“I thought I was going to have a heart attack,” Richelle said.
“Sorry, but we needed your fear to be genuine. Did you notice that they were so distracted by it all that they barely checked your papers?” He smiled at Lisa. “Distraction.”
8:47 a.m.—Old Town District
They moved on, matching the pace of the crowd. Once they were out of sight of the check station, Lisa went up to be with Erika and Leyna again. For the next two or three blocks things were pretty much normal in terms of activity, but evidence of the night’s rampage was everywhere. Storefront after storefront had their windows broken. Some windows had large, jagged holes where someone had thrown a brick or a stone through them, but in others the glass was completely gone except for a few shards around the frame. Shattered glass was everywhere on the sidewalks and in the streets, and people walked gingerly through it all.
It was not a great surprise to Hans to see evidence of looting, in spite of Goebbels’s instructions to the contrary. Time after time they saw front doors smashed in or ripped off their hinges. Window display areas were empty except for broken mannequins, ripped clothing, food trampled underfoot, or other detritus.
Most depressing were the dozens of trucks that rolled by every ten or fifteen minutes filled with men and older boys guarded by armed soldiers. They had that haunted look of shock and dazed hopelessness common to prisoners. Usually they were headed north, probably to Dachau, the concentration camp to the northwest of Munich that now housed thousands of political prisoners. Judging from the defeat and despair on their faces, Hans guessed these were the Jews between the ages of sixteen and sixty who were being rounded up as outlined in Goebbels’s message. If so, the numbers were astounding. Each truck held about forty to fifty men, and they had seen dozens of them. And that was just in this part of Munich. This was going on all across Germany.
Other trucks roared by occasionally, filled with Brown Shirts or SS men who roared by waving flags and shouting at the people. Obviously many of them were very drunk. Several held posters up as they went by:
FREE YOURSELVES FROM THE GRASP OF THE JEWS!
NO BUYING FROM JEWS!
DEFEND GERMANY’S PURITY OF RACE.
As they walked on slowly, Hans moved up behind Alemann and Richelle, close enough that they could converse softly when no one else was nearby. “Unbelievable,” Alemann muttered.
A moment later, Richelle slowed. “Look,” she murmured. “The girls have stopped.”
She was right. About twenty or thirty yards ahead of them, a small crowd was gathering in front of a large three-story building. They increased their pace, stopping a short distance away from the girls. Immediately, they saw what had drawn the crowd.
The building was a cheap-looking hotel with a small plaza out front. In the center of the plaza were seven SS men in full uniform. They all had rifles or Lugers at their belts, but they were just standing together, smoking and talking amongst themselves, watchful, but doing nothing in particular.
And then Hans saw what the crowd had stopped to see. In front of the troopers were a man and a woman. They stood about five or six feet apart, and the man was slightly behind the woman. She was fair, with light brown hair. He was darker in complexion, with large brown eyes and black hair. The woman’s head was up, and she stared defiantly at the crowd, who were hissing and catcalling. The man, who looked to be three to four inches shorter than she was, kept his eyes fixed on the ground.
The placard he wore said: “I am a Jew who sleeps with German women.” The woman’s placard was similar. “I am a German woman who sleeps with Jews.”
Richelle moved quickly up to stand in front of her daughters and Lisa. “Come, girls. We don’t need to see this.”
Five minutes later, they passed a medium-sized department store that miraculously was still intact. A crowd had gathered there as well. The windows were filled with displays of well-dressed mannequins and other goods. Hans could see that the doors were locked—most stores didn’t open until ten—but then Hans guessed why it hadn’t been touched. The Brown Shirts and SS troops had been given lists with the names and addresses of Jewish businesses. Teams had gone out just before the pogrom began, painting large Js or the word Jude on the windows or doors, or sometimes just a Star of David. It was a simple and efficient way to identify the desired targets. This store had no markings.
But if this was a non-Jewish shop, why the crowd?
Hans let the Zeidners and Lisa go around to the other side and moved in closer. To his surprise, directly in front of the window was an odd tableau. Two Brown Shirts, each holding a brick, were chatting with the crowd, laughing and joking, probably bragging about the night’s exploits. But a third man in uniform was standing right next to the large plateglass window, his back to the crowd. Hans pushed in closer.
And then he understood. The soldier had a bucket of whitewash in one hand and a large paintbrush in the other. And he was very carefully and very meticulously painting a large Star of David on the glass.
The crowd watched intently, amused at how careful he was, as if he were painting a masterpiece. A moment later he finished the last stroke, stepped back and eyed it for a moment, then turned and walked away without looking back.
The two storm troopers were up instantly, grinning like apes. The bigger of the two turned to the crowd. “All right. Let’s hear it. One!” He raised his brick, as did his companion.
“TWO!” The crowd roared.
The storm troopers’ hands drew back.
“THREE!”
The bricks sailed through the air and hit the glass at the same moment. With a crack like a rifle shot, the window shattered and collapsed in a shower of glass. The crowd loved it, cheering and clapping. The first trooper leaped up into the window and disappeared, followed instantly by his mate. For a moment, the crowd was confused. But then one of the Brown Shirts was fumbling at the lock of the front door. Laughing, he threw the door open wide. “Open for business,” he shouted, then turned and disappeared.
The dam burst. Men, women, and even some children as young as eight or nine rushed the doors, yelling and pushing and clawing at each other. In moments, there were only about fifteen or so people left on the sidewalk, standing back, shocked to see people come out again carrying toasters, vacuums, women’s clothing and underclothing, shoes, suits, jewelry, vases, pots, and pans. Two men even came out carrying a mid-sized refrigerator.
Hans decided it was time to go. He backed away and was happy to see that Lisa and the Zeidners had already started. He walked just swiftly enough that he caught up with Alemann and Richelle about half a block away.
Without turning, Alemann spoke with deep emotion. “The barbarians have arrived. The Vandals, the Goths, and the Visigoths are at our gates. Look at them. The German people have turned away from God and everything decent.”
Before Hans could agree, Richelle spoke. “Some,” she said simply. “Not all.”
Alemann gave her a strange look.
She turned and pointed at the small crowd who had stayed on the sidewalk. “Yes, many are in an orgy of looting and greed, but not all. Look at those faces, Schatzi. Some are as horrified as we are. On the radio this morning, there were reports of neighbors defending Jews. Villages who turned the Brown Shirts away. People who took Jews into their homes and hid them.” She turned. “Hans is a German. A Nazi German, even. Emilee is German. Oma Inga. Lisa. Jo. Some of your friends at the university. Nor is Germany the only place where evil resides.”
“But the good are a minority,” Alemann retorted.
“Yes, and that is why we must leave. But not all, Alemann. Let us never forget that.”
November 10, 1938, 10:45 a.m.—Old Town District
They moved along slowly, letting the crowds around them set the pace. As they approached the main square of Marienplatz, they could see there was a strong presence of SS, SA, and Ge
stapo troops, though they could see no lines that signified more checkpoints. That was good.
Hans looked up as he saw that Alemann was slowing his step again. Casually, Hans moved up until they were close enough to converse. “I was thinking that we avoid the crowds and take Residenzstrasse halfway up, then turn right and get clear out of Old Town before we turn north again. I know that means we’ll have to double back some, but we can do that on back streets all the way.”
Alemann frowned. “I’ve got a slightly longer way, but it keeps us off the big thoroughfares.”
“Gut. You lead out, we’ll follow.”
Alemann’s frown deepened. “In the Westend District we’ll be going by, there is a small enclave of Hasidic Jews.”
“I didn’t know that.” Hans hesitated. “That’s not good, Alemann. Not today.” When Alemann just nodded, he asked, “How small?”
“Twenty families, maybe. Used to be about a hundred. Quite a few have emigrated.”
“Do we have to go right through it?”
“No, no. We’ll bypass it by three blocks. Just wanted you to know.”
“All right. Lead out.”
11:10 a.m.—Westend District
It took them nearly half an hour to make their way out of the Old Town District headed west. Twice they took detours when they saw truckloads of uniformed men ahead of them. In the side streets things were pretty quiet, but along the main roads they passed dozens of stores and businesses where the windows were shattered or the insides had been gutted by fire. They passed three fire companies battling a blaze in a restaurant that advertised kosher foods. It had spread to an adjacent furniture shop and threatened a couple of other establishments, and so the fire brigade had finally become engaged. No one paid them any attention as they hurried along now, still spread out rather than walking right together. Richelle and Alemann were about ten steps ahead of Hans, the girls another twenty or thirty yards out front.
Hans’s head jerked up as he realized that Richelle had suddenly come to a stop. He quickly looked around. Other people were coming behind them, but they were back a ways, so he moved up beside them. “What is it?” he whispered.
“Look! There’s a crowd up ahead. The girls have stopped.”
As Hans stared forward, he winced. She wasn’t kidding about it being a crowd.
Ahead, the street, which here was primarily residential, opened up into a small plaza with shops and businesses around it. Two side streets fed into it and the main street ran through it, so it was slightly odd shaped rather than being perfectly round or square. Several high-rise apartment buildings also surrounded it. But presently there was no traffic because of the crowds. As they drew closer, Hans could see that the crowd filled the whole square, which was only about half a city block, including the road that ran through it.
What caught his attention, however, was that the people were not just at street level. Many people in the apartment buildings had their second-, third-, and fourth-story windows open and were leaning out to watch what was going on below. A few had small balconies, and these were filled too. And it wasn’t just adults he was looking at. Older children were everywhere, and many younger ones as well.
Below them at ground level there was a long brick wall about three feet high that set off a small garden area that belonged to an Italian bistro. The wall provided a perfect bench and was also lined with people. All of the people were facing the square but seemed to be waiting for something that Hans couldn’t see.
He felt Alemann touch his shoulder. “Look, Hans. Soldiers holding back the crowd.”
The back of Hans’s neck began to prickle as he looked more closely. He saw what Alemann meant. Around the outside of the small plaza was a ring of uniformed men with rifles slung over their shoulders. They were obviously holding the crowds back, but the soldiers were all faced inward, looking at the crowd. Because they were shoulder to shoulder, he couldn’t see what was in the square itself.
“What shall we do?” Richelle whispered. “Should I go get the girls?”
“No,” Hans said. “Look, they’re already immersed in the crowd and more are coming all the time. Let’s go up there separately. Richelle, you go to the back of the crowd and see if you can stay close to the girls. Alemann, why don’t you go around to the far side and see if you can catch their eye too? If so, indicate to them that we have to leave. I’ll go in from this side and try to do the same. But be subtle. The last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves.”
He searched their faces, seeing especially how Richelle was genuinely frightened. “Once we get clear, we’ll keep heading north and reunite once we’re totally away. We are close. Once we get off this street, it’s back alleys and deserted streets all the way to our house.”
They both nodded. Alemann briefly took Richelle’s hand. “Give me about a fifteen-pace lead, then you follow.” When she nodded again, he turned and started forward. A few moments later, she started after him. Hans gave her about the same lead time, then angled to his left and joined others who were coming now, some trotting along so as not to miss anything. Hans ignored them, looking forward, arching his neck to see what was going on. Very quickly his feet were crunching on broken glass and he could see that most of the storefronts had been hit, and several had large yellow Js painted on doors and walls.
As he reached the main crowd, Hans began pushing forward, elbowing past people who shot him dirty looks or snarled at him. He ignored them. He was searching across the heads to the far side to see if he could find Alemann. It took him a minute because the crowd was tightly packed and craning their necks to see too. Then a hand flashed for one second and his eyes jumped to it, and there was Alemann. And to Hans’s surprise, he had made his way almost to the very front of the crowd. He was standing just behind the circle of soldiers. Gut!
Hans turned his head to the right, searching the crowd for Lisa, Erika, Leyna, and Richelle. This took longer, but eventually he spotted them. The girls were together five or six rows back from the front, but Richelle was not yet with them. He spotted her a moment later, making her way forward. Did she know where the girls were? He couldn’t tell for sure. Had she spotted Alemann? Probably. He was tall enough, and with the coveralls he was easily seen. But Richelle wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the tableau being played out directly in front of them.
As Hans started to raise his hand to attract her attention, a burst of laughter and several catcalls brought his head around. A raspy woman’s voice shouted out, “Hey, Judenschwein! You missed a spot.” More raucous laughter and jeers.
Hans turned, trying to see past the half circle of soldiers in front of him. They were mostly blocking his view. But there was a break between two of them just left of where he was, so he pushed his way further forward, and then he saw what had drawn the crowd. They were in front of some kind of small business, though he could not tell what it was because here too the main window was gone and the front door had been battered in. But directly in front of the window, six men were on their hands and knees, and it looked like they were scrubbing the sidewalk.
As Hans gaped at them, several things registered in his mind at once. First, none of them wore coats or jackets, though the temperature was barely in the forties. Second, they were all older men except the one closest to Hans, who looked to be a boy of sixteen or seventeen. All had full beards, long hair, and side curls, most of them dangling down long enough to reach the shoulder. Off to one side, up against the building, was a pile of coats, gloves, scarves, and black homburg-style hats, another giveaway that these were all Hasidic Jews, the most orthodox of all the Jewish followers of the faith.
Hans turned his attention to what they were doing. Each had a toothbrush or a small paintbrush, and they were sweeping—or trying to sweep—the shattered glass toward the curb under the watchful eyes of SS and SA troopers. Then Hans noticed something else. Their hands and knees we
re streaked with blood from the myriad of small cuts that came from crawling across a sidewalk covered with the broken glass of Kristallnacht.
As he watched, one of the older men was trying to push a piece of glass almost as large as a saucer with a toothbrush. It wasn’t moving, so he turned the brush upside down and used the plastic to push the glass across the sidewalk. Seeing that, one of the Brown Shirts screamed at him. “You are not to push! You are to sweep! So sweep!” Then he kicked him hard in the buttocks with the toe of his boot. The man screamed and rolled away. The other troopers roared their approval, as did many in the crowd.
11:18 a.m.
Lisa had both hands up covering her mouth, and her eyes were wide with shock as she watched the man writhing on the ground, probably giving himself more cuts from the shards of glass. Then she felt fingers dig into her arm, hard enough to really hurt. It was Erika, looking as rigid as a block of granite. Her face was totally drained of color. Next to her, Leyna had covered her face with her hands and was sobbing. Lisa pulled free of Erika’s grasp and took her by the arm. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “We have to go!”
“All right,” a gruff voice barked sharply from behind them. “Everyone on your feet.” Lisa’s head whipped back around. An SS officer with major’s insignias, who had been standing off to one side, came over to stand in front of the ragged line of Jews as they got to their feet. Lisa saw that he carried a riding crop made of braided leather about two feet long. As he came forward, he was slapping it methodically against the side of his leg.
The man who had been kicked was struggling to get to his knees. Instantly the officer was to him. “Now!” he roared. And he lashed the man viciously across his back. Again there was a roar of approval. Someone off to Lisa’s right began to clap. “Hit him again!” a man’s voice shouted from behind her. “Hit him again!”
Fire and Steel, Volume 6 Page 49
