Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  “I don’t think she was raised as a Jew,” he stated. “Did you see her staring during the Shabbas supper?” He shook his head sadly. “I didn’t think Paul would become involved with a shiksa. Do you think she will convert?”

  “We do not know how she was raised. But we will learn soon enough. Besides, does it really matter?” asked Hanna.

  “You ask that? You of all people. You and Jakob were the most religious people we ever met. Even the rabbi remarked that the Torah was written especially for you two.”

  “I married a gentile,” said Hanna, softly.

  It brought Jules up short. “I keep forgetting that. You follow the letter of the law so closely that it’s hard to believe you had done so.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do nothing. Wait until they are ready to talk.”

  The New Years party was a great success. Hitler had already passed some laws barring Jews from practicing in certain professional fields, so any measure of entertainment was enjoyed to the full. When all had gone, Jules, Hanna, Paul and Gabrielle sat in the parlor having a nightcap. Paul held up Gabrielle’s hand. It now contained a diamond ring on her finger.

  “Papi, Tante Hanna–we have just decided to become engaged.”

  With cries of wonder, Hanna and Jules embraced the two young people.

  When they had again taken seats, Jules looked over at Paul. “What are your plans now, son?”

  “We’ve decided to come to Germany,” replied Paul.

  Jules let out a sigh. “We’ll talk of that after the ladies go to bed.”

  Hanna nodded. She and Gabrielle rose, gave kisses about, then left.

  Jules poured himself another drink. “Hanna and I both thank you for wanting to settle here, but you must remain in England.”

  “Because of Hitler, Papi?”

  “Of course. Things have gotten very bad since he took over. Did you have problems crossing the border?”

  “There was some talk about my return visa. Luckily, I had a letter from the hospital saying I was assigned there.”

  “They can change their minds in a minute about that. Also, you cannot even practice medicine here. Didn’t you hear what they said tonight?”

  “Yes. But Jewish Doktors can still practice on Jews.”

  Jules put down his glass. “We’ll have no more talk about that. I want you to remain in England until conditions settle here.”

  “I’ve discussed this in great detail with Gabrielle. She understands the situation here, and she agrees with my desire to come home.”

  “Paul,” said Jules, his voice hard and cold. “There have not been many times in our lives that I have given you an order. I am giving you one now. Hanna and I both want you to stay in England. I will not repeat myself.”

  Paul leaned back in his chair. He had never heard his father speak so decisively in his life. He took a deep breath. “All right, Papi. We will do what you ask. For the present.”

  Hanna sat in a chair in her bedroom at a window overlooking the street at the front of the house. The winds were gusting through the trees and bending the branches like a giant hand. Is it almost nineteen years, she wondered, since I moved into this house? What happy, happy years. She leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes. He is telling Paul that he must go, she knew. They had both agreed two months ago that they would do all in their power to keep Paul away from Germany, for both of them had made a point to read Hitler’s Mein Kampf, and they understood it. Oh, God, should I thank you for the years we have had, or should I beg you to give us more?

  And now, it was Paul’s turn. Tears flooded from her eyes. It is time, Natalie. We cannot hold him forever. But Paul is tall and strong, and Gabrielle has the same strength. They will manage. Thank you for the years. I loved him as my very own. And I tried to make Jules happy, for us both. Watch over Paul now, for I must pass him back to you.

  Her head fell back and her heart broke; the heart that had carried her over the many kilometers.

  Then she heard Jules coming up the stairs. His tread was slow, weary. He was carrying a broken heart, too. She sat upright, and wiped the tears from her eyes. Enough. There were still people to serve.

  It was six months later that Hanna entered the office of Felix von Kaltenberger, the attorney at Frankfurt. He led her to a comfortable chair, and took a seat behind his desk.

  “You are looking well, Frau Charnoff,” he said graciously.

  “Thank you, Herr von Kaltenberger. You have passed the years well yourself.” She could not help noticing the large portrait of Adolf Hitler on the wall directly behind his chair and several pictures of the attorney in the company of other Nazi dignitaries. “I would like to give my thanks for allowing this appointment so promptly.”

  He had seen her glance at the pictures. Actually, it would be impossible to miss them. He motioned his head towards the wall. “The Old Gentleman would turn over in his grave at the sight of my decorations.” She nodded. Edmund Rothschild had died some time before. “I am always at your service. What can I do for you?”

  “I mentioned over the phone that I have been summoned to a meeting with the Ökonomisches Planungsamt next week.”

  “Yes.”

  “I would like your advice on that matter.”

  His features did not move, but his eyes smiled. “Because of the pictures on my wall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. I assume you know the true function of the Economic Planning Department. It is to ascertain that all major companies are controlled by members or friends of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party. You control a major company, but you are not a friend of the Party.”

  Hanna had known that much. “What will they want?”

  “They will want you to sell out to a person who is properly positioned.”

  “I see. And if I would prefer not to?”

  He leaned forward. “Frau Charnoff, I want you to know at once that I am an ardent National Socialist. Therefore, all that I am about to say must be taken in its proper context.”

  “I expected as much, Herr von Kaltenberger.”

  “Good. You will be offered twenty to twenty-five percent of your company’s worth. You will also be expected to hold the note for payment, at a nominal interest.”

  Hanna hoped the shock would not be visible. “In other words, I would be paying someone to buy me out–at a fraction of its value?”

  “Exactly. You may even be asked to thank them for taking it off your hands. If you refuse,” he sat back into his chair, “you will be found to violate some regulation or another. There will be a fine, probably twice the value of your assets, and perhaps imprisonment.”

  She knew the shock was now showing. She swallowed with difficulty. “Is there anything you can do to help?”

  “Yes, quite a bit. I can tell you what information they will undoubtedly have, how to respond to your interview and audit, and how to remain out of prison.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “Is there no justice?”

  “Of course there is. The justice is that ownership will pass into proper hands.”

  There was no expression on his face. He was advising her in the same direct, uncompromising manner he had used when preparing her case to make her one of the wealthiest women in Germany. “I do not own all of the stock in the company,” she managed to say.

  “That will be taken into account.” For a moment his eyes betrayed his true feelings. “Would you care for a cup of coffee or tea before proceeding, Frau Charnoff?”

  “Yes, please. A cup of tea.”

  He buzzed for his secretary and gave her the order. “I will now give you the best advice possible,” he continued. “The first thing is to forget about your company.”

  “I have worked many years for what I have,” she replied, barely able to get the words out. “It has been my life.”

  “That is past history. You must reconcile yourself to it being gone, as if it burned down completely and you had no insurance.
If you cannot accept that, then we have nothing more to discuss.” The secretary brought in a tray with the drinks, served Hanna, and then poured coffee for von Kaltenberger. When she left, the attorney continued. “Are you able to accept that?”

  “May I answer that later?”

  He nodded his approval. She had impressed him with her iron control when he had taken on the banking case some years ago, and he was still impressed. “Yes, of course. Next, your personal fortune. It will remain yours, but cannot be taken out of the country. If you own any company or personal assets not in Germany, they must be brought here at once, or else you will be fined and possibly imprisoned.” He sipped at his coffee. “Now, here is the crux of my advice. Anything that can be identified must be accounted for. You must not hide anything.” He rubbed his hands through his shock of hair. Hanna remembered that sign. He was stating what to say, not what to mean. “Go through every transaction you ever made. If it has been recorded on paper, you must declare it, since you must assume without any doubt that the auditors will know of it. Actually, Frau Charnoff, what I am trying to prevent is a prison term.”

  Hanna understood him perfectly now. What could be hidden without the least possibility of discovery was a decision of her own choosing. That meant her Swiss accounts, which Rothschild had arranged so skillfully that even her own bookkeepers were unaware of any modification of profits. “Thank you, Herr von Kaltenberger. I will take your counsel to mind. Is there anything further that you suggest?”

  “Yes. I strongly urge you to donate two hundred thousand marks to the Party. For members of poor health, or for children to spend time in the countryside. It will delay the date of your meeting, and show up in very large numbers at your audit.”

  “Of course. I will be delighted to do so.” She drew out a checkbook. “May I offer it to you to deliver to the Party?”

  He bowed in equal understanding. “I will be more than happy to present it to one of the senior officers.”

  As Hanna left the attorney’s office and stepped into her car, she was sorely tempted to spit upon the checkbook. Instead, she took a deep breath. She was still the daughter of her father.

  That night, as she lay in bed, her mind whirling with the shock of the day’s meeting, her thoughts went back through the years, to the small, straight-backed girl of twelve learning so attentively from Mrs. Merkys in Gremai, to the eighteen-year-old fugitive sewing shirts in Königsberg and jackets at Herr Mahler’s shop in Garmisch while waiting for Jakob’s shattered lung to heal, to the struggle each day to her twenty-sixth year and Fergl’s win or lose all challenge of two thousand shirts, up to the miracle of Rothschild’s intervention during her thirty-ninth year, one day before she was about to be wiped out, to the years that followed as she placed piece on piece and waged battle after battle to reach the position that she had achieved. And here she was, on the verge of turning fifty, facing the loss of everything by dint of a piece of paper delivered by registered mail, telling her to report to a meeting where all would be stripped from her. Where is the miracle this time? There had never been a hero on a white horse riding to her rescue. It had taken raw energy and steely determination and thousands of lonely nights to win her way. But where could she go from here? How could she fight a country led by brutes. God, where is Your miracle?

  Two months later, Hanna gave up all ownership of the companies that she had struggled over the years to build. In addition, she paid four million marks as a penalty for ‘excess profits’ earned since Hitler took power. She signed the papers with a trembling hand. But there were two consolations–she was allowed to retain six million marks in personal funds, and she had successfully hidden over three million American dollars in Swiss banks.

  As she left the Ökonomisches Planungsamt office, the chief auditor bowed her through the door. “My congratulations on your cooperation, Frau Charnoff. I must tell you in confidence that your contribution to the Party was a major factor in halving the fine which had been decided upon. We look forward to your continued support.”

  If she must face defeat, she would do it properly. So the next afternoon, she sent twenty cases of the finest French champagne to the home of Felix von Kaltenberger with her thanks.

  CHAPTER 46

  1938

  Jules put down his newspaper and listened carefully to the radio. “Hanna,” he called loudly.

  “I am coming,” she said from the kitchen. Shortly, she arrived with a tray, holding cups of tea and some pieces of cake left over from the weekend.

  “Listen,” he said, motioning to her to pay attention.

  The news commentator was angrily explaining that in Paris, France, a Jew had murdered a German embassy official without the least provocation. It is part of the Jews’ avaricious plot to dominate the world, he raved. They had selected the Third Reich, the only force not yet under their insidious grasp for power, as their main target, and here was a prime example of their perfidious conspiracy to rule all mankind.

  Jules’ face was red with anger. He got up and snapped off the radio.

  “There will be the devil to pay now,” he murmured, going to the wine cabinet and taking out a bottle of schnapps. His hands were shaking so hard that he had trouble filling a glass.

  “Can it be worse?” said Hanna, placing a cup of tea by his chair. “After five years of that crazy man, Hitler, what more can he do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jules, shaking his head with exasperation. “I really don’t know.”

  In truth, though, Jules had been one of the luckier people. While all Jewish professionals were being restricted or prohibited from practicing their occupations with non-Jews, and his own department store boycotted, he and Hanna had gotten along well on his savings and her fortune. What had pained them the most was communication with Paul, which had been severely curtailed. They had learned that he had remained with the London hospital as a resident doctor, had married Gabrielle the following year, and that they were doing well financially. Hanna was not concerned about that, for years ago she had given Paul power of attorney over her accounts in Switzerland, and she had told him in no uncertain terms to take whatever he needed. Also, there was Natalie’s stock in the United States, which had been growing yearly.

  Hanna and Jules had discussed their future a number of times. They realized that they had miscalculated, that they should have left Germany when the opportunity was still available, and they had even put out feelers to the Office of Jewish Emigration about obtaining permits to leave the country. It was an open secret that Reinhard Heydrich, the Number Two man of the Schutzstaffel, the dreaded SS, was the instigator and administrator of the exit permit project, and that he was enriching the SS and himself beyond their wildest dreams. The word had come down to the Jewish community that permits were possible, but only for those with large holdings, and that everything, including foreign bank accounts, property outside Germany, and whatever could be raised from relatives and friends, would be the necessary payment. The decision to issue an exit permit, they added, would be made only after a thorough investigation and complete accounting. It was ransom, pure and simple, but most of the Jews were suspicious. Suppose they listed all of their assets, and the permit was not issued? The Nazis would now know what they owned and could use devious means to seize their valuables.

  The two had decided to take the chance by the end of the year. And now, this killing by the Jew in Paris.

  “Drink the tea,” ordered Hanna. “It will calm you down.” She took a seat and began to work on knitting a sweater for Jules.

  “Tea! This schnapps is more necessary. Do you want a Likör?”

  “No, thanks. Tea is better.” She held up her work. “You should put on some weight. You are as slim as a boy.” She sipped at her tea. “Tomorrow I am going to speak with Herr von Kaltenberger.”

  Late the following morning, she was ushered into the attorney’s office. It had expanded greatly, and now occupied an entire floor. However, he had moved back his calendar to speak wit
h her.

  After the pleasantries and a cup of tea, Hanna got down to business. “Herr von Kaltenberger, you have heard of the killing in Paris, I am sure.”

  “That was a stupid act on the part of that man,” he replied, his face dark with anger.

  “I can see it might not end there,” said Hanna. “I wondered if you could give me some advice about the Office of Jewish Emigration?”

  “I don’t understand why you have not gotten out of Germany before now.”

  “It has been a combination of hope that conditions would improve, of this being our home, and perhaps having let time pass too quickly.”

  “I assume you are ready to leave now?”

  “Yes. Herr Weiner and I, together. But we are concerned about whether we will obtain the permits.”

  The attorney had put on more weight, and his face was bloated with good living and contentment. “You were left with…how much?”

  “Six million marks. I have spent about five hundred thousand.”

  “And Herr Weiner?”

  “He can raise about three hundred thousand.”

  Von Kaltenberger pursed his lips. “That should be adequate for exit permits,” he said casually. His eyes were hooded, alert.

  “We do not mind leaving Germany with what is on our backs. What we would like, though, is to be certain we do leave.”

  The attorney now stared at Hanna, sizing her up. “Frau Charnoff,” he finally said. “Certainty has a price.”

  “How much?” She said it as calmly as if she was ordering some dress material, but her heart was thumping.

  Von Kaltenberger thought over the question carefully. “About five million of the marks you now have.” Then he leaned forward. “Plus one million American dollars,” he added softly. “In cash.”