EDITOR’S NOTE: My childhood friend’s daughter, Melissa Ashner, first moved to San Diego in late 2011, where my wife and I live. We would periodically get together for lunch or dinner, and invariably our discussion would veer towards some of my ancestral research which I had initiated perhaps a year earlier. At the time my discoveries were coming fast on the heels of one another and would culminate in a 13-week vacation to Europe in 2014 when my wife and I visited places from Poland to Spain associated with my Jewish family’s diaspora.
As Melissa explains, interest in her own family’s history began in 2018 with an offhand joke by her father. As it happens, both of our families have an ancestral connection to Upper Silesia, more specifically, Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland] but also other nearby villages and towns. This post was inspired by my discovery that one of Melissa’s earliest recorded relatives, Joachim Marcus Aschner, was one of the original Jews to receive Prussian citizenship following enactment of the Emancipation Edict of 1812. The Bruck family had a connection to this town for over 100 years and this was where my father was born in 1907. There is no doubt in either of our minds that our families would have interacted with one another, particularly since the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel in Ratibor was owned by three generations of my family and would have been known to Melissa’s ancestors.
Knowing that many of the people I write about in my posts are unrelated to readers, there are three things I strive for to keep readers engaged. First, there is a process I typically follow to analyze the primary source data I find, a process which readers may be able to replicate in doing their own ancestral searches. Second, I try and make people aware of archival documents that may be available to ancestral researchers investigating their family’s history, and where these may be found. Third, I try and describe the social, geographic, and historical context my ancestors lived through, context which is important for any ancestral researcher to understand when studying how such events may have impacted their own family’s lives.
In perusing this post, I advise readers not to get caught up in all the family names Melissa cites. Rather, focus instead on her explanation for drawing a lineal connection between herself and Benjamin Moses Aschner (1768-1848) (4th great-grandfather), via Marcus Aschner (1806-1861) (3rd great-grandfather); Moritz Aschner (1831-1890) (2nd great-grandfather); Hugo Aschner (1869-1943) (1st great-grandfather); Martin Aschner (1905-1985) (grandfather); and Harold Ashner (b. 1951) (father). In the absence of existing primary source documents connecting Marcus Aschner and Moritz Aschner, Melissa makes a compelling case by drawing on indirect evidence. Readers can decide for themselves whether her argument is convincing.
Related Post:
GUEST POST
BY MELISSA ASHNER
My interest in my family’s history began in 2018. It started with a joke from my father that he needed more family members. I initially set out to uncover the whereabouts of his uncle Paul’s family — the war traumatized and separated this generation. However, the process of research and discovery was intriguing, and I quickly began to dig deeper.
Details pertaining to this early generation have been challenging to unravel. However, Joachim Marcus Aschner and Benjamin Moses Aschner were likely brothers. Joachim and Benjamin were both born in Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland] — Joachim in 1775, and Benjamin in 1767 or 1768. Their sibling relationship is evidenced by their geographical movements from Ratibor to the Smolna district of Rybnik in the early 1800s, as well as by the timing of their registration with local authorities.
Emancipation of Prussian Jews
Under Prussian rule, the Jewish communities in Upper Silesia, which included Rybnik, were subject to the General Juden-Reglement für Süd und Neu-Ostpreussen. These regulations gradually led to the Edikt die Burgerlichen Berhaltnisse der Juden, which emancipated Prussian Jews in 1812 (Sobczak, 2023; History, n.d.).
Consequently, Jews gained access to various trades and professions previously restricted to them and were eligible to become citizens. Surname adoption became mandatory around this time for Prussian Jews, replacing traditional use of patronymics. In order to obtain citizenship, Jews were required to assume a surname (Jewish Naming Customs, 2023; History, n.d.).
The documents below (Figures 1a-c), recorded on May 7, 1814, are civil registrations that are linked with these political and economic shifts. These documents include information pertaining to Joachim’s and Benjamin’s respective families, including names, birthdates, marriage dates, and children’s birth and death dates, where applicable.
From the vital information provided in these figures, a generous amount of information can be extracted. Joachim Marcus Aschner married Katel Henriette Jacob in 1803. They had a daughter, Freidel, in 1804, a son, Wilhelm, in 1805, a daughter, Johanna, in 1812, and a daughter, Rebecca, in 1815.
Benjamin Moses Aschner married Anna Grossman in 1798, and they had a son, Isaac, in 1799. For unknown reasons, this union did not last, and Benjamin remarried in March of 1800. He and his second wife, Rosalie Sarel “Charlotte” Rosenthal, had ten children together, including three sons, Abraham (1801), Adolf (1803), and Marcus (1806), and seven daughters, Handel Johanna (1804), Rebecca (1810), Jeanette (1812), Zorl (1814), Maria (1816), Verone (1819), and Ester (1820). Maria died in 1820.
Now, both Joachim Marcus and Benjamin Moses’s lineages can be traced to present times. However, Benjamin’s lineage has been my primary research focus, as after countless hours of reviewing films, various sources, and considering the possibilities, I am 99% certain that Benjamin is my great-great-great-great-grandfather. I will explain my reasoning as we move through the generations, emphasizing the only instance in which I have been unable to view the primary documents to confirm this with 100% certainty.
Records in Figures 1a and 1c also suggest that Benjamin’s second wife, Charlotte, was born in 1773, and her youngest child was born in 1820. While this would imply that she birthed her daughter, Esther, at the very unlikely age of 47, further discoveries would be necessary to refine my understanding. There also appears to be a discrepancy regarding Benjamin’s year of birth, which isn’t entirely uncommon, even in primary documents (Brook, 2020).
Typhus Epidemic in Rybnik (1847-1848)
Notably, at least three ancestors, including Benjamin, his second wife, and his son with his first wife, passed away between February and March of 1848. Benjamin’s death in Rybnik on February 1, 1848, was documented as Nervenschlage, or nervous system shock. His wife’s records did not mention a cause, but she passed away very shortly after Benjamin, on March 4, 1848 (Figure 2). His first son, Isaac, passed away in Nikolai [today: Mikołów, Poland] on March 19, 1848, from Nervenfieber, or nervous fever.
It is worth noting the context in which this occurred. In 1847-1848, a devastating typhus epidemic swept through Upper Silesia, affecting around 80,000 people in the regions of Pleß [today: Pszczyna, Poland] and Rybnik [today: Rybnik, Poland], with a death toll of 16,000. This major epidemic was further aggravated by a widespread famine, which led to many weakened immune systems (Kamusella, 1999). During this era, medical terminology used to describe illnesses often lacked precision due to the evolving understanding of diseases (Virchow, 1848). Given the vague descriptions and the rapid succession of deaths, it seems plausible that some ancestors may have fallen victim to this epidemic, succumbing to the highly prevalent and often fatal typhus fever—or, at the very least, suffered from illnesses compounded by the effects of famine.
The cross-referencing of details from various relatives has been instrumental in moving forward my research into this branch of the tree. For example, Benjamin’s own death record ambiguously labeled him as a Jewish tradesman. Yet, a more descriptive account appears in Figure 2, the death record of his wife, Charlotte, which identifies him specifically as a Potaschsieder und Handelsmann, translating to “pot-ash boiler and tradesman.”
The Next Generation and Obstacles in Research
Marcus Aschner, born in Rybnik in 1806, was a son of Benjamin and Charlotte. Diverging from the pot-ash boiling trade of his father, he became a soap boiler, or a seifenseider. Marcus married Jeanette Königsfeld in Mikołōw and they had six sons and three daughters together between 1826 and 1850. These nine birth records span several administrative regions—Beuthen [today: Bytom, Poland], Kattowitz [today: Katowice, Poland], and Nikolai [today: Mikołōw,Poland] —towns situated within 12 to 19 kilometers of one other and whose governance frequently shifted.[1] One of those sons was Moritz Aschner – my great-great-grandfather – he was born around 1831.
Herein lies the sole roadblock I have encountered in tracing my lineage to Benjamin Aschner – I have yet to uncover primary documentation that definitively affirms the paternal relationship between Marcus and Moritz Aschner. However, research involves many steps, many angles, and a multifaceted approach, which I have undertaken in exploring this challenge. As such, there are several reasons why I firmly believe that Marcus is the father of Moritz Aschner, and I have listed most of these reasons below:
1. Geographical proximity, chronology, and profession. These are the most obvious supporting factors. Both father, Marcus, and son, Moritz, were Jewish soap boilers in the same general locality.
2. The tradition of naming Jewish children. Marcus Aschner died in 1861, from what was documented as general dropsy. Moritz named his firstborn son Marcus, in 1863. It is customary in Judaism to name the child after a recently deceased close relative.
3. While Moritz’s parents aren’t directly named in records obtained for Moritz, primary records for his siblings do list Marcus and Jeanette as parents, increasing confidence that they are Moritz’s parents as well.
Now, before I get too far ahead of myself with the fourth reason, additional details are necessary. (Figure 3) Moritz Aschner married Rosalie Wachsmann in Beuthen in September 1857. (The marriage index does not mention their parents – that would be too easy, I guess.)
Moritz and Rosalie then had two girls followed by five consecutive boys: Auguste (1857), Hannchen (1861), Marcus (1863), Noa (1864), Benjamin (1865), Lev (1867), and Hugo (1869). Their first-born son, the namesake Marcus, sadly died as an infant, with sister Hannchen passing away the same year. Their second son, Noa, eventually became a known fugitive, robbing a German bank. Their youngest son, Hugo, was born in 1869 in Laurahütte [today: Siemianowice Śląskie, Poland] – he was my great-grandfather (Figure 4).
As adults, Moritz’s children moved away from the family’s soap-boiling trade and branched out into diverse careers. The transportation options in the late nineteenth century expanded their opportunities, and Hugo relocated to Frankfurt, Germany. There, he joined the textile sector, finding employment in a hat factory located at Kaiserstraße 63.
Hugo married Else Stich, my great-grandmother, in Frankfurt in 1899. They had two sons: Phillip Paul Aschner, known as Paul, born in 1900, and Martin Moritz Aschner, known as Martin (and later, “Opa”), born in 1905. Soon after, Hugo and Else relocated to Berlin with their sons, perhaps for business opportunities.
Now, for the fourth reason:
4. In 1909, one of Moritz’s nephews died in Berlin. His name was Paul Aschner (a different Paul Aschner). Hugo, his first cousin, was one of the few relatives in Berlin at the time, and he reported this death to the registrar (Figure 5). This further strengthens the evidence of the family relationships, as Hugo’s tie to Paul was through their parents, who were brothers – sons of Marcus Aschner.
Aggressive Antisemitism in the Third Reich
Both Martin, my grandfather, and Paul, my great-uncle, worked in the clothing industry in Berlin. Martin sold ladies gloves and jackets, and Paul owned a clothing shop. (Figure 6) Berlin telephone directories in the early 20th century revealed that Hugo lived with each of his sons at various intervals. Presumably, Else did as well.
Paul Aschner’s business was among many Jewish clothing businesses that were subjected to increasingly aggressive restrictions imposed by the Nazi regime. These challenges included forced sales and liquidation without fair compensation (Fashion and Persecution, 2016). Following the Nuremberg Laws of 1935, Paul could not continue operating his store on Mohrenstraße 37a. Records show transfer of possession in 1935 and liquidation in 1939. Paul temporarily moved his store to Kronenstraße 55, where it operated from 1936-1938.
Paul was also named in an antisemitic smear piece by the publication Der Stürmer (Figure 7). This article, published in January 1938, lists Jewish textile companies that were newly founded in Berlin, naming Paul Aschner among others. The article shames the “so-called businessmen” that “are characterless enough to give their orders to the Jews.” The article goes on to threaten these characterless German businessmen and writes that “Der Stürmer will publish their names soon” (Fashion and Persecution, 2016).[2]
By this time, the circumstances had become dire, compelling Paul, Martin, and many others in the Jewish community to seek refuge beyond Germany’s borders amidst the escalating persecution of the Holocaust.
The Holocaust
Unfortunately, it was incredibly difficult to get out of Germany. Martin, Paul’s brother, left in May 1938, arriving and staying in America. Paul strongly hoped to follow. His urgent telegrams to Martin demonstrate the challenges in obtaining necessary affidavits to leave, and his concerns about the window to submit the required forms amidst the limited space left in the German quota.
At the time, Paul was married to Gerda Neumann. Paul left ahead of Gerda, though details regarding why they did not travel together remain unclear. It is possible that they seized any opportunity to leave, with Gerda intending to follow closely behind Paul. Just one week after his passport visa was issued, Paul was on his way to America.
Details as to the specific reasons are unclear, but my great uncle was not able to stay in America, where he had family. He ended up in Santiago, Chile. Tragically, a few months after Paul’s departure, Gerda was evicted from her residence. She was relocated to Helmstedter Straße 23, a location shared with over 90 other Jewish victims. From there, she and the others were transported to extermination camps where they met a tragic fate (Milgroym, 2023).
It is also unclear as to whether Hugo and Else, my great-grandparents, had tried to leave Germany. It is possible that they pooled together resources to help their sons escape, but I am only speculating. Sadly, both Else and Hugo were deported with Transport 29 from Berlin, Germany to Auschwitz Birkenau, Extermination Camp, Poland on February 19, 1943, where they were murdered. (Figures 8-11)
Below, a 75-year-old letter, located among my family’s items, is pictured (Figure 12). While I do not claim to be psychic, I can attest that the weight of this letter was immediately sensed, well before transcribing it – it had been read many times, with a very heavy heart.
The letter follows up on an inquiry to the American Joint Distribution Committee regarding the whereabouts of Hugo and Else Aschner. The letter states that these individuals were deported with Transport No. 43/25414 on February 19, 1943. It advises that these individuals did not return and are not on their lists and closes by expressing regret for the lack of favorable news.
Figure 13, obtained from the Arolsen Archives, presents a letter concerning the transport lists which include Hugo and Else. It outlines that the listed individuals had their property confiscated as part of the deportation process, with the assets being expropriated and transferred to the Reich.
Paul Aschner, my great uncle, changed his name to Pablo and eventually remarried in Santiago, where he had three children. I will omit further details to respect the privacy of his relatives. Martin married my grandmother, Margot Rozansky, in 1942, and they remained married until his death in 1985. I will also taper off here to respect the privacy of my family. In coming years, I know that further details will be discovered. Until then, I thank Richard for the opportunity to share my research journey.
REFERENCES
Brook, R. (2020, September 13). POST 93: GUIDE TO THE MORMON CHURCH’S FAMILIAL MICROFILMS: USING THEM TO UNRAVEL MY GREAT-GRANDFATHER’S LINEAGE. bruckfamilyblog.com. https://bruckfamilyblog.com/category/neisse/
Fashion and Persecution. (2016). Federal Minister of Justice and Consumer Protection. https://www.bmj.de/SharedDocs/Publikationen/DE/Broschueren/Konfektion_und_Repression_engl.pdf?__blob=publicationFile&v=7
History. (n.d.). Virtual Shtetl. https://sztetl.org.pl/en/towns/b/419-bytom/99-history/137151-history-of-community
Jewish Naming Customs. (2023, December 12). FamilySearch.
https://www.familysearch.org/en/wiki/Jewish_Naming_Customs
Kamusella, T. (1999). The dynamics of the policies of ethnic cleansing in Silesia in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
https://research-repository.st-andrews.ac.uk/bitstream/10023/15077/1/TomaszKamusellaPhDThesis1994_Original.pdf
Milgroym: Stumbling Stones – Helmstedter Straße. (2023).
http://milgroym.org/heritage/photography/stumblingstones-helmestedterstrasse/
Sobczak, A. (2023). Jews in Upper Silesia. Leo Baeck Institute. https://www.lbi.org/collections/jews-upper-silesia/
Virchow, R. (1848). “Report on the Typhus Epidemic in Upper Silesia.” https://www.socialmedicine.info/index.php/socialmedicine/article/download/8/15.
[1] The distances between towns were verified using Arcanum Maps.
[2] Article was transcribed using Planet AI OCR Free Trial in Historic Mode and Deepl translation.