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Volume 27a

Gerta Fink

Ditti's Story: Fragments From The Past

published by the
Concordia University Chair in Canadian Jewish Studies

Copyright © Gerta Fink, 2002

 


Dedication
This story is dedicated to our grandchildren: Jennifer, Daniel, Jonathan, Sarah, Derek, and Miriam. When you were born, I thanked G-d for you and I still do! I have always loved all of you dearly, at times passionately - and I hope I have made a difference in your lives.

I hope that my story succeeds in outlining the events of my generation in Europe, and to help you to understand the struggles and fulfillments of our lives. May you always remember your past, for it will shape your future!

Acknowledgements
The author's name 'Ditti' was bestowed upon her by her grandchildren. Since this memoir was intended as a story for them it was retained in the title. I would like to thank my granddaughter, Jennifer, for her long hours of tediously typing and editing my story. We even had to communicate over the phone, since she was away at the University in Ottawa. Her perseverance and passionate encouragement and support enabled me to have this story written.

Thank you!


Abstract
This memoir consists of two elements: excerpts from a juvenile diary written in German that the author kept as a young girl, and the recollections of the author transcribed in the recent past. It opens with an account of her birth in Vienna in 1925 and her early schooling marked by overt anti-Semitism. Grandfather was one of the 'Stolen children' who were forced to serve in the Russian czar's military for decades and, in consequence, lost touch with their Jewish identity and folk customs. Author witnesses the Nazi invasion of Austria and she describes the enthusiastic response of the Austrian people welcoming Hitler. Father goes into hiding for a short time.. Author is put into the care of a teacher who takes her to a country village for safekeeping. Returns to Vienna and witnesses the widespread intensification of anti-Jewish sentiment culminating in Kristallnacht. In 1938 her aunts obtain papers for emigration to England. Describes the family's leaving for Belgium. Sad farewell from grandparents. Relates the hardship of finding accommodations for Jews and the dangers encountered in being smuggled across the Belgian border, led by paid gentile guides. Conditions they meet in the refugee quarters organized by the Jewish Agency. In 1939 they receive visas for Palestine. Describes journey to Paris and the trip to Marseilles where they board the ship 'Marietta Pasha.' Relates the experience with suspicious character. Ship arrives at Haifa and they travel to Tel Aviv. Tells of the difficulties of adjustment in new and different country. Speaks of her alienation from classmates,, in part overcome with private Hebrew lessons. Compares the formal requirements of Viennese schooling with the behavioral informalities of schooling in Tel Aviv. Acknowledges her debt to teachers who guided her literary and cultural development. Describes the war in North Africa and the fear of the Yishuv of German victory which could lead to the destruction of the Jewish community. She participates in activities of Gadna and Palmach and membership in Hashomer Hatzair. Meets her future husband. Gives detailed account of the birth of the Jewish State in 1948, the outbreak of hostilities with the assault by surrounding Arab armies. Describes conditions during the British mandate including searches by British soldiers. Concludes with story of family life: the birth of children, the death of parents, and emigration to Canada.

 

Key Words
Vienna, Austria
Grado, Italy
Kristallnacht
Aachen, Germany
Brussels, Belgium
Katzel family
Paris Marseilles
'Marietta Pasha,' name of ship
Alexandria, Egypt,
Haifa, Tel Aviv
Alisa Preminger,
friend Ruth Bialik,
friend Skalat
Poland
Father's hometown Gadna
military youth organization
Palmach, pre-state military organization
Hashomer Hatzair, left-wing Zionist youth organization
Kibbutz Sarid
Jaffa
'Altalena,' ship bringing armaments to the Irgun, fired upon by Hagana on orders from Ben Gurion

 


Table of Contents
Part I

Chapter I: Life in Vienna
Chapter II: Opapa
Chapter III
Chapter IV: March 13, 1938
Chapter V
Chapter VI: Hiding in the country side
Chapter VII: Kristallnacht
Chapter VIII: December 1938
Chapter IX: The long night
Chapter X: Brussels
Chapter XI: Our journey to our home land

Part II
Chapter I: Palestine
Chapter II: Tel-Aviv
Chapter III: School
Chapter IV
Chapter V: World War II
Chapter VI: Family
Chapter VII: A nationalist is born
Chapter VIII: A nation is born
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Epilogue

PART 1: Life in Vienna

Chapter 1

I was born on a snowy, cold winter night in Vienna, Austria, December 13th, 1925. My mother Schifra was booked to check into a private clinic to give birth but in the last minute as her labour began, she had second thoughts (as at that time people were afraid of hospitals, thinking that they were places to die and not a places to give birth) and stayed in her parents' home to deliver. Therefore, I was known as "the child who was born in Opa's bed" (Opapa im Bett) and my parents named me Gerta.

My recollections of early childhood are very spotty, I remember mainly outings with family and friends, picnics in the Vienna woods on Sundays, and the Prater amusement park. I had a happy childhood experiencing much love from parents and family. I was an only child, until the age of twelve when my sister Vera was born.

School in Vienna at that time was segregated, formal, and strict. In a class of thirty, there were a mere five Jewish girls, who were always made to feel different, at times like pariahs. The day started with morning prayers, into which my classmates joined with great devotion and gusto. Everyone sang out loud except us Jewish girls, trying hard to be inconspicuous by standing rigid and quiet. The days the Monsignor came to give lessons in Catechism, I felt particularly vulnerable, ignored and slighted. He would bless and talk to all the children, but treated us Jewish girls like thin air. At times, I tried desperately to make eye contact with him thinking "Please look at me, I'm also a student, I'm here too" but to no avail.

Chapter II: Opapa

I was a much-loved child by my parents and family. My maternal grandfather, Peter, emigrated to Vienna with his family from Russia during the Russian-Japanese war. He was a fun loving, warm and modern man, who embraced the Viennese culture. He loved movies, operettas, and enjoyed taking me to the Prater. My Opa was persuaded by communism and always sympathized with the workers; because of this attitude he used to clash with my father who was a business man and politically to the right (Allgemeine Zionisten).

My Opa Peter was a poor man and I adored him.

It is interesting to know that my Opapa comes from a family of Chatufim "stolen children." In Russia at the beginning of the 19th century the Czars always needed additional soldiers to help fight their many wars. They sent emissaries to small villages in order to recruit young boys to the army. When word came to the villages that the emissaries were coming, parents hid their young sons or bribed the officers to let them be. Sometimes they would steal children and take them far away from their families to the army from which they never returned. The state brought them up as young, tough Russian soldiers. They were brought up as Christians without any Jewish education. With time, these children forgot their Jewish roots altogether and had no identity with their people. At that time, Jewish people were not allowed to own land in Russia. However, a law was passed stating that after having served in the army for a certain period of time, they could, on their release, settle anywhere in Russia and acquire land. My great grandfather was one of these soldiers. Needless to say, Opa Peter grew up in a religious vacuum without any Jewish education or identity.

Chapter III

As a child, I suffered from bronchitis and eczema therefore my parents were advised by my doctors to take me to the sea. I went with my mother to Grado, Italy near the Austrian border where I found my paradise. The atmosphere there was very relaxed - Italians adore their "bambinis" (children) and I made lovely friends and somehow the stigma of being Jewish was totally absent. My mother Schifra met some Jewish people from Germany and Czechoslovakia who talked about the political situation in Germany and the dangerous spread of anti-Semitism. It was the years 1936 and 1937. They strongly advised my mother to start thinking about the unhealthy political situation - Hitler was in power in Germany and his speeches were openly anti-Semitic. The racial laws "Nÿremberger Gesetze" were already enforced. There was talk of emigration - but how - where - when?

On February 16th, 1938 my sister Vera was born - she was adorable and I was very excited to welcome her home. Until then, life passed easily from one season to the other. But all this was about to change.

Chapter IV: March 13th 1938

The days leading to the annexation of Austria, were turbulent. A plebiscite was scheduled to vote for the Socialists or Christian Democrats - it never occurred.

Early morning on March 13th 1938, the German army, with great show, crossed the Austrian border and they were received with flowers, Nazi songs, and Nazi salutes. Airplanes flew over Vienna with Nazi banners and the city became a sea of Swastika flags which were big and long and covered whole tall buildings. The delirium of the Austrians at the prospect of seeing their Fÿhrer, soon reached satanic frenzy. Hitler made his triumphant entry into Vienna where he had lived for so long as a nobody. I was standing on the street with my parents - stunned into silence - as a shadow of fear and apprehension engulfed us all.

When did they manage to sew all these huge Swastika flags - when did all our nice neighbours obtain their Swastika insignia? What happened?

Our world collapsed, it was the beginning of the whirlwind of hatred. Later in the day I saw my father cry for the first time.

That night the city of Vienna celebrated. The Rathaus - the magnificent Gothic building with its gigantic square was bathed in lights and was invaded by hundreds of thousands people, young and old, chanting Sieg heil (Victory). They were greeting their leader, Hitler, with refrains of Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Fÿhrer (one people, one country, one leader). They were in a drunken orgy at the idea of being a superpower. They believed that theirs is the future and Germany would be built "to last a thousand years.'

They also built crematoriums and thus the persecution of the Jewish people started. It was the beginning of the end.

In the beginning, thousands of Jews, men and women, were picked off the streets to clean public latrines and toilets. Tens of thousands more were jailed, their worldly possessions were confiscated or stolen. Half of the city, 180 000 Jews, managed to purchase their freedom to emigrate by handing over everything they owned to the Nazis. This lucrative trade in human freedom was handled by a special organization which eventually became an organization not of emigration but of extermination. It organized the slaughter of more than four million Jews; the head of this was Adolf Eichmann.

Chapter V

The next day my father was arrested. It was his luck to be sent to the police station which somehow still operated by a set of laws. "Why were you arrested?" he was asked, "No other reason than being Jewish," was his answer. After a few days, they let him go and he was advised by an older policeman "to leave the country as soon as possible."

My father did not return home. He went into hiding. Only much later did I find out about his hiding place. He owned a big warehouse filled with cotton, fibers and two huge wool sacks; the containers of these textiles were stacked one upon the other row upon row. I visited the warehouse very rarely as it was dusty from all the textiles and I suffered already then from many allergies. My father was hiding amongst those bales of cotton and wool without heating, without a cot, without facilities and without food. Late at night my mother would walk over and bring him some hot soup, tea and a blanket. There was great danger of being followed by the Gestapo or attacked by hoodlums. Somehow luck was with her.

One night we had the Gestapo in our home. I was doing my homework, reading the English book "The Little Prince." One policeman and two Gestapo entered our apartment, one of them shouted, "Where is the Jew Friedmann? We are looking for him. Where is he hiding and where do you keep your money?" They searched everywhere, drawers, cupboards, mattresses, and my own school bag and finally approached the windows and pulled down the curtains. In one of the curtains there was some money sewn into the hem. The three men turned to the door with a very menacing "We will be back and he better be here or we will arrest you and your two brats!" Meaning myself and my sister Vera who was but a few months old.

For the first few weeks after the annexation the behaviour of the Austrian Nazis was worse than anything seen in Germany. There was an orgy of sadism. Day after day large numbers of Jewish men and women could be seen scrubbing signs on the sidewalk and cleaning gutters. While they worked on their hands and knees, jeering storm troopers were standing over them. Crowds gathered to taunt them. Hundreds of Jews, men and women were picked off the streets and arrested.

Chapter VI: Hiding in the country

After the visit from the Gestapo, my mother decided it was time for me to go into hiding. I was sent to the home of a young teacher who agreed, for payments, to take care of me. During the summer of 1938 my teacher, who was a lovely woman, took me to a farm deep in the country. I was introduced as her niece from Vienna whose parents wanted her to experience some healthy, clean, country life.

Life was easy, people were kind and I kept to myself, always in the company of my teacher and her boyfriend. Sundays posed a big problem as all the people from the farm put on their Sunday best and drove with a wagon and horses into the village to go to church. I was not happy about it but went along joining in the singing and laughing along the way.

Before entering the church, my kind friend took me aside telling me that custom dictates that we kneel and cross one's self before the altar. I remember getting very upset and refusing to do any of this. It was explained to me that if I refused to do so I would not only endanger myself but also her and her boyfriend. She further explained to me that people on the farm and in the village had started to be suspicious, asking pointed, hostile questions. They felt that I simply did not fit in.

We agreed that on entering the church, I would stay in the back and make the sign of the cross for all to see but I would not kneel.

From my bible studies, I had learned that the Jewish people are a proud people who would not kneel in front of anyone. It had made a great impression on me. It was then, at the age of twelve, when I decided not to yield to racist pressures and to identify with my Jewishness.

As far as our safety was concerned, it was not a good decision. After a few more Sundays when the eyes of the congregation were watching me, we simply had to leave.

Late summer of 1938

Back in Vienna, there was a drastic change in the air. The mood of expectations for greater things to happen and the build up of open hatred and hostility against the Jews was palpable. New were the signs on park benches which read, "Not for Jews" or "For Aryans only." The signs outside stores and restaurants read "Jews are pigs" and "Do not buy from Jews." New were the articles and pictures in the newspapers of the sudden dirty, bloodthirsty Jew who defiles the young, innocent blond German maiden.

Emotions were being whipped up in preparation for the satanic Final Solution.

Chapter VII: Kristallnacht

November 11th, 1938. Life became unbearable in the city. My father's business was confiscated, our furniture taken away and we lived in constant fear of being arrested. By now I went to a Jewish school since we were not allowed anywhere else. Jewish teachers were forbidden to teach, doctors to heal, lawyers to argue their cases - Jews were not allowed to be employed anywhere. Money was becoming scarce. German business and bankers poured into Austria to buy up the disposed businesses from the Jews.

On November 11th, my mother brought me to school. We really did not do much work in class. We just read a little and listened to our teachers telling us stories. Soon we all felt a strange mood settling on our teachers. They spoke in whispers, left the room, and finally returned accompanied by the principal. He looked at us with a sad expression on his face and told us about the strange events which were happening at that moment in the city. After this we became very still. The principal urged us to return home immediately without stopping on our way no matter what we may encounter. He also gave out money for the streetcar to those who did not have any. We all left without saying goodbye, scared and apprehensive to venture out alone on the street. We were never to meet again.

Around the school everything was quiet. I took the streetcar and encountered no problems; people were silent and ignored me. Shortly after, I noticed a large gathering of people at the street corners, talking loud and gesturing with great excitement. I came to my stop and got off the streetcar. As I turned the corner, I heard loud shouting, screaming, crying and weeping and the noises of shattering glass. Soon I saw a great mob of people encircling our synagogue, Gluchitempel. Curiosity overcame me and I ignored the stern warning of our principal, "On no account are you to stop no matter what you may encounter!" I was young, only twelve years old, so I approached the screaming crowd, but could not see over their shoulders. Suddenly I felt a pair of arms taking hold of me, pulling me through the crowd and a woman saying with a gay voice to the people, "Let this little girl through, she also should see what is going on." "Here, have look little girl,' she said to me, 'those Jews were asking for it. "

Here were old men and women on their knees, in dirty water, scraping and cleaning the sidewalks with their bare hands. They were crying quietly, paralysed with fear. A group of Nazi officials and others kicked them with their boots and taunted them brutally. NO ONE, NOT ONE in the crowd did speak up to protest these cruel acts of savagery. NO ONE, NOT ONE tried to help. A few walked quietly away.

Suddenly there was fire coming out from the broken windows of the rich, beautiful Gothic synagogue. At this point I became very frightened, turned around and ran home. I left unnoticed and was not bothered by anyone. I was fearful of being recognized as being Jewish.

After the horrible night of the Broken Glass,staying in Vienna was beginning to get very dangerous and scary. The next day the sidewalks of the city were covered with broken glass. Every synagogue in the country and in Germany was burned and plundered as well as every Jewish store, restaurant, place of business and home. The whole city and country smelled of smoke.

I did not leave the house anymore. My father went out to meet with people who could be helpful in obtaining visas to emigrate. But, no country wanted us.

Chapter VIII: December 1938

My opa became ill with cancer and had to be hospitalized for a while. My two aunts, aunt Mia and aunt Lisl managed to emigrate to England where they stayed for the duration of the war. Aunt Mia, my mother's sister, was a very enterprising gutsy businesswoman. She found out that there was a great demand for domestic help in England. She applied promptly as a cook since their salary was the highest. The trouble was that Mia had never cooked in her life before. Very unexpectedly her application was accepted promptly since it had the most impressive references, which she herself wrote. Mia also landed a position as a parlour maid for her sister Lisl in the same household. Because of her willpower to survive and her drive to get out of Vienna, no matter what it took - she saved both their lives.

My father knew time was running out; any additional day spent in Vienna endangered the whole family. The line-up at the various consulates grew from hour to hour. It was senseless to expect any help from there. No country, no country in the world, wanted to take in the Jews! Canada had already a policy which it kept throughout the war and after - none are too many! America had a policy of isolation, people did not want to get involved in any other country's problems and saw in every immigrant a potential rival for jobs. The Jew, particularly the Eastern European Jew, was a persona non grata. In this environment of high tension and fear where fragile hope was soon crushed, my father realized that he could not depend on anyone's help. There is a saying from the sages "If I am not for myself, who will be for me; and if not now, when?"

Chapter IX: The Long Night

On a dark December night, we took a taxi to the train station Nord. Our opa and oma accompanied us only half way in order not to arouse suspicion amongst our neighbours. I recall distinctly my opa's words "Don't worry about us, we are old people and poor, nobody is going to bother with us. You will send for us when you are settled in the new country." We believed it and planned to send for them as soon as we were safe. My father arranged for my opa to receive money every few months from a trusted gentile friend. He was a good person and stood by my grandparents as long as it was humanly possible - in this inhuman world. The two little old figures left the taxi and waved goodbye. Looking at their disappearing shadows in the darkness of the night, a terrible premonition took hold of me.

(Excerpt from a diary written in Belgium in January 1939 and translated from the German)

You will never ever see them again. I heard it in the sound of the traffic, the honking of the cars and the ringing bells of the streetcars. I saw it written on the coloured advertisements blinking on the top of stores and tall buildings. I felt it tingling in my hands and the voice became louder and louder - you will never see them again. Full with anger, hate and pain, I took my handkerchief and bit it into pieces. I was warned not to show emotion as it may give us away as Jews running for their lives.

Aachen

The train ride to Aachen, which is a beautiful, old city in Germany near the Belgian border, was uneventful. As we drew nearer to the border, we noticed more and more soldiers and army barracks. Some boarded the train but did not bother with us. As we arrived in Aachen, we took a taxi to get us to a hotel which was recommended. Alas, on our way we noticed signs on every hotel and restaurant, Fÿr Juden verboten(Jews not allowed) Our taxi driver, who was very courteous, noticed our dilemma and suggested the only Jewish hotel in town where we could try and find a room. My father rejected the advice. The idea of being herded together in a small place with the fellow Jewish refugees made him shiver. He felt more secure in walking alone, being less visible. We stopped in front of an inn, a small hotel and he went to the bar where he ordered a drink. He talked to the bar man and asked to see the owner who came within a few minutes. Under pretence, my father walked him outside. He talked to him and admitted to the fact that we were Jewish and desperately needed refuge for a short time. He informed the owner that we were a family of two children, one of them a baby, and offered to pay him any amount for his help. This was a desperate move for my father, taking a serious gamble in trusting a stranger. Luck was with us, someone was watching over us from above. The innkeeper and his wife were very decent Germans. They made us enter through the back, gave us a lovely, clean room with instructions not to come down to the restaurant and not to flush the toilet at night and to keep as quiet as possible. The innkeeper's wife was kind and brought us our food. Her husband charged us the regular hotel rates. These people knew exactly the reason we were in Aachen and took a great risk in protecting us. The next morning, we heard the devastating news. The Jewish hotel had been raided during the night and all its occupants were arrested, put on a train and shipped to concentration camps. My parents and I shivered at the thought of what could have been. 'Here but for the grace of God go I.'

After three days, we left the hotel which gave us refuge, said goodbye and met our taxi at an arranged point. The driver was a kind man who gave us instructions regarding our fictitious name and the story we should tell in case we should be stopped. We were supposed to visit relatives who lived in the border town near Belgium. We left the city and drove for a while in the darkness. Suddenly a red signal appeared and barricades closed the road. We were stopped by the German border police. My heart skipped a beat as a young soldier with a gun approached our car. He shone the flashlight into our eyes, looked at me as I was sitting up front and asked, 'Where are you all going in the middle of the night?" We answered as prompted, 'From Monstein to Aachen." With a sarcastic smile, he continued, 'Oh well, it seems to me you're trying to go over the border." The driver talked quietly to him, the soldier laughed and saluted 'Heil Hitler' and let us go. The barricades opened and we were on our way. Another miracle had occurred. We drove in the direction of Aachen but turned quickly towards the Belgian border. Soon the car stopped again and we were told to leave and cross over a small brook filled with water. I stumbled and fell in. My heart was in my throat as I felt a pair of strong arms lifting me to the other side. It was one of our guides. Ahead of us was the most dangerous part of our journey. We had to walk in the darkness through dense, cold forest and water-filled brooks, tortured by the thought of being caught by the border police.

Once we had to walk on the road with the moon lighting our way. This was the most treacherous part as we were totally exposed and could be seen from miles away. As we walked two guides were always ahead of us in order to search the terrain and the third was behind us watching our backs. After three hours of strenuous hiking came the message from the front, "People approaching, go into hiding!" With one of our guides who always stayed with us, we threw ourselves on the wet ground and tried to be camouflaged by the big leaves. For my parents this was a great ordeal. The moment was most terrifying. I shivered from cold and fear and was overcome with terror and sadness. Luck was with us once again. It turned out that the people patrolling the road were also farmers who smuggled other Jews across the border. We continued our walk, the road got steeper, the wind harsher, water was everywhere and the mood got darker. Finally we arrived at a big farmer's house where we had hot coffee, bread, cheese, and warm boots waiting for us. We stayed over night in order to continue our odyssey the next morning. We had to leave my baby sister with the farmer's wife for fear that she might cry and give us all away. I was too young to comprehend the danger of it all and the tragic outcome, should anything go wrong; neither could I understand the anguish of my mother's plea to the peasant woman to look after her baby should we be caught at the border. Then it was time for us to commence our journey into the forest at night. Soon after, in the distance we noticed a patrol of German soldiers on motorcycles. Luckily we had enough time to duck and hide.

(January 1939: translated from diary)

The next night in the forest, it was getting colder and darker and the going was very tough. Our fear of getting caught was palpable and invaded every fibre of our bodies. Every tree turned into an envisioned enemy and the rustling of dried leaves sounded like footsteps. My parents had a hard time keeping up and I thought about my grandparents back in Vienna who would never have made it. There was a full moon that night and as soon as we came out of the dense forest a light shone bright on the path ahead of us. The light of the moon enlarged the shadows around us until they resembled monsters and the bushes and shrubs turned into giants.

The night was still, interrupted only by the chirping of some birds and the calling of frogs. Suddenly the sound of cars approached us. Our guide motioned us to fall down and roll over into the bushes. My adrenaline was rushing in my body and I started to tremble. The frightening thought crossed my mind, "Is that it - will it all end here in the forest?" As the sound approached us it became louder and we could make out in the distance the silhouette of cars and big army trucks. A few motorcycles with army personnel accompanied the company of cars. We could hear some of the soldiers talking to each other as they slowly passed us. We were only a few feet away from disaster. Here again - fate was good to us. Was it luck, or God, or the prayers of our grandparents?

My parents were shaken to the core and had difficulties continuing the journey. But they persevered knowing the stakes were high. If all goes well we should meet up with my baby sister, Vera, on our next stop. After some more arduous climbing, our guide whispered to us, "Look over there, a farm house, it will be your home for the night." My parents and I had little strength left but we managed to climb up the hill and to our delight the peasant woman came toward us holding Vera in her arms. Somehow we made it into the house, where my mother collapsed sobbing, embracing the peasant woman who took care of her baby, and holding onto both of them.

After the difficult ordeal of escaping through the woods we finally reached Belgian soil where we were able to pick up my baby sister. It was a very emotional reunion. We then pursued our journey to Brussels and found refuge at the home of relatives who welcomed us into their homes and cared for us.

There was great joy in having our family reunited again. As for myself, being young, I really did not understand the tragic outcome and the horrors to follow had anything gone wrong. Only much later, with maturity, did I grasp it all. Well, we had crossed the border and we were on Belgian soil. Alas, we were soon to learn that illegals caught on the stretch between the border and Brussels would be sent back and handed over to the German border police. We still had to make it to Brussels in order to feel safe.

 

Chapter X: Brussels

The next morning, a taxi picked us up and after many detours deposited us at a hotel in Brussels which was supported by the Jewish Agency. As I looked out of the car I noticed strange sights. In front of every entrance to the buildings, half clad women were standing or walking up and down the street. The streets looked dirty and poor and there was an air of decay about the whole place. This was the end of the road. My father exchanged dollar bills which were torn in half, and handed them over to our taxi guide. The first guide on our escape kept one half of the torn bunch of bills and my father the other. It was agreed that full payment would be made once we were safe.

Many unfortunate Jews were handed over to the Germans by their guides after having paid the full amount of money to be smuggled across the border. Some were simply left abandoned in the woods. My father was very careful and worked out this peculiar way of payment. All our guides were farmers living in border towns who knew the terrain very well. They were decent, helpful people, who simply took the opportunity to smuggle distraught Jews over the border while making money for themselves. At the same time my father also paid them to bring across his brother and his two teenage sons.

The taxi left and we approached the building with the knowledge that it housed a great number of Jewish refugees. On entering the building we were met by a number of people who were known to my parents in Vienna as well as some of my own friends. There was a lot of hugging and crying and all wanted to tell their story at the same time. The place was filled to capacity, wet laundry hanging inside the rooms, babies crawling on the floor, and the smell of cooking was everywhere. We were assured that they were happy to make room for us.

In those horrid days, rules and laws changed in every country from day to day, from hour to hour, pertaining to the problem of illegal immigration. The new law in Belgium of that day stated, "Every illegal caught within two months of entering Belgium would be returned to the country of their origin." After that period of time they were allowed to register with the police and receive a transit permit for a short time. Since everybody had to register with the police on checking into any hotel, illegals could not simply use this facility. Therefore they looked for alternatives and found them, of all places, in the red light district. The bordellos (the houses of prostitutes) had a quiet understanding with the police not to register their guests. When the refugees arrived, the owners of the bordellos took them in without asking for papers or passports. The police closed their eyes and did not bother with them.

My parents refused to stay there and had a different plan. I for one was very disappointed, as I wanted to remain with my friends and together explore the strange looking hotel where men and half clad women went up and down the stairs to the rooms.

On leaving Vienna my opa handed my mother names and addresses of distant relatives who had settled from Russia many years ago. My mother decided to call them and ask their advice about what to do. We were invited to come over immediately. We washed up as well as we could, said goodbye to our friends and took a taxi and left to meet our new family by the name of Katzel. They lived in a very nice district on Rue de Waterloo and greeted us very warmly. The Katzels were an elderly couple who lived in a big apartment and had a large, beautiful family of children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews whom I learned to love. The old couple invited us to stay with them until a solution could be found.

One evening soon after, the entire family came over to meet us. They were lovely, showing us great empathy and warm feelings. At that time I was to meet a young boy of sixteen whose task became to show me around Brussels, take me to movies and just be kind to me. He was handsome with impeccable manners and very polite and I think I had a little crush on him. There was no law which compelled a guest visiting his family at their apartment to register with the police. Because of that, we remained at the apartment on Rue de Waterloo which became our "home away from home."

I remember so well the many Friday night dinners as joyful and at the same time, very painful. People around the large table were effervescent, full of life and good humour. The language spoken was French, which I did not understand at all. I also painfully missed my own family and felt disconnected from my country.

School

After a short while, we received papers which allowed us to stay in Belgium for a period of three months. I was registered immediately in a very fine girls' school not far from where we lived. The principal and teachers were very kind and understanding of my immigrant status and the fact that I did not speak their language. Some of them spoke a broken German, as they also knew Flemish, which is a close cousin to the German language. Belgium had and still has two official languages, the French part, Brussels, where only French is spoken and the Flemish part, Antwerp, where Flemish is spoken. One of the teachers took my hand, escorted me to the classroom and introduced me to the twenty girls. Everybody stood up and greeted me with a friendly "Bonjour". We eyed each other curiously but could not communicate. I yearned to belong to this polite, nice group of young girls!

(January 21, 1939: from diary)

After my father left me at school, I felt totally lost and lonely. I was alone amongst strangers who did not speak my language, did not belong to my country and did not share my family and friends. Today Hitler spoke on the radio, threatening and cursing the Jews. My parents and the Katzels discussed his speech for days. My mother started to have forewarnings about the situation in Europe but the Katzels believed in the strength of France, the Maginot Line, and Belgium. My father was talking about remaining in Brussels as he had already started making contacts in his line of business, scrap textiles.

(January 31, 1939: from diary)

At school I feel like a little abandoned bird amongst a group of happy birds. They all sing the same language, carry the same tune, have similar nests and eat the same food. I among these strange birds speak a language all of my own and they do not know my background and my family and friends. They also do not know my country, my Vienna, which was home to me. But not any more. I have no country, my homeland discarded me, spit me out, cursed me.

(A story from the diary: a reflection of my feelings at that time)

A man all dressed in black enters a large forest of beautiful trees and starts to pull out the roots. But, he only pulls out half of the roots so as to cause greater pain. The trees are my cruelly persecuted race; the pain is unbearably cruel mixed with both love and hatred for my country. The man dressed in black is Mephistopheles' Hitler, who keeps on pulling out the roots - but one of these days he will be killed by those fallen trees.

In those horrible days life went by very fast. Our youth was shattered, our innocence, cruelly snatched away, I had to grow up very fast.

(February 2, 1939: from diary)

Family Katzel, Willy and his wife invited us to a tea room situated in a big department store. An orchestra dressed as in the time of Marie Antoinette played lovely entertainment music. Again I felt very lonely and the feeling "I do not belong here " would not leave me.

(February 9th, 1939; from diary)

This afternoon, one of my school teachers invited me to a concert of the Viennese boys' choir, "Wiener Sÿngerknaben." They were all dressed in "old Vienna uniforms" and changed later into their own dark pants and sailor blouses. These are all young boys from the age of 5 to 12 or puberty, when their voices coarsen and the timber of the "sound of angels" is lost. These boys are the beloved ambassadors of Vienna - sent into the wide world where they are received with great applause and admiration. When they sang the "Blue Danube" and danced to it, memories of my homeland and family life seemed like a dream. I wanted to stand up and scream, "Look at me; I am from the same city as your beloved Viennese boys' choir! Have you no feelings for a discarded young person with no homeland?"

(February 13, 1939; from diary)

Tonight we went to a Schubert chamber concert with Margot and her brother. It was very beautiful and we were ever so grateful to the members of the family for looking after us with such kindness and civility.

Today papa took the train to Antwerp in the hope to be able to get boat tickets to Palestine. The best route would be via Marseilles.

(February 14, 1939; from diary)

Thank God papa received our visa certificate to Palestine; we were all afraid that the visa got lost in the shuffle of bureaucracy. He also managed to purchase four crossings with the "Marietta Pasha." We received a letter from auntie Lisl and Mia from London and a telegram from Willy who lived in Ostende. What a lovely man! We also received a letter from opa; he was in the hospital again, after his surgery for cancer of the tongue. Mother is besides herself. Letters and telegrams from my aunts were being sent back and forth. My heart goes out to opa and oma, all alone in a beautiful city - turned cruel.

(February 16, 1939; from diary)

Visited Doctor Galle, had bronchitis and 39 ¼ fever. Mother gave me vinegar compresses to bring down the fever.

My sister Vera's first birthday - unfortunately we cannot celebrate her birthday as we are immigrants in a strange country. Hopefully all this will change by next year - when we will have a home in Palestine and shall no longer be mere immigrants. Vera got little gifts and a gold chain with a Magen-David from family Serebreiny and others.

 

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