Note: Since publication of Post 14 in October 2017, three different readers sent me information related to the M. Braun Brauerei. All three have graciously allowed me to update the original post using visuals they provided.
In the original Blog post, I included a postcard showing the M. Braun Brauerei in the early 20th Century. (Figure 1) The postcard was written on July 28, 1912 from Ratibor, by my great-grandmother Olga Berliner, née Braun, and addressed to my great-aunt Franziska Bruck in Berlin. Within the past week, my third cousin, once-removed, Larry Leyser, sent me a different postcard of the front of the same brewery. (Figure 2) While this image is rather less clear, what makes it so informative is that it names the square on which the M. Braun Brauerei was located, namely, “Neu Markt.”
Combined with an 1891 map of Ratibor (today: Racibórz, Poland) that a different reader, Mr. Paul Newerla, sent me, showing Neu Markt, I now know precisely where the M. Braun Brauerei was situated. This 1891 map even pinpoints the location of the brewery on the square, while a 1927-28 plan map of Ratibor shows the square. (Figures 3 & 4) Mr. Newerla, has written a book on Raciborz, entitled “Ratibor einst und jetzt,” translated roughly as “Ratibor, then and now.” (Figure 5). In addition to the map from 1891, Paul also sent me a treasure trove of information on the Bruck family hotel in Ratibor, the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel, which will be the subject of an upcoming postscript.
A different Polish gentleman, Mr. Grzegorz Miczek, contacted me after seeing my original post. He asked whether I had any additional documents related to the brewery as reference for a book he’s writing on the “Raciborskie Brewery.” He mentioned he possesses a few bottles from the brewery, and graciously sent me images of them that he’s allowing me to share with readers. These elegant old beer bottles speak for themselves. (Figures 6-9)
My cousin Larry Leyser made another interesting discovery. The brewer Markus Braun, after having a dozen children by his first wife, Caroline Spiegel, remarried a Johanna Goldstein and had two additional children, a daughter Wanda Eugenia Braun (Figure 10; Translation) born in 1869, followed a year later by a son Markus Braun. (Figure 11; Translation) It appears the elder Markus passed away in 1870 at the age of 53 before his youngest son was born some months later.
Note: This postscript discusses additional information obtained about the Bruck’s “Prinz Von Preußen” Hotel from a Polish gentleman who has written a book on the history of Ratibor.
Following publication of Post 11, Mr. Paul Newerla from Raciborz, Poland, author of a book on Ratibor, entitled “Ratibor einst und jetzt” (“Ratibor, then and now”) (Figure 1), contacted me. He shared a lot of information and visuals from his book and other sources, including historic maps, to round out my understanding of the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel, the inn owned by my family for three generations. Mr. Newerla also made me aware that my family’s connection to Ratibor extends a generation earlier. According to land registers from the city of Ratibor, Jacob Bruck (1770-1832), father of the original owner of the Prinz von Preußen, Samuel Bruck, was an arrendator, a lease-holder, on two properties within Ratibor. Jacob owned properties on Jungfernstrasse and Stockhaus-Gasse prior to construction of the family hotel; interestingly, an 1812 city map sent to me by Mr. Newerla shows the exact parcels owned by Jacob. (Figure 2)
Ratibor’s city walls, towers (Figure 3) and gates, surrounding the town, were only demolished in 1828, after which the Prinz von Preußen was constructed at the corner of Oderstraße and Bollwerkstraße. (Figures 4, 5, & 6) The same 1812 map just alluded to shows the city walls and gates. Approximating the position of the family hotel, it appears it was built almost atop where one Odertor, city gate, once stood.
A historian, Ms. Katrin Griebel from Zittau, Saxony, who has studied the surviving personal papers of two of my great-aunts, Franziska Bruck and Elsbeth Bruck, archived at the Stadtmuseum in Berlin, has gleaned some anecdotes about the family hotel. According to Ms. Griebel, the building occupied by the Bruck’s Hotel was the former palace of a marquis. Upon the nobleman’s death, the palace became known as the “Prinz von Preußen.”
By 1850, the marquis’s palace was assuredly a hotel. Mr. Newerla sent me notices related to two orchestral performances given by Johann Strauss the Younger at the “Prinz von Preußen.” In October 1850, Johann Strauss had plans to perform in front of the Russian Czar, and on his way to Russia he performed at the hotel the evening of October 17, 1850, spending the night. (Figure 7) On his return from Warsaw, he again stopped in Ratibor, giving an orchestral performance “im Saale des Prinzen von Preußen,” the “Hall of the Prince of Prussia,” on the afternoon of November 17, 1850 (Figure 8), leaving that same evening for Vienna.
The Bruck’s Hotel’s “Saale des Prinzen von Preußen” (Figure 9) served other community functions. Mr. Newerla has found records indicating that on October 31, 1859, Ratibor’s fire department held a large carnival ball there; the fire department also organized a theatrical performance, the proceeds of which were earmarked for the assistance of an injured fire brigade colleague.
Several pages from Mr. Newerla’s book discuss the founding in Ratibor of the “Peace Lodge XVII No. 361”of the “Independent Order B’nai B’rith” on May 9, 1886, which met at the “Prinz von Preußen.” B’nai B’rith was originally founded in 1843 in New York, and became established in Berlin, Germany in 1882. My great-grandfather, Fedor Bruck, was a member of Ratibor’s Lodge. Even though the statute of the Lodge specifically excluded politics from its field of activities, they were under police surveillance. While the Lodge continued to meet at the Bruck’s Hotel until at least April 1934 and steered clear of political matters, they appear to have been under pressure to disband.
Page 39 from Ratibor’s 1889 Address & Business Book (Figure 10), sent to me by Mr. Newerla, lists residents along Oderstraße, including number 16. Both my great-grandfather, Fedor Bruck, and grandfather, Felix Bruck, are listed at this address. Fedor is the “Besitzer,” or owner, and Felix Bruck the “Geschäftsführer,” the Managing Director (Figure 11); by 1892 Fedor Bruck was deceased. Under business listings, there are none for hotels, but Fedor Bruck is listed under “Gasthöfe 1 Classe,” first-class inns, and, oddly, under “Bade-Anstalten,” or bathing establishments. (Figure 12)
Mr. Newerla sent me a series of advertisements for the Bruck’s Hotel. (Figures 13-19) They appear to extend from the time the hotel was owned by my great-grandfather, Fedor Bruck, possibly through the 1930’s and later. Throughout its existence, it was known as the “Bruck’s ‘Prinz von Preußen’ Hotel,” even though it was no longer owned by my family.
Note: This story relates to the brief time between 1946 and 1948 when my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, worked illegally as a dentist in Nice, France.
The Nazi’s “Reich Citizen Law,” one of two Nuremberg Laws passed by the Reichstag on September 15, 1935, declared that only those of German or related blood were eligible to be Reich citizens; the remainder were classed as state subjects, without citizenship rights. From this point forward, my father was “stateless.”
For me, this story begins more than 60 years ago in Nice, France, along la Côte d’Azur, when as a young boy I was in the company of my maternal grandmother and we were walking through Vieux Nice. (Figure 1) I’m unsure what tricks time plays with memories, but I clearly remember my grandmother stopping along a street I would recognize many years later as Boulevard Jean Jaurès (Figure 2), pointing to a building on the windward side, and telling me my father had had his dental office there. My grandmother knew this because my father had done extensive work on her teeth. This may also have been when I first learned my father was Jewish. It would be many years, in all honesty, before I would absorb the full significance of these facts.
In previous posts, I’ve mentioned having visited on multiple occasions Ratibor (today: Racibórz, Poland), where my father was born in 1907. On my second visit there, in 2012, I met a gentleman at the Tourist Bureau, who, like myself, is a retired archaeologist. He currently edits a journal, entitled the Almanach Prowincjonalny, and upon learning of my family’s connection to Ratibor, wondered whether I’d be interested in writing an article for this periodical. I eagerly agreed, and in April 2013, my article was published.
In writing this essay, I’d learned from my mother that my father had worked for a woman dentist by the name of Mme. Lotter between 1946 and 1948 in Nice. Recall, this is the city where my parents first met, and where my dad settled after his release from the English Army in June 1946 because he had an aunt and cousins living there. (Figure 3) Because Mme. Lotter was entirely disinterested in dentistry, my father essentially managed her dental practice. This was an illegal arrangement because he was stateless, in French, “apatride,” and therefore not authorized to work in France. (Figures 4a & 4b) The authorities eventually caught him in flagrante in 1948 and charged him with practicing dentistry illegally. By this time, my father had obtained a visa for the United States which was predicated on not having a criminal record. Rather than risk being denied entry into the States, my father absconded before his trial.
Fast forward now to 2014 when my wife and I visited l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice in search of information on my father’s aunt and cousins. This was discussed in Post 16. While waiting for assistance, I was left alone for some moments and encouraged to peruse the books containing les certificats de décès, the death certificates, so took the opportunity to check for deceased Lotters. Having only this surname to work with, I systematically set myself to looking through the death certificates for the years starting with 1948, the year my father left France and Mme. Lotter was assuredly still alive.
In the spirit of Branch Rickey’s mantra that “luck is the residue of design,” I quickly discovered a gentleman by the name of HENRI LOTTER who died on May 28, 1970. Fortunately, there were only a handful of deceased Lotters, all men, but this individual caught my attention because it gave his divorced wife’s name, SIMONE JAUBERT. (Figures 5a & 5b) I discovered she died on November 1, 1964. (Figure 6) I requested copies of both of their death certificates, uncertain whether this Mme. Lotter-Jaubert was even a dentist.
Armed with these death certificates, I asked where the various people were buried. I was directed to a different nearby office of l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice, Service De L’administration Funéraire, essentially the “Bureau of Cemeteries.” Here we would make the acquaintance of Mme. Joelle Saramito, who, like other French bureaucrats I’ve met, was intrigued by an American who speaks fluent French; Mme. Saramito has helped me multiple times over the years including on one of my most spectacular discoveries, which will be the subject of a future post. As fortune would have it, Mme. Lotter-Jaubert is buried alongside her husband in Cimitiere De Caucade (Figure 7), the same cemetery where my Aunt Hedwig Loewenstein, née Bruck, and her son, Fedor Löwenstein’s headstones are located. While our visit to Cimitiere De Caucade allowed us to view all the tombstones simultaneously, it did not conclusively answer the question of whether this was the correct Mme. Lotter.
To answer this question, I revisited Mme. Saramito, and asked her where I might find Yellow Pages for Nice for the late 1940’s. She directed us to the “Archives municipales de Nice” (Figure 8), on the western outskirts of Nice. So, on July 4, 2014, we presented ourselves there to the “Président de salle” (Figure 9), literally, “President of the Hall.” Unquestionably, this must be one of the most highfalutin titles I’ve ever come across. Regardless, upon our arrival, I explained what I was looking for, and “Le Président” brought out several annuaires téléphoniques, telephone directories, for the period in question. Much to my delight, in the 1947-48 annuaire, under the listing for “Dentistes,” I found “Lotter-Jaubert, Simone, place Saint-Francois 2” (Figures 10a & 10b), confirming that Mme. Simone Lotter had indeed been a dentist. Simone’s ex-husband, Henry Lotter, I discovered had been unpharmacien, a pharmacist.
There remained but one final thing for me to confirm, whether in fact a distant memory that the office building my grandmother had pointed to was indeed located in Vieux Nice. (Figure 11) And, in fact, I was able to locate the still standing building at Place Saint-Francois 2, in the old section of Nice (Figures 12, 13 & 14). This story proves that occasionally with only scant information to begin with, in my case just a surname and a 60-year old childhood memory, one can sometimes make extraordinary discoveries about one’s family.
Note: This tale is about another of my father’s first cousins, Mr. Fritz Goldenring. This post provides an opportunity to explore the fate of a Jewish émigré, who, while he did not perish in a concentration camp or ghetto in Europe, is every bit as much a victim of Nazi persecution as those individuals who were murdered in these places. How I learned about Fritz does not follow a linear path, although I’ll strive to relate my discoveries in a somewhat chronological fashion. Like the stories of many of my relatives, there are glaring gaps in what I’ve pieced together.
Two of my father’s photos taken in May 1938 in Fiesole, Italy, following his arrival there after fleeing Germany, show a woman identified as Eva Goldenring. (Figures 1 & 2) I later learned she was another of my father’s first cousins. Like most of his relatives, Eva and her mother Helene Goldenring, née Hirsch, were rarely mentioned when I was growing up, although I knew they’d survived the war and eventually immigrated to America. Both daughter and mother stayed at the Pension “Villa Primavera” in Fiesole, Italy, co-managed by my Aunt Susanne Müller, Helene twice in 1937-38 (Figures 3 & 4) and Eva in 1938.
In Post 14, I discussed the Tenant Brewer, Markus Braun, from Ratibor, the town where my father was born. Markus had a dozen children by his first wife, Caroline Spiegel, then two more by his second wife, Johanna Goldstein. I’m distantly related to most of my American cousins through Markus Braun. My third cousin, once-removed, Larry Leyser (Figure 5), is one such relative, and, like myself, an active genealogist. Several years ago, Larry shared a two-page summary written by his grandmother, Katerina Leyser, née Rosenthal (Figure 6), detailing some of Larry’s ancestors. This document provided the first mention of Fritz Goldenring and identified him as the brother of Eva Goldenring and son of Helene Goldenring; no other information was given.
To try and learn more, I turned to ancestry.com, and happened on a tantalizing mention of Fritz Goldenring originating from Aufbau Newspaper, saying he had died in Shanghai; Fritz’s name was listed in the April 19, 1946 edition of Aufbau. (Figure 7) Aufbau (German for “building up, construction”), I discovered, is a journal targeted at German-speaking Jews around the globe founded in 1934. From September 1, 1944 through September 27, 1946, Aufbau printed numerous lists of Jewish Holocaust survivors located in Europe, as well as a few lists of victims. These lists, which have been digitized, contain 33,557 names that are searchable via “JewishGen’s Holocaust Database,” “JewishGen Germany Database,” and the U. S. Holocaust Memorial Museum’s “Holocaust Survivors and Victims Database.” According to JewishGen, the extent of the information available on any individual varies widely.
For Fritz Goldenring, I learned he was born on September 11, 1902 and died on December 15, 1943; intriguingly, it gave his last residence simply as “Nizza.” Coincidentally, Nizza is the Italian name for Nice, France, a place with which my family has connections, as readers may recall. Mistakenly believing that Fritz may last have resided here before immigrating to Shanghai, I asked an acquaintance at Nice’s l’Hôtel de Ville whether she could find any trace of Fritz Goldenring there, to no avail. Knowing of the Goldenring family’s travels to Genoa, Italy in July 1926, I looked for a “Nizza” nearby, and discovered a place named “Nizza Monferrato” only 65 miles away; I sent the Comune there an email, received a very gracious reply saying Fritz Goldenring similarly had no connection to this place.
Realizing I was grasping at straws, I resolved to renew my search for Fritz Goldenring from the place he’d assuredly lived, namely, Shanghai. I turned to my friend, Ms. Madeleine Isenberg, from the Los Angeles Jewish Genealogical Society, who assists fellow “travelers.” I asked whether she could refer me to someone in the Jewish community in Shanghai, and she suggested I contact “Chabad” centers in Shanghai; Chabad is one of the largest Hasidic groups and Jewish religious organizations in the world. I emailed three such centers in Shanghai, asking who I should contact about obtaining a copy of Mr. Goldenring’s death certificate, and almost immediately received an email from Rabbi Shalom Greenberg. He’d forwarded my request to Mr. Dvir Bar-Gal, who leads “Tours of Jewish Shanghai.”
Mr. Bar-Gal, it turns out, is an Israeli photojournalist whose mission of tracking down traces of Shanghai’s Jewish past began by accident, when he discovered a Hebrew tombstone in a Shanghai antique shop in 2001. He’s become known as Shanghai’s “gravestone sleuth,” tracking down Jewish tombstones scattered around the city’s outlying villages, tombstones used for everything from building beams to washboards. Between the mid-19th and mid-20th centuries, Shanghai transformed from a small fishing village to China’s largest city and become known as the “Pearl of the East.”
The Jewish tombstones that Mr. Bar-Gal is racing the clock to save are remnants of Shanghai’s Jewish community that once numbered no fewer than 30,000 Jews. Jews first arrived in Shanghai in 1845, built their fortunes, and quickly occupied key positions in the city, making significant social and economic contributions. Russian Jews escaping the pogroms of the early 1900’s represented the next wave of immigrants. They were followed by the last major group of Jewish immigrants, the most well-known of three waves, European refugees escaping Nazi terror. At the time, China was the only country in the world where Jews did not require an entry visa, and this is certainly the reason my father’s cousin, Fritz Goldenring, sought refuge here.
Many of the Jewish refugees who arrived in Shanghai were penniless but were assisted by the wealthier and established Sephardic Jews. After the Japanese occupied Shanghai in 1937, the Nazis applied pressure on them to deport or murder the city’s Jews, an order they refused. Instead, they confined the roughly 20,000 stateless Jewish refugees to the Shanghai Ghetto, formally known as the “Restricted Sector for Stateless Refugees,” an area roughly one square mile in the Hongkou district. About 23,000 of the city’s Jewish refugees were restricted or relocated to the area between 1941 and 1945 by the “Proclamation Concerning Restriction of Residence and Business of Stateless Refugees.” The Shanghai Ghetto was never walled, and Jews were housed alongside local Chinese, who lived in equally deplorable conditions.
The first Jewish cemetery was established in 1862, and by the 1950’s four Jewish cemeteries existed in Shanghai containing 3,700 graves. As the city expanded, in 1958, it was decided to systematically transfer the graves to a newly constructed international cemetery to the west of the city. The few Jews who remained after the Communists came to power were supposed to assist in these transfers, but during Mao Zedong’s “Cultural Revolution,” the international cemetery was instead destroyed, and the gravestones scattered. These uprooted tombstones are the traces of Shanghai’s Jewish past that Mr. Bar-Gal is striving to relocate and preserve.
So, as readers can clearly conclude, referral to Mr. Bar-Gal was fortuitous. While unable to provide a death certificate for Mr. Goldenring, Mr. Bar-Gal provided two valuable clues. He told me that before being expelled from Germany, Fritz had last worked in Darmstadt, Germany as a journalist. He recommended I contact Darmstadt to obtain his death certificate, so I sent the Rathaus (City Hall) there an email. My request was eventually forwarded to the Stadtarchiv, or City Archive, in Darmstadt, and finally, in October 2017, they responded. They could find no evidence that Fritz Goldenring had lived in Darmstadt, but they did find a reference to him in on-line directory at the Hessisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, the Hesse Central State Archive, in Wiesbaden. They added one additional clue, namely, that Fritz was born in Berlin.
With this new information, I next contacted the Hessisches Hauptstaatsarchiv. They eventually responded telling me there exists an Entschädigungsakte, a claim for compensation file, submitted by Helene Goldenring, née Hirsch, as the heir of her son Fritz Goldenring. (Figure 8) After paying a fee, I was able to obtain a copy of this 160-page file, a document that ultimately filled in some holes.
This file includes typed and handwritten pages, all in German, so I convinced one of my cousins to review and summarize the highlights. The compensation file, while leaving many facets of Fritz’s life in doubt, did answer some questions. It confirmed Fritz had been born in Berlin; attended grammar and high school there; apprenticed as an office worker in Nordhausen; and worked in Hamburg for Schenker & Co., a transport and logistics company dealing with planes, ships and trucks. He eventually became a journalist, as I’d learned from Shanghai. As his situation in Germany became increasingly tenuous, he hoped to parlay his possession of perfect pitch and musical talents into a ticket elsewhere, so in 1938 he went to Berlin. While there, he was apparently arrested for jay-walking and jailed for three days. In a classic example of a “Catch-22,” upon his release, he was deemed to have been “previously convicted” and forced to leave Germany.
Knowing Fritz’s sister and mother had both stayed at the “Villa Primavera” in Fiesole, I re-examined the Pension’s guest logs, and discovered Fritz had also stayed there, registering for a month-long visit on May 16, 1938. (Figure 9) I surmise after he was deported from Germany, Fritz first went to Fiesole before eventually making his way to Shanghai. While in Fiesole, he even played in a men’s tennis tournament because, among my father’s personal papers, I discovered a newspaper clipping showing my father and Fritz’s results. (Figure 10)
It’s not clear how long Fritz Goldenring stayed in Italy, but like my aunt and uncle, he likely left no later than September of 1938, probably from Genoa aboard a luxurious Italian or Japanese cruise ship headed to Shanghai. I became curious whether Mr. Bar-Gal could tell me when Fritz arrived there, so I again contacted him. There exists an Emigranten Adressbuch for Shanghai, dated November 1939, listing Fritz Goldenring, which Mr. Bar-Gal sent me a scan of, proving Fritz was there no later than late 1939. (Figures 11a & 11b)
The Japanese designated the Shanghai Ghetto on February 18, 1943 and compelled those who’d arrived after 1937 to move there by May 18, 1943; many relocated Jews lived in group homes called “Heime,” including Fritz, who lived at “Alcockheim 66,” along with 60 other men. Helene Goldenring’s compensation file explained Fritz’s cause of death, namely, Sprue and Avitaminose. Avitaminosis is a disease cause by a deficiency of vitamins, and is closely associated with sprue, a chiefly tropical disease characterized by diarrhea, emaciation, and anemia. Fritz is recorded as having died on December 15, 1943 at the Ward Road Hospital in Shanghai; apparently, the winter of 1943 in Shanghai was severe, and hunger was widespread.
Fritz’s mother’s compensation file, together with immigration records available from ancestry.com for his family, illustrate how widely the Goldenring family was dispersed during WWII. Fritz’s sister, Eva Goldenring, for reasons I’m striving to understand, survived incarceration in the notorious French detention center of Gurs at the base of the Pyrenees in southwestern France; Eva would eventually live in Madrid before immigrating to America in 1947. Fritz’s mother, Helene, made her way to Valparaiso, Chile, where her brother, Robert Hirsch, an engineer, had immigrated in 1939 from Bilbao, Spain. Robert died in 1943 in Chile, and on July 3, 1947, Helene immigrated to New York (Figure 12), where she was reunited with her daughter. (Figure 13)
Note: Occasionally, I will take a brief pause in my story-telling to engage with readers. These conversations may relate to the approach I take in writing my Blog; entail new discoveries that readers have brought to my attention; offer promising avenues for doing “forensic genealogy”; or discuss new features or elements I’ve added to my Blog. Feedback is welcome.
I feel compelled to take hold of the narrative as it relates to the telling of my family’s stories. Were better writers than me inclined to tell this tale, they could likely do it with greater pathos and originality but perhaps it would lack some of the authenticity I’m striving for. Beyond this, I concede family histories are mostly of interest to blood relatives familiar with the individuals discussed, either personally known to them or to whom they can link to on a family tree. For this reason, I consider it vitally important to couch as many of my family stories in a broader historic context that a larger audience can relate to and find interesting. And, personally, researching the history in which some of the events played out has been endlessly fascinating.
Other than my family Blog, I have no direct footprint in social media, and this is a conscious decision. During my second visit to Tiegenhof, the town in the Free State of Danzig where my father was once a dentist, I was interviewed by a reporter from a Pomeranian newspaper after my translated talk. Some days later, I Googled the event. The reporter had accurately portrayed the interview. However, I was stunned by the vile and odious nature of some reader comments believing I’d only come to Poland for financial gain or to reclaim confiscated property. Loathe as I am to say this, I attribute some of these attitudes to anti-Semitism. For this reason, I intentionally opt to keep a low profile on the Internet even if it means that people who might be interested in my Blog only discover it by accident or never find it.
One of my stated goals when I launched my Blog was the hope some readers would provide additional information related to my posts, and in two instances I’m delighted to say this has happened. Post 14 deals with the Braun & Berliner Brewery in Ratibor. A Polish gentleman, Mr. Grzegorz Miczek, shared with me pictures of two historic bottles from this brewery which he graciously has allowed me to upload as a “Postscript” to this post. Similarly, another Polish gentleman, Mr. Paul Newerla, shared with me some photos and advertisements of the hotel owned by my family in Ratibor through three generations, the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel; these too will soon be added as a Postscript to Post 11. In the case of these gentlemen and a few other individuals who’ve contacted me through my Blog, I’ve turned them on to resources they were previously unaware of, so the exchange has hopefully been mutually beneficial.
Figure 1-With Ms. Madeleine Isenberg, my friend at the Los Angeles Jewish Genealogical Society who assists members in their genealogical research
I’ve mentioned the Jewish diaspora in several Blog posts. In working on my family history, I occasionally discover fleeting references to a few of my father’s cousins or relatives that dispersed to places in South America or even China in the era of the National Socialists. Thereupon, I usually call upon a friend and long-standing affiliate of the Los Angeles Jewish Genealogical Society, of which I’m a member, to ask if she has any contacts in the Jewish community in those countries. This friend has been beyond gracious and of enormous help. (Figure 1) In an upcoming post, I will share the results of one such investigation instigated by information obtained from a man organizing tours of Jewish Shanghai.
Finally, I want to alert readers to two new pages I’ve added to my Blog in a section retitled “Resources.” Readers will now find a “Glossary” of foreign words I’ve used in my posts, as well as a list of the “Archives and Databases” I’ve accessed and made use of in uncovering historic documents related to my posts. For genealogists researching in some of the countries listed, I hope they may find these resources useful.
Note: This is the last in the series of articles discussing my Aunt Susanne Müller, née Bruck, spanning from 1936, when she left Berlin with her husband Dr. Franz Müller, to the moment she was arrested in Fayence by the Vichy French in August 1942. It describes the final two-and-a-half to three weeks of her life and that of Ernst Mombert, her step-daughter’s brother-in-law. Surviving documents in my father’s personal papers, along with records publicly available, allow me to track the precise route my Aunt Susanne and Ernst took to their deaths in Auschwitz.
My Aunt Susanne and her step-daughter’s brother-in-law, Ernst Mombert, were arrested by the Vichy French in Fayence, France, probably around the third week of August 1942. Their arrests were the result of the implementation of the so-called “Final Solution to the Jewish Question.” On January 20, 1942, Nazi officials had convened in the Berlin suburb of Wannsee to discuss the implementation of the Final Solution, whereby most of the Jews of German-occupied Europe would be deported to Poland and murdered. Following the Wannsee Conference, the deportation of Jews throughout Nazi-occupied areas to extermination camps increased in momentum. In France, the deportations, which had begun in March 1942, reached their peak in the summer of 1942, overlapping with the arrest of my relatives. Involvement of French authorities intensified during this period.
Arrests of individual Jews in the occupied zone of France had begun around 1940, and general round up in 1941. By March 1941, the Vichy State created the Commissariat General aux Questions juives (“Commissariat-General for Jewish Affairs”), which managed the seizure of Jewish assets and organized anti-Jewish propaganda. Around this same time, the German began compiling registers of Jews living in the occupied zone. The Second Statut des Juifs of June 2, 1941 systematized registrations across all of France, including the unoccupied parts of France controlled by the Vichy government where Fayence was located. Because Jews in the unoccupied zone were not required to wear the yellow star-of-David badge, these records would provide the basis for future rounds-ups and deportations. No doubt, my relatives’ names were on these registers.
In Post 22, I told readers seven members of my family once lived at the fruit farm in Fayence, although only two were ever arrested by the French collaborators. It remains unclear why the other five were never seized. While I’m disinclined for various reasons to credit local French authorities for having played a role in protecting my family during WWII, supposedly 75% of the roughly 330,000 Jews in metropolitan France in 1939 survived the Holocaust, which is one of the highest survival rates in Europe. This story, however, is about Aunt Susanne and Ernst Mombert, my relatives who did not survive.
Soon after my Aunt Susanne was arrested, she and Ernst Mombert were transported approximately 20 miles to the nearby town of Draguignan. (Figures 1 & 2) Whether they were taken there by train or other conveyance is unknown. The priority that the Nazis and their henchmen placed on the extermination of Jews following the Wannsee Conference suggests arrested Jews were brought to major transit centers in a matter of weeks for deportation to concentration camps. Susanne and Ernst wrote an undated postal card to the Mombert family in Fayence from Draguignan, postmarked August 26, 1942, that survives in my father’s personal papers; their stay in Draguignan was brief, only half-an-hour. (Figure 3) An acquaintance from the Simon Wiesenthal Center in Los Angeles tells me Jewish detainees were encouraged to write postal cards so Nazis could identify and root out surviving family members.
My dear ones, We have just arrived in Draguignan and will leave in half-an-hour for aux Milles. Once again, I remind you to ask David to come for the pump, at any price, even if you must pick him up by car. Vegetables, be careful with the string-beans, water every other day—cabbage twice weekly. Cucumbers every other day—pick the corn—chase the birds, as directed by Marius. Tomatoes water once a week. Special attention: Carrots! bugs on cabbage. Take care of the old and the young. Don’t worry. Before sending the certificates, wait until our address has arrived. Love to all, Susanne, Ernst
From Draguignan, Susanne and Ernst were then transported approximately 76 miles to the notorious French detention center at Camp des Milles in Aix-en-Provence, a place that is today a museum. (Figure 4) While it was never an extermination camp, unlike Auschwitz where Susanne and Ernst were murdered, it is extremely foreboding because it survives virtually intact and gives one a real sense of what awaited the Jewish internees. (Figure 5) Susanne and Ernst wrote a second postal card from here, dated August 24, 1942, postmarked five days later. (Figure 6)
August 24, 1942 Dearest Peterle, How are you? Did the doctor come? Take care of yourself and don’t lose courage—me, I am well—I have met some acquaintances fromHyères, a woman doctor from Berlin who knows you—well, we will see what happens to us. Ernst has also met some people he knows—we talk quite often. Mummi, how are you? And Margit and the rest of the family? Don’t work too hard—for the five of you there will be enough from the property. Go to Sénégnier and explain our situation to him. My thanks to all of you as well as to our friends for their kindness. My love to all of you. Thousand kisses, Papstein! Susanne
Next, Susanne and Ernst were taken 56 miles to Avignon, whose bridge is the subject of a children’s well-known French nursery rhyme, Sur le pont d’Avignon, although most certainly this was not on their minds. The last words my Uncle Franz and the Mombert family heard from Susanne and Ernst came from the third and final postal card mailed from there. The card is dated September 2, 1942 and postmarked the same day. (Figures 7 & 8)
Dearest Franzl, Up to now, the trip has not been too bad. I stayed together with some very nice ladies. We are well fed, too well for my taste. I am so sad that I cannot send you anything (chocolates, sardines, cookies). All these things come from the Quakers and from the Union of the Israelites of France. . . but what does it mean to us? In any case, I have decided to hold on to be reunited with all of you. Do not lose your patience and courage. They have loaded all and everyone in wagon trains—old people, children, the sick, etc. Kisses, embraces for all of you and good wishes. Susanne
P.S. Maybe I will be able to send you something else.
In this last postal card, my Aunt Susanne mentions the Union Générale des Israélites de France (UGIF), along with the Quakers, as the providers of charitable donations. The Germans created the UGIF on November 29, 1941 to more closely control the Jewish community. Through this organization, the Germans were thus able to learn where local Jews lived. Many of the leaders of the UGIF were themselves ultimately deported to concentration camps.
In this final postal card, my Aunt Susanne also mentions that by the time Jewish detainees had arrived in Avignon, they had been loaded into cattle cars, likely in Camp des Milles. The Société Nationale des Chemins de Fer Français (SNCF), the state-owned railroad system of France, was an active participant in the transport of Jewish detainees to the extermination camps, and evidence of their complicity can be seen even today in railroad sidings at Camp des Milles. (Figure 9)
My relatives never again wrote words that have been handed down to the present. The three postal cards, all written in French, selflessly remind the surviving family to carefully water and tend to the fruits and vegetables on the farm on which their survival clearly depended. The mundane nature of Susanne and Ernst’s final words is a poignant reminder of how ordinary Jews were trying to lead normal lives when their everyday existence was so tragically interrupted by the Nazis.
From Avignon, my relatives were taken more than 430 miles to Drancy, a suburb outside Paris, which was an assembly point for Jews being deported to concentration camps. My Aunt Susanne and Ernst Mombert are known to have survived until at least September 7, 1942. Both of their names appear, coincidentally on the same page (Figures 10a & 10b), on a list of 1000 Jewish prisoner deported from Drancy, a suburb of Paris, destined for Auschwitz, aboard Convoy 29, which departed Drancy at 8:55am and arrived in Auschwitz two days later. (Figures 11a & 11b) My aunt, correctly identified as a German national, is incorrectly shown having been born in “Ratisbonne” rather than Ratibor, Germany.
Serge Klarsfeld, a Romanian-born French activist and Nazi hunter known for documenting the Holocaust to enable the prosecution of war criminals, compiled the lists using surviving German documents. The nationality of only 893 deportees was recorded from Convoy 29, possibly because some arrived from the unoccupied zone only a few hours before the convoy was slated to leave for Auschwitz. The German record of deportees was divided into seven sub-lists, and while both Susanne and Ernst originated from the unoccupied zone, they were likely identified as coming from Camp des Milles. The convoy contained 435 women and 565 men. Upon arrival in Auschwitz (Figure 12), except for 59 men and 52 women, the remaining deportees were immediately gassed to death. (Figures 13 & 14) According to my father, his sister always carried a poison pill in a locket, and I choose to believe she took her own life before the convoy arrived in Auschwitz.
It is impossible to pinpoint the actual date my relatives were arrested in Fayence. Cancellation dates on the postal cards and Susanne and Ernst’s arrival in Drancy no later than September 7th suggest it cannot have taken more than three weeks before they were murdered, no later than September 9th. The ultimate irony is that my aunt moved to Fayence, almost 1000 miles away from where she was born in Ratibor, Germany, only to be hauled back and murdered less than 70 miles from her hometown. Stolpersteins, the small, brass memorials commemorating individual victims of Nazism, have been placed, respectively, at the last residences in Berlin and Giessen, Germany where my Aunt Susanne and Ernst Mombert and his family lived. (Figures 15 & 16)
