Sand Falls Through the Hourglass

1935–36

During the mid-1930s waves of Jews crashed against German borders in an attempt to escape the growing web of Nazism, anti-Semitism, and oppression. Many of my relatives and friends were among them. They scattered across the frontiers to Eastern Europe, North and South America, Australia, Africa, and the Orient.

In many cases comfortable lives, beautiful homes, successful careers, and loved ones were left behind. Many of those fleeing were met by the frustration of language barriers, loneliness, and in some cases abject poverty. All were terrified by the hunt.

I know of this first-hand. My friend Ullie and her parents fled Berlin to settle in Amsterdam for a time before moving on. They disappeared into the night to avoid detection. From somewhere in the south of France, Ullie sent a photograph of herself sitting on top of a split-rail fence, her long slim legs dangling. She and her parents were staying in a sleepy little town nestled among large expanses of vineyards and horse farms. They’d been wealthy in Germany but I didn’t know if they’d been able to take their money with them.

In Berlin, Ullie’s mother and Mutsch often took us to a museum or a park and, for a special treat, to a bakery on the magnificent Kurfürstendamm, a boulevard lined with shops, restaurants, and hotels. Ullie and I had so much trouble choosing among all the luscious pastries!

Those days of innocence—how our lives have changed.

My parents knew it was imperative that we leave Germany to escape the coming wolf pack. The predatory fascists and anti-Semitics, both ferocious and savage armies, had already begun to run riot in Germany. Paps told me that he had been planning our departure for over a year. I remember the dining room table littered with documents and maps, hundreds of Deutschmarks, train and ship schedules, newspaper clippings, and addresses of family and friends. But all the evidence of his plans was swept aside whenever I came near. For months heated discussions took place only while I was asleep. My parents wanted to spare me, believing there was no profit in alarming me more than was absolutely necessary.

The whole family was making plans. I remember Uncle Hans saying, “We don’t have to worry. Conditions won’t become too intolerable for us here. If they do then we can go to Holland.”

My father took issue. “No, brother. We already discussed this. It won’t be safe anywhere in Europe.”

“I agree with Kurt,” Uncle Alfred remarked. “Those in Austria and Czechoslovakia are as fearful as we are. It’s said that Hungary, Poland, Belgium, and Holland will not withstand the advancing Nazi juggernaut. Will France and England fall as well? You may wish to stop in Holland, but it’s paramount you continue on. I’m going to Australia.”

Omi and Opa were reluctant, avoiding discussions about what to do or where to go. Mutsch believed it was their resolute faith in the goodness of people and their optimistic view of the German citizenry who they believed wouldn’t stand much longer for the vise of fascism clamping down on the freedoms and dreams of the proud and decent German people. Believing that the Nazi tide would subside they were content to remain where they were.

Uncle Sieke stayed in Berlin. He had no family of his own. His life was his factory so he remained behind.

As Uncle Hans continued mulling over his choices my father tried to convince him to relocate to Africa. Hans’ work with the Gerber Company already had afforded him the opportunity to do business in Cape Town and he had made the trip from South Africa to Germany and back again many times.

I don’t recall Uncle Erich or Aunt Jenny ever being present at these discussions. Perhaps they already had left Germany.

Just after the New Year in 1936 my parents clarified the procedures and strategies necessary to prepare and then to execute their plans for departure. They thought of things I didn’t imagine. Some were so basic while others so astute. The first questions they answered were: Where will we go? When will we leave? But the one I felt was the hardest of all to answer was, what will I take with me?

Mutsch and I were in the library one afternoon. She was knitting a scarf for Paps. I was lying on the rug finishing lessons Gerta insisted I complete.

“Lorechen” she whispered, “come sit with me.”

I went to her, nestling close.

“We must talk now of our upcoming trip. Your father and I have done much planning. You need to start your planning, too. You’ll make a list of the items you’ll bring. Then think about arranging an area in your bedroom where you’ll keep those things of greatest importance and necessity. Paps and I will evaluate what you’ve chosen and then we’ll pack whatever you’ve selected. You understand we’ve no room for non-essentials.”

“I understand. I’ll choose my clothing, books, toys, the mementos from my shelves, Hansi and his cage, my easel and colouring pencils, paper, my dolls and marionettes, things like that.”

I was oblivious to what was coming.

With tragic frustration in her voice, she said, “We’ll see, Lorechen.”

The next day I was reminded again to make my list of things I would bring. I prepared an area two metres square in the corner of my bedroom. Rather than writing everything down, I assembled my possessions and placed them in the designated corner. The heaviest things, I decided, should be at the bottom so I began with books. After a few hours my teetering pile was taller than me and it did not include Hansi in his cage. For the most part I felt it was a good beginning. I ran to summon Mutsch to see my handiwork.

“Mutsch!” I said, running into the kitchen. “Come see the work I’ve done!”

She followed me into my bedroom. When she saw the patchwork tower of my belongings, she gasped, covered her face in her hands, began sobbing uncontrollably and then hastened from my room.

“Mother!” I called after her. “What’s wrong?”

Her bedroom door slammed shut. I heard muffled sounds. She was crying into her pillows. It didn’t take long for me to realize how childish I was being—I was deluding myself. Our voyage was not like moving to a new home. Of course not. We were to run for our lives.

As I grew up, I gradually understood what my parents knew to be true: belongings are only material things, what matters most is family and friends. Leaving our possessions behind was nothing compared to the other losses we faced.

In those early weeks of 1936 we finalized the preparations for our departure. Paps and Mutsch worked tirelessly to make sure that when it came time to leave Berlin we would be swift and safe. My father later revealed to me many of the agonizing struggles he and Mutsch had endured during those countless days of preparation: moments of haste and dispatch, trying to tie together loose ends that arose at every turn. But, he admitted, the most difficult campaign for them was to prepare me.

I have always felt my father to be a man of determined action, not only one who is quick to respond to matters at hand but also one who would always spare Mutsch and me as much anxiety and worry as he could.

“I remember one night,” he mused years later, “when we had to decide what to do with our possessions. It seemed only proper to be charitable with them since we couldn’t possibly bring them with us. Your mother and I decided we’d offer our things to relatives and friends who planned on staying in Berlin: to Gerta and her family and to Herr Bayern.”

“Gerta was heartbroken when we first informed her of our plans to leave,” Paps recalled. “She couldn’t stop crying. Mutsch embraced her and thanked her for all she’d done for us, from those first few days after you were born through all the good times and of course, through the horrible tribulations forced upon us during the recent years.”

Mutsch offered Gerta most of her wardrobe including the furs, silks, and linens along with many of her shoes, scarves, blouses, and trousers. My mother gave her a gold necklace threaded through three red gemstones. “The garnets represent our hearts,” mother said to her. “Think of us every time you wear it.”

All the larger pieces of jewellery, save Mutsch’s gorgeous diamond wedding ring, Paps sold—money would be a necessity for what lay ahead. Before mentioning it to me, my parents offered my toys to Gerta to give to her brothers. When I learned of this I was so angry, inconsolable. But my father reasoned with me and I learned what it is to be generous, altruistic, and benevolent.

“We wanted to leave everything undisturbed until our return,” Paps said, “We thought our stay in Japan would be short. We imagined coming back to Berlin, to family and friends, to Gerta, and prospering as we had in the old days. I was insufferably naïve then, Lorechen. We all were.”

A few days later Paps and Mutsch left the house to meet Herr Bayern at a café. I’m told their meeting was mostly one of silence, the words unspoken but the feelings and understanding explicitly clear.

At their parting, Herr Bayern, with tears in his eyes said, “My wish, Herr Rothschild, is that you’ll return to Berlin safe and sound. Of course I’ll accept the items you’ve pledged to my family. But in the meantime, while you’re gone, I’ll lease your home as it is with all that remains there with the expectation that these egregious abuses of decent German people, Christians and Jews alike, will pass. Upon your return you will find everything as you left it.”

My parents and I would see Herr Bayern one more time before we left Germany.