March 16, 1939
PEACE IN OUR TIME!
Edvard Beneš was forced to resign on October 5, 1938, and he left for England, after a trip to Berlin. A new president, Emil Hácha was sworn in a month later. The men of Prague are voicing their anger and their sense of humiliation.
On March 14, Hitler invited the newly appointed President Hácha, a respected jurist and judge, to the Reich Chancellery in Berlin.
In the interest of the country he loved, he traveled by train, in failing health. Arriving at his appointed time of nine o’clock in the evening, without any of the customary respect normally accorded a head of state, he was asked to wait in a cold and uninviting anteroom in the Chancellery. Hitler deliberately kept him waiting for hours, and finally, at 1:30 a.m., he saw Hácha.
“You have two options, my friend and president, for the safety of your country. One is to cooperate with Germany, in which case the entry of German troops will come peacefully, in good will, to ensure Czechoslovakia a generous life. Two, if you should choose not to cooperate, resistance will be broken by force of arms.”
By four o’clock, Hácha collapsed with a mild heart attack, and was treated by Hitler’s physician. Then he effectively signed over Czechoslovakia to Germany, believing that collaboration was the only way he could help his people and nation.
Germany has taken over Czechoslovakia without firing a shot. The fate of the most democratic nation in Central Europe would be sealed even before the Munich Conference, when our prime minister abandoned his country’s ally to appease Hitler. From the beginning, Hitler called for the union of all Germans. After the annexation of Austria, with three million people living in Czechoslovakia’s historically German lands, Germany demanded concessions from the Czechoslovakian government, the goal being to appropriate Czechoslovakia’s industrial capacity, its resources of coal and gold, for the expanding Reich military.
The world was changing faster than I could keep track of; my country was becoming different. Every day, squads of black cars with men in black overcoats circled the streets, like crows looking for their prey, something to feed on. David told me that at Municipal House there were long registration lines, with German staff stamping papers. Some had a big J on them, for Juden, to identify Jews. This was something that I just couldn’t understand. What was the logic? Why were they making enemies of friends, of my friends? In time this would happen to David and his family, to Hans and so many others—hundreds, thousands. It was unimaginable, but it was real. I could feel my eyes opening to the reality facing me, and I was caught between appreciating what my life and the world had been and the horror of what it was becoming. I felt a nausea deep within and thought that I might become sick any second. Life can change, had been changing gradually, but sometimes it turns on a moment, changes in an instant, and my life changed then. I knew that from that day, from that single moment, I was no longer a child, someone who could shut his eyes and wish the horror away. This was how things were, and I reflected that I had to stick with David and be a journalist, to witness it all, unflinchingly. I had no other choice.
One night in our flat I was in the sitting room and witnessed an earnest discussion between Poppy, Hans, and Franz Kohn, Poppy’s attorney, who had fought with the Germans in the First World War. He was perceptive and smart, and up to date on what he called the Nazi legacy. “To begin, Hitler is bringing Germany out of a great depression, everyone is working, or in the army, everyone except political dissenters and Jews. Young boys are indoctrinated into Hitler Youth, to fight for the Fatherland. I’ve seen the kids marching in Munich, banners waving, eyes fixed ahead, keeping time to the beat of their own drums, singing patriotic songs. Their sisterhood is the Bund Deutscher Mädel, the League of German Girls, whose gift to the nation, groomed for domestic life as they are, is that as soon as they are old enough, they will be primed to give birth to pure Aryan children—tall, fit, blond, blue-eyed children for the Reich. As women, the careers they may choose are restricted, and few will be allowed into professional careers, but what matter when they will have the honor of furnishing the next generation in the thousand-year Reich. They are groomed to be ‘Hitler’s Maidens.’”
“Funny that,” Viktor replied. “Blue eyes and blond hair? Hitler has brown hair, brown eyes. Tall? Himmler is short. Lean and fit? Göring is fat. Some pure Aryan race.”
“It’s a serious matter, Viktor.”
“It may be serious but that doesn’t mean it’s not absurd.”
“You have to take this risible man seriously. He’s creating a new order, a pure race, and anyone who is mentally disabled or physically handicapped, who somehow or other is not fitting his prescription for a pure race, is to be eliminated. And, Viktor, no Jews.”
Poppy looked across at me and sat in silence for a moment or two. “For a short time, every Jew had a choice: either stay and struggle or try and find a way for themselves and their families to leave. Some Jews had access to the very few highly treasured immigration permits to Palestine, held, of course, by the British. Some of us helped in whatever ways we could …” The words hung in the air for a while.
David had told me of how, in the long history of the Jewish people, exodus was one of the ways they ensured their survival, and Jews were doing everything they could to get as far from the Nazis as possible. Many were convinced that the Nazis’ intention was not to honor their promises to the Jews, a promise of a land of their own, but to destroy them, and that the best solution for those who couldn’t get away for whatever reason was to find some way to overcome the imposed hardships until the situation passed.
Kohn visited my father often, handling personal affairs and contracts. They trusted each other. They had been friends since their school days.
“There might be something we can do to outsmart them. We need your help, Viktor. The Nazis are relying on informants and collaborators,” Kohn explained. “Birth and census files are being requisitioned, and the Germans are practiced in accounting and record keeping. They’re establishing a Jewish museum to provide history and symbols, archives and artifacts of Jewish culture. It doesn’t make sense to me, Viktor. Why would the Germans want to recruit Jewish historians and scholars?”
Racial laws and a museum? It made no sense to me at all. But just because it made no sense I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. I had to listen and try to understand, to try to make some sense of this bizarre, senseless new world.
Poppy pondered for a while and finally said, “I have friends, one friend in particular. Let me see what I can do.”
BLOOD AND HONOR
The truth of the new world was approaching in so many ways, closing in on all sides, and the hallways at school were filling with an ever-increasing number of German students in semimilitary uniforms, wearing round swastika pins on their shirts, leather straps across their chests, and red-and-white armbands. Just the sight of the new insignia and these symbols was enough to trigger that deep, sickly fear inside me. The pressure to join their Hitler Youth meetings was growing. They wore brown short pants and shirts with the same HJ armband that was worn on the German League jerseys.
“What does the HJ stand for?”
“Stand for?” one of the boys replied. “Don’t you know, Max? Hitlerjugend. Blut und Ehre.”
Hitler Youth. Blood and Honor.
My new classmates walked taller than ever, exuding a confidence, a sure belief that they were superior to me, to everyone. I feared them now and wanted nothing to do with them.
We were set for the final game with the German League. I went to my locker to pick up my jersey, only to find five of them pinning David to the floor. David howled with pain when they stamped viciously on his arm. This time I didn’t stand by. Forgetting my tricky leg, I launched myself at the pack and I was held down by three of them while the other two repeatedly hit out hard, punching me in the stomach. Finally, our teacher Mr. Rudolf ran into the room and sc
reamed at the boys to stop. I spat out blood and David helped me to my feet. We were sent to the infirmary.
“What happened to you boys?”
David turned to the nurse. “Nothing. Just a little disagreement about football.” He refused to speak out, as he was figuring how to carry on this fight another day.
She bandaged David’s arm, but that didn’t stop the game.
“Come on, Max.” David winced. “We’re going to take them on. We’ll show them.”
I was swept up by my friend, enthused by his spirit. On our way to the field, David skipped over the cracks in the sidewalk.
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
“Superstition.”
David, bruised arm and all, played his heart out, almost winning the match, but the final whistle sounded too soon. We lost the game, but I gained something that day, a new respect for David, for who he was and what he stood for.
They played a victorious Nazi anthem on the field. We both refused to heil Hitler. And for the first time I really understood something about his courage. It felt like a small act of defiance.
Weeks later, there were fewer students than usual in class; David’s seat was noticeably empty. Where was he? Mr. Rudolf walked nervously around the room.
“There have been some changes,” he said, concern and something far deeper etched onto his face. “Some of our students have been transferred.”
Transferred?
Mr. Rudolf shrugged. “It’s a new law. New rules.”
“What rules? Where’s David?”
“It’s better this way,” Mr. Rudolf said, taking me into the hall. “He’s at a home called Mrs. Blomberg’s.”
“Where are his parents?”
“That we don’t know … yet. They were taken away.”
“What?”
“I feel badly for our school, even for the Czech All Stars,” Mr. Rudolf stammered.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve been disbanded, only the German League will be allowed to play. They’re champions, you know.”
Some champions. Some rules. The ground beneath my feet felt ever less stable with every passing day. Anything could change. Anyone could simply disappear.
THE INCREDIBLE
EVELYN BLOMBERG
I couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. I could make no sense of it at all, and I just couldn’t shake this feeling of a cloud looming over me, over us all, becoming darker and more ominous with every passing day. How could I get on in my life without David? We were always together. We would talk and share a meal, it was our time. Occasionally he used me as a sounding board about his next editorial, how to fight the good fight.
I missed Anna. I worried about David, and that night I asked Hans about Mrs. Blomberg.
“Evelyn? I know her, Max,” Hans said. “She runs a place for orphans and Jewish children.”
“David’s not an orphan. What does this mean, Hans?”
For the first time I saw a note of anguish in his face.
“She has David!” I said, desperately grabbing his hand and pulling him out the door. “He’s my best friend. We’ve got to go and see him!”
“Easy, Max. I’m with you.”
Mrs. Blomberg’s was in the Jewish Quarter, and as soon as she opened the door to us she wrapped Hans in her warm embrace. She was a plump woman with the largest bosom I had ever seen browsing beneath a generous apron.
“Come in, come in, my dear Hans! And who is this?” she asked, sweeping back her silver hair.
“I’m Max Mueller,” I said. Without waiting a second, I almost shouted, “Where’s David?”
Mrs. Blomberg took my hand and pointed upstairs. “He’s fine. I think you know some of my other new kids, too, Hans.” Her red cheeks and cheery face were somehow reassuring.
She leaned toward him, and I could still hear her whisper. “We need accommodation for the new children arriving every day.”
Hans nodded and handed her a bulging envelope.
What was that about? I wondered.
“The Germans take their parents away and drop the children off here,” she continued in a hushed tone. “Jews are being interned all over the country. They are being rounded up, Hans. No one is safe, and every day I wonder if I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“This is crazy,” Hans replied, shaking his head in disbelief.
Crazy, indeed. I couldn’t believe that my best friend had been forced from school, his parents taken away just like Sophie’s father.
We walked through the old house which, like many in Prague, had been modestly restored. Hans and Mrs. Blomberg kept whispering as we made our way from room to room, and Hans greeted many of the children.
I found my moment when Hans and Mrs. Blomberg were deep in conversation and raced upstairs.
Poking my head through doorway after doorway, at last I found David’s room and my friend was sitting alone on his bed, waiting for someone. The room was stark, with just the essentials. Nothing warm or cozy, but cold and functional. Before I could ask how he was feeling, David said, “My parents are gone.”
His face was drawn, and it looked like he hadn’t slept for days.
“I know, David, but do you know where they are?”
David shook his head. “I was going to ask you and Hans. All I know is that they’re missing, Max.” His eyes welled with tears. I couldn’t bear to see him like that.
“Is this all because you’re Jewish?”
“Just that, Max. Hard to believe.”
“Parents can’t just be taken away. Not in Prague. It doesn’t make sense.”
“They were a bit too political. They saw Hitler and the Germans for what they are, brutal, and they wrote and distributed pamphlets against the occupation, defending human rights. That’s what we Jews do. We’ve always tried to right a wrong. And I guess that’s a part of me too. We get in their way.”
“I must be in their way too.”
“Not necessarily, Max. You’re German.”
“Does that make us any different?”
“These days it makes all the difference.”
I thought quickly, trying to conjure up something, anything, to make it better. “You can come and live with me until we find them. We spend most of our time together anyway. I’ve got to get you out of here.”
David smiled weakly. “Max, thanks, you’re a pal.”
“I brought a newspaper, maybe there’s something about your parents.”
Turning the pages, we didn’t find anything, but what we couldn’t fail to notice was that the Tagblatt, a German liberal newspaper, had taken a dramatic editorial turn. There were articles about German purity and an unflattering caricature of a Jewish man. At last David let the paper drop from his hands as if he might be tarnished by its toxic content.
“For a moment, I thought that you may have left for London. I heard that there was a transport arranged.”
“Max, it’s great they are saving some kids in Germany. But it couldn’t take everybody and, besides, we have to be here to fight the good fight.”
I put my arm around my friend’s shoulders. “We’ll find your parents, David. Leave it to me.” I spoke with much more assurance than I felt.
“What’s going to happen to the school paper?”
“We’ll start another one and call it Mrs. Blomberg’s Gazette.”
“How is your father?” David asked.
“He’s back in Berlin playing a concert.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in Germany right now. There are whispers, stories about people, people like my parents, disappearing without a word. All kinds of people. Jews, Communists, people who just don’t like Hitler. My parents, Max. Where are they? They would never leave on their own. They were arrested, I know it.”
“Don’t worry, David. I can al
ready see the headline: ace reporter finds parents.” I tried to lighten the conversation.
“Now that’s a story!” He tried to smile.
Hans shouted up the stairwell, “Max, we better get going!”
I went downstairs, yelling behind me, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll bring some supplies.”
David waved from the top of the landing. “Great to see you, Max. And my parents …?”
I sounded as confident as I could: “I’ll find them.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
I pretended that David didn’t have tears in his eyes.
Before we crossed the street, I appealed to Hans: “We have to do something.”
“Something? Something about what?”
“About David’s parents. They’ve disappeared.”
Hans stopped in his tracks.
I stared at him for a while and he looked so lost. I gently nudged him in the ribs. “Don’t you go and disappear on me, Hans.”
It was a stupid lighthearted remark, but it carried a bit of truth, not only for me, but for him. There was a brief, awkward pause, and then Hans smiled and looked me in the eye. “I’ll stop in the police station later. I know the chief.”
As we walked, Hans started to hum quietly.
“Why are you humming, Hans?”
“To cover my anxiety, I suppose. Humming a tune might make things better. When I stop composing in my head, I think things are taking a bad turn, so I hum.”
“And you think that works?”
“I’m not thinking, Max, I’m humming!”
WHERE ARE
THE GRUNEWALDS?
The police headquarters was filled with German soldiers and a few men dressed in black. At the desk was a Czech policeman, wearing a blue uniform appointed with brass buttons. He was so large that he seemed in danger of bursting out of his jacket.
“Hans Krása!” The policeman’s greeting was as big as his waist.
While the Music Played Page 12
