Forced Journey

by Rosemary Zibart

  The big news came over a little over a year later on December 7, 1941. The American military base, Pearl Harbor, had been bombed. The United States immediately entered the war, first against Japan and then Germany. Though it was a big shock to many, Werner was jubilant. Beating the Nazis mattered to him more than anything. And only his country, the United States of America, had the power to defeat the German army. Otherwise, the Nazis might turn the whole world into the dark, evil place Germany had become.

  After receiving the bundle of returned letters, he never wrote Father again. But he never quit thinking of Bettina and him. He believed it was possible something lucky had happened and that they were safe and sound, too. Werner realized how fortunate he’d been to make it alive to the U.S. Thousands of Jews and many others had been eager to leave Europe. But few had made it. Of the ones for whom Esther had helped prepare documents, only David Sesselbaum’s sweetheart Nancy got back to the U.S.

  Esther remained frail, and Werner continued to work diligently to keep her healthy. Yet now Conrad and he were allies in this task rather than adversaries. Mozart kept up his bright song, and often the apartment was filled with the delicious odor of Nudel kugel.

  After America got in the war, patriotic Germans like Oscar Buddorf weren’t popular in the neighborhood. One day his tobacco shop was there and the next, it was boarded up with a “For Lease” sign in the window. Nobody could say exactly where he went. Somewhere else. Werner knew there were places in the world where people like him were welcome.

  He did see Anika again. He was a senior in high school, working two jobs – weekdays after school for Mr. Mozer, and weekends washing windows for a big company. Mostly he worked uptown on the windows of department stores and office buildings. One warm afternoon, he was washing the windows of a popular restaurant named Schrafts. It was a favorite spot for people who could afford the fancy sandwiches, salads and huge ice cream sundaes. While sudsing the window, Werner spied a lovely young lady sitting in a booth. Although she’d grown a lot, he immediately recognized Anika’s delicate face and proud manner. Her clothes were new and fashionable, a mint green dress with a lace collar that set off her dark curls.

  Across the booth from Anika was a tall distinguished gentleman, his dark hair streaked with grey. The man was stooped in the shoulders as if he carried a big weight. He looked far older than he had four year before, but Werner knew right away that he was Anika’s father. A bright smile lit up her face every time she glanced up at him. The two were spooning up hot fudge and whipped cream from two giant sundaes. Werner gazed wistfully at the pair; Anika’s father had made it to the United States, just like he promised he would.

  For a moment, Werner put down his wet rag, thinking that he’d go in and say hello. Then he paused. A young guy wearing grubby work clothes didn’t belong in Schrafts! Anika would probably feel embarrassed to see him. She was a proper young lady now. Had she ever told her father about running away from the Furstburners? Or about their hiding in Central Park and going to Harlem? Werner didn’t think so. And why should she? Her story had a happy ending…

  Suddenly, Anika glanced towards the window. Her eyes seemed so warm and friendly, Werner thought for a second she’d seen him. But then she looked back at her father and took another spoonful of sundae, dripping with hot fudge. No, it wasn’t the right moment to go in and say hello and shake hands with Anika’s father. Not that day. Yet, somehow, Werner felt certain without any doubt at all that one day he’d have another chance to meet with Anika – when his wallet was fat with dollar bills and he was wearing a decent suit of clothes! And there would be a happy day for them both.

  He never did see Amos Todd again. Once or twice, visiting Central Park, he glimpsed a dark figure amid the trees. But it always turned out to be the shadow of a proud elm or sturdy maple, not that fine old man.

  As the war dragged on, Werner grew eager to join the U.S. Army and go fight the enemy. He wanted a chance to come face-to-face with the Nazi menace that had blighted so many lives. Not just his, but countless people across Europe.

  The day his eighteenth birthday arrived, Sam and he headed down to the draft board office on 42nd Street and Lexington. That’s where the two ate their first army grub. Days later, both were in uniform. They did a quick course of Army Basic Training in Alabama. Some young recruits had a hard time, but it seemed like a piece of cake for Private Werner Berlinger and Private Sam Ublentz. Then the two headed across the Atlantic on a giant troop vessel. Halfway there, however, the big news arrived. It was May 7, 1945 – the Germans had surrendered. The war was over. In Times Square, New York City, thousands of people cheered and kissed one another.

  Their troop ship, however, kept plowing through the waves toward Europe. Arriving in France, they soon saw what the war had been like – bombed out factories, shops, farms and houses. Thousands of frightened, starving men, women and children roaming the roads.

  The first time Werner saw a Nazi soldier up-close, he froze. The terror from his past still haunted his dreams. Only now, the Americans were in charge and the Nazis weren’t. Most threw down their weapons and tore the swastikas from their uniforms. They no longer wanted to fight and begged to go home. Werner looked this guy in the eyes. He was blonde and blue-eyed like the boys who had spit at him years ago and forced him to write “dirty Jew” on the pavement.

  Werner held a gun to his head. The soldier was terrified; his forehead wet with sweat; he stammered and fell to his knees. “Let me go,” he pleaded in German. “Let me go home.” A huge, fierce anger welled up in Werner. He wanted to punch or kick the guy or even shoot him. Fortunately, Sam grabbed his arm and squeezed it tight. Werner slowly lowered his weapon and the guy ran off.

  His job in the U.S. Army was handing out cans of soup, tins of meat and chocolate candy bars to hungry families. It was good work – and there were thousands to feed – not just in Germany, but in France, Holland, and Italy. One day a girl about twelve with hair so blonde it looked pink in the sun, stood in front of him with an open hand. He handed her a candy bar, and she smiled slightly and murmured “Gott segnen Sie.” God bless you. Then she ran off to share it with other skinny kids.

  Sam got a much, much more difficult job. He was one of the U.S. soldiers sent in to open up the concentration camps. That’s where Hitler had put everyone he hated – mostly Jews but also communists, homosexuals, gypsies and many others. Most who went in, never got out. Opening up those camps was like pulling the lid off the sewer pipes on Second Avenue on a hot summer day. That used to make the whole neighborhood stink. But the horrid smell from the concentration camps was much bigger – it filled the world with an awful stench that has never entirely gone away.

  Sam took his job so seriously that his smile disappeared for months. He tried telling Werner what they had found, but Werner didn’t want to hear. Each week, however, when lists of concentration camp survivors arrived, he rushed over to read the names. He searched for his family until tears of disappointment blurred his sight.

  Part of him knew that the truth was not on any list.

  Finally, one afternoon, Sam talked him into going with him to work. Werner only got a few feet beyond the entrance. Stuff was piled high as a mountain: suitcases, clothes, shoes, toys, wallets, watches, walking canes, books, false teeth, jewelry, photographs, umbrellas. A few soldiers were going through the pile, carefully sorting it out. They put the shoes one place and the false teeth in another. Werner wondered why they bothered, the stuff didn’t belong to anybody any more.

  He decided to leave and called to his friend. “Hey, Sam, see you later.

  But as he turned to leave, Werner spied something on the ground. Something so small, most people would never have noticed it. A china doll’s head with a few reddish gold hairs still stuck on top. The head had a pretty, painted porcelain face, now muddy and scratched. Werner picked it up and rubbed off the dirt. The face was perfect except for a tiny chip off the nose
and a crack in the head that had been carefully mended.

  For a long, long time, Werner stood without moving – his heart exploding into tiny bits in his chest. What should he do now? Drop the doll’s head onto that pile where it belonged with the thousands of other things? The things once owned by boys and girls, their mothers and fathers, their uncles and aunts, grandfathers and grandmothers. Thousands and thousands of families that were no more. Surely the doll’s head belonged in that pile.

  Or should he hurl it as far as possible into the open blue sky? Throw it with the strong arm he’d gained from lifting Esther into her wheelchair, carrying boxes of cans into Mr. Mozer’s store, and shoveling dirt with Amos Todd on that long deep ditch.

  His life hadn’t been easy and not always fun. Some might say he’d had a pretty tough time of it…and yet it was a life. His life. In a year or two, he’d return to the United States, to his home with Esther. He’d probably go to college, and then look for work. Someday he might pursue his dream of going out West, to the open plains and high mountains and fast rivers. Maybe Sam would go with him.

  In other words, Werner had a whole world of possibilities ahead of him. He could do any of the great and ordinary things people do in their lives. The things that the people who owned the stuff in that giant pile of stuff would never get to do. Not on this earth. Not Father or Bettina.

  For a second he felt the touch of his sister’s fingers on his chest, the way she held him that last moment. Before saying goodbye. Then he realized God had thrown something in his path – a small precious memento. Something to remind him that disappointment and hatred often seem to rule the world, yet never conquer it entirely. Not the way love grips us forever.

  He’d had a lot of luck, not just once but again and again. A guy as lucky as him must keep going – he has to. Sticking the little head in his pocket, Werner walked back down the road. Sam saw him leave and waved, but Werner couldn’t see through his tears; he just kept going.

  He went back to his job of handing out food to hungry people. That was his work for now and you do whatever you can to help. He’d learned that from Esther.

  Author’s Note

  Forced Journey: The Saga of Werner Berlinger is entirely fictional.

  The story was inspired, however, by Professor Hal Marienthal, who spoke of coming to the United States on his own with nothing but the clothes he was wearing. I was further inspired by the true accounts of 1,400 Jewish children who fled Nazi Europe and came to the U.S. You can learn more at www.onethousandchildren.org. Another source of information is Don’t Wave Goodbye: The Children’s Flight from Nazi Persecution to American Freedom edited by Philip K. Jason and Iris Posner.

  Unfortunately, the description of the difficulties that Jews encountered in trying to leave Nazi Germany and come to this country is accurate. The quota for admitting Jews and other European immigrants was slashed in half while the application forms and requirements were greatly increased.

  In Forced Journey, Werner writes to President Roosevelt’s wife, Eleanor, urging her to help. In 1938, Mrs. Roosevelt did privately back a Congressional resolution that would have allowed 10,000 Jewish children to enter the U.S. – similar to the Kindertransport that was enacted by Great Britain and saved 20,000 young people under the age of 16. (Though small compared to the 1.5 million children murdered by the Nazis, it was the most generous act of any country in the world.)

  Mrs. Roosevelt’s resolution died in Congress, however. The opposition against allowing more Jews enter the United States, at this time, was too strong. So, only about 1,400 unaccompanied Jewish minors were able to find a safe haven in the U.S. Many of these children were welcomed into loving homes across the country. Others encountered difficulties like Werner experiences in Forced Journey. At the end of WWII, some of these children were reunited with their parents; others never saw their families again.

  Nothing I could write truly conveys the heartbreak experienced by these children who left everything behind during that terrible era. And yet they survived; most became U.S. citizens and as Henry Frankel points out in the Foreword, many contributed significantly to this country.

  Their heartbreaking stories are replicated in every era. Generations of young people – from Cuba, Vietnam, Iran, Sudan and other nations – have fled their homelands to find safety in the United States. Many are still coming today. Like Werner and Anika, these youngsters make a forced journey toward safety and hope.

  About the Author

  Rosemary Zibart has worked as a journalist, playwright and children’s book writer. Her newspaper and magazine articles tackled issues such as how art can transform the lives of at-risk teens and the Heart Gallery that promotes the adoption of children and teens. As a playwright, she has written award-winning plays for adults and children like Never Ever Land and My Dear Doctor. In 1989, she created the first in a series of travel books for youth called Kidding Around San Francisco (John Muir Press, 1989). In 2004, she received an “Angel in Adoption” award from the National Coalition on Adoption Institute. Rosemary lives in Santa Fe with her husband Jake, her dog Bandit, her cat Micky (short for Mick Jaguar) and looks forward to frequent visits from her beloved grandson Brandon. Learn more about her at www.rosemaryzibart.com.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author