April 1937. By now we had all our papers, visas and
passports to emigrate to the USA. We were impatiently
waiting for May 3, when we would leave Karlsruhe. Every day
our home was filled with treasured friends coming to wish us
well. Somehow, for each member of our family, memories
washed over us. My brothers and I were born in this city; we
had a history here.
I was five years old when I started in the Religionschule. I
remembered standing next to Rabbi Isaak Rabinowitz who,
seated on a raised dais, taught me alef-beis and the morning
brochos. After we knew this, we sat on benches. Every
Lag B'Omer the whole school would go for a whole day
excursion in the Black Forest, or up the Turmberg. This was
always one of the most joyous occasions of the year. On Tu
Bishvat, Rabbi Rabinowitz would come to class bearing a
beautiful large platter of domestic and exotic fruits, both
dried and fresh. How happily and enthusiastically we would
say the shehechiyonu and the blessing for fruit!
It was the custom for all the girl students as well as the
students of the cheder, to write a Hebrew letter of
gratitude and good wishes to our parents to be put under the
challa deckel on the first evening of Rosh Hashona.
How we labored to make this letter meaningful and decorative
and how the rabbi helped us! Then came the long awaited
moment when Papa lifted the challa cover and,
pretending to look surprised, asked Mutti, "Letters? When
did these letters come? Was the postman here?" As he read my
letter aloud to Mutti, both their faces were suffused with
pleasure. "What a perfectly delightful letter, Anni," they
would exclaim. Papa would then read Shloime's and
congratulate him on the phrasing and perfection of his
greeting. Osher's letter was admired next. This yearly
occasion was made memorable by our parents' delight and
appreciation.
From the sixth grade on, Rabbi Dr. Abraham Michalski was our
inspiring teacher. Now in addition to translating Tanach
into German from original sources, we learned about the
avoda in the Beis Hamikdosh, how to translate our
most important prayers and who had composed them. We also
learned kitzur Shulchon Oruch, which was difficult
because of the lack of punctuation. Rabbi Michalski left a
lasting impression on the moral and spiritual life of his
students. For all the years after, whenever a temptation
came my way, in my mind's eye I suddenly saw Rabbi Michalski
and this was enough for me to refrain from buying the dress
that looked very beautiful on me but lacked modesty, or from
befriending a person whose standards differed from mine and
who might have a detrimental effect on me. We learned from
his attitude and if after a recitation he said, "Sehr
gut," I felt proud and enriched.
My parents went to see him before we left and my brothers
and I went separately for his brocha. All of the
family also went to say good-by to Rabbi Rabinowitz, who was
able to move to Switzerland where his married daughters
lived, in time; thus he and his Rebbetzin were saved. Rabbi
Dr. Michalski was arrested after Kristallnacht and sent to
KZ Dachau. He was there for five weeks. German Jews paid one
million Goldmark for his release and the U.S. State
Department was persuaded to ask for his emigration to the
U.S. but the Rabbi opted only for Eretz Yisroel. He left for
Holland in 1938 where he awaited there for his Rebbetzin; in
1939 they were able to reach Eretz Yisroel.
We left following the Shabbos of Parshas Emor. I remember a
man who was given an aliya pledging a "Hundert
Mark fur Mizrayim." I glanced down from the women's
gallery but the gabbai kept a straight face. Without
even a patronizing smile, he announced in his usual formal
tone, "One hundred Mark donated for Eretz Yisroel." How I
admired his self restraint.
*
The day before we left, a man from the Gestapo came to
supervise our packing, to make sure that nothing of value --
money or jewelry -- was included. To our surprise, he walked
across the room and stepped out to the balcony, where he
stood with his back to us, staring down at the garden.
"Mendel," whispered Mutti, "he is an older man. He hails
back to those times when decent people had no reason to fear
the police. Let's take something of value, after all."
"No," replied Papa. "It may be a trap." There was a death
penalty for people caught taking along any of their
valuables.
When all was finally packed, he came in, and without as much
as a glance at what we had put in, sealed the suitcases, as
the law required. By this time, we were drained, emotionally
and physically, from the work. Two of Mutti's friends came
in and brought us supper and told us that their husbands
would help us take our baggage to the train in the
morning.
When we got to the station the next day, there was a crowd
of friends and even some of our teachers to see us off. We
took the train to Paris where we stayed for two days and on
the morning of May fifth, took the train to Le Havre to
board the Ile de France.
*
The Ile de France was an impressive top-of-the-line ship. We
were shown to our small two bedroom suite and a steward came
to unpack the menfolk's suitcases and to take away the
creased items to be pressed. A stewardess helped Mutti and
me unpack and ran a bath for us.
"I'm going to the mashgiach," Papa announced, and
took Shloime with him. They returned an hour later, very
pleased. "He is a fine man," Papa said. "He showed us the
shul, the kosher kitchen and the kosher dining room. He is
always there when the meat is delivered to the ship." At
lunch, the rest of our family met the tall, blond bearded
mashgiach who wore the navy blue, gold-braided
uniform of a ship's officer, which he was, and to our
delight, on his upper sleeve as well as on his cap there
gleamed a gold Mogen David. To see this proudly displayed on
a man of authority after the hell of Germany was a balm to
our hearts. We looked at the lunch menu and the very first
item was "potage d'Esau" -- lentil soup.
Two days later, Papa had yahrzeit for his father. He
could only round up nine men, but at the last moment, a
tenth man showed up.
The next morning, Osher was nowhere to be found and a search
was announced. A steward came to tell Mutti and me to come
up to the ship's starboard, where they had finally located
him, but warned us not to call him or talk loud. We ran up
to the deck and there he was, perched on the foremost point
of the ship, overlooking the water below. Osher had walked
along the narrow railing till the very edge.
Papa stood with the captain and the mashgiach. The
captain motioned to one of the sailors to take off his shoes
and creep up silently from behind until he could grab Osher.
When Osher was finally safe on deck, Mutti embraced him.
Papa's embarrassment was obvious as he thanked the captain,
the rescuing sailor and all the assembled crew. Then he
turned to Osher angrily and it looked like he was going to
smack him, which would have been against the Yekke tradition
of upholding the honor of a child. By this code, no child
was ever branded `bad' when he misbehaved, only "schwer
lenkbar," difficult to guide. In Osher's case, this was
often a major understatement...
*
We landed in New York on May 11, 1937 and were greeted by
Papa's two sisters and Mutti's brother, my uncle Moishe, and
her three sisters.
We lived in Newark for the next few months, in the large
apartment of Mutti's sister, Aunt Devora. Her children were
all married so that there was room for us all. To our
dismay, however, we discovered that Shabbos was the main
business day, for them and many other Jews, as well. We
subsisted on Papa's temporary weekday jobs [that usually
lasted until Friday] and factory work that Mutti was able to
take home, both poorly paid.
Eventually, Papa found work in Jersey City, in the shipping
department of the Manischewitz Matza Company. The factory
and the office both closed every Friday afternoon at 2
o'clock, winter and summer, and for all Jewish holidays.
Mutti worked at home, fourteen hours a day, covering buckles
for expensive leather belts. I attended high school and
found part time work in a furniture store after school.
Shloime and Osher were enrolled in Yeshiva Tiferes
Yerusholayim on the East Side. They stayed there during the
week and came home for Shabbos.
Their initiation into an American yeshiva was very
frustrating. They came home the first week complaining, "The
Rebbe keeps on asking us, `Und wus is der shteiger?'
What in the world does this have to do with the gemora?" In
German, a shteiger is a ladder to the chicken coop.
In Yiddish, it means, "What is the accepted norm?"
After this misunderstanding was cleared up, the two boys
were able to proceed with their Jewish education and peace
reigned between the rebbes and my brothers.
