“Poor things,” fourteen-year-old Šáry Weinstein wrote in her diary. “They will die soon enough in any case, and they could do that here just as well. This is supposed to be a model ghetto after all, so why do they send people away, especially old people? Maybe because it wouldn’t seem so nice if others saw them begging for a bowl of disgusting soup? The town is overcrowded, and that doesn’t leave a good impression either.”9
“In this one week, 7,500 Jews have left the ghetto and are being taken somewhere into an unknown future, but we don’t know where that is,” Gonda Redlich jotted in his diary. “They’re leaving in order to make more room. And now a ‘commission’ will be visiting the city and will render its verdict: Everything is fine. The town is so lovely, with a whole lot of children’s homes, coffeehouses, wonderful halls and green gardens; the Jews live in spacious rooms.”10
Transport Dz (May 15), Transport Ea (May 16), and Transport Eb (May 18) bore their cargo of 7,503 people toward the East. The town’s population sank to about 28,000—less than half of what it had been at its highest point in September 1942. There was a little more air in the ghetto, but no one was breathing a sigh of relief. “After the commotion of the last few days, calmness has returned,” Otto Pollak noted on May 19, “a mournful calmness and loneliness.”
The paralyzing calm that reigned in Theresienstadt after the May transports gave way to a phase of hectic activity. Anyone who could change to a better bunk or better quarters did so. Some of the prominent people were assigned to a room of their own, so they could live together with their families. Improvements were made in the living arrangements of the Danes, and a couple of rooms—all on the ground floor of buildings visible from Haupt Strasse—were nicely furnished, with pictures on the walls, flowerpots on the windowsills, and pretty curtains at the windows.
But in the larger rooms of the barracks, in the attics and rear courtyards, and on the third floor of the Girls’ Home, in Room 28, everything remained just as it was.
The sole objects of the beautification campaign were public buildings and those quarters that were sure to strike the eye of the upcoming visitors—a delegation from the International Red Cross, which everyone had been talking about for months11—or that could be strategically called to their attention. Along with the quarters of a few prominent people and the Danes, these buildings included the Bank of the Jewish Self-Administration, the town hall, the post office, the children’s nursery, the coffeehouse, and the Sokolovna. And of course the “mayor’s office” in the Magdeburg Barracks—the headquarters of the Jewish Self-Administration and the Council of Elders.
As part of this short-lived deceptive maneuver, these buildings were scrubbed until they shone, as were a few streets, courtyards, and pathways. “Everyone was assigned to the cleanup,” recalls the pianist Alice Herz-Sommer, who herself was ordered to join a street-cleaning brigade. “We mopped the streets, we cleaned the coffeehouse, and there was one shop that had to be cleaned as well, and its displays tidied up. The bank and the hospitals, too. It all had to be clean as a whistle. Picture this little town with its usual population of five thousand—it was full of people wherever you went; it was black with people! It was such a little place that you could hardly move. There was no possible way to clean it up properly.”
The Bank of the Jewish Self-Administration was founded on orders from the SS and opened on May 12, 1943. It was the crowning achievement of the hoax and played the key role in the entire fraud. Even bank notes were printed—ghetto kronas.
Theresienstadt, “the face of an involuntary community,” as H. G. Adler has called it,12 was a perfect deception, built on smoke and mirrors. Else Krása wrote a poem about it with a telling title: “As If.” She dedicated the poem to Leo Strauss, son of the “operetta king” Oscar Strauss and one of the chief writers for the Theresienstadt cabaret:
I know a little town A town
that has some spiff
I’ll not betray its name
So let’s call it “As If.”
Leo Strauss set this little verse to brilliant music. In Theresienstadt these words came to form a kind of running joke, but also a philosophy of life and survival, and a motto.
And so when Helga’s fourteenth birthday came around on May 28, 1944, it was celebrated in accordance with this motto—much to the surprise of the birthday girl, who only a few weeks earlier had said to her father, “If there are transports and my friends have to leave, my birthday will be a very sad one, because we have lived like sisters in our Home.”
Now it was all turning out very differently. Helga was invited to a “festive seven-course banquet in the Grand-Hôtel Hecht, Bahnhof Strasse 31.” One course after another was served in the “as if mode: “Bean soup with noodles, spring vegetables, snow-peas and carrots with roasted potatoes on onions, sardine snacks on toast, open-face sandwiches with sausage and bacon, pineapple pudding, mocha à la ghetto with pastries, ending with a selection of desserts.” Only a wisp of these delicacies actually appeared on the table, but where quality and quantity were not what they should have been, imagination came to the rescue— daily life in the camp offered lots of opportunities for that.13
“The child wasn’t expecting such a lovely party,” Otto Pollak wrote that same evening in his diary. “At five o’clock we distributed presents. The festive dinner, then, was at half past five. All those courses made us forget our Theresienstadt misery. During the meal Hecht [house eldest in the Home for Invalids L 231] gave a stirring speech.”
Birthday card for Helga’s fourteenth birthday
Helga returned to Room 28 laden with gifts. By Theresienstadt standards, what she held in her hands was a small fortune. We know this from Otto Pollak’s list of her presents: “From Maria, a blouse, a winter and a summer dress, and a cake; from Hecht, a necklace and three chocolate bonbons, Odol mouthwash and Nivea cream; from Schmitz, two large notebooks and a wooden box; from Hugo, a travel manicure set; from Leuchter, the engineer, a bouquet of lilacs with two tulips; from Papa, a belt, a handbook, a bar of Palmolive soap, a chrome and nickel bracelet with a watch, and a Pelikan fountain pen with a fourteen-carat-gold nib.”
Unfortunately, we have no direct account from Helga about how she felt that evening. In 1956, during the Suez Crisis, when Helga was moving from Addis Ababa to London, fire broke out in the ship’s cargo room, and the container carrying several of her most precious possessions, including the third volume of her diary and her poetry album, was destroyed.
It seems quite likely that once the birthday celebration had passed, Helga quickly reawakened to the reality of Theresienstadt, just as she did after a concert given on April 5, 1944, as can be seen in this last entry in the second volume of her diary:
Menu for Helga’s fourteenth birthday: “A banquet served in the spirit of ‘As If!’ ”
Wednesday, April 5, 1944
Today I attended a Beethoven concert. They played a violin sonata. Taussig played the violin and Professor Kaff was at the piano.14 Then came a piano sonata that Kaff played by heart. He lived the music. He played with his eyes closed. For me it was like a fairy tale, with fairies dancing and singing on a meadow at the edge of the woods. There were small animals, too. Then came a loud rumble, and someone said that a dragon was coming down the road in search of prey from the Kingdom of the Forest. They ran off in all directions, looking for a place to hide. The fairies fled into their subterranean kingdom, the animals dashed into their subterranean homes and up into the trees, etc. And now the dragon arrived in the meadow. And what does he see, right under his nose? A little fawn who couldn’t get away in time because it had slipped and fallen and wasn’t able to get up again. The dragon grabs the fawn and takes his prey back to his castle.
The forest dwellers return to the meadow and sing and dance. But then the fawn’s mother appears, weeping. She tells them that she couldn’t come sooner to join the others because she was not feeling well, and had sent her fawn on ahead with the idea that she would follow as soon as she
was feeling better. Now that she is here—she cannot find her child. They all join in the search, but don’t find the fawn, and they realize that the dragon has it.
So they decide to break into the castle very early the next morning while the dragon is still asleep and to slay him, thereby freeing the fawn and liberating their land from this evil creature. They all return to their homes and settle in for the night. Now only the owl hoots and the moths flap the air with their wings and fly, fly—black velvet with red stripes, gorgeous and glorious.
Dawn breaks, and the sun rises. Sunbeams shine through the branches onto the meadow, and a pleasant, gentle breeze rustles through the leaves. Everyone slowly wakes up. The small animals stumble to the well for a drink, and then the large animals go and slurp up the remaining water. Once they have all had their fill, they set out to free the fawn.
There are between ten and twenty small animals—rabbits, hamsters, and others of that sort—accompanied by the larger ones. Eagles and falcons fly above them. They belt out their song of war. They arrive at the castle and enter the courtyard. In single file the animals, both large and small, climb the stairs cautiously and quietly, looking for the dragon’s room. There they hide behind curtains and furniture. An eagle, who has been appointed by the fairies, gives the sign. All the animals come out of their hiding places and run to the bed where the dragon lies sleeping. They pounce on him—all the foxes, the eagles, the falcons, the weasels, and many more. The dragon wakes up, but he is dead on the spot. They free the fawn and return home singing a happy song.
In the nearby village the bells ring the noon hour, which can be heard on the meadow and in the forest. All the animals are in their homes or basking in the sun. The war has been won. You can see the sunlight falling through the branches, just as it did that morning, and a gentle wind is blowing from the south. The doe is lying peacefully beside her fawn. She licks it, and showers it with maternal love. And the fawn tells his mother all about what happened with the dragon, until it falls asleep.
And now the fawn is sleeping. Its mother gently licks its face. All is peaceful. The music comes to an end. The people leave their seats.
I don’t want to leave. Why am I in Theresienstadt? Here? Everything was so beautiful—and now this dark, gray Theresienstadt. I would like to slip inside the piano, where there is music. And here on the outside is the prison.
The main square in the center of Theresienstadt shimmered in lush green, interspersed with flower beds and snapdragons that Judith’s father, Julius Schwarzbart, had planted on orders from the SS. The newly sanded paths were lined with freshly painted benches. The bright yellow of the music pavilion stood out against other facades now repainted in soft pastels.
“The park area in Market Square, previously surrounded by barbed wire, is gradually being made available to Jews,” Otto Pollak noted on June 1. “The residents are sitting down gingerly on the new wooden benches set on concrete supports—about seventy-three of them in all, which will provide a spot for a siesta for three hundred sixty people.”
Every day around noon, and again toward evening, the town orchestra gathered in front of the pavilion for a “promenade concert,” under the direction of either Carlo S. Taube or Peter Deutsch, the former conductor of the Copenhagen Radio Orchestra. The girls watched in amazement from their window. What did this strange hubbub mean? All the activity around the main square? Even signposts had been put up: TO THE BANK, TO THE POST OFFICE, TO THE COFFEEHOUSE, TO THE BATHS. Near the construction office was an old school, which until now had been used as a hospital; the hospital was cleared out, the rooms were given a fresh coat of paint, and school benches were installed. The next morning there was a sign in gold letters above the main entrance: SCHOOL FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. “It looked very nice, like a real school, except there were no students or teachers,” Helga Weiss noted. “But that little problem was resolved with a piece of paper posted on the school door, which read simply VACATION.15
The “shops” were given new signs and their display windows were decorated; the goods on display were expanded and extolled on advertising boards. No one in the ghetto was taken in by this sham. Everyone knew what was going on with these “retail stores,” as they called the shops. A witticism began with the question: “Where do you find the finest luxury shops in the world?” The answer: “In Theresienstadt. Because if you’re lucky, you can buy a shirt there with your own monogram already on it.”
The items for sale were nothing more than leftovers from what the SS had confiscated and plundered from the prisoners on their arrival. It was much the same with the goods offered in the grocery store, about which people also poked fun. “Try to buy sugar, and there won’t be any sugar; try to buy flour, and there won’t be any flour. Try to buy a map of Germany, and there won’t be any Germany.”
Helga had a new line of her own to add to this joke: “Try to buy ketchup and there won’t be any ketchup.” One day she had seen a bottle of ketchup on the shelf and could hardly wait for her turn to buy something. “But when I got there, there was nothing left in the shop but paprika and mustard. I gave the mustard to my father. I kept the paprika for myself and sprinkled it on my bread. I remember that I was very unhappy about it.”
And now, as if to mock the inmates, there were shiny, deceptive new signs on shops all around the main square: PERFUMERY, DRUGSTORE, GROCERY, SHOES, CLOTHING, LADIES’ UNDERWEAR. And the display windows suddenly contained a startling array of goods: fresh meats, sausages, fruit, and vegetables.
“It’s absurd, but it looks as if Theresienstadt has been transformed into a spa,” Helga Weiss wrote in her diary. “I don’t know why, but it reminds me of the fairy tale Table, Set Yourself. That’s what it seems like. The orders go out each evening, and the next morning everyone looks around in amazement and asks where this or that has come from all of a sudden.”16
“We had to vacate in the middle of the night,” recalls Eva Herrmann, who lived in Home L 414, where a spruced-up ground floor housed the post office. “We didn’t know why. They put us somewhere else, and we were told that everything was being renovated. And when we came back a few days later, there was nothing but bright new furniture— tables, benches, shelves. The bunks were made of new wood, and we had white sheets and blankets—it all looked very pretty. And the hallways were all freshly painted and decorated as well. Suddenly there were whole rows of cabinets, each a different color, each hung with a curtain featuring a different animal emblem—just like in kindergarten, so that you know which chest belongs to which child. And behind the door was shelving for our food, and suddenly there was lots of food— more bread than usual, chocolate, and a jar of Ovaltine! We didn’t even know what that was.”17
There was even an art exhibition on the second floor of the Mag deburg Barracks. The paintings all had Theresienstadt motifs. “My favorites were those done by Spier, A Telegraph Worker, View of Litoměřice,” Otto Pollak wrote on June 9. “And by Karas, Haas, The Old Commandant’s Office. Helga’s Girls’ Home.”
At half past eight on the evening of June 13, Otto Pollak found himself for the first time on the roof of the Kavalier Barracks, which had been renamed Eger Platz. “It’s a splendid evening. I can see the sluice mill, the highway, mountains all around. A village to the right of Litoměřice, near the top of the mountain. A glider is circling in the air. Birds are flying to their nests. A view of freedom! I am filled with a longing to embrace nature.”
During this same period, Helga felt drawn again and again to visit one of the ramparts with her new friend Ruth Gutmann, whose father was employed in a workshop there. At the edge of the ghetto they found a path that previously had been barricaded, “but somehow we were suddenly allowed on it. All by ourselves we walked out onto a meadow where flowers were blooming. I still dream of that place.”
Summer weather, cheerful music, and curiosity about all these changes lured many people out of their quarters. On June 11, Otto Pollak went to see the new children’s pavilion, “with a nursery f
or the smallest ones, designed by the architect Kaufmann. An excellent piece of work in its structure, utility, and proportions. All made of glass and wood. The square transoms have splendid sketches of animals done by Spier, the Dutch artist. A brand-new merry-go-round for the playground, swings, and monkey bars.”
The girls took in the changes in the ghetto with amazement. What could it all mean? Was the war almost over? No one had an explanation. “Maybe they’re worried about the commission?” Helga Weiss guessed. “Maybe we don’t know just how favorable the situation really is.”
Meanwhile, the SS set about deciding which of the many cultural events in Theresienstadt might be offered to the commission from the International Red Cross. The choice wasn’t easy, since, as Thomas Mandl put it, “offerings that were few and far between in civilian life were available in incredible abundance: lectures, from the most arcane subjects to popular themes; recitations of the Greek classics in the original; theater, opera, operetta, chamber and solo music; and cabaret acts of every conceivable kind.”18
The SS had no problem scheduling excellent presentations for the day the foreigners would pay their visit, and they did not have to worry about a lack of posters around town to highlight the flourishing cultural life. One poster announced an extraordinary soiree for June 22, 1944: an evening of lieder sung by Karel Berman, with Rafael Schächter at the piano. The program offered songs by Hugo Wolf, Beethoven’s “To a Distant Beloved,” Pavel Haas’s Four Songs on Chinese Poetry, and Dvořák’s Gypsy Melodies.
But what would the visitors see and hear on June 23? A cabaret revue with the stars of the Theresienstadt Cabaret: Karel Švenk, Leo Strauss, Kurt Gerron, Josef Lustig, and the duo of Hans Hofer and Anny Frey? A play by Molière (George Dandin), Gogol (Marriage), Chekhov (The Proposal), Karel Čapek (The Fateful Game of Love), or Molnár (The Play at the Castle)? An opera—Carmen, Tosca, The Magic Flute, The Marriage of Figaro, The Bartered Bride? An operetta—Ghetto Girl, Die Fledermaus? Or a piano concert with a virtuoso such as Juliette Arányi, Alice Herz-Sommer, Edith Steiner-Kraus, Renée Gärtner-Geiringer, Gideon Klein, or Bernard Kaff? A string quartet with Egon Ledeč, Fredy Mark, Karel Fröhlich, and Romouald Süssmann or Paul Kling? Karel Ančerl’s string orchestra? Or a choral work, with Karl Fischer directing Mendelssohn’s Elijah, Haydn’s Creation, or Rafael Schächter’s choir and its radiant performance of Verdi’s Requiem?
The Girls of Room 28 Page 24
