by Wendy Lawton
As Anita traveled, she had nothing left but her old ski pants with deep pockets that went down to her knees, and a pajama top as a blouse. In those deep pockets, she carried some toilet paper, her ration card, a bit of a pencil, a pen, a broken comb, and Mutti’s purse. Her leg still ached, and she walked with a limp, but she longed to get to Theresienstadt to see if anyone could tell her anything about Mutti.
Before she could go into Czechoslovakia, though, she needed to get a passport. She went to the passport office in Asch to apply. The man who helped her seemed worried.
“It’s not safe for a German to travel into Czechoslovakia these days. The Czechs suffered terribly under Hitler and they hate the Germans.”
“Still, I must go,” Anita said. “I will trust God to protect me.”
“Why must you go?”
“I must find my mother. They took her to Theresienstadt.” In response to his kind interest, she told him about Mutti and about Camp Barthold. She hadn’t realized how much she told until she saw the pain on his face.
“Little Daughter,” he said, “prepare yourself for the worst. Many of the prisoners who were not already sent to Auschwitz died in the typhoid epidemic that swept through the camp. When the Russians liberated it, prisoners were only one day away from finishing the construction of the gas chambers that would have exterminated them all.” He shook his head in disbelief. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to her. “The Nazis tried to burn every piece of evidence before the Russians got there—including all the people.”
Anita could not bear to hear more. She opened the purse left her by Mutti all those months ago and found just enough money to buy her passport and still have money left for train passage to Leitmeritz. The man carefully filled out all the information to issue the passport. When he handed it to her, it said “Victim of Nazism” on it.
Anita still understood the danger, so as she boarded the train, she decided to speak to no one. At each stop in Czechoslovakia, more people got on the train. They laughed and talked and visited up and down the aisles. Anita feared someone would talk to her and hear that she spoke German. Dear Lord, protect me.
She woke suddenly to a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and turned to see who it was. A young man with curly dark hair smiled at her and began to talk to her in Czech.
She shook her head. His eyes grew dark and he asked in Czech if she was German. She shook her head again and handed the man her passport. He read it and put his head down on the back of her seat for a few minutes.
“I, too, am a Jew,” he said in broken German as he slid into the seat next to her. “My name is Peter.” He was returning from a concentration camp to try to find any family left in Prague, though he ’d been told he was the only survivor.
They talked for a long time. Anita silently thanked the Lord for sending her someone to travel with her and speak for her.
When they arrived in Prague, he said he’d change trains and ride with her to Leitmeritz. He didn’t mind waiting to see his burned-out home in Prague. When the train finally arrived, he helped Anita off the train and went over to talk to a policeman.
“I must say good-bye, now. I don’t have much, but here are 150 crowns to help you.”
“Thank you, Peter. I will pray for you.”
His brown eyes crinkled in a smile of acknowledgment. “That policeman agreed to drive you the remaining distance to Theresienstadt. You will be safe, little friend.”
“Auf Wiedersehen,” Anita said as he left. Auf Wiedersehen.
The policeman drove Anita the eight harrowing kilometers to the gates of Theresienstadt. Debris littered the roads.
Bombs had wiped out whole portions. As they drove, the policeman used his broken German to warn her not to get her hopes up.
So much death—no wonder everyone gave warnings. Only a tiny fraction would ever see their loved ones again.
Theresienstadt came into view. As she looked at the massive stone walls of the fortress, she wondered what Mutti had thought as she was swallowed into the great maws of the prison.
As they got to the gates, she saw the skull and crossbones quarantine sign. Her stomach twisted. The policeman opened the car door anyway, and she got out and went up to the guard.
“Sorry, lady, we cannot allow anyone inside until the typhoid epidemic is officially declared over.” The guard did look sorry.
Anita dropped her arms to her sides standing there in front of the guardhouse and wept silently. She had no words.
“Here, sit here,” the guard said.
The policeman spoke up. “We understand the epidemic is over in every way except officially. Can’t you let her in to find out her mother’s fate? Keeping her out is too cruel. Truth—no matter how bad—is better than uncertainty.”
“Thank you,” she managed to mouth the words to the policeman.
The two guards stepped to the side and conferred together. When they came back, the first one said, “Go, then.” He turned to the policeman. “Drive her inside to that white building. Let her get out by herself, and you turn around and leave.”
The tears continued to stream down Anita’s face. “Thank you.”
As she got out of the car, she waved her thanks to her police friend. How many of these helpers had the Lord provided along the way? She ’d never forget them.
Everything looked deserted inside the huge camp even though it was early afternoon. To look down the street on this balmy June day, it was hard to imagine the misery of the hundreds of thousands of people once imprisoned inside these walls. Anita somehow expected the evil to cling to the walls. Instead she saw a bird land on the packed dirt of the courtyard.
She limped up the steps to the main building just as the elderly woman in charge of this office arrived back from lunch. “I’m looking for my mother, Hilde Dittman.”
Anita saw sympathy in the woman’s eyes. She must have come in with the Red Cross when they took over the camp. “Dittman, Dittman.” The woman opened a file drawer. “The name doesn’t sound familiar.” She looked through the list of survivors. “No, I don’t see her here.”
Anita silently prayed. Please Lord; let me accept whatever may be. Let me remember that all things work together for Your purpose …
“Please sit. I have one more place to check.”
Anita sat down and waited. How long has it been since Mutti was taken? It seems like forever, but if this is June 7th, it has only been eighteen months. It feels like years. The time ticked away while the woman looked through files in another room. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Surely if she were here, they’d know it. Lord, keep me from despair.
The wide smile on the woman’s face as she came back into the room said more than words could ever say. “Hilde Dittman is well. Here is her address. It is on the third floor, where she stays with three women.”
Anita couldn’t speak. She wrapped her arms around herself and sat hard on the bench, bent over, rocking with joy.
The woman smiled. She must not have enjoyed many happy scenes at her desk. “It says in the file that your mother turned down a bus ride back to Breslau because she wanted to wait in case you came. The buses left this morning. You would have missed her.”
Thank You, Heavenly Father, for loving me and caring for me. Thank You for keeping Mutti safe. Thank You. Thank You. Anita remembered back to the days when she longed for Vati to acknowledge her. She ’d now made her peace with Vati, but what she’d learned is that, no matter what her earthly father did, she always had a Heavenly Father who watched her every move.
Anita took the address and walked down the street. Outside the building she saw a woman coming down the stairs. “I am Anita Dittman. I’m looking for my mother. Do you—”
The woman put thin arms around Anita. “I feel I already know you, Anita. Your mother talks about you every day. Come … come!”
Anita followed up flights of stairs in the filthy building. She ignored the dull throb in her still healing leg. As the door opened, she saw a much th
inner Mutti sitting in the old pink bathrobe Anita had left on the floor of the synagogue all those months ago.
“Mutti!” Anita rushed over to her mother and hugged her.
Mutti seemed stunned at first, but the tears puddled in her eyes. “Mein Liebling. You are safe. I prayed every day for God to keep you safe under the shadow of His hand.”
“And God answered our prayers,” said Anita.
Epilogue
The story of God’s hand on Anita Dittman’s life could fill volumes. This book tells part of the story. Other parts are told in her autobiography—Trapped in Hitler’s Hell by Anita Dittman, as told to Jan Markell. Still other parts are told by Anita when she speaks. Many beloved people came into Anita’s life during those dark days, and too many of them were lost in the Holocaust. But always, God covered Anita with the shadow of His hand.
Anita’s sister, Hella, remained in England where she worked as a nurse, but at the end of the war, England could not take Anita and Mutti. The mother and daughter immigrated to America after living for nearly a year in a displaced persons camp. They eventually settled in Minnesota. Anita lives there still. After a career that included teaching, she now spends her time speaking to people about her experiences. Many have come to know the Lord through hearing of His presence in Anita’s life.
In all, more than six million Jews died during Hitler’s reign. Many Christians died as well for helping the Jews. Vati lived through the war and stayed in Germany until his death. Anita wrote to him, but she never returned to Germany. All three of Anita’s aunts vanished. Steffi made it to freedom, as did her mother and Frau Wolf. Rudi, Wolfgang, and Gerhard Wolf, sadly, were captured and died after their escape attempt. Anita heard that Hella Frommelt lived. And Pastor Hornig lived through the war as well. He and the heroes at St. Barbara’s selflessly cared for more Jews than will ever be counted.
When Anita speaks to groups of young people, they always ask if she ever tied on her ballet shoes and danced after the war. Her scarred leg healed, but she never went back to ballet. In her delicate German accent, she always says: “God has a very unique way of scooping up the shattered fragments of our hopes and dreams and molding them into a plan of His own—a plan vastly different from ours, but far more wonderful.”
Glossary
Anti-Semitic. Prejudiced against Jewish people.
Artillery. Gunfire using larger guns.
Atrocities. Brutal torture and killing.
Auf Wiedersehen. The German words for good-bye.
Barre. A railing that is along a wall at waist height for ballet practice.
Bayonet; bayonets. Spears that fit on the end of guns.
Blacklisted; blacklisting. Added to the Gestapo’s blacklist (a list of people they were planning to arrest).
Brownstone. A building built of reddish-brown stones.
Contagion. Diseases that are spread from person to person.
Crowns. Czechoslovakian money.
Danke. The German word for thank you.
Danseur. Male ballet dancer.
Der Führer. The German words for Hitler’s title; The Leader.
Frau. The German word for Mrs.; Ms.
Fráulein. The German word for Miss.
Gestapo. Secret police.
Gott. The German word for God.
Heil. The German salute Nazis used for Hitler.
Herr. The German word for Mr.
Hitler Youth. A militaristic youth organization that taught Nazi ideas.
Ja. The German word for yes.
Jude; Juden. The German word for Jew; Jews.
Liebling. The German word for sweetheart.
Marks. Short for deutsche marks; German money.
Maws. Doors that are like jaws.
Mein. The German word for my.
Migs. Fighter airplanes.
Mutti. The German word for mom.
Nein. The German word for no.
Oma. The German word for grandma.
Parochial. Religious.
Quarantine. Where sick people who are contagious are kept away from others.
Reich. The German word for kingdom; empire.
Synagogue. A Jewish house of worship.
Tante. The German word for aunt.
Vati. The German word for dad.
Verboten. The German word for forbidden.
Wireless. Radio.
Wunderbar. The German word for wonderful.
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