We are about to take off on a two-week trip to Germany and
The Netherlands. I’m getting pretty excited about this trip. Besides getting to
see another part of Europe that I haven’t seen before, and hang out with our
good friends Stan and Mel in Holland, we are going to visit the town where my
mother was born and where she lived until she was 9 years old, Trier, Germany.
I have heard so many stories about Trier, what it was like
to live there, and how hard and scary it was for a little Jewish girl when the
Nazi’s came to power. My mother was little enough that she doesn’t remember
when the Jewish children were not allowed to go to the town school anymore, and
had to go to their own school, but my Aunt, who is 5 years older than my mother
remembered that. My mother remembered learning to swim in the Mosel River,
because Jews were no longer allowed in the public swimming pools. She
remembers, most painfully, when the little girl that lived across the street
was no longer allowed to play with her, because she was Jewish. And, she
remembers taking a taxi in the middle of the night, across the border into
Luxembourg, when her parents finally decided that they could wait no longer,
and had to leave.
For my grandfather had two sisters, that lived on the family
farm out in the country. It was a beautiful piece of property, and they didn’t
want to give it up. They kept saying that this couldn’t go on, that it would
all blow over, that they all just needed to wait things out. But neighbors were
whispering to my grandfather that things were getting very dangerous, people
were being taken away in the night. He sent my Aunt to America a year earlier,
as he tried to convince his sisters to come with them, but it was no use. My
mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother and my grandfather, all left Trier
in May of 1938. By the following November Kristallnacht had taken
place and soon thereafter the borders were closed, and no one could get out.
My mother remembers the letters that came to the US from
Germany, from her two aunts. And she remembers when the letters stopped. They
found out later that my two great Aunts died in the Theresienstadt concentration camp.
My mother has never gone back to Trier, but my aunt did
once, many years ago. My mother remembers the name of the street they lived on.
She thinks it was Kappelestrasse, but we can’t find any street like that on
Google Maps. But she also remembers the nearby church, St. Matthias. We found
the church easily so I think Lee and I will be able to go to the neighborhood
directly across the railroad tracks from the church and maybe find this elusive
street. Trier was bombed during the war, however, so I don’t know how lucky we
will be.
My mother, understandably, still has pretty negative
feelings about the Germans, but I don’t. The Nazi generation, my grandparents,
is all gone. My mother’s generation was only little kids during that time. And
my generation was not yet born. From a distance at least it seems to me that
Germany has made a good effort to confront their past. They teach their
children about the Holocaust, there are memorials and museums, and they want to
be able to say with confidence “never again”.
I do feel an affinity with Germany. I am not just Jewish; I
am also a German/Russian/Lithuanian Jew. There was certainly some intermarriage
in my family’s past. My grandfather’s auburn hair and my mother’s hazel eyes
attest to that. My grandmother was a tidy German housekeeper; my great aunts
had cuckoo clocks on her walls.
But of course right now I have a fantasy Germany residing in
my head. Very soon it will be superseded by the real Germany, whatever that
might be. I wonder what it will be like? I can’t wait to find out!
