2
The German Who Loved The Jew
*Gold Fusion*Grullo*Grape*
Let’s look at some numbers. In 1933, when the Nazis assumed power, there were about 35,000 mixed marriages in Germany.
In 1939, there were 20,000.
The reason for this was not purely due to divorce, but because of death and migration.
Mother and Father were two of the Germans who broke the rules.
I will not tell you the specifics of my parents’ story, because, like all great love stories, it lived and died with them, just as it should have. It began with a handshake and ended with a kiss.
Mother’s parents are what Herr Hitler would be pleased to call Aryan Germans. Father’s were German Jews. There was a difference, apparently. There was no doubt that Mother loved Father, yet family ties are so strong. With the memory of a happy childhood in the Fatherland, she often found herself trying to see things from the Nazis’ point of view and had excuses for the things that they did – to the dismay of their liberal-minded friends and the hurt confusion of Father.
Tomas and I often felt like we were pulled in every direction during our childhood. The situation became even more sticky when Mother’s Father, my Grandfather, got her a job in the factory that Hitler opened to lower unemployment rates of women in Germany.
The factory lingered with middle-class women who pledged their allegiance to the Führer and sang his praises for making work more accessible. A snowball of a woman with greasy, red hair commented that she would marry him. Believe it or not, about half of Hitler’s followers were women. Most thought he was handsome, and an excellent public speaker, but the other half voted due to the promise of employment. The thing about promises, however, is that you should only believe them when they come from a power-hungry madman like Hitler if they are in writing and signed with golden ink.
Mother and Father were a fervent love match, made more fervent by the fact that they had waited in secret for two years until Father earned enough money in his profession to support a family. Mother’s factory job didn’t pay very much, but it was enough to get by.
He had known other girls, and as Mother was twenty five before she was married, she had the attention of other men as well. Other German men, who would have made life a lot easier for her. But she liked the challenge and ran towards it with a smile. Mother’s beauty wasn’t that of magazines. To me, she was like a piece of art, and art wasn’t always supposed to be beautiful but meant to make you feel something.
Consequently, their marriage was not the hasty, impassioned leap of two people soaring on the wings of first love. The love between them was as calm as the night, deep as the sea; in the light of it, they both knew that they would never look upon another. Even as a child, I could see it. I could smell it. They determined that no obstacle would prevent them from their union, and there were plenty once both their families learned of their children’s intentions.
“Child,” implored my grandmother, who deep in her heart had always hoped that Mother’s superior intelligence, careful upbringing and attractiveness would land her a “good Aryan man,” well up in the social levels. “Think about what this means for yourself, Lis. You will be barred from certain circles just because you have Ben’s last name.”
“That makes not a whit of difference to me,” Mother stubbornly maintained. “I love Ben. I’d marry him if he were a blackie.”
“But, child, remember the racial and religious differences between you.” She sniffed the air. “Your children will be teased.”
Father’s parents attended an Orthodox synagogue, and although he looked with affection on the parental habits of his childhood, he eschewed them for himself and his family. He went to the synagogue, once a year, to please his mother, but our parents raised us wavering between agnosticism and downright atheism.
“Mama,” Mother said quietly, “Remember that the greatest man who ever walked the earth was a Jew – Jesus.”
That held her for a minute. “Yes,” she murmured, “It is a great paradox.”
For Europe, the day was bright. The harsh sun shone through the stained glass window and hit my grandmother directly in her eyes. She had to wipe at them occasionally.
“And another great Jew,” Mother added quickly. “Spinoza, for instance, and Einstein.”
Grandmother looked at Mother a little sadly. She wasn’t convinced, but she was, for now, out of arguments.
“A nice day we have, Lissette.” Grandmother often tried changing the subject when things got a bit too heated. For her, stubbornness was not worth losing her only child over.
What Father’s parents said to him, I can only imagine, as he never spoke of it. At least not the truth.
“Ben,” his mother most likely said, “it grieves my old heart that you have to marry a shiksa rather than one of our own. We have a need, as never before, to stick to our own people and traditions.”
But loving her son above the rest of her children, she might have embraced his head in her wrinkling hands. “Above everything else, I want you to be happy.” Or she could have used those same hands to slap him hard across the cheek.
When Tomas and I were born, things got better between the families. Mother’s family were glad to see that I had inherited Mother’s quick blonde-red hair and that Tomas had inherited her cheeky, blue eyes.
The Jewish and German women met, embraced, and promptly forgot their differences in purely feminine discussions of painting baby rooms and clothes. They could have maintained a negative attitude and still have preserved the family peace. Even, gradually, as they learned to know my father better and saw how fine he was, and how good he was to their only child and grandchildren, there came shy words of affection and admiration.
I remember when I was about five, Father’s mother was teaching me how to hold a paintbrush properly. She gifted me a small, blue book, intended for young children, but I read it daily and well into my pre-teens. The book was the colour of the sky and felt like my hands over a warm fireplace. I heard my other grandmother comment proudly as she sipped on expensive tea.
“He’s a fine little boy with a great future.” Sip. “But I’m glad Tomas and Josef are not all Jew in their makeup. They don’t look Jewish, and their ways are not Jewish. In fact, you wouldn’t think they were Jews at all.”
Mother piped in right around there and breathed hot tea into her lungs. “The children are neither Jew nor Christian. They are just Josef and Tomas.” Her father chuckled to himself. “A stubborn girl we raised,” and he would smile in her direction. My grandmother’s nose turned up so much that I thought it was going to touch her eyebrows.
In later years, Mother and Father would form their small band of merry men and have their late night, secret meetings at our house. Lots of whispering was involved. At certain times, when my parents thought I was asleep, I would listen to the soft words from the stairs.
The secret conversation.
Man 1: “They must be able to tell how bad things are. This is ridiculous.”
Father: “Of course they do. They’re just too blind to see it. There must be something we can do. Start a secret club or something.”
Man 2: “I must say, Ben. We’re off to a bad start.”
Father (mumbling): “We’re safe behind these walls. No one is listening.”
Someone was always listening in World War Two Germany.
Man 1: “Aren’t you two scared? For your families?”
Father: “Of course. But we must keep going for them. I love my country, but I hate politics. We have to fight for what we love.”
For man 1, the love of his country would lead him to the gallows. Hung up like the washing on a lamppost, for conversing with a Jew and being a member of a secret club. He hung there for days with his mouth open, and children would throw pebbles into it.
The man would not discuss where the club originated, but other peoples’ lips weren’t so tight, especially when the punishment was death. I couldn’t really
blame them.
We watched the hangman. I said nothing, but Tomas had some words. “What did he do, Mama?”
“Something, darling.”
After hurrying us inside, we stared at our half-eaten breakfast, and none of us said a word.
3
Bad Decisions
*Buff*Burnt Umber*
Strange things occurred after the white day in the woods. Tomas and I couldn’t go to school anymore, because according to Mother, “What they’re filling children’s heads with is rubbish.”
It was a month after Grandmother passed away, and we heard not a whisper from our grandfather.
Surprisingly, we found Mother in our room, pulling our belongings out of our wardrobe and piling it into one big box. Some of our parents’ belongings were in there, too.
Other things, like toys and radios, were thrown into a larger box at the other end of our room and labelled “For sale”. As you might imagine, I was shocked to see that my paints, crayons, sketchpads, and even the blue book Grandmother had given to me, were in that pile too.
Our toys had been disappearing for months.
We finally had answers as to why.
I picked up the book and held it to my chest. Mother looked at me like she might cry before dusting herself off and rising from her knees.
“What are you doing, Mama?” I asked.
Things were too unclear for us to be upset.
Father always told us to be polite to our mother, to treat her with respect, and not to imitate the way he sometimes spoke to her.
She shook her rolled-up jumper and pointed to the doorway behind us.
“Downstairs, boys. Downstairs.”
She was a very tall woman with sand-coloured hair that was slovenly piled on top of her head in great curls, each one as stiff as day-old pasta. She wore a greenish-blue gown made of soft, satiny fabric that was long and loose, always smelling of soft cotton, regardless of the time of day. Her beauty was less clean than most other mothers. Less polished and reminiscent of an old, worn book. Damaged, but beautiful.
Tomas chimed in now. “Mama, what’s going on?”
Delicate, blond hair fell onto his brow; his skin was so pale that it almost rendered him stark against the bright walls.
“Boys, please, wait for me downstairs, and I’ll explain everything, okay?” Mother tried an unexpected smile. She was already walking.
We ran past her on the staircase. I stood for a moment without saying anything and just examined Mother’s bare face. Her eyes were a lot more black around the rims than they usually were, just like mine when I got in trouble and ended up crying. I wondered if she had ever stopped crying since the previous night.
For the first time, Mother had no words. She knelt like a leg-rest by our chairs.
“Now, you two have no reason to worry.” She clapped. “Everything is going to be alright.” She rubbed her hands and the words. “If anything, it could turn out to be fun.”
I swallowed.
“What is?” Tomas paused for a moment, gathering his ten-year-old thoughts. “Are we being sent away?” His body slumped on the chair, and his chin was tucked into his neck.
“Nein, darling… not really…” Mother said, looking for a moment like she might actually smile, but then thinking better of it.
“You, Josef, Papa, and myself – all four of us actually.”
Another trip to an imaginary place.
My eyebrows sank.
“Where are we going this time?” Tomas said, slightly raising his voice.
She played with her dress, not looking him in the eye. She thought some more. “To the moon, Tomas!”
He laughed.
Mother wouldn’t tell Tomas where we were going because he was too young, and he’d accept anything as an answer anyway, so I had to do the thing that big brothers do and ask for him. I thought for a moment, and then with great care, I delivered the words.
“But where exactly are we going? Why can’t we stay here?”
She thought about this carefully before answering, and she put her hand on her face as if she had a horrible headache. The position grown-ups usually take when they are conjuring up a lie.
“Papa’s job,” she replied. “You boys know how important that is, don’t you?”
I didn’t know. Not really. All I could say for certain about Father’s job was it was something most people didn’t need at the time. At least, that’s what he said.
“It’s a very important job,” said Mother, hesitating for a moment. “A very important job that requires someone very important to do it. You boys understand that now, don’t you?”
We looked at each other and nodded.
She went on to explain that the man Father worked for wanted him to go to Vienna. “Versteht? Understand?”
“And we all have to go with you?” I asked.
“Of course you do, Josef. You wouldn’t want me to be all by myself, now, would you? I would miss you an awful lot,” she added, in mock sadness.
I smiled.
Tomas’ eyes strayed away many times during the conversation as if he was trying to find answers in the walls, on the bookshelves, in the cupboards.
“Who do you think you would miss most – Josef or I?” Tomas asked.
“Josef or me, Tomas,” she corrected him.
Tomas hated nothing more than when adults corrected him about stupid things, especially when what he meant was quite clear.
“I would miss you both equally as much, you silly boy,” she finally answered.
She said she was a great believer in not playing favourites, even though I knew that Tomas was her favourite. He didn’t ask as many questions as I did, and Father didn’t have to give him as many ‘talking tos’ about painting all day and being rebellious.
She continued for a good ten minutes before she stopped to deliver a difficult, but very necessary lecture.
“But boys,” Mother said, now lowering her tone and standing up to deliver the speech. I knew it was important. She made us stand.
We stood with our backs to the wall, and her shadow loomed over us.
“You two have a very important role to play, too, okay?”
Tomas and I exchanged glances again.
“What is it?” I asked.
“We mustn’t tell anyone that we are going away, okay? This has to be our little secret.”
“Why?”
Mother sighed. Her sigh was of a sort of deflating; it was as if the tension had lifted yet left her with a melancholy instead of relief.
“Different people are fighting to be in charge. People that shouldn’t be. We don’t want to upset anyone.”
Above Mother, the words were being painted and perching on her shoulder. Soft cotton did cartwheels near her head.
“… But what about our house?” I asked. I sat back down, and Tomas mimicked me.
She looked around, as though she might never see the room again. It was a beautiful house with two floors, with a small basement where Mother would cook, and Mother and Father would go to swear at each other. We owned a lot of beautiful furniture when I was a child, but it was sold, mostly to buy food and other household things that I didn’t understand the importance of.
“We’ll have to leave it for now. Maybe we’ll come back someday when things die down.”
“Maybe?” I questioned. “What do you me—”
“And what about Oma and Opa?” added Tomas.
“Ja, what about them?” I agreed.
She stiffened slightly, like an animal just before it attacks his prey.
“They will be alright, boys. But that’s enough questions for now. Go upstairs and help pack. Quick quick.”
My brother left the room. Tomas knew the importance of obeying orders.
When my figure remained, Mother knew there would be more questions.
“How far away is it?” I asked.
“Du verarscht mich doch!” Mother slapped the table with a laugh, although it was a strange kind
of laugh because she didn’t look happy at all and turned away from me like she didn’t want me to see her face. “You’re a pain in the ass!”
“What about my book?” I blubbered, a thing I knew I wasn’t supposed to do, but hoped I’d be forgiven on this occasion. “Oma got it for me as a gift.”
“We will get you a new one when we settle in, darling, and no blubbing.”
“But I don’t want a new one,” I said, my voice coming dangerously close to shouting, which was not allowed in our house, especially to Mother. “That one was from Oma…and…”
“But Papa’s jo—”
“I don’t care about the fucking job! Or the house!”
I was shouting now. So loud, in fact, that I was sure people on the other side of the city would have heard me. “I don’t want you to sell my things.” More short breaths. “You didn’t even ask.”
“Josef, that’s enough!” Mother said, now snapping at me and standing up to show me that she was serious.
“Honestly, you just don’t know what your Papa and I are risking for this family.” She added. “We are moving to keep our family safe… and together.”
Safe and together.
If only I knew the importance of that phrase back then.
“And to move, we need money, and to get money, we have to sell things that are precious to us.” At that moment, I noticed that Mother wasn’t wearing her wedding ring. “Now, that’s enough! Give me the book and go upstairs with your brother.”
Mother’s eyes flashed indignantly, much like lightning on a pitch-black night. The unmoving gaze was accompanied by deliberate, slow breathing like she was fighting something back and losing.
She kneeled before me, managing to soothe me enough to calm me down. My voice lowered. “What is happening, Mama?”
Hysteria, Josef.
Crouching down and grabbing hold of my shoulders. “Josef, listen to me.” Stern business. Mother began feeding me sentences. She made certain that I was focused.
The Boy Who Saw in Colours Page 3
