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Preface
The Nuremberg Laws on Citizenship and Race:
September 15, 1935
Article 4 (1) A Jew cannot be a citizen of the Reich. He cannot exercise the right to vote; he cannot hold public office. (2) Jewish officials will be retired as of December 31, 1935. In the event that such officials served at the front in the World War either for Germany or her allies, they shall receive as pension, until they reach the age limit, the full salary last received, on the basis of which their pension would have been computed. They shall not, however, be promoted according to their seniority in rank. When they reach the age limit, their pension will be computed again, according to the salary last received on which their pension was to be calculated. (3) These provisions do not concern the affairs of religious organisations. (4) The conditions regarding service of teachers in public Jewish schools remains unchanged until the promulgation of new laws on the Jewish school system.
Article 5 (1) A Jew is an individual who is descended from at least three grandparents who were, racially, full Jews… (2) A Jew is also an individual who is descended from two full-Jewish grandparents if: (a) he was a member of the Jewish religious community when this law was issued, or joined the community later; (b) when the law was issued, he was married to a person who was a Jew, or was subsequently married to a Jew; (c) he is the issue from a marriage with a Jew, in the sense of Section I, which was contracted after the coming into effect of the Law for the Protection of German Blood and Honour of September 15, 1935; (d) he is the issue of an extramarital relationship with a Jew, in the sense of Section I, and was born out of wedlock after July 31, 1936.
Article 6 (1) Insofar as there are, in the laws of the Reich or in the decrees of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party and its affiliates, certain requirements for the purity of German blood which extend beyond Article 5, the same remain untouched…
Article 7 The Fuehrer and Chancellor of the Reich is empowered to release anyone from the provisions of these administrative decrees.
Law for the Protection of German Blood and German Honour
September 15, 1935
Thoroughly convinced by the knowledge that the purity of German blood is essential for the further existence of the German people and animated by the inflexible will to safeguard the German nation for the entire future, the Reichstag has resolved upon the following law unanimously, which is promulgated herewith:
Section 1 1 Marriages between Jews and nationals of German or kindred blood are forbidden. Marriages concluded in defiance of this law are void, even if, for the purpose of evading this law, they are concluded abroad. 2 Proceedings for annulment may be initiated only by the Public Prosecutor.
Section 2 Relations outside marriage between Jews and nationals for German or kindred blood are forbidden.
Section 3 Jews will not be permitted to employ female nationals of German or kindred blood in their households.
Section 4 1 Jews are forbidden to hoist the Reich and national flag and to present the colours of the Reich. 2 On the other hand they are permitted to present the Jewish colours. The exercise of this authority is protected by the State.
Section 5 1 A person who acts contrary to the prohibition of section 1 will be punished with hard labour. 2 A person who acts contrary to the prohibition of section 2 will be punished with imprisonment or with hard labour. 3 A person who acts contrary to the provisions of section 3 or 4 will be punished with imprisonment up to a year and with a fine or with one of these penalties.
Section 6 The Reich Minister of the Interior in agreement with the Deputy of the Fuehrer will issue the legal and administrative regulations which are required for the implementation and supplementation of this law.
Section 7 The law will become effective on the day after the promulgation, section 3 however only on January 1, 1936.
Nuremberg, the 15th day of September 1935 at the Reich Party Rally of Freedom.
The Fuehrer and Reich Chancellor Adolf Hitler
The Reich Minister of the Interior Frick
The Reich Minister of Justice Dr Goertner
To all those who suffered under Nazi tyranny… those who survived and those who did not.
1
The crash of shattering glass and the sound of shouting in the street below startled Laura awake. More shouting and banging, a piercing scream and then more breaking glass. Laura sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes wide with fear as she listened in the darkness to the uproar outside, the shouts, bangs and crashes getting nearer. People were chanting something, Laura couldn’t make out what, but their voices, combining into the throaty roar of a mob, were angry and frightening.
It was dark outside, though the faint light of a streetlamp gleamed through the gap in the curtains, but there was another light too, a flickering light, dancing and leaping, casting weird shadows on the ceiling. What was happening down there? What was going on?
Laura stole out of bed and crept to the window. Cautiously she lifted the corner of the curtain and peeped out. She stared down into the street in fascinated horror. A crowd was surging along the road, their snarling faces lit by the streetlamps and the flaming torches some of them carried. Many brandished stout walking sticks in the air, others carried stones, bricks and iron bars. They were led by men in uniform, guns held high, urging the crowd on. The windows of the baker’s shop across the way were already smashed, and its door hanging on a broken hinge. Even as she watched, Laura saw a man throw another brick, this time at the windows of the apartment above the shop. There was a cheer as the glass shattered, its shards flying inwards.
“Jews out! Jews out! Jews out!” She could hear what they were chanting now as the voices grew louder, stronger, as more and more people joined the crowd.
“Laura, what’s happening?” Inge, her seven-year-old sister, asked sleepily from the other bed.
“I don’t know,” Laura said, shrinking back behind the curtain, but somehow unable to turn away. “There’re people outside throwing stones and shouting.”
There was another sound too, the crackle of flames, and Laura realised with growing horror that the dancing light she had seen through the curtains was fire. There was smoke now, and the red and gold tongues of flame appeared at the windows of the synagogue further up the road. Even as Laura watched, horrified, the door burst open and Rabbi Rosner came rushing out, shouting for the fire brigade. He ran straight into the crowd that bayed with delight at his terror, and brandishing their sticks and hurling stones, they chased him back into the burning building.
“I don’t like it!” Inge was wailing. “Where’s Mutti?”
At that moment the bedroom door opened and Ruth Friedman, the girls’ mother, came quickly into the room, her face white with fear.
“Laura! Come away from the window!” she cried and, rushing over, dragged her daughter away. “Out of here, quickly.” She scooped Inge off the bed and clutching her in her arms, pushed Laura in front of her as she hurried them into her own bedroom at the back of the house. Her husband, Kurt, was already in the room with the twins, Peter and Hans, aged just three; both were crying at having been awoken so suddenly and their father was trying to hush them. Ruth turned the key in the lock, and, placing Inge on the bed, went to the twins.
“Papa, the synagogue’s on fire.” Laura tugged at her father’s sleeve. “It’s burning down, and Rabbi Rosner is inside.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” her father put an arm round her. “He’ll have got out safely.”
“No, Papa,”
Laura insisted, her eyes wide, “when he ran out some people chased him back inside. They were hitting him!”
Before her father could answer, there came a thundering on their own front door, the splintering of wood and the sound of breaking glass as the window in the shop below became the target for the bricks. Ruth drew the twins closely into her arms, and Kurt gathered the now screaming Inge against him, his other arm still firmly round Laura.
“Ssh! Ssh!” he hushed them. “It’ll be all right. Mutti and Papa are here! It’ll be all right.”
But it wasn’t. Within moments they heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and then a voice, which bellowed, “Come out, Jews! Come out, dirty Jews! Come out of your holes!”
Before they could do anything, there was a crash and the door flew open, the lock hanging sideways where a jackboot had kicked it free. A tall man in storm-trooper’s uniform, his cap – with its death’s head badge – dark over his fair hair, stood on the threshold, a gun in his hand, towering over the family who crouched together around the bed. Behind him two others moved along the landing, kicking open the bedroom doors, and shouting down to the mob below, “Jews up here!”
“You, Jew, you’re under arrest!” The first man advanced on Kurt, who pushed his daughters behind him in an effort to shield them.
“Why? What for?” It was Ruth who asked, her voice cracking with fear. “He’s done nothing wrong.”
“He’s a Jew. He’s under arrest!”
“But…” Ruth began to protest.
“Shut up,” bellowed the man, “or I’ll arrest the lot of you!”
“Don’t worry, Ruth,” Kurt said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll go with him. I’m sure there’s some mistake and I’ll be back in no time.” For a moment their eyes met, hers wide and fearful. Kurt’s strong face was calm and determined, but fear flickered behind his eyes too, and, seeing it, Ruth began to shake.
“You look after the children, I’ll be back soon. And if not,” there was the slightest tremor in his voice, “go to Herbert.”
“Out!” The storm trooper grasped him by the shoulder, and spinning him round, shoved him roughly through the door. “Out! Out!” Immediately the two men on the landing grabbed his arms, one punching him violently in the stomach so that he doubled over, groaning with pain, before they dragged him, still bent double, down the stairs.
The storm trooper, still in the bedroom, glanced across at the trembling woman surrounded by her four children. “You’ll stay up here if you know what’s good for you,” he said coldly, and turning on his heel, stamped his way back down the stairs.
For a moment there was silence in the bedroom and then Inge began to wail again. “Where’s Papa gone? I want Papa.”
Ruth suppressed the cry that rose in her throat that she wanted him too, and tried to soothe the terrified children.
“Don’t cry,” she said, rocking Peter on her knee and holding Inge to her with the other arm. “Don’t cry, Peter, there’s a good boy. Look, Hansi isn’t crying. Laura, give Hansi a cuddle, he’s being very brave. Come on now, you must be brave, all of you. That’s what Papa would want. We must all be brave!”
She gathered the four children close, rocking them comfortingly, and as they huddled together on her bed, she listened to shattering glass and splintering wood as the mob downstairs ransacked the shop, their voices raised in shouts of glee. Then with the bang of a door and shouts of laughter, the baying mob moved onward down the street. The stillness they left behind was, if anything, more terrifying than their animal howls. What was happening down there? Had the mob moved on somewhere else? Was it safe to come out of the bedroom? Ruth went quietly across the room, and, opening the door, peeped out onto the landing. The apartment was empty; there was no sound from downstairs.
“You’ll stay up here if you know what’s good for you,” the trooper had said, but Ruth could not. She had to go down, to find out what had happened.
“Stay here,” she said to the children and quietly crossed into the girls’ bedroom to look out into the street below. She lifted the corner of the curtain as Laura had done and looked down. Their street was almost empty now, the mob had moved on to the next. She could still hear its animal roar, but more distant, the chanting indistinct. She looked over towards the synagogue. There were still flames behind the windows, but she could see the shadows of people running around inside, trying to douse the fire before it really took hold and burned the place to the ground. The smell of smoke was bitter and acrid as it billowed out from the broken windows, wafting along the street.
Ruth returned to her bedroom door. “Stay here, Laura,” she said. “Look after the little ones. I’ll be back in a minute.” Steeling herself to what she might find below, Ruth crept downstairs. She was still afraid the storm troopers might be there lying in wait for her, but as she peered round the corner into the shop there was no one. Complete chaos greeted her eyes, and for a long moment she stood, aghast at what she saw. In the few minutes the mob had given its attention to Friedmans’ Grocery, they had destroyed everything they could find.
The till had been broken open and lay upended on the counter, with what little money there had been in it, gone. Broken jars and bottles littered the floor, their contents mixed with the shards of glass from the window. Sacks of flour, too heavy to carry, had been ripped open and tipped out, tea and rice, coffee, jam and oil all added to the glutinous mess that covered the floor. Ruth crossed to the cold store and opened the door. Where there should have been cheese and butter, eggs and milk, the shelves were empty. Trays of eggs had been tossed to the floor, a milk churn upended. Two large cheeses, wrapped in their linen cloths, had disappeared. For a moment she stared at the mess in sick dismay. Then she smelled the smoke.
At first she thought it must be coming from the burning synagogue along the street, but then she realised that it was in the shop with her. Looking round wildly she saw that smoke was seeping out from under the door of the storeroom where they kept all the dry goods. Running into the kitchen, Ruth grabbed a bucket from under the sink and quickly filled it with water. Cautiously she edged the storeroom door open, her bucket poised to douse the fire, but with the draught from the outer door drawing them, the flames leapt towards her. Her tossed bucket of water made no impression on the fire and in that moment Ruth knew it was already too late to save the shop and their home. Feeding on oil which had been liberally emptied onto floor and shelves, it was a glorified chip-pan fire and had too firm a hold to be controlled; water would only make matters worse.
With a shriek of terror, Ruth tried to slam the storeroom door shut, but the heat from within was too great and flames had already laid claim to the door. Ruth’s one thought now was to save her children from the fire. As she fled back up the stairs she could hear the crackle of the fire almost at her heels. There was a door at the top of the stairs separating the apartment from the shop below and she slammed this behind her, hoping to keep the fire at bay, but even with this door safely closed the smoke was wreathing its way underneath, wafting along the landing.
“Hurry,” she cried as she flew into the bedroom where the children waited. “Hurry! Hurry! There’s a fire, we must get out now. Laura, you carry Hans, I’ll take Peter. Inge, stop crying, darling, and hold tight to my skirt.”
Laura reached out for Hans, gathering him into her arms and holding him against her body. “Come on, Hansi, put your arms round my neck,” she said, trying to ease the dead weight of his body as he snuggled against her. Obediently he reached up and she felt his arms snake round her neck, the hair on the top of his head soft under the curve of her chin. She turned for the door, following her mother who had Peter on her hip and was holding Inge’s hand firmly in her own. Ruth strode along the landing to the door at the top of the stairs. The smoke was thicker now, forcing its way under the door in thick black coils, making them cough. Even before she eased the door open, Ruth knew that they were too late. The fire had taken hold of the stairs, crackling merrily as it ate
up the tinder-dry wood of the ancient staircase.
“Back! Go back!” Ruth cried as she flung the door closed again and pushed them back along the landing. For a moment she stood in the bedroom, the bedroom she had shared with Kurt for almost fifteen years, the room where all the children had been conceived and born, and which now seemed likely to be their grave. Putting Peter back onto the bed she ran into the front room and looked down into the street again. A few people had ventured outside to stare in horror at the trail of destruction the mob had left behind, the mob that even now howled its rage on other Jewish homes, other Jewish businesses. Leah Meyer was standing outside her husband’s baker’s shop, trying to take in the damage that had been inflicted on it so suddenly and so swiftly. Other shadows appeared by the synagogue, from which smoke was still pouring in a thick dark cloud, though the combined efforts of the neighbours seemed to have doused the flames, their flickering light no longer dancing in the windows.
Nobody had noticed that Friedmans’ Grocery was also on fire. Ruth threw up the window and began calling for help. At first no one seemed to hear her frantic cries, but at last Leah Meyer looked up and seeing Ruth at the window raised her hand in salute.
“Help!” Ruth screamed. “Help us! We’re trapped. The stairs are on fire! Help! Oh, help us, please!”
Frau Meyer seemed to be turning away again, but Ruth screamed at her, calling her by name. “Leah! Leah! Get help! My children will be burned alive!”
At last the words seemed to register in the old lady’s brain and she ran towards the synagogue and went inside. Within moments people came rushing out. One woman ran to the shop door, but was driven back by the flames that now completely engulfed the ground floor.
“Jump!” she shouted. “You must jump! We can’t get in to rescue you.”
“I can’t!” shrieked Ruth in panic. “The children can’t jump from this high.”
“Get a sheet and lower them down,” the woman shouted. “Quickly, tie them to a sheet and let them down. We’ll catch them.”
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