————
THE NEXT LETTER IS AN undated one from my Grandfather Josef. He says very little beyond expressing his love and his nostalgia for carefree days when he played with me.
My dear Edi, dear Gretl, and my dearest Helly-child,
After a long silence, I want to send you a few lines again. I am in good health and doing well and your letters are always a joyful day for me. Dear Edi, we thank the dear Lord that you are doing so well. I think of you every day. Everyone asks about you and sends regards.
How are you, dear Gretl, and our cute Helly? Where are the days when we played together in the park? Remember, Helly, you and Opi? I have a single wish left, to play one more time with Helly. May the dear Lord grant our wishes.
Dear Mama and the sisters probably are writing everything to you and keeping you up to date, so I close my letter today and hug and kiss you all in spirit. Stay well and write soon again.
Your faithful Papa
Attached to my grandfather’s handwritten words is a typed and factual letter that is unmistakably from Emil Urbach. What puzzles me is that Emil, who has never signed his letters and whose typing has always been accurate, appears to be giving a false name.
We really liked the little picture of you and we look forward to the next ones. We read your reports with great pleasure. All our friends and relatives are doing well, thank God, and send you best regards. We hope that in the coming year that you will have a really good harvest as the crowning point of all your hard work.
To you, dear Gretl, we wish all the best for your coming birthday in January. May you remain in good health, and above all, may you experience great joy from Helly.
Dear Mama is feeling better, thank God. She is darning socks these days, and thinking of you a lot. She always wishes that she could help you in your work. Our Otto is tutoring children in a large town nearby. He is doing well and likes it there. Our Manci is learning to become a seamstress. She leaves the house very early and gets home returns very late. Nevertheless, she feels lucky.
Anny’s humorous way of writing always makes us smile. With best regards to every one of you, we remain the family who loves you
Auerbach
Following closely upon the typed words are a few lines in Martha’s handwriting.
Perhaps you will still get some results. What a joy that would be for us all! Again, dear sister-in-law, all the best. We greet and kiss you all. Your Martha and Emil.
————
THE NEXT LE TTER IS FROM my grandparents Fanny and Josef. Several things in the letter puzzle me. Why has my grandfather signed it as “Josef rather than his usual “Papa”? Why didn’t he move in with the Urbachs as projected in Arnold’s letter of September 26? Most of all, if my grandparents are now living with Arnold and Vera, then what has happened to the Fränkels? Where and how are they living?
I was very pleased to receive your letter and the little photo. You all look great. As to my health, I feel stronger already. My heart suffered from weakness. We live at Arnold’s where we use Vera’s old waiting room. Because I cook separately for us, I am busy every morning. I spend the afternoons darning stockings for the Urbachs because dear Elsa is busy enough as it is. Thank goodness we are all well and busy. Dorly is a delightful child and Ilserl is a good student. Emil works at the office.
My thoughts have been with you constantly, and all the cousins send their regards. I often spend time with the in-laws and we go for walks together. Resl is much recovered.
Now, my dear ones, accept from all of us our best regards and kisses. Please write again soon. We very much look forward to your letters.
Your faithful mother Fanny.
P.S. I beg you to pardon my bad handwriting. That’s what remains from the weakness.
And from me too, sincerest regards and kisses. Write to us again soon. Your Josef
————
ONCE A MONTH, DEPENDABLY, Arnold sends a letter. On November 28,1940, he writes that despite Germany’s need for technicians and engineers, his work at the factory has been terminated. He refers to his “old evil” and to his “defect,” words that are clearly euphemisms for being a Jew.
My dear ones,
Today your September letter arrived, so of course, there was great joy here. I’m sure you have some idea of what your letters mean for us at this time, especially when they bring us good news of your well-being and also calm us about Otto’s welfare. I thank every one of you for your best regards and at the same time, I beg you to continue to write to us at least once a month.
Here, everyone is in good health, and except for professional changes, everything is as it was. Dear Mama has now almost totally recovered. She is out of bed all day, is gaining weight, and is feeling generally stronger, so that one can virtually consider her healthy. The doctor, who really performed a miracle on her—he himself never doubted her recovery, but we all did and she herself had deep-seated fears—just comes once in a while now, leaving routine caretaking to Vera.
As indicated earlier, for me there has been a major professional change. Recently, because of my old evil, I couldn’t manage the difficult demands of my job and had to leave the company.
Fortunately, I immediately found work again. I’m not working in my old capacity but rather as controller in a small metal manufacturing company in Smichov. The pay is modest but otherwise it’s quite nice and I am totally satisfied. I do have to get up at 5:30 because it’s the early shift. For lunch, there is just a cold snack, but it means that I’m home after 3 o’clock, in time for afternoon tea, which has not been the case for me in years.
Vera goes to a lunch table and brings my lunch home, which we then share for supper.
You see how well I hit it by choosing a technical profession— technicians are in great demand these days and are also well paid. If I didn’t have this defect, I could easily earn 5-6000 Kronen and even more in Germany.
Now I want to close for today and I send to each of you my sin-cerest regards and kisses. I am always with you in my thoughts, and I remain
Your Old Arnold
Again and again, I pore over Arnold’s words. His Jewish birth means that the job he had hoped to keep till the end of the year has been terminated. Still, his expertise as a metals engineer in wartime means that he is snapped up by another firm that is clearly working around the clock. Although it is painfully evident that he had no choice, Arnold minimizes the deprivations involved in his new position.
Meanwhile, Vera has given up all pretense of wanting to be a home-maker. She no longer hides behind a curtain of sociability as the draw to the lunch table. She brings home Arnold’s lunch and they share it for their evening meal.
————
IN DECEMBER 1940, Fanny has recovered sufficiently to write a few lines to wish my mother well on her birthday, January 5. Fanny’s few words are but the prelude to another desperate plea from my father’s sister Martha. In her dreams Martha is talking to my father, longing for the day when fate will bring them together again:
My dear ones,
We were very pleased with your little picture. Dear sister-in-law, you look fabulous and your sweet little child is precious. Today I dreamt of you, my darling little brother, and in my dream, I told you all kinds of things. We’d have so many true tales to tell one another… if only we could!
Little Helly-child is probably your best source of distraction with all the work you have. Dear sister-in-law, your sister Anny is really a brilliant businesswoman; we admire her cleverness. Best and sincerest regards to her and to her husband from us all.
Ilserl is a big girl now. She has to study privately because there are no schools for our kind of people. She is being very reasonable about it.
Maybe fate will want us to see one another again after all. Please, dear little brother, contact Bella directly. If she has already filled out the form, then she could really do the good deed.
————
THERE ARE NO MORE LETTERS until March io,
1941. Like the other wartime letters, this one has handwritten numbers at the top. The mark of the censor. The letter is from Arnold who says very little this time. Still, I sense his loneliness for family.
My dear ones,
Lately there was an occasion for great joy as your letter of January w arrived. In the meantime, a letter from Otto has also arrived, so that we again feel reassured for a while. We live through your reports and in our imagination, we see every single one of you at work, including sweet little Helly who is watching whatever is happening
In the meantime, little Dorly has gotten as big as Helly was when you left us. She is exceptionally dear and bright and babbles in both languages. Thank God, I can report that we are well, and that we have survived this whole time better than you probably imagine. I perform my work diligently and Vera is working hard too.
I send you our best wishes for your well-being, and remain with the sincerest of hugs and kisses, Your Arnold
Abruptly, the wartime letters end. “Wait!” I call out. “Do not disappear! It is only March. Pearl Harbour will not happen until December 1941. Why have you stopped writing? Where are you? What is happening?”
Imagining
I CANNOT YET REACH FOR THE HANDFUL of post-war letters. I procrastinate instead, allowing my imagination to float to an earlier time. In my head, I create vivid scenes of the family. Mostly, I imagine them at the train station, everyone waving goodbye to us.
“Write often!”
“Don’t forget to take photos!”
“Watch out for snakes and wild animals!”
“Eat as much as you can on the ship! You’ll need strength.”
The sharp whistle of the train cut through the babble of last minute suggestions. A sudden silence fell over the little group huddled on the platform. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Gretl leaned once more out the window, waving wordlessly. At her side, Edi stood woodenly, his arms wrapped tightly around little Helly. Squirming with excitement, she alone seemed happy as the train lurched, then slowly inched forward.
A final chorus of shouts and a single deep-voiced “farewell” floated forward from the platform as the train gathered momentum. Not “goodbye” with its cheerful hope of early reunion, but “farewell” with the full weight of resignation to a final parting.
“Whose voice had it been?” Edi wondered as he set down the child and took her hand. Had it been his father, the family patriarch whom everyone called Papa Waldstein? Or had it been Gretl’s father, Max Grünhut? Perhaps it was his brother Arnold, the eternal optimist experiencing a rare moment of doubt. More likely, the voice had belonged to one of the two Emils, the brothers-in-law who shared more than the coincidence of their first names.
Emil Urbach was the older man, and the vest of his dark three-piece suit seemed a trifle snug, as befitted the prosperous father of two teenagers. Edi imagined the four Urbachs walking arm in arm along the platform, then stopping by the exit to wait for “the old folks.” The four grandparents would walk more slowly as would Emil and Martha Fränkel with their young family. Martha would be carrying the baby while Emil strolled hand in hand with Ilserl. She would be bombarding him with questions.
“Papa, will it be a very big ship? Bigger than the castle on the hill? Papa, is it true that Canada is full of bears? Won’t Helly be scared?”
And finally, the most important question of all, the one he so desperately wished he could answer. “Papa, when will we see them again?”
As Emil lifted his eyes, he saw that the Urbachs had indeed stopped to wait at the exit.
“There’s Uncle Emil and Tante Elsa. Wait with them while I help Mama. Her arms must be getting tired.”
Iserl skipped ahead, and seconds later, she had been scooped up by her cousin Otto Urbach and placed on his shoulders. From her perch, she surveyed the train station. What a giant place it was! Higher than her head, a few pigeons roosted on metal girders, and higher still, beyond the sooty glass roof, grey clouds hovered. Her ears rang with the buzz of voices and the creaking of luggage carts and the hissing of trains waiting impatiently on their tracks.
Just then, she caught sight of her Omi and Opi. They were walking slowly. Opi had given his arm to Helly’s grandmother, Oma Grünhut. Opa Grünhut seemed to be making a speech. His moustache twitched and his arms flayed the air as he spoke. How strange it was to see her grandparents dressed for travel. They were probably taking the late train to Budweis. Ilserl wanted to go with them, but her parents had already said “no” in that strange, tight voice that warned her not to ask again.
Not that it would be the same without Helly there. The grown-ups never seemed to have time for anything these days. Whenever the family got together, all they did was sit around talking politics. Often the talk sounded like an argument, and nobody seemed to be happy anymore.
Maybe this afternoon they could at least go to a park, and if Otto and Marianne came along, they might play hide and seek in the bushes. But lately, even Otto and Marianne seemed different. Just now, Otto had scooped her up onto his shoulders, but he hadn’t even teased her about her curly braids looking like pigs’ tails. Something was very wrong.
Of course, they were all sad that Helly and Uncle Edi and Tante Gretl were leaving, but surely, they would be back, even if it took a long time. Meanwhile, there would be letters from Canada. Ilserl could read quite well, and Mama had promised to look for a new school where Ilserl could also learn to write. Then she could send letters to Helly, and they would not forget each other, not ever, no matter how long it took until they could see each other again.
Otto reached up and set her down carefully. Ilserl pushed back her right braid just as Tante Elsa issued the expected invitation: “Let’s all go back to our house. We can have coffee and Kuchen. The children can play in the garden while we talk. It will make us all feel less lonely if we are together.”
“Great idea” echoed her Emil, smiling as he thought of the ramshackle villa at the edge of town that seemed always to be full of friends and family. How lucky they had been to live there since the hasty sale of their house in the Sudetenland. Remembering those tense days, Emil’s smile faded. Despite the rumours, surely that was all behind them now!
Emil pictured the villa as they had first seen it. The windows had been grey with soot from a nearby factory, and the whole building had smelled dank. The kitchen speckled with mouse droppings had been particularly foul. A decaying broom propped open the pantry door, but the pile of debris had been left to rot in a corner.
Afraid to see disappointment written across Elsa’s dear face, he had uttered the thought that was uppermost in his mind.
“Small wonder they were willing to let Jews live here. No one else would want it.”
To his surprise, Else had reached out a gloved hand and smiled.
“Let’s take it. It has many rooms, and we’ll need the space if we are going to share with the Fränkels. Marianne and Otto could each have their own bedroom, and if we’re lucky enough to find a maid willing to work for Jews, there will be room for her too.”
“But it’s so dirty, so unlike our beautiful house in…”
“Never mind,” she interrupted. “I know how to work. My mother taught us well. Besides, I never expected to marry a rich man.”
“I wasn’t so rich at the beginning. Do you remember how long it took before I dared ask your father for your hand? I never thought he’d let you marry someone who was not yet established.”
“But it was never a problem. I was so totally in love with you that all I could think of was being with you. Besides, Papa would never have denied me anything. Now with the boys, it was another story. Papa was so strict with them. I never thought it would work out, when Edi went back to Strobnitz to help run the store. I was sure his life would be over before he had a chance to live it, and now look at him! He has a wife and a daughter and soon he’ll be in Canada.”
Else’s words took Emil back to that conversation in the cold kitchen just a few months ago. It h
ad come as a shock to Emil when the Nazis had taken, or rather, had been handed the Sudetenland. As far as he could see, Czechs and Germans, Jews and Gentiles had always lived side by side, especially in small towns like Krumlau that had been home for so many years. How had it happened, that his fellow doctors had meekly gone about their business, uttering not a word of protest when Emil had been stripped of his right to practice medicine?
It had seemed sensible to move to Prague where he could at least hang out his shingle. But in only six months, everything had changed. Hitler was now in Prague and the same anti-Jewish regulations had come into effect. Thank goodness, they had taken the old villa, and Elsa had worked her magic to make it a home where family and friends felt welcome. When the Fränkels had arrived from Austria with a babe in arms, there had been room enough for them.
Most of the Jews who had been forced to move had settled near the train station. District 32 of Prague had become the temporary haven of refugees from Pilsen, Marienbad, Karlsbad, and from a host of Czech towns close to the German border. There they huddled within suitcase carrying distance of the trains that they hoped would carry them to safety.
Another voice intruded upon Emil’s thoughts. It was his brother-in-law Emil Fränkel, with the baby asleep in his arms.
“We’ll need at least two carriages, but it shouldn’t be a problem at this time of day. Otto and Marianne can squeeze in with the two sets of grandparents. That will give us a bit of time alone to talk about a few things. I’m worried about Max and Resl. How will they manage now that both daughters have left? Resl still seems pretty frail and Max has no concept of reality. All he does is pray. He really believes that God will look after everything.
“At least he has his faith. That’s more than we can say. We are being persecuted for an accident of birth that means very little to either of us.”
Letters From the Lost Page 17