Note: In this brief post, I continue to explore the lives and fates of Josef and Rosalie Pauly’s nine children and their spouses, in this instance, Dr. Walter Riezler and his second wife, Edith Riezler née Pauly.
In 2012, I was invited to deliver a talk by the Muzeum Zulawskie in Nowy Dwór Gdański, Poland, formerly known as Tiegenhof, Free State of Danzig, where my Jewish-born father, Dr. Otto Bruck, was a dentist between 1932 and 1937. Following my presentation, discussing my father’s association with Tiegenhof and the photos he took there and in surrounding areas, copies of which I’ve donated to the museum, I was interviewed by a journalist from Pomerania, Mr. Andrzej Kasperek. (Figure 1) Ever since, Andrzej and I have periodically stayed in touch. Andrzej had once expressed an interest in writing about my father and his two siblings and their disparate fates during the Nazi era. (Figure 2) Thus, it came as no surprise when in 2018, Andrzej requested permission to use some of my father’s photos for an upcoming book. Naturally, I agreed to his entreaty.
Recently, I received a copy of Andrzej’s book, entitled “Mój Płaski Kraj Żuławy” (My Flat Zulawy Country). An entire chapter of the book is devoted to my father and his two siblings. While I neither read nor speak Polish, I can tell Andrzej’s chapter is based on stories I’ve posted to my Blog. In perusing the rest of the book, a photo of one of Vincent van Gogh’s famous landscapes painted in 1888 in Arles, France, entitled “Langlois Bridge at Arles” (Figure 3), caught my attention. I presume the author included this image in his book because it is reminiscent of the drawbridges one sees in Żuławy, the nearly flat delta area of the Vistula River in northern Poland.
The van Gogh painting in Andrzej Kasperek’s book is remarkably like a van Gogh landscape Edith Pauly’s husband, Dr. Walter Riezler, acquired on behalf of the Muzeum Narodowe w Szczecinie, the National Museum, Szczecin [formerly Stettin, Germany], as its first director there between 1910 and 1933. (Figure 4) To remind readers, Edith Pauly was the seventh of my great-great-uncle and aunt Josef and Rosalie Pauly’s nine children (Figure 5), and the second of Dr. Riezler’s wives. She was a singing teacher, a mezzo-soprano. (Figure 6)
Edith’s husband, Dr. Walter Riezler (Figure 7), was an eminent classical archaeologist, art historian, design theoretician, museologist, and musicologist. As a student in Munich, he tutored the precocious son of his archaeology professor Dr. Adolf Furtwängler, Wilhelm, who would go on to become one of the greatest symphonic and operatic conductors of the 20th Century. It is not my intention to relate the biography of this accomplished man, but merely to focus on a few things about his life that touch on subjects of broader historical interest or family history; readers can learn more about Dr. Riezler by going to German Wikipedia (Wikipedia.de), entering Riezler’s name, and translating the text.
The van Gogh painting acquired by Dr. Riezler as Director of the National Museum in Szczecin is contemporaneous with a series of landscapes rendered by van Gogh between 1888-1889 when the artist lived in Arles, in the southern part of France. The title of the painting acquired by Riezler is entitled “A Lane Near Arles.” It depicts a lane surrounded by trees running between the fields outside Arles, with a yellow house at the side of the lane. (Figure 8)
Riezler’s acquisition of van Gogh’s painting comported with his view of a modern art collection. From the time of his arrival in Szczecin in April 1910, Riezler was involved in the development of a collection of modern art, especially 19th century paintings and contemporary artistic trends, such as expressionism and New Objectivity. Riezler felt it necessary to focus on the acquisition of works of art that were a representative collection of the latest trends that would unite the present with the past; he felt this approach would result in one of the best collections nationally and would attract art lovers and researchers from around the globe. Riezler even orchestrated the sale of one of the museum’s most valuable works, the painting of a man by the Dutch painter Frans Hals, because the painting did not fit into the museum’s scope of collections; he compensated for it by purchasing other works of great importance. Knowing the adverse reaction this painting’s sale would provoke in opposition circles, he kept it confidential at the time. It seems clear that throughout his tenure as museum director, Riezler was opposed by conservative German artists who, among other things, critiqued his allegedly anti-patriotic love of French art. Ultimately, all this would lead to his downfall when the Nazis rose to power, even though he was not Jewish. He was accused by the Nazis of “cultural Bolshevism” (German: Kulturbolschewismus) which led to his leave of absence in April 1933.
I confess, I’d never previously heard this term. I’ve come to learn it is sometimes specifically referred to as “art Bolshevism” or “music Bolshevism,” and “was a term widely used by critics in Nazi Germany to denounce modernist movements in the arts.” What makes this issue so fascinating is that the Nazis successfully linked the expansion of modern art, which had roots going back to the 1860’s, to the October 1917 Revolution in Russia. Though these events occurred at around the same time, the connection between modernism and Bolshevism was tenuous at best. What they appear to have had in common is that both existed at the same unsettled time in European history, and the fact that some artists drew inspiration from revolutionary ideals. In Mein Kampf, Hitler devotes a chapter to the association of modernism and Bolshevism. With Hitler’s ascension to power, the Nazis denounced several contemporary styles, including abstract art and impressionism.
While Riezler’s supporters maintained the accusation he was a cultural Bolshevist was completely groundless, citing the diversified acquisitions during his tenure as museum Director, the Nazis deprived him of his roles as editor and museum director, so he retired. He settled outside Munich, studying musicology, and, in 1936, published a book on the works of Ludwig von Beethoven, and left an unfinished manuscript on Schubert upon his death.
One family-related matter of interest is that Dr. Walter Riezler was good friends with Klaus Pauly, whom I’ve discussed in previous posts. Readers will recall that Klaus developed the detailed Pauly family tree I’ve often referred to. Both Dr. Riezler and Klaus were lovers of music and would often attend musical performances together in Munich. Returning from a performance one evening, a car struck the vehicle they were riding in, and Dr. Riezler was killed on impact. He died on 22nd January 1965.
As to the van Gogh painting Dr. Walter Riezler acquired on behalf of the National Museum, Szczecin during his tenure as director there, it is now owned by the Pomeranian State Museum in Greifswald (Mecklenburg, West Pomerania), Germany, 105 miles distant. Likely, the painting was moved to this quiet civil servant town during the war on account of Allied bombing of the shipyards located in Szczecin, and there it’s remained. Apparently, the Polish authorities feared that by requesting its return after the war from the government of the German Democratic Republic, of which Greifswald was a part, this might in turn prompt a request by the Germans for the return of works of art relocated to Poland from places like Berlin, Dresden, and Leipzig during the war. (Personal communication: Paul Newerla)
REFERENCE
Kubiak, Szymon Piotr and Dariusz Kacprzak (editors)
2013 Katalog Der Ausstellung, Zum Hundertjährigen Eröffnungsjubiläum, Des Hauptgebäudes Des Nationalmuseums Stettin. Szczecin.
Note: This post is about a fascinating man originally named Isaak Edward Schnitzer, born into a middle-class German Jewish family from Silesia, who adopted a Turkish mode of living and took the Turkish name, Mehmed Emin Pascha. I discovered he is related by marriage to the Pauly family about whom I’ve recently been writing.
Several of my recent Blog posts have dealt with the tragic circumstances surrounding the fate of several descendants of my great-great-uncle and aunt, Josef and Rosalie Pauly, during the Nazi Era. This post deals not with their descendants but rather with one of Josef’s ancestors by marriage, an exotic individual who turns out to have been rather well-known.
An elaborate hand-drawn Stammbaum, family tree, developed by one of Josef and Rosalie’s grandsons, Klaus Pauly (Figure 1), was given to me in 2015 by Peter Pauly (Figure 2) and Andi Pauly (Figure 3), two of Klaus’ sons; this tree provides an enormous amount of detailed information that’s allowed me to better understand the relationship between different branches of my extended family, and is a resource I repeatedly consult. Re-examining this tree, I found a name Klaus Pauly had jotted down that was assuredly not Jewish, “Emin Pascha,” including a notation of the name “Eduard Schnitzer” (Figure 4); Emin Pascha was merely identified as the brother of the second wife of one of Josef Pauly’s (Figure 5) uncles, Jakob Pauly, the wife’s only identifier being her maiden name, Schnitzer. The notation seemed out-of-place in the Stammbaum, so I did a Google query on Emin Pascha (Figure 6), and was rewarded with a flurry of information about this fascinating character, part of which provided the inspiration for the title of this Blog post.
According to what I found on the Internet, Emin was born Isaak Eduard Schnitzer in Oppeln, Silesia, Germany [today: Opole, Poland] on March 28, 1840, into a middle-class German Jewish family; they moved when Emin was about 2 to the not-to-distant town of Neisse, Germany [today: Nysa, Poland]. (Figure 7) His father died in Neisse in 1845, whereupon his mother remarried a Christian, and she and her offspring were baptized Lutherans.
Neither Emin’s father nor mother’s names were mentioned in any of the sources I examined. But, with specific dates and places in hand, I turned to ancestry.com to see whether I could find their names, and, if possible, confirm Emin’s biography; there I unearthed a family tree identifying Louis Schnitzer and Pauline Schnitzer née Schweitzer as Emin’s parents, along with the name of a younger sister, Melanie Schnitzer (Figure 8), born a year after Emin. While not specifically named in the Pauly family tree, Melanie is clearly the second wife of Jakob Pauly, one of Josef Pauly’s uncles. (Figures 9-10)
Not satisfied with merely confirming the names and relationships of Emin’s next-of-kin, I became curious whether I could find any of their names in on-line Jewish records, so I turned to famlysearch.org, the website of the Mormon Church. For those unfamiliar with this database, it is possible to search for Jewish records by place starting on the portal page by selecting “Catalog,” entering the name of the town (Figure 11), hitting “Search,” selecting “Jewish Records,” if any, and finally clicking on “Matrikel” (“register”) for whatever time period you’re interested in; the next screen will list any microfilm available for the place you’ve selected. Any microfilm with a camera icon on the far right can be viewed from home, and pages downloaded.
I was able to locate Jewish records on microfilm for the two Silesian towns related to Emin, Oppeln and Neisse. Astonishingly, I found the register pages for Oppeln showing that Emin’s father, Louis Schnitzer, had one child born on March 29, 1840 (Figure 12), obviously Emin (Eduard), then another a year later March 28, 1841 (Figure 13), obviously Melanie. In the Jewish records for Neisse, the nearby town where Emin’s family moved when he was two years old, I discovered that Louis and Pauline Schnitzer were married on June 26, 1839 (Figure 14), and that Louis died on February 24, 1845 (Figure 15); because the Neisse marriage register also mentions Oppeln, it’s not entirely clear in which town the parents were married. Regular readers of my Blog will know I’m never entirely satisfied until I run-to-ground any source documents I’m able to find, ergo my exhaustive search.
Readers can click on the hyperlinks related to Emin to find out more about his exceptional life and career but let me briefly summarize. Emin was educated at universities in Breslau, Königsberg, and Berlin, qualifying as a physician in 1864; for reasons that are unclear, he was disqualified from practice, and left Germany for Istanbul with the intention of entering the Ottoman service. In 1865 he became a medical officer in the Turkish army. He was linguistically talented, and while in the service added Turkish, Albanian and Greek to his repertoire of European languages.
After joining the staff of the Ottoman governor of northern Albania, around 1870, Emin adopted a Turkish way of living and took a Turkish name. In 1876, Emin became a medical officer in Khartoum, as a staff member of the British governor-general of the Sudan, Gen. Charles Gordon. In 1878, Gordon appointed him governor of Equatoria in the southern Sudan, today South Sudan, operating out of Lado. He was an enlightened administrator and brought an end to slavery in the region he administered.
In 1881, Emin was forced to withdraw southwards from Lado on account of a revolt led by Muhammad Ahmad, a mystical religious leader who tapped into widespread resentment among the Sudanese population towards the oppressive policies of the Turko-Egyptian rulers of Equatoria. The “Emin Pascha Relief Expedition,” led by Henry Morton Stanley, of Stanley and Livingstone fame, was forced to come to Emin’s rescue in April 1888 (Figure 16); Emin Pascha and Stanley spent many uneasy months together in argument and indecision, and ultimately Stanley left without being able to bring Emin home in triumph. Following Stanley’s departure, Emin entered the service of the German East Africa Company and was murdered on the 23rd October 1892, in the Congo Free State [today: Democratic Republic of the Congo] by Arab slave traders, among whom he’d made many enemies for his views on slavery, while on an expedition to lakes in the interior of that country. (Figure 17)
Clearly, Emin Pascha, was not a blood relative of mine, but as I research and write about my own family, I occasionally come across compelling characters who’ve left their trace in the historical record such as Emin. As a former archaeologist, I find brushes with people of renown the inspiration for Blog stories, and I’m drawn to chronicle such encounters. And, in the process, I sometimes find myself learning about historical events or places of which I know little, but which still find their way into today’s news, such as the South Sudan and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, for reasons that may partially have their origins in the Colonial period. As an example, the introduction of sleeping sickness into Uganda is attributed by scholars to the movement of Emin and his followers; prior to the 1890’s, sleeping sickness was unknown in Uganda, but it is theorized that the tsetse fly was probably brought by Emin from the Congo territory.
Note: This post provides the answer posed to readers in Post 49 challenged to find the death register listing of my grandfather among the civil registry records of the Landesarchiv Berlin.
Most readers will never have any reason to access the Landesarchiv Berlin civil registry records (i.e., births: 1874-1907; marriages: 1874-1937; deaths: 1874-1987), so I expect few if any of you attempted to locate the name of my grandfather Felix Bruck in Berlin’s Sterberegister, death records, unless you enjoy challenges. That said, this turned out to be more difficult than I intended. Let me review for readers the information I provided in Post 49, then explain why ferreting out my grandfather’s death listing was not as straight-forward as I may have led readers to believe.
Figure 1 is the scan I provided of my grandfather’s death certificate (the archaic German word “Todesschein” is used, but the modern German term is “Totenschein”). The Todesschein includes the following information:
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.
Theoretically, all the information readers needed to locate my grandfather’s death register listing was provided, so no sleight-of-hand was perpetrated. Some readers may have assumed that because my grandfather lived with my grandmother, Else Bruck née Berliner, in Berlin-Wilmersdorf at Düsseldorfer Straße 24, his death would have been registered in the Standesamt, civil register office, that today encompasses the Berlin boroughs of Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf; this would be a reasonable assumption, and where I myself started. Unfortunately, I did not find my grandfather listed in the 1927 Sterberegister for the neighborhood of Wilmersdorf.
I remind readers of the situation I discussed in Post 49 of Dr. Ernst Neisser, husband of my first cousin twice removed, who attempted to commit suicide on October 1, 1942 with his first cousin, Luise Neisser; while Luise was successful and died that day, Ernst lingered in a coma until October 4th. Luise’s death was registered in the Standesamt -Charlottenburg where she and Ernst shared an apartment, but since Ernst was taken to the Jüdische Krankenhaus Berlin, Berlin Jewish Hospital, and succumbed there, his death was recorded in the neighborhood of Wedding in the Berlin borough of Mitte where the hospital is located, in an altogether different civil register office, in Standesamt-Wedding.
I began to suspect a similar circumstance may have arisen with my grandfather Felix Bruck, that he died in a different Berlin borough than he lived; thus, I re-examined his Todesschein, death certificate, which I fortunately have a copy of. The stamp on the certificate, which I’ve circled, reads “Berlin IX.” (Figure 2) If readers noticed this, like me, they may have shrugged it off as being irrelevant since it does not correspond with the name of any Berlin borough, either past or present. However, in fact, this is the key to solving “the challenge.” By typing in “Berlin” in the search box Standesamt on the Landesarchiv Berlin portal page, a pull-down menu listing 13 Berlin neighborhoods, plus additional subdivisions within some, appears. Here you select “Berlin IX” and Sterberegister, press “Suchen (i.e., Search),” and the death register for year 1927 is among those listed. Scroll down to the surnames beginning with the letter “B,” and here’s where you’ll find my grandfather’s name recorded under the month of June. (Figures 3a-b)
I can hear readers asking themselves two questions, “how would I have known to check for the ‘borough’ Berlin when no such named borough existed?” and “what records do the listed Berlin civil registration offices ‘I-XIII’ contain?” These, at least, are the two questions I asked myself. Not knowing the answers to them, I turned to one of my German cousins, and his explanation allowed me to understand the significance of these records and make connections between historical events I’d previously failed to see as related.
To understand the meaning of “Berlin IX” found on my grandfather’s death certificate, it is necessary to briefly review the history of Prussia and Berlin between 1874 and 1920. The German Empire was established in 1871, and Prussia was by far the largest and most influential state in the new German Empire; Berlin was the capital of Prussia, and henceforth became the capital of the German Empire. As previously discussed, in 1920, the “Greater Berlin Act” incorporated dozens of suburban cities, villages and estates around Berlin into an expanded city; the act increased the area of Berlin from 66 to 883 km2 (25 to 341 sq. mi). Between 1874 and 1920, the old city of Berlin was composed of 13 districts (Figure 4), each of which had a Standesamt, civil register office, including Berlin IX. The old Berlin corresponds roughly to the current borough of “Mitte.” (Figure 5) The civil register offices for these original, older Berlin districts recorded vital events until 1937-38, whereupon they were recorded by Standesamt offices in the then newly constituted boroughs of Mitte, Tiergarten, and Wedding, until the latest reorganization of the Berlin boroughs in 2001 that established the present, expanded borough of Mitte.
“Berlin IX” meant the so-called “Spandauer Vorstadt” (Figure 6), a suburb of Berlin with the name Spandau, or “Spandau Revier” (“revier” means territory) as is written on my grandfather’s death certificate. Spandauer Vorstadt (“vorstadt” means suburb) should not be confused with the outlying Berlin borough of Spandau, of which it was never a part.
The year 1874 was important in the history of Prussia. As discussed in the original Post 49, this year saw the establishment of the Standesämter, civil registration offices, for recording births, marriages, and deaths. These registry offices were the result of the Kulturkampf, the conflict between the German imperial government and the Roman Catholic Church from about 1871 to 1887, predominantly over the control of educational and ecclesiastical appointments. The German imperial government had the dream of breaking the influence of the Roman Catholic Church in the school system and in everyday life of individuals, and thereby compelled that births, marriages and deaths be registered as civil rather than religious “events.” With the establishment of the civil registration offices, the churches and other religious entities lost these functions.
I don’t expect readers to recall this but I discussed the Kulturkampf in a much earlier post (Post 12) in the context of explaining how I was finally able to locate the birth certificates for my father, born in 1907 in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland] and his sister, born there in 1904, only when I examined the civil records at the “Archiwum Państwowe W Katowicach Oddzial W Raciborzu (State Archives in Katowice Branch in Racibórz),” where these are archived. The important thing for interested readers to understand is that after about 1874, one must turn to civil registration offices to find vital records for one’s ancestors who resided in the German Empire.
For readers who have a need to search the Berlin civil register records, you will find it challenging, time-consuming, and frustrating. Still, it can be rewarding. In recent months, I’ve discovered 12 historic certificates involving 14 individuals related or connected to my family. In five other instances where I have credible knowledge a vital event took place in Berlin, I’ve been unable to find any record of the event. For births, I would expect them to have occurred in the city, village or estate where the parents resided, but with marriages and deaths, they could easily have taken place in a different town or borough than where the people resided, making them much more difficult to track down.
Since publishing Post 49, I was contacted by a woman from Mexico City whose Jewish father fled Germany in the 1930’s and had his citizenship revoked by the Nazis; the father is trying to re-establish his German citizenship and needs to track down vital documents for himself and his deceased parents to bolster his claim. Despite having very precise knowledge where in Berlin-Wilmersdorf her father and grandparents lived and when the grandparents got married, I’ve been unable to help this lady find relevant historic documents. Because of privacy laws, birth certificates after 1907 are only available to immediate family, so the family will need to contact the civil register office for Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf to obtain this document for the father born in 1931; since I was unable to locate the grandparents’ 1930 marriage register listing, the family will also be compelled to request a search for this document by this office.
This post allows readers to quickly retrieve all previous Blog publications, and easily see which ones I’ve written postscripts to based on newly acquired information.
“Jetpack,” a plug-in for the WordPress software package I use for my website, tracks the number of “All-time views” and tells me which posts are the most popular. It is clear readers are most interested in first-hand accounts, letters, and diaries of the people and tragic historical events I write about. Equally compelling to readers seem to be stories where I’ve worked out the fate of people my father and ancestors were acquainted with, or managed to locate their descendants. As readers can imagine, first-hand accounts are hard to come by because few exist, or they were destroyed during the war. Regardless, because most are handwritten in hard-to-decipher German, which I don’t speak or read, I rely on a network of relatives and friends for translations and interpretations; I am most grateful for their generous assistance.
As previously explained to readers, my digital “footprint” is intentionally small, so the number of visits to my Blog is correspondingly bounded. However, given the great effort that’s gone into maintaining and expanding the website, I hope by consolidating links in one easy-to-access place, I might remind readers of the wide range of topics I’ve written about and increase the number of “clicks” on my posts.
Remark: This post marks two milestones, my 50th Blog post (not including postscripts) and two years since I launched the Bruck Family History Blog. I apologize to readers for the length of this Blog post but since it is a diary of roughly the last two months of my relatives’ lives during the Nazi Era, I want to present it in its entirety without interruption.
Note: This is the moving story of Dr. Adolf Guttentag and Helene Guttentagnée Pauly (Figure 1), my first cousin twice removed and her husband, describing their final months in Berlin in 1942 before they were ordered by the Nazis to present themselves for deportation to Theresienstadt but instead elected to end their lives.
For the benefit of their son, Dr. Otto Guttentag (Figure 2), who had managed to immigrate with his first wife Dorothee Guttentag née Haken (Figure 3) to America in December 1933 after the Nazis rose to power, my first cousin twice removed and her husband , Dr. Adolf Guttentag and Helene Guttentag née Pauly, who were unable to escape wrote a diary for their son. (Figure 4) Not wanting the story to be exclusively about their final months, they also captured in writing things they wanted their son to remember about them and memories of their earlier lives. Given their fate—they committed suicide together in October 1942—the story is tinged with bitter-sweetness.
In the course of updating my family tree on ancestry.com, I learned about Adolf and Helene’s son, Otto Guttentag, and discovered he came to America. I located his obituary and found out he passed away in 1992, leaving three grown children behind. With more forensic work, I was able to connect with one of Otto’s children, Christoph Guttentag (Figure 5), who told me about his grandparents’ diary which I was able to locate on-line.
Following Adolf and Helene Guttentag’s deaths, the diary was salvaged by one of their neighbors and eventually made its way into the hands of their son. Otto’s second wife, Erika Guttentag, lovingly and impeccably translated the document into English, and the family donated the original diary and the translation to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. What follows is Erika’s translation of Adolf and Helene’s diary along with her numerical footnotes in parentheses. I have added some alphabetically-ordered footnotes in red, shown images of and/or historic documents related to some of the people mentioned, and provided some context where I thought that was useful. For obvious reasons I’ve made a concerted effort to keep my own “footprint” as small as possible.
Briefly, for orientation, Dr. Adolf Guttentag’s wife, Helene Guttentag née Pauly, was the sister of Margarethe Neisser née Pauly, married to Dr. Ernst Neisser (Figure 6), subject of Blog post 48. To remind readers, Margarethe suffered from depression and committed suicide in October 1941, while her husband and his first cousin, Luise Neisser, took their lives in October 1942 after they were given less than 24 hours to present themselves for deportation to Theresienstadt; Adolf’s diary mentions this event, and corroborates what Ernst Neisser’s daughter, Suse Vogel, wrote about it that was the subject of Blog post 48.
DIARY OF ADOLF GUTTENTAG (1942)
ON THE COVER OF THE NOTEBOOK: IF POSSIBLE, GET THIS LAST DIARY TO ‘OTTO E. GUTTENTAG, M.D. ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA’
August 22, 1942
Early in the summer of 1942 the possibility arose that we might be evacuated. Änne [1] has already been transported to Poland for heavy work. Now her mother [2] will be evacuated again, that is, for the third time. Rather large transports now occur at a rapid pace. A farewell letter to Otto and Dorothee [3], which I have deposited with Maria W. [4], describes in two notebooks, the general development of my family. In addition, I have decided to start making diary-type entries which show how we are, i.e., how our health is, how we spend our time, what else is going on, what we must expect, and what our plans are.
(This paper is so thin that I am using only one side so that it will be easier to read. I don’t just want to describe our misery to you but will write about other things for you to remember about your parents.)
After a lengthy pause I begin on
August 22, 1942
We were living in a pleasant boarding-house on Kurfürstendamm [A], from where we wrote to you. On October 1, 1941, we were forced by the authorities to leave this street. A colleague, who had become a friend and with whom Uncle Ernst [5] had consulted several times, had mentioned an unfurnished room where we could be housed and get our meals. (With difficulty and at emotional and material cost) we managed to get from Hirschberg[B] our basic furniture, necessary clothes and the barest mount of linens so that we could get established here. We have full board, i.e., all meals. The cleaning of the room is done primarily by us. The room is on the second floor, is about 4 x 5.5 meter squared [6] and has a balcony. In front of it is a big maple tree. We have planted beans on the balcony so that we are somewhat shielded from the rather unpleasant opposite side. In our room are my bed, a couch on which Mutti [7] sleeps, a wardrobe (our so-called “star” wardrobe because of the two inlaid stars; at Berliner Tor [8] it was in our bedroom); the big cabinet which used to be in Franz L.’s [9] study and now holds our dishes and linens; our Empire chest with the metal fittings that used to be in the dining room, and the desk which we had bought for Dorothee and then, unfortunately, were not allowed to send you. Everything is close together, but the room looks homey and the old, beautiful furniture still has its effect. In the middle of the room is a large mahogany table, 90 cm. in diameter, and around it four mahogany chairs that used to be in Frz. L.’s downstairs front room. In addition, we have two comfortable, upholstered chairs. This is how we have been living for close to 11 months. Because of the great distances all errands and visits are time-consuming, so Mutti is quite busy with errands even though she does not have to cook. However, since a number of relatives and friends are no longer here, our social contacts are getting fewer and fewer. Of course, you cannot expect that, because of increasing worry about the immediate future, we look any better, even though our nutrition is entirely adequate. With increasing age, I have become more detached and thus look at things to come with equanimity. My father was like that, I think, while the Pauly family has lost none of its spirit. It is fortunate for me that Mutti has kept her common sense (German: “Ueberlegung”) and her resoluteness. In the past several years my forgetfulness, distractibility and inability to concentrate have increased considerably. Thus, it is characteristic that I can read Homer and extract vocabulary but often cannot understand a new point of view. Thus, I can sometimes participate in a conversation and can give good medical advice, for which the others are often grateful. I have learned quite well to conceal some deficiency in comprehension. Thus, I am content, and I put up with these symptoms of old age and with my residual speech defect of 1932. How I wish that Mutti would look a little better! Her pallor surely is related to her vascular spasms which occur at every new worry and every frightening news. Her urine is free of E.u.Z. [C], as I could recently determine. She sleeps well; if only she allowed herself more rest!
As an introduction to this diary I have described to you how we live since I have not been able to write to you in many months.
While I am at home much of the time, reading, helping Mutti as best I can, Mutti runs errands. What makes it hard is the fact that we are permitted to shop for only one certain hour. [D] There is no point in describing to you all the limitations dictated to us. Should you want to know, you will be able to find out all about them later—but not now. In the beginning Mutti was able to visit with many relatives and friends, as many of the Poseners [E] had moved here. Now almost all of them are gone. Correspondence is further limited because many cannot be written to. It is painful that, for the time being, we will lose all contact with Ellchen (Figure 7), who will be evacuated within days. None of the first cousins are any longer here: one, Else [F] (Figure 8) is in Cuba, another is in Theresienstadt near the Saxonian border in Bohemia, the fortress assigned to receive evacuees. So far there are no news about them because at this time the post office does not process mail. Another cousin, Lotte M. [G] (Figure 9) lives in Sweden with her son and daughter-in-law and knows several Germans who are now living there. We are convinced that somebody, perhaps Georg, has written to you. We were told he had, but he did not receive an answer. He told us that he would write you again, perhaps some time this month, i.e., August ’42. Our Swiss friend, who sends us a note once in a while, wrote that she had received a letter from you. That was in the spring of ’42. However, she only reported—probably intentionally—that you are well and busy. So far, we have not yet tried to write via the Red Cross; we believe that you have not done so either, for good reasons. A message, which may consist of 25 words, has always taken 3 months to reach us. Through this channel it would have taken just as long, but we could have written more, if the mail goes through at all. [H]
We are home alone. A physician came in for a moment. He is a well-known neurologist who has written a comprehensive book on encephalitis, which Ernst [10] translated into English last year. He had a respected position but, as so many, had to give it up. He came to tell us, unfortunately, that he had suddenly been informed that he had to make a list of assets, etc.; that meant that he would soon be evacuated. In spite of extreme malnutrition, blindness in one eye and poor vision in the other (all probably tuberculosis), he seems to be scheduled for transport to the East!
Maria’s [Maria Wundsch] husband had sent us a number of papers concerning his fishery work. They are of zoological as well as economic importance. I have read them carefully because I had no idea what there is in the world outside of medicine. We have sent those papers to Mutti’s brother [11] who, like another friend, is very much interested in the development and utilization of fish in the lakes of the Havel river in the province of Brandenburg. A few days from now Maria’s husband will inspect a lake there. As for us, we cannot initiate any such contacts because they would endanger others and ourselves.
There s a magazine in Germany: “Research and Progress: Journal of German Science and Technology,” organ of the State Research Council. Founded and edited by Karl Kerkhof. Published three times a month. RM 3.00 quarter. Berlin-NW7, Unter den Linden 8. From bookstores through Joh. Ambrosius Barth, Leipzig. Maria’s husband gave me the 1941 issues to read, and I shall quote any articles I find. The first one: “20 Years of German Scientific Research” by Ministerialdirektor Professor Mentzel is an excerpt from a “Festrede” (i.e., speech) of the Emergency Association of German Science. However, like other papers, it is too scholarly for me because it presumes too much knowledge. About medicine it says that the State Research Council will emphasize new fields of research: heritage and race research, population politics, colonial medicine, and cancer research.
Monday, August 24, 1942
Last night, at 1:20am an attack of arrhythmia without recognizable reason. By taking ½ tablet of Theominal I slept more or less through the night, took 2 tablets Cardiotrat, without benefit. Quiet was not restored until after a bowel movement. Duration pf the attack: 7 hours. Of the drugs Landiotorin (?) contains convallaria maialis, caffeine, and . . .landiotrat, benzoicum, Miridin, Barbitursäure, Dimethylyanthin (?) After a long period of no side effects of Theominal, I observed muscle cramps after each use, again today in the tibialis anterior muscle.
Tuesday, August 25, 1942
Yesterday I stayed home and leafed through an old book. Occasionally, famous natural scientists described their travel experiences and elicited much interest. I remember, for instance, reading travel descriptions by Ernst Haeckel, before he was so famous. He could write very appealingly and vividly. This time it was a well-known botanist, Professor (Ordinarius) Strasburger of Bonn, probably working in Bonn, judging from the foreword. He published “Excursions on the Riviera” in 1895. I am quoting, among other observations, the following botanical remarks, which may be of interest to you. “In marked contrast to these fragrant plants, there is another, Lauraceae, an evergreen tree thriving here, whose name ‘Oreodaphne california,’ also states its origin. In gardens it is often called ‘Laurus regalis.’ In appearance it indeed resembles a laurel, but when one rubs one of its leaves between the fingers it gives off a volatile oil. Even the smallest amount of it greatly irritates the mucous membranes of the olfactory organs. In California, one tries not to stay close to such a tree if the wind blows from that direction, because the volatile oils with which it is laden, cause prolonged sneezing.”
I hope some day you will see these notes after all and perhaps check out those statements. I was at the Riviera once, as a student, with Alfr. B. As usual, we had laboriously saved our month allowances in order to travel. If I had known this book by Strasburger at that time I would have learned more about the beauty of this coastline, unique in Europe. With Mutti I was at the Italian Riviera only once, to Riviera di Levante (incidentally I also went once with Franz Leonhard), whose beauty is similar. But the French Riviera (according to the above-mentioned book) is charming because of the Maritime Alps shimmering to the northeast (which, to the south, turn into the Esterel Massif). We didn’t get to take this trip, or to parts of Switzerland, which I wanted to show Mutti. Of course, Mutti has been to the Mediterranean several times, the last time to Marseille when we visited Provence and stayed a while. Naturally, we have very beautiful postcards from this trip. The pictures of nature and the reproductions of the astonishing achievements of the Romans are part of my often-mentioned collection. The trip to Provence is one of our unforgettable memories. It was our last trip, I believe.
Thursday, August 27, 1942
The first hot day yesterday; so far, the summer has been mostly cool with cloudy skies. After a little walk to buy bread I was rather tired. Around 1 o’clock at night we were awakened by sirens. We dressed, got all our documents ready (copy of the testament, burial spot including receipt, wish to be cremated, etc.) as well as clothes for transport, also all medicines with morphine Entodal (?)[I] -Scopolamine syringe and sufficient Veronal, and waited. Just one hour later the all-clear signal sounded. We went to bed, slept until morning and got up at the usual time, well rested.
Friday, August 28, 1942
Goethe’s birthday. He was born at noon, as mentioned in “Truth and Poetry (Dichtung und Warheit),” I believe. The older I get the more I value Goethe, for he was a noble man which, to be sure, I am not. My shortcomings become ever clearer to me, but I also recognize much that can be explained medically. But I am not important enough to others to get into it. Goethe did not consider himself perfect either; he too recognized his faults. I can’t remember the verse he wrote about it so I can’t quote it. However, he always wanted the best; he was, in the highest sense, moral. “Whoever strives with all his might, him we can save” etc. (“Faust” end of Part II)
August 31, 1942
On August 23rd I told you about the neurologist who expected to be evacuated. He could not face the prospect of being sent to an old people’s home or to be deported to Poland, so he took his life yesterday. Like many, many others, he did not want to go on living because he would have to give up what little freedom we all still have, and he no longer had an opportunity to contribute and subordinate himself (sic). Many face this choice, especially older people, to which group we also belong—I at almost 74, Mutti correspondingly younger. This would be the decision to make: would it be possible to leave Germany at the end of the war, move in with you, without means, but perhaps able to earn a little something that could make life in your home easier. If later on that is not permitted, the best scenario would be to be put in an old people’s home, where, of course, only the most basic necessities of life would be permitted. They [the homes] are different in different areas, some are in the barracks of an old fortress in Bohemia, others in villages in Poland. Because of the uncertainty about their fate many older people decide to end their lives, especially those who cannot hope to be taken in by members of their families abroad once the war is over. These, then, are the options: During the war nobody gets out of Germany. If the outcome of the war is favorable for Germany, some [of us] will have to continue to live in a ghetto—whatever its form. Some could emigrate at the expense of others if that should be permitted after the end of war. These are the questions all face who can lose the right to stay in their apartments at any time, because in that case they have to get ready for evacuation. If we lose our room, we, too, have to make that decision. If the war ends unfavorably for Germany, nobody who is considered non-Aryan will stay here, if they should still be alive.
September 2, 1942
(This day was observed as a holiday until the World War because it was seen as the founding of the Empire after the French army, being surrounded by Molkte’s strategy, had to surrender.)
I hope that you can understand what I have written, although I have written somewhat out of sequence. The reason is that I can only write for short periods of time. Meanwhile, I get more and more sad news about others, which move us deeply. Again and again I am faced with the question: Shall I, or shall I not, take Veronal and Scopolamine-Entodal (?) and end my life on the day I receive notice of evacuation? My first concern is for Mutti; if she wanted it I would do it immediately; but if she had hopes of seeing you again some time, it would, of course, be sad if I didn’t make it too. Thus, the question gradually comes to these alternatives: If one believes that the war will end soon in a way that we can get to you unscathed, one should ride it out; otherwise at least I should terminate my life. For years heart trouble prevented me from accomplishing anything. In the past few years it has gotten somewhat better so that, with light medication, I can do more. However, in the present hot weather it is doubtful if I could stand deportation to Theresienstadt without heart trouble that could lead to other problems. For two or three weeks I have had edemas in my ankles, first in the right ankle, and eight days later, somewhat less, in the left ankle. Liver and spleen are enlarged. E in the urine 0:ZO RR 122, measured today. The edemas cause no discomfort at all. I remember that at the physical examination in the military varicose veins were noted on my instep. They were not particularly pronounced; otherwise, I have no varicose veins at all.
September 4, 1942
Two more families are gone. I knew one of them by name from Breslau. She is related to Else M. [12] and lived inKrummhübel, Riesengebirge for a few years. After she had to leave there she lived in Berlin for a few months. Now this family has been picked up and deported head over heels; they don’t tell where to. As usual, any contact with Theresienstadt is impossible. Thus, we don’t know what happened to Ellchen, either. Mail is not forwarded. What cruelty!
The other family is related to Mutti, the parents of both women were cousins, I believe. The family is still here, but the first step, the initial registration, has been taken. The family is greatly affected, since the husband is paralyzed in both legs. He suffers from stiffening of both hip joints (diagnosis not entirely clear); his wife, after gynecological changes and elongated colon, has most severe constipation, etc. All those people are in their sixties—in other words 60-70 years old—and are not up to those hardships.
September 6, 1942
Frz. L.’s [Franz Leonhard] birthday. I wrote about him earlier and mentioned how close he felt to me and also to Otto. A man of above-average intellect, sharp and critical. His conflict was: Humanitarian ideals but a desire for great comfort. That explains his psychopathic conflict of always being tired and reluctant to work. In her old age his mother had a psychological disorder; all four sons died by suicide. (Figures 10a-b) [J]
Now it has been Ernst’s [Ernst Neisser] turn to supply his records. One never knows when the next step comes. Sooner or later one has to vacate the apartment and is evacuated, whether to the above-mentioned, small, enclosed city of Theresienstadt, to an old-age home, or even to Poland nobody knows. Usually there are no news from there; one does not know whether relatives are still alive or have died. So, one will always return to the question that I have discussed above: take the Veronal or not? The number of those who have nothing to expect from life grows.
September 7, 1942
For the first time since about a year we learned a little more about you through our friend [13]. She reports as follows: You have changed apartments. Do [Dorothee] has taken beautiful care of her garden and is very busy. The patients love her.
We always knew that she would make her way because of her love of people, her devotion to her profession and to her patients, and her incorruptible reliability. Such change of one’s life into another world must be hard to cope with, especially in the beginning. “Not all dreams come true” (“Nicht alle Bluetenträume reiften”) Thus we are especially grateful to her for becoming your loyal companion and probably helper in life. It was a great joy for us to hear about the content of this letter; if only such reports came more frequently! We are writing to Lu [14] to thank her.
September 8, 1942
I went to the post office today to mail the postcard to her and had to show my identification card (Adolf Jonas Israel G.).
September 19,1942
Day after day passes, and I don’t accomplish anything. However, this morning we unexpectedly received the order to complete our personal records. At the same time, we were given a number TH (Theresienstadt) N. 341/2. That means we will soon be evacuated to Theresienstadt. Thus, I won’t be likely to make many more entries in the diary. I will give Maria [Maria Wundsch] the two notebooks about my family, as I mentioned on pp. 1 and 2. Also, three notebooks of medical notes, bound in shiny paper. Perhaps No. 3 will be of use to both of you. In No. 2 I have made a list of new and suitable (sic) medicines that have come to my attention. Leaf through them; one or the other might be of use to you. In No. 1 I have written individual abstracts that are perhaps dated and antiquated but might contain this or that. In my father’s old album, I have extracted from Homer the words I didn’t know. To read it gave me great pleasure. The farther I got the better I retained the vocabulary that I used to know.
September 21, 1942
Today we received a postcard from Sweden, from Mrs. Elsa Meyring née Bauchwitz. (Figures 11a-b, 12a-b) [K] She is the only woman who several months ago was permitted to leave Poland, where she had been evacuated to from Stettin. She was taken in by friends in Stockholm. She hasn’t heard from Georg M. for a long time.
My edemas have decreased. I have requested an additional examination to see whether I am fit to be transported to Theresienstadt. The examinations are very strict; only severe cases are exempted. Therefore, I don’t doubt that I will have to go. If I could take my Veronal with me the decision would be easy. However, there are such strict regulations about what one is allowed to take along that, for me, the decision is very difficult. Only the bare necessities of life are allowed, and everything is examined. But so many old customs will have to be given up. Mutti tackles the job energetically, separating what is necessary for us from what others may be able to use. She is tirelessly busy and has new and good ideas that might be useful to others. She is of infinite kindness and she gives her time and effort to all who need it. When, unexpectedly, the news came that we had to fill out the first form, she turned deathly pale and covered with sweat as if she were to faint. But she was so composed and controlled that nobody could notice anything; she spoke calmly and amiably to the secretary, who plopped in as we had breakfast and who had to record our data. We then received a number: 341/2, which I already mentioned earlier. Many of our people already are in Theresienstadt, above all, I hope, Ellchen; certainly Dr. Gertrud Kant. [15] (Figure 13), plus her aunt by marriage, and a fair number of Posen and Breslau friends. I already mentioned that mail is prohibited; but occasionally the news has filtered through that, given the circumstances, life in that ghetto is tolerable. In Poland it is still as bad as it was when the Stettin people were the first to be transported there, even though the dreadful transport and other circumstances have somewhat improved. I often think what Männe [16] (Figure 14), my brother-in-law once wrote: “May you be spared such things!” In spite of his many faults and weaknesses he was always a kind person, with practical gifts and intelligence. I was greatly indebted to him in the beginning of my career because I had no talent to get started in life. He always gave me good advice, which I didn’t recognize until later. In later years our paths parted because he would not change any formerly acquired convictions. Complete integrity was his first priority.
Yesterday Maria [Maria Wundsch] was here for almost the entire day in order to help Mutti. She is the only person who has been of help and assistance to Mutti in our many moves: 1. From Stettin (Figures 15a-b) [L] to Hirschberg; 2. H(irschberg) move from No. 70 to No. 32; 3. From H. to Berlin-Kurfürstendamm; 4. from there to here; and 5. now for the evacuation. What a person! Other friends or relatives had failed us. Her convictions are strange, but one must respect her. Details of her religious point of view perhaps at some later time. Incomprehensible to me: even though she cannot adopt the Christian dogma, she nevertheless does not have to conform to certain rules of the Jewish religion, as for instance the total, 24-hour fasting on their highest holiday, Yom Kippur. So, she had come to discuss with Mutti how best to pack the modest number of authorized articles for the transport. We are allowed no more than 50 kg per person, i..e., one suitcase and a so-called bread bag—no back pack. Disallowed, among other things: watch, any glass or china (thus only a tin plate, a tin cup). Forbidden: fountain pen, knives of any kind! So, we are taking clothes and bed linens, toiletries, a heavy blanket and a pillow, plus provisions. Books are permitted. Money in the amount of 50 Mark for the trip is necessary. The rest of the money goes to the State and, to a certain extent, to the Jewish Cultural Community, so that it may be in a position to support any Jews without means who might still be in Germany. In my case, that is 25% of my assets, the rest goes to the German state. While writing this down any reasonable person will ask: is it still worthwhile to go on living, if one has a painless sleeping pill to go to sleep? Again and again the question is: Won’t this spook end soon and then there is hope for better days? The answer is very different for different people, depending on their disposition. An old gentleman of 87, completely fit and unmarried, departed from life voluntarily. He used to live in the room next to ours in our boarding house. He walked for hours each day, attended the theater and concerts surreptitiously (of course forbidden because he wore no David’s star at those times). When he recently learned he was to be evacuated, he said that he had nothing more to expect from life, since he had enjoyed many good things (travel, music) for many years. So, he took Veronal and was dead after a day-and-a-half. Another couple whom I mentioned above: he has two stiff legs and prostate trouble, she wears a pessary [M] that has to be changed every four weeks, has constipation which can only be relieved by very special, hard-to-obtain medicines, has a weak heart that is not strong enough without caffeine—they both want to see it through although they know that they can expect nothing from their sons. So, everybody struggles through to make his decision. The (Aryan) wife of our colleague and friend who lives in this house says she would not go along but put an end to it. Maria says: “By all means see it through, hide! Times change!” That requires substantial secret means (which we do not have), and one has to be younger so one can find suitable quarters by walking from place to place. Although we have seen others do it, it would be impossible for us to observe the various regulations—which you cannot know exactly—like ration cards (every little detail has been worked out; admirable how everything is organized in Germany), registration with the police including controls, etc.
Sunday, September 27, 1942
Our worries mount. Constant transports are taking the older people to Theresienstadt, the younger ones capable of work, to Poland. There living conditions are supposed to be much more disagreeable. Even so I vacillate back and forth whether I should go to Th. after all. Even transportation to the local collection center, where one is retained and checked for a few days, is unpleasant. You are driven there, with your hand luggage, in a moving van. There you get food, and there your luggage is examined. Very limited necessities of life are permitted. I just noticed I have already written about it. How best to pack everything takes, of course, a lot of deliberation. We will carry the hand luggage; the bags, containing bed linen and suits, go by rail. We have to leave the keys on the bags so what we take can be controlled. Whether everything will be there when we arrive is another question! Gradually I try to imagine such a life in Theresienstadt. We take only food and the most essential clothing and bed linens. A cot will presumably be provided. But of course, we are used to certain cultural needs which we cannot readily do without; I am thinking of cleaning the living quarters and the linens. Should one continue to live under constraint of limited freedom?
We have often pondered about why such cruel regulations have descended upon us. Although my knowledge of history is modest, I personally think that populations have been expatriated before. We have just not experienced it during the many years of peace we have just had. The 19th century was considered humanitarian! Only Russia was believed to have such conditions. In antiquity they were a matter of course. Augustus gave land in Italy to 20,000 legionnaires; of course, he had taken the land from others. Populations that were conquered were sold into slavery; see Carthage, which was flattened. How often did entire populations flee when the enemy arrived. Think only of ‘Hermann und Dorothea.’ The Salzburg people left because of their faith. But that the Jews of Germany are now expelled with practically no means and forced into other activities, that is a novelty.
September 29, 1942
Mutti has trouble with her teeth. A dentist, who is a relative [N], began to make her a new prosthesis. In the present circumstances it took approximately four weeks to make, during which time she had to chew without her lower teeth. The prothesis is still painful; more filing has to be done. I myself am fairly well-off health wise (heart and prostate) and I constantly gulp small quantities of Landiotrat. My ankle edemas are minimal, but my liver is enlarged by two finger-widths. I can feel it on one spot at the curve of the rib, and the colleague here in the house has confirmed it. I am particularly bothered by the cold, although from way back I have loved washing myself daily with cold water from head to toe. Nevertheless, at night my feet are ice-cold and don’t get warm until two or three hours later (in heavy bed slippers).
October 1, 1942
Now fate has caught up with Uncle Ernst [Ernst Neisser]. Yesterday afternoon he was informed that he was to be ready tomorrow morning from 8:00 a.m. on; he would be picked up and evacuated, together with his relative, Miss. Lise N. [O] (who has kept house for him). It is never divulged where they are going, probably somewhere in Bohemia. He had always been determined not to go; he wanted to end his life because of his more and more frequent and painful heart troubles that can only be interpreted as angina pectoris. Last night he had a long talk with Susel [17], whom he had notified, and he again expressed his reasons to her. Susel was just here, told us everything, and has gone to his apartment with Hans [18] and Mutti. Presumably he injected himself and Miss N. with morphine and took Veronal. Since it has been 15 hours since he took the medicines it can be assumed that the result will be absolutely fatal, and any revival, which everybody fears, is impossible.
Miss N. [Luise Neisser] had already died last night (Figures 16a-b), but Uncle Ernst had not. He was taken to the hospital (we may be taken only to the Jewish Hospital) [P] and was still alive this morning. He had injected himself with 2% morphine and taken 5 tablets of Veronal. Susel understands that her father could not act differently, and she is quite calm about his passing on. He was unusually gifted, with a streak of originality, full of ideas and able to pursue them. He was kind, charming, and understanding of the aspirations of others. Since his complaints increased with age and at 80 his stamina had decreased, he had the right to depart from life. Susel said his favorite activity had been to teach young physicians. He died on October 3, 1942. (Figures 17a-b) I shall copy the death notice later; I have to wait until the body is released for burial by the police.
In Frz. L’s [Franz Leonhard] library I found Waldeyer’s Memoirs, which were interesting reading. On the table of contents page, I have jotted down in pencil a few things that are of interest to us. The book will be at Maria’s as soon as I finish reading it. Amazing how much this man achieved, even though he is not counted among the elite of science, as for instance Virchow. His achievements can probably be explained by his organizational talents, his temperament and his eloquence. How he could teach anatomy to about 1000 students so that each could prepare everything is amazing.
We have received a letter from Elizabeth, written on September 24. We already knew you had moved to a new apartment, and that you are well. Keep it up! Of course, we understand that we cannot learn more. A birthday telegram in April from you to Mutti has not arrived.
Yesterday was the memorial service for Uncle Ernst. As Mutti reported it was very dignified through the music of a quartet, which at first . . .[sentence not finished]. We stayed together for a while: Susel and Hans, Uncle Willi [19] (Figure 18), Maria [Wundsch], Mutti and I. . . .(whom the family reached?). Such conversations in a restaurant, where everybody talks loudly and at the same time, now always depress me. I understand but little and become more and more melancholy. How often I then have the wish not to go on living! Therefore, nobody should reproach themselves that they could have made life more pleasant for me. It is in my own personality that I tend to be moody. Since I have nothing more to expect I would be content not to have to wake up again. I have lived a happy life, long united with Mutti, and I am eternally grateful to her, so my greatest worry is how to spare her these worrisome changes.
FROM HERE ON THE ENTRIES ARE IN PENCIL, FIRST IN A JITTERY HAND, LATER BECOMING FIRM AGAIN
On October 12 the Secret Police came. They immediately took our landlady and her family with them, we didn’t know why. Then they demanded our identity cards, took them and ordered us to Burgstrasse, Room No. 308 (that is the Secret Police). They also asked why we had not been evacuated. Generally, there is no release from there. Mutti had long wanted to write you a farewell letter and say a few things, I believe. But you know her kindness, her sincerity and her insights. She would not be able to add anything new. Remember that we always wanted your best, but that our lives are complete. We had imagined it all differently, but that was not to be. That Mutti could not have a beautiful service with music is very painful to me.
Life was happy and beautiful. . . .Vati (Dad)
SCRAWLED ACROSS THE NEXT TWO PAGES
On October 16 the . . . physician Dr. A. Guttentag died. (Figures 19a-b)
[15] Gertrud Kantorowicz, sister of Else Milch née Kantorowicz and Franz Kantorowicz, and daughter of Max Kantorowicz & Rosalinde Pauly; Franz Kantorowicz gave us the “Still Life” painting by Graf von Kalckreuth as a wedding gift
[16] Hermann “Männe” Rothholz, husband of Anna Pauly, one of the Pauly sisters; father of Walter Rothholz
[17] Suse Vogel née Neisser, daughter of Ernst Neisser and Margarethe Neisser née Pauly; Margarethe was one of the eight Pauly sisters
[18] Hans Vogel, Suse’s husband
[19] Willi Pauly, Helene Guttentag’s brother and the only boy among the nine children of Josef and Rosalie Pauly
MY FOOTNOTES (ALPHABETICAL)
[A] Kurfürstendamm is located in the Charlottenburg borough of Berlin
[B] Hirschberg im Riesengebirge, Germany [today: Jelenia Góra, Poland], approximately 250 miles south of Stettin where Adolf & Helene lived previously
[C] “E.u.Z,” may stand for “E. und (and) Z.,” possibly two different bacteria the urine is checked for; “E.” may be “Escherichia”
[D] as mentioned in Post 48, Jews were only allowed to buy food between the hours of 4 and 5pm
[E] former neighbors from Posen, Germany [today: Poznan, Poland]
[F] Else Milch née Kantorowicz, daughter of Max Kantorowicz & Rosalinde Pauly
[G] Lotte Mockrauer née Bruck, my great-aunt
[H]letters sent through the Red Cross during the war were limited to 25 words, but it appears longer letters could be written to their friend in Switzerland
[I] likely a barbiturate, a drug that acts as a central nervous system depressant, and can therefore produce a wide spectrum of effects, from mild sedation to death
[J] this fortunate reference to Franz Leonhard’s day of birth, September 6th, allowed me to locate his death certificate on ancestry.com; Franz was born on September 6, 1867 and died in Breslau on November 11, 1938. His death certificate mentions he indeed killed himself by taking sleeping tablets
[K] this reference to Mrs. Elsa Meyring née Bauchwitz, one of Adolf and Helene’s friends from Stettin, allowed me to locate her birth certificate, as well as her certificate of marriage to Theodor Meyring; ancestry.com indicates she indeed died in Sweden
[L] a 1935 Stettin Address Directory lists Dr. Adolf Guttentag, a specialist in stomach and intestinal diseases, having an office at Kaiser Wilhelmstraße 12; a photo of Adolf & Helene Guttentag, taken at Christmas 1938 (Figures 25a-b), shows them living nearby at Kaiser Wilhelmstraße 9, probably shortly before Adolf Guttentag retired at age 70 and the Guttentags relocated to Hirschberg
[N] this is wild conjecture on my part, but possibly the dentist, the family relative, who made Helene Guttentag’s prosthesis was my Uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck (see Post 31), who was still living and working in Berlin at the time until he went into hiding in October 1942 to avoid deportation
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:
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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)
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.
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”).
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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)
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.
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.
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.
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].
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)
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.
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.
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 throughMy 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.”
[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.
[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.
[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.
REMARK: What started out as an attempt to remember relatives and friends of Dr. Josef Pauly’s branch of my family who perished in the Holocaust became more involved the deeper I got into writing. I uncovered two new third cousins, including an elderly relative who personally knew some of the victims; I discovered a diary written by one of the Holocaust victims, translated into English, describing the final wrenching months of he and his wife’s lives before they killed themselves; I found a second, lengthier account, in German, written by the daughter of another victim, describing her father’s final two years before he too committed suicide; I learned about a Polish on-line database with inhabitant information from Posen, Germany [today: Poznań, Poland] (Figure 1), the community where Dr. Pauly lived and where all nine of his children were born. And, to top it all off, I just uncovered another collection at the Leo Baeck Institute in New York/Berlin, the John H. Richter Collection, an enormous cache of materials referencing, among other ancestors, the family of one of Josef’s son-in-laws, the Neissers. None of these discoveries alone have changed the trajectory of this post, but together they were cause for distraction. That said, these recent finds allow me to tell a more complete story.
Note: In this post, I remember members of my Pauly family and their close friends who perished in the Holocaust.
Holocaust Memorial Day takes place annually on different days across the globe and marks the date on which remaining prisoners at Auschwitz-Birkenau, the largest Nazi concentration camp, were liberated in 1945. This is a day for everyone to remember the millions of people murdered in the Holocaust, under Nazi Persecution, and in subsequent genocides which followed in Cambodia, Rwanda, Bosnia, and Darfur. With each passing month, unhappily, I learn about more members of my extended family and their friends who perished at the hands of the National Socialists. To coincide with this day of remembrance, I want to recall and memorialize the multiple victims among the Pauly branch of my family along with a few of their close friends.
Regular readers may recollect that Post 40 post was about Elisabeth “Lisa” Pauly née Krüger, one of my Uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck’s “silent heroes,” who hid him in Berlin during WWII for periods of his 30-month survival “underground.” Most of the Pauly family members mentioned in this post were aunts, uncles, and cousins of Lisa Pauly. Briefly, let me provide more context on how this family is related to me.
In Post 44, I mentioned two siblings, my great-grandmother, Friederike Mockrauer (Figure 2), and her brother, my great-great-uncle, Josef Mockrauer (Figure 3); I was already aware of their existence but found more information on their children in the “Pinkus Family Collection” archived at the Leo Baeck Institute in New York/Berlin. Friederike and Josef had other siblings, including a sister Rosalie Mockrauer (1844-1927) (Figure 4) who married Dr. Josef Pauly (1843-1916) (Figure 5) from Posen, Germany [today: Poznań, Poland]; together they had eight daughters and one son, all of whom survived to adulthood. Ancestrally-speaking, these nine children would be my first cousins twice-removed.
The only son from Josef and Rosalie Pauly’s union was named Wilhelm Pauly (Figure 6), and through steps I detailed in earlier posts, I was able to track down two of Wilhelm’s grandsons, Peter Pauly and Andreas “Andi” Pauly, living in Germany; Peter and Andi are my third cousins. Both have been enormously helpful in the course of my ancestral research. Not only have they provided a detailed, hand-drawn Stammbaum (family tree), developed by their father, Klaus Pauly, but they’ve scanned and made available copies of many family photographs.
This included a photo of a large Pauly family get-together that likely took place in Posen, Germany, probably in the mid-1890’s, judging from the estimated age of some of the individuals pictured whose dates of birth are known to me. The partial caption that accompanied this and other photos has allowed me to put names to some of the people shown, including all nine of Josef and Rosalie Mockrauer’s children. Through a laborious process of cross-comparison with other photos, including another large Pauly family get-together for the 1901 marriage of one of Josef and Rosalie’s daughters, I’ve now been able to identify 22 of the 31 individuals captured on film in this snapshot (Figure 7); as I was writing this post, an elderly third cousin from Canada who I only just learned about, Ms. Agnes Stieda née Vogel (Figure 8), helped identify two more people. Considering the age of the image and the incomplete captioning, it’s astonishing that after almost 125 years it’s still possible to put names to faces of people who lived largely “anonymous” lives. I attach the table below with names and vital data of the people (i.e., casual readers need not concern themselves with this):
NO.
NAME
EVENT
DATE
PLACE
1
Anna Rothholz née Pauly
Birth
14 March 1871
Posen, Germany
Death
21 June 1925
Stettin, Germany
Marriage
20 May 1892
Berlin, Germany
2
Josef Pauly
Birth
10 August 1843
Tost, Germany
Death
7 November 1916
Posen, Germany
Marriage
1869
3
Paula Pincus née Pauly
Birth
26 April 1872
Posen, Germany
Death
31 March 1922
Magdeburg, Saxony-Anhalt, Germany
Marriage
16 November 1891
Berlin, Germany
4
UNKNOWN WOMAN
5
Julie Neisser née Sabersky
Birth
26 February 1841
Wöllstein, Germany
Death
11 April 1927
Berlin, Germany
6
ERNST NEISSER
Birth
16 May 1863
Liegnitz, Germany
DEATH
(SUICIDE)
4 OCTOBER 1942
BERLIN, GERMANY
Marriage
5 September 1898
Stettin, Germany
7
Margarethe Neisser née Pauly
Birth
16 January 1876
Posen, Germany
Death
10 December 1941
Berlin, Germany
Marriage
5 September 1898
Stettin, Germany
8
Rosalie Pauly née Mockrauer
Birth
3 January 1844
Leschnitz, Germany
Death
28 November 1927
Berlin, Germany
Marriage
1869
Unknown
9
Rosalinde Kantorowicz née Pauly
Birth
22 January 1854
Tost, Germany
Death
3 November 1916
Frankfurt am Main, Hessen, Germany
10
UNKNOWN MAN
11
Charlotte Mockrauer née Bruck
Birth
8 December 1865
Ratibor, Germany
Death
10 January 1965
Stockholm, Sweden
Marriage
18 March 1888
Ratibor, Germany
12
UNKNOWN WOMAN
13
UNKNOWN BOY
14
Therese Sandler née Pauly
Birth
21 August 1885
Posen, Germany
Death
1969
15
GERTRUD KANTOROWICZ
“GERTRUDE PAULY (PSEUDONYM)”
Birth
9 October 1876
Posen, Germany
DEATH
(MURDERED)
20 APRIL 1945
THERESIENSTADT, CZECHOSLOVAKIA
16
Maria Pohlmann née Pauly
Birth
21 July 1877
Posen, Germany
Death
Unknown
Marriage
30 September 1901
Posen, Germany
17
GERTRUD WACHSMANN NEE POLLACK
Birth
10 July 1867
Görlitz, Saxony, Germany
DEATH
(MURDERED)
22 OCTOBER 1942
THERESIENSTADT, CZECHOSLOVAKIA
Married
17 October 1893
Görlitz, Saxony, Germany
18
Heinrich Sabersky
Birth
July 1845
Grünberg, Germany
Death
January 1929
Berlin, Germany
19
HELENE GUTTENTAG NEE PAULY
Birth
12 April 1873
Posen, Germany
DEATH
(SUICIDE)
23 OCTOBER 1942
BERLIN, GERMANY
Marriage
5 February 1898
Berlin, Germany
20
ADOLF GUTTENTAG
Birth
4 December 1868
Breslau, Germany
DEATH
(SUICIDE)
23 OCTOBER 1942
BERLIN, GERMANY
Marriage
5 February 1898
Berlin, Germany
21
Wilhelm Pauly
Birth
24 September 1883
Posen, Germany
Death
1961
Unknown
22
UNKNOWN MAN
23
ELLY LANDSBERG NEE MOCKRAUER
Birth
14 August 1873
Berlin, Germany
DEATH
(MURDERED)
15 MAY 1944
AUSCHWITZ, POLAND
Marriage
1892
Posen, Germany
24
Edith Riezler née Pauly
Birth
4 January 1880
Posen, Germany
Death
1963
Unknown
25
UNKNOWN MAN
26
UNKNOWN WOMAN
27
ELISABETH HERRNSTADT NEE PAULY
Birth
2 July 1874
Posen, Germany
DEATH
(MURDERED)
27 MAY 1943
THERESIENSTADT, CZECHOSLOVAKIA
Marriage
11 May 1895
Cunnersdorf, Germany
28
Arthur Herrnstadt
Birth
15 March 1865
Hirschberg, Germany
Death
21 October 1912
Stettin, Germany
Marriage
11 May 1895
Cunnersdorf, Germany
29
Adolf Wachsmann
Birth
3 January 1859
Ratibor, Germany
Death
Unknown
Unknown
Married
17 October 1893
Görlitz, Saxony, Germany
30
UNKNOWN MAN
31
UNKNOWN MAN
*Names italicized and in CAPS are family and friends who perished in the Holocaust. Numbers in the left-hand column correspond with the numbered, circled heads in Figure 7.
Having identified more than half the people in the Pauly family photo, I researched their fate using family queries, ancestry.com, and Yad Vashem; I’ve learned through experience that if I can find no other information on the fate of family, I’m compelled to check the Holocaust database. While multiple of the individuals in the photo had the relative “good fortune” to have died before the Nazis came to power, I was surprised at the number of people in the photo killed by the Nazis or who took their own lives after they were told to report for deportation. (Figure 9) What was even more sobering was discovering that children or husbands of some of the people photographed similarly perished during the Holocaust. While I’m unable to show images of all the victims, it’s important to acknowledge they once existed.
Helene Guttentag née Pauly (1873-1942) (Figure 10) was the third oldest of Josef and Rosalie Pauly’s daughters, and married Dr. Adolf Guttentag (1868-1942) (Figure 11); they had one son, Otto Guttentag (1900-1992), who immigrated to America. In the course of writing this Blog post, I found his obituary and established contact with one of Adolf and Helene Guttentag’s grandchildren, my third cousin Christoph Guttentag (Figure 12), living in North Carolina; I learned from him about the existence of a diary that Adolf Guttentag wrote for his son in the final weeks of his life before he and Helene committed suicide on October 23, 1942 in Berlin. The diary eventually made its way to their son, who donated it to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. It is available in English on their website (i.e., Christoph’s mother did the translation). My next Blog post will be about this diary, which is unquestionably one of the saddest accounts I’ve read about Jews entrapped in Germany during WWII with no means of escaping other than to kill themselves.
Dr. Hermann Rothholz (1857-1940) was married to the oldest of Josef and Rosalie’s nine children, Anna (1870-1925) (Figure 13); she died in 1925, and thereby escaped the horrors of the Holocaust. Dr. Rothholz was not so fortunate, and was transported from Stettin, Germany [today: Szczecin, Poland] to the Lublin District of Poland, and died there on October 19, 1940.
Ernst Neisser (1863-1942) (Figures 14a-b) was born in Liegnitz, Germany [today: Legnica, Poland] in 1863 to a Protestant family of Jewish descent. He was a bacteriologist, and the nephew of Alfred Neisser who in 1879 isolated the Neisseria gonorrhoeae bacteria that causes gonorrhea. Ernst Neisser became the director of the municipal hospital in Stettin, Germany in 1895, and married Margarethe Pauly (1876-1941) (Figure 15) in Stettin on September 5, 1898. After his retirement around 1931 they moved to Berlin. He and his cousin, who was named Luise Neisser (1861-1942), committed suicide together. In Adolf Guttentag’s diary, Ernst’s cousin is referred to only as “L. Neisser”; only one Neisser with the initial “L” is listed in the Shoah database who died in Berlin, “Luise,” so I reasoned this was the cousin with whom Ernst committed suicide. And, Ms. Stieda confirmed her name.
Margarethe Neisser’s name does not appear in Yad Vashem as a Holocaust victim, suggesting she died before Ernst killed himself. According to the large family tree I’ve referred to in previous posts, the “Schlesische Jüdische Familien” (Silesian Jewish Families), she died on December 10, 1942, two months after her husband. This death date made no sense to me. First, Yad Vashem suggests Ernst Neisser was a widower (Figure 16), and second, why would Margarethe wait two months to kill herself after her husband, unless they were divorced or separated and living apart, no evidence of which exists. I’ve explained to readers in the past that I rarely accept prima facie ancestral data from other trees unless I can track down the origin, even if the information is from a usually reliable source. I again contacted Ms. Elke Kehrmann, the tree manager, and asked where dates for Margarethe’s death come from; she explained she’d found them in two other trees, but upon re-examining those trees, Elke realized she’d accidentally recorded the death year as 1942 when it was really 1941! Once I learned this, the timing of Ernst Neisser’s death vis a vis his wife’s death made more sense. The cause of her death is unknown, but the fact remains she is not listed as a Shoah victim.
In the course of researching Ernst Neisser, I found a 34-page typed letter written by his daughter, Susan Vogel née Neisser, in 1947 to an American relative. It is entitled “Die letzten ebensjahre Vaters Prof. Ernst Neisser,” “The Last Two Years, Professor Ernst Neisser,” and describes the last years of her father’s life from 1939-1942. The letter concentrates on the suicide of Ernst and his cousin to escape deportation in 1942. Unfortunately, the document is written in German, so presently I can offer no insights on Dr. Neisser’s final years.
And, lastly, as mentioned at the outset under “Remarks,” I learned about the huge “John H. Richter Collection, 1904-1994” archived at the Leo Baeck Institute in New York/Berlin; suffice it to say, this collection includes an enormous amount of ancestral information, not only about the Neisser family, but even about my own Bruck ancestors.
Elizabeth Herrnstadt, Anna Herrnstadt, & Ilse Herrnstadt
Elizabeth Herrnstadt née Pauly (1874-1943) (Figure 17) was the fourth of Josef and Rosalie Pauly’s daughters. She was married to Arthur Herrnstadt (1865-1912) (Figure 18), with whom she had two daughters, Anna (“Aenne”) in 1896 (Figure 19) and Ilse in 1897. (Figure 20) Arthur died in 1912, but Elizabeth, Aenne and Ilse were all murdered in 1943 in the Theresienstadt Ghetto in Czechoslovakia. Astonishingly, Aenne Herrnstadt was the godmother of Agnes Stieda, the third cousin I mentioned above.
Gertrud Kantorowicz (1876-1945) (Figure 21), like all nine of Josef and Rosalie’s children, was born in Posen, Germany; her pseudonym was apparently “Gertrud Pauly,” suggesting a close relationship with the Pauly clan. Gertrud was one of the first women in Germany to obtain a PhD. in Humanities. She was in England in 1938 but inexplicably returned to Germany later that year. After the outbreak of war, she arranged a post at Skidmore College in the United States, but by then was unable to leave Germany legally; she was arrested trying to illegally cross into Switzerland, and sent to the Theresienstadt Ghetto in Czechoslovakia, where she died in April 1945, shortly before the end of WWII.
Gertrud Wachsmann née Pollack (1867-1942) (Figure 22) was married to Adolf Wachsmann (Figure 23), an Apotheker (pharmacist) in Posen. The detailed Pauly Stammbaum (family tree) I’ve alluded to in multiple posts, includes some Pollacks, suggesting Gertrud was a distant cousin of the Paulys. She appears to have been deported from Breslau, Germany, first to a detention camp at Grüssau in Lower Silesia, then to the Theresienstadt Ghetto in Czechoslovakia where she perished in October 1942. (Figure 24)
Elly Landsberg née Mockrauer (1873-1944) (Figure 25), was the daughter of Josef Mockrauer by his first marriage to Esther Ernestine Mockrauer née Lißner; to remind readers, Josef Mockrauer was the sister of Rosalie Pauly née Mockrauer. Josef Mockrauer’s second wife was Charlotte Mockrauer née Bruck (1865-1965) (Figure 26), my great-aunt, who was born in 1865. In a book by Elly Landsberg’s grandson, W. Dieter Bergman, entitled, “Between Two Benches,” he mentions his grandmother: “In 1891 Elly came from Berlin to the town of Posen to stay with her aunt Rosalie and with the well-known family of Dr. J. Pauly. Her widowed father had remarried a young cousin and Elly was not happy in Berlin. In Posen, however, she fitted right into the family of eight girls.” (p.11) A point of clarification. Josef Mockrauer was not in fact a widower, and his first wife Ernestine Mockrauer lived until 1934; after separating from her husband, she had an out-of-wedlock son in 1884, Georg Mockrauer, oddly given the surname of his mother’s former husband.
In 1892 in Posen, Elly married a lawyer, Adolf Landsberg (1861-1940), who came from a family of distinguished scholars and rabbis. Elly went on to become a lawyer. She lived in Naumburg Saale, Germany during the war, and was deported first to the Theresienstadt Ghetto in Czechoslovakia, then moved to Auschwitz, where she was murdered on May 15, 1944.
In response to why Maria might have survived the Holocaust when multiple members of her family did not, my cousin sent, among other things, what turned out to be an “Einwohnermeldekarte” (resident registration card) or “Einwohner-meldezettel” (resident registration form) for Maria and her husband. Having never seen one of these cards, I asked about its origin, and my cousin explained that each city historically kept these records for their residents. With recent changes in European laws, these police records must be digitized for individuals born at least 120 years ago and made available at no cost to the public. Poznan, Poland happens to be one of those jurisdictions which has automated these resident registration cards, but each city and country is moving at its own pace.
Polish databases, for me, are notoriously difficult to navigate. I had the incredibly good fortune to find detailed English instructions on how to use these digitized population records for the city of Poznań (Posen), so for any readers with ancestors born there at least 120 years ago, here is the link.
Readers may rightly wonder where some of the specific vital data included in the table above comes from, so using the digitized Posen population records, I’ll give three examples.
The resident registration card for Alexander “Axel” Pohlmann and Maria Pauly, mentioned above, records their marriage as 30th September 1901. (Figure 29) A photo given to me by Andi Pauly of Axel and Maria’s wedding is captioned with the date 1902 (Figure 30), so the resident registration card provides an opportunity to precisely date the event.
Three resident registration cards can be found among the Posen population records for Josef and Rosalie Pauly and their nine children; as readers may be able to discern, for at least some of the children, their date of birth and place and date of marriage are shown. (Figures 31a-c)
And, finally, the resident registration form for Adolf and Gertrud Wachsmann, friends of the Pauly’s, provides Adolf’s date and place of birth and their date and place of marriage, all previously unknown facts now firmly “anchored” with reference to a historic document. (Figure 32)
In conclusion, in the absence of surviving personal papers, it is very difficult to properly commemorate victims of the Holocaust who led fulfilled lives which were abruptly terminated by the Nazis. Still, I feel a need to at least speak their names, show their faces, where possible, and acknowledge their existence using what scant evidence can be found to show they were once living beings.
REFERENCE
Bergman, W. Dieter
1995 Between Two Benches. California Publishing Co. San Francisco, CA
