We Say Goodbye

April 1936

Our final weeks in Berlin were full of a litany of heartbreaking farewells. I cannot count the number of times I have said goodbye. I lament them all.

The last days in Wilmersdorf flew by. My parents attended to tasks written on lists, crossing them off as they went. Our house was busy, Paps scurrying here, Mutsch toiling there, oftentimes bumping into each other while arranging trunks and boxes destined for family and friends.

Gerta was coming and going running errands. She returned from one mission with the rail tickets we would need: one ticket to Paris for Paps and then another to Calais where he would board a ship to London; transit for Mutsch to Switzerland where she would transfer to Merano, Italy; and, one for me to Amsterdam.

I stayed busy cleaning up everywhere. I remember folding most of my father’s formal wear and dress garments with care so as not to wrinkle them. Herr Bayern would come by soon to pick them up.

I packed a rucksack that was to be my only luggage for the trip. I received it from Gerta. It had been her father’s, left behind after a furlough he had enjoyed at home during the last weeks of the Great War. Shortly after his return to combat he was killed.

“Carry this and know I’m with you every step of the way,” she said with tears in her eyes. “Perhaps I will visit someday.”

Several of my friends already had emigrated with their families. I didn’t know where they had gone until after my arrival in Japan. Their leaving had broken my heart. Spread across the globe, they were quite literally worlds away. Most of Paps’ and Mutsch’s friends, too, were planning their escape. For some, their departures didn’t come quickly enough.

And so my father was to leave for the London office of his company at the same time Mutsch would go to the hospital in Merano and I would be off to Amsterdam.

Paps explained that he needed to move his assets out of Germany. Dozens of pieces of jewellery, candelabra, silver tea sets and cutlery, religious items, Meissen porcelains, crystal vases, diamond rings, broaches, earrings, and pins were shipped to the London office of the J. Gerber Company. They would be inventoried then sold, converted into British pounds. Some of the money would be used to buy life insurance policies for him and Mutsch, some would be kept for travelling and most would be transferred to the Kobe office so it would be there waiting for us. Paps needed to be present to oversee this meticulous work.

Omi and Opa decided to remain in Berlin. In her youth, Omi had fled from the pogroms in Russia. When I begged them to come with us Omi said they were too old and too frail this time to start anew.

Paps’ oldest sibling, Aunt Jenny, had married a Christian. He was the president of the Hamburg Import and Export Bank. When confronted by the Nazis he was given the choice of losing his position or his wife so he went underground with her. First hidden by French and Belgian partisans they would be on the run for many years, afraid for their lives.

Uncle Hans and his wife Lotte escaped to Argentina, lived there for six years and then returned to Berlin. Lotte was born a Christian and converted to Judaism when she and Hans married. Some of Lotte’s family survived the relentless Allied bombing of Berlin and were still living there.

We would see Uncle Sieke in Warsaw in a few weeks at a last family reunion with Mutsch’s sister and her family. Then we would continue across Poland, our final destination as far away as we dared imagine. Even though we cried our wishes for speedy and safe travels and sobbed the belief we’d meet again, tacitly we knew there was little hope of either happening.

And the worst of the parting was yet to come.

Literally and figuratively, we drew the curtains on Friday, the seventeenth day of April, 1936.

I awoke that morning to a commotion. I jumped out of bed for the second time, the first being several hours before when my nightmare had awoken me again. This time I rose out of curiosity and not out of paralyzing horror. I dressed and found Herr Bayern and two men in our home. They were in the last stages of taking trunks and boxes outside and loading them onto a wagon.

“Well,” he said, “there she is! It’s been a long time, Fraülein Rothschild. Or is it Fraülein Völker?” He laughed, extending his hand. I didn’t take it, deciding instead to hug him about his midsection. He patted my head.

Father said, “Herr Bayern will take some of our things and keep them safe. His friend,” he pointed to one of the other men, “is Herr Ackerman. You remember his son Dieter from school.” Of course I remembered Dieter.

Now acknowledging Herr Ackerman, Paps said, “He also has helped us. When we had the trouble with the police it was Herr Ackerman, the clerk at the station, who alerted Herr Bayern of the investigation. If it wasn’t for him then we’d have . . .” He did not finish his thought but I knew what he was going to say.

Is it more sorrowful to leave without words than to do so with them? Mutsch and Paps embraced Herr Bayern, each of them kissing his cheeks. “Your home will be here, Herr Rothschild, waiting for your return,” he said. Then he, Herr Ackerman, and the other man left. As I looked at Mutsch and Paps I saw a weighty silence between them.

When Gerta came by we went to my room to evaluate what I’d packed in the rucksack. “Mutsch told me to include underclothes,” I said as I dumped the rucksack’s contents onto my bed, “socks, blouses, and as many trousers and sweaters as I could fit. There’s room only for one dress. I’ll wear my sturdiest shoes.”

“And the pencils, the writing paper, and the envelopes?” she wondered.

“I’ll write to you, my family, and friends.”

Gerta sorted through the items. “And what’s this?” she asked, holding up a pouch Mutsch had made. It had a lanyard attached to it so I could wear it around my neck.

“Look inside,” I said.

Gerta opened the pull strings and took out my identification document. “It makes me sad that you again must deny your name. But you’ll need to be Erna Völker at least until you leave Germany. Good, your rail ticket is here, too.”

After sifting through the garments one more time Gerta said, “Well done.” Her eyes were puffy. “We must refold everything neatly now.”

As we repacked the rucksack she said, “I want to thank you again for the clothing you won’t be taking with you. Your mother has been so kind in that regard too. I’ve been lucky enough to find another family to work for as a housekeeper. It’s a German family of means with three daughters, the oldest not quite ten, so if any of your things don’t fit them now they soon will. They will delight in them.”

“Is the man of the house kind?” I asked.

“Yes,” Gerta said. “But of course he’s not as nice as your father. Nor is their family as pleasant as yours. There’ll never be a family for me such as yours.” We hugged each other. “And thank you again for all your wonderful toys,” she said. “I gave most to my brothers and some to the girls I care for now. I constantly badger them to stop their playing and attend to their chores.” She laughed.

Just then Hansi let out a barrage of chirps. “Oh my,” I said, tears welling up, “what’ll become of you?”

“I’ll take him home, if you’ll allow it,” Gerta said. “That way, when he sings, I’ll think of you.”

Finally, Paps, Mutsch, and I were at the door as Gerta came from my room carrying a book and Hansi in his cage. We all were overcome.

“Your father didn’t allow you to bring the hundreds of volumes from the library,” Gerta said, her humour easing the dread of what we knew was coming. “But, he’ll allow you to bring this one. Take it and whenever you read from it remember the many times I’ve read it to you.” It was our old frayed copy of Children’s and Household Tales. I can still hear her now, reading aloud in the snug recesses of our library all those years ago.

Our last embrace came on the front steps where Paps and Mutsch had placed their suitcases. I had my rucksack on my back. Paps closed our door, locked it, and handed the key to Gerta. She said, “I’ll see to it that Herr Bayern receives this later this afternoon.”

The four of us linked arms, swaying back and forth. We poured out words of love, appreciation, and gratitude—dozens of memories were whispered through our tears.

Gerta gathered herself. “I pray to St. Boniface your voyage will be safe. I pray you’ll return soon. I’ll pray for each of you every day of my life.”

Gerta kissed my forehead, picked up Hansi’s cage, and walked away. We stood there watching her get smaller while her shadow grew longer. Just as she turned the corner, she raised a hand to us without looking back, then disappeared from view.

The trolley ride to the train station was short. Our car was almost at capacity. Many passengers were carrying packages, suitcases, and bundles and I suspected those people, too, were on their way out of Germany. I heard Paps say to Mutsch, “Isn’t this ironic? This trolley is taking us away from our home and from one another, but it was also a trolley that first brought you to us, Lorechen.” Mutsch placed her hand on Paps’ wrist. “Yes, darling, it is indeed an irony.” To this day that moment saddens me beyond words.

When we arrived at the rail station it was overrun with families lugging whatever belongings they could carry while pushing and dragging what they could not. Parents pulled their children along as if they were stubborn horses resisting their reins. The movement of the crowd swept elderly couples along.

We approached the platform for the train to Amsterdam. I could see that most seats were taken. Then a piercing whistle blew. A conductor, shouting to be heard over the clamour, alerted everyone to the train’s imminent departure.

Paps hugged me. “It’s time, Lorechen.” He kissed the crown of my head a dozen times. “You be careful. When you arrive in Amsterdam Uncle Heinburg will greet you at the station. He’ll care for you until I come from London. We—”

Mutsch interrupted, “And then both of you will come for me.” She kissed my cheek.

I stepped back to look at them. “I’m frightened I’ll never see you again,” my throat closing.

I turned away, gingerly stepped from the platform into the rail car, and then sat in the first empty seat I found. I looked out the window. Paps and Mutsch were crying. As the train began to creep ahead my mother blew me a kiss. I waved to her.

In a moment they were gone, and I was on my own.