Her fiancé hails from Poland, is thirty-three years old, and, judging by his picture, could easily make a career in Hollywood. He is editor in chief of the UNRRA magazine. His brother lives in Australia, where they hope to emigrate as well. It promises to be a great wedding. Hanka will wear a white dress, and you know how gorgeous she is! She asked me to be her maid of honor. I must somehow manage to have a long dress, too. That should be fun, because I have never worn one.
Hanka told me about another girl whom I know slightly, who will also be getting married. Her dilemma is that she has to choose among no fewer than four suitors. You see, there is a dearth of Jewish girls here. Any female who looks halfway decent can get married. Please take note!
There was one very poignant moment. Hanka and I sat across from each other and talked a blue streak until, suddenly, we both fell silent. We each knew what the other was thinking. One year ago, at precisely this time, we faced the bitterest, most difficult chapter of our lives.* And today? She is about to be married, and I have been engaged for five months. Life can be beautiful, and it is worthwhile to be alive. It even validates endurance and suffering.
Tomorrow I’ll write a longer letter. I’m happy to see Hanka so joyous, but surely, our waiting period should soon be over as well.
I hope there will be mail from you, which I so anxiously await.
Love and kisses, yours,
Gerda
Munich, February 14, 1946
My dearest Kurt,
I withdraw all my complaints regarding the mail. Five of your letters arrived today! For all of them, and for each one separately, my thanks, accompanied by countless kisses.
Now, back to our situation. I went to the Polish Central Committee today and spoke to the chairman. He doesn’t hold out much hope for Switzerland, although I told him that I submitted my application more than three weeks ago. His advice is to wait for the American consul, who, if rumors are correct, should open the consulate in about two weeks. He was somewhat skeptical about the Polish quota. Thought I might have a better chance if I stress the fact that you are an ex-officer. He felt that the quota favors people in the States who are trying to bring over parents, spouses, or children.
I hope you are not too disappointed, knowing nevertheless that you must feel as let down as I do. I hate to have to write you that our hopes are dashed and the time we must stay apart is indefinitely extended. But I know that we will be reunited and that it can come quickly in an unexpected way. I’m still hoping for May.
You ask what I think of you in civilian clothes. Are you fishing for compliments? Do you by chance think I was blinded by the glamour of your uniform? I was. You do look a little strange to me and tired, and I hope that it is not on account of the worry about me. I have to say that you do look very handsome. You look you! Uniform or no uniform, I love you. I only hope that this does not turn your head—and toward those beautiful American girls. Just remember, there is an abundance of men around here!
I shall try to convey my feelings to you regarding the forthcoming marriage of the young woman you wrote about. It seems you are involved in a situation regarding her parents’ opposition to her non-Jewish intended. My thoughts and sympathies are really with her. This friend of yours, brought up in the freedom and democracy of America, was indulged by her parents. Now she suddenly finds herself hemmed in by boundaries that relate to the very thing her parents always aimed to give her: happiness. I understand her bristling at the older generation’s archaic ideas and intolerance, if not blindness. What must hurt her most is to hear the forthcoming marriage called a misalliance. In her eyes her intended must be a respectable, intelligent, honorable man whom she loves. I can imagine how she must question it all, and understand her well. At the same time, I have had a lot of occasion these past months to see the results of “mixed” marriages. Sadly, the best assessment I have heard was from one Jewish woman who was married to a German man and put it this way: “My husband was decent to me during the past twelve years.” So you can see, I do understand her parents as well.
I must share something with you from my own life. Only now can I see what an incredible father I had. How wise, unselfish, and noble he was; what foresight he displayed, and how great was his love for me. During those long, bitter, hungry days, when we lived in the basement of our house and later in the ghetto, we talked about everything imaginable. Once, seemingly out of nowhere, I asked him what he would do if I married a Christian. He looked at me for a long time—I can still see him, gray and gaunt, his collar frayed, his eyes sad—then, his voice just above a whisper, “I would never deny you happiness, no matter at what cost to me.” I was so touched that I impetuously shouted, “Papa, I swear, I would never do anything that would hurt you and—” He interrupted me, “Swear nothing, promise nothing; you don’t know what life has in store for you. Just know that my only wish for you is that you will be happy.” How wise Papa was, how wholeheartedly he would have approved of my choice.
I know deep down that, no matter what, I could never have hurt my parents, and that carries over, even now that they are no longer here. As long as we are fortunate enough to have parents, we can afford to be egotistical, counting on their love and generosity. Tell that girl that in the end, her parents will be at her side. I wish her happiness.
All my love to you, yours,
Gerda
Every so often I believed that I was coming to some better understanding of my past, that I could begin to handle the memories, that the pain of my losses was diminishing and would no longer intrude on the present, only to find that the scars of my experience would remain for life. I feel renewed pain and anger whenever I see refugees, identify with and recall pangs of hunger on seeing the emaciated faces and bodies of children. That pain is most acute whenever I see a lonely, crying child, even if that child is not otherwise deprived or abused.
I know from long experience that specific pain will lessen and ultimately pass, but I have never been able to free myself altogether of those emotions. The truth is that at this stage of my life, removed from the immediate concerns of raising a family or making my way in a profession, I have more time to reflect, and let the wanton suffering inflicted on millions come into sharper focus. The past remains vivid and the inhumanity an enigma.
Munich, February 16, 1946
My beloved Kurt,
The weekend is here again, and I wonder what you are doing. Lately our office has been a veritable madhouse. Such chaos reigned that nothing whatsoever got done. You wouldn’t believe how imbued our “higher-ups” are with their own prominence. And that includes yours truly, who is among the “privileged” class, according to my special pass. It gives me a number of perquisites, such as instant theater and concert tickets, for which ordinary mortals have to wait interminably, providing they can get them at all. I will never get used to receiving preferential treatment in Germany. I realize that it’s only superficial and would love to leave this state of privilege, the sooner the better.
One of the most prominent members of this privileged class is leaving. He happens to be my boss and his impending departure is causing a great deal of commotion. I, for one, hate to see him go. He was very good and fair to work with and didn’t take himself too seriously, unlike others who were pompous and given to set routines. I learned a lot from him, and he always allowed me a lot of latitude, so that I was able to work by myself—a challenge I tried to live up to.
Once the farewell festivities were over, my friend Heidi and I went to a movie. Actually a very silly picture that has already left my mind. But the newsreel surely was worthwhile. It showed a contingent of home-coming American troops. I looked for you in vain, but vicariously was able to experience those hours with you. Afterward we went to “Regina,” the most popular restaurant/café in Munich, which made me feel very sophisticated and grown-up.
Heidi will be quitting our office as soon as the university sessions start. She will study medicine. I am leaving for Landsberg tomorrow to see Ma
la and attend her friend’s wedding. By the way, weddings are the order of the day here. I often get the feeling that others are more mature than I in so many ways. Of course, I too am yearning to marry you, but my friends somehow take their lives in their hands more resolutely, while I go on as I did when I was a schoolgirl, daydreaming and leaving so much up to you. I think that’s what it is; I lean on you. Thanks for your shoulder, your arms, and your lips. I love them.
Yours,
Gerda
Munich, February 25, 1946
My dearest,
I went to a wedding yesterday, and although my head is still spinning, I want to report my thoughts to you immediately. I didn’t know the bride too well and the groom not at all, but she is a close friend of Janka, who was with me in Grünberg. It was such a large camp that I didn’t know her too well either. Even the slightest shared experience seems enough to forge certain bonds. Few of those who survived the war have any family left, so that even the most casual acquaintances are invited to events like weddings, which take place almost daily. This one was truly lavish, considering the circumstances. There was a band, wonderful food, including delicacies I have not tasted since before the war. I marvel at people’s resourcefulness and ability to provide, which is totally beyond my ken. Anyway I rejoice at their good fortune.
Believe it or not, I danced quite a bit and even tried to go along with the crowd by smoking. Everybody but everybody held cigarettes in their hands. It looked so grown-up and sophisticated that I simply had to try it too. But I paid dearly for my folly because it made me sick.
Again I found myself isolated in many ways. For some unfathomable reason, I always seem to be on the fringes of the crowd. This is not due to the war, although almost everything can be attributed to our immediate past. All the same I remember that even as a young child, when I would be invited to birthday parties, I could never fully participate in the merrymaking, could never quite fall in with the singing of songs, in reality a blessing, because I have no voice. I always felt self-conscious, a trait that has remained with me.
What I’m driving at, however, is something quite different. I found myself alone with Janka for a little while, and she told me exuberantly that she would announce her own engagement the following day. I was truly delighted, remembering that during a conversation we had had two weeks earlier, she had talked nonstop about Lolek, a boy with whom she was in love. She had expressed fear of losing him because, in her mind, he seemed to possess every virtue known to mankind. I hugged her and said, “Let me go find Lolek. I must congratulate him.” “Are you crazy?” she came back, “I’m not marrying him. It’s Iziu to whom I’m engaged!” “Who is Iziu?” I asked, startled. It turned out I did know Iziu, who seems like a nice guy. He’s a little older, about twenty-eight, I would guess. Well, the wedding date is fixed, and I’m invited!
People appear to be swept up by a type of hysteria, throwing themselves into things wild and untested. Perhaps they do that in order to forget. But can one forget? And will marriage to just anybody help that?
A bit of other news. I was told by the Polish Committee that a Rabbi Blum is arriving in Munich as the representative of an organization called HIAS.* I will try to get an appointment with him; perhaps this agency can help me. I have lost nearly all hope for Switzerland. They are creating insurmountable difficulties, while my case is really so simple. I need just one day in Switzerland, so I can see the American consul. That’s all—but, no, it can’t be done, according to the Swiss authorities. Perhaps it will work with France.
I love you,
Gerda
Regensburg,† February 2/26/1946
Dearest Kurt,
I’ve been reflecting on something I want to share with you. Most of my friends who are married are expecting babies. I find that rather incredible so soon after our ordeal, but it is exciting. No matter how well some of them manage to live, all of them hope to be able to leave here—the sooner the better. The language, the environment, and some of the people here are all-too-graphic reminders of the past. The way I feel is that even when surrounded by the beauty of nature, which is certainly possible in this setting, you may temporarily be able to push the past to the recesses of your mind. But before long an awareness of where you are sets in. I love children, and above everything else, it is my most ardent desire to have children, as you are aware. But I would like their cradles to be bathed in the sunshine of freedom, so that from infancy it will be enough to fill their entire lives.
In the course of my long talks with Rita and Ruth, we remembered with a wistful mixture of amusement and sorrow that at the camp in Bolkenhain we had formed a loose association which we dubbed Club Olympus, an escape that gave us a temporary respite from the real world. There were six of us who, after long night shifts of exhausting physical work, would challenge our minds to remember tales of Greek mythology that we would discuss at length. Mostly, though, we used the inspiration from this intellectual stimulation to dream up insults and curses directed at our tormentors to bring them down from their self-appointed perch. Now we are able to have a reunion in Regensburg, and we mused that, sadly, three of those six young women are gone. They did not live to experience freedom. We sorely missed Liesl, Suse, and Ilse. We, the remaining three, once called ourselves Aphrodite, Diana, and Psyche. Can you guess which nickname was mine?*
I am leaving for Munich in the morning.
Much love,
Gerda
Buffalo, March 1, 1946
Dearest Gerda,
As usual I’m using my lunch break to “talk” with you. No further letters arrived from you this week, but I can’t really complain because there’s always the possibility that more will be forthcoming.
Because I know that Buffalo is a pretty hazy concept for you, I’m going to attempt to give you an overview of your upcoming home and its environs. In that regard, please overlook what I may already have told you about it.
One of the primary differences between this American city and its European counterparts is that the business district is distinctly different and separated from the residential sections. The center of business activity is the so-called downtown area (every city has one), a district that comprises offices and stores only. It’s only a twenty-minute bus ride from where I live. We do have streetcars as well, but they are ancient crates that (gratefully) are gradually being replaced by buses. Anybody who hasn’t been in Munich thinks that Buffalo has the world’s worst transportation system. I find it adequate.
As I mentioned, almost no one lives downtown here, except in hotels of course. Most people live in residential sections, along streets consisting mainly of two-family frame houses, each with a little stretch of unfenced lawn in front of or behind their home. I’m only referring to the average, of course, so don’t assume that there are no brick or stone houses or no fences whatsoever. Most streets here are planned in the manner of avenues. They look pretty bare and desolate at the moment, but with the coming of spring Buffalo assumes incomparably more beautiful proportions, to a degree that would totally surprise you if you had only seen it in winter. On the other hand, because of the multitude of trees, one street initially tends to look much like another.
Because most homes have no garages, or insufficient space for one, you’ll find many cars parallel parked along the streets, the exceptions being main thoroughfares. There parking is either prohibited altogether or is allowed only at certain times and within prescribed zones. Traffic is enormous but easily regulated by means of numerous traffic lights and stop signs. The police are quite strict about that.
Each residential district has its own small business center, which means that it only takes at most a ten-minute walk before you reach a street where you can obtain the usual necessities of life. A variety of shops, such as a bakery, a butcher, at least one grocery, barber, dry cleaner, etc., cater to all your needs. On the other hand, larger department stores or clothing stores and such are all located downtown, as are most offices.
&n
bsp; We do have a few skyscrapers here, as well as a display of neon signs at night, modest compared to a place like New York. The population here is predominantly of Polish descent, and it’s quite common for various ethnic groups to be concentrated within certain districts of the city. The Polish population, for example, is so huge that it has its own large business section. It’s not as expansive or beautiful as the downtown section, but on the other hand, it’s reputed to have the largest retail turnover in the city. In general its stores are also cheaper than their downtown counterparts.
Geographically speaking, Buffalo is located at the Niagara River, adjacent to the immense Lake Erie, one of the so-called Great Lakes. Allegedly ours is the largest inland harbor in the world, but you know that sort of local boosterism. You actually can never be sure how much is based on fact and how much is promotion on the part of the Chamber of Commerce. On the other side of the Niagara and Lake Erie lies Canada, and it’s about an hour’s drive to Niagara Falls, where the Niagara gorge divides the two countries. Here in Buffalo you can be in Canada within five minutes. Big deal: You simply cross the bridge.
Enough about the city that will offer you a lot more than I can sum up here. You’ll see it soon! My hugs and kisses await you.
Love,
Kurt
Munich, March 6, 1946
My beloved Kurt,
Yesterday three of your letters arrived, faster than ever. The most recent one was dated February 22. There was also a long and wonderfully kind letter from Gerdi, which gave me a great deal of pleasure and joy. She writes in such an open, friendly, delightful style, as if she had known me a lifetime. You must know how much it means to me that your sister, with whom you are so close, is extending this warm welcome into the family. I have always wanted a sister and now am fortunate to have one, obviously a very special one. Thank you for providing that for me.
The Hours After Page 27
