, Benjamin and Gina. And, of course, did not realize at the time how the loss of my grandparents who I knew loved me so much would devastate me and even more so my mother.
My mother and I boarded a train heading for the Netherlands. As we were sitting on one of the banquettes I noticed people looking at me. I was holding a beautiful lavishly dressed doll with porcelain eyes that opened and closed. Someone asked about my doll where I was taking her, I replied…”I am taking her to America, she can’t stay here anymore because she is Jewish.” The lady was quiet immediately. Perhaps some others cried and some must have been struck by the insane situation that was about to explode and become one of the most tragic events in history.
for me, the trauma begins…
We were heading towards Rotterdam where we were to meet the ship the Rotterdam which would take us to America. In Rotterdam, before getting on the ship we met a cousin of my mother’s; Annie Lux. It was December 1939 and we went to an enormous restaurant which was spectacularly decorated with Christmas decorations. I was very impressed with the many sparkling lights, the opulence, the crowds, the liveliness and the gayity. Vienna must have been grey and depressing in comparison. However, there I experienced one of the most frightening experiences of my life. I had just turned three yeas old, and had moved away from the table where my mother and Annie Lux were sitting. Suddenly a creature that looked like a devil, completely covered in black with a tail and a pitchfork, jumped in front of me. I ran away but the creature was running after me. I darted around huge pillars as fast as I could, screaming, but no one heard me or came to my rescue. I was desperately trying to find where my mother was sitting but to no avail. I ran around trying to escape from the monstrous beast. But, it finally caught me, grabbed me by the arm and pressed a package into my hand. I was hysterical with fear and panic when I finally found my mother, we had to leave quickly running to get on the ship to America. My mother was carrying me, but I was inconsolable.
Later on I discovered that in the Netherlands, Santa Claus is accompanied by a benevolent but scary looking helper called “Crampus.” Years ago when my mother was still alive, she received a letter from Annie Lux recounting some memories of that time and she talked about something she would never forget; my hysterical, unstoppable crying. She remembered how I was absolutely inconsolable and continued crying until we got on the ship. I believe this episode symbolized or characterized the brutality of what was happening in Europe.
Recently in the New York Times there was an article about a revival of the “Krampus” tradition in the Netherlands.*
I had never heard anything about the “Krampus” phenomenon mentioned before. But here it was. I looked further and this is what I found:
“The name “Krampus” comes from the old Germanic word for “claw.” (This is the same word that gives us “crampon,” the mountain climbing shoe hook attachment.) The Krampus is a demon that travels alongside Santa Claus, whipping bad children with birch branches and rusty chains. In many parts of Bavaria, young men traditionally dress as the Krampus in the first two weeks of December and go running through the streets, frightening children.
The Krampus is hairy, horned, and sometimes lascivious. It is considered a type of incubus, a demon which is more commonly associated with nighttime sexual attacks.”
No wonder I was frightened to death! Not only was I in shock from the changes in my life but this event symbolized something more of what was about to happen. Interestingly, my mother was oblivious to the whole situation because she was wrapped up in her own terrors, fears and worries.
We finally got onto the Rotterdam where hours later I finally calmed down enough to dare to look at what was still in my hand. I carefully tore off the paper wrapper, opened the little box and what a surprise I found! A pink plastic brooch, hair barrette, a bracelet and ring. It was a perfectly wonderful gift for me and I wore these things all the way to NY. Perhaps I thought it was worth the earth shattering ordeal I just went through.
My mother became sea sick the minute we stepped on the ship and went straight to her cabin and to the bed from which she did not emerge until the end of the trip, weeks later. She described her agony as saying that she was so sick that her hands turned blue. She was paralyzed with worry. I don’t know how long the journey was but I remember wandering around the ship alone. I have a distinct memory of looking down into the water, and being mesmerized by the waves. I was thinking that no one cared about me and the thought of falling into the water entered my mind. I wondered if anyone would notice if I disappeared or even if that would matter to anyone. Although it was pretty unlikely the way I remember it… there was only a chain between me and the edge of the ship and the sea. My world and what I was used to as a three year old had just disintegrated. I was scared and gloomy. And then, I think, some kind person took pity on me and decided that I should be in the cabin with my mother. They set up a little table beside my mother’s bed so that I could have my meals with her. I tried to talk to her but she was not able to speak. Not only was she sick with nausea but also with despair. For her …it was now inevitable…on that boat her life had been changed forever and she was heading toward an unknown world. What was going to happen? She had not been able to meet up with Francis because he could not get his visa in time to coordinate with her leaving; she had left her parents in tremendous danger, her husband was far away and she was responsible for a three year old child and moreover, had only five dollars in her pocket book. Metaphorically and symbolically this ocean crossing represented a severance of everything she had known and loved. She was then not yet 40 years old! Both she and I were traumatized by the series of recent events. It could be that this was the time that she became the long suffering person that she turned out to be. She never recovered!
safety in New York…
It was after about a fourteen day journey on the ship when we arrived in NY. We were met by our “sponsor” a cousin of my mother’s a doctor, Hansi Hilkovitch. A large woman who was wearing a hat with what looked like a real bird with real feathers on it. I could not take my eyes away from the hat and finally after scrutinizing it carefully I saw that the bird did not move. I was relieved when I figured it out that it was not a live bird but that it was stuffed.
We moved into an apartment near Central Park West on 89th Street in New York City. I was placed in a nursery or day care and was absolutely terrified of being separated from my mother. I didn’t like the food especially “chicken pot pie” which tasted bland and sticky. It felt strange taking naps on a canvas cot. I did not sleep and just cried silently. I did not yet speak English and did not understand the teachers’ instructions. Other than nursery school I had another problem. It was a friend of my mother’s, Mr. Lazarus, he would often baby-sit for me. The trouble was that he had a hunchback and was quite deformed. I knew he was a really a nice man but I just was in such a vulnerable state that I was afraid of him. Once my mother asked me in his presence, why I did not want to stay with him… I was in a quandary, trying not to hurt his feelings so I answered “Ich liebe Ihm noch nicht” (I don’t like (love) him yet).
I had gotten very sick with the measles and knew what a big problem it was for my mother. She had to go to work. She had a job crocheting gloves. When the doctor came he told her that I was terribly underweight and had to gain weight in order to become healthy. Looking back it was the only time in my life that I was told I was underweight!
bound together by our letters…
When letters that arrived from my father from Havana and from Francis from France we sat down together and read them eagerly. Reading the letters was a special time which we looked forward to getting the news from our loved ones. In one of them from my father included photos of himself. He was wearing a white suit and straw hat, and looked dashing! He also had a mustache! We were astonished, especially as he was holding a cigar! He was demonstrating the famous Cuban cigars. In one of the letters to me Francis bet me that he could read better than I could. I think I was reading at the time, because my favorite book was “Pinocchio” I loved that book so much! I would not let it out of my sight. Once someone was taking pictures of me on the street on Central Park West and wanted to take my book away for the picture and I started screaming and insisted on holding it. About that time we moved to a house in Flushing, Queens. I remember it had a garden and there were some other children that I enjoyed playing with.
In the meantime, although my father had expected Cuba to be a sort of temporary holding station before coming to America, it turned out that there was a huge list of thousands of people who were also on the Romanian quota that were ahead of him. He was in a panic realizing that it might be perhaps ten or more years before he could get to the US. Therefore, he urged my mother to join him in Cuba. My mother agreed although as I remember reluctantly because she had a job. However, again we were on the move we packed up and took an airplane to Havana, Cuba.
meeting my father again…
The episode of my meeting my father again after over three years of separation is emblazoned in my memory. The scene and the emotions are still vivid. As we walked down the runway from the plane and into the meeting room there was a huge thick chain stretched out in front of us. A man was standing on the other side looking at me. I found myself staring up at him. I gripped my mothers hand more tightly. He spoke to me and said…”Ich bin dein Papa.” Huddling closer to my mother I felt shy and vulnerable. Indeed. my recent disorienting experiences left me disoriented and wary. But somehow I was giving in…perhaps I remembered the photographs or perhaps even memories strayed back from before he left Vienna. He looked nice and was smiling and his eyes were looking straight into mine. Somewhere deep down inside of me was a feeling of familiarity and recognition. My mother reassured me that it was indeed my papa and I finally agreed to be picked up by him. He took me in his arms and hugged me tightly. I will never forget how it felt. His strong embrace and sure touch convinced me that I was safe and that it would be OK. He must have been filled with longing up to this time and at this moment he was at least reunited with one of his children and he had his wife back with him safely. Later on I read letters from my grandparents, who were eager to know how the meeting went.
He took us to an apartment that he had rented in a two or three story building on the Malecon. It was one of the most beautiful areas in all of Havana, situated along the coast. The building was blocks long made of whitish limestone albeit with paint peeling off in layers which added a decadent charm. It had a large terrace with had an unobstructed view of the beach and vast ocean with a magnificent view of the famous lighthouse. We used the terrace for everything, eating, reading and taking pictures; the rest of the apartment was just one large room. Other families shared the terrace with us and one in particular, next to ours lived a boy, shy and skinny. The mother was enamored of me. She took many pictures of her boy with me and liked to dress me up by putting bows in my hair. One photograph shows me with an enormous green bow on top of my head. She often repeated “como una muneca” (like a doll). And I was now called “Juanita.”
My parents and I spent many hours on the terrace. I was given toys to make me happy and feel at home. Dolls, a dollhouse, dollhouse furniture, kitchen play things, a small stove and stuffed animals made up my coterie. These were set up on a table on the terrace next to them as they read. The scene represented togetherness that had not been possible before. I dutifully played with them but longed for something else, although I was not sure what that it was perhaps it was what I had left behind that I still remembered and missed.
But what I really loved most of all was spending time with my father, especially the sessions we had where I would sit on his lap and read the book that he made for me and Francis, called “Franzi und Hannerl: Zwie Brave Kinder”…he told me that the inside front and back cover he made especially for me. There were rows and rows of tiny drawings of all sorts of things…animals, objects, toys, and things whatever came into his mind. He was an adept draftsmen. The drawings were pen and ink, well drawn and charming. We would name each one repeatedly, and then we read the book which I never got tired of. It was about our story, the exodus…written in verse with the most wonderful illustrations. He was multi- talented and drawing was a one of his skills. I felt a kinship with my father. I responded to his sunny personality and lighthearted sense of humor. I was able to smile again.
My father loved to take pictures and was obsessed with timed exposures. On day he decided to take a timed photograph on the terrace of the three of us. He was very concentrated and completely absorbed in the process. The results were never quite right. My mother and I spent a what seemed like hours sitting in the same position with my father running back and forth so that he could be in the picture. Finally, my mother not able to control herself any longer, burst into a fit of laughter/ giggles and could not be stopped. My father got really angry at her and I was in the middle not knowing how to handle the situation, the camera shutter went off and we got a picture of my mother giggling, my father angry at her and me looking perplexed not knowing whether to smile at the camera or worry about them.
Almendares
Later on, I believe after about a year or perhaps it was months, we moved to a larger apartment in a suburb of Havana called “Almendares.” It was part of a constellation of buildings each with an apartment situated around a very large patio. There were tall banana trees, palms and tropical shrubbery all around with walkways in between. There I spent my time wheeling my doll carriage, riding on my tricycle and playing with my cat, “Tchi-tchi.”
Our landlady was a good looking woman, named Esperanza. Her daughter Hortensia was a little younger than I was but we played together out in our mutual patio. My impression of Hortensia was that she cried a lot and I could not ever figure out what she was crying about, it was not at all clear. I considered myself fortunate when I would be invited for dinner at their house. I liked the Cuban food. The fragrance of the spices was compelling, typical Cuban cuisine. I particularly liked “carne asada” which consisted of very aromatic fried sliced steak with rice and beans and delicious fried platanos.
Another one of my friends was Teresita Pina, she had about four or five other names that I do not remember. Although I liked playing with her, I was disturbed by the fact that her mother slapped her every time she sneezed or coughed which was quite often. I just did not know what to think but I felt sorry for her.
One day “Tchi-tchi disappeared. I thought she was lost forever and was very upset. One day my mother asked me to get a bed sheet out of the linen closet. As I reached in my had touched something warm and furry and my heart pounding wildly I realized it was not only Tchi-tchi my lost cat, but she had given birth to several kittens. That was one of my happiest moments. From that moment on, the kittens were my favorite plaything. I must have been deprived of toys and naturally embraced these live, gentle and adorable creatures. I played with them all day long and liked to wheel them around in my doll carriage.
Sometimes, after much begging and prodding my mother would agree to play some of the games with me. One was with clay where one person would secretly make an imprint of a pattern or texture on the clay and the other would have to guess where it came from. The other game was “Ich sehe etwas das du nicht siest, und es ist _______ (a color). But my mother’s attention would wander she would become remote and drift away. I always wanted to play longer but she sooner than I wanted grew tired and distracted. I tried to cheer her up and get her attention by making jokes and saying silly things but it was hard breaking into her reverie.
In retrospect I’m sure she was thinking about how dramatically her world had changed and about all that she lost. It had after all it had just been over three years or so that she had left Vienna and her parents.I heard her talking about the recent past of her wonderful life. She talked about what she had lost. According to her … In Vienna, she had her devoted parents close by who were admired by everyone, she had her children, she had a prominent family (they were either bankers, lawyers or doctors) with hundreds of cousins ( my grandfather was one of 17 siblings). Now she was miserable with worry about her parents, her sister and her son. Her personality became more and more despondent and remote.
my brother in danger…
The Germans had invaded France by this time. Lisa with Francis both running from one town or city to another one step ahead of the Nazis. There had been no news for a while. She must have faced the idea that they were lost or killed. Francis has an amazing description of his experiences in his memoir. They were hiding in the woods at one point with bombs exploding all around them which he immortalized in drawings.
It was then, at around that time in 1940s that perilous wars and fronts were being fought all over Europe, in Britain, France and Italy. The news from Europe was not good with many sad letters from my grandparents about how people were being deported and sent to concentration camps.
How different all this was, I was in a tropical paradise, but felt the oppression of the war. We could never really be free from the heartbreaking news.
My father was frustrated and felt helpless. Every night after dinner he would sit at his portable Olympus typewriter, I still can hear the steady sound of the impact of the keys against the roller. He wrote letters to my grandparents, to Lisa and Franzi and many other relatives. He had much to do and felt responsible for everyone it was the only way he could help. He wanted my grandparents to leave Vienna. But it did not work. He would ask me to dictate a few sentences or tell a story. Once while we were writing there was a terrible storm, lightening crashed nearby the sound was amplified like splintering glass. I worried that the lightening had struck at my friends house and wrote in the letter that I was beleidict (offended, insulted) hoping to add some humor for the sad recipients. I knew it was the wrong word but was trying to be funny and “beleidict” was my newly discovered word with deep and profound meaning,
nightmares…
I was not yet five years old and often my thoughts were often dark and vengeful. I heard things about my grandparents Benjamin and Gina. I could feel the sadness and desperation of my parents. I wished I could understand what was going on and above all, why?
My dreams were very scary. I had a dream which went something like this…the Nazis forced both my grandmother and grandfather to take their clothes off. They were naked and had to climb up a hill. When they came to the top of the hill the Nazi’s began shooting at them. I distinctly saw the bullets entering their soft pale white fleshy flesh. It became a repeated nightmare. Often I would wake up and try to find my parents. Strangely, looking back it was about the time they were murdered.
a miracle happened…
About that time a miracle happened. Mr. Agramonte, came to see my father as a patient. He was a Cuban who had heard about my father’s reputation as an excellent diagnostician. Because of his research in a laboratory called Vieta Placencia. (my father was trying to reproduce the ointment Viperin for which he had become famous in Vienna) he became known among some Cuban physicians. Mr. Agfamonte suffered from a horrific pain and throbbing on the side of his face in the trigeminus nerve. It ran from the temple down to his neck. The pain was unbearable and said he thought of committing suicide if he could not be helped. My father examined him and found that he had an abscess under one of the molars. He recommended that Mr. Agramonte go to the dentist and have him extract a particular tooth. The patient left but returned a few days later telling my father that the dentist refused to pull out the tooth. My father however, insisted that he was right and went with him personally to the dentist. The dentist finally agreed, extracted the tooth and of course found the abscess. Mr Agramonte was relieved of the pain almost immediately! It turned out that this man worked for the Cuban government in the Immigration department. He was so grateful to my father that he offered his help for whatever he needed. My father’s answer was clear….” I would like you to find my son and send him visas to come to Cuba” Mr. Agramonte answered “consider it done.” Within a short time he found Franzi and Lisa. Within months Franzi had a visa to Cuba. But he needed someone to accompany him. My father performed a second miracle my obtaining a visa for Lisa as well. They obtained visas and were at last scheduled to leave France from somewhere in Spain or Portugal. Franzi and Lisa were saved from deportation and as for my father he had accomplished a miracle.
Pearl Harbor…
In December, 1941 the war in Europe was raging. Not only that but the Japanese attacked the war ships that were docked at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. The US was unprepared and the fleet of ships were in sad shape and now even what we had was decimated. President Roosevelt had a call to arms. He decided to enter the war on the Allies side and moreover, wage war against Japan.
my dream comes true….
That my brother, Franzi and my aunt Lisa would be soon be arriving in Cuba, to me seemed like a dream. I was bursting with anticipation. I was thrilled that I would soon have a brother… a ready playmate. But it was not to be so quick, I was really disappointed to learn that would have to be quarantined in an internment camp, called “Triscornia. I don’t remember how long they were there it could have been days or a few weeks before they could enter Havana. However, I did get a glimpse of Francis through the fence and was surprised at how he looked. He was thin and pale and his head was shaved. Also I found his shoes rather odd, they were little leather ballet shoes with soft soles. But overall, I was really excited and looking forward to the family being together again and this incredible event.
Each morning was spent preparing food to take to Triscornia. I am not sure whether we were allowed to do this but we did it surreptitiously. I helped my mother prepare such things such as meats, orange juice, fruits and cakes. When we arrived at Triscornia we saw Francis and Lisa in the distance and they quickly came to the fence. We handed them the food through the chain-links. And fortunately and miraculously….we did not get caught.
my brother and aunt Lisa in our house…
I don’t know how long they were interned; it seemed like months until they finally arrived at our house. Lisa would sleep in my room and Francis and I would share a room. I still had my desk for my paper dolls, drawing and my projects. I loved Lisa immediately. Even to this day the thought of her brings tears to my eyes. I loved having her around, she was lively and fun and she had time for me. One of our favorite things to do was she would lie down on the bed and I would adorn her with scarves, comb her hair, put lipstick on her and decorate her with all sorts of things. She let me do it all and even liked it she told me later. I guess she found it relaxing and got some rest and it certainly must have been a departure from the ordeal she had been through trying desperately to escape and survive the onslaught of the Nazi regime in France. She was captivating and full of humor. She promised someday to tell me some naughty words. I begged her to tell me, she finally did and told me one of them; it was “SCHMEX.” she made me promise never to tell anyone about it, but later I was really curious and asked others who spoke German about that curse word, they told me honestly, they had ever heard of it. That was typical Lisa!
My father and brother would go on painting trips each with easels and watercolors and as they ventured out they were absorbed into the Cuban countryside. They were gone for hours and although I would have liked to go along I’m sure I would not have had the stamina to spend the hours that it took. They produced many works and proceeded to hang them up on one of our large walls as we evaluated and pondered the colorful images. One of our tasks I believe was to devaluate which one was the best.
The day the piano arrived was unforgettable. It was a complete surprise. Francis and I were amazed at this extravagant gesture. We were both excited and thrilled at our good luck and could not wait to get our hands on it. We wrestled and pushed each other from the piano bench and because by this time Francis had gotten bigger and stronger he just pushed me off. He loved playing and was taking lessons and was a diligent student. He practiced for hours each day as if he were making up for the lost time in France, and perhaps also was responding to inspiration emanating from my father.
The next big event was that Lisa’s boyfriend or fiancé, Paul Rosegg arrived. My father had managed to obtain a visa for him also. Francis who had spent time with him in France told me stories about him. He told me that he was “witzig” (joking). Indeed, when he arrived and I ran outside to meet him he greeted me by throwing me up into the air — I thought this exceedingly fun and wonderful. Not only that, but he could snap all his fingers at once making a snapping sound, he could make a popping sound with his cheek and finger and above all he could “juggle.” He therefore lived up to my expectations. Soon he and Lisa were married and moved out of our house to another location.
going to school…
Francis and I started to go to school at the “Miss Philips School.” It was a private school, where only the English language was allowed. I was in kindergarten and Francis was in the fifth or sixth grade. The school was very strict. As an example; a boy in my class had to go to the bathroom, he did not speak English very well or perhaps not at all. The teacher cruelly did not let him go and he continued to make himself not only wet but also he had diarrhea. It was horrible. She then even more cruelly put a dunce cap on him. I was sitting next to him and it was horrible No one knew what to do.
Walking to school was a dreaded ordeal. Often there would be a bully standing on the other side of the street from where we were walking. He would come across the street and attack Francis. Francis tried his best swinging his fists as hard as he could. They would fight and I had to stand by helplessly and be afraid. We finally just had to run away from him to get to school on time. But every day on our way to school we were terrified wondering whether the big bully would be standing there ready to attack us.
My father had a busy medical practice among the other refugees. He would spend the day carrying his doctor’s bag and making the rounds traveling on foot or by trolly car. I remember how his shirt was stained with perspiration in the back with the tropical climate and heat when he arrived back home at night.
Oddly enough we celebrated Christmas with a Christmas tree with decorations. Santa Claus even came to visit us! This cultural phenomenon was left over from Vienna or Europe where the assimilation of the Jews was taken for granted. As I understand it, Christmas was more of a secular holiday than a religious one. Rather than symbolizing Christ it was more a celebration of the winter season. Strangely, on Christmas Eve my father always had to go and see a patient just as we were anticipating the arrival of Santa Claus. Of course the door bell rang soon after my father left the house. We opened the door and there was Santa in full regalia. How I wished that my father could be there to see him. He seemed to focus on me immediately and asked me directly if I had been a good girl through out the year. I wasn’t too sure and I looked guiltily at my mother who nodded hesitantly and then I received my present. What a great charade and I fell for it hook line and sinker!
we move again…
Soon we moved to another apartment. It was on Avenida Septima in Vedado. It also had two bedrooms, and one large room that that functioned like a salon with our dining room table, the piano and a living room area. The kitchen was large and had an “icebox.” We had a private garden with many tropical plants and flowers and where Francis and I could go out and spray each other with the hose and even go out in the rain. There were other tenants in apartments located around the complex in a geometric configuration; one across the walkway entrance and the other towards the back in a two story building. I loved going to “la playa” (the beach) and in addition loved to roller skate on the sidewalk in front of the house and play with neighborhood friends. I was completely fluent in Spanish and was sounding just like one of the native Cubans.
There were dangers in the tropics such as the tarantulas and scorpions. We were strictly warned never to walk in high grass or any grass for that matter. In addition we were plagued by ants. One crumb on the floor would produce an army of ants extending from the wall to the crumb. They seemed to come out of nowhere. And then there were the cucarachas…they were huge and often flying. The mosquitoes were voracious especially at night. it was absolutely necessary to sleep under a mosquito net tent over the bed. One small hole in the net would result in being covered with mosquito bites in the morning.
I get a box of crayons….
What I wanted most in the world were crayons. In school, one of my classmates had a box of Crayola crayons with 24 colors in it She sometimes shared them with me but I longed for my own set. I asked my father one day if he would get them for me. I explained exactly what I wanted. One night, coming home after seeing his patients he woke me up. I crawled out from under the mosquito netting around my bed and he handed me the box of crayons with 24 colors. I was overjoyed. Drawing and coloring became my passion. I decided to create a book drawing and telling the story of Sleeping Beauty. I worked on it everyday after I came home from school. Sleeping Beauty’s dress was striped with very narrow stripes so that I could use the maximum number of colors on it. It was painstakingly detailed. I had to also repeat the same on each page. I worked hard as if I were making a film with each frame. It was of course taking forever and I was wondering how I would ever finish it. One day I went to the drawer where I kept it and it was gone. It was nowhere to be found. My mother did not know anything about it and had not seen it. I was shattered, perplexed and disillusioned. I tried to start another book but it was not satisfactory. The original was so perfect (I thought) that it could not be duplicated.
It was my father’s idea that we would have a piano recital. Francis was playing the piano really well. They invited their friends and neighbors. Lisa was there with Paul. Francis played several pieces very successfully. I had also been taking lessons from my father wanted to perform as well. I was not really prepared but insisted on playing. I had to search for my music Thompson’s Book 1, which was on top of the piano. Everyone clapped politely.
hospital….
I often had a sore throat was even having problems breathing at night. My tonsils were enlarged and inflamed. The recommendation was that I have a tonsillectomy as soon as possible. The date was set for the operation and my parents became very solicitous and indulgent which made me suspicious that it was a serious and perhaps even dangerous operation. In the operating room I figured out a way of getting out of having the surgery. The table on which I was to lay down had a section at the end where I was to put my head that was sloping downward. I announced that it was impossible to lay down there because I had no pillow! The argument did not work and pretty soon I was under the spell of the ether having strange dreams. All kinds of heads mostly from my storybooks were moving around in a circle. There were; American Indians with feather headdresses, pirates, men with beards, Chinese faces all continuously circling around. I was relieved to wake up to know that I had survived and that I was in a nice room and nice bed My mother was there wearing a beautiful green paisley dressing gown which she had gotten just for the hospital. The nurse came and asked if I wanted to eat something. My throat hurt a little but I decided I could swallow a salami sandwich and Coca-Cola. It arrived and I ate it with gusto to everyones amazement.
Although I had been underweight (the only time in my life) in NY that changed when we settled down with my mother’s European style cooking. Once I was forced to eat something called “eierknockerl.” I railed against it I did not want to even just taste it. Both my parents stood over me insisting and almost forcing me to eat. I could not escape and once I tasted it, it was delicious and I was hooked. At that moment I became addicted to the taste of fluffy high calorie food. I soon became round and chubby.
the movies
I remember a wonderful event as if it were yesterday. My father had a friend named, Mr. Garriga, I don’t know exactly how they met but I think it was through his research at the laboratory. Mr. Garriga was very friendly, extremely obese, seemed to me like a “wheeler-dealer,” wealthy and important. He liked my father very much and He gave him a gift of tickets for a movie theater. The movie consisted of all Walt Disney cartoons. I remember seeing “the Three Little Pigs” and “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” I was thrilled. Along with the of the magnificent animation of the movie and the compelling stories there was the beautiful movie theater, the glitzy lobby of the theater and its incredibly distinctive smell. That aroma is indelibly imprinted on my brain and if I ever smelled it again I would immediately be reminded of my first movie in Cuba. Visually the impact was enormous. The glamour, the sparkle, the animated beautiful people the vibrant colors and of course, Walt Disney. All so impressive because I did not know such a wonderful, pleasurable thing could exist in this world of tragedy.
There was a large community of Jewish refugees in Havana. They came from Europe and other parts of the world. Although Battista, the president was a dictator, Cuba was one of the few countries that accepted the populations that were fleeing Nazi persecution and World war ll. Some refugees even started businesses such as diamond cutting and others like my father could practice medicine albeit, illegally without a license. There were also artists and sculptors that found refuge in Havana. One of these was Bernhard Reder. He came from Czernowitz in Roumania the same town as my father. My father asked him to give Francis art lessons. He declined but recommended a painter friend of his, Solomon Lerner. That was to become a life long relationship.
Mr. Lerner would come to our apartment. Francis and he would set up the easel and spend what seemed to me a long time painting and talking. I was getting bored with the process and being on the outside of it that I stated doing silly things. I crawled around on the floor and in between the legs of the easel. Amazingly, no one particularly paid attention to me and just let me do it.
my finger tip gets cut off…
One day, my mother left Francis and me at Mr. Reder’s house presumably Mr. Reder was supposed to watch us or spend time with us. He however was busy with other things and Francis and I were left to our own devices. That, unfortunately was playing with the only things around which were collapsible deck chairs on the patio while I was sitting in one of these chairs, Francis offered to make me more comfortable so that I could lie down. He took the rung out of the groove in the back but the weight was too much for him he couldn’t hold me up and the chair collapsed with me in it. The tragedy was that my little finger was wedged between the two wooden arms of the chair. I tried to pull it out but as much as I tried it was tightly squeezed between the woods. My finger was stuck in the chair. Francis finally unfolded the chair releasing my finger. The tip of the finger had been sliced off and was hanging loose by just a thin piece of nail and skin. By that time Mr. Reder had come to see what the matter was. He was shocked and upset. No one knew what to do. Finally he put the finger under running water and wrapped the whole thing up in a handkerchief. I remember not crying up to that point, but when my mother finally showed up I finally allowed myself to cry and cried bitterly on the trolley all the way home. That night when my father came home and heard the story he was furious with Francis. It was the first time I ever heard him scream at him. I was glad that he did. He deserved it.
There was a new type of bandage for wounds had been discovered? It was a Vaseline bandage that obviated the need for stitches… usually being in the forefront and willing to experiment. My father decided to use it to heal my finger. It was tricky getting the tip back in the right position but he was very careful and adept. I trusted him but the pain was excruciating. With tip of the finger using the nail as a guide (which was still attached) in place he very carefully wrapped the bandage around it. There had to be many, many layers of the tape and with each round I felt a piercing throb. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life. It took many weeks to heal and the bandage had to be changed every day. I dreaded the procedure.
Lisa and Paul earned their living by running a rooming house or “guest house” where Lisa cooked meals, took care of the guests and baked the most wonderful cakes. She had been to cooking school in Paris and the results were very professional. The guests were also European Jews who had escaped the war. One of them was a Mr. Adler, an elderly gentleman who had the same birthday as I did. Another was a Mrs. Gerendai who I liked because she was pretty and fashionable and outspoken but I could not come too close her because she pinched my cheeks really hard exclaiming how adorable I was. But it hurt and was really a bit sadistic.
Life in Havana was pleasant. I liked the hot tropical climate. We would go to “la playa” (the beach) often and I could play outdoors at any time even in the evening. But my father was under pressure to further his career and create stability again; there was no future for him in Cuba. He would never be allowed to legally practice medicine because he could not obtain a license also my mother could not stand the heat and often felt ill. He was getting anxious and impatient. There seemed to be no hope of changing the situation. One day, however, just by chance, he noticed an article in the NY Times or some other American newspaper stating that there was a shortage of doctors in the U.S. Perhaps because of the war many were in the army and the US was trying to recruit physicians. He grabbed at the opportunity. He decided that since my mother was on the Austrian quota and could travel freely and also had a reentry permit to the US, she could go to plead his case to the US government to allow him to emigrate.
the final move…
It was 1943, I was 7 1/2 years old and again my mother and I were on the move, we had spent three and a half years in Cuba and were now returning to NY. Again we needed a sponsor and a couple named Michael and Amelia Rosen and who lived in Brooklyn offered to vouch for us.
We landed in Miami and were met by a Mrs. Wagner, who seemed to me a most unpleasant person. She complained and talked all the time about some medicine that my father had sent to her, that was not good. However I felt quite numb. I was exhausted and missed my father, brother and my aunt Lisa and uncle Paul. And I felt the weight of my mother’s unrelenting sadness. It was not only that…it was as if I did not belong anywhere. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to identify with. I was moving around leaving behind friends, toys, books. I was getting older and needed some stability, even though I did not understand the real tragedy of the war, I felt the upheaval.
We arrived in Brooklyn by train and then onto Carroll Street. It was a lovely section of Brooklyn with row after row of single-family buildings called “brownstones,” because of the brownish-red stone they were built with. All had wide grand staircases in the front and were three or four stories high. The neighborhood was tree lined with clean, quiet streets and Prospect Park was very near. Amelia and Michael Rosen were an elderly (or so they seemed) couple who didn’t have any children. I guess we were grateful to them for taking us in. Michael Rosen was a mild-mannered, unassuming, gentle person. He seemed as if he was being hen-pecked by his wife, but I liked him, because he would read to me for long periods of time without getting tired. We would lie on the bed and especially remember the stories about medieval knights. My favorite was the story of Roland, a heroic, glorious knight who fought off and army of 100,000 men. And died while blowing his horn of victory. There were other stories of King Arthur’s Court that I could not get enough of. I was grateful for the opportunity to be transported into an imaginary world because of the unsettling experiences of reality. He was the perfect patient, kind person I needed. Perhaps he also considered me like the child he never had.
Amelia was another story, although outwardly she seemed like a good person, I found her annoying. For example…she was supposed to give me lunch, which my mother had prepared before going to work when I came home from school. Once my mother made chicken soup with alphabet noodles in it. I must have been surprised and remarked “da sind buchstaben in der suppe.” She found this incredibly amusing and repeated “buchstaben in der suppe” over and over again in a taunting sort of way. Another time she gave me soup that was watery and had bones floating in it. I asked my mother why she gave me such soup and she told me that there had been big pieces of chicken in it and that the soup had been flavorful. We realized that Amelia had eaten the soup herself!
It was about that time that my mother made an application for an interview in Washington, DC to plead for my father’s entry into the US and to obtain a visa for him and Francis. She prepared herself well. She had letters of reference from friends and relatives. As well as documents and affidavits from hospitals and places that he had worked. She herself wrote a convincing and detailed letter stating that her husband had always been an upstanding citizen, did not have any debts, that he was trustworthy and would be an asset to the United States. She had also prepared herself by volunteering for the war effort and worked for the Red Cross rolling gauze bandages to make a really good impression. But when the day came for her appointment, she traveled to Washington to the Immigration Dept. where she was supposed to talk well and to persuade them to let my father into the country, all she could do was cry! Nevertheless she was successful and they gave her the visas.
While she was in Washington, I stayed with cousins, John and Stella Forster. John was a nephew of my grandmother’s, on my mother’s side; a Feingold. He was an engineer in Vienna, but in the America they founded a sewing basket business I perceived John as somewhat stern but Stella a redhead with a high girly voice was warm and friendly. I liked their apartment in Queens. It was comfortable and nicely furnished. To me it seemed very luxurious they even had a home movie projector. Their baby, Lynne just a few months old I found her incredibly interesting to play with.
We also visited other relatives, Hansi Hilkovich, her daughter Ita and son David. Ita was in her late teens, vivacious and pretty. She immediately took charge of me, brought me into her room, gave me cookies and milk and put nail polish on my nails. I liked the attention and felt very special. I must have stayed overnight because the breakfast the next morning made an incredible impression on me. Breakfast was much anticipated and fussed over. We were presented with fried eggs, bacon, ham, muffins and cheese, bread, orange juice and some other things. I saw the eggs frying in deep fat and what went through my mind was…”is this allowed?” I guess my European sensibility had just met with the American world of abundance. Indeed, they were incredibly obese, David died at an early age of obesity and Ita died of lung cancer (she also smoked) when she was in her late 50’s.
Garfield Place, Brooklyn
It was on 309 Garfield Place in Brooklyn, that my mother found an apartment in a brownstone with a stately staircase in the front. It was on one floor from the front of the building to the back. There was one bedroom in the front, a dining room, that was also a bedroom for Francis and me. with a bright airy kitchen attached to it. I believe there was a little garden in the back. I remember light and greenery out of the kitchen window. This was the first step that was the beginning of our entry into America, to build something again…the beginning of life in America
My mother had a job painting ties. hand painted ties were a fashionable very trendy style then with exotic themes such as: palm trees, birds, flamingos, tropical plants and flowers. The prefabricated silk ties came in many colors and would have lightly stenciled marks where the paints should go. The enamel-like paints were in small conical paper tubes. The pointed end would be cut so a thin stream of bright colored paint could emerge. I loved to help paint these ties and must have done a good job because I my mother let me work on them every night.
There was a beautiful library in Grand Army Plaza. A masterpiece of Art Deco or modernist style building with gold leaf figures at the entranceway. The children’s entrance, on the side became one of my ritual destinations. My mother would usually read to me at night. I often read myself but it was the connection that I craved. I would watch her as she read and picture her face upside down.
in 1944 the Normandy invasion by the Allied forced signaled the beginning of the end of the war.
It was 1944, my father and brother arrived from Cuba. It was a significant event that for the first time the family was together in a place where there was a future. The four of us were finally in America, the place where my father had always dreamed of living. Our shattered lives at long last were slowly being stitched together again albeit the drastic experiences could never be erased. Now we would search to find solid footing and stability. Many years later when my father wrote his autobiography the chapter about our reunion was included in a book called “AMERICAN JEWISH ALBUM: from 1654 to the present” by Allon Schoener. It has a picture of the family standing in front of our brownstone on Sullivan Place in Brooklyn, epitomizing the reunification of families coming out of the war torn world.
About this time President Roosevelt died, in 1945. It was devastating for everyone. My mother sat in the kitchen crying listening to the radio. Roosevelt was so intertwined with what we knew of America. He was a symbolic figure, a metaphor for what was good about America.. I myself could not imagine a world without him. I worried that we would again have to move. Looking at the stones in the front of the house I reassured myself noticing that after all the stones were still the same therefore there was still no war, no fighting, no killing and perhaps we would not have leave America.
I am an American girl…
Finally, I wanted to stay put and aspired to be an “American” girl. I wanted to just speak English no other language. I refused to speak Spanish, which so recently had rolled off my tongue naturally. But now even with my fathers pleading that I practice my Spanish, I refused. I was determined to “belong” to be an American and it was not difficult. I was able very quickly to speak English without a trace of a foreign accent and made friends quickly. Perhaps this was the way to make certain that I would stay here and not move again.
My father had to start to study for his medical license. He learned English by reading the New York Times at the same time as preparing himself medically for the State Boards of Internal Medicine. He stayed up late every night actually he never went to sleep. He taught himself English while studying the language of the New York Times studying for many months. Of course, he passed the first time. and this was another example of his abilities. It was a big deal to have overcome this hurdle, many of his contemporaries were not so lucky and had to spend a few more years before they could practice medicine.
I was going to public school PS 77 walking distance from our house. Even with all that I had been through at some level I knew I was Jewish but had never before personally felt discrimination. Amazingly, the real meaning of being “jewish” in the world had eluded me. The neighborhood where we lived and around my school was a very homogeneous… white, Catholic Anglo Saxon as was the whole section of Brooklyn around Prospect Park West at that time. We were different. One day when I was coming out of school I was suddenly surrounded by a group of my classmates. They would not let me walk. They forced me to stand against a big iron fence and not move. They pushed my pencil out of my hand and it fell on the other side of the fence in the grass. I wanted to pick it up but they would not let me. I was really scared. I did not know why they were doing this to me. I only could figure out that because I was president of the class and were jealous of me. I was unable to move and just stood immobilized. Finally, in what seemed like an eternity, they let me go. I ran home, but I was terrified at the thought of going to school the next day. I worried all night and thought that perhaps I should not go to school, but also realized that I would have to face them eventually. I decided to summon all my courage, go to school and pray that they would not attack me again. It worked, no one seemed any different and seemed to have forgotten the incident. Or so I remember. It did not occur to me until later when I realized that I had been the victim of anti-semitism! How sad that these were children who had been inculcated to hate. Ironically, this, aside from being thrown out of Austria was my only experience with anti-semitism.
For some reason, a friend of Francis’s he gave me a present; a gold necklace with a cross dangling from it. I thought it was pretty but odd and instinctively hesitated, but took it anyway. I showed it to my mother and she said that I could not wear it and had to give it back. In a larger perspective, that I did not recoil was symbolic of the non-religious perspective of the family. Even in Vienna, the family was non-religious, etheistic and considered themselves assimilated Austrians. In fact, my fathers’ sister (a very accomplished artist) had converted to Catholicism (although she was considered to be a religious fanatic and a rebel).
Francis and I expressed our hatred for Hitler by inventing the most evil and cruel fantasies we could think of to get our revenge. We invented scenarios of supreme torture. The most horrific plan entailed tying him to the ground with stakes like in Gullivers Travels. Hitler would not be able to move at all not even blink or move an eyelash. We would then release an army of large ants on him with strong pincers and jaws. The ants would at first tickle him with their bites but soon they would gnaw and bite at his flesh unrelentingly until he was eaten alive very slowly with the maximum of suffering! We tried to impose the maximum punishment and revenge and torture that we could imagine
Francis was a talented artist. He produced books. The stories he wrote were usually about animals. I remember one about a wolf family. there was usually a theme where the little wolf was seperated from him family and then reunited. He also made the books sewing together the pages with a sturdy hard cover. He also entertained me by drawing around the muscles of “Rubesahl” to make them protrude. Rubezahl was a magical mountain man who could transform himself into other beings and things. It was one of the most scary of the sxary German Childrens’ books.
Across the street was my best friend, Betty Ackerman. Her parents were of German descent. Her mother was a house cleaner and absolutely fantastic at it. She helped to clean our house and my mother always said she was “flink” (efficient and fast). Betty was blond and fragile looking and tall. Her father was an alcoholic. Sometimes when I was invited over for dinner he would sit at the table but he would be in a drunken stupor. He would be talking but his words were slurred and he was incoherent. Betty and Mrs. Ackerman ignored him. He tried to speak to me but I was bewildered and ignored him as well. It was an extremely awkward situation to say the least.
My father had a very large map up of Europe glued on the wall in the bathroom. On it with colored pins and thick thread he marked the “fronts” of the Allies and of the Germans. Every day meticulously, he kept track of the armies’ movements. We would gather in the bathroom to see who was winning or gaining territory. It was very exciting as it was toward the end of the war in 1945 when the Allies were having some victories and approaching Germany. It was interesting to have such a visual portrayal of the war.
We became very involved with the Brooklyn Ethical Culture Society not only because it provided a perfect entrée into American society but also because its precepts and beliefs coincided with the atheistic perspective and humanistic values that my parents and other family members subscribed to in Vienna. The Ethical Culture Society was founded by Felix Adler, a German who emigrated to the US. He believed that morality was independent of theology, that deeds were more important than creed and the individual had the ability to control one’s life rather than rely on a supreme being. In addition, his beliefs and teachings were the foundation of the Ethical Culture Society as well as the Fieldston School established as tuition free for working class people.
Not only was the Ethical culture society very relevant to our values and life style but at the core of our existence was the cultural milieu brought from Europe. All in all the thrust of our lives was epitomized by the culture of European cultural traditions. Not in any grandiose way, but it was natural that we be involved with and learn about opera, classical music, art. and literature. My father came from Czernowitz, in Bukowina originally part of the Austria/ Hungarian Empire but later was in Roumania where the arts, theater productions, musical concerts were on-going. Czernowitz was called “little Vienna” and boasted of its magnificent architectural gems. The city was 30% Jewish during my father’s time. From my mothers side came the love of reading and literature. She was an avid reader, she was never without a book and always read to me no matter where we were.or what our situation.
Lisa and Paul in NY and the arrival of Ginny…
Soon Lisa and Paul arrived in New York. In the book “ Franzi und Hannerl” the last pages consisted of my father’s dream of many members of the family arriving safely one by one in America. fist my grandparents adn then the many cousin’s and other family members. Unfortunately Lisa and Paul were actually the end of the line of our immediate family to arrive here. They made a life for themselves in Manhattan in a small apartment on 77th street. Paul went to work for an umbrella company selling up-scale umbrellas and Lisa worked in a factory. They lived in a 4th floor walk up. But with Lisa’s ability to cook, bake and to make a home, it was a pleasant place. Lisa was 40 years old when she became pregnant. After a difficult delivery of 48 hours in labor and which should have been a Cesarian section, Ginny was born. I was beside myself with joy. I was obsessed with a series of books called “The Bobbsey Twins” one of them was named “Flossie.” I wanted Lisa to name the baby Flossie but it was not to be. Ginny was named after my grandmother Regina. Anyway I was thrilled to have a baby to play with and even better I now had a cousin. She was my first and only cousin in the US. The others were in Australia, John and Aviva (my mother’s brother, Eric had obtained a visa for Australia during the desperate escape). His wife, Lisl is still living at this time in Sydney and is 96 years old. However as Ginny got a little older we all wondered why her lips were blueish. it soon was discovered that Ginny’s blue lips signified that her heart was not working properly and in addition, because of the difficulties of her delivery her brain had not gotten enough oxygen.
My father had to deliver the unhappy news to Lisa and Paul. Of course they were devastated. However there was hope…a doctor Blaylock in Washington D.C. was performing heart surgery on children that were so called “blue babies.” The heart defect was a “Tetralogy of Fallot” where there is an abnormal opening from one ventricle to another and the blood flow is less oxygenated, therefore shortness of breath and the blue tinge.
One summer in 1947 Lisa rented a room in the Catskills for the summer. Paul would continue to work at his job in the city and I was to stay with her. There, I was to see first hand some of the agony that Lisa was going through. I slept in a bed with her and was sometimes awakened during the night because of her walking around the room making soft gutteral sounds and murmuring to herself. She was deeply unhappy. Ginny’s ailment must have been shattering for Lisa it was too much to bear!
I was becoming aware of many things especially the tragedy of my grandparents’ demise at the hands of the Nazi’s. They had been deported to Poland from Vienna, although they had been warned of the deportation, my grandfather a proud stubborn man and eighty years old refused to accept the reality of the situation. He even slapped on of the Nazi officers because he would not be forced to say certain things, as they were applying for visas.
my grandparents killed…
Through letters we found out that they arrived in a small town in Poland where they were housed in a small room in a rooming house. The landlords were kindly people who were very much taken with my grandparents’ cultured gentility. My grandfather even during these dire times attended to their medical problems, he became their doctor. In return, these people gave them food, housing and friendship and when the notice came that all Jews had to be rounded up in the town square, they offered to keep my grandmother hidden. She was only sixty years old and possibly could be saved. My grandfather on the other hand was eighty and was showing some signs of illness. My grandmother however refused to be separated from him. That was the end of them. We heard from the landlords that during that roundup, people were forced to run behind trucks and those who could not run fell to the side of the road and were shot. However a few years ago when reparations were being distributed we had to fill out detailed documents also about my grandparents. We were helped by Catherine Lillie a cousin born in Austria who worked for New York State Holocaust office and had access to many documents. We found out that they were listed as having arrived in a concentration camp, Treblinka. It was a cruel end for people who were kind and helpful to all who knew them. All I know is that I missed them very much as a child and still do.
what might have been…
This story is just one of many…how World War II disastrously shattered lives. And we can only hopelessly wonder but never know… what might have been…