My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me: A Black Woman Discovers Her Family's Nazi Past

by Jennifer Teege

  Anat shares my pain. She knew Gerhard; she met him when he came to see me in Israel and at my wedding. Anat says that she took to my adoptive father, but that she found the discussions he wanted to have with her, about Hitler and the Third Reich, exhausting.

  Even on his deathbed, Gerhard was still thinking about the Holocaust. He wanted to talk to me about Adolf Eichmann; he had read a few books about his trial.

  For many years, Gerhard looked into everything related to the Nazis. He did research, read historical sources, compared the numbers of victims. He probed deeper wherever he thought he’d discovered inaccuracies or contradictions.

  He became deeply absorbed in the subject. Within the family it played only a minor role, but he had heated discussions with his friends about it—so much so that some of those friendships were destroyed.

  Before he died, I suggested to him that he make up with some of those friends. But he didn’t want to apologize. My brothers and I couldn’t understand why he was so unrelenting, right up to the end.

  On his sickbed, he also spoke about Amon Goeth. He quoted Dostoyevsky and asked if man was evil. We discussed the theses put forward by Alexander and Margarete Mitscherlich, who claimed that most Germans were unable to feel guilt or shame after the war. Again, I was unsure what Gerhard was driving at.

  I don’t think that he could quite put his finger on what exactly was bothering him. He hid behind quotations and theories. But ultimately, it boiled down to his parents. It was all about his own childhood, his mother and his father.

  They weren’t party members, but were sympathizers and followers. They liked the discipline and the Hitler Youth, and they believed in the secure future that Hitler promised. Opa Bochum regarded the Nazis’ success as a blessing for Germany.

  In his dying days, Gerhard spoke for the first time at length about his parents: Oma and Opa Bochum.

  ■ ■ ■

  Matthias Sieber, the elder of Jennifer Teege’s adoptive brothers, believes that, in many discussions, his father was subconsciously trying to defend his parents. Gerhard Sieber was plagued by the question of whether the German people knew about the extermination camps during World War II: “My father knew that the deportations and the disappearance of so many people could not have gone unnoticed. He was asking himself whether his parents had been aware of anything.”

  Gerhard’s parents were keen on Hitler’s ideas, and enamored of the man himself: “In the nineteen-fifties, my grandfather once said to my father that Hitler wasn’t dead at all and was sure to come back soon. Later, my father regretted not asking his father what he meant by that.”

  Gerhard Sieber’s father died young. Gerhard later tried to talk to his mother about the Nazi years. She claimed not to have known anything about the killing of the Jews.

  She once told Matthias that one of the reasons behind the anti-Semitism was the fact that the Jews had owned all the department stores before the war.

  Matthias thinks: “My father carried around this unresolved conflict with his parents. He grappled with the Holocaust without realizing that what he really wanted to understand was his parents.”

  ■ ■ ■

  THE TEACHERS ARE CALLING THE CHILDREN to get ready to leave. We board the bus and drive to the site of the former Płaszów concentration camp.

  I am sitting next to one of Kai’s classmates. I don’t know her; she doesn’t say anything. A few others are eyeing me with curiosity. They don’t yet know who I am; I am still traveling incognito. Anat and the teachers thought it would best to wait until we got to the memorial before telling them who I am. I lean back and close my eyes; I can rest now before the official part begins.

  I don’t have any expectations for the day. I only know what I don’t want to do, and that’s to impart knowledge. That’s a job for schoolteachers and university professors. Facts are important; we need them to gain a deeper understanding of things. But if nothing else follows upon the facts, if they are not connected to anything real, nor reflected upon, then they are of little value. They are forgotten as soon as they are heard.

  The Israeli students have learned much about the victims on this school trip, and also something about those on other side, the perpetrators. They must be asking themselves: How could it have happened that some people killed millions of other people?

  I want to tell the story from a different perspective. I want to tell them what it is like to be the granddaughter of a concentration camp commandant. And I want to tell them about my relationship with Anat.

  Neither Anat nor I knew about my family history when we met by chance. She is a descendant of the generation of victims, I am a descendant of the generation of perpetrators. Nevertheless, our relationship is not symbolic; it is a true friendship that has lasted to this day.

  The bus stops by the side of the highway that runs along the boundary of the old camp, and we get off. Once again, I walk up the hill toward the memorial.

  The last time I came here, I didn’t know what to do with the new information about my family. But I felt there had to be something useful about knowing the horrific truth. I had lived half a life unaware of my origins, but now I had the truth at last. The knowledge shocked me, but it also released me.

  Family secrets are corrosive. How often did I despair, feeling like I’d arrived at yet another locked door?

  Discovering my family’s secret pulled the rug out from under my depression. I felt better after my first trip to Krakow. Today, my sadness is gone.

  The first time I came to Krakow, I was still hoping to see my mother again and to build a new relationship with her. It didn’t happen. I found her and lost her again.

  But I still have my adoptive family.

  For a long time, I struggled with my adoptive parents. More than anything, I noticed our differences—everything that separated us. But as Gerhard was dying, I realized how much we have in common. We have spent so many years together and have shared so many experiences. I belong to this family now.

  During Gerhard’s illness, we were there for each other. It was a wonderful feeling, to be part of a family. When we were planning Gerhard’s seventieth birthday at the hospital, Matthias and I went to the house in Waldtrudering and retrieved Oma Bochum’s old coffee set and the matching tablecloth from the basement. It has a flower motif, which we all—my adoptive father, his sister and foster siblings, and also my brothers and I—have known since our childhood days.

  When we laid the table at the hospital, all the generations present remembered that coffee set. To any outsider, it would have been just some old-fashioned crockery and a patterned tablecloth.

  We arrive at the memorial. The students sit down on the steps; the teachers, Anat, and I remain standing before them. One of the teachers says a few introductory words about the Płaszów camp and about its commandant, Amon Goeth.

  Next, Anat begins to speak. She describes how I showed up one day at her shared apartment in Tel Aviv that day over twenty years ago, how our friendship has grown and endured to this day. I am touched by her speech.

  Anat passes the microphone on to me. I greet the students with “shalom” and go on to describe how I grew up, how I only recently came to discover my family secret. I explain why I stopped writing to Anat and how glad I am to be here with her today. I don’t find it hard to tell my story. I tell the students that I will be happy to answer any questions they might have. I want a dialog with them. I don’t want to give a lecture; I want to learn something new myself.

  ■ ■ ■

  At first, some of the students are inattentive as they stand in front of the Płaszów memorial. There is nothing to see but the monument and the green grass. A few of them are already thinking about the next item on the agenda: There will be folk music tonight, something cheerful at last—Polish dancers in traditional costumes, the women wearing flowers in their hair, the men with pointed hats on their heads. The Israeli teenagers will clap and dance, too. The following morning they will be heading to Ausch-witz, a s
ad ending to their trip. Some are afraid of going to Auschwitz.

  When Jennifer Goeth starts to explain that she is the granddaughter of Amon Goeth, the students perk up. Some nudge the person next to them: Who is she? Amon Goeth, how? But she’s got dark skin, and she lived in Israel. How can that be? Many students look shocked, some begin to cry and wipe away their tears with their sleeves. One boy quickly puts on his sunglasses.

  The children have many questions. “Was your grandmother a Nazi, too? How did she live in the camp?” “Are you in contact with neo-Nazis?” “How do you cope with it all?” The students’ biology teacher wants to know: “Are you afraid of your genes?”

  A petite girl with long, dark curls remarks that she knows a lot about the second- and third-generation descendants of the victims, but nothing about their persecutors’ descendants: “When Jennifer told us her story, I understood that she and her family are also scarred, in their own way. That she also suffered a trauma.” Before she went to Poland, the girl’s parents had told her: “Even though everything will be very sad, retain your belief in the good in mankind, in everyone.” It’s these words that come to her mind now.

  Another girl says that she felt an obligation to be touched, to be moved on this trip, which sometimes was a burden: What if she didn’t feel anything? But the girl acknowledges: “Jennifer’s story, that moved me.”

  For each commemorative site they are visiting, a group of students has prepared a little ceremony: writing speeches, picking songs, and choosing the color of the flowers. In Płaszów, the ritual is about to begin: One of the young Israelis puts on his yarmulke and gets out his guitar.

  Dusk is falling. Joggers are running past; people are walking their dogs. The three security guards accompanying the class have spread out over the area of the former Płaszów camp, climbing the small hills in order to get a clear overview. They coordinate via cell phones while the students prepare for the ceremony, sheets of paper with their speeches at the ready.

  ■ ■ ■

  The Israeli students at the Płaszów memorial, in 2012

  IT WAS GOOD TO SPEAK in front of the students. They listened spellbound; no one was distracted. I looked into their faces and saw their eyes widen, saw them connecting the past to the present. Afterward, they bombarded me with questions; they wanted to know how I am doing now.

  Now they walk up to the memorial; the ceremony begins. Some students read their own compositions in Hebrew; others read testimonies from Płaszów survivors. Then one of the girls sings a song, accompanied by one of the boys on guitar. I stand on the edge with Kai and Anat, listening.

  Suddenly, one of the Israeli girls by the memorial waves me over: She invites me to take part in their ceremony commemorating the Płaszów victims. I walk to the front; the students take me into their midst. The girl who was going to lay down the flowers gives me a hug. She hands me the bunch of red roses and asks me to lay them down for the class.

  I am surprised. At first I hesitate and whisper “no.” I am touched by the students’ gesture, but I am not sure if it is right for me to perform the ritual. If I am the right person to do it.

  The first time I came to Krakow, I brought my own flowers with me and laid them down in private. This time, it is better. This time, I am not alone.

  I pause for a second. Then I step forward. I stop in front of the memorial and slowly place the flowers on the stone. And then we sing “Hatikvah,” the Israeli national anthem.

  Hatikvah means “hope.”

  Further Resources

  Books, Films and Online

  About Amon Goeth, Ruth Irene Goeth, and their daughter Monika

  Books:

  Awtuszewka-Ettrich, Angelina. “Płaszów – Stammlager,” in Der Ort des Terrors: Geschichte der nationalsozialistischen Konzentrationslager, Bd. 8 [The place of terror: History of the Nazi concentration camps, Vol. 8]. Edited by Wolfgang Benz and Barbara Distel, 235–87. Munich: Verlag C. H. Beck, 2008.

  Crowe, David. M. Oskar Schindler: The Untold Account of His Life, Wartime Activities, and the True Story Behind the List. Berkeley: Westview Press, 2004.

  Keneally, Thomas. Schindler’s List. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1994. Originally published as Schindler’s Ark (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1982).

  Kessler, Matthias. “Ich muß doch meinen Vater lieben, oder?” Die Lebensgeschichte von Monika Göth, Tochter des KZ-Kommandanten aus “Schindlers Liste” [I have to love my father, don’t I? The life story of Monika Goeth, daughter of the concentration camp commandant from Schindler’s List]. Frankfurt: Eichborn Verlag, 2002.

  Pemper, Mietek. The Road to Rescue: The Untold Story of Schindler’s List. Translated by David Dollenmayer. New York: Other Press, 2011. Originally published in German as Der rettende Weg: Schindlers Liste. Die wahre Geschichte. (Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe Verlag, 2005).

  Sachslehner, Johannes. Der Tod ist ein Meister aus Wien: Leben und Taten des Amon Leopold Göth [Death is a master from Vienna: The life and deeds of Amon Leopold Goeth]. Vienna: Styria Premium, 2008.

  Segev, Tom. Soldiers of Evil: The Commandants of the Nazi Concentration Camps. Translated by Haim Watzman. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1988. Originally published in Hebrew as Hayale ha-resha (Jerusalem: Domino Press, 1987).

  Films:

  Blair, Jon. Schindler: The Real Story. HBO Home Video, 2001. Originally Schindler: Die Dokumentation [Schindler: The documentary]. UK, 1983. PolyGram-Video 1993.

  Kessler, Matthias. Amons Tochter [Amon’s daughter]. Germany, 2003.

  Moll, James. Inheritance. Allentown Productions, 2006. Film: pbs.org/pov/inheritance/; Panel discussion, 2008: pbs.org/pov/inheritance/video_panel.php.

  Spielberg, Steven. Schindler’s List. Universal, 1993.

  Ze’evi, Chanoch. Hitler’s Children. Israel, 2011. hitlerschildren.com.

  Web:

  A series of interviews by Mietek Pemper with Monika Hertwig: mietek-pemper.de/wiki/Interview_mit_Monika_Hertwig.

  Selected reports of Płaszów survivors

  Frister, Roman. The Cap: The Price of a Life. Translated by Hillel Halkin. New York: Grove Press, 1999. Originally published in Hebrew as Deyokan ‘atsmi ‘im tsaleket (Tel Aviv: Devir, 1993).

  Müller-Madej, Stella. A Girl from Schindler’s List. Translated by William R. Brand. London: Polish Cultural Foundation, 1997. Originally published in German as Das Mädchen von der Schindler-Liste (Augsburg: Olive Tree Publishing, 1994).

  About other descendants of perpetrators

  Books:

  Brunner, Claudia, and Uwe von Seltmann. Schweigen die Täter, reden die Enkel [When the perpetrators keep silent, their grandchildren will talk]. Frankfurt: Fischer Verlag, 2006.

  Frank, Niklas. In the Shadow of the Reich. Translated by Arthur S. Wensinger. New York: Knopf, 1991. Originally published in German as Der Vater: Eine Abrechnung (Munich: Verlag C. Bertelsmann, 1987).

  Frank, Niklas. Meine deutsche Mutter [My German mother]. Munich: Verlag C. Bertelsmann, 2005.

  Himmler, Katrin. The Himmler Brothers: A German Family History. Translated by Michael Mitchell. London: Macmillan, 2007. Originally published in German as Die Brüder Himmler: Eine deutsche Familiengeschichte (Frankfurt: S. Fischer Verlag, 2005).

  Lebert, Norbert, and Stephan Lebert. My Father’s Keeper. Translated by Julian Evans. Boston: Little, Brown, 2001. Originally published in German as Denn Du trägst meinen Namen: Das schwere Erbe der prominenten Nazi-Kinder (Munich: Karl Blessing Verlag, 2000).

  Nissen, Margret. Sind Sie die Tochter Speer? [Are you Speer’s daughter?]. Munich: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 2004.

  Saur, Karl-Otto, and Michael Saur. Er stand in Hitlers Testament: Ein deutsches Familienerbe [He was named in Hitler’s will: A German family legacy]. Berlin: Econ Verlag, 2007.

  Senfft, Alexandra. Schweigen tut weh: Eine deutsche Familiengeschichte [Silence hurts: A German family history]. Berlin: Claassen Verlag, 2007.

  Schirach, Richard von. Der Schatten meines Vaters [My father’s shadow]. Munich: Carl Hanser
Verlag, 2005.

  Timm, Uwe. In My Brother’s Shadow. Translated by Anthea Bell. London: Bloomsbury, 2005. Originally published in German as Am Beispiel meines Bruders (Cologne: Verlag Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 2003).

  Film:

  Ludin, Malte. 2 or 3 Things I Know About Him. National Center for Jewish Film, 2007. Originally 2 oder 3 Dinge, die ich von ihm weiß (Germany, 2005), absolut Medien, 2oder3dinge.de.

  About the psychology of perpetrators and followers, of second and third generations of descendants of Nazi criminals, plus general information about trauma therapy

  Bar-On, Dan. Legacy of Silence: Encounters with Children of the Third Reich. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989.

  Kellner, Friedrich. Vernebelt, verdunkelt sind alle Hirne: Tagebücher 1939–1945 [They see no evil, hear no evil: Diaries 1939–1945]. Edited by Sascha Feuchert, Robert Kellner, Erwin Leibfried, Jörg Riecke, and Markus Roth. Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 2011.

  Kogan, Ilany. Der stumme Schrei der Kinder: Die zweite Generation der Holocaust-Opfer [The silent scream of the children: The second generation of Holocaust victims]. Frankfurt: S. Fischer Verlag, 1998.

  Mitscherlich, Alexander and Margarete Mitscherlich. The Inability to Mourn: Principles of Collective Behavior. Translated by Beverley R. Placzek. New York: Grove Press, 1975. Originally published in German as Die Unfähigkeit zu trauern: Grundlagen kollektiven Verhaltens (Munich: Piper Verlag, 1967).

  Ruppert, Franz. Trauma, Bonding & Family Constellations: Understanding and Healing Injuries of the Soul. West Sussex: Green Balloon Publishing, 2008. Originally published in German as Trauma, Bindung und Familienstellen: Seelische Verletzungen verstehen und heilen. (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta Verlag, 2007).