The prosecutor read . . . “Samuel Goldstein, Rivka Jacobson, Martha Greenberg, Leon Blumberg, Joseph Saltzman . . .
Then she heard it . . .
“Zofia Weiss,” the prosecutor said.
My mother? That’s my mother’s maiden name.
Katja dropped the slice of eggplant on the floor and ran into the living room. She turned up the volume on the radio.
The prosecutor continued reading names. Suddenly, Manfred began laughing loud, hysterical laughter. Katja felt a shiver as she listened.
“You don’t understand how it was. You can’t know the weight I carried on my shoulders. The responsibility we had in order to build a superior race . . .” Manfred said. “You only know what you see.”
“Where is your family, Manfred Blau?”
“My family?” Manfred said, his voice suddenly broken and small. “My wife is dead. My Christa, is dead. You see, that was a sacrifice that I had to make for the party. That’s what I mean, you don’t understand.”
Katja thought Manfred sounded insane. Did he kill his wife?
“Did you murder your wife, Manfred Blau?”
“She died when I was in prison. But the party took her away from me. First it gave her to me and then it took her away . . .” Manfred said.
“I see,” the prosecutor said.
“You see nothing,” Manfred answered, his voice raised.
“When you were younger, didn’t you and your wife adopt a child from Himmler’s Lebensborn organization? What happened to that child, Manfred Blau?”
“I don’t know what happened to Katja. Poor Katja. My wife loved that little girl.”
“And you, did you love the child?”
“I don’t know. Love. I was so busy with my work that I didn’t have time for a child, so I brought in a Jewess to take care of her. Christa, my wife, was very ill. She could not care for the child. That person that I took into my home was Zofia Weiss, the Jewess you just mentioned. My wife and I always treated her well. I still don’t know why she testified against me. Ungrateful, good-for-nothing Jew. That’s what she was, an ingrate. I could have killed her, but instead I took her into our house, under my roof where my family lived. We fed her, protected her, and gave her shelter. And then, look at what she did to me. She turned on me, testified against me. Stood in the courtroom and told them lies that would condemn me to death. Hitler was right, Goebbels was right; Jews are deceitful, dangerous. You can’t trust them.”
“The child, Mr. Blau. What happened to the child?”
Katja forgot to breathe. She was cold and shaking. She’d heard the prosecutor say that the child’s name was Katja.
“When I went to jail, my wife took the child away. It was the last I saw of them—the little girl or my wife.”
“Did you kill the child so that she would not be raised outside of the Nazi party? The way that Goebbels and his wife murdered their six children? Did you Mr. Blau?” The prosecutor's voice came booming through the radio.
“I swear I did not . . .”
The questioning continued, but Katja was no longer listening. Katja’s hand went to her throat; she couldn’t catch her breath. She was hyperventilating. What was all of this about? This Nazi, this Manfred Blau, had mentioned her mother, and he’d mentioned her name, too. Katja.
Katja put her head in her hands and bent forward. She was afraid she might faint. I must go to my mother. I have to know the truth.
When Elan arrived at the apartment, he found the kitchen a mess. It seemed as if Katja had stopped right in the middle of preparing dinner. How strange. Perhaps she’d run out to the market for something she’d forgotten. Then Elan saw a note on the table. He picked it up and read:
Dear Elan,
I’m sorry to have left so abruptly. An emergency arose. I had to go home. Please don’t follow me. I will explain when I talk to you. I will be in contact as soon as I can.
Kat
Elan re-read the note. This was not like Katja. He wondered if one of her parents had taken ill. She would never have run off for no reason. Aryeh and Brenda would be there in a half hour. He would wait for them and explain. Then he would get in the car and go right to the kibbutz. Whatever Katja was going through, he wanted to be there with her, to support her in any way that he could.
Chapter 79
The kibbutz was buzzing with people, as it always was on Shabbat. Katja entered the main house to find several of the adults gathered in groups, talking, clearing the dishes. As she walked through the crowd, in search of her mother, several of the women hugged and greeted her, but she could not respond. Her heart felt as if it had turned to stone. Her eyes scanned the room until she saw Zofia and Isaac sitting with another couple. Her parents were holding hands. Katja felt a shiver come over her as she slowly walked over to them. Each step was bringing her closer to words that she dreaded but knew she must hear.
“Sunshine, what a wonderful surprise,” Isaac said. “What brings you here on this Sabbath night?”
Zofia got up to hug her daughter, but Katja pulled away.
“Mother, I have to talk to you. Alone.”
Zofia’s head tilted to one side. A deep furrow formed between her eyes.
“I’ll be back,” Zofia said, turning to Isaac and the others.
Then Zofia and Katja walked, without speaking, to the room Zofia and Isaac shared. Zofia sat on the bed and patted the area next to her for Katja to sit. Katja remained standing with her arms crossed over her chest. She could not meet her mother’s eyes.
“Mama, have you been listening to the radio?” Katja asked, but she knew that Zofia, like the others on the kibbutz, had little interest in the outside world.
“You know I don’t listen to the radio very often. The only radio we have is in the main house and I’m usually with the children. Why? Katja, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Manfred Blau. Do you know that name, Mama?” Katja had been turned away, looking out the window, but when she spoke the name, she whirled around to look at her mother. Zofia turned white. She looked into Katja’s eyes and then looked away. The intensity was too much to bear.
There was silence for what seemed like hours but, in actuality, was only seconds.
“Yes. I know that name.”
“He is on trial here in Israel. It’s all over the news.”
“Manfred Blau was convicted and sentenced to death long ago in Nuremburg,” Zofia said, her voice barely a whisper.
“You testified,” Katja said.
Zofia nodded.
“You knew him.”
Zofia nodded again, biting her lower lip.
“Am I the child that he and his wife adopted from something called the Lebensborn?” Katja asked, her voice cracking. "Please say no, please let it be a mistake . . ."
Zofia shrugged, shaking her head. Her trembling hands open.
“Answer me, Mother. Please, answer me. I have to know the truth. Who am I, Mother? Who am I?” Katja was yelling. Tears were spilling down her face. Her face was crimson and her body was shaking violently.
Zofia felt the tears well up in her eyes. She threw her hands in the air in a gesture that seemed to be asking God why?
“Yes, Katja. Yes, you are that child.”
“I am not your daughter?”
“You are my daughter. I raised you. I love you. But I did not give birth to you. I am not your birth mother.”
Katja turned away. She felt as if her body was covered in ice. Her trembling grew even more powerful. “Who is my mother? What is the Lebensborn. And why was I adopted by an SS officer?”
“Oh, my God,” Zofia whispered. “I tried to shield you. I never wanted to tell you. You were raised here in Israel. You are as Jewish as anyone here.”
“Except for my blood. Who am I, Mother? Who am I?” Katja walked over and shook Zofia shoulders. “Tell me now.”
Zofia stood up. Her legs and back ached. She squatted down and pulled the old cardboard valise from under her bed where she had kept
the papers hidden since she, Isaac, and Katja had come to Israel. She knelt in front of the suitcase and pulled the lock open. Her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly move them. Zofia glanced at Katja, then she took the envelope out from beneath the lining where she’d hidden it so long ago. Turning away from her daughter, she handed her the envelope.
Katja opened the envelope and sat down on the bed.
ADOPTION PAPERS FROM STEINHÖRING, INSTITUTE FOR THE LEBENSBORN.
Mother: Helga Haswell - verified to have no tainted blood. Pure Aryan.
Father: SS Officer (Married, not wishing to disclose his identity) However, acceptability verified.
Born: January 30th, 1941, in Steinhöring, the home for the Lebensborn, Munich, Germany.
Christened by Reichsführer Heinrick Himmler, and given the name Katja.
Adopted: March - by Christa and Manfred Blau. Wife, pure Aryan, Husband, SS Officer. Adoption request granted by Reichsführer Himmler and Minister of Propaganda Dr. Josef Goebbels.
When she finished reading the paper, Katja looked at Zofia, dazed. She still held the paper in her hands.
“How is this possible?” she said under her breath. “I am the offspring of everything I hate. I have Nazi blood running through my veins.”
“I’m sorry,” Zofia said.
“Sorry for not telling me, or sorry for taking me in?”
“For not telling you. I would never be sorry for taking you in. You have been my child, the light of my life. I love you. Your father loves you. Whatever it was that brought you to us doesn’t matter. We can just fold this paper up and put it away forever. We can forget about all of this.”
“No, mother, we can’t. It’s all over the news—and besides, I can’t marry Elan now. My blood is contaminated. It wouldn’t be fair to him.” She was weeping with heart-wrenching sobs. “He wants to have Jewish children, not babies with Nazi roots.”
“Don’t be foolish. He will understand. You are not a Nazi. You were an innocent child. None of this was ever your fault. A bunch of sick men tried to create a world where every child was blond with blue eyes.”
“And I am . . . blond and blue-eyed.” She was shaking so hard that Zofia went to her and tried to embrace her, but Katja shook her off.
“You are beautiful. There is nothing Nazi about you. You grew up here in our homeland, you grew up Jewish. You are one of us.”
“I need to tell Rachel and Mendel before they hear it on the news. And, God help me, I have to tell Elan.” Katja straightened up and wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand.
Katja called Rachel first, but there was no answer. Then she called Mendel. As soon as she heard his voice, she started to cry again. She told him everything. She read him the papers from the Lebensborn Institute. He listened in his patient, quiet way.
Then he said, "Where are you?"
“I’m here, at the kibbutz. I don’t know what to do, Mendel. I’m scared. I don’t know who I am, where I came from. And God help me, my real parents are Nazis. She was sobbing so hard that she was choking.
“Shhh, listen to me, Kat. I’ll be there in the morning. Then you and I will go and find this woman, this Helga Haswell. If she is your birth mother, then that is a good place to start. She will probably have a lot of answers for you.”
“I’m not a Jew, Mendel. The people who I love, my mama and papa, are not my parents. I’m a Nazi. I want to die. I don’t want to go on living this way.”
“Stop it! No, you are not a Nazi. And they are your parents. They raised you and took care of you. Anyone can have a child, but not everyone can be a parent. Now listen to me, Katja. You are as Jewish as I am. Please don’t do anything foolish; just wait for me. You hear me, Kat? I mean it. I’m getting in the car as soon as we hang up. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said.
Elan arrived first. It was two o’clock in the morning. Katja was staying in the guesthouse, but she was not asleep. Elan didn’t know where to find her so he knocked on her parent’s door.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” he said, when Isaac opened the door. “Is Katja here?”
“We weren’t asleep. Yes, she’s in the guesthouse.”
“What is it? What’s wrong? She ran out of the house like a lunatic, without telling me anything. She left me a crazy note. I was worried sick all the way here. Is someone ill? Is someone dead?”
Zofia walked over to the door. She wore a bathrobe and her hair was undone. By the redness of her eyes and her tear-stained cheeks it was clear that she had been crying. “I think Katja should tell you herself.”
“Then take me to her. PLEASE.”
They knocked on the door of the room where Katja was staying. She opened it, thinking it was Mendel.
“Elan, you shouldn’t have come. I asked you not to come,” Katja said.
“You’ve been crying,” he said, trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She backed away as if his touch was fire.
“We cannot get married.”
“You’re talking crazy, Katja, what is it? Another man?”
“I am not who you think I am. I am someone dark and horrible.”
He looked at her, confused. “Katja, what are you talking about?”
Then she told him.
He listened without speaking. By the time she had finished, his face was ashen.
“We can’t marry,” she said.
He looked away. He could not bear to see the pain in her face when he told her what he must tell her. “You’re right, Katja. We cannot marry. I love you. I will go to my grave loving you. But, as I told you once before, this country means more to me than my own life. I must not pollute the bloodline.”
Zofia was standing there, looking at him. “Pollute the blood, Elan? You’re beginning to sound like a Nazi yourself. How can you say these things? Katja is Jewish; she was raised to be Jewish.”
“I could accept everything if she were just gentile, and I would marry her if that were all there was to it. But it’s so much more, so much more. She has Nazi blood. The blood of our enemies. Not only our enemies but the worst of the worst—the blood of the SS, for God’s sake. We have no idea how many of our people’s deaths her parents are responsible for. That would be our children’s ancestry; that is the blood that would run through our children’s veins. I can’t do that.”
“Elan!” Zofia said.
“I’m sorry, Kat.” Elan shook his head. Then he turned and left.
Katja threw herself on the bed and began weeping hard again. Isaac sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Let him go Kat. Any man who would leave you for something that is not your fault is a man that you would be better off without.” Katja sat up and buried her face in Isaac’s shoulder. Then Isaac rocked her like he did when she was little. “It’s going to be all right, Kat . . .” he whispered.
Zofia and Isaac stayed for several hours, until Zofia finally asked the kibbutz doctor for something to help Katja get to sleep. When Katja finally fell asleep, Zofia breathed a sigh of relief. Then she took Isaac’s arm and they went back to their own room.
Mendel arrived at five thirty in the morning. He went to the guesthouse and looked up the room number where Katja was staying. Then he went to the room and knocked on the door. No one answered and he began to knock harder. He was about to go for help, to find someone to help him knock down the door. What if she had killed herself? He started down the hall, running towards the big house, when the door to Katja’s room opened.
“Mendel,” she said, her voice soft and broken.
“Katja. My God, Katja,” he said. He ran back. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not.”
He followed her into the room. When he flipped the light switch, she squinted.
“You look dazed. Your eyes are really glassy. Did you take something?” he asked.
“Yes, but it’s not what you’re thinking. My mother got me a sleeping pill from the doctor, to help me sleep.”
“Kat,” Me
ndel said, sitting down beside her on the bed.
“I told Elan.”
“And . . .”
“He agrees with me. We called off the wedding.”
Mendel nodded, saying nothing.
“I want to find her, Mendel.”
“Find who.”
“My birth mother. Helga Haswell.”
He nodded. “I figured you would.”
“I have to. I don’t want to see or talk to that horrible Manfred Blau, but I have to find my birth mother.”
“I know.”
“Will you help me?”
“Of course, I’ll help you. But I’m not sure we’ll be able to find her. And Kat . . . if we do find her . . . well . . .”
“I have to do it, no matter what the consequences, so that I can go on with my life,” Katja said.
“I’ll do what I can to pull up any records. We’ll search Germany, Poland, France, Switzerland, Austria, Norway, Denmark, everywhere, for a Helga Haswell. Now, remember, so many of the Nazis fled Europe and are living under assumed names. So, there might not be any listings for a Helga Haswell. But it’s all we have to go on.”
Chapter 80
Manfred Blau was tried and convicted in 1964. His execution date was set and Israel made sure that he was heavily guarded for every moment that remained of his life.
The morning of the day that Manfred would face the noose, he wept. After all the years that he had denied the existence of a God, now he called out in desperation for God to help. He was afraid—alone and afraid. Would it be painful? Would it be quick? Was there an afterlife? What would happen once this world, the only world he knew, turned dark to him forever? Would he see Christa again? Would he have the opportunity to tell her how sorry he was for everything? Would Dr. Goebbels be there? Was there a hell? Or was there nothing at all? Was it all over, everything over?
Manfred swallowed hard and put his hand up to feel the tender skin on his neck. He felt panic rising inside him, but no matter how loud he screamed or how hard he cried, no one would come, no one would listen. Manfred Blau would die today. These moments would be the last moments of his life on earth.
The Promised Land (All My Love, Detrick Series) (All My Love Detrick Book 3) Page 30