by Wendy Lawton
As she followed the guard out, Anita turned for one last look. “Until the Lord reunites us again, Mutti …” She lifted her hand to her mouth and blew a pretend kiss across the yard.
Mutti smiled.
Earlier, Mutti had made Anita write down her father’s telephone number. “Call him to see if he can help you buy back some of the furniture.”
Anita didn’t feel like calling him. Her stomach burned. She also knew she couldn’t bear to go home to the lonely room filled with red-tagged furniture. She walked toward St. Barbara’s and Pastor Hornig.
“How we will miss your mother,” Pastor Hornig said when Anita poured out her story. “I still feel as strongly as I ever did that God will protect her.”
Anita needed to hear those words.
“When will she leave and where will she go?” the pastor asked.
“I don’t think she leaves until tomorrow. I’m not sure, but I think she’ll go to Theresienstadt in Czechoslovakia.” It sounded so far away to Anita.
“That’s good news, Anita. Very good news, because they still allow mail and packages at Theresienstadt.” Pastor Hornig seemed to be thinking. “Perhaps you can visit her tonight to take food. I’ll ask Frau Hornig to prepare some sandwiches and a little fruit.”
As he left to arrange the food, Anita realized she felt better. Pastor Hornig was right—if she could write to Mutti, it would keep her mother’s spirits up and Anita wouldn’t be as lonely. Dear Heavenly Father, make it possible for me to send something to Mutti each week. Keep us close. Bring us back to each other at the end …
“Here.” Pastor Hornig handed her a small package. “Do your best to get in to see her tonight. Tell her we will pray her through this. Remind her that she rests in the shadow of the Almighty hand.”
When Anita arrived at the makeshift prison, she saw Steffi Bott, the daughter of one of her mother’s friends, along with the three Wolf brothers—Gerhard, Wolfgang, and Rudi.
“Was your mother taken?” Steffi asked after greeting Anita.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“My mother’s in there, too, along with Frau Wolf. Seems like the Nazis went after Jewish Christians in this sweep.”
“All three of our mothers were married to Germans,” Rudi said. “So much for the new Nuremberg laws.”
“Are you here for a last visit?” Anita asked.
“We tried,” Steffi said. “They won’t let us in.”
“They must! I have food and her favorite old pink chenille bathrobe.” That sounded silly in the face of a concentration camp, but Anita knew it would comfort Mutti. “I didn’t get to properly say good-bye.” Anita thought of so many things she forgot to say.
“Shhh. Gerhard figured a way in, through that old hotel over there,” Rudi said. “It used to be part of the synagogue that now houses the prisoners. All we have to do is slip by the desk clerk. Besides, who’d ever expect someone to try to sneak into a prison?”
While Rudi and Wolfgang distracted the clerk, the other three slipped down the stairs leading to the basement. The way in was complicated—through a basement, down through an underground tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, they could see a door, slightly ajar, leading into the basement of the synagogue. Prisoners milled around inside the basement, but right in front of the door stood the Gestapo guard. None of their mothers seemed to be in the room. The three waited for a long time until the guard stepped out of the room.
Gerhard pushed the door open. A woman looked at him, her eyes growing large with fear. “Leave at once. You will get us in trouble.”
“We want to see our mothers—Frau Dittman, Frau Bott, and Frau Wolf. We have these packages for them.” He pushed the packages into the room. “If we get caught, can you see that they get these?”
“Ja, ja. Now go.”
At that moment, they heard the clomp of heavy footsteps in the tunnel. Gerhard pulled the door shut.
“What are you doing?” The guard practically yelled in Anita’s face.
None of the three said a word. Anita’s stomach twisted into a knot of fear.
“Come. You will join your friends in the Gestapo office.”
After what seemed like the longest time—a time that included many questions and whispered conferences between guards—the five stood before the Gestapo. “You committed a crime punishable by death. You know that, don’t you?”
Steffi kept her head down. Her tears dripped onto the floor. Anita prayed silently and knew that her friends did the same.
“I do not have time for the likes of you today,” the Gestapo said. “I shall have to release you—although it’s against my best judgment. Do not think you escaped easily.” He opened a big book. “I’m recording each of your names on the blacklist. We shall deal with you at a later date.”
As they left to go to their homes, they thanked God over and over. “If we had not been released,” Anita said, “we’d never be able to keep food packages going to our mothers.”
“Being blacklisted hardly worries me,” Rudi said. “Even with the Nuremberg laws, it’s only a matter of time until we are summoned.”
Though they’d known of each other through their mothers, after their close call at the synagogue, the five became friends.
“Vati?” Anita had gone to Pastor Hornig’s to place the long distance telephone call to her father who’d moved sixty miles away in Sorau.
“Anita?” The voice on the other end of the scratchy telephone line sounded surprised. “What is wrong?”
“Mutti’s been taken. She’s on her way to Theresienstadt.”
“Oh, no, not Hilde. I thought she’d be safe.” Distress colored his words.
Vati’s reaction encouraged Anita. “Mutti told me to call you if I ever needed help.”
“What can I do?”
“They’ve taken all our furniture and possessions except my bed. I can buy back some furniture and a few of my personal things, but the Gestapo inflated the price way above anything I can afford.” Anita didn’t wait for him to answer. She didn’t know if she could handle yet another rejection. “They want one thousand marks.”
“I’ll get you the money tomorrow, daughter—” He sounded like he wanted to say more. “I’m so glad you asked.”
When Anita hung up the phone, she needed a moment to compose herself. She knew her relationship with Vati would never be whole, but today was the first time they had connected.
“Wouldn’t Hilde be pleased to hear of this?” Pastor Hornig said after Anita recounted the conversation. “You know God will not allow us to harbor bitterness, no matter how much right we have to it. You’ve taken a hard step today, young friend. God will honor you for it.”
“But I called asking him a favor.”
“When we are at odds, sometimes the easiest way to reach out is to allow the person to do something for us.” Pastor Hornig smiled. “And sometimes that’s the hardest thing to do. It’s much easier for us to keep our backs stiff and hang on to our pride.” He sat back in his chair. “You allowed your father to come into your life in a way that made him feel invited. Remember your telling me about the fancy toys your father used to like to buy?”
“Ja.”
“Your father may not be able to speak words of love. He is clumsy with emotions and words. He feels most comfortable giving gifts. You let him give the only kind of love he knows how to offer.”
Pastor Hornig always gave Anita something to think about.
Anita remembered all those years ago when Hella remarked about how easy it was to fall into a routine, no matter how much the situation around you unraveled. Anita fell into just such a routine—working hard and saving every penny she could scrape together. Each week she used her ration card to buy Mutti a loaf of fresh dark pumpernickel bread. The bread was perfect, because it was so dense, it shipped well and lasted almost indefinitely.
Mutti sent postcards back to Anita, thanking her for the bread. Anita knew it was more than bread—those loaves became a link from m
other to daughter.
Because Anita sent the weekly bread along with anything else she managed to tuck into the food package, she tried to get by with next to nothing to save her ration card for Mutti’s food. She expected to drop weight and lose hair like she did when she starved in Berlin. This time she never lost an ounce of weight and had all the energy she’d ever need. What a mystery. She couldn’t explain it. She just kept repeating Mutti’s words, “God is good.” If nothing else, having to rely on God for everything allowed Anita to see her Father’s protection.
One week, as she went to the bakery to buy her usual loaf of pumpernickel, Anita couldn’t shake the feeling she ought to buy hard, dry zwieback bread instead. It didn’t make sense. Mutti loved pumpernickel, and the heavy flour and rich molasses filled it with nutrition. Would mother be disappointed if she received crusty zwieback instead? Anita gave in to that nagging feeling and bought the zwieback.
Several weeks later, Mutti wrote to tell of being desperately sick and unable to hold any food down. She told how dangerous it was to be sick in camp. The guards often considered sickness a problem, and they liked to make their problems disappear. She didn’t say anything more than those cryptic words, but Anita knew what she meant.
Mutti wrote that she remembered back to Zimpel days. Whenever one of them couldn’t keep food down, zwieback always did the trick. The more she thought about it, the more she longed for dry zwieback to help settle her stomach. That same day Anita’s package arrived—filled with the very zwieback Mutti craved.
That zwieback strengthened both Mutti’s and Anita’s faith. God listened to Mutti’s needs and managed to communicate them to Anita. As Mutti wrote to Anita, “Is there any doubt that the Lord will continue to provide for both of us?”
They needed that kind of reassurance. Even though the German people did not fully know about the death camps, the Jewish people did. Hitler did his best to keep it secret, but a few Jews returned. With the accounts from those eyewitnesses and the coded messages smuggled out, Anita knew the likely future for Mutti and eventually for herself as well.
Theresienstadt had been built as a “model” ghetto—it was actually an old walled city, now filled with Jews. Once in a while, Hitler’s men would spiff things up and give a group of dignitaries a tour of a few select places in an effort to show them that the rumors were not true. In fact, Theresienstadt was a vermin-infested, overcrowded camp used as a temporary stopover. Every day the guards loaded prisoners onto transport vehicles taking them to the dreaded Auschwitz. Just as Mutti suspected, all those years ago, Hitler’s final solution—after gathering the Jews into smaller and tighter knots of concentration—was to make them disappear entirely.
Anita prayed that Mutti would be kept safe until Hitler was stopped.
By Anita’s seventeenth birthday, Hitler no longer seemed invincible. The Allies—those armies fighting against Germany—began to score victories. The bombing grew more intense; but Anita understood that, even though the bombs were frightening, Hitler must be defeated. Every day she prayed for her three aunts, for friends from the ghetto, for Frau Bott, Frau Wolf, and all the others. Mostly she prayed for Mutti.
But for some reason, the knock had not yet come to her door. She passed another summer in the now almost-empty ghetto by spending free time with Rudi, Wolfgang, Gerhard, and Steffi. St. Barbara’s continued to be her family. And there were always hours and hours spent in the office at the factory.
“Anita.” Her boss came into the front office where she had just finished filing the orders that had been filled that August day. “There’s someone on the telephone who wishes to speak to you.” He stood and watched her. No one had ever called her on the telephone. Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver.
“Anita?” It was Steffi.
“What’s wrong?”
Steffi burst into tears. “I received a summons to appear at the train station tomorrow at ten in the morning.”
“A summons?” Anita was confused. No knock? No guards?
“Maybe because we are Christian and half Aryan? I don’t know …” Steffi hardly made sense. “Because you are black-listed with me, I wanted to give you warning that you may get a summons as well.”
Anita looked over at the boss who hadn’t moved. “If so, we’ll go together.”
Steffi continued to cry on the other end of the phone. Anita thought about what Pastor Hornig had said about being a bold witness. Stand there if you like, Herr Boss, I shall speak the truth to my friend. “Steffi, don’t cry. God will protect us. He will shadow us with His very hand.”
Steffi coughed and then said, “Thank you. How I need reminding sometimes.”
“I need to get back to work. Auf Wiedersehen, Steffi.”
When Anita got home after work, a summons awaited her as well. At least she and Steffi would be together. As she let the letter fall from her hands, she prayed. The words that came to mind were the ones she remembered the priest say on that day all those years ago when she met Jesus in the stained glass windows: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Sets the Prisoner Free
Anita read the letter carefully and followed the instructions. One bag would be allowed, so she took her knapsack and carefully packed one change of clothing, a small pan, a bowl, a cake of soap, and eating utensils. Though the instructions warned against bringing anything else, Anita wrapped her Bible in a clean cloth and put it deep into her knapsack.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Mutti. Would she worry when the letters and packages stopped? News of arrests, travel, and guard movement were considered war secrets, so she could not write openly to either Mutti or Pastor Hornig. At least I can send bread one last time. Anita ran, hoping to get to the bakery before closing to get one more loaf of bread to send to Theresienstadt for Mutti. She arrived just in time to pick out a freshly wrapped two-pound loaf. As she walked home, she got an idea.
She would try to smuggle a note to Mutti inside the loaf of bread so that when the food and letters stopped, her mother would know. It was risky. Mutti hinted in her letters that the guards sometimes stole the food meant for prisoners. If a guard should find the note, it could be dangerous for Mutti. Was it worth the risk? Heavenly Father, protect this bread. Protect Mutti.
Anita took a tiny piece of paper and wrote the following words: “Dear Mutti, I am going to a camp tomorrow so I won’t be able to send any more food for a while. Don’t worry about me. I will be all right. We will soon be united. Love, Anita.”
The loaf was wrapped in the usual cellophane with a label at the end. Anita carefully peeled back the label. Taking a long thin knife she cut a slot into the loaf and tucked her note deep inside. She pressed the label back onto the cellophane. The loaf looked perfect. She trusted God to work out the rest.
If only she could get word to Pastor Hornig—but she knew her pastor and the family at St. Barbara’s would pray every day for her just as they already prayed for Mutti and so many others.
When she got to the train station the next morning, Steffi ran over and grabbed Anita’s hands. “I’m so frightened, but I’m so glad we will be together. Where do you think they will take us?”
“I don’t know, but this is different from the way our mothers were taken.” Anita squeezed her friend’s hand. “It’s not just the two of us; God goes with us as well.”
“In fact, it’s not just the five of us!” Rudi Wolf had come up behind her. All three of the Wolf brothers had received summons as well.
“Look around,” Gerhard said. “There are twenty of us from St. Barbara’s alone.”
“This must have been a last sweep. Look at how many of us are Christian Jews or have one Aryan parent,” Rudi said.
“Who said you could talk?” One of the SS men screamed at them and used his stick to give Rudi a shove. “Get on board, you lousy Juden.”
Steffi started to cry, but Anita hurried her on the train. Just when they thought their car was as full as it could possibly be, more people
would be pushed on.
“At least these are trains with windows and seats,” Anita said to Steffi who sat between Anita and the window. “These are not the usual boxcars or cattle cars.”
Steffi didn’t answer.
“Anita.” Rudi, who was seated with his brothers in the seat behind them, leaned over the seat. “If I heard right, we’re being taken to—”
Two SS men walked down the crowded aisle of the car, guns drawn. When they passed, Rudi continued, “Barthold. It’s a work camp near Schmiegrode.”
“Halt den Mund!” The SS guard hit the edge of Rudi’s seat with the butt of his gun as he told them to shut up. “You may not talk unless instructed to do so.”
The train rattled over the countryside with little more than groans and sounds of weeping. Anita could see the reflection of Steffi in the sooty window. She looked stricken. Dear God, be with my fellow passengers. Be with me. Help us to face uncertainty knowing You go ahead of us. She opened her knapsack, dug deep inside, and showed Steffi the corner of her Bible. For the first time, Steffi smiled ever so slightly.
After about two hours, the train clanged to a halt amid belching smoke and screeching breaks. “Get off. Get off.” The SS men jumped out first and began barking orders. When some didn’t move fast enough, a hobnail boot sent them sprawling.
The women gathered on one side, the men on the other, and each group set off—prodded by guards—in a different direction. Anita counted about 150 women. As they walked through the town, she wondered what the residents thought. When they left town, they walked into the woods for about a mile until they came to an old farm.
“That,” the guard pointed to the old milking barn, “will be your quarters.”
The looks on the women’s faces told the story. This many women in one milking barn?
“Men will be housed over in the horse barn.” He pointed across the meadow. Relief showed on the faces of those who had come with husbands, brothers, or sons. When the guards had separated the two groups, who knew if they’d ever see one another again?