by Evans, Mike
“I heard it on the radio.” She glanced around the room. “They are coming. The German Army crossed the Inn River at Passau and Pocking yesterday. They will be here by tomorrow. This is a great day for Austria. Finally we will be united with the Fatherland.” Then she stopped and her face turned serious. “You better get home.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she gestured with a broad sweep of her arms, “this place will be burned to the ground for sure.” Then she pushed open the door, stepped out to the street, and was gone.
Papa locked the door, went out the back, and walked up the alley to a café on the corner. He wasn’t permitted to eat there, but one of the cooks was his friend and often gave him lunch from the rear door. When Papa returned he told me it was true. The German Army had crossed the river at multiple sites. Troops were advancing from Salzburg toward Vienna and from Passau straight toward Linz.
“We should close the shop,” Papa suggested. “But it’s not even noon yet.”
“There will be trouble.”
“Trouble?” For some inexplicable reason the thought of closing early seemed wrong. “The army won’t be here for at least another day. And besides, no one will resist, will they?”
“It does not matter.” He slipped on his coat and I knew we were leaving. “There will be trouble.” He turned out the light and gestured for me to follow him toward the back door. “We must go home.” We closed the shop and walked home, taking the long route down the alley. Papa thought it was safer that way.
When we arrived, Mama was sitting in the front room, listening to the wireless. She looked up as we entered. “You heard?”
“Yes,” Papa nodded. “We heard.”
“Schuschnigg has resigned. They’re handing the government over to a group appointed by German authorities.”
“I heard the German Army has crossed the border and is moving toward Vienna.”
“And meeting no resistance,” Mama added. “In fact, people are lining the roads and streets everywhere to greet them.”
Papa listened a few minutes longer, then switched off the radio. Mama looked over at him with concern. “What does this mean, Moshe?” “I don’t know,” he shook his head. “But it’s not good.” He put on his
coat and headed toward the door.
Mama called after him, “Where are you going?”
“To check on the shop.”
“But we just got here,” I protested.
“Stay here,” he answered as he closed the door.
David grabbed his coat and ran after him. Through the window I saw him when he caught up with Papa. They walked together up the street. “I should go with them,” I lamented.
“No,” Mama replied. “Stay here. That is why he came home.” “To bring me here?”
“Yes.”
“He should not worry so much.”
“No, Sarah,” she said flatly. “Now is the time to worry.”
I took a seat near Mama and we sat there in silence for about twenty minutes. Then she stood and put on her jacket. “I can’t stand this.”
“Stand what?”
“Waiting,” she grumbled. “And not knowing.” “Where are you going?”
“To the shop. Get your coat.”
We walked uptown together, but this time our trip was a little more difficult than usual. A group of boys was gathered on the corner near our house. They threw eggs at us as we approached. One of them struck Mama on the shoulder. Another landed near my feet and splattered my legs. To avoid them, we walked between two houses to the alley and came the long way around.
When we reached the shop we found a mob gathered in front of a store across the street from Papa’s shop. Men, women, and children were screaming and yelling anti-Semitic slogans. We hid at the corner, ducking out every few minutes to see.
For a while there was only the sound of angry voices, then someone threw a brick through the window of a shop across the street. The sound of shattering glass made them laugh, so more followed and soon all the windows in the store were gone. About that time, someone arrived with a can filled with kerosene and before long smoke poured from the building.
Mama took my hand. “Come. We must go home now. We should never have come up here.”
“But what about Papa and David?”
“They will be fine for now, if no one sees us.” “But the mob…”
“Those idiots don’t know what they are doing. The store they attacked belongs to Hans Abetz, a Catholic. They attacked it because he sells kosher food. The people in that crowd don’t even realize Abetz isn’t Jewish. Come on.” She pulled me after her. “We must go before they see us and figure it out.”
For once, much to our disappointment, news from the radio proved accurate. German troops arrived in Linz the following day. Ahead of their advance, riots broke out uptown as bands of lawless thugs finished what the earlier mobs did not. The synagogue was burned to the ground and most of the Jewish shops were ransacked. By the following Monday, even the Nazis were appalled by the lack of order and put troops in the streets to stop the random attacks.
On Wednesday, I decided to go to the university. I knew Mama and Papa would not allow it, so I awoke early that morning and dressed quietly in my room. Then I slipped downstairs and made my way across town. I hadn’t gone far when I realized how foolish I’d been for even trying. All across the city, every block was marred by the smoldering ruins of shops that had been set on fire or buildings with windows missing and the contents looted. Still, I wanted to attend classes, if any were being held, and I pressed on.
At the campus, students were gathered near the main building, a four-story brick structure with slate roof. In unison they shouted antiSemitic slogans and when they grew tired of that they sang anti-Semitic songs. I watched from a distance for a short while, then returned home as quickly as possible. I arrived to find David and Papa seated at the kitchen table. Blood trickled from a gash above Papa’s eye and dripped from David’s nose. Mama stood between them, dabbing first one, then the other. They seemed hardly to notice that I had been out of the house.
“You must report this at once,” Mama railed. “I can’t report it,” Papa replied.
“Why not?” she shouted. “They destroyed the shop and stole your merchandise. You must report it.”
My mouth fell open. “They destroyed the shop?” “Yes,” Papa nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“How badly is it damaged?”
“The glass was broken and the fixtures destroyed. But that isn’t the worst of it.”
“What could be worse?”
“They forced Papa to sign papers conveying it to a new owner.” “Who?”
“A German,” Papa growled. “I don’t remember his name.”
“See,” Mama looked at me. “This is what I’m saying. We must report this to the authorities.”
“And I’m telling you, we can’t,” Papa retorted. “And why not?” Mama demanded.
“If I report it,” Papa struggled to maintain his patience, “they will know we are Jewish.”
“As if they don’t already.”
“But a report will draw the attention of the authorities to us. If they find out Sarah is our daughter, she will be dismissed from school. She might even be arrested for being a Jew and attending classes.”
“Those who work in the registrar’s office will be arrested for admitting her,” David added.
“It doesn’t matter now.” I was on the verge of tears. “There isn’t much in the way of classwork there now anyway. They are all out in the streets, rallying against us and cheering the Germans.”
Mama looked at me, her eyes once again opened wide. “You have been there? To the university?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Just now?” She had a look of disbelief. “This morning?” “I wanted to see if we were having class.”
Mama was livid. “Are you crazy?! Your father and brother were beaten senseless by a mob. The store is lost. We have no way to make a living.
And you go off by yourself to see if the goyim are having classes?”
“I wasn’t in any danger.”
“I don’t care,” she shouted. “You should never have gone. The world is going crazy. My family is going crazy.” Then she turned on Papa. “Moshe, we must get out of this place. It is no longer safe.”
“We don’t have the correct papers.”
“You will get the papers,” she shouted. “We will make the move.” Papa shook his head. “The emigration tax will take everything we own.”
“Haven’t you seen what’s happening on the street? Everyone is crazy. And now it’s even affecting the mind of your own daughter.” The longer she talked, the louder her voice became. “The Germans are here, Moshe! They are here! They’re going to take it all anyway.” She paused to take a breath and lowered her voice. “You’ll take care of this, Moshe,” she insisted, gesturing with the cloth she’d used to dab their injuries. “You’ll do whatever it takes, but you’ll get us out of here.”
* * *
Three weeks later, things were back to a normal routine for most people, but not for us. Papa’s shop was destroyed and we were forced to trade works of art from the house for food, but I still wanted to attend class. I had questions for which I wanted answers—how did things come to be as they were between Germany and the other countries of Europe, what political forces conspired to prevent Jews from participating in the normal activities of Austrian society, and why everyone hated us. Answers to those questions could be found in classes at the university. But more than that, in the depths of my heart, I harbored a dream that one day I would become a lawyer like Uncle Alois. If the mob on the streets or the German soldiers prevented me from attending class, they would rob me of that dream. I wasn’t ready to give them my future. In fact, quite the opposite was true. I was prepared to risk my life for it.
At noon a few days later, Stephan came by for a visit. I told him of my desire to try one more time to attend classes at the university. He argued against it but when he couldn’t dissuade me, he asked to accompany me. I did not want him to go.
“They will see you and become suspicious,” I argued. “They won’t notice me. They’ll notice you.”
“But it’s too dangerous for any girl, Jewish or otherwise, to be out on the street alone,” he countered. “I can walk with you part of the way, then drop back out of sight when you get near the school.”
“But then you would have to walk home by yourself.”
“I’ll find somewhere to wait and walk back with you when you return. You really don’t need to be out there by yourself.”
Reluctantly, I agreed and we set out the next morning for the university. Halfway there, we passed a coffee shop. Through the front window I saw Adolf Eichmann seated at a table inside. He was older now and his hair was thinning. But dressed in a German Army uniform, he still cut a handsome figure. I said nothing to Stephan about him, and made no move to talk to him, but I was certain from the look in his eyes that Adolf saw me, too.
As promised, Stephan stopped about six blocks from the school and let me walk the remainder of the way by myself. To my surprise, the campus was quiet and I was able to attend two of my classes. On the way home, Stephan joined me. He’d been hiding in a burned-out building and smelled like smoke, but I was glad to see him and thankful he was around to accompany me.
Later that evening, Adolf came to our house, still dressed in his German Army uniform. Mama and Papa were nervous to have him in their home. David stayed upstairs in his room and never came down. Neighbors watched from the safety of their homes. We talked awhile and then he asked, “What ever happened to that boy who used to hang around when you were a little girl? What was his name?”
“Stephan.”
“Ah yes,” he nodded. “Stephan. How is he?”
I didn’t like the way he talked about Stephan. The words were benign but the look in his eye was cold. Yet finding no way to avoid his question, I answered him. “Until your soldiers arrived, and the thugs went on a rampage, he worked at a tannery on the edge of town. It was burned down a few nights ago.”
“Things are changing in Austria,” Adolf shrugged. I had heard that so many times, I wanted to scream.
Papa pointed to the yellow star stitched on the front of his shirt. “Is this one of those changes?”
“Some of the changes are painful, I’m sure,” Adolf nodded.
“Tell that to the ones your thugs beat to death in the street,” Papa complained. “That so-called chancellor you installed didn’t do a thing about it.”
“Careful,” Adolf cautioned. “People are being shot in Vienna for such talk.”
“I am Austrian,” Papa responded. “I can say whatever I want.” “Once, you could,” Adolf shook his finger. “But not anymore.” “Then this isn’t Austria anymore, is it?”
“Not the Austria you knew,” Adolf agreed. “Have you thought about leaving?”
“This is our home,” Papa countered. “And besides, we have no money for the papers and nothing for the trip.”
“What if the government paid for it?” “The government?” Papa scoffed. “Yes.”
“They would move me to a new country?”
“They would transport you and your entire family.” “What of our belongings?”
“What you could not carry with you in one small suitcase would become the property of the state.”
“They would seize everything?” Papa gestured with a wave of his hand. “The house and all its contents?”
“Exchange it,” Adolf had a twinkle in his eye. “Your things, for safe passage to a new destination. Palestine, England, the United States.”
“That is preposterous.” “You would be alive.” “They would never do it.”
“Perhaps you should look into it. But don’t wait. Things are changing daily.”
Papa should have followed Adolf ’s lead and inquired about the possibility of relocating to another country. Instead, he did nothing.
* * *
Not long after Adolf ’s visit, government officials issued a decree. All Jews living in rural areas were to leave the countryside and move to the cities. The first wave of displaced people arrived in Linz a week later. Many were housed in tenement buildings located in a poor section on the city’s west side. The buildings, three and four stories tall, were once home to a thriving Gypsy community, but they were cleared out the year before and the residents sent off on the trains.
Left empty for almost a year, the buildings were in disrepair with broken windows, leaking roofs, and missing fixtures. The area around them was overgrown with weeds and littered with trash. The Germans constructed a fence ten feet high all the way around the property with strands of razor-sharp barbed wire along the top. Jews sent there to live were confined to the fenced-in space. A pass was required for anyone who wanted out to work or search for food. David and I walked there one day and we were appalled by the living conditions, but we consoled ourselves that the trouble was on the far side of town and would leave us unscathed.
Three or four days later, trouble came to our own neighborhood when a relocation officer knocked on our door. He was tall, with a thick chest and broad shoulders. He wore a gray uniform, neatly tailored and buttoned in place. Around his waist was a black leather belt with a holster that held an automatic pistol.
A family accompanied the officer—a man and woman with two children. When Mama opened the door, the officer rudely pushed his way past her and started upstairs. The family hesitated at the threshold, then reluctantly followed him inside. At the top of the steps he turned and opened the first door he came to. It led into David’s room.
The officer walked inside the room and glanced around quickly. “This will do for you,” he announced to the family, now standing beside him.
They leaned through the doorway with a bewildered look. “But there is only one bed,” the man observed.
“It is enough,” the officer replied. “But there are four of us.”
The officer placed his hand on his pistol belt. “You would like for us to give it to someone else?”
“No,” the man answered timidly. “We will take it.”
Papa came from the kitchen and shouted up from the bottom of the steps, “What is the meaning of this?”
The officer appeared at the banister and glared down at him. “You have too many rooms for one Jewish family. You must make space for others.”
“But this is our home,” Papa protested.
Once again, the officer placed his hand on his pistol belt. “We must all make our contribution for the good of the Reich. Are you refusing to make yours?”
Papa’s shoulders sagged and his countenance fell with a look of resignation. He slowly shook his head and turned away. The officer came down the steps and walked out the front door.
With nothing to do but get along, we invited the family downstairs. Mama prepared hot tea and we sat at the dining table. They were the Murmelsteins, Benjamin and Andrea with their two children—I used to know their names but I can no longer remember them. I liked Andrea and so did Mama. Papa got on with Benjamin. Their children were well behaved and the house ran smoothly. They came with only a single suitcase each, but Benjamin made certain his was filled with the family silver and jewelry. Over the next few weeks, they were happy to use it to buy food, which we all ate.
A month later, the relocation officer returned with another family, which he crowded into my room. David and I slept on the floor downstairs. Not long after that, another family took over the attic and then another was added to the front room. Others occupied Grandma’s room and the dining room. David and I were forced to sleep on the floor in Mama and Papa’s bedroom.
Our house was comfortable for the four of us, and even when Grandma was alive we had plenty of room. Thirty, however, was more than the place could handle. The single bathroom was always filthy and constantly overflowing, which meant the backyard doubled as a latrine.
Flies swarmed everywhere and the odor was unbearable. Chaos overtook us, and with less and less food available we were hungry all the time. Any hope I had of attending classes at the university was lost.
