February 10

Elise Zerzawy was Paul’s step-mother. His father Julius’s was twice a widower, having married two of Helene’s older sisters. Julius married again in 1921 when Paul and his brother Robert were in their 20s. By then, three of their siblings had passed away and they were the only surviving children. Elise was a widow with at least one child of her own, Fritz Orlik. Elise was writing from Poděbrady which had been a spa town in the Central Bohemia, now the Czech Republic. Julius died in 1939. Fritz and his wife Hanne moved to Palestine in 1939. We saw a letter from Fritz on January 25.

Poděbrady, 10 February 1940

Dear Paul!

Both of your cards are lying in front of me. The first one from September 26th 1939, the other from the 4th of November. The card I received today came by way of Prague and I do not want to lose any time to immediately give you some news. I answered the first card immediately by air mail, but meanwhile I have not received your answer. From Robert I know that you are in Frisco. It is a comfort for me to know that your relatives are helpful to you. Also, the climate there should be better for your health. I have good reports from Robert about his well-being. I am glad that Robert is seeking the opportunity to get together more often with Annie and Doris. Both girls for now are happy with their jobs. From Aunt Marie and Hila I received a letter a few days ago from Nervi [perhaps in Italy?]. Aunt knows already of the passing of dear Papa.—There is not much to say about us. We are healthy. In our life, nothing has changed. We get together more often with the Schauers. This is our only distraction/entertainment. I have not heard anything from Fritz and Hanne since November. I only know indirectly that they are still living with Fritz P [in Palestine] and from there are trying to eke out an existence. With the continuing influx of strangers, the fight for survival will be very difficult. Especially when there are only very modest means available. I can barely await the time when I know that all of you are at least halfway satisfied. – You will be happy I am sure that the Rosenbergers will come here despite the grim cold weather. They are coming for Yahrzeitstag to visit the grave [the anniversary of Julius Zerzawy’s death when in Jewish tradition the headstone will be placed]. Their son Paul has already landed in P [Palestine?]. – On Christmas, the Schauers were with us and a week later on the 2nd of January we were in Prague. Hopefully you will receive this card and I will be very happy if I receive a detailed letter soon. For today my heartfelt greetings.

Mama

To the unknown relatives, my best wishes. I should give you greetings from Marianne. She makes a lot of effort to make my life more pleasant to help me bear it better.

You can see that Elise has many of the same complaints we’ve heard from Helene: the dearth of mail and length of time it took for what mail there was to arrive, the bitter cold winter, the more confined nature of her life. On top of that, she was recently widowed and her son and step-sons were scattered across the globe and unable to be of comfort or assistance.

I only recently was able to get this card translated. Although it was written long after World War I, Elise writes in the old German script that few people can decipher nowadays. When I first found this letter, I didn’t actually know who Elise was. Fortunately, by the time Amei translated this letter, I understood where she fit in the family constellation.

Elise perished in Theresienstadt (Terezín).

February 9

Still Clipper 72                       And still Vienna, the 7th February 1941 

My dear children! I’d rather break your heads than give money to the post office. Especially I congratulate you about your shoes, stockings, your outfits, and your blue suit. You ask if I still remember your black velvet dress. Of course, Everl! But you will not remember anymore that you asked me this question. I actually didn’t consider it to be of any advantage, but decided to risk the disapproval of my daughter with my rude criticism. If the ladies you work with admired it, then you must have really showed off your sewing skills. I hope the blue jacket dress will also be as successful. Harry’s fruitful beard activity I do hope it is not taking on a scary form. I wouldn’t mind being tickled by it. I in fact can’t stand beards, wherever they are, but I do love the beard of my son. What color did he decide on? Fluff is usually blond. Please do satisfy my curiosity about this. So Harry is a banana seller? Wonderfull. But he should at least in spirit send us all his bananas that are beginning to go bad. That’s when they taste the best to me. Just like Lucretia Borgia. In the worst case, I would still eat them when they are green. I wouldn’t want to waste too much. It’s a good thing that Harry picked up some on Gärtnergasse. Now it probably wouldn’t be possible anymore. They are working on a sign that they are going to attach. The painters have too much work now to forbid you to enter the street. You wouldn’t believe how many jobs have not been completed. Paul seems to be having a second career as a tour guide or wanting to at least. I wouldn’t let anyone else do our tour. Helenengasse is one of the few streets that hasn’t asked to change its name. The car cadaver [abandoned car] is still there, at least the last time I went by. When the sun can be counted on to be there consistently, I will go and inspect it. The Schüttelpromenade was always the first walk at spring’s awakening [may also be referring to a play]. Taking up a half hour of sunlight is really something I’d like to do this year. Last year I was so careless as to not follow the call of spring right away. Then Mrs. Sun was insulted and went away. But I swear as much as I can that I will get some sun.

By the way, we were pleasantly surprised by the youth of the letter we got today. It only took 39 days (!!!) to get to us. What progress compared to the one before last. You must have received some letters from us in the meantime and perhaps scattered around some concerns about our health. I am not behind on my news. I have gotten caught up and gotten through everything. In the next Clipper, you will hear from us again. Many greetings to all the love ones.

I am hugging you in absence and thinking with delight about Everl’s smooth skin and Harry’s prickly little nose. Do you remember? [Poem] “Little Harry, Porcupine, when will your wedding be?” Please wait till we get there, okay? Papa is thinking about a way of getting rid of his beard. He seems to experiment with this on his head quite successfully. I will let you know afterwards.

Many kisses
Helen

A few comments on today’s letter: After the Nazis came to power, they changed many of the street names in Vienna. Life was difficult, uncertain, and stressful. Nearly everything had changed a great deal in a few short years, none of it for the better. The sense of disorientation would have been complete by suddenly finding yourself not knowing the names of the streets you’d been walking and living on for decades.

Helene’s cousin Tillie Zentner was the instigator of bringing Eva and Harry’s to the U.S. Her husband Julius Zentner was the cofounder of Levy-Zentner wholesale fruit and vegetable company. (see crate label from the Oakland Museum of California, an image search will bring up many vintage labels and crates). One of Harry’s first jobs was working for the company, hence his mother referring to him as a banana seller.

On the roll of negatives from 1939 or 1940 which I mentioned a few days ago, there was a photo of an unknown man in front of crates of vegetables (celery?). I assume he was an employee of the Levy-Zentner company.

The above photo was taken by Harry in 1939 or 1940 at the Washington Street Produce Market, now Sidney Walton Park at Jackson and Davis in San Francisco. The old brick archway on Front St is the last remaining remnant of the produce district. The San Francisco Public Library has some photos of the market in action including a photo taken in 1956 showing the A Levy and J Zentner Co sign. Click on the View Image link to see photo.

All that’s left of the produce market - an entrance to Sidney Walton Park.

February 8

Apparently Helene didn’t manage to send off the letters written on February 5 before receiving mail from her children. So she continued Clipper letter #72 with at least two more letters, one today and the last one which we will see tomorrow.

Vienna, 7 February 1941

My dear children! I just wanted to give Papa my letters I wrote to you yesterday and the day before to mail when your letter which I “baptized” #16 arrived. So, you haven’t had any mail for a while either. There are no fewer than 13 letters on the way from me so you have to let me know without my repeated questions if you have received them painlessly, without a break in the letters. Harry’s letter is dated the 23rd, Eva’s the 31. …Eva maybe had his letter but she was so busy in the holidays that she didn’t have a chance to write to us till the 31st. She has tried to make this right by saying at the beginning of the letter that it’s the last one for this year. After she told us that she had to go to the dentist because of her wisdom teeth, she ended this short letter with a kiss which actually took up the entire second page. It seems like in a foreign country you’ve forgotten how to write your native language and you’ve also forgotten about your mother’s mentality that she cannot get enough details about your life. Harry’s ode to his beard I found very good. Yesterday I left the radio on while I was writing to you so I wouldn’t miss the evening news. Some Brunhilde sang Bei meines Speeres Spitze [on the tip of my spear]––Spitze? [tip?] echoed the orchestra. But I understood, Bei Harrys Bartes Spitzeln––Kitzeln [on the little tips of Harry's beard—they tickle. You see, I felt the verse arriving as Wenn Deine Freundinnen Dein Bart stört / nicht mich [If your beard bothers your girlfriends / it doesn’t bother me].* As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to go to so much expense and trouble to shave - if you give me a kiss with a beard, that’s okay. If Everl spent more time writing to me rather than talking, she might not have had to go to the dentist. (Don’t worry child, I don’t have that much opportunity to chat and I’m also going to the dentist all the time.) The way to the dentist is sweetened by the fact that I can buy some sour pickles at NordSee on the way if I have enough time.

At the moment the sun is trying to get rid of our idyllic snow scene. Maybe the sun is jealous that we can tell so many stories about snow instead of caressing it. My hymn to the sun is older than Rimsky-Korsakov. In my letter yesterday, I wrote to you that the officers of the chamber of commerce and the tax office and all the rest who are around here were busy shoveling the snow and they were really doing that actively. The snow mountains in the streets are still intact right now and there’s no danger of avalanche. Our custodian in this building was wise and he is rather fastidious about things, so therefore he cleaned the snow off our building early in the morning and kept at it until the late afternoon so that nobody who passed by our house would be troubled when it starts to fall. You need not worry about bricks raining down upon you. In the next snow flurry I think we should have everybody help with the shoveling. Papa is looking all over the place, in every corner, for his long-sleeved mittens because they would come in handy. But he’s not finding them. The last time I took inventory I threw them away because I thought they were unnecessary. Of course, I am not going to tell him that and I am mouthing off that he’s so messy of course there’s no way he could find things. Of course, he has everything very well organized. Really, in his suitcase there is perfect cleanliness and he spends many hours cleaning up and sorting his collection of screws. He has crooked nails (those from iron I mean) and he straightens them out. Even if I laugh about this, I have to admit that I have found a use for quite a few nails that he has saved. However, I do hold to my principle that we should give away things we don’t need anymore. Some things if I don’t need anymore do come in handy for some other person. If not, then we put it in the Kolonia-Kübel [Austrian garbage can]. It is easier to find out what we obviously need when we don’t have so much baggage to carry around with us. My purse is the only place where I make some concessions on this. At this time my bag is a replacement for the family album and if I can’t sleep, then I look at the pictures.

I am happy about the news that Robert already has his visa. Hilda will not be disappointed. [in English:] He is also a Darling and told her, Vitali and I are such darlings too. Maybe this affirmation will bring us over a little bit more quickly. …. I am looking forward with great joy to your description of the Xmas party. Good bye.

Helen

* The line Helene imitates is Wer meines Speeres Spitze fürchtet / durchschreite das Feuer nie (Whoever fears the tip of my spear / shall never pass through the fire), from Wagner’s Die Walküre.

It sounds like her children as creative as their mother in their correspondence (Eva’s page long kisses, Harry’s poetry) but their mother was less grateful – wanting to hear every detail of their lives.

We learn from Helene’s funny story about Vitali’s gloves that they have been downsizing in preparation for moving to the U.S. This story also is a window into Harry and Eva’s tendency to save every little item in case it might come in handy some day. Finally, we learn that Paul’s brother Robert has gotten his visa to come to the U.S. I don’t know if he ever intended to move here, but aside from a visit or two in the 1940s, he lived in England for the rest of his life.

February 7

This letter to Helene in Vienna from her nephew Paul Zerzawy in San Francisco is apparently a copy of a note he added to a letter Eva wrote to her parents.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, finding Paul’s letters and papers tucked away in Harry’s closet have been invaluable. We see the immigrant experience from an adult’s point of view. Paul would have been 44 years old in February 1940. Although Paul was trained and worked as a lawyer in Vienna, he was not licensed in the U.S. Perhaps he didn’t feel his English was good enough to pursue a law career here, it cost too much to get licensed, or it did not seem possible to him to get work as an attorney. At any rate, he fell back on his musical talents and gave music lessons, taught at the Conservatory of Music, and accompanied singers, none of which were very lucrative. He does not include his address, adding his note to Eva’s, presumably since he felt he was living a nomadic existence. He had stayed with the relatives mentioned in his letter, but was working hard to get some independence, while needing to rely on them for meals to keep from going hungry.

Address to Eva’s letter of February 7, 1940, sent on Feb. 8

Dear Helene, dear Vitali,

It probably serves no purpose to reassure you that your children are doing well.  It’s superfluous, actually.  The letters they write are the best proof that they lack nothing, except maybe to be reassured about how you are doing, and about your future.  The question is just if our letters do arrive.  We don’t yet have proof of this.  We did start writing, around the first of the year, airmail letters instead of the usual kind, since we gave up hope of the latter being delivered.  I’m doing well; I earn a little giving piano lessons and through other musical activities.  But I couldn’t live on this if I didn’t save money by being invited over for meals (by Nathan and Hilda and their friends, and by George and Bertha).  Anyway, I have been able to rent a furnished room, to the relief of the Schiller married couple, who are not so young anymore and not living so comfortably, and my own conscience is relieved, too.  The thing that bugs me the most is that it takes quite a bit of time to become independent here, let alone to help those of you still in Europe, a goal that I always have in mind.  I’ll write more soon.  (Since there is the danger that letters may not arrive, it seems prudent to send the news in multiple letters and to repeat it as well).  Greetings to our acquaintances and don’t give up, just keep writing!

Your P

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One of my most treasured discoveries in Harry’s closet was a roll of negatives. When I pulled out the roll, I recognized one photo I had of my mother on the ship on the way to the U.S., but none of the other photos looked familiar. My guess is that Harry developed the film and sent most of the photos to their parents in Vienna to show that they were all right. The roll of film was a window into Harry and Eva’s first view of America. Below are two photos of Eva and Paul relaxing on hammocks, presumably at a relative’s house in Marin County. They are sitting opposite one another, side by side, companionably reading. This was probably taken in late 1939 or early 1940, when my mother was 18 and her cousin Paul was 44. These photos certainly would have put Helene’s mind at rest that her loved ones were fine.

February 6

I love today’s 1941 letter from Helene to her son Harry in San Francisco, which was written a few days before the letters we saw yesterday. The beginning and ending are wonderful – a lavish, long, loving, lighthearted salutation and signing off with endless kisses. Her children could not have doubted her love, despite the miles between them.

I was struck by how visually appealing the letter is – although she used a typewriter, it’s laid out in an interesting way. Very different from the densely-packed letters we’ve seen with no white space or paragraph breaks. Here she puts to good use the lessons she learned as the daughter of a newspaper publisher.

Helene mentions how often she rereads the letters from her children, she no doubt knew most of them by heart. They are her greatest treasure. With little news of her own, she recalls events and conversations from when they were together in Vienna and throws in literary references. Although many references are classical and “serious,” she also enjoyed silly puns and verse.  

Finally, the silly verse she quotes is something from her own childhood in Bohemia. Eichler’s factory was located in Duchov/Dux which was just 6 miles from Bilin where my grandmother’s family lived.

Vienna, 3 February 1940 [actually 1941]

My praiseworthy dear Son in the flesh!

Lacking many new letters, I kept myself happy by reading your old letters again and again and then I observed that there were some questions I had not answered. Because today as hard as I try, I have nothing to really tell you, I want to use time, paper and postage to atone for my old sins of omission. Since a certain Harry once asked me if he had spelled the word “guitar” correctly, and I didn’t know why he wanted to know it for this word in particular, I left this question unanswered back then. In your last letter, you both make excuses for your poor spelling. For me it really was not meant as a rebuke or reprimand. I really meant it seriously when I wrote “I hope that your English knowledge is gaining as much as your German is being lost.” When I have on occasion met Germans in the past who had spent a lot of time in other countries and during our conversation they were looking for German expressions, I thought it was some sort of affectation. I couldn’t believe that adults could forget their native language after some years. But it does seem to be the case.

The same Harry asked us if we had heard of an old English poet named Chaucer or read anything of his. Not in the least. The old English people also had much to say about heroes and bravery [Rather than quoting Chaucer, she includes a quote from Nibelungenlied, “The Song of the Nibelungs,” written around 1200 which was the source for Wagner’s “Ring”]. Since we now seem to have arrived at the topic of classical literature, I ask you not to be mad at me if I express my opinion that I prefer your prose to your verse. First, well perhaps I do not have sufficient “convolution of the brain” to understand, I prefer to read prose rather than poetry. Especially I am rather spoiled.

When I was a kid, I knew a “poet” who wrote the following:

“Oh how it sparkles and flashes,
When a rider is sitting on his horse.” 

You will have to admit that you could not keep up with this genius. A second poem of his was original and wouldn’t have been overtaken by any of its brothers.

I know of a letter, his name is “F”...
I know a beer, its name is “FF”
After Edward comes Josef*

The last line is incomprehensible without commentary. (You can hardly read difficult works without commentary.) My classic author was named Edward Eichler. He was not only a divinely gifted poet, which certainly these small excerpts will convince you of, but a very successful producer of pottery** [or poetry: ton = sound and clay]. His company was named Edward and Josef Eichler, Dux [Royal Dux pottery]. With these poems he wanted to make his brothers eternal I believe and he almost succeeded. Father had the pleasure and honor of publishing poems in his shining chamber pot. And other poetry as well. They sold like hot cakes. Now you will understand why your elegiac complaint - yes, the greatest geniuses only get the laurel wreath after their death - why this really doesn’t have the desired effect when I read it. Maybe it’s just that in our times instead of putting a spruce wreath on the temples of our poets and singers, I’d rather put an extra sausage.

This would be your reward if you had written those poems when you were still living here in Seidlgasse. 

That’s enough for today!

Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisses…

Helene

*This poem is not just intelligent but it also has two meanings because Edward does come after Josef in the dictionary.

**Professor Freud is right about this. I thought about Tom the rhymer when I wrote the word “tom” instead of “ton”.

I looked through early editions of the Biela-Zeitung, but did not find any of Eichler’s poetry or ads for his pottery. I found an advertisement in the March 17, 1877 issue for a hotel and restaurant operated by the Eichler family. Edward Eichler’s name is mentioned in a news item in other issues. Presumably, the poetry and perhaps pottery showed up in later editions not available online. Here is the ad for Eichler’s inn, offering excellent beer, good cold cuisine, and prompt service: 

17 March 1877 issue, p.7 of Biela-Zeitung

February 5

Today we have two lovely letters from Helene to her children. By February 5, 1941, Eva and Harry been separated from their parents and in San Francisco for over a year. In her letter to Harry, Helene gives a vivid description of the weather with just a hint of her feeling bereft of her children. She also tells him a dream. In her letter to Eva, she gives dating advice. From her letters I can imagine some of what her children have written to her.

Helene’s letters are full of literary and musical references. Sometimes she throws in a phrase in English. As I look up authors and composers, I am learning so much, but I also realize how many references I inevitably miss. These letters are filled with a secret language known only to my mother, uncle, and grandparents.

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                                                           Vienna, 5. February 1941

My sweet Harry-boy! What would your classmates have said if they had woken up in Vienna yesterday? The day before yesterday about 6 in the evening, it began to snow. That’s nothing particularly unusual at our latitude but I really cannot remember a snow like this one. It snowed and snowed and snowed. When I tried to open a window before I went to bed, everything started to sway. There were 60 cm of snow on the windowsill. When I tried to open up the second casement window the first part of that window had a new layer of snow on it. I gave up and closed the window after just a few minutes. In the early morning I saw the houses, streets, and squares were covered with a layer of snow like hasn’t been seen in the history of mankind. Of course, the streetcar could not run. A whole army of snow shovelers could not become master of this kind of snow. Officials went out in front of their offices and tried to shovel a way in to keep the doorway clear. All day it was impossible for the trolley to run either. The winter showed once again what a master of architecture it is. The blackest tenements were transformed into fairy palaces. Beautiful and splendid of course only from the perspective of a warm living room, because for the people who had to tromp through this to get to their work, it really wasn’t so nice. In the course of the day, the picture changed. The custodians who were keeping the snow away from the walkways were building tall snow walls on each side of the street. You couldn’t really see from one side to the other if you were out walking in it. Only occasionally was there a place that snow had been shoveled. In the course of the day, it did stop snowing. The weather was mild and the wind was still and even I who don’t really love winter months had a feeling that I wanted to go out in it. If I had given into that, I think I would have been like a small child or a little dog rolling around in the snow. It’s unbelievable how many people were out on the streets. What I missed however were playful children throwing snowballs. Not that we don’t have any children in Germany, there’s plenty of children. But the ones who are joyful and shouting and using their school bags as sleds - now that I didn’t see. Apparently, there are only students. What beautiful pictures those would have been. Every house, every bush, every tree would have been a subject for a picture postcard or maybe a Christmas card for the USA. Merry Xmas and a happy New Year!  [in English] I thought of your last letter where you wrote to me that the last time it snowed in Frisco was 8 years ago and people acted like they were possessed or something. That’s the thought I had while I was falling asleep.

[A dream] I wanted to learn to fly. Okay, this is a perfectly understandable wish. I got a flight instructor, I got the usual equipment, and I was commanded to sit in the pilot’s seat which was actually a floatable children’s seat. To my question “do you really mean I am supposed to squeeze my back end into that?” I was answered rather brusquely and rudely and said I should stop my silly comments. I was belted in, given a mask for my face like you might get for an operation and I had hardly counted to three when I felt hit like I might have had a Leyden jar in my right arm and there was some sort of contraption that was 1/2 hot air balloon, 1/2 of a ship and plane combination and that’s what started to move. I had the pleasant feeling of flying and in this superficial anesthesia caused by ether, I knew that my instructor had not given me any instruction about how to act. I flew over the Wolfgang-See. At my feet, I was flying quite low, I saw a white horse and the waiters they were the ones from the Café Central and they were waving at me. Everything was beautiful and peaceful in front of me in the brightest summer sunshine. “I’ll be happy, I’ll be there soon,” I heard said to me then. Boom! I had landed somewhere. I didn’t move and I decided to wait and see what would happen with me. Then my instructor bent over me and stroked and hugged me. When I asked him if something had happened to me, I heard him say “no”. He became quite rude and said “really, how could you inconvenience me like that.” I wanted to answer “What, why?” But then I woke up and had the feeling that I was already on my way to see you. I guess it’s like the saying: time will tell. “It’s time” said David to Hans Sachs [a reference to Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg]. When is the next flute concert? Bon appetit!

Many, hearty kisses
Helen

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                                                                                 Vienna, 5. February 1941

My golden Eva child!

Although I just sent you a rather paunchy letter yesterday, I am sitting at the machine again in order to chat with you. Today we got your unnumbered letter* from the 18th of December. It was a whooping cough letter because it took 49 days to get to us and if you remember your experience with that, you will hardly have forgotten the words of head doctor.... Whooping cough, if it is not treated by a doctor, will last for 49 days and nights, but if you call the doctor right away, it will last only 7 weeks. 

I regretted that you had to cut off that letter you were writing to us so quickly, but the reason made me happy - you were hurrying so that you would reach the train for Oakland in time, so it’s okay, I could do without the final part of your letter. I hope you had a very nice day spending the day with your friend and I am looking forward to the time when I will have the privilege of having your friends to visit me.  

Your hatred of men** shocked me in the same way as Harry’s hatred of women. You big, big children. If you have the intention to buy a pair of shoes, you go from one street to the next, you look in all the windows at the shoes that are on display, and when you think you’ve found the right ones, you go into the store and try them. The same thing you do for gloves. One enjoys them, likes them, considers them, tries them on, and all this is true of important things as well as of unimportant matters. But every man or woman who crosses our way, do we immediately think that that is the one that is custom made for us? I used to think the way you do and for awhile I was suffering Weltschmerz [the pain of the world, world-weariness] over this and I felt I was the most unhappy child, forgotten by lord God on earth. If a boy who was perhaps my crush at the time was engaged to another, my inferiority complex feelings would really come out. I thought I was ugly and stupid and I thought that bad luck had chosen me. It is much better for a woman to be the last love of a man rather than the first. Certainly, I was not the first woman your father fell in love with, and nor was he the first man who played a role in my life. The result? I have my Eva-doll and my Harry-boy, just like I wanted. If I meet a person sometime whom I don’t think I can live without, then I would have to laugh at myself. Don’t think I’m so old that I no longer understand the debut poem of a fine German poet [Heinrich Heine] which goes like this:

A boy loves a girl
Who chooses another;
He in turn loves another
And marries her.
It is an old story,
Yet remains ever new;
And he to whom it happens,
It breaks his heart in two.

It’s a terribly un-modern poem, but it comes from a man who as far as language and matters of the heart go is a decisive influence.

I am delighted with all of my heart that you are so choosy. Take a good look at the person concerned before you show him affection. The first impression is sometimes quite decisive. If you don’t like something about him, then hands off [in English]. It always will come out later that if you change your opinion and you believe that you might have been biased at first, the first impression was right. You should read Auch Einer [another one/either one] by Theodor Vischer. What about the saying: “I can’t taste it or I can’t smell it”? [way of saying: I can’t stand somebody] Your subconscious is rejecting that person and your real instinct is to warn you about something. If the person in question has a pleasant appearance or some other advantages in society - brilliant and dazzling - then sometimes you’re just entirely too ready to ignore your inner voice and then you think it’s your fault because you mistrust this person who seems to have such wonderful qualities. I believe it was Oscar Wilde who said it best: you think a person is a scoundrel until you are convinced of the opposite opinion. Usually, it’s the other way around and that’s how we get into so many disappointing situations.

I’ll consider this in the next letter.

Kiss, kiss, kiss
Helen

 *Number 15.
**Who is it that made you an enemy of men and how did it happen?

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Some notes on the references above:

The original poem is also a song by Robert Schumann:

Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen,
Die hat einen andern erwählt;
Der andre liebt eine andre,
Und hat sich mit dieser vermählt.

Das Mädchen nimmt aus Ärger
Den ersten besten Mann,
Der ihr in den Weg gelaufen;
Der Jüngling ist übel dran.

Es ist eine alte Geschichte,
Doch bleibt sie immer neu;
Und wem sie just passieret,
Dem bricht das Herz entzwei.

English translation by Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder (Faber, 2005):

A boy loves a girl
Who chooses another;
He in turn loves another
And marries her.

The girl, out of pique,
Takes the very first man
To come her way;
The boy is badly hurt.

It is an old story,
Yet remains ever new;
And he to whom it happens,
It breaks his heart in two.

From Wikipedia:

Friedrich Theodor Vischer (German: [ˈfɪʃɐ]; 30 June 1807 – 14 September 1887) was a German novelist, poet, playwright, and writer on the philosophy of art. Today, he is mainly remembered as the author of the novel Auch Einer, in which he developed the concept of Die Tücke des Objekts (the spite of objects), a comic theory that inanimate objects conspire against humans.

February 4

Today we have another letter from Helene’s time in Istanbul while she was waiting to get the money and passage to America. This is the only letter where she describes life outside of being confined to whatever lodging she was assigned. She still seems to be a prisoner, since she was assigned a “minder” to help her run her errand. Who knows how much of his job was to help Helene and how much was to watch her?

For readability’s sake, I have added paragraph breaks and done some slight editing.

Istanbul, 4 February 1946

My dear children,

It is an unwritten law that all people who go on big trips either write books or at least they write newspaper articles in which they give their impressions for the public to read. I am of course not such a loose cannon, but I cannot fail to describe Istanbul to you as I have seen it with my own eyes. Every normal traveler to the Orient would begin by describing the wonderful mosques, he would make an attempt to describe life on the street, he would praise the beauty of the Bosporus, and such things. I am not doing this. First of all, there has been enough paper used up for that, and certainly by more competent writers. Second of all, I have not really seen that much yet – I’ve only seen a little bit. Why? Well, that is my secret. What I have seen and how I have seen it I will tell you in the Viennese-style like we talk around the water tap.

I arrived from R [Ravensbrück] with a small weekend suitcase in which I had my food rations for two days tucked away. In Göteborg, I got a warm winter coat and dress, things which were useful for me on the long ship trip, but which I had to store away here in this warm climate. I decided to buy a suitcase as soon as I had a chance to do so.

When I got communication from the American consulate that my visa had arrived and that I should come over with my photos, then I made my decision. Today, now or never, the suitcase will be acquired. It was raining torrentially. The locals were in their raincoats, rubber boots, and umbrellas and they looked at me with my sandals, with nothing on my head, as I was calmly and leisurely walking across the Galata bridge towards Pera. Why was I walking? I was already so wet anyway that there was no danger that my clothes would be taking on more water than they already had. And besides, the little sandals I had put on were breaking up into their parts and the passersby and I were stepping on the shoe straps, and walking was only possible when I pressed my toes into the sole so that the shoes would not fall off my feet.

My escort seemed to be wearing these magical “seven league boots” [from European folklore] and once in a while he turned around to me because he didn’t understand why I was walking as if on eggshells. I finally arrived at the tunnel and since I didn’t have shoes on anymore, my footwear seemed like flippers or fins. After I had taken care of this business, I swam to a Caddessi [Turkish for “street”] which was parallel to the tunnel. My attendant took me to a store at which a man from the Committee [the Joint] had already bought quite a few suitcases. The store was on one of those streets where the sidewalks are like staircases and the road is crooked and has quite a steep ascent to it, like the middle of the staircase up to Belvedere Gardens. When I looked down from Pera and saw the descent, I remembered that I had a cord in my handbag. I tied under the water reservoir which was under my feet so that it sprinkled me and I recommended to the Herr (I don’t mean the man who was with me - I mean the Lord God) my soul and my feet. Every step down was like a pond in itself. The middle of the street was, for some reason unknown to me, torn up. At first, I hopped like a chamois who had St. Vitus’ dance, zigzag from one curbstone to another, and there seemed to be no end to this path and my mountain guide bellowed at me: “Madame Cohen, why don’t you walk more quickly?” I changed the way I walked and decided to toe dance like a ballerina …, but I already felt that I was getting a cramp in my calf so I stomped according to all the rules of my art through the puddles so that the passersby shrank back as if I were rabid.

Finally, we had reached the suitcase store. I knew about the price and I chose a suitcase. The proprietor required 30 lire - I had 17 - and I was determined not to spend another kurush more. My adjutant would have lent me 3 more lire so I’d have 20. He wanted to make me an advance of that and the salesman had come down on the price. I remained tough like Shylock. I put my cash on the table and I pointed to it with my finger. I must have looked like an angry archangel, because the proprietor who had been quite unfriendly up until then and only reluctantly took down some suitcases from the top shelf for me, suddenly changed his tactics and became what counts for polite around here. My impatient interpreter explained to me that the Ladenhüter [proprietor] had decided that he would give me his Ladenhüter [slow selling merchandise - pun]. You cannot pay 19 lire when I only have 17 and I had a very firm intention not to borrow money as long as I was not in a position to earn any myself.  

My suitcase dealer seemed to be quite a psychologist and he noted that I had broken off diplomatic relations and he wanted me to pay one more kurush for this transaction. To show his goodwill or maybe his contempt, he took 1 lira out of his vest pocket and put it on the table with my 17. Quickly he grabbed his lire as he saw that I was looking like I was going to put my money away. With the rather haughty expression of an insulted queen, I left the store and I pointed with my finger with my revenge angelic (not English) [a play on words] toward the competing store which was catty corner across the street. I balanced my way across the torn-up street and got to the other side. Suddenly I felt that someone was taking my arm and holding me back. At first, I thought somebody was trying to save me from falling into a hole. And then I saw that it was my suitcase salesman, of whom I would not have thought such agility possible, who was bringing me back into his store. He made a weak attempt to get another half lira out of me, but he decided to forget it and give me with Spanish grandeur the object of contention. In no way did he want to allow the competition to get any business. My Polish-Russian-Jewish attendant accompanying me suddenly held me in high esteem. While before he had criticized me for the strange way I was walking, not to say that he was disgusted at me for it, now he said to me “Madame Cohen, you’re quite a hit!” I left the store and I was ashamed. Not because for the first time in my life I asked for a lower price for something, not because I only had 17 lire, but because I’d believed that I’d been cheated, because the salesperson looked at me rather triumphantly. In between then and now, several months have passed, the suitcase is still intact, and I am still looking for the drawback. The bag is all right but I think I paid too much for it.

February 3

February 3

One thing I’ve learned from reading all of Helene’s and Paul’s letters is that Eva’s and Harry’s communication style was a learned and familiar one. They were both (all!) clever and wonderful with words, even in a second language. They inevitably used humor and clever language to deflect attention, or to mask emotion or something they didn’t want to share. My mother used words and phrases I thought unique to her, only to discover them echoed in my grandmother’s writing.

This letter from Harry is a good example. It is very reminiscent of Helene’s war letters, where humor and word play mask information that conveys something to the reader.

I thought it was interesting to read the words printed at the top of the letter:

Print the complete address in plain block letters in the panel below, and your return address in the space provided. Use typewriter, dark ink, or pencil. Write plainly Very small writing is not suitable.

Censor’s stamp: Passed by Army Examiner

Like Helene’s letters from Vienna and Erich Zerzawy’s WWI letters, Harry’s letters had to pass through censors before being allowed to be sent and mail needed to be legible enough for the censors to bother. No wonder they learned to write and read between the lines.

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February 3, 1944

Dear Eva,

I guess that you and everybody else have been wondering what has happened to me since you last heard from me. Well, I took a boat ride on the blue Pacific and landed somewhere in New Guinea a few days ago. The voyage wasn’t very comfortable as everyone aboard ship had a sardine-like existence, but it was worth the experience.

As soon as I saw the vegetation and the numerous coconut trees, I took a liking to this place. (After having been surrounded by the ocean for some time, any spot with a few trees on it would look good.)

When you write to me use V-Mail and ordinary airmail letters interchangeably so that I can determine which one of the two reaches me faster. Best regards to everyone.

Love,

Harry

Here is a photo of Harry (on the right) taken in New Guinea in 1944:

February 2

Today’s letter was written on February 1, the same day as the letter to Hilda that was posted yesterday. You can see that there is the number I on this letter. Hilda’s letter had the number III. Presumably there was a third letter (number II) written to Eva or Paul which I do not have.

Unlike most letters which list a single location, today’s letter list a number of different districts and neighborhoods in Istanbul. This is a dense four-page letter to her son Harry. She has a lot to say after so much silence, especially since she is living a life of uncertainty. The first paragraph break comes on page 3 of the letter! I have done a bit of editing and added some paragraph breaks.

Helene refers to people we have met through letters already – Lucienne Simier, her fellow prisoner in Ravensbrück, and Yomtov Cohen, probably Vitali’s cousin in Istanbul. They both were extremely helpful to Helene at this difficult time. Lucienne got word of Helene’s location to her family in San Francisco and Yomtov worked with agencies and government entities to secure passage for Helene to the U.S. It’s a bit garbled in the letter, but it appears that Lucienne kept the addresses Helene had given her in her glass case so that it would not be taken by the Germans. Unfortunately, Helene only remembered Eva’s address from nursing school, where she hadn’t lived since at least 1943. She also gave Lucienne an address for her cousin Tillie Zentner who had organized Eva and Harry’s emigration years earlier.

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Galata, Pera, Istanbul, Moda, Burgaz, Balat, Fener-Bahge-Kadıköy, February 1, 1946

My dear sweet boy for whom I’ve been so afraid…I found out [that you were in the army in the South Pacific] at the same time as the very happy news of Eva’s marriage. Harry-boy, I must have become an abnormal or degenerate mother in my time in the camp, because I needed weeks to get used to the thought that my daughter, my little Ebi, is a woman…. Was it egoism that I didn’t want to admit this to myself and didn’t want to perceive or believe that Eva doesn’t belong to just me anymore? Was it wounded vanity that hurt me that Eva chose a spouse without my opinion about her choice or the thought that my daughter, inexperienced in erotic matters, might be disappointed by marriage? ….

That you are in Frisco again I found out before Robert’s communication arrived. I found this out from my friend Lucienne [Simier] from Angers …. She gave me the news that Eva was married and that you are a soldier and are hanging around in San Francisco. … [Lucienne managed to smuggle out in her glass case addresses Helene had written down] I had scribbled Eva’s address – of course it was still the one from nursing school – and Tillie’s address. All the other addresses I had forgotten. Isn’t that wonderful? I think that it’s wonderful that Miss Simier in this way could establish contact, not that I had forgotten all the other addresses. There is certainly nothing wonderful about that. Maybe an SS fist “caressed” me just in that part of my brain where I keep my card catalog where the most important names and addresses to me were stockpiled, while I could still remember all the telephone numbers of people and companies who don’t exist anymore in my head.

You wanted my exact address? You’ll have to make do with the Gislavet Ltd [Yomtov Cohen’s plastics company], because since my arrival in Galata on the 10th of April, I have lived in all the districts that I listed up on top of the letter. …

I have just as much to eat here as I did not have in Germany in the camp, and I have here just as little money as I had an excessive amount of body lice in the camp. I managed to get a dust comb sent to me from Vienna, and that saved me from having head lice unlike most of the others and I still more or less have my hair which has now become a rather shabby head covering. I don’t have all of it anymore, but I’ve got some.  

The last place I stayed in Istanbul has the highfalutin name of Bark-Oteli, a former nun’s cloister. In my room, there was a window made of stained glass which reminds me that in the next room where now there are men who appear to be cheating at cards and having wild brawls and orgies, at one point that was used for fervent prayer. … 

Moldy, cold air is what you find in these rooms. I feel like I’m lying in a tomb. The first nights my teeth were chattering and I had two dust-covered but not warm coverings and I couldn’t sleep. The bare, cold walls seem to be saturated with the … unheard prayers and sighs of my predecessors, the nuns. …Maybe someday my groans and moans will bother the people who come here to sleep after I do in the same way as the moans of the nuns have been conserved here. But no, this will not be the case, because this cloister building which is in the middle of a splendid park is going to be renovated into a hotel …. A Jewish committee will be paying a fortune for this. …  

This park must be quite splendid in the summer, because it’s right on the Marmara Sea, even though it’s quite squalid currently. The garden, which is surrounded by a brick wall, has cypresses and pine trees. In front of my window there are laurel trees from which when I have kitchen duties (twice a week) I can get bay leaves for a spice for our meat and fish dishes. I can also get rosemary. There is a splendid spinach growing, not in the plant beds, but it grows wild on the lawn and … I have learned that one can make a good dish from malva leaves. On every day when we don’t have rain, I use that time to go pluck chamomile and thyme which is good for the people living here, but not really my main duty. For me it’s relaxing.

The radio, newspapers, and movies were what I used to seek for relaxation before I was put down to the level of an animal. Here I have found a few nice people and good books. Unfortunately, moving from one shelter to another happens lightning fast. Only twice did I have a chance to make a phone call, and the distance from one part of the city to one of the islands or far-flung suburbs especially in winter is quite large because the ship traffic is quite reduced. I was visited in Moda but I already lived in Antigone, in Borgaz. … The time involved is quite a sacrifice, aside from the fact that the travel costs play quite a significant role for the relatives we have, who are mostly not that well off.

Yesterday I discovered hiding under some ivy what is probably the grave of a monk. Why not, since this was in fact a cloister for nuns? The garden has sort of a terraced structure. There are steps made of marble which lead from one terrace to the next and in the marble crosses and Greek inscriptions are engraved. I just read Axel Munthe’s [Swedish doctor and psychiatrist] book “The History of San Michele” and I feel like I’ve been sent back to this time. The blue sea with the snow-covered mountains, even in the summer, flutter in but they seem more like Carinthia [a province in southernmost Austria] than the Mediterranean landscape. A garden in our area could have stood as the model for Böcklin’s painting Isle of the Dead.

It really might be splendid here if my head were ready to accept all this beauty, but so much that is in there is not beautiful and is sending everything else away, making it impossible to find the beauty in the beauty. My ability to be enthusiastic ended with losing Vitali, but as soon as I hear from him, and we will hear from him that he is alive, then this feeling will come back. I thought he might be in Vienna, but I have read some articles about Vienna which make me believe that Papa is somewhere else, maybe still in a camp or a hospital, maybe staying there. He has no idea that I am in Turkey, nor does he know how to get in touch with me, even if he did know I was here.

For the last two months my main support has been Robert. I always knew that he was a sentimental and emotional boy, but I did not know that he would show so much loyalty, devotion, sympathy, and love…. Unfortunately, I have not heard anything, I haven’t received even one line of writing from you, from Paul, Tillie, Hilda, or Berthe Schiller. It was so sad to see that all the comrades in suffering and fate were getting letters from all over the world, but not me. The kindest person must be jealous, and I have never thought of myself among the kindest. I have become tired. I am not used to writing anymore. Please kiss Eva, her husband, Paul, and all the loved ones for me and a hug from me….

Greetings and kisses from

Helene

I talked about the work of the Joint on January 14. There are hundreds (perhaps thousands) of documents in the JDC archive concerning the fate of the Drottningholm passengers. Most of the correspondence deals with money – there was never enough, the Turkish government kept asking for more, it was difficult to help the former prisoners make their way to whatever country they wanted to end up in. One way to save money was to find cheaper lodging for those who remained unhoused, thus the constant movement Helene experienced. As you can see from the letter, even if Vitali’s relatives could have helped her (as she pointed out above, most of them did not have the means to do so), they couldn’t keep track of where she was staying.

February 1

Today’s is a heartbreaking letter written by Helene in Istanbul to her cousin Hilda in San Francisco, written almost exactly six years after the letter we saw yesterday. After the U.S. entered WWII, there were no more letters. Here we have a window into Helene and Vitali’s life in Vienna from late 1941 to October 1943. Already Helene has learned that people did not want to hear about her hardships in Ravensbrück, so she is left alone with her thoughts and her nightmares.

I have included a transcription of the letter for easier reading.

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Istanbul, February 1 1946

My dearest Hilda!

When in the fall 1939 I received the first letter from you, I was so happy to be in touch with you and it was the constant topic of the conversation between Vitali and me. We two both were so glad to know that what seems to us worth to living for, our children, were in your care. Things were going on well till Oct. 15. 43. On this day our misfortune began. Events became bad, worse, worst. On this day I was separated from Vitali, but I hope not for ever, the only thought of it harassed and distracted me. Since that day till March 44 I had no idea where he was and what had happened to him. After four months the first time I was allowed to send a letter to a friend of Vitali. Luckily he could write earlier and so our friend was able to give me good news, saying that Vitali was in good health and in Buchenwald-Weimar. Of course, I had been very glad to know the address of my husband, although I knew what to think about “good state of health.” I was using the same assurance in all my letters, but this doesn’t matter, because Vitali and I really were in a good condition of health until we were put in prison. Soon I lost all my mirth and my good-looks that I had preserved so long in spite of war knowing all our family in safety. Never Vitali looked younger than in the last years. He was deeply engaged in his studies and his reputation was growing day by day and people in their thankfulness provided us with all things we needed, more than that they provided us with things we needed not. Daily we had visitors bringing gifts - most of them valuable: pictures, books, carpets, china - to be short all the hearts-content of a housewife. Not a single day in Vienna we felt hungry, to the contrary we were able to help friends and we named it our “Winterhilfe” (winter help). Till June 42 we could keep our lodging and fate held its hand over us in finding a relatively good apartment with bathroom, bright and pleasant. Although it was not permitted Jews to have a telephone, we could keep it, for the Telephon-Centrale considered us foreigners of distinction. There was not a single day without an interurban call for thanksgiving to Vitali for his valuable advice to people who not always were Jews. Transfer of telephone apparatus from one lodging to another was severely prohibited. Our telephone was installed before the van with our furniture from the Seidlgasse to Haasgasse arrived. Vitali who the transport of our things superintended and were sitting among the furniture movers was greatest surprised to find our telephone (the same apparatus we had). By law, all vacant telephones were to be given to the disposition of SS. From the 15th of Oct 43 all turns badly. Every hour we were in jeopardy. We were in the hands of the SS taskmasters, female and male, and it seems as if they strove to excel each other in cruelty. Through all these hardships I escaped at hairbreadth, wishing and hoping that Vitali is liberated too. Let us not remember the troubles part. Experience has taught me that the world is tired of hearing stories about our sufferings in the camps which were enough to make all corpses turn in their graves.

What galled me most is that I couldn’t remember your address and when I got Harry’s wire I have been happy twice. At first it was the first message I received directly by himself, and second I know his address is yours which I had lost and found again and I hope it will happen that I find Vitali again.

It seems to me proper to tell you something about one of the oldest and most beautiful towns in the world, but having not often the possibility to view the town, I will keep my impressions of this place if I am sitting with you for a 5-o’clock tea. Contented? But I can assure you, never I had dreamed to enter a nunnery for staying there and I can say I am a specialist in mad and perverse dreams (Vitali can confirm my statement, having gathered many thousands of them). Now I am hoping I can get a passage in some ship bound for America and to be able to shake off the Turkish dust from my sandals (and the sandals too would Vitali say!). The entrance through the Dardanelles was just grand but I prefer the driving out.

….I am sure you will have much trouble to decipher my letter, but there would be the same care had I written it in my once good German. I am sure you will laugh if I confess to you that I dedicate my whole free-time to the bettering of my English and, after staying here such a long time among badly German speaking people, to the diminishing of my German. Shall that suffice?

I remain loving you all

Yours truly

Helen

January 31

Today we have three letters written on the same day and presumably sent in the same envelope. To save money, sometimes Helene wrote on half-sheets of paper. She typed the last part of Eva’s letter on the back. Saving every penny. These letters were written just two days after the letter she wrote to Paul that was posted on January 28. It’s like being privy to a conversation, albeit a one-sided one, and we see how Helene “speaks” differently depending on to whom she is writing. The letters to her children are filled with puns and jokes and sweet pet names. The ones to her nephew Paul are more serious and often deal with practical matters.

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Vienna, 31.January 1940

Harryssimo! I’m insatiable and I keep waiting for a letter every time the mail comes. Even though I know it’s not going to happen. I still believe maybe the letters I posted might be trickling in and maybe even in order.

Jo’s nephew Fritz was in a serious accident. He fell while you were still in Vienna. It was an accident from a ladder in a bunker/basement. He was unconscious for awhile. He did recover then. On the way home he met his father, but the father had some trouble with his work, so he went to school as if nothing happened. 3 weeks later he collapsed during PE and was unconscious and was brought to the hospital where he spent 6 weeks and could not go to school. Some time after that he was allowed to go back to school but had terrible headaches and had to go back. He went to a field trip and he was tall (1 meter 87) and his friend is even 76 cm taller than that. I don't know what his parents will do with their clothing coupons. I believe he would be very happy to hear from you.

Now I assume even in this blessed country the Christmas celebrations are over and you are back in school. Is it difficult? Little Eva assured me of the opposite. I wish you in any case much luck. I will see if I can find another little job. My debut as a snow removal worker was somewhat of a disaster and my feet were really cold.

Papa has his imperial sport which is wood cutting and he has quit that as well. He was looking for a new patent and he has invented the profession of splitting wood without hacking it up, just with his own iron biceps. The result: he injured the muscles on both his arms. But that’s over now and he’s not cutting up any wood. We have both had our little dalliances into other professions.

Goodbye and kisses for now.

Mutti

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Vienna, 31.January 1940

My dear poor Everl!

What’s the kid doing? Now I know why I was dreaming of you. When I told Papa, he told me I was a “raven mother”. He’s not really wrong because I am now complaining. That damn snow removal!

How did we get to this? Did you have pain? It was only 4 teeth that were killed off. Why did 5 have to be pulled? Was the 5th the reason the others had to be pulled? Robert has a partner in suffering now. You however cannot compete with him. If it hasn't happened yet, I want you to send me an exact description of your tooth woes. Please tell me the truth and don’t spare my nerves. I believe they can handle it…. 

Did you hear anything of your friend who seems to have scattered in all directions? Since you go to school you have enough opportunity to get a new, nicer friend.

I’m done for today. I have written lots of letters. Nothing has really happened and there’s not time for much fun. If this continues, I’ll be telling you the pudding joke. By the way, an anecdote occurs to me (from about the same time) so please don’t think badly of it. Frau Rebbezen [Rabbi’s wife] doesn’t like her name and she asks her husband ask for a name change. He agrees. When he comes back from the capital several days later, angry that she’d gotten to him (she says: it costs quite a bit but you have a name for your whole life”). His wife asks “what is our name now?” “Schweissloch” [sweat hole] was the laconic answer. “Schweissloch,” she asks disappointedly, “for so much money?” The husband: “do you have any idea how much the ‘w’ alone cost?”

It’s time for me to end or else my crazy little girl will get even crazier. I’m going to end this 15th Clipper letter with kisses and hope to hear from you soon.

Mutti

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The following letter to Hilda is in English. Hilda Firestone was the daughter of a first cousin. When they arrived in San Francisco in 1939, Harry lived with Hilda and her husband Nathan. Eva lived with a different cousin. Paul lived with Hilda at times and tried to teach Hilda some German. Helene is effusive in her gratitude to all that Hilda has done for her children and nephew. You can see how much less fluent her English is here than in other letters and stories written later on. Helene and Hilda met for the first time in 1946 - at this point they were strangers, bonded over Hilda and Nathan’s generous hospitality.

 The German proverb Helene quotes says: A fool asks more than 10 wise men can answer. She continues: But now I am not a fool but ten, and that I must not expect you to do that. The original proverb may actually be: Ein Narr kann mehr Fragen stellen als sieben Weise beantworten können. One fool can ask more questions than seven wise men can answer.

January 30

Today we have another letter from soldier Paul Zerzawy addressed to his brother Robert Zerzawy in Brüx, Bohemia. As you can see, this letter is very different in tone from previous letters. Paul’s letters usually have a bright and positive tone. Here he is serious and chides his younger brother for not informing him of their sister’s illness.

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Feldpost 211, 30 January 1918

Dear Robert!

A letter which just arrived has me very surprised. Since the 13th, Käthl has been seriously ill. In all this time I have received 5 cards and 2 letters from you. Only in one do you mention Käthl, with the following words: “a little bit nervous.. it will pass…etc” In your words, to be honest, I had not suspected the situation described by Papa. I am certainly very grateful that you especially in recent times have always reported diligently about your meetings and you have described your life. But you will admit that this matter would have been more important. I am asking you to do the following in the same quarter hour that you read this letter. Please write in detail about Käthl, without taking into consideration that I might come on vacation before. Please do this if you want me to have real trust in your reporting.

Can you imagine especially now how I am eagerly awaiting my next vacation?

Today I have sent 500k to your address. Please save it in a way that is useful – either in our common bank account or into a separate bank account with my name. We will talk about more detailed directives when I see you.

Yours

Paul

P.S. Please let me know if the blouse, shirt, coat and the black trousers of my uniform are fit to be used. Otherwise, I will have to get something on the way or in Vienna. And also if there is civilian clothing available for me for an emergency.

Greetings to Grandmother and Käthl. I don’t dare to write to Käthl personally, because I do not know if she in a condition that might make her suffer from it. I cannot understand at all and cannot make sense of your sunny carelessness and Papa’s sorrow.

Paul

It appears that not much changed in family communication over the decades. In yesterday’s letter from 1941, Helene is concerned that she is not being told the truth about Robert’s health. Today, 23 years earlier, we see that Robert did not want to alarm his brother by telling him disturbing news, worried how he might react and knowing he could do nothing at such a distance. Although it appears that mail came often during the first world war, it wasn’t possible to call or text for more information, so Paul would have been waiting on pins and needles until the next letter. How confusing too to receive different news from his brother and his father.

January 29

Today’s letter was written exactly a year after the one I posted yesterday. This letter is written to Eva and Harry. The censorship numbers are barely visible in pencil at the top of the page. Helene begins the letter with the number 70, which means she has written at least 70 letters since her children left Vienna. When she sent separate notes to each child and to other family members, sometimes each letter has the same number. I have many of the letters she wrote, but not all of numbers are accounted for. Presumably those never made it to San Francisco.

I have no idea who the cousin in Sandy Hook was, but perhaps I’ll find out one day. The name Jo appears in many letters – a friend and neighbor whose last name I do not know. At the time of this letter, my mother was in nursing school and working with patients.

Vienna, 29 January 1941

#70                                          My dear children!

Eureka! I got mail this week! The day before yesterday #14 from December 10 and today I had #13 from December 3. I can hardly tell you how happy I am about this. It is unfortunate that you did not extend my greetings to my cousin in Sandy Hook and didn’t tell her how much I crave seeing her. She is like the guiding light of the family. Don’t you want to remind her that she has relatives in Vienna who are counting on her? Everl’s letter to Gina B I will send in a couple of days. I had a copy made of the passport picture from Stambul [Istanbul] and I think she will be happy about this. The letter today included an enclosure for Jo. According to the answer, I think she must have written to you some fairly confusing stuff.

There is not much new here. Papa says I am addicted to Jupiter. When I don’t get letters, usually that’s followed by sleepless nights. It’s not so easy to spend a sleepless night because of the blackout requirements. I can’t turn the light on and read. That’s not possible because my bedroom has no light. I have no lighting fixture in there, so I don’t have to black it out completely. So if it’s not too freezing, I just get up and look out at the stars from the next room. My planetary favorite is in fact Jupiter which smiles at me at night in such a friendly way. I ask him if he knows you and ask him to extend greetings to you. I am not interested in Mercury and Mars is too busy with other things to worry about the problems and wishes of some earthworms. The difference between moon addiction and Jupiter addiction is that those affected by the first can simply go to bed quietly after they climb up on the roof and see the moon and then they go right to sleep. But those who are addicted to Jupiter can’t even think about sleeping. These days I really want to have a closer look at my friend and on Friday and Monday I can see it from Urania [a street 1/2 mile from Seidlgasse and the muse of astronomy].

What Goethe in Dichtung und Wahrheit means about Chrien (not a typo?) [“From my Life: Poetry and Truth” – available online in German at Project Gutenberg], I don’t know. Maybe you, Harry, can show me the spot or the chapter. I’d like to read that and maybe look it up.

Eva is welcome to tell me her hospital stories. I am not afraid of anything. I am jaded and hardened about such things.

Paul is a sweetheart. Through what he wrote on Hilda’s letter I found out that Robert had written, but he didn’t tell me what he said about himself and his life. Maybe he assumed that such a distant relative as I would not be interested in that. If Harry had not mentioned in one of the most recent letters that Robert is doing well both health-wise and otherwise, I would probably be worrying about him, even more so because all my questions about this seem to fall on deaf ears. Nobody answers them. Imagine if things were turned around. I can’t even think about it!

Papa is coming home. He is now doing things a little differently in life than when you were here. At the markets there are now some new, and for Vienna at least, rather exotic types of vegetables appearing. One example is “fiocchi” [Ger: Fenchel; fennel]. I was not familiar with this green stuff that looks kind of like an onion and I forgot that Papa had shown me this and said “this is fiocchi”. At first I didn’t know what I should do with it and I went and got my Hierz kitchen book to get some advice. What is the name of this stuff? I closed my eyes for a minute and tried to imagine an Italian menu. Here we are - Succhetti - how could I forget that? “Zucchini made in the style of Milan” I read in the kitchen bible. I would have rather made it Viennese style but we Viennese don’t know this spinach stuff. I got to work. I translated Milan-ish into Viennese-ish and look, Papa thought it was delicious! It tasted quite excellent to him. “Who told you that you could prepare fiocchi this way?” I answered, “Fiocchi? That’s Succhetti.” I cleared him up about that. At least you can prepare it that way. The second new thing in the kitchen which I like quite a bit better because it is something that Papa will just eat raw. Early in the day and evening, he calls them “bananas” but the real name is chicory. They look better than they taste, but Papa insists that there’s basically a whole pharmacy in them and it’s really, really good to keep you from getting kidney stones. If I forget to put a “banana” on his breakfast plate, I hear the following: “Now I don’t understand - you only have one husband and you don’t even care about him?” Oh, poor Papa. 

Because of the 40th anniversary of Verdi’s death, there is a Verdi hour on the radio. Otello just killed Desdemona and he is bellowing “kiss me again, kiss me again!” I find that a bit intense so I’m turning it off. Even though I can handle Eva’s hospital stories, I really don’t want to listen to something like that….

Now I have an order from Papa to Eva, which I hesitate to communicate to her because I know how terribly busy she is and I don’t want to burden her with more things. However, Papa needs it for his studies and so I don’t think I have the right to not pass on this request. Everl, please write down the date of birth, date of admission to the hospital, the illness, and the date of leaving the hospital for all of your patients. Maybe you could put in a little vocabulary book so that nothing gets lost. Please don’t be mad at me Everl, but Papa seems to think this is really important. He’s asked me several times.

That’s enough for today. Many kisses!

Helen

According to written testimonials by satisfied customers, my grandfather was quite the diagnostician. It sounds like he wanted to practice long distance using information about patients Eva was seeing.

You can see from the letter that food is increasingly scarce so Helene and Vitali make the best of things by pretending that they are feasting on delicious delicacies while really just trying to choke down whatever food they could find.

Helene continues to beg for news about everyone, including her dear nephew Robert who apparently is “such a distant relative as I would not be interested in that.” I can feel the guilt seeping into my soul even though Helene’s letters were not written to me! 

January 28

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Today’s letter is from January 29, 1940. Helene is writing to her nephew Paul in San Francisco. He arrived in the US in early 1939 and helped pave the way for Eva and Harry’s arrival in October 1939. You can see from the letter that she has been starved for news of her children since they left.

Censorship stamps appear on the bottom. There are always 2 stamps, so presumably each letter had to pass through at least 2 sets of hands before being allowed to be sent on to the recipient. Helene’s first few letters in late 1939 were handwritten. At one point she switches to typing, telling her children that she thinks it will make it easier on the censors and they will be more likely to allow the letters to go through.  As we have seen a few times already, Helene packs as much as she can onto the page, using few paragraph breaks. She often used a hyphen within a paragraph to indicate what would be a new paragraph.

Vienna 29, January 1940

Paul, do you know what it’s like to have gone 4 months without news? Your card from the day of your arrival in Frisco began the dance. A letter from the children from the 19th or 28th of December mailed on January 2 continued the dance. The joy over getting that was however rather darkened by the news about Everl’s tooth problems. Poor kid. So much she suffered in order to save her teeth and it was all for nothing. In thinking of this matter, I remembered the unbelievable brutality of the heart of our … relatives and I try hard to forget this terrible event. But I did observe that all that I forgot about the intentionally-inflicted offenses that he committed against the parents, Irma, Mattl, and me, but what he did to Eva, a mother cannot forget that. You know, I am not of an unforgiving nature, and you know that I never talked about these things even though they really bothered me, but this thing with Eva’s health and how he was so indifferent to it, and that for a doctor. Now that makes me unforgiving. But let’s leave that theme behind and talk about more pleasant things. Now I know finally how long you’ve been in San Francisco, because since I received my birthday message, the question was “I wonder how long has Paul been in California?” A big puzzle between us and now except for the evening tric-trac game [a French game like backgammon], it was really our only distraction. At the time of the brownout, we were out and we were going to an invitation in the Köstlergasse. I might have believed that I would have found my way with my eyes closed, but oh, suddenly Vitali stumbled over a pile of snow and I was horrified and I dropped my purse. Then we managed to get all of our possessions back in order and got ourselves together and there I was going around the pile of snow in pitch black night, just like the father with the dead ram in the Ollerlee Gschichten [“All Sorts of Stories” in dialect]. I really had lost my way. Then I remembered something that Harry said when he was a little boy and I used to take him with me when I took care of my errands. In an old Viennese house … there was an engraver who was going to prepare a die cast. He had a spiral staircase which only someone who didn’t have vertigo could ever use to go up to the third floor. That led to the workshop of my engraver. I felt my way with Harry in front of me, sort of pushing him along carefully, to said workshop. But when we even more carefully were coming back down and we managed to arrive safe and sound downstairs, we couldn’t seem to find our way in the bright sun. Harry’s succinct comment was “Well if you come down from there, you’re like a cave salamander.” His knowledge of zoology came from a charming picture book by Uriel Birnbaum which he had gotten from Olga Nussbaum for his birthday. No, I don’t think I can devolve into a cave salamander.

I suppose that the children have received the 3 letters I have sent and that the other ones will reach you as well and that I will be kept in the loop conscientiously and thus you will inform us of everything that involves us. Please, dear Paul, when you write to me to the extent that you have time, please write in detail and also make sure I know about your health and that of the children. I really need to be kept informed about exactly what’s going on. ….

There is not really much to say about us. I leave the house twice a week to go shopping; and the daily needs such as bread and whole milk, Vitali takes care of that, because he has to do something new with his original business hours. I believe that he would stand his ground even without taking a butler course….Eva promised to send me a sketch of the family tree of the Lowells. Tell her that she should not forget, because I am very keen to get my bearings in this family.

Paula B was coming to us every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until very recently, but these regular visits were interrupted by the brownout conditions. She only comes over now when there’s a full moon.

We still haven’t received any kind of dispatch from Ankara, although the consulate here knows about the urgency of our matters. Vitali has been forbidden to undertake any kind of activity. The sale of unnecessary objects is how we are paying for our expenses. However, Vitali would be very well able to support himself anywhere.

My better half (the one across from me) notices that I am acting in an impossible way toward you Americans because I am writing such long letters to a “land where time money is”. I will follow his advice and stop now, but mostly because I am tired and moreover, I have nothing more to say.

I hope to hear from you again and I remain with many kisses

Helene

This letter explains to me why my mother wore dentures, even when I was a child. I cannot imagine the pain she went through. Self-conscious enough being a stranger in a new country, and now she had many of her teeth after years of painful treatment in Vienna. My mother was a stoic and had a high tolerance for pain so she always never took Novocain, saying the numbness lasted longer and was more uncomfortable.

It sounds like the dentist who treated my mother in Vienna was a relative who had treated Helene and her family painfully years earlier. Presumably he moved his practice from Bilin to Vienna. One of my own early memories of visiting a dentist was seeing an older European man (perhaps some relation? hopefully not the same man!) who treated me without pain medication. It was torture and we immediately switched to a new dentist.

I loved reading about Helene and Vitali whiling away the evenings playing tric-trac. Towards the end of my mother’s life, Harry would visit and they would play backgammon together. Now I realize they were revisiting their childhood!

Helene manages to keep a bright tone while telling her children some chilling facts about how life has changed. In just a few months since Eva and Harry left, Helene’s and Vitali’s lives are far more confined – leaving the house less often, business hours being cut, power outages, friends not visiting as often, selling “unnecessary objects” to pay for necessities.

One of the things I appreciate about Helene’s letters is how it gives us a window into my mother’s and Harry’s childhood. Not having much to write about and not wanting to worry her children, she often recalls memories of happier times together.

January 27

Today we have another letter from soldier Paul to his family to the Zerzawy family in Brüx, Bohemia. It’s interesting that he tells his family his location and some of what is happening. Perhaps that is because it was delivered personally rather than through the post. Most of Harry’s WWII letters say “somewhere in the South Pacific” or the location is blacked out.

I am sorry I don’t know more of WWI history to really understand his letters. In the “quiet” of wartime, Paul makes travel and time off seem easy and possible. His location in Romania is about 600 miles from home, Paul may not go home on all is vacations, but according to his letters, he does it fairly often. He receives mail from his family often as well as from from his brother Erich, a POW in Siberia.

Feldpost 211, 27 January 1918

My dear ones!

I just met with Mr. Max Black who offered to take this letter with him to Brüx. The proper answer to your letters from the 10th, 19th and 20th of December will follow later. Right now, I only want to tell you that as of yesterday I am a kaiserlich und königliche ensign in the unit [in the Imperial and Royal Army]. Commentary and details later. The time is short and I do not want to miss my meeting with Black.  

Currently I am with the 7th company in Hangulesti [Romania], the position of the regiment troops. On the 1st we are dissolving the First Battalion (now positioned near Calieni which is at the confluence of the Putmar and the Sereth).

Right now I’m doing well. What I’m missing now is a vacation. I am working on it with full steam, but it depends on the following: that the other officers of our group who are on vacation return soon. Because I actually am not entitled to a vacation right now.

As you know it is completely quiet on the Front, but we cannot trust that this quietness will continue, because every day other little “events” happen. This fact you know better than I from the newspapers, because I haven’t been out in the world for an eternity.

Erich’s letter is enclosed. Please write to him from me! Greetings to our acquaintances, especially Lido!

January 26

This continues the story begun on January 14.

From the letters today, we see that it took a lot of people and agencies from across the globe to help my grandmother: Simon Brod and the JDC, Vitali’s relative (?) Yomtov in Istanbul, Helene’s nephew Robert in England, and her children in San Francisco. Managing to make such a thing happen with today’s technology would be frustrating, overwhelming, and time consuming – it’s almost unimaginable what a hurdle this must have seemed to Helene and her children. Thank goodness there were so many people concerned with her welfare who went out of their way to help. It’s amazing to see that all of this happened in just a few weeks’ time.

A final note: I continue to be amazed by how fluent people were in multiple languages. Yomtov lived and worked in Istanbul and I have letters written by him in French and German. Eva and Harry always talked about how many languages Vitali spoke - if I recall, it was about a dozen! It appears that this was not unusual.

                                                                       Istanbul, January 24, 1946

Dear Mrs. Helena,

I have read your valued lines of December 31, 1945 with great attention.

I looked for Mr. Brod again, and since I could not find him, I wrote a letter to him about your issue and received his answer, of which I am sending you a copy.

You will see that Mr. Brod sent a wire to your daughter in order to get the necessary information about your departure.

Yesterday I received a telegram from Bridgeport, according to the enclosed copy.  You will learn from it that people are dealing with your situation in America and asking that you be patient.  Hopefully your situation will be resolved very soon.

I remain, as always, ready to be of further service to you.

Your

Signature

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                                                                          Istanbul, January 30, 1946

Dear Mrs. Helena,

You must have already received my letter of the 24th.

Today I received the following telegram for you, dated the 28th. from San Francisco:

“Received wire from Robert mentioning delay because cost of tickets if money or anything needed wire me at 3494 21 Street please let me know your exact address awaiting your arrival anxiously Love - Harry”

It is, thus, a telegram from your son, who is also working on these matters for you in America.

Also, I wrote to Mr. Brod today, and I am enclosing a copy of my letter to your attention.

As you see, I am following this matter with great interest, and I hope that it will be resolved satisfactorily in the near future.

In the meantime, I remain

Your

Signature

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  Istanbul, 30/1/1946
Dear Mr Brod,

I received your letter of the 14th of this month, the contents of which I am giving my best attention. 

Please let me know if you have received any instructions from the Jewish-American emigration office related to the departure of Mme. Helene Cohen.

For your information, I am sending you copies of the contents of two telegrams sent from America to Mme. Helene Cohen care of my company.

1.     Bridgeport 22/1/1946: Harry allright everything soon settled keep patient Love Robert Zerzawy

2.     San Francisco 28/1/1946: “Received wire from Robert mentioning delay because cost of tickets if money or anything necessary wire me at 3494 21 Street please let me know your exact address awaiting your arrival anxiously Love - Harry”

I would like to believe that these two telegrams are perhaps in response to your letter from the 9th of this month to Mrs. Eva Goldschmidt, daughter of Mme. Helene. In any case, it appears from these two telegrams that money is the cause of the late intervention in the departure of Mme. Helene.

If the emigration office has not yet provided you with the cost of the ticket to reserve a place on a boat leaving soon, please let me know the amount and whether the payment could be made in Turkish lira so that I can assist you in the departure of Mme. Cohen.

In case a place can be reserved on a boat and that the ticket must be paid in dollars, please let me know also, letting me know the price of passage to New York including meals, so I can inform by telegram Mr. Harry, son of Mme. Helene Cohen in response to his telegram of the 28th.

Please send me your answer as soon as possible, and in the meantime, I offer you, Dear Mr. Brod, my most sincere greetings.

January 25

Since I don’t have a letters for each day in January, today we continue with another letter dated January 24.

There appears to be no rhyme or reason to which documents Harry and Eva kept in their possession. Although Harry had the lion’s share of documents, my mother had a handful. Until a few years ago I only knew what my mother had kept and assumed Harry had nothing. My mother’s papers seemed to consist of a random assortment of things that appeared unimportant and unrelated to our family. She seemed to be the keeper of official documents like Paul Zerzawy’s school transcripts, diplomas, and death certificate. She also had an envelope labeled “Otto” which included bank statements and Paul’s correspondence to and from seemingly unrelated people. I’m still not 100% who Otto was since like with so many names, there are a number of different Ottos on the family tree. I’m guessing he may be a first cousin of Paul’s.

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Today’s letter is written to Paul from Fritz Orlik and his wife Hanne. I almost didn’t bother having his letters translated because I assumed he was unrelated. It turns out that Fritz was Paul’s step-brother. Paul’s father Julius married his third wife Elise in 1921, 11 years after Paul’s step-mother (and aunt) Mathilde died. Elise was a widow whose first husband was named Orlik. Paul would have been 25 years old in January of 1921.

                                                 Kfar-Ata 24. January 1940, near Haifa, Beth Zinnober 

Dear Paul!

We have been here for 5 months and we are waiting without success for news from you. We have already written to you three times and we assume the letters might have gotten lost because you moved.

We are hoping to learn something through you about what’s going on at home since we don’t have any contact there. Last month Robert sent us a letter of Mama’s which was from November 4th and we think you must have also gotten a copy of that. However, the contents were not entirely understandable. It seems to be some sort of misunderstanding.

We don’t really have anything good to report. I’m healthy. However, Hanne had a gall stones few weeks ago and a gall bladder inflammation. This was really painful and she had to have three morphine injections from the doctor. Now she is better enough that she can at least take care of the household but she is not able to do any machine sewing at all yet. So we don’t really have anything good to report. I still don’t have work, which I can certainly feel in my change purse. The luggage costs quite a bit. I had to pay £39 customs on that. So I am about at the end. Our plans with our brother-in-law didn’t pan out so I am just doing little side jobs and I am waiting until I can get work. If we had money here, like maybe £500, we could really participate in society and live very well. But I guess we are living very modestly here. Please write to us soon and give us all the details.

With my best greetings, your Fritz.

How are you doing with the Stopford campaign*?

P.S.: Sincere greetings. Let us hear from you soon! Hanne

[*Note: Apparently Britain was less helpful to Jews from Czechoslovakia than to those from Germany or Austria. Robert Jemmett Stopford is mentioned in the chapter on “Refugees from Czechoslovakia” in Whitehall and the Jews, 1933-1948: British Immigration Policy, Jewish Refugees and the Holocaust by Louise London, Cambridge University Press, 2000. From November 1938-August 1939 Stopford was Treasury Liaison Officer for treasury and refugee questions with Czech government]

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This letter reminds us that there was no easy pathway to safety. Whether one fled to the U.S., England, Palestine, Cuba or other places that allowed entry (often reluctantly), there was no guarantee that life would be easy or straightforward. In a new country with a new language, one had to figure out how to maneuver new bureaucracies, find a place to live, and find a means of employment, often competing with others in the same situation. It also is interesting to think about how one defines “family”. Fritz was likely a few years younger than Paul Z, and as far as I know, they never grew up or lived together, yet Paul and his brother Robert are Otto’s only connection to his own mother. Note that there is a censorship stamp on the envelope, as well as a notation that the contents were written in German.

January 24

Helene often included separate letters to her children and family in the same envelope. On January 24, 1941, Helene wrote to both Harry and Eva. Each letter has the same Clipper Number, although they have different censorship numbers. You can read the letter to Eva where Helene recalls taking a walk through Vienna with her stubborn toddler.

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I imagine Eva looked a lot like this photo taken in September 1923 PH.0422.1923:

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One of the things stolen from Helene was being able to see her children grow up. In this letter to Harry, she tries to give him dating advice from across the miles and across the many weeks and months it took mail to arrive. When Harry left Vienna, he was 15 years old. She’d already been separated from him for at least 6 months while he and Eva waited in Istanbul to get passports. At the time of this letter, he had just turned 17.

To keep the tone light and to express her affection for her children, she constantly played with their names, language, and puns.

Clipper 69 My dear Harry! Vienna 24 January 1941

This week we got letters from all of you, especially from you, letters # 11-12 from November 26. We also got a Firestone-Zerzawy from November 23. Great joy and delight is therefore the order of the day in Seidlgasse because we were really getting tired of waiting.

Well, I understand from your last couple of letters that the eternal female has both attracted and repelled my son for the very first time. Yes, none of us are spared such experiences. They are painful, but they are necessary. Once we’ve had this childhood disease, we recover from it and we are a better person. Such childhood diseases are different from other diseases in that they are harmless and seldom have complications. However, you get them more often. And the more often the better because often enough you emerge from such an affair more steady or steadfast. …. It would be horrifying if you had to stay with the first person you had a romantic relationship with. You see everything with your rose-colored glasses, which you probably bought from an optician at the state fair. Young people usually don’t have the money or experience that would tell them that that which is not so costly is actually cheap in quality. The next attack will be easier and less painful. If you want to make a collection of theoretical experiences, then it’s better probably better to read old Roman authors like Ovid, not German philosophers like Schopenhauer. Maybe by the time you get this letter you are already in a new love affair. But maybe none of this. The best cure for unhappy love is a new love. And the more often you use this home remedy, the more you will see that it is the most effective one. By the way, I agree with what Hilda has to say. Don’t make any binding promises. There’s an old joke: fall in love often, get engaged seldom, marry never. I can certainly recommend the first of those pieces of advice. The first two should only be practiced once and take your time. When it’s the right time and the desired object comes, then there is such a chasm that you can’t make a mistake. You only learn in good time to listen to your inner voice.  

This letter doesn’t sound very motherly today. You’ll probably laugh at it because maybe you have already become an expert in matters of love by this time. Also, this letter will prove to you that my hands are following the biblical advice: the left hand should never know what the right hand is doing. It is possible to reconcile that with what the two want to do together, but I think it is more the fault of my thoughts which are getting all over each other. Maybe I’m rushing things here. 

Tell Hilda that I was very happy about her letter and that I was amused by it too, especially the comments that Paul added to it, published as it were. Sometimes the publisher knows more what the author meant to say than the author himself. It seems like Paul is making German learning fun because he’s using using Busch* as her reading primer/textbook. That is certainly an indication that he has pedagogical talent. I think the godparents who were there when they gave him his name probably were already envisioning an academic career for him. Your sister seems to have mentioned such a predetermined career as well. Well, take care, Harryleim**. (You know what Professor Freud says about when we make a mistake, misread or misspeak something?) When I wrote “Harrylein”, I thought you will probably not find a Mary Magdalena to fall for, be taken in by, so I wrote “Harryleim”. It is not a typo. Now I really have to be done with this psychoanalytical theme because it’s time to write to a very busy Eva.

Kisses, for your whimsically overgrown chin.

Helen

 A few notes from my translator on the references, puns, etc.:

*Wilhelm Busch humorist, illustrator 1832-1908)

**Pun: Harrylein = diminutive; Harryleim = “auf den Leim gehen“ means to be hoodwinked, Mary Magdalena = Mägdulein in German

Perhaps also a pun on the overgrown chin - “lianenhft” may be whimsical or lion in signature referring to Harry’s beard.

January 23

My family’s library and soundtrack  

Going through my family papers, I am struck by how often my grandmother and her children refer to music and literature, and intersperse their letters with phrases and quotations in multiple languages. As we translated material, I tried to keep a log of the various composers and authors mentioned, realizing that I had the makings of a wonderful education. Goethe, Schiller, Dickens, Bach, Mozart, Mahler, Wagner, mythology, the list goes on and on. I love the idea of creating a family “soundtrack” as part of the archive.

My grandmother passed on her love of music to her children. She named my mother Eva after the heroine in her favorite opera - Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. She raised her children to enjoy music of all kinds, particularly classical. When Eva and Harry were young, during bath time they would play “name that tune” games where Helene would sing song snippets and the children would guess the opera.

My mother loved going to the opera and symphony. Harry enjoyed listening to music, but he loved making it even more. He played piano by ear. When he wasn’t playing music, he was inevitably humming a tune to himself.

My mother told me that Helene did not name her son after the Meistersinger’s hero Walther because she did not want him to be saddled with the initials “WC” which even in German stood for Water Closet. According to Harry, he was named after a character in a book entitled Helen’s Babies. It was very popular, first published in 1876 and republished many times in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The book is full of humor and mischief-making children. Many versions can be found online. It was made into a movie in 1924, starring Edward Everett Horton as Uncle Harry. A few years ago I found a copy of the book on reserve at the SF Public Library:

January 22

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Ravensbrück was the largest women’s concentration camp in Germany. Helene was deported there in November 1943. Prisoners included women from all over Europe and consisted of Jews, political prisoners, and groups that Germany considered criminals or undesirable. 

Lucienne Simier was a teacher at a girls high school in Angers, France. She and several of her colleagues were arrested by the Gestapo for spreading anti-German ideas and sent to Ravensbrück in May 1943.

Helene and Lucienne became good friends. I assume their common language was English. They went through hell together and had a very special bond which can be seen in what Helene wrote. Only they could truly understand what they had been through.

In very few words, this letter tells us a great deal about their cruel and heartbreaking life in Ravensbrück.

I do not know how I have this letter. Did Helene write it and not send to Lucienne? Did Helene write two copies and keep one? Did Lucienne read it and then send to Eva and Harry to San Francisco? In January 1946, Helene had been in Istanbul for nine months and has not been able to find a way to join her children in San Francisco. From this letter we learn that Lucienne helped Eva and Harry reconnect with their mother. Helene did not know their addresses in San Francisco and had not been able to reach them. It appears that Lucienne asked a friend in San Francisco to find them and tell them of Helene’s address.

Istanbul, 1-22-46

My sweet Lucienne,

You can’t imagine how glad I was receiving your affable letter and hearing from you that Harry, my boy has come back to Frisco. By chance I learned that Eva is married and that my son had been in the South Pacific. That was all I was acquainted with.

Lucienne, my darling, will you believe me when I assure you that I am longing for you just as if you were one of my nearest relatives? You little know how close you are to me! Goethe has written a roman Wahlverwandtschaft. I can’t translate the sense of this expression, but that what we are feeling one to each other is the definition of that. Deepest, sympathy, unselfishness, understanding, an affection for a person you are not related with by blood, and this sense so true and so profound. 

I was touched by your description of your miraculous deliverance, and so happy knowing you in the middle of all your dears, especially that you have found your dear mother in relative good condition. Please kiss her hands for me and tell her that by your relating I always thought it was my mother you were speaking of, and thinking about her I see her clad in the garments of my own mother. Strange, is it not? Please, my dear write me all about your dear family and accept my best congratulation for the last coming baby. Lucienne, there are not many families whose number of members were enlarged during the war and for this luck you my dear friend had to pay like me. In this world everything has its price and I have paid for my lucky home the same price, that means we paid twice, for Vitali has paid even more than me, for he is still living in Germany, if he is living. Lucienne I am always hoping he is alive, and yes I am feeling so sorry about him.  

Lucienne my ducky my odyssey was not less adventurous than yours. To be sure our physical sufferings were finished as soon as we arrived in Denmark, but all about that, my impressions, experiences, disappointments and so on I will picture if I am reunited with my children and my poor head has had a little rest. All my thoughts - you can understand - are concentrated upon my good Vitali, and not a moment I cease hoping him alive. I cannot believe nature so irrational to destroy a subject after saving it so many times….

Lucienne, I thank Heaven for saving your family and share with you the joy as we have so often shared our bread and the contents of our valuable parcels. Do you remember? Let us forget the miseries of the camp but not our deepest friendship. Let us believe hunger, cold, ill treatment as a bad dream, dreamed at 42degrees, a cruel nightmare. Recovering from this fever-dream we will see the smiling face of one another, will we not?

Please give my thanks to your friend Germain. Her name I recalled is Malhabre (I am sure it is wrong, but under this name I imagined a kindly looking face like Lucienne’s) and every night when I was lying on my bed I whispered her name always in connection with my children, foreseeing that from her I shall hear of my children. You couldn’t remember her address in R and therefore I must keep my thanks till my arrival in San Francisco. My first call will be to her who has so kindly informed my family about me.

Please excuse my confused letter, but how can it be otherwise? Yonder in America I will bring order into my brain. Hoping you and all yours in best health I remain loving your sister in exile.

Helen

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Lucienne did not want the world to forget the atrocities of the war and wrote a memoir of the experience entitled “Deux Ans au bagne Ravensbrück” (Two Years in Ravensbrück prison) soon after she was liberated.

Copy of cover from US Holocaust Memorial Museum