That summer, she wrote to thank the family for the birthday letter from Basel that she had received only on June 20—her birthday was postponed that year because Grandma (Edith’s mother) had had to go to the hospital and have an operation. Anne listed all her presents: an atlas, a bicycle, a new schoolbag, a beach dress, stationery from Margot, and lots of other little gifts. During her summer vacation she was planning to go with Sanne Ledermann to visit Sanne’s family, then spend another two weeks in a summer camp. “I have hardly any chance to get a tan because we’re not allowed to go to the swimming pool, it’s a shame but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Apparently the swimming pools too were off-limits to Jews by then. And she describes all these restrictions as so apparently self-evident.
A card followed from the summer camp in Beekbergen, with greetings from Anne and signatures as well from Sanne and Hanneli, two friends of hers. The card is addressed to Alice Frank, c/o Spitzer, Villa Laret, Sils-Maria. In a later letter from the vacation home, Anne asks if it’s nice in Sils-Maria and says that she and Sanne are always playing with a sweet little boy.
Buddy Elias, ice-skating (photo credit 5.9)
Edith’s mother died in January 1942. There is no mention of the event in the correspondence, and only one in Anne Frank’s diary: “No one will ever know how much she is present in my thoughts and how much I love her still.”
No one on Herbstgasse knew that Otto was desperately trying to get a visa for Cuba. But Nathan Straus, whom Otto had turned to for help, was unable to manage it. No visas for the United States were available in the Netherlands; the only chance anyone had to reach a neutral country was by a detour through another country like Cuba. Here is an excerpt from a letter that Otto wrote in En glish on October 12, 1941, to “Charley”:
Spain or Portugal do not give any visas before one can prove that one can leave again. Cuba is the only Country giving order to their Representatives that visas can be given to certain people at Bilbao and Berlin and I have seen telegrams to this respect coming from New York. Only after having received a cable of this sort one can apply for the permit to leave Holland and after having received this, one gets the Transitvisum Spain. It is all much more difficult as one can imagine and is getting more complicated every day. I do not know your intentions and I am grateful for all you do. As far as I see there are difficulties too if I would go alone as I was told, that permission to enter the U.S.A. will not be given if members of the family remain in occupied territory. I am sure that my brothers-in-law will do all to help and they certainly will pay à fond perdu the amounts necessary to get the Cuban visas for all of us. As far as I know this amounts to $530,—. They certainly will not be able to deposit money necessary to get the visas, even if this money will be refunded later. As you see there is no chance for me to do anything without a Cuba visum. If it is not possible to act for all of us it might be for me alone or with the children. Both of them are below 16 years of age, but as Margot is going to be 16 in February I would not like to leave them here under the present conditions, even if Edith would have to stay here with her mother. She prefers this as she regards it more urgent for me and the children to leave, as for herself and her mother.
In the meantime I had orders to liquidate my business and shall not be able to continue my work. The situation is getting more difficult every day and you can imagine that I am anxious to get your further news as I know I shall never be able to leave without your help.
On December 1, 1941, Cuba actually did issue a visa for Otto Frank, but it was canceled as early as December 11. It was too late—the Franks were trapped.
Only a few weeks before going into hiding, Otto wrote a postcard on his birthday, May 12, 1942: “Dearest Mama, we are not especially celebrating today but not wallowing in thoughts of the past either, since we also don’t want to forget the lovely and dear things.”
One of the last letters before going into hiding bears the date July 4, 1942. By then he had already prepared the Secret Annex and knew that he and his family would soon have to move into hiding.
Dear everyone,
Mother’s card from 6/22 arrived & all the news made us happy, especially her good health. Everything is fine here too, although things are getting more and more difficult from day to day here as you probably know. But don’t be worried about anything, even if you don’t hear very much from us. Even when I don’t go to the office there is a lot to do here & a lot to think about & you often have to make difficult decisions.—The children are on vacation now, both of them got good grades, Anne better than expected, she is working very hard. What else should I tell you. You can tell Herbert that Mr. Koch has [illegible] died. Aunt Lina writes that her trip has been postponed & she is grateful for every day she can stay. She’s jealous of Grandma, and we are happy about her circumstances too. Blanche wrote a short card too. He … is still in F.—We think of you all the time & know that you’re thinking of us, but you can’t change anything here & you have to take care that you make it through yourselves. With much love, as always,
Your O.
With this, the correspondence between Amsterdam and Basel came to an end. The dark years had begun.
Alice was seventy-six years old. She had had many life experiences: had grown from a melancholy child into an upper-middle-class wife, had seen most of the great cities of Europe, and had raised four children. She had shaped her children’s personalities, passing along her love of language and of self-dramatization. She had given them more than just a typical upbringing, done more than just foster their education in the usual way.
She had grown out of her role as daughter into the role of wife and mother, then into that of a widow, and finally that of a grandmother. Her family had always been her center—everyone else, no matter how much she loved them, had circled like planets around the sun. At first her mother had been the focus, then it was her husband and the children, now the grandchildren had taken over that role. But that December, on her seventy-seventh birthday, she would not get any letters from her granddaughters—nor on her seventy-eighth birthday, or her seventy-ninth. Never again.
There were eleven years remaining for Alice, years in which she no doubt experienced some joys here and there, but also experienced the greatest loss of her life.
* * *
1 Alice was usually referred to in the family not by name but by her nickname, I. The explanation for this nickname has not been passed down; Buddy Elias also doesn’t know the reason behind it.
2 It was already clear at the time that there would be war between Germany and France. Germany had cut off the delivery of coal to Luxembourg, to force that country to support Germany.
3 Arnold presumably means Leni and Erich’s failed attempts to gain Swiss citizenship.
4 Naar is Dutch for “repulsive, unpleasant, nasty, disgusting.”
(photo credit p02.1)
6.
Daily Life and Distant Longings
Late July 1942. Leni is sitting in her room in lower Basel, between piles of used clothes, shoes, books, lamps, and small pieces of furniture. For the past two hours not one customer has appeared, she is restless, and on top of it all it’s much too hot. She sold one single dress that morning, nothing more—an evening dress for which the customer, a wealthy Basel businesswoman, wanted to pay only twenty francs. Twenty francs for a dress that was worn only once, that Frau Horowitz, four years ago, paid ten or twenty times as much for in a Dresden atelier. Leni wipes the sweat from her forehead with a white handkerchief. If only it wasn’t so hot. She opens the top button of her blouse.
Someone knocks at the door. “Come in,” Leni says, and raises her head expectantly. She knows, even before the door opens, that it will be a woman: she has gotten into the habit of guessing from the knock who is going to come in, and she is almost always right. This time too. It is Frau Schwarz, wife of a doctor and former professor at the University of Berlin. Or was it Dresden? A former professor in any case—almost all the Jews in
Germany were now former somethings. The woman has a rather big brown leather suitcase in her hand, she is sweaty, and there are two perfectly round red spots on her cheeks. Leni notices for the first time what deep wrinkles she has between her nose and the corners of her mouth.
Leni closes her blouse button, stands up, and offers the woman a hand. “How may I help you, Frau Professor?” she asks, and helps the visitor lift her suitcase up onto the table.
Frau Schwarz takes a little key out of her purse, slowly and laboriously unlocks the suitcase, flips open the lid, and takes out two furs, a mink stole and a fox. Leni had often seen her last winter wearing the fox fur coat—it’s a beautiful piece, and a classic cut, although the sleeves are a little worn. It’ll be easy to sell the mink stole; Leni can already picture the fat Swiss wife who will let out a little scream of joy when she finds the luxurious present under her Christmas tree.
Even so, she hesitates. She fetches a glass of water to gain a little time. Frau Schwarz thanks her and drinks the water standing up.
“I can’t sell a fur coat in the middle of summer,” Leni says. “Not now. Please, sit down.” Leni sits down at the table, and the woman sits down on the one free chair opposite her; the others are covered with items of clothing.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” the woman says. “Heaven be praised. We have a visa, my cousin in Argentina sent us a visa. I don’t need a fur coat in Buenos Aires, and we desperately need money, my cousin doesn’t have very much.”
“All I can do is take the coat on commission,” Leni says, “and send you the money when it sells.”
The woman nods. “I trust you, Frau Elias, you’re a dependable woman.”
“And you know that I take 15 percent?”
She nods again. “Yes, of course.” She grips Leni’s hand. “Couldn’t you at least give me a little in advance, the same as what I’d get if I brought the coat to a pawnbroker’s?” The woman’s voice grows soft, and she lets Leni’s hand go, turning her face to the side, trying to hide her shame. She can’t go to a pawnbroker—they are illegal here, and she knows that Leni knows it.
The silence is unbearable. Leni’s reason battles her pity. Finally she picks up her purse and takes out the envelope with fifty francs in it that she’d tucked into the zippered side pocket yesterday when the Swiss antiques dealer bought the little Biedermeier secretary that he would resell for a profit. Dr. Marcus, the owner of the secretary, would just have to wait a little while longer for his money—he doesn’t need it as urgently as Frau Professor Schwarz. Leni opens the envelope, takes out the banknote, and holds it out to her.
The woman thanks her effusively, puts away the money, and stands up. “I’ll send you our address right away, as soon as we arrive,” she says. “God bless you, Frau Elias.”
Leni wishes her and her husband a safe trip and the best of luck for the future. Then the woman takes her now-empty suitcase and leaves. Leni stays standing in the doorway and waits until she hears the hall door close.
About a year ago, the professor and his wife appeared one day at the house on Herbstgasse, which had gradually turned into a sort of way station for people fleeing not only from Frankfurt but from all of Germany and Austria. Two helpless individuals, no longer very young, each with a suitcase and a rucksack, trying desperately to keep an attitude that displayed what was left of their former dignity. Leni invited them into the house, and while Vreni made tea, Alice came downstairs and joined them. Alice was wonderful when it came to helping people over their embarrassment, and giving them back their pride and human worth, which had been taken from them on the other side of the border. Giving them something like hope that better times would come again. Alice of all people, who herself was so often gloomy and depressed. But when she needed to, the Queen played her role perfectly. The professor and his wife were both truly calmed by Alice’s presence, and Erich, friendly and helpful as ever, took care of finding a cheap room and even helped them, with his business contacts, try to find the address of that cousin in Argentina. Successfully, it turned out. Erich will be glad to hear it.
Still, Leni is sorry that she let herself make this generous gesture—the fact is, they need every franc on Herbstgasse too. But somehow or other it will all work out; up to now it always has, somehow.
She pulls on her white gloves that she never leaves the house without, puts her hat on her head, and sets out for home. The sun is blazing in the sky, and Leni is happy to reach the garden gate. It’s comparatively cool and shady in the house; Vreni didn’t forget to pull all the curtains closed so as not to let the heat in.
“Vreni, would you bring my tea out to the veranda?” Leni calls, as she takes off her hat, pulls off her gloves, and slips out of her high-heeled shoes. She slowly walks out to the veranda, sits down in the garden chair, and stretches out her tired legs.
It doesn’t take long before Vreni comes out with a tray with the tea things on it. Next to the teacup is a card, a card from Amsterdam. Leni recognizes the handwriting at a glance—her brother Otto’s. She snatches up the card.
“Dearest Lunni,” she reads. “Happy birthday! We’re all sending you our best birthday wishes today …” She lowers the card and shakes her head in confusion, and takes a sip of tea. A birthday card in late July? Strange. Her birthday is September.
Happy birthday! We’re all sending you our best birthday wishes today, since we want to be sure that you’ll get them in time & we won’t have a chance to send them later. All our love from the bottom of our hearts. We are healthy & together, that’s the main thing. Everything is hard for us these days, but sometimes you just have to take what comes. Hopefully, peace will come this year so that we can see each other again. We can’t correspond with I.1 and with you all anymore, which is regrettable, but there’s nothing we can do about it. She must understand. Again, warmest regards, Your O.
A chill comes over Leni. What is that supposed to mean, “We can’t correspond with I. and with you all anymore”? What is Otto saying, and why this cryptic formulation, especially from Otto, who usually expresses himself so precisely?
Edith, Margot, and Anne also added short messages. Anne had written in Dutch on the front of the card, left of the stamps, in the block letters she always used when it was important that it be legible: “I can’t write a vacation letter now. Hugs and kisses from Anne.”
Leni knows only a few words of Dutch that she picked up in Amsterdam, but she understands that Anne can “niet schrijven” her holiday letter. Underneath Anne’s message are “All the best, Your Edith” and “Best wishes, Margot.” And on the bottom, the sender: “O. Frank, Merwedeplein 37, Amsterdam.”
Leni reads the card again, then a third time. The strange feeling grows within her that Otto was trying to communicate something very different from birthday wishes. She puts the card in her handbag before standing up. Lunch will be ready soon. She goes upstairs to her mother’s room, having decided not to mention this strange card around Alice, at least not at first. She doesn’t want to worry her unnecessarily.
Leni had not gone into business voluntarily, and ended up in this line of work quite by accident. Since 1936, when the Pomosin Company headquarters in Cologne had inquired whether the executives and board of directors of Rovag AG were “pure Aryan,” Erich’s workplace situation had gotten worse. In 1938, he had been stripped of his authority as director of Rovag. “Furthermore, the business activities of Rovag are hereby reduced to a minimum, i.e., bookkeeping only, which you will continue until further notice. We reserve the right to take further measures concerning this question.” Then, in January 1939, Rovag Glarus, a subsidiary of Pomosin AG in Cologne, sent definitive notice removing Erich Elias from the board of directors. The time of financial difficulties began. Erich did manage to find a job at another Pomosin subsidiary, Unipektin in Zurich, where he worked in the lab but at a much lower salary, even aside from the costs of commuting between Basel and Zurich. It was impossible for Erich to look for another job because, in spite of all of his
efforts, he had still not succeeded in becoming a Swiss citizen, only a legal resident. And not only did Switzerland continue to refuse him citizenship, but in the previous year Germany had revoked his citizenship as well.
Card from Otto Frank to Leni, written before going into hiding on
July 5, 1942 (photo credit 6.1)
At the same time, more and more emigrants appeared at the house on Herbstgasse who had heard from others that Leni was always ready to offer a cup of tea and some good advice. Many of them were in financial difficulties of their own and asked Leni to help them by selling some of their things, offering her a commission. She started doing so as a favor to them, out of pity, but of course she could also certainly use the money: the fact is, it was not cheap to keep a household of so many people—she and Erich and their two sons, Stephan and Buddy, plus Alice, Grandma Ida, and Vreni the housekeeper. In addition, they were trying to bring Paul, Erich’s brother, to Basel, and also Herbert, the black sheep, who hadn’t succeeded in anything and whom Alice still felt responsible for. That’s a lot of mouths to feed, with no immediate improvement of the situation in sight.
At first the commissions were just a little extra income, but gradually they became the main part of their support. Not only was the word out among the emigrants that Herbstgasse was a good address when you had something you needed to sell, but more and more Swiss who wanted to buy started to know Leni’s name, including a lot of bargain hunters who took advantage of the fugitives’ desperate situation. The business side was simple: Leni didn’t buy the things, since she didn’t have enough money—she took them on commission. If the items sold, the owners got the money in cash if they were living in Basel, or else she sent it on, minus 10 or 15 percent commission, depending. A business like that requires trust. Leni’s capital was her honesty and good name. People brought her more and more things—clothing, shoes, jewelry, everything imaginable. It got crowded in the house, with boxes and packages standing around in the rooms and bundles of clothing everywhere. She found by accident a cheap room on the second floor of a house in lower Basel, the part of town on the other side of the Rhine Bridge, and there she set up what she called her “flea market.”
Anne Frank's Family Page 13