Month: March 2019

POST 49: GUIDE TO THE “LANDESARCHIV BERLIN” (BERLIN STATE ARCHIVE) CIVIL REGISTRY RECORDS

Note: In this Blog post, I provide a brief guide on searching the on-line registry of vital records and statistics at the “Landesarchiv Berlin,” the Berlin State Archive.  This may be of interest to the small percentage of readers whose forebears are German and may once have lived in Berlin.

Civil registration is the system by which a government records the vital events (births, marriages and deaths) of its citizens and residents.  The resulting repository or database has different names in different countries and even in different states in America (e.g., civil registry, civil register, vital records, bureau of vital statistics, registrar, registry, register, registry office, population register). In Berlin, the records of births, marriages and deaths are stored at the “Landesarchiv Berlin,” the Berlin State Archive, and can be accessed on-line, specifically, in registers of births between roughly 1874 and 1907; in registers of marriages from about 1874 to 1935; and in registers of deaths from around 1874 to 1987.

It is quite challenging to use this on-line database, so in this Blog post I will share a few hints with interested readers on possibly finding their ancestors’ names. I need to alert readers that finding your ancestors in a registry does not immediately give you access to the underlying historic document; this entails sending an email to the Landesarchiv, and, at present, waiting up to four months to have the historic certificate mailed to you.  If you do all the research yourself, identifying the specific register, Berlin borough (see below), and document number, the Landesarchiv typically does not charge you for their services and copies of records.

At the end, for those who enjoy working through puzzles, using my own grandfather Felix Bruck, I will challenge readers to find the specific register in which his death was recorded.  In a week, I will tell and walk readers through the steps that I went through to find his name.  No doubt readers will be considerably more adept and quicker than I was at finding the proper register.

Before introducing readers to the civil registration database, let me provide some brief historic context.  According to the Landesarchiv’s website, the establishment of the archive in the modern sense of the term is 1808.  During WWII the collections of the archives were dispersed, to avoid destruction; following the war, during the 1950’s and 1960’s, the surviving collections were reunited.  In 1991 the Landesarchiv merged with Stadtarchiv in Berlin; the latter was the municipal archive and the place where the civil registration records were stored until the merger. In 2000, the Landesarchiv also integrated collections from the “Archivabeitlung der Landesbildstelle” and the “Archiv der Internationalen Bauausstellung,” including audio-visual archives.

The portal to access the civil registration records on file at the Landesarchiv Berlin can be found at the following URL:

http://www.content.landesarchiv-berlin.de/labsa/show/index.php

I can no longer recall how I became aware of this database, but given my family’s deep-seated connections to Berlin, it was only a matter of time before I would eventually learn of its existence.  Figure 1a is a screen-shot of the portal page, very simple in its presentation; Figure 1b is the same portal page translated, although the database cannot be queried from here (i.e., queries must be done from the German-language page).  There are three categories of records that can be searched in combination or individually (i.e., you can check one, two or all three boxes) for any area of Berlin: Sterberegister (Death Records); Heiratsregister (Marriage Register); and Geburtenregister (Birth Registers).

Figure 1a. “Landesarchiv Berlin Standesamtsabfrage” portal page (German)

 

 

 

 

Figure 1b. “Landesarchiv Berlin Standesamtsabfrage” portal page (English translation)

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 2. Map of Berlin’s 12 existing Boroughs and the neighborhoods in each

 

One of the keys to searching the civil registration records for Berlin is understanding Berlin’s system of boroughs.  The German capital Berlin is divided into 12 boroughs (German: Stadtteile/Bezirke), that have political rights like a town but are not legally cities. (Figure 2) On January 1, 2001, Berlin instituted a reform of its boroughs reducing their number from 23 to 12 to cut down on administrative costs.  Below is a table showing the old and new borough names, an understanding of which is critical to querying the civil registration records:

 

NUMBER NEW BOROUGH NAME OLD BOROUGH NAMES
I Mitte Mitte, Tiergarten, Wedding
II Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg Friedrichshain, Kreuzberg
III Pankow Prenzlauer Berg, Weißensee, Pankow
IV Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf Charlottenburg, Wilmersdorf
V Spandau Spandau (unchanged)
VI Steglitz-Zehlendorf Steglitz, Zehlendorf
VII Tempelhof-Schöenberg Tempelhof, Schöenberg
VIII Neukölln Neukölln (unchanged)
IX Treptow-Köpenick Treptow, Köpenick
X Marzahn-Hellersdorf Marzahn, Hellersdorf
XI Lichtenberg Lichtenberg, Hohenschönhausen
XII Reinickendorf Reinickendorf (unchanged)

 

Each borough is made up of several officially recognized subdistricts or neighborhoods (Ortsteile in German), that can be distinguished in Figure 2.  These neighborhoods typically have a historical identity as former independent cities, villages or rural municipalities that were united in 1920 as part of the “Greater Berlin Act,” which established the current configuration of Berlin; when first established in 1920, Berlin was organized into 20 boroughs, most often named after the largest component neighborhood, often a former city or municipality, sometimes named for geographic features (e.g., Kreuzberg, Prenzlauer Berg).  Today, Berlin is both a city and one of the 16 states of Germany and is referred to as a city-state (Stadtstaat in German).

On the portal page, in the box labelled “Standesamt,” one must enter the name of the borough one is seeking birth, marriage or death records from.  One begins by typing the first few letters of a borough, for example “Ch” for Charlottenburg, and, often, multiple listings for that borough will come up (e.g., Charlottenburg: Standesamt Charlottenburg; Standesamt Charlottenburg I; Standesamt Charlottenburg II; Standesamt Charlottenburg III; Standesamt Charlottenburg IV, etc.); select one, then select death, marriage, and/or death records you wish to see for that borough, then do a “Suchen” (i.e., search). A new page with the list of registers available for that borough or municipality will appear (e.g., Standesamt Charlottenburg IV) (Figure 3). Scrutinize the list until you find the register covering the year(s) you’re seeking; some years may have more than one register for them, while other registers may cover multiple years.

Figure 3. Portal page for “Standesamt Charlottenburg IV (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister)” listing three death registers

 

 

A brief aside about “Standesamt” (German plural: Standesämter); this is a German civil registration office, which is responsible for recording births, marriages, and deaths.  Readers will recall my mentioning above that in 1991, the Landesarchiv merged with the Stadtarchiv in Berlin, the latter being where the civil registration records were kept until that time.  Soon after the German Empire was created in 1871 from the previous collection of German states (kingdoms, duchies, etc.), a universal system of Standesämter, register offices, was established, taking effect on January 1, 1876. The system had previously been introduced in Prussia on October 1, 1874, so it is no accident that the civil registration records at the Landesarchiv begin in this year. Today, those register offices (Standesämter) are still part of the administration of every German municipality (in small communities, they are often incorporated with other offices of the administration).  Since 1876, Germans can only enter a legal marriage in a Standesamt, and every marriage takes place before the local registrar (called Standesbeamter); similarly, every birth must be registered at a register office, as must every death.

I’ve gone into detail about the history on the establishment of Berlin following the Great Berlin Act of 1920, and the organization of the civil register offices, because it partially informs us of the extent of the historic documents they contain as well as the tedious steps that must be followed when querying the civil registration database.

In the time I’ve used the Landesarchiv Berlin database, I’ve only ever found seven documents I was researching. Virtually all my Jewish relatives lived in the well-heeled borough of Charlottenburg, so I ALWAYS begin my searches here, as I would suggest readers looking for their Jewish ancestors also do. Remember that today, the borough including Charlottenburg is named Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf, so the civil registers for “Wilmersdorf” should also be examined.

Regrettably, the empty box entitled “Standesamt” that you must complete does not provide a complete pull-down menu of all Berlin boroughs or neighborhoods when you start typing so I have no idea how many different boroughs, municipalities, and places are to be found in the civil register, likely dozens if not hundreds.

Figure 4. My uncle and aunt Dr. Franz Müller and Susanne Müller in Fiesole, Italy, 1938

 

Figure 5. Dr. Franz Müller & Susanne Bruck’s Marriage Certificate I (“Bescheinigung der Eheschließung” Nr. 263) showing they got married on 18th April 1931
Figure 6. Dr. Franz Müller & Susanne Bruck’s Marriage Certificate II (“Heiratsurkunde” Nr. 263) showing they got married on 18th April 1931

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first time I used the Landesarchiv database, I was searching for the register listing of my Aunt Susanne Bruck’s marriage to her husband, Dr. Franz Müller. (Figure 4) Because I have the original marriage certificate in my possession, two different ones, I knew they’d gotten married on April 18, 1931 in Berlin-Charlottenburg. (Figures 5-6) Obviously, I began searching the registers that cover this borough, and eventually found their marriage listed in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg III No. 605 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratregister 1924-1933) (name register to the marriage index 1924-1933).” (Figures 7a-b) If readers look carefully at the seal in the lower left corner of the two marriage certificates, you can see where it is stamped “Charlottenburg III.” The “Registernummer 263/1931” in the upper left-hand corner matches the number associated with my aunt and uncle’s names on the register page, so I knew I had located the correct certificate. Even though I have two marriage certificates for my aunt and uncle, I still requested a copy of the official document from the Landesarchiv, and much to my surprise it was different and included two pages, the second of which listed witnesses. (Figures 8a-b) For this reason, even if readers have originals of vital documents for your ancestors, I still recommend you request copies of any documents you may find in the Landesarchiv database; you never know what surprises may await you.

Figure 7a. Cover of Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg III Nr. 605 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratsregister 1924-1933),” where my aunt and uncle’s 1931 marriage was recorded
Figure 7b. My uncle and aunt’s surnames, “Müller” and “Bruck,” recorded in Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg III Nr. 605 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratsregister 1924-1933),” listing their marriage certificate number as 263

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 8a. Dr. Franz Müller & Susanne Bruck’s Marriage Certificate page 1, certificate number 263
Figure 8b. Dr. Franz Müller & Susanne Bruck’s Marriage Certificate page 2, certificate number 263, with the names of witnesses

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 9. My great-aunt Franziska Bruck (1866-1942)

The next person I researched in the Landesarchiv database was my great-aunt Franziska Bruck (Figure 9), who I knew had committed suicide on January 2, 1942; she too had lived and died in Charlottenburg, and I found her name listed in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942) (name register to the death index 1942).” (Figures 10a-b) I similarly requested a copy of my great-aunt’s death certificate and learned she had gruesomely committed suicide by hanging herself (Figure 11); obtaining poison to kill oneself may have been easier for Jews who were once in the medical profession, such as Dr. Ernst Neisser discussed in Post 48, unlike my great-aunt who was a renowned florist.

Figure 10a. Cover of Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942),” with my great-aunt Franziska Bruck’s death recorded in January 1942
Figure 10b. My great-aunt Franziska Bruck’s name circled in the Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942),” listing her death certificate number as 81

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 11. My great-aunt Franziska “Sara” Bruck’s death certificate, “Nr. 81,” stating she committed suicide by hanging herself on the 2nd of January 1942

 

Figure 12. Dr. Ernst Neisser with his future wife Margarethe Pauly ca. 1895 in Posen, Germany

I’ve recently returned my attention to the Landesarchiv database in connection with writing Post 48 dealing with Dr. Ernst Neisser, who was the husband of my first cousin twice-removed, Margarethe Neisser née Pauly. (Figure 12) To quickly review. According to Susanne Vogel née Neisser, Ernst and Margarethe Neisser’s daughter, Margarethe was institutionalized for the last three years of her life and committed suicide on October 12, 1941. Ernst lived with his first cousin Luise Neisser in Charlottenburg, and the two of them committed suicide the following year after they were ordered to present themselves for deportation to Theresienstadt. In the previous Blog post, I told readers both took poison on October 1, 1942; Luise died that day, but Ernst lingered for four days and succumbed on October 4, 1942.

I was able to locate in the Landesarchiv registers, the death listings for both Margarethe “Sara” Neisser and Luise “Sara” Neisser but, interestingly, for the longest time not for Dr. Ernst Neisser.  Margarethe, I found listed in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 712 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1941)” (Figures 13a-b) and Luise in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942).” (Figures 14a-b) I’ve requested both of their death certificates from the Landesarchiv, and await their arrival.

Figure 13a. Cover of Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 712 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1941),” with Margarethe “Sara” Neisser née Pauly’s death recorded in October 1941
Figure 13b. Margarethe “Sara” Neisser née Pauly’s name circled in the Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 712 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1941),” listing her death in October and the death certificate number as 3159

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 14a. Cover of Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942),” with Luise “Sara” Neisser’s death recorded in October 1942
Figure 14b. Luise “Sara” Neisser’s name circled in Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942),” listing her death in October and the death certificate number as 4325

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finding Dr. Ernst Neisser’s listing in the Landesarchiv involved some serious forensic work and one I worked out literally as I was writing this post. I knew that Dr. Ernst Neisser lived with his first cousin Luise Neisser in Eichenallee in Charlottenburg; as mentioned above, both Ernst and Luise tried to commit suicide on October 1, 1942, and while Luise succeeded, Ernst lingered until October 4th. Even though they died four days apart, I assumed both their deaths had been registered in Charlottenburg where they lived, but I was unable to find Ernst’s death recorded in any registers for Charlottenburg nor Wilmersdorf.

According to his daughter’s written account of his final days, Ernst died at the Jüdische Krankenhaus Berlin, the Berlin Jewish Hospital, where he’d been taken following his attempted suicide. It occurred to me that Ernst may have had his death registered in the borough where the Jewish Hospital is located; I researched this and discovered the Jüdische Krankenhaus Berlin, which still exists today, is in the borough “Mitte.” To remind readers what I illustrated in the table above, today’s borough Mitte once consisted of three independent boroughs, Mitte, Tiergarten, and Wedding; the registers for “Mitte” and “Tiergarten” yielded nothing, but finally in the last possible register where I thought his name might be listed, in the borough “Wedding,” under October 1942, I found the name “Neißer, Richard Ernst Israel.” (Figures 15a-b) Success at last!

Figure 15a. Cover of Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Wedding Nr. 5 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942),” with Richard Ernst “Israel” Neißer’s death recorded in October 1942
Figure 15b. Richard Ernst “Israel” Neißer’s name circled in Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Wedding Nr. 5 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942),” listing his death in October and the death certificate number illegible

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 16. Page from Susanne Vogel’s letter to her cousin, Lieselotte Dieckmann, showing she got married to Hans Vogel on the 31st July 1926 in Berlin

 

In order to successfully navigate the Landesarchiv database, it is helpful to have at least the month and year when a vital event in an ancestor’s life may have taken place. Ernst and Margarethe Neisser’s daughter, Susanne Vogel née Neisser, noted the place and date of her own marriage to Hans Vogel in the preface to the memoir she wrote about her father’s final days; it took place on the 31st of July 1926 in Berlin. (Figure 16) Assuming, as I always do, the wedding took place in Charlottenburg, I successfully located the spouse and bride’s names in the “Standesamt-Charlottenburg I Nr. 467 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratregister 1921-1927).” (Figures 17a-b)

Figure 17a. Cover of Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg I Nr. 467 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratsregister 1921-1927),” listing the surnames Vogel and Neißer and their marriage certificate as number 503
Figure 17b. The surnames “Vogel” and “Neißer” recorded in Landesarchiv Berlin civil register book, “Standesamt-Charlottenburg I Nr. 467 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratsregister 1921-1927),” listing their marriage certificate number as 503

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 18. Envelope containing letter mailed to my great-aunt Elsbeth Bruck showing she resided at Prenzlauer Allee 113, which was in the “Pankow” borough of Berlin

 

Figure 19. My great-aunt Elsbeth Bruck photographed in Berlin on 15th of March 1967; she died on the 20th of February 1970, but I could not find a record of her death in the Landesarchiv Berlin

There is one other great-aunt whose Berlin residence (i.e., “Prenzlauer Allee 113” in the neighborhood of “Prenzlauer Berg” in the Berlin borough of “Pankow”) (Figure 18) and date of death are known to me (i.e., 20th of February 1970), my renowned Socialist ancestor, Elsbeth Bruck (Figure 19); she died in East Berlin well before the fall of the German Democratic Republic in 1990.  Still, despite having very specific information for her, to date, I’ve not been able to locate her name in a Landesarchiv register. I assume East Germans were equally meticulous about recording vital statistics, so I conclude I’ve just not worked out the correct parameters as to where she died.  It’s possible that, like Dr. Neisser, she died in a hospital in a different borough of East Berlin and that her death was registered in that borough.  I simply don’t know.

So, to let me briefly recap some suggestions when searching through the Landesarchiv database. If you think you might have an ancestor or know of someone who was born in Berlin sometime after 1874 (but before 1905), got married there before 1935, and/or died there before 1987, it helps if you can narrow down at least one vital event to a specific year or actual date. Next, if you have any idea where your relative or acquaintance lived in Berlin, this may help you determine the borough where they resided. You may know the actual address where they lived without knowing which modern or historic Berlin neighborhood or borough the street was located, so Google the address and try and narrow it down to a borough; be aware that in Berlin there are multiple streets with the same name (e.g., Kastanienallee (=Chestnut Street)). You may be able to locate where your relative or acquaintance lived by using old Berlin Address Books available through ancestry.com.  If you think you’ve finally identified the borough, you can begin your search in the Landesarchiv. As I’ve illustrated through example, Berlin boroughs must be searched by their modern names, as well as by the historic municipalities or neighborhoods that comprised that borough.

I’d be very interested in hearing from any of you who are successful in finding the names of any ancestors or acquaintances in the on-line Berlin State Archive database and obtaining copies of historic documents. Active genealogists know how valuable original vital records can be in establishing precise dates for these events and possibly uncovering another generation of ancestors.

“The Challenge”

Figure 20. My grandfather Felix Bruck, who died on the 23rd of June 1927 in Berlin, whose Landesarchiv death register listing readers are “challenged” to find

Many readers will not have any relatives nor know of anyone who had any association with Berlin yet be interested in “testing” their skills using the Landesarchiv database to find an actual person connected to the city. For such “puzzle-masters,” I’ve created a challenge to find my grandfather Felix Bruck (Figure 20) in a Berlin register.  Figure 21 is a scan of his death certificate (the archaic German word “Todesschein” is used, but the modern German term is “Totenschein”).

 

Figure 21. My grandfather Felix Bruck’s death certificate, archaically entitled “Todesschein” (the modern term is “Totenschein”)

 

Below is a summary of the information on the Todesschein:

Death Register Nr. 971 of the year 1927

First name and surname: Felix Bruck

Husband of Else née Berliner from Berlin-Wilmersdorf at Düsseldorfer Straße 24

Profession: pensioner, 63 years old, born in Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland]

Died on the 23rd of June 1927 in Berlin IX

Recorded Berlin on 22nd of July 1927

The Registrar.

All the information readers need to know to locate my grandfather’s name in a Berlin civil register can easily be read on the scan. Good luck!

 

POST 48: DR. ERNST NEISSER’S FINAL DAYS IN 1942 IN THE WORDS OF HIS DAUGHTER

Note: This Blog post briefly summarizes a 34-page personal account written in German by Susanne Vogel née Neisser, the daughter of Dr. Ernst Neisser and Margarethe Neisser née Pauly, describing the last months of her father’s life during WWII.

Related Posts:

Post 45: Holocaust Remembrance: Recalling My Pauly Ancestors

Post 46: Wartime Memories of My Half-Jewish Cousin, Agnes Stieda née Vogel

Figure 1. My great-great-aunt Rosalie Pauly née Mockrauer (1844-1927), married to Dr. Josef Pauly
Figure 2. My great-great-uncle Dr. Josef Pauly (1843-1916)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 3. Dr. Ernst Neisser with his future wife Margarethe Pauly ca. 1895 in Posen, Germany

To remind readers, Margarethe Neisser née Pauly (1876-1941) was one of my great-great-aunt Rosalie Pauly née Mockrauer’s (1844-1927) (Figure 1) nine children with Josef Pauly (1843-1916) (Figure 2); Margarethe Pauly and Dr. Ernst Neisser (1863-1942) (Figure 3) married on September 5, 1898 in Stettin, Germany [today: Szcezcin, Poland], and together they had two children, Susanne Vogel née Neisser (1899-1984) (Figure 4) and Peter Neisser (1906-1929).  Susanne Vogel authored the moving account of her father’s last months in a 34-page letter she wrote to her first cousin, Liselotte Dieckmann née Neisser (1902-1994) (Figure 5), on March 28, 1947; to further orient the reader, Susanne Vogel was the mother of Agnes Stieda née Vogel (1927-still living) (Figure 6), whose wartime memories were the subject of Post 46. 

Figure 4. Birth certificate for Susanne Dorothea Neisser showing she was born in Stettin, Germany on July 30, 1899, later married to Hans Vogel on July 31, 1926 in Berlin
Figure 5. Lieselotte Dieckmann née Neisser’s birth and death information; Lieselotte was Susanne Vogel née Neisser’s first cousin and the person to whom she sent the 34-page letter about Dr. Neisser’s final years

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Figure 6. Painting of Agnes Stieda née Vogel (born 1927), granddaughter of Ernst and Margarethe Neisser

 

Susanne Vogel’s account of her father’s last months is on file at the Leo Baeck Institute NewYork/Berlin, but I discovered it while researching Dr. Ernst Neisser on the Internet.  Agnes would later tell me about it and suggest it needed eventually to be translated from German.  Consequently, Agnes and I have agreed to collaborate on this, so in coming months Agnes will translate her mother’s letter into English, I will edit it, and we’ll make it available to readers through my Blog.  In the interim, I asked one of my cousins to summarize the contents.  What follows are some highlights of Susanne Vogel’s account, which fill in a few gaps in the timing of the unfortunate events in Ernst and Margarethe Neisser’s lives.

Dr. Ernst Neisser, nicknamed “Bärchen,” was the Director of the municipal hospital in Stettin, Germany from 1895 until his retirement in 1931.  Prior to 1909 he published multiple papers on tuberculosis.  Beginning in 1902, Dr. Neisser began calling for the establishment of “tuberkulose krankenhäuser,” tuberculosis hospitals, rather than isolation houses for people with heavy consumption, “Schwere Schwindsucht.”  For many years, his proposal was ignored, as most physicians wanted to retain the character of what were called “Heilstätten,” sanatoriums, which would be lost if people seriously sick and dying of tuberculosis were admitted.  Nonetheless, Dr. Neisser finally prevailed, receiving financial support from the city of Stettin to build the Tuberkulosekrankenhaus in Hohenkrug [a part of Szczecin, Poland] which opened in 1915.  This turned out to be such an excellent model that eventually many of the best Heilstätten became tuberculosis hospitals.

Another of Dr. Neisser’s signature accomplishments was the consolidation of all institutions involved in the treatment of tuberculosis (e.g., tuberkulose krankenhäuser, tuberkulose Fürsorgestelle (welfare center), etc.) under one umbrella, resulting in better supervision, improved organization, and enhanced care.  Dr. Neisser left the field once he had achieved this goal.  Whether by accident or design, his accomplishments in the treatment of tuberculosis do not appear to be acknowledged in sources generally available on-line.

Dr. Neisser was co-inventor with a man named Pollack in 1904 of what is called a “hirnpunktion,” a brain puncture.  What I have concluded this involves is a procedure to relieve pressure in the brain caused by an edema (i.e., a condition characterized by an excess of watery fluid collecting in the cavities or tissues of the body, including the brain), or a hematoma (i.e., a solid swelling of clotted blood within the tissues, including the brain).  The procedure entails placing a patient on their side with their head bent forward, making a cut along the median line of the head, then pushing through the membrane with a probe to draw out the excess fluid to relieve pressure on the brain.

As researcher and hospital director, Dr. Neisser was interested in lead and arsenic poisoning; pernicious anemia; iodine treatment for these ailments; tick therapy; psittacosis (i.e., “parrot fever”, a zoonotic infectious disease in humans contracted from infected parrots, macaws, cockatiels, etc.); and more.  He advocated for a “Krankheitserscheinungen Fortlaufende Beobachtung,” an institute for the continuous observation of illnesses from their onset to their fully-fledged maturation and organized such a department in 1918 at the municipal hospital where he was director.  Following his forced retirement in 1931 because of age, 68 at the time, Dr. Neisser became chief of a sanatorium in Altheide [today: Polanica-Zdrój, Poland]. After he was likely forced out of this position because of Nazi ascendancy, he and Margarethe moved to Berlin.

Dr. Neisser loved music and the arts, and to this day some of his descendants are professionally involved in these endeavors.

From Post 45, regular subscribers may recall my discussion about the timing of Margarethe Neisser’s death. From one family tree to which I’ve referred multiple times, “Schlesische Jüdische Familien,” Silesian Jewish Families, I discovered Margarethe Neisser died in December 1942; this never seemed credible because Dr. Neisser committed suicide in October 1942, so I could not understand why she would not have killed herself at the same time.  I contacted the family tree manager about this discrepancy, and she told me her data came from two other trees; however, upon reexamining those trees, the family tree manager realized she had erroneously transcribed Margarethe’s death date, and that in fact she had died in December 1941.  While this makes much more sense, it turns out even this date was incorrect. According to Susanne Vogel’s account where she summarizes vital statistics for Dr. Neisser and his immediate family, Margarethe died on October 12, 1941. (Figures 7) I want to again caution readers to seriously question information found on other family trees, particularly when no supporting documentation is referenced or attached.  Personally, I would rather omit data than incorporate faulty statistics in my family tree.

Figure 7. Page from Susanne Vogel’s letter to her cousin, Lieselotte Dieckmann, citing some vital statistics for herself, her parents, and her husband, brother and daughter
Figure 8a. Cover of Landesarchiv Berlin Book No. 712 from 1941 listing Margarethe Sara Neisser née Pauly’s death in October of this year
Figure 8b. Register listing in Landesarchiv Berlin Book No. 712 from 1941 for Margarethe Sara Neisser née Pauly showing she died in October of this year

 

 

 

 

 

 

As a related aside, in an upcoming Blog post I will explain to readers how to use the difficult-to-navigate “Landesarchiv Berlin” database, containing information on births, marriages, and deaths for people who resided in the multiple boroughs and districts of Berlin.  As it happens, I was able to locate the death register listing for Margarethe Neisser and confirm she died in October 1941 (Figures 8a-b); I’ve requested a copy of the death certificate, but the Landesarchiv currently has a four-month backlog in processing orders.

According to Susanne Vogel, her mother Margarethe Neisser suffered from chronic depression, and spent the last three years of her life in a sanatorium; it was here she committed suicide in October 1941 and where a funeral service was secretly held in the facility’s cellar. The need to hold the service in secret was likely due to prohibitions on Jewish funerals during the Nazi Era.  Ending one’s life was referred to as “going on a journey into the distant country.”

Figure 9. Hans Vogel’s birth certificate indicating he was born on July 28, 1897 in Stettin, Germany

Susanne Vogel spoke of her own circumstances during the war.  She wanted to divorce her husband, Hans Vogel (1897-1973) (Figure 9), so that he could work as an art historian, his chosen profession; as the husband of a Jewish wife Hans was forced to do menial clerical work.  Despite these circumstances, he would not agree to a divorce.  Susanne also mentions that she had hoarded enough poison to end her life if that became necessary, likely Veronal and Scopolamine-Entodal.

 

Dr. Ernst Neisser’s first cousin, Luise “Lise” Neisser (1861-1942), former teacher, kept house and cooked for him. Circumstances for Jewish people were becoming increasingly restrictive—they could not obtain coal, they were not permitted to use public transportation, and they were only allowed to buy food between the hours of 4 and 5pm.

Whenever Hans and Susanne Vogel visited Ernst and Lise, they would secretly take big, heavy bags with Professor Neisser’s possessions, for example paintings. This was strictly prohibited and dangerous.  Ernst may still have believed he would survive the war, and these material things would again matter.

Figure 10. Dr. Neisser’s attorney, Karl von Lewinski, listed in a 1939 Berlin Phone Directory

Dr. Neisser and Lise had already decided they would take their own lives if they were ordered to present themselves for deportation.  On September 30, 1942, Susanne decided spontaneously to visit them where they lived in Eichenallee [Charlottenburg, Berlin].  Upon arriving at her father’s apartment, she learned he and her aunt Lise had been ordered to present themselves for deportation to Theresienstadt the following morning; typically, Jews received their deportation orders a few weeks in advance.  Upon learning of their critical situation, Susanne immediately went to a telephone booth, and called her husband, the sanatorium where her mother had died, the Jewish Community, and their attorney Karl von Lewinski (Figure 10), trying to find a hiding place for her father and aunt, all to no avail; ironically, Mr. v. Lewinski had by that time been able to procure an entry visa for Ernst and Lise to Sweden, but by then Jews could no longer legally leave Germany.

By the time Susanne returned to the apartment, several friends had already gathered there, including Susanne’s husband, as well as the director of the sanatorium who’d brought enough poison for Ernst and Lise. Ernst then opened the last bottle of wine he had saved for this event, which everybody partook of. All persons eventually said their goodbyes, and left Ernst and Lise to take the poison.  The following morning the Gestapo had taken Lise to the morgue, but Ernst lingered in a coma for another four days at the Jewish Hospital where he’d been taken, before he too expired, never having regained consciousness. (Figure 11)

Figure 11. Dr. Ernst Neisser towards the end of his life

 

Susanne Vogel was investigated by the police department because her father’s clock and identity card were missing, which Susanne had in fact taken.  The police also searched the apartment where Ernst and Lise had lived, but all personal papers had already been destroyed.  A sympathetic detective superintendent accompanied Susanne to her father’s apartment to inquire about the missing objects, as well as the source of the poison, and “believed” her when she told him she didn’t know.  The detective also questioned the building superintendent, who spoke kindly of Ernst and Lise, but she too could shed no light on what had happened to Dr. Neisser’s personal belongings.

Susanne discusses the difficulty she faced in convincing the Nazi authorities to allow her to cremate her aunt, as well as her father.  Because the Gestapo had taken away Dr. Neisser’s suit, he was wrapped and cremated in a shawl.

Susanne demurs telling Lieselotte Dieckmann about the three years her mother spent in the sanatorium, as well as about the last three days she spent with her cousin Aenne Herrnstadt, who readers may vaguely recall was Agnes Stieda’s godmother and who was deported and murdered in Theresienstadt in 1943.

Susanne Vogel’s account of her father and aunt’s final days is difficult enough to read as a brief summary, so readers need only imagine how melancholy reading the document in its unabbreviated form must be.  Still, it is my intention in a future post to present the complete translation so readers may understand the circumstances of Dr. Neisser’s final years, as well as those of similarly “vulnerable” Jews.

POST 47: WHALE-WATCHING IN BAJA CALIFORNIA

Note: This post deviates from the somber series of Blog posts I’ve recently published to highlight a whale-watching trip my wife Ann and I recently took to Baja California.

After a sequence of sobering and depressing Blog posts discussing the fate of distant cousins and great-aunts during the Nazi period, a topic to which I’ll soon enough return, I’ve decided to shift directions and talk about a vastly more uplifting experience, a recent six-day whale-watching trip my wife and I took to Baja California.  It was an enchanting adventure, a journey I hope all readers may one day take, if for no other reason than to better understand the role of humans in the kaleidoscope and hierarchy of living things. Obviously, this has to do with my father’s family only insofar as I’m my father’s son.

In jest, I’ve recently started referring to my family history Blog as “my mistress” for the intense concentration and devotion it demands to regularly research and write posts. In retrospect, I’m ashamed to admit I was bemoaning the six days I would be away from my computer at the very moment a spate of ideas for future Blog posts cascaded upon me.  I never imagined I would return from this awesome whale-watching event invigorated and more focused.  For this reason, I’ve decided to share a little of this journey with readers, fully acknowledging this story has nothing to do with the reason readers have subscribed to my Blog, that’s to say, family history. Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this brief interlude.

My wife and I arranged our whale-watching outing to Baja California through the Birch Aquarium in La Jolla, California, which partners with Andiamo Travel and the Scripps Institute of Oceanography in San Diego.  The southernmost point of our excursion ended approximately 600 miles south of San Diego in the small town of San Ignacio in the Mexican state of Baja California Sur.  In the nearby coastal Pacific San Ignacio Lagoon, and Guerrero Negro Lagoon (Scammon’s Lagoon) to the north, it is possible to see and approach the gray whales (Eschrichtius robustus) that travel round-trip almost 12,000 miles from the cold waters of the Arctic Ocean to give birth to their young and mate; the whale-watching season lasts from early January through April.

Over the course of our trip, our group of approximately 36 people went on three whale-watching outings, in all instances resulting in us being able to touch these magnificent creatures.  This is remarkable given the fact the grey whale was hunted repeatedly almost to extinction in the 1800’s and 1900’s; Scammon’s Lagoon, known locally today as “Laguna Ojo de Liebre,” eye of the jackrabbit, is in fact named after Charles Melville Scammon (1825-1911) who was the first to hunt the grey whale in this lagoon.  Even though the grey whale may live 70 years or more, it is unlikely surviving whales have any “memory” of deadly encounters with humans.  I find it interesting that these mammals, which are known to have fought back against whalers, are today so docile and approachable.

Our 1200-mile round-trip voyage to San Ignacio and Guerrero Negro naturally involved many hours of bus travel which I personally found as enjoyable as our whale excursions.

Regular readers will know I began my professional career as a field archaeologist, working in the California Desert in an area that stretched from the Mexico-California border to north of Death Valley National Monument. The roughly 10-million-acre California Desert, which encompasses portions of the Mojave, Great Basin, and Sonoran deserts, is an area I spent much time walking around doing archaeological inventory. I came to love walking through the desert while simultaneously realizing the enormous impacts it  has suffered due to over-development and proximity to major urban areas in the southwestern United States. Thus, it came as a very pleasant surprise to learn that almost two-thirds of peninsular Baja California is preserved within Natural Protected Areas plus Ramsar Convention (i.e., wetland site of international importance) and UNESCO sites.  I spent many hours simply gazing out the bus window at the seemingly pristine landscapes we were driving through.  Baja California includes much larger portions of the lush Sonoran Desert (Desierto Central de Baja California), as well as the Vizcaino Desert.  While the ecosystem appears generally intact with far less development, I’m under no illusion it is any less endangered than the California Desert.

So, with this brief background, I devote the remainder of this Blog post to a pictorial essay of some of the awesome sights my wife and I, along with our fellow travelers, enjoyed on our 1200-mile trip through Baja California.

Figure 1. Headed out to the whale-watching area in the Guerrero Negro Lagoon (Scammon’s Lagoon) aboard a panga (i.e., modest-sized, open, outboard-powered, fishing boat) (Photo courtesy of Sofía Gómez Vallarta)
Figure 2. Our awesome guide, Sofía Gómez Vallarta (Oceanóloga y Maestra en Diseño de Proyectos Socioambientales)
Figure 3. Sofia, the “whale-whisperer,” singing to a grey whale as it spouts its approval
Figure 4. My wife Ann Finan (far left) with fellow whale-watchers, May Bull, Mike & Libby Flynn & Tony Bull
Figure 5. Fellow whale-watchers stroking one of the grey whales
Figure 6. Tony Bull pointing at baleen, a filter-feeder system inside the mouth of whales by which adults suck mouthfuls of mud from the ocean bottom, then strain out unwanted water and mud and feed on the remaining tiny amphipods and krill
Figure 7. Getting close and personal with another grey whale
Figure 8. Barnacle-laden whale whose blowhole or nostril on the top of its head can also be seen
Figure 9. Closeup of a louse that feeds on whales (Photo courtesy of Ron Quinlan)
Figure 10. Me reaching out to touch one of the gentle giants
Figure 11. A grey whale “spy-hopping,” putting its head straight up, against the backdrop of another whale-watching group
Figure 12. Our panga-driver Jose stroking one of the grey whales
Figure 13. Members of a school group that entertained us during our visit to San Ignacio
Figure 14. Jesuit Mission of San Ignacio Kadakaaman built in 1728
Figure 15. Vermilion flycatcher spotted in San Ignacio
Figure 16. The fertile palm oasis formed by the Rio San Ignacio on the southern edge of the Vizcaino Desert
Figure 17. Dead grey whale along the Guerrero Negro Lagoon being feasted on
Figure 18. Osprey feeding near the Guerrero Negro Lagoon
Figure 19. Cardon (Pachycereus pringlei), relative of the saguaro, endemic to Baja California
Figure 20. Elephant Tree (Pachycormus discolor), another endemic species of Baja California
Figure 21. Boojum Tree (Idria Columnaris) or Cirio (Spanish for “tapered candle”), one of the signature plants of Baja California
Figure 22. Old Man Cactus (Lemaireocereus thurberi)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

POST 46:  WARTIME MEMORIES OF MY HALF-JEWISH COUSIN, AGNES STIEDA NÉE VOGEL

MilitarybGerman Note:  This post relates some wartime memories of my German-born third cousin who is half-Jewish.

Figure 1. Painting of Agnes Stieda née Vogel, granddaughter of Ernst and Margarethe Neisser, who comes from a family of fifth-generation musicians

 

Figure 2. Margarethe “Gretel” Neisser née Pauly (1876-1941), in the early 1890’s, Agnes Stieda’s grandmother who read poetry to her as a child

I first introduced my third cousin, Agnes Stieda née Vogel (Figure 1), to readers in the previous Blog post (Post 45).  She is the granddaughter of one of my Pauly relatives, Margarethe Neisser née Pauly (Figure 2), one of Josef and Rosalie Pauly’s daughters; Margarethe predeceased by less than a year her husband, Dr. Ernst Neisser (Figure 3), who along with his cousin committed suicide in Berlin on October 4, 1942, rather than be deported to a concentration camp. 

 

Figure 3. Dr. Ernst Neisser (1863-1942), in the early-to-mid 1890’s, Agnes Stieda’s grandfather with whom she was very close

 

Release of my previous post prompted Agnes to put down in writing memories of her wartime years, fulfilling a request from her children.  Agnes graciously shared these recollections with me and was open to the idea of turning them into a Blog post.  What follows is Agnes’ firsthand account of some wartime memories in Germany, including a few footnotes to provide a historic and geographic context for her tale.

Briefly, some backdrop.  Agnes was born in May 1927 at the municipal hospital in Stettin, Germany [today: Szczecin, Poland] where her grandfather, Dr. Ernst Neisser, was the Director.  She lived in various places growing up, including two-and-a-half years in Kassel, Germany [northern Hesse, Germany], then three years in Switzerland before her parents eventually settled in the small Lower Silesian village of Baitzen, Germany [today: Byczen, Poland], not far from the German-Czechoslovak border; she attended boarding school in the not-too-distant German town of Gnadenfrei (i.e., 27km or 17 miles north-northwest of Baitzen), known before 1928 as Ober-Peilau [today: Piława Górna, Poland].  Gnadenfrei/Ober-Peilau (Figure 4) was for many years “the longest village in Germany,” because it stretched for several miles along a brook, the Peile River.  Piława Górna is 54km or 34 miles south of the regional capital of Wrocław [German: Breslau].

Figure 4. 1893 map of Silesia with Gnadenfrei and Peilau circled, once referred to as “the longest village in Germany”

 

In 1945, after WWII, Gnadenfrei was transferred from Germany to Poland. Today, it is in Dzierżoniów County, Lower Silesian Voivodeship, in southwestern Poland, about 10km (6 miles) southeast of Dzierżoniów, Poland [formerly Reichenbach, Germany]; the latter is located at the foot of the Owl Mountains [German: Eulengebirge], a mountain range of the Central Sudetes, also known as the Sudeten after their German name.  The view from Agnes’s parents’ living room was of these mountains, a place she often hiked.

As mentioned, Gnadenfrei and Baitzen were only a short distance from the border with then-Czechoslovakia, and Baitzen was located along the main road that led there; the areas along the border with Germany were predominantly inhabited by German-speaking people, and during the interwar period, these native German-speaking regions within Czechoslovakia were referred to as the “Sudetenland.” (Figure 5)

Figure 5. The Sudetenland in 1944, a swath of then-western Czechoslovakia, once inhabited mainly by German speakers; the circled area named “Braunau” was the region of Czechoslovakia closest to German Silesia where Gnadenfrei/Peilau was located

Students of history will recall the Munich Agreement, or the “Munich Betrayal” as the Czechs refer to it; this was an agreement between France and Nazi Germany that France would not provide military assistance to Czechoslovakia in the upcoming German occupation of the Sudetenland, effectively dishonoring the French-Czechoslovak alliance and allowing Nazi Germany’s annexation of the area, a region of western Czechoslovakia inhabited mainly by German speakers (i.e., 3.67 million inhabitants including some 2.9 million Germans).  Adolf Hitler announced it was his last territorial claim in Europe, and the choice seemed to be between war and appeasement.  An emergency meeting of the main European powers – not including the Soviet Union, an ally to both France and Czechoslovakia – took place in Munich, Germany, on 29-30 September 1938.  An agreement was quickly reached on Hitler’s terms.  It was signed by the top leaders of Germany, France, Great Britain, and Italy. Czechoslovakia was not invited to the conference.  Between October 1st and 10th, 1938, the German Wehrmacht occupied the Sudetenland.

With this brief background, what follows is Agnes’ story.  Numbers in parentheses correspond to my footnotes at the end of the narrative.

“When WWII started with the German invasion of Poland on September 1, 1939, I was in a Moravian-run boarding school in Gnadenfrei. When we heard the news on the radio, all the teachers started crying, a scary sight for us pupils.  Only one younger teacher was happy—her home was in Danzig, a city in the Polish ‘corridor,’ which meant that it once again became German.  I remember German Wehrmacht soldiers marching into Czechoslovakia, day and night, along the road on which my parents lived in Baitzen, Germany (Figure 6), though this may be a memory of when the Germans invaded the remainder of Czechoslovakia earlier that same year, in March 1939.  We were only 20km (12 miles) from the border with Czechoslovakia.

Figure 6. Detailed map showing location of Baitzen [today: Byczen, Poland] in relation to Kamenz [today: Kamieniec Zabkowicki, Poland] where nearest train station was located
There was a Nazi expression I often heard before the war, ‘Heim ins Reich,’ meaning ‘back home to the Reich.’ [1]  This was the beginning of what was to come.  This expression, coming from my parents, I never forgot.

I stayed at an all-girls boarding school in Gnadenfrei until I was 15 years old.  Only later did I learn that the Director of the school had been sent multiple questionnaires asking whether any of her girls there had a Jewish background, which the Director threw unanswered into the garbage, a real act of courage.  The Director and the students all had to salute the Nazi flag every morning, raising their arms and saying, ‘Heil Hitler”; once I raised my left arm and was reprimanded for it by the Hitler Youth leader.  Although I was well-aware of my Jewish background, my mother’s Neisser family had long-ago converted to Christianity at a time when Germany let Jews convert.  Nonetheless, for the Nazi Regime it was all about race, not religion.

 

Figure 7. Grave of Konrad von Czettritz/Neuhaus (1890-1946), buried in the Lommel German Military Cemetery in Limburg, Belgium (photo courtesy of Bernhard von Bronkhorst)

 

I had a very close friend in the boarding school in Gnadenfrei, Karin, who was the daughter of landowning Silesian aristocrats, the von Czettritz/Neuhaus family. (Figure 7) I was often a guest at their house and spent the summer holidays in their home in Reichenbach. I saw my parents during the Christmas and Easter holidays.  Karin commuted everyday by train from Reichenbach to Gnadenfrei to attend school there but was never a boarder.   Sadly, Karin died of typhoid when she was 16, and my parents would not allow me to attend her funeral, afraid I would endanger her parents’ safety. This was a very bitter pill to swallow because of all the time I had spent with her and her family.

I remember being drafted into the ‘Jungmädchen’ [2], then into the B.D.M. [3].  We were required to pledge our personal allegiance to Hitler.  I just put my free hand behind my back and stretched my fingers out, meaning the oath went in and out again of my consciousness. . .I thought it was rather a lark.

By 1942, my poor directors in both school and dormitory could no longer keep me, so from one day to the next, my years in Gnadenfrei were terminated and I returned to my parents’ home in Baitzen.  The worst thing during the war years is that the brothers and fathers of many of my girlfriends were drafted into Hitler’s army, and died on the Front.  Upon learning of their father’s or brother’s deaths, my girlfriends cried, and we, their friends, lay beside them in bed and tried to comfort them.  I tear up even now thinking how awful this was for them and their families.  To this day, I don’t know what happened to some of my girlfriends.  After 1945, when that part of Germany became Polish, we had a ‘round letter’ that circulated twice a year with addresses of our schoolmates, but from a few we never heard from.

While we lived in Silesia, we would hear the Russian bombers flying overhead, but, living in the countryside, we never heard a bomb fall.  We had food rations, but the real starvation came after 1945, when we had fled to Potsdam, a suburb of Berlin under Russian occupation.

Back to 1942. By the time I left school, ‘gymnasiums,’ schools which prepared you for university, were long closed to Jews and half-Jews.  So, I did a lot of different things until I entered a gymnasium in Potsdam after the Nazi collapse to catch-up on my lost school years.  My father could not work in his field as an art historian but managed to find a job with a Prince from the German aristocracy, I think a nephew or cousin of the last German Kaiser, who owned a large castle in Silesia; he gave him a job as a bookkeeper. 

Later, the Russians threw us out of the house where we lived as refugees in Potsdam following Russian occupation of the area; we ended up living in a row house with a Frau von Mandelsloh and her husband, the sister and brother-in-law of my father’s former boss from Silesia. . .Frau von Mandelsloh was a veritable ‘angel.’

For about a year during the war, I was an au pair for a pastor and his wife who needed a housemaid for their two young children.  During this time, we went back-and-forth between Potsdam and Silesia, living in both places.  Obviously, as the war went on, anyone of Jewish ancestry was in more and more danger.  Once, I remember, the Gestapo came to our small village. The mayor called us by telephone, which placed him in great danger, and warned us that we should disappear until everything was clear again.  Can you imagine, the mayor calling?!  Promptly, my mother and I trudged to the railway station in Kamenz [today: Kamieniec, Poland] (Figure 6) a half-hour’s walk away, through the freezing weather and caught the first train to Breslau [today: Wrocław, Poland], where we had relatives.

My father and many older or injured people were the last ones drafted to hold the Eastern Front line by digging ditches, etc.  My father had had his thumb shot off during WWI and spent nine months in a field hospital; he never recovered the use of his left hand, unable to grip anything, but this saved him from being drafted into the German Army. During the Nazi era, they honored those who’d been wounded during WWI.

Except for the Gestapo incidence, the Nazis left us alone mostly.  We think that a young woman who lived in the same house denounced us.  When the Gestapo came to my parents’ house, they removed books by Martin Niemöller [4], one of the founding members of the Confessing Church [5], which was known for opposing the Third Reich; one of their prominent members, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, was incarcerated and killed by the Nazis.

In Breslau, my father’s brother was exempt from the military because he was a Director of a large brewery, an important man who owned a large apartment with spare rooms.  He could take me in but not my Jewish mother.  She found refuge in the tiny apartment of a distant relative sleeping in an armchair. 

In 1942, the Nazi Regime went quickly to work on their ‘Final Solution,’ as they called it.  They gathered all non-Aryans and ordered them to report for deportation.  My grandmother had already died a year before [1941] but my grandfather, his cousin, and many other relatives were ordered to register.  Knowing what was coming, they instead took their own lives.  My mother [Suse Vogel née Neisser] wrote about this, and her memoirs can be found on the Internet, but only in German; they are really in need of translation into English.

Back to the war.  I had never experienced an air-raid but that was to come.  Back in Silesia, I worked for a farmer from morning to night and loved that job.  It was strenuous work, but being outside all day I was carefree, and never thought much about not being in school.

My grandfather, to whom I was very close, was still alive at the time.  I have a very distinct childhood memory of being in his apartment in 1941 in Berlin when he learned of my grandmother’s death, of him standing by a window with tears running down his face; in all the years, I’ve never forgotten this image.  I learned about my grandfather’s death when my parents sent me his obituary but found out only later why he had died.  Of my grandmother’s sisters and their spouses who also committed suicide, I continue to learn about them even today. My dear parents tried to protect me from the Nazi horrors as much as they could and kept me innocent and naïve for a long time.  When it became obvious that Germany would lose the war, Nazi rules became even stricter. 

After one finished the B.D.M., every young girl was drafted and sent East to ‘defend’ the Fatherland.  I was no exception.  My mother, however, was unwilling to accept these circumstances and asked the advice of a doctor friend, aptly named Dr. Freund [German ‘freund’=friend].  He wrote a document for the authorities stating that I had streptococcus that had caused a heart valve disease.  Streptococcus is so contagious it did the trick of my not being drafted.  But I had to go to many clinics in Breslau to have my heart valve disease diagnosed; of course, the doctors could not find it because I was perfectly healthy.  This strep was so indoctrinated into me that for years I was convinced I really had it.

In most ways the Hitler regime was very organized, but in others it was chaotic, and things were overlooked.  Our wonderful neighbors in Silesia were very worried about my mother and me, more on account of the rapidly approaching Russian and Polish armies than the Nazis.  Their newly-married daughter begged us to come with her and her parents, whom she also sought to protect, deep into the Silesian mountains where her husband’s parents owned a butcher shop and a restaurant in the small town of Lichtenwalde [today: Poreba, Poland] (Figure 8); the daughter’s husband was at the Front.  We knew lots of wonderful and courageous people.  I met only two fervent Nazis, one was my father’s own nephew, who, despite his fanatic beliefs, never denounced us.  Still, he suggested my mother divorce my father, and, worse, urged her to commit suicide; my father was enraged with his nephew.  When we left for the mountains, we could only bring one pack with us.  Upon our arrival there, we found other people who’d fled from the heavy bombing in west German cities, notably Berlin.

Figure 8. Detailed map showing location of Lichtenwalde [today: Poreba, Poland] the mountain village where Agnes and her mother took refuge with the family of neighbors from Baitzen; Seitendorf to the south is a town Agnes remembered having passed through
My mother had tried to reach my father in his Unit but had no success.  Since we had fled our home [Baitzen], my father had no way to connect with us.  My mother’s thoughts were entirely focused on how we could reconnect.  My father was responsible for bringing his Unit’s mail to the train, and when he noticed the train was headed to Berlin, he took that opportunity to jump onboard and go AWOL, hoping to find us when he arrived in Potsdam; we had always found shelter there in the apartment of the mother of one my mother’s good friends.  By going AWOL, my father had taken a huge risk since deserters were shot on sight.  But he was not discovered and entered Berlin which was aflame.  I’ve never understood how my mother found out where my father was. 

My mother and I took literally the last train leaving Silesia, which was already overcrowded with German refugees.  My mother made it on the train, but I made it only to the running board.  People, seeing we would be separated, lifted me up and shoved me in; despite the incredible chaos, they helped us find one another. Now came the nail-biting part of the journey, hoping my Jewish mother would not be discovered.  Fortunately, she did not have to wear the Star of David [6]. . . Near Berlin the train stopped because it was being shot at from above, although not bombed.  So, we entered Berlin, the burning images still vivid in my memory.  And, there stood my father, waiting for us at the Potsdam train station.  My mother and I, who had never quarreled before, argued about who would be the first to hug my father.  I relented and gave her that privilege.  I think this was the most decisive and happy moment of our lives.

On that very first night, there was a terrible air-raid that entirely flattened Potsdam.  It was my first experience with bombings.  Finally, the sirens sounded telling us it was safe to leave the air-raid shelter.  Upon reaching street-level, we walked to one of the main arteries which was entirely engulfed in flames on both sides of the street with a strong wind blowing. . .we did not yet know most of the city had been destroyed.  When the planes came the following night to finish the job, I remember sitting in my mother’s lap so scared I could not control my trembling.  The next day or the day after that, my father said, ‘we cannot remain here, or we will be killed.’  We had a friend who lived in the country, so we loaded our backpacks and left Potsdam.

I don’t remember how many hours or even days before the Reich crumbled.  I can’t even remember any celebration, because right away came, first the Polish soldiers, then the Russians, with their built-up hatred, bent on revenge for all the German Army had done to them.  Fortunately, neither my mother nor I was raped, but in both cases, it was a close call.

But I better stop here because I try to erase these terrible memories.”

Figure 9. 1893 map of Silesia with all the places circled near and where Agnes lived in Silesia before and during WWII

 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The “Heim ins Reich” was a foreign policy pursued by Adolf Hitler during World War II, beginning in 1938. The aim of Hitler’s initiative was to convince all Volksdeutsche (ethnic Germans) who were living outside Nazi Germany that they should strive to bring these regions “home” into Greater Germany, but also, relocate from territories that were not under German control, following the conquest of Poland in accordance with the Nazi-Soviet pact.  The Heim ins Reich manifesto targeted areas ceded in Versailles to the newly reborn nation of Poland, as well as other areas that were inhabited by significant German populations such as the Sudetenland, Danzig, and the south-eastern and north-eastern regions of Europe after October 6, 1939.

[2]  The Jungmädelbund (“Young Girls’ League”) was one of the original two sections of the “League of German Girls” or “Band of German Maidens” [German: Bund Deutscher Mädel, abbreviated as BDM], the girls’ wing of the Nazi Party youth movement, the Hitler Youth.  The Young Girls’ League was for girls aged 10 to 14, and the League proper for girls aged 14 to 18.  In 1938, a third section was introduced, the BDM-Werk Glaube und Schönheit (“Faith and Beauty Society”), which was voluntary and open to girls between the ages of 17 and 21.

[3]  B.D.M. (Bund Deutscher Mädel), as explained above, was the girls’ wing of Hitler Youth for girls aged 14 to 18.

[4]  Martin Niemöller (1892-1984) was a German theologian and Lutheran pastor, and was best known for his opposition to the Nazi regime during the 1930’s.  While he was initially a supporter of Adolf Hitler, he became a co-founder of the “Confessing Church,” which opposed the Nazification of German Protestant Churches.  Interestingly, while Martin Niemöller is by no means a household name, a poem he wrote, multiple variations of which exist, will be extremely familiar to many readers:

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

The New England Holocaust Memorial in Boston, Massachusetts has an engraving of one of the many poetic versions of Niemöller’s poem on location.

[5] “Confessing Church” [German: Bekennende Kirche], as explained above, opposed the Nazification of German Protestant Churches.

[6] Students of history will know that the Nuremberg Laws in 1935 banned marriages between Jews and non-Jews, and that Nazis designed policies to encourage intermarried couples to divorce.  However, even among intermarried couples, there was a hierarchy, at least for a period.  Families with an Aryan husband and baptized children were part of the category classified as “privileged mixed marriages”; they received better rations and the Jewish wife did not have to wear the yellow Star of David.  Although Agnes was baptized, on her birth certificate it is written: “I bring to your attention that this child had Jewish ancestors.”  So, even though Agnes was born in 1927, as readers well-know, anti-Semitism existed long before the Nazis came to power.