The Journey of Anna Eichenwald

by Donald Hunt

  One of the great influences on Einstein was a young Jewish medical student, Max Talmey, who frequently visited the family. He gave 12-year old Albert a number of books on the physical sciences and mathematics. Within a few months, the boy had worked through all the elementary problems and was devoting himself to higher mathematics. Soon, the flight of his mathematical genius was so high that Talmey could no longer follow him.

  Albert also enjoyed philosophy. By the age of 13, he was reading the works of Immanuel Kant, including The Critique of Pure Reason, an incomprehensible book to most. Kant became Einstein’s favorite philosopher.

  Another influence entered Einstein’s life in his youth. He had studied the violin at the age of six, and motivated by Mozart, he became aware of the mathematical structure of music. He remained an amateur in performance, but that never diminished his enjoyment.

  Before moving to Berlin, Einstein had developed a far more complicated concept he called general relativity. He was beginning to appreciate that gravity was not a force like other forces. Instead, he saw it as a consequence of the fact that space-time is ‘curved’ by gravitational fields. He continued to work on general relativity after moving from Zurich to Berlin in 1914. He presented his theory the following year, forcing yet another paradigm shift with his sheer brilliance. But he remained unobtrusive and was noted for his wit and humility. While at a meeting in Paris he predicted the following:

  “If my theory of relativity is proven correct, Germany will claim me as a German and France will declare that I am a citizen of the world. Should my theory prove untrue, France will say I am a German and Germany will declare that I am a Jew.”

  Einstein – Official photo after winning Nobel Prize - 1921

  Einstein and wife on SS Rotterdam – 1921 – Heading to America

  * * *

  Now hostilities were imminent. The declarations of war against Serbia and Russia were carried out on August 1st, exactly 117 days after Albert Einstein moved his family to Berlin. The following day, thousands of patriots filled Munich’s Odeonsplaz to hear the declarations read from the steps of the Feldherrnhalle. Present in the crowd was an anonymous 25-year-old misfit who was trying to eke out a living as an artist. Adolf Hitler had recently moved to Munich after spending several years in Vienna where he had tried and failed to qualify for entrance into the Vienna Academy of Fine Art. His meager income came from selling his sketches and from a legacy left to him by his deceased mother. His father, Alois Hitler was an unsympathetic man who took little interest in his family. He was generally harsh with his children and frequently showed his disapproval of them. Adolf performed poorly in school and maintained a deep resentment for academia and teachers in general. In his later years he would remark that most of his teachers had something wrong mentally, and that quite a few ended their days as ‘honest- to-God lunatics.’

  The only subject that appealed to Adolf Hitler was Germany. Born in Austria, he had developed a passion for his adopted Fatherland. His presence that day on the Odeonsplatz was a personal liberation for him. For the first time he found a cause in which he believed. He gladly joined the army and his military assignment was to the Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment-16. Later, he referred to the years of the First World War as “the greatest and most unforgettable time of my earthly life.” It was ‘August Days’, days that would encourage a demagogue who would in time establish another war machine – one that would rage against the entire world. Anna and her family would not be exempt from that rage.

  Chapter 4

  August Days

  During the ‘August Days’ of 1914, the German society and its military presented a monolithic picture of devotion to its cause. Each opportunity for display of troops and armament was seized as if esprit de corps by itself would bring victory. While the Kaiser reviewed legions of troops at the Brandenburg Gate, the German High Command was drawing battle plans designed to use lightening troop movements. Properly executed, the German Volk would be rewarded with a stunning opening victory, but the victory never came, only a bitter defeat. The rapid victory became a war of attrition. Scarcely four years had passed, and the carnage had reached staggering proportions…8 million dead, including 1.9 million Germans, with 4 million wounded.

  Mistakes and miscalculations are part of war. America was not directly involved in the war, but her ships were supplying the Allies. The German decision to begin naval attacks on American ships supplying England turned out to be a grave miscalculation. The United States was far removed from the problems in Europe, and the American economic machine was growing into a monster. A few years earlier, two brothers in the bicycle business had dazzled the world by flying a gasoline powered glider-like machine. It traveled 120 feet across a North Carolina beach – spawning the birth of the aviation era. Because of this and other accomplishments, American industry began to boom on every front, from automobiles to railroads to manufacturing.

  The news that the German Navy was attacking U.S. ships was a shock to Americans. The common feeling in the country was that the Germans had awakened, what the Japanese would later call “a sleeping giant.” Within weeks, tens of thousands of men joined the military. Within months, two million green but fresh American soldiers were injected into the fray in France. The American people had mostly passing interest in the European war, but attacks on U.S. shipping would not stand.

  Early in 1918, Field Marshal Hindenburg had promised the Kaiser, “I will be in Paris by April 1st’.” The conflict had long since degenerated into a war the Germans would not lose but could not win. Field Commander General Ludendorff was determined to change that. His spring offensive pushed through five French defense lines some 60 kilometers from Paris. It appeared the Hindenburg promise would hold until the advance was halted at the small village of Chateau-Thierry, where two regiments of U. S. Marines battled the Germans to a standstill. Using fresh American units, the Allies began a major counter offensive. Within days the Kaiser was urgently summoned to military headquarters where a despondent Hindenburg confronted him.

  “The war is lost,” he said. “Our forces are defeated and prolonging the conflict will be a monumental waste of life.”

  He insisted that an armistice be sought immediately. Although a man of enormous pride, the Kaiser could not and would not disagree. The defeat was bitter for the German High Command. Hindenburg and his staff would not view themselves as culpable. As the war dragged on there were, according to the High Command, “forces of defeatism and sabotage” in the homeland that could not be overcome. The German superior training and military skill not-with-standing, the loss of the war was beyond the control of the generals, at least in their view. But to many Germans the loss was not only shattering, but inexplicable.

  The hardships of the following few years were predictable. A British Naval blockade in the North Sea and Baltic was especially devastating and caused serious food shortages. The principle home grown crop was turnips. Previously, many other types of vegetables had been available. Now instead of cabbage, spinach, potatoes, carrots, and beans, there were only turnips. The steady turnip diet was only part of the joyless German nadir. Berlin remained generally gray and overcast in winter, and a worldwide influenza epidemic was spreading to central Europe. This was a highly contagious viral illness that all too often was complicated by bacterial pneumonia, usually pneumococcal. As the patients were overwhelmed with fluid build-up in their lungs, they became weaker and more short of breath until the process would mercifully end their lives. At that time, there was no available treatment. On one particularly mournful day, the defeated city suffered 1,700 deaths. The German Volk, starving and dying by the thousands, was reeling between blatant despair and revolution.

  The events of 1918 brought the people to their lowest point since Chancellor Bismarck had forged the German Empire in 1871. This was, however, not the case in the scientific community. Amid the chaos of the times, the scientists at the Kaiser Wilhelm
Institute were working to develop an algorithm to prove the paradigms of Einstein’s theories. Theoretical mathematics had been developed to demonstrate the principle that the speed of light is the same for all observers and that nothing can travel faster. If an object could be accelerated to that magical speed, its dimension would go to zero, its mass to infinity, and time would stop. His theory of general relativity was difficult to comprehend and even more difficult to prove.

  Hanz Eichenwald and his colleague, Max Plank, spent endless hours contemplating the depth of relativity. Previously, they had thought that light traveled in a straight line. But Einstein’s general relativity theory predicted that light should be “bent” by the force of gravity. Even with a war going on, Hanz had been in contact with Sir Frank Dyson of the British Royal Astronomical Society; the subject - proof of the effect of gravity on light. Sir Frank had suggested, “we have a chance to prove your colleague correct, or not, using the up-coming solar eclipse on March 29.” On that day the moon would pass between the sun and the earth, and for a time, would block 99 percent of the sun’s light. The darkened sun would be in line, simultaneously, with an exceptionally bright group of stars known as the Hyades. At that precise moment the light from the stars, passing close to the sun, could be observed and measured. An opportunity like this would not present itself for another 200 years.

  As a physicist, Hanz had a unique understanding of the sun, a medium sized star in the Milky Way galaxy, one of a hundred million other galaxies. It is the principle source of energy for the earth. The publications of Einstein in 1905 established the understanding of the enormous energy production of the sun according to the formula E = mc2. In theory, this energy could be produced using the two most common elements in the universe - hydrogen and helium. Under certain circumstances, two hydrogen atoms might fuse, producing a different element - helium. The resulting helium would have less mass than the two hydrogen atoms, and the ‘lost’ mass would appear as energy in the form of both heat and light. It was now evident that a small amount of mass would produce an enormous amount of energy.

  It was now becoming more apparent to Eichenwald, Plank and their colleagues that hydrogen fusion was not only the source of the sun’s energy, but the source of light from all stars in all of the galaxies of the universe. General relativity predicted that light should be bent by gravity. Dyson, Eichenwald, Plank, and Einstein hoped to use the upcoming eclipse to prove it. The implications of relativity were so profound that they began to be viewed as spiritual in nature. Now, time was not seen as absolute, but dynamic. The assumption that the universe had always looked the same was also being called into question.

  “The universe is changing,” noted Plank. “This observation leads to the rather profound implication that it is finite…that it must have had a beginning!”

  He and his colleagues simultaneously had the incredulous thought. A beginning of the universe also implies an ending.

  Hanz’s fascination with the sun had its genesis in childhood when he attended the Yeshiva Jewish boy’s school. The ancient Egyptians, slave masters of the Hebrew nation for over 400 years, worshiped the sun as part of their polytheism. The sun was for them, the greatest wonder and thus, the most esteemed in their worship. The Hebrew Torah had been handed down over the millennia from ancient manuscripts. Tradition held that its author was the patriarch Moses. The question for Hanz was one of truth. Could he trust the accounts set forth in the Torah? The first phrase in the text is bereshith, which literally means ‘in the beginning.’

  This concept of beginning had always been abstract for Hanz. He was a scientist and always looking for concepts that could be proved. The Torah next mentioned Elohim, which means ‘God,’ who in a peremptory act, created all things. Though the universe could be observed as dynamic, the concept that it was ‘willed’ into existence by God was difficult to believe. Hanz clearly believed in God. But he remained skeptical that this God of the Hebrews was responsible for everything in the universe. The narratives in the Torah seemed to be just that - stories.

  An atheistic view of the universe was based on the unavoidable element of unpredictability or randomness. But as Hanz had discussed with Einstein, “the observed universe is one of perfect order; there is nothing random about it.” To this Einstein quipped, “and God does not play dice”, meaning God is not arbitrary.

  His theory of general relativity was, if true, clearly pointing to an event…a beginning. Hanz continued to ponder that first phrase of the Hebrew text, bereshith.

  The planned expedition to view the solar eclipse in cooperation with his colleague Sir Frank Dyson, had implications far beyond his interest in physics. He was becoming convinced that God could have created the universe – but did he?

  * * *

  In 1918, Dr. Emil Leimdorfer was managing editor of Berlin’s largest tabloid paper, The Berliner Zeitung am Mittag. On the morning of November 9th he received an urgent telephone call placed from the office of Imperial Chancellor Prince Max of Baden. The caller was frantic.

  “His Majesty the Kaiser has abdicated!”

  Within an hour the street vendors were shouting as they displayed the bold type tabloid, “KAISER ABDICATES! EBERT MADE CHANCELLOR!”

  Two weeks previously, the Kaiser had left Berlin to join his military commanders in the Belgian resort of Spa. The news was devastating. The army could not hold out more than two more weeks. It was the opinion of his generals as well, that the government itself would not survive unless he abdicated the throne. The war was lost, and soon his country would be lost. His head was spinning as he attempted to absorb what he was hearing. After all, he was the King. His position was his birthright. Now his generals sought the power of the throne. Why would he abandon what was rightly his; why should he? A general strike had been called for the morning of November 9th to force the issue. The two largest political parties, the Independent Socialists and the Social Democrats, both supported the strike. Even as the Kaiser was refusing to abandon the throne, tens of thousands of striking workers were gathering outside the chancellor’s office. The chancellery building was a massive structure with thick gray stone walls and two enormous lion statues on either side of the main entrance. This entrance was actually a driveway entering a large inner courtyard. A massive iron gate sealed the drive and a 24-hour guard occupied a small guardhouse to the right of the gate. The police had tried to seal off the entrance but were overpowered by the crowd. Even with the heavy draperies drawn on each of the twenty foot tall windows, their shouts were reaching the inner offices…a reflection of the violence of their mood.

  Chancellor Prince Max, isolated and desperate, believed the strikers could and would execute him in a frenzy of mob violence. Fearing for his life, he decided to announce the Kaiser’s abdication on his own authority. In this life-death struggle, he prayed the announcement would bring calm to the explosive situation.

  Even as this drama was being played out, the Kaiser was formulating a plan to take back the country using the army. When Field Marshal Hindenburg and his Chief of Staff General Groner were informed of the plan, Groner announced, “Sire, you no longer have an army.” After further argument, the Kaiser reluctantly agreed to seek exile in Holland. Later that day he boarded a train for that country. Sitting alone in the special opulent railcar prepared for a king, his thoughts drifted back to the summer of 1914 when he proudly reviewed the military at the Brandenburg Gate. Now with no army, no country and no throne, the monarchy of the German people had come to an end.

  By nightfall, there was great uncertainty about who was actually running the government. It seemed clear there was no desire to replace the monarchy. But the vacuum of leadership was unsettling. For the first time in more than 1,000 years the Germanic people had no king. After the rule of Charlemagne in 800 AD, Otto 1st had emerged in 962 to unite the eastern and middle kingdoms of Europe. But a stormy relationship existed between the Pope and the new German monarchy. The chur
ch/monarchy conflicts resulted in the spread of feudalism, a system in which landowners maintained a dominant stranglehold on the people. This dominance was ended by the Thirty Years War of 1618, a conflict that killed 30 percent of the population. The modern day succession of kings was begun by Friederich the Great and ended with the Kaiser. After more than 1,000 years, the people no longer had the will for a monarchy.

  Revolution was in the air. The potential for violence was apparent, especially in the cities. People were angry and bewildered. Youth groups were seen almost daily in the streets. The leadership vacuum desperately needed to be filled. Two men emerged into the spotlight.

  Karl Liebknecht was the son of one of the founders of German Socialism. He had started an anti-war movement in December 1914, being the first Reichstag deputy to abstain from voting for war credits. He was an outspoken critic of the war from the beginning. A rather short, austere man, he sported a black mustache which gave him a military presence. An isolated dissenter during the war years, his views had been vindicated by the German defeat.. Liebknecht had the full support of Lenin’s new communist regime in Russia which had designs on spreading their doctrines to central Europe and even beyond.

  A second man, Fredrich Ebert was the leader of the more centrist Social Democratic Party. Ebert had supported both the Kaiser and the war effort. He and the deputy director of the Social Democrats, Philipp Scheidemann, had encouraged Prince Max von Baden to succeed to the throne. Prince Max was the son of Wilhelm, brother of Grand Duke Frederick 1st and the former Chancellor, but Max had no stomach for injecting himself further into the conflagration of German political life.