My father would refer to his aunt living in East Berlin, in the former Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR) (German Democratic Republic), as “la Communiste,” the Communist, only ever using this sobriquet. She was an apparatchik, a member of the Communist Party apparat in the DDR. It was long after my father passed away in 1994 that I would learn that my great-aunt’s name was Elsbeth Bruck (1874-1970). (Figure 1)
While I obviously never met her, she led a comfortable life as a high-ranking Communist government official living in a sprawling apartment she boasted she would never be able to afford in then-West Berlin. As a child my second cousin, however, Margarita Vilgertshofer née Bruck, once visited Elsbeth in East Berlin circa 1968 in the company of her father, one of my father’s first cousins. I have no clear sense of Elsbeth’s life in her years living in East Berlin, though letters exist written to her by her niece, Jeanne “Hansi” Goff née Löwenstein, from Nice, France. Like many people living in post-WWII Germany, both East and West, the shortage of food and other everyday necessities was a commonly discussed topic; from time-to-time Hansi would send her aunt care packages. For this reason, I find it mildly amusing that when Margarita visited Elsbeth and she was busy touting the benefits of living in East Germany and how egalitarian society was, Margarita cheekily responded, “well, then, how come there are no bananas?!”
In any case, as mentioned in Post 126, a German lady posted separate entries on two of my renowned great-aunts, including Elsbeth Bruck, on German Wikipedia. While some of the information was drawn from what I wrote, other details were new to me so as in the case of my great-aunt Franziska Bruck, I provide in amended form here some of the discoveries about Elsbeth.
Elsbeth’s parents, my great-grandparents, were Fedor Bruck (1834-1892) (Figure 2) and Friederike Bruck née Mockrauer (1836-1924) (Figure 3); they were the original owners of the family hotel in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland], the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel. Elsbeth was born in 1874 and was the youngest of my great-grandparents’ eight children. As in the case of her sister Franziska, I know nothing about Elsbeth’s early life in Ratibor. Her father passed away in 1892 when Elsbeth was 18 years old, so it’s likely she helped run the family hotel for a period until she left in around 1902 with her sister Franziska and her mother Friederike for Berlin.
Elsbeth’s life took a decidedly different path than her sister Franziska’s. She was a pacifist and peace activist for much of her life. A 1907 photo I found on the Internet suggests that her involvement in the peace movement began almost immediately after moving to Berlin. The photo shows 31 members of the German Peace Society (Deutsche Friedensgesellschaft (DFG)) including an unidentified Elsbeth; the German Peace Society was founded in 1892 in Berlin but moved its headquarters to Stuttgart in 1900, and still exists today. In 1907, Elsbeth would have been only 33 years old; only six women appear in the group photo, so judging the age and appearance of these women I reckon the woman standing in the second row circled is likely Elsbeth. (Figure 4)
Elsbeth later became a member of the Bund Neues Vaterland (New Fatherland League) and succeeded the German feminist and pacifist Lilli Jannasch as its managing director; this was the most important pacifist association during WWI from which the German League of Human Rights (German League for Human Rights – Wikipedia) (Deutsche Liga für Menschenrechte) later emerged, an organization that included among its members Albert Einstein. Founded in 1914, the League moved more and more towards the left politically, exposing its members to persecution. As a result, both Elsbeth and Lilli Jannasch were taken into “protective custody,” and in February 1916 the League was banned by an organ of the police investigating political crimes. Despite her detention, Elsbeth remained politically active. Pacifists, however, continued to remain on the Berlin State Police’s radar, and a list of 30 well-known pacifists drawn up in January 1918 included Elsbeth’s name.
By 1920, Elsbeth had joined a short-lived German left-wing organization founded in 1919 for the promotion of proletarian culture, the Bund für proletarische Kultur, the League for Proletarian Culture. According to Wikipedia, this organization “. . .sought to wipe out the last traces of bourgeois culture from working class consciousness, seeing the disappearance of this pseudo-culture as no loss. They envisaged a new proletarian culture dormant within the working class which could be woken up and play a role in the revolutionary transformation of society.” Her association with this group makes it evident why Elsbeth became a DDR firebrand following WWII.
During the Nazi era, Elsbeth’s friends in the pacifist community helped her escape first to Prague, in then-Czechoslovakia, then to the United Kingdom. According to the 1939 census, she lived in the parish of Amersham (Buckinghamshire) northwest of London and earned a living as a teacher of voice training. (Figures 5-b) Following the war, she returned to Berlin, continued her campaign for freedom and human rights, and eventually became a high ranking, well-respected member of the East German government.
In letters written to Elsbeth by her niece Hansi Goff, cited above, she often mentions the autobiography Elsbeth was working on. While this was never published, Elsbeth’s friend and roommate Cläre Jung (1892-1981) wrote the epilogue for this memoir entitled, Ein Leben für den Frieden (A Life for Peace); this manuscript is on file at the German Exile Archive in Frankfurt, Germany.
Elsbeth died on the 20th of February 1970 at the age of 95. She is buried at the “Pergolenweg” grave complex (Figure 6) of the Gedenkstätte der Sozialisten (Socialist Memorial) (Figure 7) at the Zentralfriedhof Friedrichsfelde (Friedrichsfelde Central Cemetery) (Figure 8) in the borough of Lichtenberg in Berlin. Founded in 1881, it is the cemetery where many of Berlin’s Socialists, Communists, and anti-fascist fighters are interred.
Note: In this post, I introduce readers to my great-grandfather Fedor Bruck’s youngest brother, Wilhelm Bruck, who in 1884 married a noblewoman, Mathilde Margarethe von Koschembahr. This resulted in the nobiliary particle “von” being added to the Bruck surname in merged form as “Bruck von Koschembahr”; in the subsequent generation the “Bruck” part of the surname was dropped altogether. I also talk briefly in this installment about German nobility.
In Post 113, I acquainted readers with Oskar Bruck (1831-1892), the oldest of my great-great-grandparents Samuel Bruck (1808-1863) and Charlotte Bruck née Marle’s (1809-1861) nine children. This provided an opportunity to discuss Chiune Sugihara, the Japanese Consul in Lithuania at the outset of WWII, one of Yad Vashem’s “Right Among the Nations,” whose courageous actions helped save one of Oskar’s daughters, son-in-law, and grandson. Then, in Post 114, I discussed Samuel and Charlotte Bruck’s eighth born child, Helena Strauss née Bruck (1845-1910), one of whose daughters, son-in-law, and grandson were likely murdered in either Auschwitz-Birkenau or Buchenwald. The fate of Oskar and Helena’s descendants could not have been more divergent.
In the current post, I will focus on the youngest of Samuel and Charlotte Bruck’s children, Wilhelm Bruck (1849-1907) (Figure 1), along with his descendants. Happily, their destinies had a more favorable outcome. In this essay I will switch gears and introduce readers to a custom that was occasionally followed by German bridegrooms upon marriage to a woman of German nobility. Such is the case with Wilhelm Bruck who on the 14th of September 1884 married a Mathilde Margarethe von Koschembahr (Figures 2-3), a noblewoman eleven years his junior. Wilhelm Bruck was a “Justizrat,” justice counsel, and he and Mathilde had five children (see vital statistics table at the end of this post).
Let me begin by quoting from a page of a much larger document (Figure 4) explaining the transition of the Bruck surname within this branch of the family, first to Bruck von Koschembahr, then subsequently to simply von Koschembahr as the Bruck part was unofficially dropped. The citation below appears to be from a history of the von Koschembahr family probably written by Gisela von Koschembahr (Figure 5), the oldest daughter of Wilhelm and Mathilde’s first-born son, Gerhard Bruck-von Koschembahr. I found several pages of this longer document on a family tree on ancestry.com attached to Mathilde’s profile, and am trying, as we speak, to obtain the complete account:
“By virtue of his father, Wilhelm Bruck, our father (‘Vati’) was born Gerhard Bruck. Through ‘adoption’ by an unmarried aunt, Mathilde von Koschembahr (his mother’s sister) (Figure 6), he added his mother’s maiden name to his father’s name in 1924. For several years thereafter, our family was officially known as Bruck von Koschembahr (and Vati’s mother called herself that also), until by the time our family moved to Switzerland (1934), the Bruck was quietly (not officially) dropped altogether.”
In this context, I will briefly explain German titles of nobility, surnames of the German nobility and what is referred to as the nobiliary particle. As in the case of the von Koschembahr family name, most surnames of the German nobility were preceded by or contained the preposition von (meaning “of”) or zu (meaning “at”) as a nobiliary particle, simply to signal the nobility of a family.
The prepositions von and zu were occasionally combined (meaning “of and at”) In general, the von form indicates the family’s place of origin, while the zu form indicates the family’s continued possession of the estate from which the surname is drawn. Therefore, von und zu indicates a family which is both named for and continues to own the original feudal holding or residence. Case in point. An example of this can be seen in the vital statistics table at the end of this post for Wilhelm Bruck von Koschembahr’s eldest child, Gerhard Bruck von Koschembahr (Figure 7), who married Cornelia Hilda von Zedlitz und Neukirch. (Figure 8) As a related aside, since Gerhard already had the nobiliary particle von as part of his surname, he had no need to adopt his wife’s surname upon their marriage in 1914 (Figure 9), unlike his father.
Perhaps because I am only half-German and not in contact with any descendants of the von Koschembahr branch of my family, the attachment of the nobiliary particle von to my surname is remarkably uninteresting. That said, my good friend Peter Hanke, the “Wizard of Wolfsburg,” who often assists me and others in their ancestral searches, is regularly asked whether he can confirm the noble descent within a questioner’s family (i.e., “My grandmother said. . .”); the desire for a family coat of arms or an affiliation to a noble branch comes to the fore, as Peter says, which both he and I find odd.
This said, I have a few of my uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck’s surviving papers, including a schematic and much abbreviated diagram of his family tree. (Figure 10) The only one of his grandfather Fedor Bruck’s eight siblings he shows on this simplified tree is Wilhelm Bruck who married Margarethe von Koschembahr (i.e., who my uncle identifies as “Grete v. Koschembahr”). Then, as if to further stress the importance he placed on connections to nobility, the only one of Wilhelm and Margarethe’s five children he shows is Gerhard Bruck von Koschembahr who, as noted above, also married a noble, Cornelia Hilda von Zedlitz und Neukirch, identified by my uncle as “Freiin v. Zedlitz & Leipe.” “Freiin” means Baroness in German.
Continuing. Gisela von Koschembahr, whose family history I cited above, describes the position of her family in the order of German nobility, and, again, I quote what she has to say:
“It may be useful here to delineate the relative position of the von Koschembahrs in the order of the German nobility—(or ‘Adel,’ a Medieval German word meaning ‘edel’ or noble). The German nobility, as that of other countries, originally comprised the most able-bodied and distinguished (in the service of a king or prince=‘Fürst’) families in the nation; later it came to mean a class endowed with special personal property and tax privileges. While these official privileges were abolished in Germany (and Austria) at the end of World War I, the nobility continues to be—regardless of the individual family’s financial status—highly regarded, socially prominent, and exclusive among themselves. The order from top down is as follows:
Herzöge (dukes)
Fürsten (princes)
Grafen (counts)
Freiherrn (barons)
Uradel (genuine nobility)
Briefadel (nobility by letter)
(The writer acknowledges there may be another category ‘Adel’ between Uradel and Briefadel.)
The von Koschembahrs belonged to the next-to-last category, the Uradel, hereditary nobility since the 10th century, including in modern times all families whose origins as nobility are recorded in public documents before 1350. Uradel, like Freiherrn and Graf, was bestowed by a duke or prince upon a member of his entourage who was especially deserving for services rendered or distinguished in some other way. Land grants and/or decorations usually accompanied bestowal of the title of the title (although less extensive or valuable as for higher grades of nobility), and the family’s name was henceforth preceded by ‘von.’ The last is also true of the ‘Briefadel,’ but it was bestowed by letter; in more recent times, and unlike the other forms of nobility, could be purchased with money from a sovereign in need of funds. Due to the Uradel’s greater age, the meaning of the family names is usually unrecognizable.”
Without getting too deeply into it, let me briefly emphasize and supplement what Gisela von Koschembahr wrote about German nobility. They along with royalty were status groups having their origins in medieval society in Central Europe. Relative to other people, they enjoyed certain privileges under the laws and customs in the German-speaking areas until the beginning of the 20th century. Historically, German entities that recognized or conferred nobility included the Holy Roman Emperor (A.D. 962-1806), the German Confederation (A.D. 1814-1866), and the German Empire (1871-1918). As Gisela alluded to, the sovereigns had a policy of expanding their political base by ennobling rich businessmen with no noble ancestors. Germany’s nobility flourished during its rapid industrialization and urbanization after 1850 as the number of wealthy businessmen increased.
The monarchy in Germany, as well as in Austria, was abolished in 1919. In August 1919, at the beginning of the Weimar Republic (1919-1933), which would eventually be displaced by the Nazis, Germany’s first democratic government officially abolished royalty and nobility, and the respective legal privileges and immunities having to do with an individual, a family, or any heirs. In Germany, this meant that legally von simply became an ordinary part of the surnames of the people who used it. According to German alphabetical sorting, people with von in their surnames, both of noble and non-noble descent, were listed in phone books and other files under the rest of their names (i.e., in the case of Gerhard von Koschembahr, had he returned to Germany after WWII, his surname would have been found under K in the phone book rather than under V).
In closing I would simply note that among some members of my extended family descended from Wilhelm and Mathilde’s children, the “disappearance” of the Bruck surname in this branch of the family is a persistent irritant and constant source of ancestral confusion. Their descendants would be my third or fourth cousins, one or two generations removed, but since our surnames are different mostly because of a random decision, I have no contact with this branch. So, I ask myself, “What’s in a name?”
VITAL STATISTICS FOR WILHELM BRUCK, HIS WIFE, AND THEIR FIVE CHILDREN
NAME
(relationship)
VITAL EVENT
DATE
PLACE
SOURCE OF DATA
Wilhelm Bruck (self)
Birth
23 February 1849
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Note: In this brief post, I discuss how while researching the fate of my great-granduncle’s 14 or 15 children I learned about a Japanese diplomat in Lithuania, Chiune Sugihara, who saved the lives of upwards of 6,000 Polish and Lithuanian Jews following the Nazi invasion of Poland and the beginning of WWII.
My great-grandfather Fedor Bruck (1834-1892) (Figure 1) and his wife Friederike Bruck née Mockrauer (1836-1924) (Figure 2), were the second-generation owners of the family hotel in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland], the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel. (Figure 3) Fedor Bruck and his eight known siblings, born between 1831 and 1849, were the children of Samuel Bruck (1808-1863) (Figure 4) and Charlotte Bruck née Marle (1809-1861) (Figure 5), seven of them believed to have lived into adulthood.
The oldest child was Oskar Bruck (1831-1892) married to Mathilde Bruck née Preiss (1839-1922) with whom she had, by my last count, 14 or 15 children born between 1859 and 1877. The sources of this information are two family trees (Figure 6); the Jewish birth register listings from the Church of Latter-day Saints Microfilm No. 1184449 for Ratibor, where most of the children are known to have been born; and ancestral information on MyHeritage. (The names of the children, their birth and death dates, and the sources of the data are summarized on a table at the end of this post). Aware that several of their children were born during the Kulturkampf, the conflict from 1872 to 1878 between the government of Prussia and the Roman Catholic Church, I even asked Paul Newerla, my historian friend from Racibórz, to check the civil birth records at the Archiwum Państwowe W Katowicach Oddzial W Raciborzu (“State Archives in Katowice Branch in Racibórz”) for their children born during this period, to no avail.
Realizing that any of Oskar and Mathilde’s surviving great-grandchildren would be my third cousins, I recently tried to determine whether any of their children have living descendants to whom I would be related by blood. Surprisingly, after having conducted a thorough search, I have been unable to find a single living third cousin (i.e., my generation), second cousin once removed (i.e., previous generation), or third cousin once removed (younger generation) descended from any of those 14 or 15 children. I did not include any of Oskar and Mathilde’s children’s spouses where the divorced or surviving spouse remarried and had children who would not be blood relatives. I have tentatively been able to track one of their children, Dr. Erich Bruck (b. 1865) to, of all places, Tierra del Fuego, Argentina, and am currently scrounging more information to hopefully bring an intriguing future post to regular readers. The youngest daughter Emma Naumann née Bruck (1877-1942) and her husband Ernst Naumann (1877-1942) were both murdered in Theresienstadt, but otherwise all their other children are believed to have died of natural causes.
What is surprising to me given the enormous collection of family photos I own or that have been shared with me by different branches of my family is that I have not a single photo of my great-granduncle or great-grandaunt nor any of their children. I’m hoping that a reader of this post may recognize an ancestral connection and contact me so I may learn more about this offshoot of my family.
Continuing. As often happens when I embark on searches of remote ancestors is that I make unexpected discoveries, such as the one which forms the basis for this brief Blog post. And truth be told this fortuitous finding is much more significant than unearthing another distant cousin. As an aside, I would never pretend that my ancestors are any more interesting or accomplished than those of readers. In writing about my predecessors, I am more interested in describing the too often tragic social and historic context in which they led their lives to see what lessons and modern-day parallels can be drawn. As Shakespeare wrote in “The Tempest,” “what’s past is prologue.” In other words, history sets the context for the present.
As mentioned above, the table below summarizes the birth and death dates, where known, of Oskar and Mathilde’s children. One of their daughters, Charlotte Bruck (1866-1909) married a man named Rudolf Falk (1857-1912) with whom she had one daughter, Käthe Falk. This is the only one of Oskar and Mathilde’s descendants I’ll directly discuss, one of their granddaughters.
Through the documents I found on ancestry.com, Käthe Falk had already caught my attention. Her first husband was Wilhelm Sinasohn (b. 1880-d. unknown), and her second husband was Erhard Friedrich Sinasohn (1888-1967); I assumed her husbands were related to one another. A January 1925 notation in the upper righthand corner of Käthe and Wilhelm’s 1911 marriage certificate (Figures 7a-c) indicates they were divorced on the 29th of November 1924; Käthe got remarried on the 11th of February 1926 (Figures 8a-c) to Erhard Sinasohn, who I would later learn was her first husband’s cousin. Inasmuch as I can determine, Käthe had two sons, Robert Nast and Werner Rudolf Nast (in America, Warren Roger Nast) with her first husband, and none by her second; Nast was the maiden name of their paternal grandmother.
A continuing search on ancestry.com yielded an astonishing document for both Käthe (Figure 9) and her husband (Figure 10), simply a cover sheet entitled “in the Lithuania, Jews Saved by Passports from the Japanese Diplomat Chiune Sugihara, 1940”; the page showed both were Luxembourgers, and that each had been issued a visa dated the 31st of July 1940 signed by a Japanese consul. Having never heard of Chiune Sugihara, I scurried to learn about him.
Chiune Sugihara (Figure 11), I would find out, was a Japanese diplomat who during WWII helped Jews living in Lithuania leave, including Jews who had made their way there after the war began. Let me provide some brief historic context. WWII began with the German invasion of Poland on September 1, 1939. This caused hundreds of thousands of Jews and other Polish citizens to flee eastward ahead of the advancing German troops; many displaced persons found at least temporary safety in Lithuania. Once there, however, their options for escape were limited and required diplomatic visas to cross international borders. One route involved traveling through Asia, but it required a combination of permits issued by acquiescent foreign envoys trying to address the refugee crisis. However, it required declaring a final destination, with the Dutch Caribbean Island of Curaçao being suggested.
One diplomat willing to help Jews was the Japanese Imperial Consul Chiune Sugihara, the first Japanese diplomat posted to Lithuania. Absent any clear instructions from his government, Sugihara took it upon himself to issue 10-day transit visas to Japan to hundreds of Jewish refugees supposedly possessing destination visas for Curaçao. By the time he received a reply from his own government, he’d already issued 1800 visas. The Foreign Ministry in Japan told him then that individuals to whom he’d issued these visas were really headed to Canada and the United States but had arrived in Japan without money or final destination visas.
Sugihara acknowledged to his superiors he’d issued visas to people who’d not completed all the necessary arrangements for destination visas but explained that Japan was the only transit country available for people going in the direction of the United States and Canada, and that Japanese visas were required to leave the Soviet Union. Despite orders from his government to desist, Sugihara continued issuing visas, even going so far as to sign his name on blank stamped sheets, hoping the rest could be filled in; he was apparently still passing out the visas as he boarded the train for Berlin where he’d been reassigned. At the end of August 1940, the Soviets shuttered all diplomatic consulates, including the Japanese mission, but by then, Sugihara had managed to save thousands of Jews in just a few weeks. For his humanitarian efforts in 1984 Yad Vashem awarded him the title of “Righteous Among the Nations.”
Many of the Jews who managed to escape through Lithuania were either Jewish residents from there or Jews from Poland. Sugihara is estimated to have helped more than 6,000 Jewish refugees escape to Japanese territory. And among those to whom Sugihara issued visas are the granddaughter of Oskar and Mathilde Bruck and her husband. Among the pertinent documents I found on ancestry.com was a “Manifest of Alien Passengers” for the “SS President Taft” with Käthe and Erhard Sinasohn’s names showing they arrived with one of her sons, Werner Rudolf Nast, in San Francisco from Kobe, Japan on the 8th of February 1941 (Figures 12a-b), slightly more than six months after receiving their visas signed by Chiune Sugihara. Coincidentally, following their escape from Europe and their arrival in the United States, Käthe and Erhard settled in Forest Hills, Queens, the neighborhood adjacent Kew Gardens, Queens, where I was raised.
One final fitting note about this valorous Japanese diplomat. On his tombstone is engraved his first name, “Chiune,” the Japanese word which just so happens to translate into “a thousand new lives.”
VITAL STATISTICS FOR OSKAR & MATHILDE BRUCK AND THEIR CHILDREN
NAME
(relationship)
VITAL EVENT
DATE
PLACE
SOURCE OF DATA
Oskar Bruck (self)
Birth
8 October 1831
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Marriage
29 October 1858
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
FHL Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (marriages)
Death
6 April 1892
Berlin, Germany
Berlin, Germany death certificate
Mathilde Preiss
(wife)
Birth
20 October 1839
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Marriage
29 October 1858
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
FHL Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (marriages)
Death
23 February 1922
Berlin, Germany
Standesamt Berlin XI, Berlin, Germany death certificate
Richard Bruck (son)
Birth
17 August 1859
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
Unknown
Georg Bruck (son)
Birth
21 July 1860
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
2 April 1937
Berlin, Germany
Berlin, Germany death certificate
Carl Bruck (son)
Birth
10 May 1862
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
Unknown
Samuel Bruck (son)
Birth
17 July 1863
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
Unknown
Franz Samuel Bruck (son)
Birth
28 September 1864
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
19 February 1924
Berlin, Germany
Landesarchiv Berlin, Standesamt Charlottenburg I, Sterberegister, 1921-1931
Erich Bruck (son)
Birth
31 August 1865
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
Unknown
Argentina ??
Charlotte Bruck (daughter)
Birth
18 September 1866
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
7 December 1909
Berlin, Germany
Charlottenburg I, Berlin, Germany death certificate
Margaretha Bruck (daughter)
Birth
19 October 1868
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
18 February 1900
Frankfurt am Main, Germany
Frankfurt, Germany death certificate
Gertrud Bruck (daughter)
Birth
9 June 1870
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Death
26 July 1871
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)-notation of death on birth register
Anna Bruck (daughter)
Birth
4 July 1870
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Family History Library (FHL) Ratibor Microfilm 1184449 (births)
Note: In this post, I discuss the sad fate of Charlotte Bruck, my great-grandfather Fedor Bruck’s niece, a victim in this case not of the Holocaust but of a psychiatric disorder.
My great-grandfather, Fedor Bruck (1834-1892), was one of at least nine offspring of Samuel Bruck (1808-1863) (Figure 1) and Charlotte Bruck née Marle (1809-1861). (Figure 2) For context, Samuel Bruck and Fedor Bruck (Figure 3) were, respectively the first- and second-generation owners of the Bruck family hotel in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland], the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel. (Figure 4) The youngest of Samuel and Charlotte Bruck’s children and Fedor Bruck’s youngest sibling was Wilhelm Bruck (1849-1907). (Figure 5)
Wilhelm married a baroness named Margarete “Grete” Mathilde von Koschembahr (Figure 6), and because of the prestige the von Koschembahr name endowed, he adopted her surname, initially in hyphenated manner as Bruck-von Koschembahr; eventually upon some family members arrival in America the Bruck surname was dropped. Wilhelm Bruck and Margarete von Koschembahr had five children, including Charlotte “Lotte” Bruck (Figure 7), niece of my great-grandfather Fedor Bruck and subject of this post.
As a brief aside, Charlotte’s older brother and the oldest of Wilhelm and Margarete’s children was Gerhard Bruck von Koschembahr (1885-1961) (Figure 8), who emigrated to America in October 1938 with his wife and ten of their thirteen children (Figure 9), one of whom is still living. While I am in contact with descendants of virtually all other branches of my family whom I have written about in my family history blog, I have not yet established contact with this wing of my extended family. If precedent is any indication, descendants of the von Koschembahrs may in time stumble upon my blog and contact me.
With upwards of 900 people in my family tree, which I use primarily to orient myself to the people whom I discuss in my Blog, I have never previously written about Wilhelm Bruck (von Koschembahr). Still, because Charlotte Bruck is in my tree, one genealogist stumbled upon her name and contacted me asking whether I know the fate of Charlotte’s first husband, Walter Edward Stavenhagen. The inquiry, it so happens, came from Charlotte’s granddaughter, Brenda Jay Dunn née Lorenzen (Figure 10), and I explained I have been unable to discover Walter’s fate. Not unexpectedly, Jay told me much more about Charlotte’s family than I could tell her and provided family photographs, which is always immensely satisfying.
Prior to being contacted by Jay Dunn through ancestry on June 24, 2018, I had already uncovered multiple documents related to Charlotte Bruck, although my understanding of her three marriages and life was rather disjointed. Rather than try and inaccurately reconstruct what I already knew at the time, let me briefly highlight major events in her life.
Charlotte (Lottchen, Lotte, Lottel) Bruck got married for the first time on the 3rd of May 1906 in Berlin to the Protestant landowner Walter Edward Stavenhagen (Figures 11a-b) who owned an estate in Eichwerder in the district of Soldin, Germany [today: Myślibórz, Poland]. Though both of Charlotte’s parents were of Jewish descent, on her wedding certificate, Charlotte is identified as Protestant, indicating she and/or her parents had converted. Following her marriage to Walter at age 19, they moved to Soldin, and Charlotte gave birth to two sons there: Frederick Wilhelm Stavenhagen (1907-1997) and Hans Joachim Stavenhagen (1909-1947). (Figures 12-13a-b)
Charlotte first became ill following the birth of her second son, possibly the result of postpartum depression or a bi-polar disorder. Charlotte’s mother, Margarethe von Koschembahr Bruck (Figure 14), came and removed her from Walter Stavenhagen’s estate in 1909, whereupon she was briefly hospitalized in Schierke, located in the Harz Mountains of northern Germany. In a diary entry dated the 19th of November 1909, Charlotte’s maternal grandmother, Amalie Mockrauer von Koschembahr (1834-1918) (Figures 15-16), describes her granddaughter’s circumstances at the time:
“Ich bin furchtbar traurig über das Fehlschlagen von Lottchens Friedensversuch. Nachdem sie in Eichwerder (nördlich Mysliborz) mit den besten Vorsätzen und mit festem Muthe eintraf, sich in ihr Schicksal und ihre Pflichten zu fügen, benahm sich Walter abermals unglaublich lieblos, rücksichtslos und roh, so, daß es nach kurzer Zeit für Lotte unmöglich war Stand zu halten. Soweit mir berichtet wurde, ist alles geschehen, um es dem Mann leicht zu machen in Frieden zu leben, allein es war vergeblich. Krank und gebrochen mußte meine arme Lottel ihre Heimath für immer verlassen, nur begleitet von ihrem kleinen Fritzchen, den armen kleinen Hans gab der Mann nicht heraus. Mein armes Gretchen holte ihr Kind, Marianne und Kurt, die von großer Liebe und Treue sind, begleiteten sie. Lotte flüchtete nach Schierke (Ort im Harz), wohin ihr Gretchen nachfolgen mußte, da Lotte sehr krank ist. Welcher Schmerz ist es doch schon wegen der kleinen mutterbedürftigen Kinder! Welche große Sünde hat der bösartige Mann auf sich geladen! Mein lieber allmächtiger Gott hilf uns in dieser Noth!
Das alles muß ich so still für mich mittragen, denn mit Tilla kann ich mich nicht aussprechen – sie hat eine andere Anschauung vom Unglück der Menschen – sie kann froh darüber sein, während ich zwar ergeben aus Gottes Hand alles nehme, aber tief traurig an meine unglücklichen Kinder denke. Seitdem Martha von Schmidt der Tod von uns genommen hat, habe ich Niemanden, mit dem ich ein tröstliches Wort austauschen kann. Ach, wieviel Schwaches giebt es auf der Welt – der Kampf hört hier nicht auf und so sehnt man sich nach der ewigen Reise. –Mit Tilchen kann ich mich darüber deshalb nicht verstehen, weil sie glaubt das Unglück, welches der Herr schickt, soll die Menschen bessern und seine Gnade und Liebe erkennen lassen.”
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
“I am terribly saddened by the failure of Lottchen’s attempt at peace. After she arrived in Eichwerder (today north of Myślibórz, Poland) with the best of intentions and with firm courage to submit to her fate and duties, Walter again behaved in an unbelievably unloving, inconsiderate, and crude manner, so that after a short time it was impossible for Lotte to stand firm. As far as I was told, everything was done to make it easy for the man to live in peace, but it was in vain. Sick and broken, my poor Lottel had to leave her home forever, accompanied only by her little Fritzchen (Note: Charlotte’s older son Frederick); poor little Hans was not released by the man. My poor Gretchen (Note: Charlotte’s mother, Margarethe von Koschembahr) fetched her child, and Marianne and Kurt (Note: Charlotte’s younger sister and brother-in-law, Marianne & Kurt Polborn), who are of great love and loyalty, accompanied her. Lotte fled to Schierke (a place in the Harz Mountains in northern Germany), where Gretchen had to follow her, since Lotte was very ill. What a pain it is already because of the little children in need of a mother! What a great sin the wicked man has brought upon himself! My dear Almighty God help us in this distress!
I have to bear all this so quietly for myself, because I cannot talk to Tilla (Note: Tilla, Tilchen, was Margarethe von Koschembahr’s sister, Mathilde von Koschembahr) – she has a different view of people’s misfortune – she can be happy about it, while I humbly take everything from God’s hand, but think deeply sad about my unhappy children. Since death took Martha von Schmidt (Note: a friend of Amalie von Koschembahr, Charlotte’s grandmother) from us, I have no one with whom I can exchange a comforting word. Oh, how much weakness there is in the world – the struggle does not end here and so one longs for the eternal journey. I can’t get along with Tilchen because she believes that the misfortune the Lord sends should make people better and recognize His grace and love.”
Walter and Charlotte’s marriage certificate has a notation in the upper right-hand corner confirming they were divorced in Berlin on the 19th of May 1910. (Figure 17) Atypical of the time, Charlotte was granted custody of both of her boys because spousal abuse was suspected, as the diary entry above suggests.
According to family history, following her hospitalization in the Harz Mountains, Charlotte lived with her mother in Dresden, Germany until she remarried Karl Eduard Michaelis in 1913, a marriage which lasted only two years. At around this time, Charlotte again showed signs of mental illness, so her family sent her to America in 1915, to a hospital located in Minnesota; her two sons accompanied her to America. Her stay there was relatively brief because she soon moved to New Haven, Connecticut, where she met her third husband, Ernest Gustav Lorenzen (1876-1951), through the German Society there, whom she married around 1916. Ernest Lorenzen was a law professor at Yale University; he would eventually adopt both of Charlotte’s sons by Walter Stavenhagen, and they would take the Lorenzen surname. The 1920 U.S. Federal Census indicates Ernest and Charlotte living with her two sons in New Haven, Connecticut, (Figures 18-19) although by 1930, only Ernest and Charlotte’s older son Frederick lived together. (Figure 20) By 1940, Frederick was married with two daughters and his younger brother was living with them. (Figure 21)
Jay Dunn shared a remarkable letter with me dated 1940 written by the Superintendent of the Fairfield State Hospital in Connecticut where Charlotte Lorenzen née Bruck was permanently institutionalized as of around April 1939 until her death in June 1974. To me, this letter is noteworthy for two reasons. One, it is incredibly detailed as to Charlotte’s mental condition and institutionalization over the years, information I would assume would be confidential. And two, the letter was written at the request of Charlotte’s younger son, Hans Joachim Lorenzen, known in America as John Jay Lorenzen; it seems that John’s future father-in-law, William Sweet, sought a medical opinion as to the possibility of Charlotte’s mental condition being hereditary prior to his daughter Brenda’s marriage to John.
According to the 1940 letter, following Charlotte’s treatment in Minnesota and her relocation to New Haven, she appears to have been well until around 1921, then suffered another relapse from which she again improved by 1922; after 1925, however, she was institutionalized through the remainder of her life. While originally diagnosed with Manic Depressive Psychosis by 1928 she had become delusional. Over time, Charlotte’s original diagnosis was altered to Dementia Praecox, Paranoid Type, whose prognosis was not as good. Today, Dementia Praecox would more generally be referred to as schizophrenia. The Superintendent from the Fairfield State Hospital concluded as follows in his response to John Jay Lorenzen:
“Summing it up then in another manner I might say that if you consider yourself a normal individual in good physical health with no emotional problems which cannot be readily solved, I would not hesitate to contemplate marriage and would not entertain any undue fears that my children might inherit the illness of my parent. Unless one can definitely assure oneself that his heredity is too heavily tainted, I think one would do himself an injustice if he did not make every reasonable effort to live the kind of normal life to which everyone of us is certainly entitled.”
Ernst Lorenzen divorced Charlotte sometime after she was permanently institutionalized, and eventually got remarried. Charlotte’s older son Frederick (Figure 22-23) became a successful lawyer in New York and paid for his mother’s care throughout her life. Jay Dunn’s father, John Jay Lorenzen (Figure 24), obtained an MBA from Harvard around 1933, worked for a time as a stock broker for Smith Barney, then started a cola company called Zimba Kola (Figures 25-26) with a college friend. He was drafted in 1943, became an officer in the Navy (Figure 27), and was sent to the Pacific where he fought valiantly alongside General MacArthur in the battles of Okinawa and Leyte Gulf. He survived the war, only to commit suicide in 1947, likely from depression caused by PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. Though Charlotte Bruck and her sons came to America well before Hitler rose to power, her fate and that of her younger son were indeed sad tales.
One final fascinating anecdote. Gerhard Bruck von Koschembahr, Charlotte’s oldest brother mentioned above, like his father, also married a baroness, Hilda Alexandra von Zeidlitz and Neukirch (1891-1954). (Figures 28-29) Hilda’s mother, Cornelia Carnochan Roosevelt, married on the 3rd of February 1889 to Baron Clement Zeidlitz, was a distant relative of President Theodore Roosevelt. (see Figure 9) It is likely that Gerhard Bruck von Koschembahr was able to “disguise” his Jewish ancestry by dropping the Bruck surname. Thus, because of Gerhard’s wife’s connection to the Roosevelts, they sponsored Gerhard’s entrance into America in 1938 with his family at a time when many Jewish families trying to reach America by ship were turned away. The most notorious ship turned away from landing in the United States in the lead up to WWII was the German liner St. Louis carrying 937 passengers, almost all Jewish; the ship was forced to return to Europe, and more than a quarter of the refuges died in the Holocaust.
Note: In this post I relate the story of how in the process of helping a reader whose grandmother died in 1940 in Ratibor, the birthplace of my father, I improbably discovered information on some of my own ancestors.
Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland] (Figure 1), the town in the Prussian province of Upper Silesia where my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, was born in 1907 was one of the largest municipalities in the region. Periodically, readers who are descended from former inhabitants of Ratibor will contact me through my Blog asking for information I have or may have come across related to their ancestors. Often, their relatives are entirely unknown to me but seeing what, if anything, I can uncover about them becomes an extension of my own forensic genealogical endeavors. And, the pleasure I derive in helping others is sometimes magnified when I learn something about my own ancestors in the process. The inspiration for the current post stems from precisely such a situation.
One reader, Dan Ward, recently contacted me after perusing Post 13 and Post 13, Postscript, and learning the “Muzeum w Raciborzu” in Racibórz had given me an Excel spreadsheet with the names of the Jews that had once been interred in the former Jewish Cemetery in Ratibor, requesting a copy of this database. This cemetery was demolished in the 1960’s during Poland’s Communist era to further expunge evidence of German residency in the area. Fortunately, before the stout headstones were torn down and sold off locally, a Polish gentleman whom I wrote about in Post 13, Postscript, Mr. Kazimierz Świetliński (Figure 2), had the foresight to photograph all the gravestones; these images served as the basis for the creation of the Excel database, with the Racibórz Museum staff gleaning as much vital information as possible from the high-quality snapshots. Despite the sharp and fine details on the photos, not all the data is discernible. More on this below.
Dan Ward contacted me seeking information on the tombstone and burial location of his grandmother, Rosa Wartenberger née Perl, who according to records he found was buried on the 29th of March 1940 in the Jüdischer Friedhof Ratibor, Jewish Cemetery in Ratibor, in Plot 153; she died or committed suicide before she was scheduled to be deported to a concentration camp. As a quick aside, the “Ward” surname is clearly the Anglicized version of the “Wartenberger” family name. Dan sent me screen shots with the source of this information, Jewish Gen. As readers can see, Rosa Wartenberger’s name was misspelled as “Risa Wortenberger,” although the transcriber obviously had trouble deciphering the script. (Figure 3)
Armed with the information Dan sent me, I immediately began my own research. The first thing I checked was the Excel spreadsheet with the names of Jews formerly buried in the Jewish Cemetery in Ratibor, and Rosa Wartenberg is not listed. Dan would later tell me his grandmother’s maiden name was “Perl,” and I found four individuals with this surname once interred in the Jewish graveyard, but being unfamiliar with Dan’s family tree, I am not sure how they might have been related to her.
Next, I checked address books and phone directories for Ratibor. I have previously told readers about a database on ancestry.com, entitled “Germany and Surrounding Areas, Address Books, 1815-1974 (Adressbücher aus Deutschland und Umgebung, 1815-1974),” with address books for Germany, Poland, and other neighboring countries. In the only address book in this database for Ratibor for the year 1938, I found a single “Wartenberger.” It was for a man named “Kurt Wartenberger,” identified as a “gastwirt,” innkeeper, shown living at “Breite Straße 54.” (Figure 4)
I asked my friend Mr. Paul Newerla from Racibórz, a retired lawyer whom regular readers have often heard me mention, who now researches and writes about the history of Silesia, whether the surname “Wartenberger” is familiar to him. It is not, but in a 1926 Ratibor Address Book not included among the “Germany and Surrounding Areas” directories, he too found “Kurt Wartenberger” listed, identified then as a “destillateur,” distiller, living at “Brunken 54.” (Figure 5) Other than finding Kurt Wartenberger’s name in the 1926 Ratibor directory, Paul could add nothing more.
I found it odd the address number “54” was identical in 1926 and 1938 but that the street names were different. Paul Newerla explained that “Brunken” was a connecting street to what is referred to as the Altendorf district, that’s to say, a little “outside” of Ratibor along the main road towards Oppeln [today: Opole, Poland] and Leobschutz [today: Głubczyce, Poland]. I located this street, respectively, on plan maps of Ratibor from 1927-28 (Figure 6) and 1933 (Figure 7), although a plan map from 1914 names it “Große-Vorstadt.” (Figure 8) In tiny print on all three plan maps, readers can see the number “54,” confirming it was the same corner lot with different street names over time.
I passed along what Paul and I had found to Dan Ward. He confirmed that Kurt had owned a tavern and that family papers in his possession place Kurt’s business at “Große-Vorstadt 54,” papers which must clearly pre-date 1927-28, by which time the street was known as “Brunken.” By 1938, the street had been renamed yet again because it was then called “Breite Straße.” According to Dan, Kurt Wartenberger was murdered in the Shoah in Buchenwald, and, indeed, Yad Vashem lists him as a victim of the Holocaust. (Figure 9)
Next, I retraced Dan Ward’s steps to track down the source of the information on his grandmother, misspelled as mentioned above as “Risa Wortenberger.” The data, as I previously also said, originates from JewishGen, and relocating it was straight-forward. Here, however, is where things took an interesting turn. The source documentation for the data in JewishGen comes from elsewhere, namely, from the Church of Latter-Day Saints’ (LDS) “Family History Library International Film 1184447, Item 2” (Figure 10), which is one of three microfilm rolls with data on the former Jewish inhabitants of Ratibor. While I had last examined this microfilm many years ago, when it was still necessary to order films from the LDS Church in Salt Lake City and have hard copies sent to a local Family History Library for viewing, I clearly remembered this roll as having limited or, at least, confusing information. Now that the Ratibor records are accessible online through familysearch.org, I decided to reexamine film 1184447.
For anyone interested in seeking similar information from familysearch.org for towns they are researching, they can replicate these steps:
1) Go to familysearch.org (you can create a free account);
2) Under the “Search” button, scroll down to “Catalog,” click enter, and go to the following page;
3) Next, type in “Raciborz” under “Place,” or whatever town you are seeking records for (i.e., different spellings yield different results, so for towns that are now located in different countries than they once were, you may need to try alternate spellings);
4) Scroll down to “Poland, Opole, Racibórz (Racibórz),” then hit “Search”;
5) Select “Poland, Opole, Racibórz (Racibórz) – Jewish records (1),” hit enter;
6) Next select “Matrikel, 1814-1940”;
7) On the next screen select “1184447, Item 2” (select the camera icon all the way to the right; if there is a key above a camera icon, the microfilm is unavailable online).
There are 342 pages on Microfilm 1184447 but only pages 220 through 338, referred to as “Item 2,” specifically deal with Ratibor. The film contains “Friedhofsurkunden 1888-1940” for Ratibor, which Peter Hanke, my German friend who helps me with translations and making sense of German records, tells me is more aptly referred to as “Friedhofsdokumente,” or cemetery documents. The cemetery administration would use these files to see which tombs were unused; which ones could be reused after 25 or 30 years if descendants stopped paying to keep their ancestors interred; which tombs were reserved in perpetuity for so-called “family graves”; or simply to help visitors locate specific graves. These files often contain useful information for genealogists, as I illustrate below.
Let me digress for a moment. Given the disparate sources of ancestral information I have accessed over the years, including in this current post, I am often reminded of the American television game show “Concentration” that aired from 1958 until 1991. Basically, the game was based on the children’s memory game of the same name. Players had to match cards which represented prizes they could win. As matching pairs of cards were gradually removed from the board, it would slowly reveal a rebus puzzle that contestants had to solve to win a match. The similarity I see with genealogical research is not so much solving the rebus, but matching pairs of cards. Often years pass before a “genealogical card” I newly discover can be “matched” to one or more I found earlier in my investigations. The challenge, particularly as I get older, is retrieving the earlier “card” from my memory. Such is the case with connections to Microfilm 1184447, Item 2.
I downloaded, saved, and studied all 119 pages from this film, and made several interesting discoveries and connections. Of immediate interest, I found Rosa Wartenberger’s name in an index (Figure 11); as readers can discern from what I have circled in Figure 11, the number “46” appears to the right of Rosa’s name; this refers to the page number in the “Friedhofsdokumente,” on which Rosa’s name and interment date appear. Initially, I found only one page 46, not realizing there was a left page-right page pair.
Let me briefly explain. When the LDS Church originally photographed vital records for Ratibor and other places, they typically started by photographing the left-side pages from the front to the back of the register, then in reverse order from the back to the front photographed the right-side pages; thus, the left page-right page pairs, either identically numbered or consecutively numbered, from any register will not be found on consecutive microfilm images. Thus, while Rosa’s name does not appear on the left-hand page 46, it is found on the right-hand page 46; for reader’s ease, I have “grafted” the two pages in one (Figure 12), and translated, using a different grafted left-right pair of pages, the headers for each column. (Figure 13)
As readers can see, by “Grabnummer,” grave number, 153, the date of Rosa’s interment is shown, the 29th of March 1940, which matches the information in JewishGen. The column titled “Belegt” translates to “occupied,” and signifies when a person was interred, rather than when they died.
Once a researcher understands the organizational “structure” of microfilms with cemetery documents, they are easy though tedious to use. On one left-right pair of pages, I was able to find both sets of great-grandparents on my father’s side. (Figure 14) Oddly, the names of Fedor Bruck (Figure 15) and his wife, Friederike Bruck née Mockrauer (Figure 16), are not found in the Excel spreadsheet at the Muzeum w Raciborzu, meaning no photo of their headstone was taken. However, Hermann Berliner (Figure 17) and Olga Berliner née Braun’s names do appear in the Excel spreadsheet indicating a picture of their gravestone exists. (Figure 18)
I know from a family tree in the Pinkus Family Collection at the Leo Baeck Institute that my great-grandmother Friederike Bruck née Mockrauer died in Berlin on the 29th of February 1924 (Figure 19), though she was not buried there. From Microfilm 1184447, I learned she was instead interred on the 11th of May 1924 in Ratibor, almost 10 weeks later, presumably alongside her husband. Jews are typically interred within two to three days after they die, so a 10-week delay is very unusual. (Figure 20)
On Microfilm 1184447, I also found a single page mentioning one of my father’s older brothers who died in infancy, Walter Bruck. (Figure 21) His name is found on a page entitled “Kleiner Kinderfriedhof,” small children’s cemetery. This is further proof of his existence. A brief explanation. After I began immersing myself in family history and creating a family tree years ago, I started to wonder why there was a nine-year age difference between my father’s oldest brother, Fedor Bruck, born in 1895, and my father’s older sister, Susanne Bruck, born in 1904, in an era where families were large. I eventually learned in 2014 when I visited the “Archiwum Państwowe w Katowicach Oddział w Raciborzu” (“State Archives in Katowice Branch in Raciborz”) that another sibling had been born in 1900 (Figure 22) who died in infancy the next year (Figure 23), named Walter Bruck. I was able to retrieve both his birth and death certificates among the civil records archived at the Archiwum Państwowe. Thus, the discovery of Walter Bruck’s name on Microfilm 1184447 was confirmation he was once buried in the Jüdischer Friedhof Ratibor.
Among the photos that Mr. Kazimierz Świetliński took at the former Jewish Cemetery in Ratibor before it was demolished is one showing the “Kindergräber,” children’s graves. (Figure 24) As readers can see, the children’s names on some of the headstones can be made out, though most are indecipherable. Interestingly, there is a separate index on Microfilm 1184447, entitled “Großer kinderfriedhof,” big children’s cemetery (Figure 25), with the names of older children buried in the Jewish Cemetery. Infants may have been interred in graves identified only by number, as I discovered in the Weißensee Jewish Cemetery in Berlin.
As a tedious exercise for another day, which I started while researching and writing this post, is cross-checking the names on Microfilm 1184447 with those on the Excel spreadsheet. Some names on Microfilm 1184447 are not in the Excel database, while others are found in both. Preliminarily, I was able to amend death dates or years in the Excel directory, which, as previously mentioned, was compiled from photos, some of which are indistinct.
In closing, I would say one final thing. Based on the Excel index I obtained years ago, I mistakenly concluded then that none of my Bruck relatives had ever been interred in the Jewish Cemetery in Ratibor, even though I knew some died there when the cemetery was still in use. However, with the benefit of the information I recently acquired from the Jewish records on Microfilm 1184447, I am certain that at least three relatives with the Bruck surname were once buried there. And, this discovery was spurred by helping a reader learn about one of his relatives, a case of helping yourself by aiding others, a most satisfying outcome!
