Note: A stash of 60 letters written between January 1940 and June 1946 by my father’s first cousin Fedor Löwenstein to Marcelle Rivier, an accomplished artist and erstwhile girlfriend, was donated to Paris’ Institut national d’histoire de l’art (INHA). These letters form the basis of a two-part article written by Jérôme Delatour from INHA about the artist’s life during this period and the depressive climate of the Nazi Occupation. I synopsize some of M. Delatour’s discussions which augment what I’ve previously written about Fedor.
With so much of today’s interpersonal communications taking place via email, texts, social media, etc., I often consider that future genealogists and historians may not have written correspondence available to them to round out their understanding of people they study, whether they be ancestors or not. Absent contemporary letters, unless diaries are found, it may be difficult for researchers to develop a complete picture of their subjects nor the ordeals they confronted. Similarly, with so many of today’s pictures being stored in the cloud, it is fair to wonder how many of these images will be printed and survive. With this in mind, any time I gain access to a cache of letters and pictures left behind by one of my relatives, particularly when they were renowned, it is cause for celebration.
Readers are reminded that the previous two posts, Posts 160 and 161, largely dealt with Fedor Löwenstein.
The National Institute for Art History (INHA) was created in 2001 for the purpose of consolidating and promoting research in art history and heritage studies. Its main mission is the advancement of scholarly research and international cooperation in the field. It sets up research and educational programs as well as activities for the dissemination of knowledge that serve both art historians and the general public.
With its library, the INHA also provides a unique collection of resources and documentation in this field. The Institute is run jointly by the French Ministry of Higher Education and Research and the French Ministry of Culture.
The letters that were the source of the two-part article written by Jérôme Delatour were donated to the INHA in January 2016 by Danièlle and Bernard Sapet, owners of the Sapet Gallery in Valence, France. The collection consists of sixty letters signed by Fedor Löwenstein, 58 of them addressed to Marcelle Rivier and two to unknown recipients. The Sapets came into possession of these letters because of their association with Marcelle Rivier (1906-1986) when they assisted her in the final years of her life when she lived in Mirmande in the Drôme department of southeastern France. (Figure 3) Today the Sapets are the custodians of her house in Mirmande and of the artist’s archives.
Fedor Löwenstein’s letters to Marcelle Rivier provide details on some of the events discussed in earlier posts. Let me briefly review Fedor and Marcelle’s lives, then provide relevant background drawn from the letters.
Fedor Löwenstein was born in Munich in 1901 but was of Czechoslovakian extraction. He was part of the vast movement of Eastern European artists who made their way to Paris attracted by the cultural influence of the city. Before immigrating to France in 1923, Löwenstein had studied at the School of Decorative Arts in Berlin, then at the Academy of Fine Arts in Dresden.
The Eastern European artists contributed to the brilliance of the so-called École de Paris, the “School of Paris”; in reality, this name does not refer to any school that really existed, but rather to the movement which brought together artists who contributed to making Paris the focus of artistic creation between the two world wars. It was in this rich artistic context that Löwenstein painted and drew.
In Paris he mixed with and became a student of the painter André Lhote (1885-1962) from Bordeaux. He exhibited at the Salon des Surindépendants before joining the “Groupe des Surindépendants” in 1936. The Salon and the Artistic Association of the Sur-Independents were founded in the autumn of 1928 by a few artists who no longer wanted an admission jury and questioned the restrictions imposed by the new regulations of the Salon des Indépendants promulgated in 1924.
Löwenstein’s early works were marked by the influence of cubism, whose main representatives worked in Paris, although his subsequent productions evolved towards abstraction (Figure 4), probably under the influence of André Lhote. In 1938, he painted “La Chute” (The Fall) (Figure 5), inspired by the signing of the Munich Agreement that dismantled then-Czechoslovakia that had been created in 1918. The composition and symbolism in the work are reminiscent of the convulsed and screaming silhouettes of Picasso’s Guernica, a lofty comparison.
Marcelle Rivier, Fedor’s future girlfriend, was French though she grew up in Argentina; she was characterized as a woman of “fiery temperament.” She was a saleswoman in an art gallery in Buenos Aires in 1924, a model from 1930 to 1934, a music-hall dancer in 1935, but above all a painter. (Figure 6) In the 1930s, she exhibited at the Salon d’Automne and the Salon des Tuileries. During the Occupation, she was a member of the Resistance, often exhibiting great carelessness and recklessness, according to Jérôme Delatour.
Marcelle Rivier arrived in Paris in 1928 and studied at the Léger and Julian academies. Like Löwenstein, she was a student of André Lhote and enrolled in his course. During the summer, he took his students to Mirmande in the Drôme, where the painter had settled in 1926.
In 1936, Marcelle Rivier married the well-respected journalist Ferdinand Auberjonois (1910-2004), though the marriage was short-lived. After a short stay in New York, she returned to Paris in 1938 and it was then that she met Löwenstein. At the time, Fedor was still involved with Doris Halphen, whom I introduced to readers in Post 161. However, by November 1939, Marcelle and Fedor were romantically involved, a tumultuous affair that lasted until October-November 1943. (Figure 7)
Let me now turn to the contents of some of Fedor Löwenstein’s letters
In a letter addressed to Marcelle Rivier dated the 11th of May 1940, Fedor Löwenstein wrote to her about the 25 paintings that are the subject of my restitution and repatriation claim against the French Ministry of Culture. In the spring of 1940, when he had to flee Paris as quickly as possible in the face of the advancing German army, Fedor nonetheless took the time to package and ship the 25 works of art for an exhibition to be held at the Nierendorf Gallery in New York. He wrote: “It is only on Monday that I will know if my paintings are leaving, or if I should abandon this dream. I had a bad feeling.” Löwenstein was right. As I’ve told readers in previous posts, his crates were seized on December 5, 1940, at the port of Bordeaux, and shipped to the Jeu des Paume in Paris, where most were torn to shreds with knives, then burned during the month of July 1943
Fedor Löwenstein was apparently back in Paris before the Nazis entered the city on the 14th of June 1940 but left the capital at the last minute for Mirmande.
In April 1941, Fedor left Mirmande to go to Nice to see his mother and sister who lived there, and in the vague hope of embarking for Mexico. In a scene that must have been oft repeated across Europe wherever Jews seeking to escape the Nazis waited for travel visas, Löwenstein wrote on the 24th of April 1941, of the gloomy and depressive atmosphere:
“On the Promenade des Anglais, where the spinach-green uniforms of German and Italian officers clash with the monotonous-azure blue, Jews from all over the world await the messiah in the form of an affidavit. The corpses are well dressed, they have only been able to save this and 20 marks and there are not 36 ways to escape the debacle. From time to time I meet an old acquaintance, thrown from the bottom of the sea by the tidal wave, we shake hands, and we are hardly surprised to see each other here – and besides, what is the point – and where? Get the hell out of here! But Lena, who was here for a few days (Lena is my Polish friend who lives in Marseille) wired [sic] to Hollywood so that [I] could go to Mexico. I will let myself be taken away, but I do not ‘feel’ my departure. . .”
In a letter from the 30th of April 1940, he writes:
“It is curious, all the same, this atmosphere of the morning coffee, this idleness in front of a piece of white paper and more umbrellas in front of the window of the café in a minute than all year on the square of the Champs de Mars in Mirmande. It smells of dampness, damp clothes, the smell of cooking, cat pee, and the national coffee. Apart from that, I have never been able to appreciate this ‘pearl of the Mediterranean’”
The above characterizations sounds very Kafkaesque.
Seemingly having been unable to obtain the affidavit necessary to immigrate to Mexico, and having nothing more to do in Nice, Löwenstein resolved to meet Marcelle Rivier in Mirmande in late 1941 and keep a low profile. Hence the interruption in letters between December 23, 1941, and June 4, 1943. However, the Nazi invasion on the 11th of November 1942, of the previously unoccupied zone of France, the southern part of the country where the Vichy regime operated, forced Fedor further into hiding. On a full moon night in February 1943, Marcelle Rivier evacuated him from Mirmande, disguised as a peasant woman. He went to Cliousclat where he was taken in by Mena Loopuyt (1902-1991), a Dutch painter, then hidden in the Abbey of Aiguebelle.
Löwenstein complained bitterly about the soul-sucking (my words) work that was required of him for protection by the monks. He was expected to contribute to the beautification of the monastery. He writes in a letter dated the 30th of September 1943:
“The work that has been stuck with me this time is so disgusting that I wonder how I will do it, having accepted the fruit jellies as an advance. Imagine tile plates on which, in relief, a nymph is picking flowers. All of this is the purest new style, but so disgusting as a ‘spirit’ and as a material that one must, I think, beat the sole throughout South America to find one’s equal. And I must color them. Yesterday I told Father A[bbé] that if I asked them to sing songs from the guardroom at the basilica, it would have the same effect on them as it would on me to ‘paint’ it.”
In what Jérôme Delatour characterizes as a “source of much pain and self-sacrifice,” Löwenstein was commissioned to paint the portrait of the abbot. The abbot was not at all pleased with the result, perhaps upset by the theft of 53 bottles of liquor from the abbey, exclaiming: “this is not my skin, not my eyes, I’m not so fat, what is this bosse (bump) on my head!” (30th of September 1943) Admittedly, the portrait of the abbot is not very flattering. (Figure 8)
Löwenstein’s letters of love and war reflect a self-awareness that as a Jew and a Czechoslovakian he was “doubly undesirable in the new Europe of the early 1940s.” On May 27, 1940, he wrote, “virtually all Czechoslovakia have been in a concentration camp with one foot. But the other, my good leg, is still at large. . .this morning at the consulate we were told we must provide letters written by Frenchmen, vouching for our entire loyalty to France.”
Löwenstein’s legitimate concerns were affirmed with the enactment by the Vichy regime of “The Law of 4 October 1940 regarding foreign nationals of the Jewish race,” which authorized and organized the internment of foreign Jews and marked the beginning of the policy of collaboration of the Vichy regime with Nazi Germany’s plans for the extermination of the Jews of Europe.
All Löwenstein’s letters mention his health problems: “slight itching, general weakness, sweating, without making me feel ‘really ill’’’ (8 January 1944), which spoke to the “enemy within.” Realizing he needed to be seen by a specialist, using the alias “Lauriston,” he traveled to Paris in November 1943. A blood test confirmed he was suffering from Hodgkin lymphoma, a blood cancer that primarily affects the lymphatic system and that was incurable at the time.
His nighttime description of occupied Paris is haunting:
“Going out in Paris at night is a bit tricky, especially when it’s raining like last night. Imagine when you get out of the subway, that you are immersed in black ink, indelible and absolute. Little by little, you can see around you other shadows that have come out of hell and are waiting like you for the moment when they ‘see’. . .Finally, the shadows, in groups, leave, feel the void, pierce the darkness, fall, rise, collide and arrive as if by a miracle, just like ants underground by instinct, in front of the theatre.” (26 November 1943)
Löwenstein spent the whole of 1944 in Paris, miraculously unmolested by the Nazis. His letters to Marcelle Rivier were rare at the time, as the couple had broken up in the autumn of 1943, although it’s possible that any letters from this period have disappeared. According to Jérôme Delatour, apart from a greeting card at the end of the year, there were no letters in 1945, and only two in 1946.
As Jérôme Delatour suggests, in his letters Fedor Löwenstein passionately captured a sense of the period’s depressive climate, the moral dissolution that accompanied the fall of France following the country’s rapid capitulation to Germany, and the time of the Occupation, dominated by material concerns and the price of and access to food. Even though the dangers were very real, Fedor’s letters seem almost to have distilled them to down-to-earth questions: “The valley is just a box full of dirty cotton. . .Everything froze and for the pockets of the people of Mirmande, a cauliflower at 4.50 is too expensive. We live on pasta, noodles and macaroni. . .For a vegetarian of my talent, it’s almost starvation. Already.” (Mirmande, 27 March 1940) Expectedly, rationing also affected the availability of art supplies.
Given his deteriorating condition and the Nazis changing fortunes in 1944-1945, following his departure from Paris, Fedor likely returned to Nice to spend his remaining days with his mother and sister. (Figure 9) The last words in his last letter to Marcelle Rivier were “Do you continue to paint?” (Nice, 21 June 1946) In this letter he also announced that he would be having a major exhibition in Cannes to coincide with the film festival there in September. Löwenstein was hospitalized on August 4, 1946, and died soon thereafter. (Figure 10) The first Cannes Film Festival opened on September 20th. Marcelle Rivier continued to paint until her death in 1986.
Note: In this very lengthy post, I discuss my father’s first cousin’s whereabouts during World War II, based on newly acquired information. As with other recent posts, I obtained the details from a reader whose uncle, serendipitously, was imprisoned in the same German prison camp in Lamsdorf, Silesia [today: Łambinowice, Poland] as my father’s relative. While researching his uncle, the reader came across the names of Heinz Löwenstein and his alias Henry Goff. Readers will discover than Heinz’s surname is spelled three ways, “Löwenstein,” “Loewenstein,” and “Lowenstein.”
To better understand all the places where my father’s cousin wound up, I’ve explored some of the historical events related to WWII. I’m disinclined to apologize for presenting this detailed background because of its relevance to Heinz’s story so I trust readers will understand and gloss over parts that are of limited interest.
I had the pleasure of meeting my father’s charismatic first cousin Heinz Löwenstein (1905-1979) once as a boy while vacationing with my parents in Nice, along France’s Côte d’Azur. (Figure 1) Since my father rarely spoke of his relatives, it would be many years before I would work out the ancestral connection. At the time I met Heinz, he had come to Nice from Haifa, Israel where he was living with his girlfriend to visit my father and his sister, Jeanne “Hansi” Goff née Löwenstein (1902-1986). (Figure 2) In time, I would learn that Heinz and Hansi were my father’s two closest cousins, born around the same time as he was.
On the rare occasions when my father spoke of his family, the stories were always understandably suffused with a huge note of sadness so, in retrospect, I’m not sure I was ever told the unabridged story. Absent a complete telling of actual events, I may have embellished or fabricated some of what I thought I heard. My recollection in the case of Heinz is that he survived World War II by escaping from a Nazi detention camp, or that he had himself intentionally captured for the purpose of helping other detained Jews escape, admittedly heroic and rather vague accounts. With the benefit of hindsight, I realize how implausible these scenarios seem but growing up they were believable. Paradoxically, what I’ve recently learned is not so far removed from what I imagined as a child.
Heinz’s story is a tangled web that I will attempt to unravel and present to readers in a comprehensible manner, though some may be left wanting, as I am. But then I modulate my disappointment by reminding myself I’m reconstructing a story without the benefit of the protagonist’s own words that took place almost 80 years ago. Of course, there will be some things that are unknown and unknowable.
I introduced Heinz Löwenstein to readers way back in Post 16 when I discussed what I knew about his mother, my great-aunt, Hedwig Löwenstein née Bruck (1870-1949), and his two siblings, Fedor Löwenstein (1901-1946) and Jeanne “Hansi” Goff née Löwenstein (1902-1986). (Figure 3) Heinz’s older brother Fedor may sound familiar as he was the subject of Post 105. (Figure 4) That post relates to my ongoing efforts to obtain compensation on behalf of my family from the French Ministry of Culture for paintings confiscated by the Nazis from Fedor in December 1940 at the port of Bordeaux that have languished in a French storeroom for more than 70 years.
Though I met Heinz as a child, as previously mentioned, prior to researching him I knew virtually nothing about his life. A salacious story circulated that his girlfriend was the wife in a couple Heinz lived with in Haifa (Figure 5); everybody was apparently fine with this odd arrangement. The only other thing I vaguely recall is what I’ve already alluded to, namely, that Heinz survived the war by being an “escape artist,” though what exactly this means was never clear.
Fast forward to the beginning of February of this year. Through my blog’s webmail, I received an intriguing email from an English gentleman, Mr. Brian Cooper (Figure 26), who I would later learn lives in Maidstone, County Kent, England, telling me he had come across Heinz Lowenstein (without an umlaugh over the “o”) in connection with his research on prisoners of war. As I’ve already mentioned and will illustrate, Heinz’s tale is a complicated one. Accompanying his email was a very precise timeline of Heinz’s time as a prisoner of war with primary source documents substantiating his findings. As an aside, the detailed level of research Brian has undertaken exemplifies the standard to which I try and hold myself accountable when researching and writing my posts.
As I will explain in more detail below, there are two threads Brian found in Post 16 that convinced him “his” Heinz Lowenstein was the same person as “my” Heinz Löwenstein. First, his Heinz Lowenstein used the alias “Henry Goff,” Goff being his married sister’s surname. Second, he learned that my Heinz Löwenstein had the same date of birth, the 8th of March 1905, as the prisoner of war records indicate for the Heinz Lowenstein he is researching.
I immediately asked Brian why he was interested in Heinz Lowenstein. Though very familiar with this branch of my extended family, I assumed there was an ancestral connection of which I was unaware. Astonishingly, it turns out Brian’s uncle, Harold William Jackson from the 2nd Battalion Northamptonshire Regiment, captured in 1940 in France, was interned in one of the same Stalags as Heinz had been held, namely, Stalag VIIIB/Stalag 344 in Lamsdorf, Silesia [today: Łambinowice, Poland]. (Figure 27) Much more on this below but suffice it to say that unlike Heinz who was at multiple Stalags and work labor camps throughout his captivity, Brian’s uncle seemingly was only a “resident” at Stalag VIIIB until January 1945 when the Nazis began marching the still able-bodied prisoners of war west as the Red Army was approaching. To date, Brian has only been able to trace his uncle’s movements to this point and is hopeful of finding the diary of a fellow inmate who might have recorded what happened to his uncle on the march westward.
As mentioned above, attached to Brian’s first correspondence was a detailed timeline of Heinz’s movements following his capture during the 1941 Battle of Greece. I’ve summarized much of this in the table found at the tail end of this post and intend the discussion that follows to primarily focus on the events that led to Heinz’s involvement in this conflict and his journeys and escapes following his capture and what they tell us. However, before launching into this, let me very briefly review the little I knew of Heinz’s life prior to being contacted by Brian.
Heinz Kurt Löwenstein was born in the Baltic port city of Danzig, Germany [today: Gdańsk, Poland] on the 8th of March 1905. I don’t know anything about his childhood. I’m next able to track him through his marriage certificate to a divorcee, Rose Nothmann née Bloch, which took place in Danzig on the 22nd of October 1931; Rose was eleven years Heinz’s senior. There is an illegible notation in the upper righthand corner of the marriage certificate indicating Heinz and Rose got divorced, which initially led me to believe they were divorced in Danzig. The only other pre-World War II entry I can find linking Heinz to Danzig are two listings in a 1933 Address Book. One identifies him as the inhaber, owner, of a so-called Reklame-Büro, an advertising office, named after his deceased father, Rudolf Loewenstein (Figure 6); as I discussed in Post 71, Heinz’s father died in a plane crash on the 22nd of August 1930 while on a business trip to then-Czechoslovakia. The second listing identifies Heinz Loewenstein, yet a third different spelling of his surname, as a Propagandist, promoter, for this Reklame-Büro. (Figure 7)
Based on this scant evidence, I theorize that Heinz, his sister Hansi, and their mother Hedwig departed Danzig sometime after 1933. I know that Heinz’s mother and sister wound up in Nice, France, but am unable to document that Heinz accompanied them. Having met Heinz in Nice sometime during the 1950s, obviously I knew he’d survived World War II. At the time he lived in Haifa, Israel but, as I would discover on my own much later, he had changed his name to “Hanoch Avneri.” Thanks to the intervention of a fourth cousin who lives in Haifa, with great difficulty I obtained a copy of Heinz’s burial certificate from Haifa Hevra Kadisha, a burial society in the State of Israel, showing he died on the 10th of August 1979. (Figure 8)
Until Brian Cooper provided documentary evidence, I had no idea how Heinz had survived WWII. The primary source of information on Heinz Lowenstein’s whereabouts and movements during the war can be found in the UK National Archives. Specifically, records created or inherited by the War Office’s Armed Forces Services containing “German Record cards of British and Commonwealth Prisoners of War and some Civilian Internees, Second World War,” are pertinent. Three entries related to Heinz Lowenstein, or his alias “Henry Goff,” can be found in catalogue WO 416. The National Archive website provides a summary of these German Record cards, but Brian obtained complete copies of the originals, which form the basis for the detailed synopsis he compiled of Heinz’s wartime activities.
The most informative German Record card in terms of tracking Heinz Loewenstein’s locations during the war is record number WO 416/412/223 (Figures 9a-d), alternately referred to as his Personalkarte, his personnel card. The information contained therein is summarized at the table at the end of this post, but in the following discussion I will highlight the most important details and place them in a broader, historic context.
Heinz’s Personalkarte, intriguingly including his picture, along with his father’s first name, his mother’s maiden name, his religion, and his date and place of birth, all previously known to me, confirm this was my father’s first cousin. Unknown to me was his service number (i.e., 8576), his service (i.e., Palestinian Army), the regiment or squadron he was a member of (i.e., Corps of Signals), his profession (i.e., electrician), the place he was captured (i.e., Greece), the date of his capture (29th April 1941), his POW number (i.e., 8576), and the camp name and number where he was initially interned (i.e., Stalag XVIIIA which was located in Wolfsberg, Austria).
The name and address of Heinz’s next of kin, Rose Löwenstein, is also given, confirming that Heinz and Rose were likely still married when they emigrated to Palestine and probably got divorced there following Heinz’s return from the war. As an interesting aside, the notation on Heinz and Rose’s marriage certificate that they got divorced, likely in Palestine, somehow made its way back to Danzig to be recorded on their 1931 certificate. In my limited experience, this is not unprecedented. About ten years ago, I was able to track down a second cousin presently living in Germany but born in Spain, by dint of a notation made on his 1946 Barcelona birth certificate stating he had gotten married in Haag, Oberbayern, Germany in 1982.
Based on the new information, I surmise Heinz either moved temporarily from Danzig to Nice, France with his sister and mother or moved directly to Palestine from Danzig. After emigrating to Palestine, he likely soon became a British citizen as others moving there during the 1930s did. Readers will notice the year “1935” lightly penciled in to the right of his nationality, perhaps corresponding to his arrival in Palestine.
Following his move to Palestine, he likely volunteered for the British Army. Two POW lists published, respectively, in September 1944 (Figure 10) and April 1945 (Figure 11) indicate the regiment/unit/squadron Heinz was a member of, “3 L. of C. Sigs.” This refers to the “3 Line of Communication Signals [Royal Corps of Signals, often simply known as Royal Signals].” For readers, like me, unfamiliar with the work of this squadron, this unit is responsible for providing full telecommunications infrastructure for the Army wherever they operate. Signal units are among the first deployed, providing battlefield communications and information systems essential to all operations.
Heinz’s Personalkarte shows he was captured on the 29th of April 1941. Before discussing where he is likely to have been captured, let me provide readers with a general overview of the Battle of Greece. (Figure 12) The Battle of Greece, also known as the “German invasion of Greece” or “Operation Marita” was the attack of Greece by Italy and Germany during World War II. It began on the 28th of October 1940 with the Italian invasion of Greece via Albania, then a vassal of Italy. Greece, with the help of British air and material support, repelled the initial Italian attack and counterattack in March 1941.
Realizing that the bulk of Greek troops were massed along the Greek border with Albania and that Italy was in trouble, German troops invaded from Bulgaria on the 6th of April 1941, opening a second front. The Greek Army was quickly outnumbered even with the reinforcement of small numbers of British, Australian, and New Zealand forces. The Greek forces were outflanked by the Germans at the Albanian border, forcing their surrender. British, Australian, and New Zealand forces were overwhelmed and forced to retreat southwards down the Greek peninsula, with the goal of evacuation. For several days, Allied troops were able to delay the German advance, allowing ships to be positioned to evacuate the units defending Greece. Still, by the 27th of April the German Army captured Athens, and reached Greece’s southern shores by the 30th of April. The conquest of Greece was completed a month later with the capture of the island of Crete. An intriguing footnote is that Hitler later blamed the unsuccessful German invasion of the Soviet Union on Mussolini’s failed conquest of Greece.
Knowing that Heinz was taken prisoner on the 29th of April, Brian reasons that he was seized in or near Kalamata on the Peloponnesian peninsula. (see Figure 12) Based on testimony from others, we know that POWs were quickly moved to a prison compound at Corinth (Figure 13) where, if what has been published is correct, some 4,000 prisoners were held in extremely poor conditions. Brian sent me a chapter of a book entitled “Friends Ambulance Unit, 1939-1943: Experiences in Finland, Norway, Sweden, Egypt, Greece and Germany,” by H. Martin Lidbetter. Let me quote a few passages from this book describing the deplorable state of things in the detention camps.
Regarding prison life in the hospital in Kalamata: “The place was a stinking mess, and we cleaned it up. Nobody was getting anything to eat, and two hours after we started, we served biscuit porridge and tea for breakfast, and gave the patients regular meals afterwards. . .The men were in a shocking state, and we cleaned them, dressed their wounds, nursed them.”
“On the 13th May we and the patients were moved by train to Corinth, where in almost tropical heat we were marched to an enormous Dulag (Transit Camp) which was to be our home for many weeks. Here the food was terrible, but it was possible to buy extras from the Greeks. For water we had to queue for hours at a well just outside the camp.”
“The experiences of the next few months in transit camps brought the biggest tests of endurance in maintaining human relationships that anyone in the Unit had undergone. To retain, when terribly hungry, the customary human decency was difficult indeed. To keep clean and presentable when water was scarce, even for drinking; to carry on with one’s duties calmly and normally, even when faint and weak through lack of food; to divide rations impartially; to resist the temptation to pick scraps of food from the rubbish bins—all these things called for a continual and maintained efforts.”
Regarding the transfer from Corinth to Salonika (Figure 14), tracking the same path Heinz likely followed: “On Saturday, 7th June 1941, after nearly a month in the Corinth camp, we moved to Salonika. We marched from camp soon after 2am bringing up the rear of the last of four contingents each consisting of about 800 men, so that we could help any whose physical health bordered on collapse. We marched 7 ½ miles to the nearest railhead north of the Corinth Canal which was one of the few parts of the railway not wrecked by recent military action and took to cattle trucks. Our particular trucks were designed to transport 34 men each, when not carrying cattle. During one part of our journey there were 52 of us and our kit crammed into one such wagon.”
The prisoners stopped briefly in Athens before continuing northwards. However, when they reached the tunnel below the Brallos Pass (see Figure 12), north of the town of Gravia, the prisoners had to dismount because the tunnel had been rendered unusable by explosives during the recent retreat by Allied soldiers. Thus began what is referred to as “The March,” the destination of which was the town of Lamia 40 miles north. This involved a long slog uphill, followed by a precipitous downhill walk in unpleasantly hot weather.
When the prisoners eventually arrived at the Dulag in Salonika, they saw what their treatment would involve: “There was a large transit camp holding about 4,000 prisoners. The first days we paraded with thousands of men in the burning sun for hours; many fainted and had to be carried off. Food was no more than a piece of bread or a biscuit, with thin soup and German ersatz tea.”
There was not enough food of any kind, both in the hospital and the barracks in which we lived. The supply of water was irregular and unfit for use without boiling. All we had was some very thin soup with modules of very tough meat—probably horse meat—and hard bread which was almost inedible. . .None of the beds had any mattresses, only the steel under mattresses, so we lay on our clothes to soften them and spent the night swatting the fleas and lice, and bedbugs which crawled up the legs of the beds to bite us or dropped from the ceiling.
In the hospital there were typhoid, malaria, tuberculosis, dysentery, and diphtheria cases, and later the dreaded beriberi, which claimed several victims—this was caused by lack of vitamins in the diet which is contained in Marmite.
It was very hot, and I did not sleep a single night except for a few nights in early October before we left for Germany.”
A Facebook account about the “Battle of Kalamata 1941” estimates that by September 1941, 12,000 POWs had passed through the “Salonika Transit Camp Frontstalag 183,” on their way to the central Europe Stalags They included many nationalities—Scots, English, Australians, New Zealanders, Serbs, Indians, Palestinian Jews, Cypriots, Arabs, and Greeks. Many of the POWs died, and a few daring ones escaped. By 1942, following the transfer of the POWs to the Stalags, the Salonika transit camp had been converted to detaining Greek Jews before they were transported to the Nazi death camps.
From Heinz’s Personalkarte we know he was initially imprisoned in Stalag XVIII in Wolfsberg, Austria after being transported by cattle truck from the Salonika Transit Camp. (Figure 15) In a book written by John Borrie, entitled “Despite Captivity: A Doctor’s Life as Prisoner of War,” a map shows the route by which the author arrived in Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf in October 1941 (Figure 16), where Heinz ultimately also wound up. John Borrie appears to have arrived in Lamsdorf via a slightly different route than Heinz, who we know first spent time in Wolfsberg in southern Austria. A different German Record card for Heinz Lowenstein, WO 416/228/460, records his transfer from Stalag XVIIIA in Wolfsberg, Austria to Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf on the 8th of July 1941. (Figure 17-18) This corresponds to the earliest date on Heinz’s Personalkarte, German Record card WO 416/412/223, and corresponds to the date he was inoculated against typhoid, perhaps upon his arrival at Stalag VIIIB.
In the case of three of these transfers to work labor camps, the fixed places to which Heinz was assigned are specified, namely, working at an airfield, working at a paper factory, and working on road construction. His work assignments were interrupted on three occasions by stays at the hospital at Stalag VIIIB. Given the arduous nature of the work, the unsanitary conditions at the Stalags, the lack of food, and the sometimes-brutal treatment at the hand of guards, it’s not surprising POWs were in poor health.
The most interesting thing recorded on Heinz’s Personalkarte is the solitary confinements he was made to endure for neglecting or disturbing work operations and for two escapes. Remarkably, Heinz’s escape from work labor camp designated as “E479” in Tarnowitz is recorded in a book by Cyril Rofe entitled “Against the Wind.” Cyril himself escaped from a work camp that was subordinate to Stalag VIIIB on his third attempt, eventually making his way to Moscow before being repatriated via Murmansk. I quote at length from Cyril Rofe’s description of Heinz’s escape:
“The first pair to escape were Joe Powell and Henry Löwenstein. Tall and ginger haired, Löwenstein had been brought up in Danzig and spoke perfect German. They had already been on one working party, which had been no use from their point of view. They had managed to get themselves sent back to the Stalag and then volunteered to come to Tarnowitz. As soon as they arrived, they wanted to be away. They were not fussy about their clothes, and it was easy enough to collect together all they needed. By the end of February they were ready to go. [EDITOR’S NOTE: BASED ON HEINZ’S PERSONALKARTE, WE KNOW HEINZ AND JOE WERE READY TO MAKE THEIR ESCAPE ATTEMPT AT THE END OF JANUARY 1943 RATHER THAN THE END OF FEBRUARY 1943]
On the morning of their escape they wore their civilian clothes under their battledress and overcoats. When groups left camp the men were always counted by the duty clerk, who handed them over to the guards, who also counted them. The guards were then responsible for the men until they handed them back to the duty clerk in the evening. The group to which Powell and Löwenstein belonged were working on the line just outside Beuthen station, about 10 miles from the camp, and travelled there and back by train each day. At the end of the day the Unteroffizier in charge always counted them before they got on the train for the return journey.
Joe Powell and Löwenstein had no difficulty in getting away at Beuthen. [Figure 19] Finding a quiet corner they slipped out of their Army clothes and walked away as civilians. They boarded a tram outside the station and travelled to Gleiwitz, where they caught a train to Danzig. None of the guards noticed their absence during the day. When the train arrived in the evening the men fell in quickly, the Palestinian corporal counted them rapidly and gave the full number as present. Before the guards had a chance to check the count the men broke off and clambered on to the train.
The Unteroffizier said nothing. Judging by his subsequent behaviour he had his suspicions but was not anxious to confirm them. He was a wily old fellow. When they reached camp he counted the men quickly, gave the same number as he had taken over in the morning and dismissed the men before the duty clerk had completed his check. The men broke off and entered the camp, while the clerk accepted the Unteroffizier’s figure as correct. The Unteroffizier had covered himself against blame.
Every night there was Appell (roll-call) in each of the barracks, the men falling into five ranks to be counted. That night Kaplan came around as usual with the Feldwebel and a guard, whose duty it was to count the men by walking along in front of them, checking that there were five in each file. Kaplan had it all carefully arranged. When he and the two Germans entered the barrack in which Joe and Löwenstein had slept, the men in the front rank were standing close together to prevent the guard from noticing the two empty places at the end of the rear rank. Kaplan talked to the Feldwebel, blocking his view while the guard started his count. As soon as he had passed the first few files, two men in the rear rank ducked low, ran quietly long the back, fell in again at the other end, and were counted a second time. The guard reported the correct number present and the Feldwebel was satisfied.
This was on Monday night. The next morning Kaplan, who arranged all the work lists for each day, marked the two escapees down on the light-duty list, so that they did not have to report for work at Beuthen. Kaplan kept them covered up until the following Friday, on which day I myself was working at Beuthen. During the lunch-hour the Unteroffizier came into the hut and asked for Löwenstein and Joe, the second by the name he had adopted. On being told they were sick he grinned all over his face and went out again. Apparently the Feldwebel had telephoned to ask if they were there.
When we arrived back at camp we heard that during the morning a telephone call had come through to the Feldwebel enquiring whether he had had anybody escape from the camp. On his answering in the negative, he learned that the police in Danzig had picked up two men using those names who claimed to have escaped from Tarnowitz. When the Feldwebel checked up he found the two men were missing and nobody had the slightest idea when they had left or how.
An officer came to investigate. The Feldwebel accused Kaplan of being responsible for this outrage, affirming that it was Kaplan’s duty to work with him, not against him and threatened to get even with him. This was right up Kaplan’s street. Not only did he inform the Feldwebel that he actually had helped the men to escape, but he added that he considered it his duty as a British solider to help anybody else who wished to escape and that he would do so whenever he could. Furthermore, he said, it was the Feldwebel’s job to guard us, not his, and the Feldwebel need expect no more cooperation from him until he apologized! Fortunately the officer agreed that Kaplan had only done his duty and managed to preserve the peace.
Kaplan had told them that Joe and Löwenstein had escaped on Monday, although he did not tell them how, and that he had covered them up ever since. They flatly refused to believe such a thing was possible until Kaplan showed them how he had done it.
There were no repercussions in the camp, except that thereafter the Feldwebel counted us himself at night, and for some days he and Kaplan were not on speaking terms. Kaplan refused to have anything more to do with the worklists. The result was chaotic, and within a week the Feldwebel was back begging to be ‘friends as before.’ This sounds fantastic, but it happened. Only a Kaplan could have brought it off, but knowing Kaplan one did not expect less. He was tall and bulky, and when one saw him ordering the Germans around he looked a veritable Gulliver among pygmies.”
A few observations about Cyril Rofe’s description of Joe Powell and Henry Löwenstein’s escape from Tarnowitz. As Rofe states, the repercussions for Joe and Heinz’s escape from the work labor camp were minimal. Heinz’s Personalkarte shows he spent only seven days in solitary confinement after he was returned to Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf. The repercussions could have been much worse if the two prisoners had fallen into the hands of the Gestapo when they were recaptured, particularly in the case of Heinz who was Jewish. The Wehrmacht, the unified armed forces of Nazi Germany, rather than the Gestapo ran the POW system, so in a sense POWs were safer inside the Stalags, particularly in the case of Jewish prisoners.
The Wehrmacht resisted all efforts by the Gestapo to gain access to and control over the POW system until mid-1944 when Hitler appointed Gottlob Berger to head up the POW system, when it fell under Heinrich Himmler’s control. However, in practice nothing changed. The military camp commandants and staff remained in place and continued to manage the camps as originally instructed by the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (OKW). Berger appears to have had too much on his plate to deal with his new responsibilities in a manner that would have pleased Hitler and Himmler. This said, some POWs did disappear from the Stalags during the war.
One final confirming observation. Rofe, while wrong about the month Joe and Heinz were ready to make their escape, correctly notes that they escaped on a Monday and were recaptured on a Friday. The dates on which Monday and Friday in February 1943 fell match the dates on Heinz’s Personalkarte showing when he was on the lam, February 1st through February 5th.
Following the end of the war, Joe Powell, or “Jack” as he was familiarly known, completed a liberation questionnaire, “General Questionnaire for British/America Ex-Prisoners of War.” Brian was able to obtain a copy of this document, which he shared with me. One question deals with the main camps or hospitals in which he was detained, but the question that most interested me is one in which Jack briefly detailed his escape attempt with Heinz. I quote: “From Beuthen working party in civilian clothing together with a fellow prisoner, a German Jew, Heinz Löwenstein. Captured Danzig by railway police.” (Figure 20a-b) He claims to have been free for three days during this escape, which differs slightly from Rofe’s account.
An administrative entry appearing on Heinz’s Personalkarte dated the 6th of December 1943, states Heinz was transferred from Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf to Stalag 344 in Lamsdorf. (see Figure 9b) For some reason, the Nazis redesignated Stalag VIIIB as Stalag 344 but they are the SAME Stalags. I suspect an identical notation was made on the personnel cards of all POWs.
An entry was made on the 13th of August 1943 and then again on the 21st of August, following Heinz’s third escape and recapture, specifically from work labor camp E494 in Oppeln, Germany [today: Opole, Poland], when he was sentenced to six days in the brig. (see Figures 9b-c)
There are two other curious notations, respectively, dated the 15th of September 1943 and the 10th of June 1944 that appear related to another escape attempt. I will discuss these further below. Another administrative entry from April 1944 prohibits POWs from having sexual relationships with German women. (see Figure 9d)
Following Heinz’s release from the brig in August 1943 after his third escape, possibly in September 1943 or slightly later, it is almost certain that Heinz made a successful fourth escape from Stalag VIIIB/Stalag 344 or one of its subordinate work labor camps. The evidence for this comes from War Office record WO 224/95 (Figure 21a-d) which places him at Camp Siklós in Hungary in November 1943. What to make of the two notations mentioned above on Heinz’s Personalkarte from Stalag VIIIB dated the 15th of September 1943 and the 10th of June 1944, when we know positively he was already in Hungary, is a complete mystery.
ASKED FOR A POSSIBLE EXPLANATION, BRIAN COOPER SUGGESTS THE FOLLOWING WITHOUT ANY CONCRETE EVIDENCE THIS IS WHAT TOOK PLACE. ON PAGE 3 OF HEINZ’S “PERSONALKARTE,” FIGURE 9C, UNDER THE CATEGORY “KOMMANDOS,” IF THE GERMANS WERE AWARE THAT HE HAD ESCAPED YET AGAIN, THEY WOULD HAVE ADDED A NOTATION TO THIS EFFECT. BECAUSE THEY DID NOT DO SO BRIAN THINKS THE GERMANS MANAGING STALAG 344 CONTINUED TO BELIEVE THAT HE WAS A POW THERE UNTIL 1945. ACCORDING TO BRIAN, A NOT SO INFREQUENT OCCURRENCE WAS THAT A POW WOULD EXCHANGE IDENTITIES WITH ANOTHER POW TO INCREASE THEIR OPPORTUNITIES FOR ESCAPING UNDETECTED. THE SEPTEMBER 1943 AND JUNE 1944 ENTRIES MAY HAVE BEEN ATTEMPTS BY THE SUBSTITUTE POW TO OBTAIN REPLACEMENT DOG TAGS TO “TEST” WHETHER THE GERMANS HAD BEEN FOOLED BY THE SUBSTITUTION.
Record WO 224/95 is a Visit Report by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) written on the 16th of November detailing prison conditions at the Camp Siklós Hungarian detention center inspected on the 8th of November 1943. While referred to as Camp Siklós the holding facility had in fact been moved from Siklós to Szigetvár on the 12th of August 1943 due to the poor conditions prevailing at Siklós. Attached to this report is a list of 16 British internees, presumably, all POW escapees, including “Henry Lowenstein.” It’s unclear at what point Heinz was arrested in Hungary but no later than the 8th of November he was in Hungarian hands. Szigetvár, incidentally, was the castle estate of Count Mihaly Andrassy, and incarceration conditions there were excellent.
The ICRC visit to Camp Siklós (Szigetvár) was conducted in its capacity as a Protecting Power which was formalized in the Geneva Convention of 1929. Protecting powers were allowed to inspect prisoners of war camps, interview prisoners in private, communicate freely with prisoners, and supply books for the prison library. The term “Protecting Power” is simply defined. It is a state which has accepted the responsibility of protecting the interests of another state in the territory of a third, with which, for some reason, such as war, the second state does not maintain diplomatic relations. I won’t discuss them but Stalag VIIIB at Lamsdorf was visited on numerous occasions by a Protecting Power.
Now, I will again digress to provide some historical context of Hungary’s situation vis a vis Nazi occupation at the time that Heinz was detained there.
In March 1944, Hungary was invaded and occupied by Nazi Germany. Before the Nazi invasion, there was no state of war between Hungary and the United Kingdom, so any British POW escapees, if caught by the Hungarian authorities, would expect no more than internment by Hungary as a neutral power. There was no concern that British POWs would be returned to German control. Based on the existing War Office records, Heinz escaped from Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf and somehow made his way to Hungary before the Nazi occupation, though a few entries previously mentioned on Heinz’s Personalkarte are confusing in terms of the timeline when this occurred.
Now we get to the murkiest part of Heinz’s story. From one moment to the next, he goes from being “Heinz Lowenstein” to being “Henry Goff.” (To remind readers, the surname “Goff” was Heinz’s sister’s married name.) As a Hungarian internee, Heinz is known as “Henry Lowenstein,” but when he falls into German hands a second time following Germany’s occupation of Hungary, he uses the alias “Henry Goff.” Since the Hungarians clearly knew Heinz’s real identity, they may have chosen not to share it with the Germans. Regardless, from this point forward, as far as the Germans are concerned, Heinz is known as “Henry Goff.” This is confirmed by War Office record WO 416/141/191. (Figure 22) This record matches his actual date of birth, but now shows him born in Manchester, England. The Germans, knowing no better, allocate him a new POW number, No. 156116. From Heinz’s standpoint, the change of surname and birth place was presumably an insurance policy because of his faith. Together with his new POW number, he presumably thought that his chances of survival improved.
Regardless of how Heinz again fell into German hands in Hungary, WO 416/141/191 tells us that he was returned to the Stalags in Austria. Precisely when this occurred is unknown, but by the 28th of July 1944, Henry Goff is transferred from Stalag XVIIA in Kaisersteinbruch, Austria to Stalag XVIIB in Gneixendorf, Austria. (Figure 23)
The British camp leadership at Stalag XVIIA and/or Stalag XVIIB was aware that Heinz Lowenstein was there but was known as Henry Goff. We know this to be the case from the POW list published by the British War Office in April 1945, record WO 392/20. (see Figure 11) This information was likely transmitted in a coded message to the War Office. According to Brian, some men were trained in anticipation they might be captured and then used to write coded messages that could be embedded in normal correspondence.
Alternatively, Brian thinks the news of Heinz’s name change may have arrived in London via the International Committee of the Red Cross. Possibly this information, along with how Heinz fell into the hands of the Germans a second time, may be found in the archives of the ICRC. Additionally, the archives may also hold information on how British POWs were transported from the “Salonika Transit Camp Frontstalag 183” to the Stalags in Germany in 1941. Search applications to the ICRC are only open a few times a year with the next opportunity to submit a request being on September 22nd. During the next open period, I will apply to obtain any ICRC records related to Heinz Löwenstein and Henry Goff.
On the 8th of April 1945, 4,000 of the POWs at Stalag XVIIB were forced by the Nazis to begin an 18-day 235-mile march to Braunau in Bavaria, Germany. (Figure 24) The remaining 900 men were too ill to make the march so were left behind in the hospital and were liberated by the Red Army on the 9th of May. It’s unknown whether Heinz was well enough to travel, but if he marched to Braunau he would have been liberated by the Americans. If so, he could have been repatriated to Palestine via United Kingdom or via Italy. On the other hand, if he was left behind at Stalag XVIIB he might subsequently have been released to the British 8th Army in Austria, then possibly moved south into Italy for direct repatriation to Palestine.
Brian has unsuccessfully tried tracking down Heinz’s military personnel file to obtain answers to open questions. He submitted a Freedom of Information request to the United Kingdom’s Ministry of Defence (MOD) to see if they know where service records for WWII Palestinian recruits are held, whether the records were left in Jerusalem when the British mandate over Palestine ended in 1948 or repatriated to the UK. The MOD claims the only way to determine this would be to examine every service record to establish where each service personnel was recruited. Not a very satisfactory response.
At Brian’s suggestion, I contacted the Israel Defense Force and Defense Establishment Archive (IDF Archive) inquiring about Heinz’s military personnel file, and about my father’s service records from his time in the Pioneer Corps (i.e., my father Otto Bruck was also a member of the English Army though at the opposite end of the Mediterranean theater in Algeria.) The IDF Archives referred me to the Pioneer Veterans Association, who responded in Heinz’s case that his military records “are somewhere in Jerusalem.” The search continues.
I will now bring this lengthy blog post to a close with a short commentary. First, I’m deeply indebted to Brian Cooper for all the new information and primary source documents he brought to my attention regarding my father’s first cousin’s whereabouts during WWII. Frankly, I’m astonished at all the materials related to Heinz he was able to track down. It never occurred to me to check the records of UK’s Ministry of Defence since I had no suspicion that he’d ever been in the English Army. After learning Heinz was once a member of the Royal Corps of Signals, I was rechecking the handful of photos I have and found one of him with his mother and brother taken in Nice, France after the war on the balcony of the apartment where his mother lived. Heinz is wearing a battle dress tunic jacket in which one can barely detect the Royal Signals insignia. (Figures 25a-b)
Regretfully, I never asked my father questions about his ancestors, which he might have been disinclined to answer given how painful many aspects of his past were. Thus, it comes as a pleasant surprise I’ve been able to fill in some holes in what I know about Heinz Löwenstein. It confirms in a general way my childhood belief that he was an escape artist. Though the consequences as a Jew of escaping so many times could have been dire, in all instances his punishment was light. Knowing this perhaps Heinz viewed it as a game to try and outwit the enemy? While I will never obtain the answer to this and other questions, what I have learned enhances my respect for this courageous man.
HEINZ LÖWENSTEIN TIMELINE (1905-1979)
DATE
EVENT
PLACE
SOURCES & REMARKS
8th March 1905
Birth
Danzig, Germany [today: Gdańsk, Poland]
1905 birth certificate
22nd October 1931
Marriage to Rose Bloch
Danzig, Germany [today: Gdańsk, Poland]
1931 marriage certificate
ca. 1935
Moved to Palestine, likely became a British citizen, & volunteered for the British Army (Pioneer Corps)
Palestine
29th April 1941
Taken prisoner at the end of the Battle of Greece likely near Kalamata on the Peloponnesian Peninsula
Greece
First held as a prisoner in Corinth, then moved to Salonika before eventually being sent to Austria for incarceration (WO 416/412/223)
8th July 1941
Given inoculation against typhoid fever at Stalag XVIIIA (Wolfsberg, Austria)
Wolfsberg, Austria
WO 416/412/223
28th July 1941
Transferred from Stalag XVIIIA (Wolfsberg) to Stalag VIIIB (Lamsdorf)
Wolfsberg, Austria;
and
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/228/460
5th September 1941
Assigned to work labor camp E230 in Görlitz at the Fliegerhorst (airfield)
Görlitz, Germany [today: Zgorzelec, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
23rd September 1941
Krankenhaus im Lager (in hospital)
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
29th October 1941
Assigned to work labor camp E29) in Wawrowitz, Kreis Troppau at the Zuckerfabrik (sugar factory)
Wawrowitz, district Troppau [today: Vávrovice, Opava District, Czech Republic]
WO 416/412/223
16th December 1941
Assigned to work labor camp E358 in Oppahof-Stettin, Kreis Troppau
Oppahof-Stettin, Kreis Troppau [today: Štítina, Opava District, Czech Republic]
WO 416/412/223
18th June 1942
Assigned to work labor camp E453 in Stramberg, Kreis Neutitschein (Neu Titschein)
Stramberg, Kreis Neutitschein (Neu Titschein) [today: Štramberk, Nový Jičín District, Czech Republic]
WO 416/412/223
2nd October 1942
Placed in solitary confinement for 5 days for neglecting work and disturbing work operations
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223;
During this punishment Heinz got sick and was hospitalized
6th October 1942
Krankenhaus im Lager (in hospital)
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
19th November 1942
Assigned to work labor camp E412 in Krappitz, Germany at the Papierfabrikenwerke (paper mill)
Krappitz, Germany [today: Krapkowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
15th January 1943
Assigned to work labor camp E479 in Tarnowitz, Germany
Escapes from work labor camp E479 in Tarnowitz, Germany, catches a train in nearby Beuthen, Germany, which he takes to Danzig, Germany
Tarnowitz, Germany [today: Tarnowskie Góry, Poland]; and Beuthen, Germany [today: Bytom, Poland]; and Danzig, Germany [today: Gdańsk, Poland]
Heinz walks away from the work labor camp in Tarnowitz, walks to nearby Beuthen to catch a train to Danzig, where he is eventually recaptured by Rairway Police and returned to Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf (book by Cyril Rofe entitled “Against the Wind”)
8th February 1943
Placed in solitary confinement for 7 days for his escape from work labor camp E479 in Tarnowitz
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
2nd March 1943
Assigned to work labor camp E456 in Oppeln, Kalkau-Wiessen, Germany at the Landesstrassenbauamt (State Highway Department)
Oppeln, Germany [today: Opole, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
6th May 1943
Krankenhaus im Lager (in hospital)
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
9th June 1943
Assigned to work labor camp E494 in Gleiwitz, Germany at the Firma Braukmann
Gleiwitz, Germany [Gliwice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
13th July 1943 to 21st July 1943
Escapes from work labor camp E494 in Gleiwitz, Germany
Gleiwitz, Germany [Gliwice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
21st July 1943
Recaptured after 8 days on the lam; serves six days of solitary confinement
Location unknown
WO 416/412/223
13th August 1943
Returned to Stalag VIIIB
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
15th September 1943
Entry whose meaning is unclear; Heinz may have escaped yet again and been recaptured or escaped for good
WO 416/412/223
16th November 1943
Henry Lowenstein’s name appears on a “List of British Prisoners of War on the Estate of Count Mihaly Andrassy, Szigetvár, Hungary”
Szigetvár, Hungary
WO 224/95 & WO 392/10
6th December 1943
“Transferred” from Stalag VIIIB to Stalag 344 in Lamsdorf, Germany (In late 1943, Stalag VIIIB was redesignated as Stalag 344)
Lamsdorf, Germany [today: Łambinowice, Poland]
WO 416/412/223
I surmise this entry is an administrative one made on the Personalkarte of all POWs
28th July 1944
Using an alias “Henry Goff” born on the 8th of March 1905 in Manchester, England, he is transferred from Stalag XVIIA in Kaisersteinbruch, Austria to Stalag XVIIB in Gneixendorf, Austria
Kaisersteinbruch, Austria; Gneixendorf, Austria
WO 416/141/191 & WO 392/20
Post-WWII
Changes his name from Heinz Löwenstein to “Hanoch Avneri”
Israel
Personal correspondence
10th August 1979
Death
Haifa, Israel
Burial Certificate from Haveri Kadisha
20th August 1979
Burial
Haifa, Israel
Burial Certificate from Haveri Kadisha
REFERENCES
Borrie, John. Despite Captivity: A Doctor’s Life as Prisoner of War. Whitcoulls, 1975.
Lidbetter, H. Martin. Friends Ambulance Unit, 1939-1943: Experiences in Finland, Norway, Sweden, Egypt, Greece and Germany. 1st ed., Hyperion Books, 1993.
Rofe, Cyril. Against the Wind. 1st ed., Hodder & Stoughton, 1956.
Venetsanakos, Georgia (2015, July 15). Battle of Kalamata 1941. Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/battleofkalamata/posts/seventy-years-ago-the-surviving-pows-are-making-their-way-through-transit-camps-/1600718310191993/
Note: In this post, I discuss my own attempt to obtain compensation and damages from the French government on behalf of my family for works of art seized by the Nazis in December 1940 from my father’s first cousin, Fedor Löwenstein, a noted painter. I also touch on the multiple occasions France has wronged my family during WWII, following WWII, and continuing to the present.
This story begins in 2014. This is the year my wife and I took a 13-week trip to Europe traveling from northeastern Poland to southeastern Spain following the path of my Jewish family’s diaspora. It included a stop at the Stadtmuseum in Spandau, on the outskirts of Berlin, where the personal papers of two of my accomplished and unmarried great-aunts, Franziska Bruck (Figure 1) and Elsbeth Bruck (Figure 2), are archived. The family items at the Statdtmuseum include academic papers, diaries, numerous professional and personal letters, family photographs, awards, and miscellaneous belongings. (Figures 3a-b) During my visit, I photographed all the articles and artifacts for later study.
The letters and photographs turned out to be most informative. The letters were written in four forms, Old German Script (known as die Kurrentschrift or Kurrent for short in German); an updated version of Kurrent called Sütterlin developed in the early 20th Century; normal German script (deutsche Normalschrift); and typed normal German. Suffice it to say, that the three forms of German script are completely indecipherable to me, so I depended on German-speaking friends and relatives to translate these letters. However, in the case of letters typed in German, using a good on-line translator, called DeepL, I was able to make sense of the content of some of these missives.
One letter I translated provides the basis of much of this Blog post. (Figures 4a-c) It contains astonishing information that led to the seven-year odyssey I embarked upon to obtain redress from the French government for an injustice perpetrated upon my father’s first cousin, Fedor Löwenstein, by the Nazis. The letter was written by Fedor’s younger sister, Jeanne “Hansi” Goff née Löwenstein, to her aunt, my great-aunt, Elsbeth Bruck. It is dated the 30th of October 1946, and was sent from Nice, France to Berlin, Germany. What makes the letter so astounding is not that it mentions both my paternal grandmother ELSE Bruck and my father OTTO Bruck, since both had connections to Nice and France in 1946, but rather to Hansi’s declaration that one of her brother Fedya’s (named Fedor but also called “Fidel”) paintings had sold posthumously in 1946 for 90,000 French Francs. Using a Historic Currency Converter, I determined this would be worth more than $16,000 as of 2015, obviously even more today. Given the enormous amount that one of Fedor Lowenstein’s paintings had fetched in 1946 convinced me that he was no run-of-the-mill painter and that I needed to learn more about him.
One place my wife and I visited in 2014 attempting to obtain copies of original death certificates for ancestors who had died in Nice was la Mairie de Nice, City Hall. There, I was able to obtain death certificates not only for Fedor Lowenstein (Figure 5) and his mother, Hedwig Löwenstein née Bruck (Figure 6), but also for his sister, Jeanne Goff née Löwenstein. (Figure 7) I was fortunate to even find Fedor Lowenstein’s name in the death register. In German, his surname was spelled “Löwenstein,” with the “ö,” that’s to say with an umlaugh over the “o,” transcribed in English as “oe”; in the French death register, Fedor’s surname was spelled simply as “Lowenstein” (Figure 8), so I nearly missed finding his name among the 1946 deaths. I would later discover that Fedor’s surname was variously spelled “Lowenstein,” “Löwenstein,” and even “Loevenstein.”
Having obtained the death certificates, I was dispatched to a different administrative office in Nice, le Service Administration Funéraire, the Funeral Administration Office, to locate their tombs. While Fedor’s sister I learned had been cremated, the Funeral Administration Office directed me to the Cimetière Caucade, the Caucade Communal Cemetery (Figure 9), on the outskirts of Nice to find Fedor and Hedwig’s tombstones. (Figures 10-11) It was providential that I was assisted at the Funeral Administration Office by a Mme. Jöelle Saramito (Figure 12), who would later render me a great service.
Jeanne Goff née Löwenstein’s translated 1946 letter convinced me her brother was no ordinary painter. Knowing this, I became curious whether I could obtain an obituary from a contemporary newspaper that might lead me to living descendants. Hoping Mme. Saramito might be able to track it down for me, or at least point me in the right direction, I contacted her. What she provided surpassed my expectations.
In what can only be characterized as a fortunate occurrence of serendipity, Mme. Saramito sent me links to several articles about an exposition featuring three of Fedor Löwenstein’s paintings seized by the Nazis that had been displayed at the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Bordeaux. Unbeknownst to my wife and me, this exhibit had taken place there between the 16th of May and the 24th of August 2014, overlapping our extended stay in Europe that year; needless to say, had we known about this exposition, we would have detoured there.
Among the links Mme. Saramito sent me was an article naming the art curator for the exhibition held at the Musée des Beaux-Arts, a lady named Florence Saragoza; the article also mentioned the French government was looking for legitimate family members to whom Fedor Loewenstein’s artworks could be returned.
While I had several photographs of Fedor Löwenstein with his family in Nice (Figurse 13-14) found at the Stadtmuseum in Spandau, and a copy of his acte de décès, death certificate, obtained from la Mairie de Nice, there was much I did not know about my father’s first cousin. Hoping to learn more, I tried to contact Mme. Saragoza, and quickly discovered she was affiliated with the Ministère de la Culture et de la Communication as a conservatrice du patrimoine, curator of heritage. My initial email to her at the Ministère de la Culture “bounced.” I eventually learned that she was also the then-Director of the Musée Crozatier in le Puy-en-Velay, France (Figure 15), where my subsequent email reached her. I will always remember her response dated the 16th of September 2014, “What a surprise to read your e-mail! (To be honest I cried) . . .I’m so glad to read about someone from Lowenstein’s family!” Logically, Mme. Saragoza had assumed that Fedor’s family had been murdered in the Holocaust, emigrated, or would be unlikely to learn about the exhibition in Bordeaux and the resurfaced paintings. More on this later.
Almost immediately after connecting with Mme. Saragoza, she sent me the Journal d’exposition, the exhibition catalog, for the Fédor Löwenstein (1901-1946) trois œuvres martyres exposition. (Figure 16) Most of Fedor Löwenstein’s biography and the history behind the works of art confiscated by the Nazis is drawn from this reference.
Wilhelm Fédor Löwenstein was born in Munich, Germany on the 13th of April 1901, and is often characterized as a Czech painter because this was his family’s country of origin. He first studied at the School of Decorative Arts in Berlin and then at the Academy of Fine Arts in Dresden. In 1923, Fédor Löwenstein settled in Paris (Figures 17a-b), attracted by the artistic influence of the capital. An artistic movement dominated there, designated in 1925 as the École de Paris, the School of Paris; in reality, this name does not refer to any school that really existed, but rather to the École de Paris, which brought together artists who contributed to making Paris the focus of artistic creation between the two world wars. It was in this rich artistic context that Löwenstein painted and drew.
In Paris he mixed with and became a student of the painter André Lhote from Bordeaux and joined the “Groupe des Surindépendants” in 1936. Löwenstein’s early works were marked by the influence of cubism, whose main representatives worked in Paris, although his subsequent productions evolved towards abstraction, probably under the influence of André Lhote. In 1938, he painted “La Chute” (The Fall), inspired by the signing of the Munich Agreement that dismantled the Czechoslovakia that had been created in 1918. As is noted in the 2014 Bordeaux retrospective exhibition catalog, “The composition and iconographic vocabulary of the work are reminiscent of the convulsed and screaming silhouettes of Picasso’s Guernica, exhibited a year earlier in the Spanish Pavilion at the Paris World’s Fair.” The comparison to Picasso’s famed work speaks volumes about Löwenstein’s remarkable talent.
When France entered the war in September 1939, Löwenstein, like many artists, had to leave the capital. As a foreigner, he had to hide to escape France’s exclusion laws. He went to Mirmande (Drôme) on the advice of Marcelle Rivier, a friend and another of André Lhote’s students. The two artists probably met in Paris shortly before France entered the war. At that time, Mirmande, a village in ruins, welcomed a few painters who lived there. But most of them came there to work alongside André Lhote during his summer academy. The village became a place of refuge for many Parisian artists of foreign origin, all of whom led a relatively peaceful life, free from military operations and repression, contending mostly with the difficulty of obtaining art supplies.
This ended abruptly when the Germans occupied the whole of Metropolitan France in November 1942. Until then, the French Demarcation line marked the boundary between the occupied part of France administered by the German Army in the northern and western part of France and the Zone libre in the south. The suppression of the Demarcation line marked by the invasion of the southern zone by the Germans put an end to the peaceful life the artists in Miramande had enjoyed. This caused the group gathered there to break up.
From then on, it was the French Resistance network that worked to protect the refugees of Mirmande, thus allowing many Jewish painters to flee. Marcelle Rivier, Fedor Löwenstein’s friend who had enticed him to move there, somewhat amusingly described her involvement in his evacuation in 1943 from Miramande: “That night I put on Lowenstein one of these vast peasant skirts that we wore then and by a night of full moon in this month of February 1943, we left for Cliousclat. . .With his skirt, Lowenstein had the air of a horse disguised and the ground left no other means than to take the traced road. There I entrusted him to Ména Loopuyt, a Dutch painter living in Cliousclat. Charles Caillet had gone by bicycle to the abbey of Aiguebelle to get along with the abbot and gave us an appointment at his house. The next day at midnight, Doctor Debanne disguised the Jews as wounded, and they were taken to Aiguebelle.”
As the exposition catalog goes on to describe, “They [the Jews] were in possession of false identity cards made by Maurice Caillet, the curator of the Valence Museum. In agreement with the bishopric and the superior of the community, the monks of the abbey of Aiguebelle in the Drôme welcomed refugees at the end of 1942 and sheltered Jews whom they employed in the various works of the abbey. Löwenstein decorated tiles without enthusiasm.”
In the fall of 1943, ill, Fedor went to Paris, under the pseudonym of Lauriston, to consult at the Curie Institute and at the Broussais Hospital in the south of Paris, where Dr. Paul Chevallier, a French pioneer in hematology, was practicing. However, his disease was not diagnosed, and he continued to deteriorate. Löwenstein would eventually return to his family in Nice, where he was hospitalized and would die on the 4th of August 1946. It was determined he died of Hodgkins Lymphoma.
Fedor’s association with the “Groupe des Surindépendants” from 1936 onward resulted in him exhibiting regularly with them until the outbreak of WWII. The group even organized a personal exhibition for him in 1939. At some point in 1940 during his stay in Miramande, Fedor returned to Paris where he selected small format works as well as six watercolors that he brought to be shipped to New York City. There is little information about the circumstances surrounding this project, but the paintings were sent to a harbor warehouse in Bordeaux for shipment to an American gallery. Unfortunately, the crates never left Bordeaux but were instead “requisitioned” by German military authorities on the 5th of December 1940, the date of a major seizure operation.
A special commando unit affiliated with the “Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg (ERR)” (Reichsleiter Rosenberg Taskforce) raided the warehouse where Fedor’s crates were stored, seized them, and had them shipped to Paris where they were stored at the “Jeu de Paume.” The ERR was a Nazi Party organization dedicated to appropriating cultural property during WWII and was led by the chief ideologue of the Nazi Party, Alfred Rosenberg, ergo its name. The Jeu de Paume was the seat of ERR’s processing of looted art objects confiscated from Jewish-owned collections.
Owing to the abstract cubist nature of Löwenstein’s works, the ERR staff at the Jeu de Paume deemed them as “degenerate” and consigned them to the store room for condemned art, the “Salles des Martyrs,” Martyrs’ Hall. They were marked for destruction, in German “vernichet.” In total, 25 paintings by Fedor were seized and brought to the Jeu de Paume to be disposed of for ideological reasons.
Almost seventy years after the Liberation of Paris in August 1944 three of the purportedly destroyed Löwenstein paintings resurfaced in French museum collections. French Ministry of Culture officials were able to match the resurrected paintings with information contained in the ERR database for three works labeled by the Germans as Löwenstein 4 (“Paysage” or Landscape), Löwenstein 15 (“Peupliers” or Poplars), and Löwenstein 19 (“Les Arbes” or The Trees). In the official catalogue of unclaimed works and objects of art known as “Musée Nationaux Récupération (MNR),” the works are assigned MNR numbers R26, R27, and R28. These three paintings correspond to Löwenstein’s works of art that were displayed at the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Bordeaux in 2014 for which I would later file a claim for restitution. As an aside, all three paintings were signed “Fedor Loevenstein.” I would later learn from a French reader of my Blog, who purchased several of his works at auction, that Löwenstein also signed some with his initials in reverse, “LF.”
In connection with researching and writing the catalog for the 2014 exhibit of Fedor Löwenstein’s three resurrected paintings, Florence Saragoza and her colleagues uncovered the notes of the curator at the Jeu de Paume, Rose Valland. Her notes from July 20, 1943, confirm the fate of artworks destined for destruction: “Scholz and his team continue to choose from among the paintings in the Louvre’s escrow and stab the paintings they do not want to keep. This is how they destroyed almost all of Masson’s works, all of Dalí’s. The paintings in the Loewenstein, Esmont (sic), M[ichel]-G[eorges] Michel collections are almost all shredded. . .” On July 23rd, she added “The paintings massacred in the Louvre’s sequestration were brought back to the Jeu de Paume. Five or six hundred were burned under German surveillance in the museum garden from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. . . . The paintings that remained in the Louvre were classified by category. . .”. It appears that Löwenstein’s three works that escaped destruction had been classified by the Louvre as “paintings of lesser importance,” while the remaining works were likely stabbed, shredded and/or incinerated.
As a side note, since virtually all the images of Fedor Löwenstein’s paintings as well as the historic images of the Martyrs’ Hall at the Jeu de Paume are copyrighted, I refer readers to the hyperlinks to view photos.
As a mildly interesting aside, Florence Saragoza and her colleagues, using the notes left behind by Rose Valland, then curatorial attaché at the Jeu de Paume, were able to attribute most of the paintings exhibited there. They did this using a detailed digitization of the negatives, work by work, accompanied by anamorphosis. This was a new term to me and is defined as: “. . .a distorted projection requiring the viewer to occupy a specific vantage point, use special devices, or both to view a recognizable image. It is used in painting, photography, sculpture and installation, toys, and film special effects. The word is derived from the Greek prefix ana-, meaning ‘back’ or ‘again’, and the word morphe, meaning ‘shape’ or ‘form.’ Extreme anamorphosis has been used by artists to disguise caricatures, erotic and scatological scenes, and other furtive images from a casual spectator, while revealing an undistorted image to the knowledgeable viewer.” In the case of the historic photos on display in the Martyrs’ Hall, I take this to mean that since the paintings in the photos look somewhat distorted, some digital manipulation was required to identify and attribute the works of art.
As previously mentioned, Fedor Löwenstein’s 25 paintings were seized from État-major administratif du port, hangar H, Bordeaux, the “Port Administration Headquarters, Hanger H, Bordeaux.” They were seized at the same time as a set of Dali’s works were taken from another collector, which were described under the acronym “unbekannt,” “unknown.” This was intended to indicate that the history of the works had been lost during the various transfers from their seizure in Bordeaux to their shipment to Paris, the inventories being drawn up only belatedly by the historians of the ERR. Again quoting from the exhibition catalog, “But the fact that these collections were made anonymous was also part of the ideological policy of the Third Reich, which aimed at cultural appropriation, an affirmation of superiority inscribed in a historical connection and a rewriting of art history.” As in the case of Dali’s works, the provenance of the three orphan paintings by Löwenstein was lost and they were described as having been donated anonymously in 1973. Only in 2011 were they were reclassified as stolen works. This brings me to where things stood when I learned all the above.
Soon after connecting with Florence Saragoza, she asked me whether I wanted to file a claim with the Commission pour l’indemnisation des victimes de spoliations (CIVS) for the return of Fedor Löwenstein’s three orphan paintings, as well as payment of damages. CIVS is the commission established in 1999 under the French Prime Minister to implement the policy of the State regarding the reparation of the damages suffered by the Jews of France whose property was looted during the Occupation, because of the anti-Semitic measures taken by the German occupier or by the Vichy regime. This seemed like a logical next step. Given my intimate familiarity with my father and his first cousins’ family tree, I immediately realized that I am Fedor’s closest living relative. (Figure 18) That’s to say, because neither Fedor nor either of his two siblings had any children or surviving spouses, as a first cousin once removed, I am their closest surviving blood relative.
With Mme. Saragoza’s gracious assistance, I filed a claim with CIVS in October 2014. CIVS acknowledged receipt of my claim in November 2014, assigning it a case number, “Requête 24005 BROOK,” noting that considering the numerous claims pending before their office and the multiple archives and offices that would need to be consulted, it could take some time to render a decision. In fact, it took more than 6 ½ years.
In June 2015, my wife and I met with the staff at the CIVS in Paris (Figure 19) to discuss my claim, whereupon I provided them with a written account of the chronology detailed above and my ancestral connection to Fedor Löwenstein. In February 2017, I was eventually contacted by a genealogist contracted by CIVS to investigate my claim. I shared an updated written account of what I had sent to CIVS in 2015, and included an extensive array of historic documents, photos, and exhibits, along with a detailed family tree. In essence, I did the genealogist’s work for him.
Between February 2017 and June 2021, when CIVS rendered their written decision, I was never contacted by the Premier Ministre’s office. The decision letter from the Premier Ministre along with the attached report by Le Rapporteur Generale arrived on the 17th of June 2021. It included much of the same information discussed above. The final decision is that my claim was rejected.
Beyond the disappointment and anger I feel about this determination, I was curious about the merits and legal basis of this ruling. Inasmuch as I can ascertain, it appears that because France is governed by principles of civil law rather than common law, my rights have been supplanted. Civil law has its features compiled and codified into a collection for ready reference. It is inspired by the Roman law. Common law, on the other hand, has its rules and regulations administered by judges and vary on a case-to-case basis. Civil law was framed in France. Common law was started in England. Common law varies from case to case depending upon the customs of the society whereas civil law has a predefined written set of statutes and codes for reference. Judgment in common law varies whereas in civil law, the judges must strictly follow the codification written in the book.
In the case of my claim for restitution, CIVS concluded there are what are called “universal legatees,” an element of civil law, whose claim to Löwenstein’s property and damages supersede my own. France considers property left in a will a “universal legacy,” so the person who inherits the rights, obligations, possession, and debts of an ancestor’s title in property through a testamentary disposition is called a “universal legatee.”
These universal legatees in the case of Fedor Löwenstein’s estate are descendants of individuals, merely friends, who inherited from his brother and sister. They and their descendants were not and are not related by blood to Fedor Löwenstein, as I am. Were it not for my efforts to uncover information about Fedor’s orphaned works and file a claim for repatriation and damages, these individuals would have no knowledge of their existence. Furthermore, had it not been for my own extensive genealogical research into Fedor Löwenstein’s spoliated works and ancestry, the CIVS genealogist contracted to undertake the forensic investigation into my claim likely would not have uncovered all the information I provided in 2017. Notwithstanding the stated wishes of CIVS and the Musée National d’Art Moderne housed in the Centre Pompidou in Paris to restore Fedor Löwenstein’s to his family, this is emphatically not happening.
In retrospect, I would say I should not be surprised by this outcome. France has a long-standing tradition of having wronged my family going back to when the French were complicit in helping the Germans deport my aunt Susanne Müller née Bruck in August 1942, from Fayence, France to Auschwitz, where she was ultimately murdered. Then, following the war, in 1948, they arrested my father, Dr. Otto Bruck (Figure 20), in Nice, France for allegedly practicing dentistry illegally, simply for managing the practice of a dentist who had no interest in her business. My father was arrested only because he was “apatride,” stateless. Rather than offer French citizenry to a man who spoke fluent French and who offered a service much-in-need following WWII, they detained and intended to prosecute him had he not decamped for America. And this although my father served France nobly and honorably for five years during the war as a soldier in the French Foreign Legion. Arguably, France may have met its legal obligation with its decision regarding my claim, but they most assuredly have not fulfilled their moral obligation by handing over my ancestor’s paintings and awarding damages to so-called “universal legatees.” Family of Fedor Löwenstein they are decidedly NOT!!
REFERENCE
Fédor Löwenstein (1901-1946) trois œuvres martyres. 16 May-24 Aug. 2014. Musée des Beaux-Arts de Bordeaux, Bordeaux.
VITAL STATISTICS OF WILHELM FÉDOR LÖWENSTEIN & HIS IMMEDIATE FAMILY
Note: Beginning with this post, I shift to the timing and chain of events that led to my father’s enlistment in the French Foreign Legion in November 1938, followed in an upcoming post by a discussion of my father’s time in this French military unit.
My father received his dental accreditation from the University of Berlin’s Zahnheilkunde Institut, Dentistry Institute, on the 31st of May 1930. Soon thereafter, he moved to the Free City of Danzig, Freie Stadt Danzig in German, where he apprenticed with a Dr. Fritz Bertram. I think his relocation to Danzig may have been related to the fact that he was very close to his aunt and uncle, Rudolf Löwenstein and Hedwig Löwenstein née Bruck, and two of their three children, Jeanne (Figures 1-2) and Heinz Löwenstein, who all lived there. In Post 71, I described the tragic circumstances of Rudolf Löwenstein’s death in a plane crash in then-Czechoslovakia on the 22nd of August 1930, when my father resided with him and his family.
By April 1932, my father had gained enough technical expertise to strike out independently, and open his own dental practice in the nearby town of Tiegenhof [today: Nowy Dwór Gdański, Poland]. While this was undoubtedly a signature achievement in my father’s life, slightly more than eight months later, on the 30th of January 1933, Hitler was appointed Germany’s Chancellor by the President Paul von Hindenburg, and then became Führer in 1934. An October 1934 picture of the office building in Tiegenhof where my father lived and had his practice was festooned with Nazi flags (Figure 3), clearly demonstrating the predictable impact of political developments in Germany on the Free City of Danzig and the looming danger. By April 1937, my father was devoid of clients, so he shuttered his practice. Judging from the dates on his photos, he appears to have stayed in Tiegenhof until fall of that year.
I think my father then briefly went to Berlin to “lose” himself in the relative anonymity of a larger city. His adored sister Susanne and her husband, Dr. Franz Müller, had already fled Berlin in favor of Italy by March 1936. However, his older brother, Dr. Fedor Bruck, who would ride out the entire war in Berlin hidden by friends and family, was still practicing dentistry in Berlin in 1937 under the auspices of a non-Jewish dentist when this was still feasible. Perhaps, my father stayed briefly with his brother, but, regardless, by March 1938, his dated pictures place him in Vienna, Austria between the 5th and 9th of March. (Figure 4) His ultimate destination though was Fiesole, Italy, where his sister and brother-in-law were then living. His entered Italy on the 10th of March 1938 but arrived in Fiesole only on the 26th of March (Figure 5), spending the intervening period skiing in the Dolomites.
During Italy’s Fascist era, all out-of-town visitors were required to appear with their hosts at the Municipio, City Hall, provide their names, show their identity papers, indicate their anticipated length of stay, and complete what was called a “Soggiorno degli Stranieri in Italia,” or “Stay of Foreigners in Italy.” The surviving records for Fiesole are today kept at a branch of the Municipio called the “Archivio Storico Comunale,” the “Municipal Historic Archive.” (Figure 6) These registration logs and forms, while highly intrusive, are enormously informative for doing genealogical research, uncovering names of visitors, and establishing timelines for these guests. (Figure 7)
While 1938 was hardly a serene time, by June or July, my father nonetheless decided to tour parts of Italy and adjoining Switzerland, including Florence, Rome (Figure 8), Pompeii (Figure 9), Naples, Sorrento, the Island of Ischia, and Ascona; his travels lasted until September. By the 15th of September 1938, he was back in Fiesole according to a surviving immigration register on file at Fiesole’s “Archivio Storico Comunale.” This record indicates an anticipated two-week visit, though it’s not clear how long my dad actually stayed. (Figure 10)
Let me briefly digress and provide some historical context for what was happening in Italy at the time. On the 9th of May 1938, Adolph Hitler had visited Florence escorted by Italian Duce Benito Mussolini, and toured some historic sites. Soon after, on July 14, 1938, Mussolini embraced the “Manifesto of the Racial Scientists.” Basically, this Manifesto declared the Italian civilization to be of Aryan origin and claimed the existence of a “pure” Italian race of which Jews were no part. Between September 2, 1938 and November 17, 1938, Italy enacted a series of racial laws, including one forbidding foreign Jews from settling in Italy.
It quickly became apparent to my father, his sister, her husband, and my grandmother, Else Bruck née Berliner, also living in Fiesole, that remaining in Italy was no longer possible. Again, according to records on file at Fiesole’s “Archivio Storico Comunale,” my aunt and uncle are deleted from the population records of the city, in Italian “Data dalle quale decorre la cancellazione dal Registro di popolazione,” beginning on the 16th of September 1938. (Figures 11-12) Thus, my father’s arrival and registration in Fiesole the day before was likely timed to help his relatives pack up and leave, though he may have stayed longer.
The next stop along my family’s odyssey was Fayence, France, roughly 42 miles west of Nice, France; Fayence is one of the “perched villages” overlooking the plain between the southern Alps and the Esterel massif. My uncle Dr. Franz Müller’s daughter by his first marriage, Margit Mombert née Müller, lived there with her husband, brother-in-law, and mother-in-law on a fruit farm the family owned. I discussed this in Post 22 so refer readers to that publication. I place my aunt, uncle and grandmother’s arrival in Fayence towards the end of September 1938. While the collaborationist government of Vichy France would not be established in the southern part of metropolitan France until July of 1940, my ancestors’ recent displacements and the reach of the Nazis would have made them extremely nervous. Clearly, in the case of my father, riding out the impending storm in France or elsewhere in Europe was not a viable option at the age of only 31.
Coincidentally, by 1938, but likely years before, his widowed aunt Hedwig Löwenstein née Bruck and her two children, discussed above, with whom my father had lived in Danzig between 1930 and 1932, had relocated to Nice, France. (Figure 13) Hedwig’s daughter, Jeanne “Hansi” Goff née Löwenstein (1902-1986), was close to my father throughout his life. Realizing the danger he was in, she advised him to enlist in the French Foreign Legion, which is precisely what my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, did.
In one of my father’s surviving post-WWII letters, dated the 7th of January 1946, he requested a Carte d’identité, an identify card, from the Department of Alpes-Maritimes in southeast France, where Nice is located. In this letter, my father provides some dates that help establish where he was at various times before and during the war. According to this correspondence, by October 21, 1938, my father had arrived in Paris, France, where he applied for admittance to the French Foreign Legion, to which he was conscripted on the 9th of November 1938 for a five-year hitch. So far, I’ve been unable to determine my father’s whereabouts between September 16, 1938, when he was in Fiesole, Italy, and October 21, 1938, when he arrived in Paris.
The French Foreign Legion is a military service branch of the French Army established in 1831. The Legion is unique in that it is open to foreign recruits willing to serve in the French Armed Forces. My father was given a French nom de guerre, an alias, “Marcel Berger.” (Figures 14a-b) From the French Foreign Legion, I was able to obtain my father’s “Livret Matricule,” military file, which states that Marcel Berger was born on the 6th of January 1907 in Strasbourg in the French Department of Bas-Rhin, and that his profession was “Chirurgien dentist,” dental surgeon. (Figure 15) While my father’s profession is correctly indicated, he was in fact born on the 16th of April 1907 in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]. My father’s fluency in French would have afforded him a measure of protection had he been taken prisoner.
Readers may think the title of this post somewhat odd, as though to imply that my father’s enlistment in the French Foreign Legion was somehow preordained. While my father was very much inclined to believe in kismet, fate, I am a strong believer that you control your own destiny. That said, realistically, without an exit visa to a “sanctuary” country a Jewish person’s options would have been extremely limited in the lead-up to WWII, so my father was fortunate the French Foreign Legion was open to him and that he was unmarried and had no children to look after.
In the following post, I will provide substantially more background on the history of the French Foreign Legion during WWII to account for the Legion’s “conflicted” role at the time and explain how my father was able to travel to France in 1941 “across enemy lines” to visit his beloved sister Susanne one final time.
Note: In this post I recreate what may have happened on one day of my father’s life, the 22nd of August 1930, when he was a dental apprentice in the Free State of Danzig in the practice of Dr. Fritz Bertram.
Growing up, my father infrequently spoke of the roughly seven years between 1930 and 1937 when he lived in Danzig [today: Gdansk, Poland] (Figure 1) and Tiegenhof [today: Nowy Dwór Gdański, Poland] in the Free State of Danzig. No doubt my father would have characterized these years as the halcyon days of his life because he led a charmed life, albeit briefly. He took multiple pictures, which survive, of his time in the Żuławy region, the alluvial delta area of the Vistula River in the northern part of what is today Poland, so I can often precisely pinpoint where he was and what he was doing on specific dates. But I want to focus on one day in 1930, the 22nd of August, a Friday, no pictures of which exist, which was the day of a tragic family happening. To relate this tale, and it may be nothing more than a fictional, imagined account, I must begin in the present.
In earlier posts, I’ve introduced Mr. Peter Hanke, a gentleman I became acquainted with through an online forum, “forum.danzig.de.” Peter has tracked down historic documents I would have been unlikely to find on my own and been particularly helpful solving mysteries on the fate of some of my father’s family, friends, and acquaintances. This post is about one such puzzle.
Recently, Peter and I were discussing one of my great-uncles, Robert Samuel Bruck (1871-1887), who I thought had died as a child in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland], only to eventually learn that he bafflingly died in Braunschweig, Germany, 445 miles west-northwest of Racibórz, as a teenager. I learned of Robert’s survival to adolescence from a page in the Pinkus Family Collection (Figure 2), archived at the Leo Baeck Institute, which I shared with Peter. The mention of Braunschweig caught Peter’s attention because this town is located only 21 miles southwest of where Peter lives near Wolfsburg, Germany.
Another name caught Peter’s attention on this same page, namely, that of Rudolf Löwenstein, my great-aunt Hedwig Bruck’s husband, who it was noted died on the 22nd of August 1930 in Danzig. (Figure 2) To remind readers, in Post 16, I was able to confirm Rudolf Löwenstein’s death on this date in the Mormon Church’s microfilm records for Danzig, Microfilm Roll No. 1184408. (Figure 3) Peter was unable to locate Rudolf’s death certificate in online records from Danzig but was curious whether I’d be interested in having him seek other documents related to Rudolf; I told him I was, particularly since I had no idea how Rudolf had died. Naturally, I assumed it was of natural causes, which I soon learned was not the case. Having strangely been unable to find Rudolf Löwenstein’s death certificate, Peter presciently wondered whether he might have died somewhere other than Danzig.
In a very short time, by accessing Danzig Address Books available online, Peter was able to track Rudolf and his family’s addresses and occupations between 1903 and 1933, summarized below:
1903—Director of the tobacco factory RUMI—Weidengaße 48
1904—Merchant—Weidengaße 48 (with a widow LÖWENSTEIN)
1905-1907—Merchant, representative of the advertising expedition Rudolf Mosse and Paul Stabernick, Heilige Gastgaße—Weidengaße 48 (Figure 4)
Peter’s findings related to Rudolf’s fate transcend what the Danzig Address Books of the day reveal. He was able to track down four newspaper accounts from two newspapers, the “Danziger Allgemeine Zeitung (DAZ)” and the “Volksstimme,” from August 23rd and August 25th, the days immediately following Rudolf’s recorded death date.
TRANSCRIPTION
(“Danziger Allgemeine Zeitung (DAZ)” article from Saturday the 23rd of August 1930) (Figure 7)
Passagierflugzeug abgestürzt
10 Tote
In der Nähe von Friedrichsdorf bei Iglau stützte, wie aus Prag gemeldet wird, Freitag nachmittag 4 Uhr ein Flugzeug ab, das auf der Strecke Prag-Preßburg verkehrte. In dem Flugzeug befanden sich 13 Personen, von denen bei dem Absturz vier auf der Stelle getötet wurden. Von den schwer verletzten Personen sind kurz nach der Einlieferung in das Iglauer Krankenhaus vier weitere gestorben. Ferner sind zwei Passagiere schwer und einer leicht verletzt worden. Unter den Getöteten befindet sich der Ingenieur Bernhard EIMANN aus Dresden. Das Flugzeug war vom Typ Ford und stand bei den tschechoslowakischen staatlichen Aerolinien seit Frühjahr vorigen Jahres in Dienst. Es vermochte 14 Passagiere und zwei Mann Besatzung zu fassen. Das Flugzeug ist anscheinend in eine Gewitterzone geraten.
Die Flugzeugkatastrophe bei Iglau hat nach neueren Meldungen 10 Todesopfer gefordert, da von den im Krankenhaus eingelieferten Verletzten sechs gestorben sind. Unter den Toten befinden sich zwei Ausländer, außer dem bereits genannten Ingenieur EIMANN aus Dresden, ein Passagier namens Ködenstein aus Dänemark. Man vermutet, dass der Pilot im Sturm die Orientierung verlor, unter die Wolken herabging und das Flugzeug infolge eines Windstoßes abglitt. Ein Teil des Flugzeugs bohrte sich in die Erde ein, der andere geriet in Brand.
TRANSLATION
“Passenger plane crashed
10 deaths
As reported from Prague, a plane, which operated on the Prague- Preßburg route, crashed near Friedrichsdorf near Iglau, at 4 o’clock on Friday afternoon. The plane contained 13 people, four of whom were killed immediately in the crash. Of the seriously injured, four others died shortly after being transferred to the hospital in Iglau. Two passengers were also seriously and one slightly injured. Among those killed is engineer Bernhard EIMANN from Dresden. The plane was of the Ford type and had been in service with the Czechoslovakian state airlines since spring of last year. It was capable of carrying 14 passengers and two crew members. The plane apparently got into a thunderstorm zone.
According to recent reports, the air disaster near Iglau has claimed 10 lives, as six of the injured who were hospitalized have died. Among the dead are two foreigners, apart from the already mentioned engineer EIMANN from Dresden, a passenger named Ködenstein from Denmark. It is suspected that the pilot lost his orientation in the storm, went down under the clouds and the plane slipped as a result of a gust of wind. One part of the plane drilled into the ground, the other caught fire.”
TRANSCRIPTION
(“Volksstimme” article from Saturday the 23rd of August 1930) (Figure 8)
10 Tote bei einem Flugzeugunglück
Flugzeug stürzte auf ein Dach – Die Orientierung verloren
Am Freitagnachmittag um 4 Uhr verunglückte bei Iglau auf dem Wege nach Preßburg im Sturm ein Passagierflugzeug der staatlichen Fluggesellschaft. 10 Personen fand den Tod.
Das Flugzeug flog zunächst in großem Sturm und Regen. Bald nach dem Start stieß der Flugzeugführer auch noch auf dichten Nebel, so dass er die Orientierung verlor. Unterdessen wurde der Sturm immer heftiger. Die Maschine wurde hin und her geworfen und schließlich zu Boden geschleudert. Hier verfing sie sich in einem Baum, der umgerissen wurde. Dem Flugzeugführer gelang es noch einmal, die Maschine hochzureißen. Der Versuch einer Notlandung mißglückte jedoch. Das Flugzeug stürzte auf das Dach eines Hauses, fiel um und explodierte. Vier Personen verbrannten, 6 wurden durch den Aufschlag tödlich verletzt. Unter den Opfern der grausigen Katastrophe befindet sich auch der Dresdner Ingenieur Bernhard EIMANN. Der Pilot fand ebenfalls den Tod.
Die Unglücksmaschine wurde vor drei Monaten von Ford aus Amerika bezogen. Sie verfügte über Sitzplätze für 14 Personen und versah den Verkehr zwischen Prag und Preßburg.
TRANSLATION
“10 dead in a plane crash
Airplane crashed onto a roof – Lost orientation
On Friday afternoon at 4 o’clock on the way to Bratislava a passenger plane of the state airline was involved in an accident near Iglau. 10 people were killed.
The plane first flew in a heavy storm and rain. Soon after take-off, the pilot also encountered dense fog so that he lost his orientation. Meanwhile the storm became more and more violent. The plane was tossed back and forth and finally flung to the ground. Here it got caught in a tree that was knocked down. The pilot managed to pull the plane up once more. However, the attempt of an emergency landing failed. The plane crashed onto the roof of a house, fell over and exploded. Four people were burned, six were fatally injured by the impact. Among the victims of the gruesome catastrophe is the Dresden engineer Bernhard EIMANN. The pilot was also killed.
The crashed aircraft was purchased by Ford from America 3 months ago. It had seats for 14 people and provided traffic between Prague and Bratislava.”
TRANSCRIPTION
(“Danziger Allgemeine Zeitung (DAZ)” article from Monday the 25th of August 1930) (Figure 9)
Die Flugzeugkatastrophe bei Iglau
Zu dem schweren Flugunfall bei Iglau, über den wir Sonnabend berichteten, werden folgende Einzelheiten bekannt: Der auf dem Flug von Preßburg nach Prag verkehrende große, dreimotorige Eindecker geriet kurz vor Iglau in eine schwere Gewitterböe, weshalb sich der Pilot gezwungen sah, eine Notlandung vorzunehmen. Aus bisher noch nicht ganz geklärter Ursache, wahrscheinlich durch ein plötzliches Umspringen des Windes, überschlug sich aber der Apparat, noch ehe er den Boden erreicht hatte. Die schwere Maschine stürzte auf ein von Arbeitern bewohntes Haus, durchschlug das Dach und zerstörte auch einen Teil des Mauerwerks. Der Aufprall war so heftig, dass im Augenblick des Aufschlags eine Explosion des Benzintanks erfolgte.
In wenigen Sekunden war die Maschine in ein Flammenmeer gehüllt. Das Feuer griff auch trotz des starken Regens auf das Hausdach über. Die Feuerwehr löschte den Brand und versuchte die Passagiere aus ihrer furchtbaren Lage zu befreien. Die Hilfe kam jedoch zu spät. Von den 13 Insassen des Flugzeugs konnten vier nur mehr als verkohlte Leichen geborgen werden.Die Identität dieser vier Toten konnte noch nicht festgestellt werden.
Ein Danziger bei der Iglauer Flugzeugkatastrophe tödlich verunglückt
Wie wir erfahren, ist bei dem Flugzeugunglück in Iglau (Tschechoslowakei) auch ein Danziger Kaufmann, der Inhaber einer hiesigen Announcen-Expedition, Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN, ums Leben gekommen.
TRANSLATION
“The air disaster at Iglau
The following details are known about the serious air accident at Iglau, which we reported on Saturday: The large, three-engined monoplane flying from Bratislava to Prague was caught in a heavy gust of thunder shortly before Iglau, forcing the pilot to make an emergency landing. For reasons not yet fully explained, probably due to a sudden change in wind, the plane overturned before it reached the ground. The heavy machine crashed into a house inhabited by workers, punctured the roof and also destroyed part of the masonry. The impact was so violent that at the moment of impact the petrol tank exploded.
In a few seconds the machine was enveloped in a sea of flames. The fire also spread to the roof of the house despite the heavy rain. The fire brigade extinguished the fire and tried to rescue the passengers from their terrible situation. But help came too late. Of the 13 passengers on the plane, four were recovered as charred bodies, but the identity of the four dead could not yet be determined.
A man from Danzig was killed in the Iglau air disaster
As we learn, the plane accident in Iglau (Czechoslovakia) also killed a merchant from Danzig, the owner of a local advertising expedition, Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN.”
TRANSCRIPTION
(“Volksstimme” article from Monday the 25th of August 1930) (Figure 10)
Danziger Kaufmann tödlich verunglückt
Bei der Flugzeugkatastrophe in Iglau – Tragisches Ende eines Besuchs in der Heimat
Die Flugzeugkatastrophe bei Iglau, über die wir am Sonnabend ausführlich berichtet haben, hat ein elftes Todesopfer gefordert. Der Kaufmann Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN, der Vater des bekannten, augenblicklich in Paris lebenden Danziger Malers Fedja LÖWENSTEIN, ist seinen Verletzungen erlegen.
Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN, der im 59. Lebensjahr stand, war auf dem Heimflug von Prag nach Danzig. Er hatte eine Geschäftstour in die Tschechoslowakei unternommen und damit einen Besuch seines Heimatortes Johannisbad verbunden. Der Rückflug nach Danzig sollte bereits einige Tage früher erfolgen, wegen des ungünstigen Wetters aber wurde der Start auf Freitag verschoben. Am Nachmittag erfolgte dann das furchtbare Unglück, das zu den schwersten Flugzeugkatastrophen überhaupt zu rechnen ist.
Vorläufig ist noch unbekannt, wie das Unglück geschah. Man nimmt an, dass das Flugzeug vom Blitz getroffen wurde. Die Machine stürzte auf das Dach eines Hauses, fiel um und explodierte.
Vier Personen verbrannten und sieben Passagiere, darunter Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN, wurden durch den Aufschlag tödlich verletzt. Die Leiche Löwensteins wird nach Danzig überführt und hier beigesetzt werden.
TRANSLATION
“Danzig merchant killed in accident
At the airplane disaster in Iglau – Tragic end of a visit to the home
The air disaster at Iglau, which we reported on in detail on Saturday, has claimed an eleventh life. The merchant Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN, the father of the well-known Danzig artist Fedja LÖWENSTEIN, who is currently living in Paris, succumbed to his injuries.
Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN, who was nearly 59 years old, was on his flight home from Prague to Danzig. He had gone on a business trip to Czechoslovakia, which included a visit to his hometown of Johannisbad. The return flight to Danzig should have been a few days earlier, but due to the unfavorable weather, the start was postponed to Friday. In the afternoon, the terrible accident occurred, which is one of the most serious aircraft disasters ever.
It is not yet known how the accident happened. It is assumed that the aircraft was struck by lightning. The plane crashed onto the roof of a house, fell over and exploded.
Four people were burnt and seven passengers, including Rudolf LÖWENSTEIN, were fatally injured by the impact. Löwenstein’s body will be transferred to Danzig and buried here.”
According to the contemporary newspaper accounts, Rudolf Löwenstein, who at the time of his death was almost 59 years old, was on his way home to Danzig. The flight on which he was killed was flying from Preßburg, Czechoslovakia [today: Bratislava, Slovakia] to Prague, when it went down near a town called Iglau. (Figure 11) Rudolf had gone on a business trip to Czechoslovakia, which included a visit to his hometown of Johannisbad [today: Janské Lázně, Czech Republic]. The plane he was on got caught in a heavy rainstorm. Soon after take-off, the pilot became disoriented on account of dense fog, and attempted an emergency landing near Iglau. Possibly due to wind shear, the plane overturned before it could land, crashed into the roof of a house, and exploded; 11 of the 13 passengers aboard were killed. The plane was of a Ford type, possibly a Ford Trimotor 5-AT-B. (Figure 12) Production on this model started in 1925 by the companies of Henry Ford and ended on June 7, 1933. Designed to hold 15 to 17 passengers, it was intended for the civil aviation market, but also saw service with military units.
Let me move on to where my father may have been on the 22nd of August 1930 when his uncle Rudolf was killed. My father received his dental accreditation from the University of Berlin’s Zahnheilkunde Institut, Dentistry Institute, on the 31st of May 1930. This was followed by two brief dental apprenticeships, first in Königsbrück, in the Free State of Saxony, Germany, then in Allenstein, Germany [today: Olsztyn, Poland], the latter of which ended on the 17th of August 1930 (Figure 13); Allenstein is only a little more than 100 miles southeast of Danzig so he likely returned there by train after this apprenticeship.
My father did not establish and open his own dental practice in Tiegenhof [today: Nowy Dwór Gdański, Poland] until the 9th of April 1932. In the interim, he apprenticed with a dentist in Danzig, Dr. Fritz Bertram (Figure 14), and likely stayed with his Aunt Hedwig and Uncle Rudolf in Danzig, and possibly two of their three children living at home.
The plane Rudolf Löwenstein was flying was reported to have gone down at around 4pm on the 22nd of August; already by the following day, the two Danzig newspapers had reported on the tragedy. Thus, it’s likely my father’s uncle was expected home the evening of the 22nd of August, and that the family had already been notified or learned of the plane crash that ultimately resulted in Rudolf’s death. Clearly, ninety years after the incident, it’s impossible to know exactly how events played out on that day and when the family eventually learned of Rudolf’s tragic accident but it’s likely my father was present when the family heard about what had happened; it’s not clear from contemporary news accounts whether Rudolf was killed instantly or not. The fact Peter Hanke has not found Rudolf’s death certificate in Danzig may possibly mean it is to be found in the Czech Republic.
As an aside, while I have multiple photos of my great-aunt Hedwig and her three children (Figure 15), and know all their vital statistics, regrettably, I have no known pictures of Rudolf Löwenstein. None of Hedwig and Rudolf’s children bore any offspring, though two were married, so it’s been difficult to track down where their personal papers wound up after their deaths. So, for the moment, Rudolf remains faceless.
Note: In this Blog post, I discuss how I inadvertently uncovered vital records information for several people in my family tree and talk about leaving open the possibility of discovering evidence of ancestors whose traces appear negligible.
In the prologue to my family history blog, which I initiated in April 2017, I conceded there are some ancestral searches which are bound to end up unresolved during my lifetime. While I never actually close the book on these forensic investigations, I place them on a back-burner in the unlikely event I discover something new or make a new connection. This Blog post delves into one recent find that opened the door to learning more about several close ancestors whom I’d essentially given up hope of unearthing anything new.
Given my single-minded focus over the last two years on writing stories for my family history blog, I’ve woefully neglected updating my family tree which resides on ancestry.com. An opportunity recently presented itself to piggy-back on a friend’s membership to ancestry and review the hundreds of “leaves” associated with the roughly 500+ people in my tree. Typically, at the top of the list of ancestry clues are links to other family trees that may include the same people as found in one’s own tree. While I systematically review these member trees, I only “import” new ancestral information if source documents are attached to the member trees and I can confirm the reliability of the details; I may occasionally make exceptions if trees or tree managers have been trusted sources of information in the past, and/or I otherwise can confirm the origins of the data. Over the years I’ve seen multiple trees replicate the same erroneous information, and this is a path I choose to avoid.
The family ancestral information I happened upon came from a family tree I discussed in Blog Post 39, entitled “Schlesische Jüdische Familien,” “Silesian Jewish Families.” Regular readers may recall this tree has an astronomical 52,000+ names in it, so it should come as no surprise that it is often the source of overlapping or new information for individuals found in my own modest-sized tree. That said, I still apply the same rigorous principles in assessing the information found in this larger tree. I rarely take anything at face-value when it comes to vital records (e.g., births, baptisms, marriages, deaths) given the multiple reasons, often inadvertent or negligent, why data may be incorrect or divergent (e.g., illegible or unintelligible writing on source documents; transcription errors). With these caveats in mind, however, I came across some vital record information on the Silesian Families tree that seemed credible given the specificity of birth and death dates for a few individuals in my tree. The information related to my great-great-uncle Josef Mockrauer’s first wife, Esther Ernestine Lißner, and their son, Gerhard Mockrauer; while I’d previously found Gerhard’s birth certificate mentioning his parents, I had never found precise birth and death dates for Ernestine or Gerhard, so this was particularly intriguing.
Having previously established contact with the manager of the “Schlesische Jüdische Familien” family tree, a very helpful German lady by the name of Ms. Elke Kehrmann, I again reached out to her. I acknowledged that remembering the source of data for 52,000+ people is unrealistic but thought I should still ask. Initially, Ms. Kehrmann could only recall the information came from a manuscript prepared by an American Holocaust survivor who’d wanted to memorialize his lineage; with numerous computer upgrades over the years, Elke expressed the likelihood the document was digitally irretrievable. Disappointed, but not surprised, I was prepared to accept the vital records information at face-value.
Then, much to my delight, a day later Elke told me she’d located the source document from a larger collection entitled the “Pinkus Family Collection 1500s-1994, (bulk 1725-1994).” (Figure 1) It was too large to email, but she opined I might be able to locate it on the Internet, and, sure enough, I immediately learned the collection is archived at The Leo Baeck Institute—New York/Berlin (LBI) and can be downloaded for free. For readers unfamiliar with this institute, according to their website, “LBI is devoted to the history of German-speaking Jews. Its 80,000-volume library and extensive archival and art collections represent the most significant repository of primary source material and scholarship on the Jewish communities of Central Europe over the past five centuries.”
The Pinkus Family Collection is enormous. From the “Biographical Note” to the collection, I learned the Pinkus family were textile manufacturers. Their factory, located in Neustadt, Upper Silesia [today: Prudnik, Poland], was one of the largest producers of fine linens in the world. Joseph Pinkus became a partner in the firm S. Fränkel when he married Auguste Fränkel, the daughter of the owner. Their son Max Pinkus (1857-1934) was director until 1926. Subsequently, Max Pinkus’s son Hans Pinkus (1891-1977) managed the family company from 1926-1938 until he was forced out after the company’s total aryanization in the wake of Kristallnacht. Both Max and Hans Pinkus were very active in civic and cultural affairs and interested in local history; they amassed a large library of books by Silesian authors. In their spare time, they devoted themselves to genealogical research, the basis of the family collection archived at LBI. Hans Pinkus left Germany at the end of 1938, emigrated to the United Kingdom with his family in 1939, and died in Britain in 1977.
In reviewing the index to the collection, I had no idea where to begin. Fortunately, Elke came to my rescue and pointed me to “Series VII” (Figure 1), described as encompassing not just close Pinkus family relations but the broader array of families in Upper Silesia. Within this series I located pages related to my family, although, unlike other portions of the collection, ancestral information is recorded in longhand, in Sütterlin, no less. Even so, I was able to decipher most of the numerical data, and enlisted one of my German cousins to translate the longhand.
Here is where I discovered the source of the birth and death dates for my great-great-uncle Josef Mockrauer’s first wife, Esther Ernestine Lißner, and their son, Gerhard Mockrauer. A summary of vital information for Josef Mockrauer, his two wives, and their children follows:
George Mockrauer (Ernestine’s out-of-wedlock child)
(Figure 7)
Birth
16 April 1884
Dresden, Saxony, Germany
Death
Unknown
Unknown
Charlotte Mockrauer, née Bruck (Josef’s second wife)
(Figure 8)
Birth
8 December 1865
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Death
1965
Stockholm, Sweden
Marriage
18 March 1888
Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland]
Franz Josef Mockrauer
(Figure 9)
Birth
10 August 1889
Berlin, Germany
Death
7 July 1962
Stockholm, Sweden
I made other surprising discoveries in the Pinkus Collection. Briefly, some context. The second-generation owners of the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preussen” Hotel in Ratibor were my great-grandparents, Fedor Bruck (Figure 10) and Friederike Bruck née Mockrauer. (Figure 11) As the table below shows, Fedor and Friederike Bruck had eight children, only six of whom I’d previously been able to track from birth to death; Elise and Robert remained wraiths whose existence I knew about but assumed had died at birth, a not uncommon fate in the 19th century. This was not, in fact, what happened. Elise lived to almost age 4, and Robert to age 16. While Elise expectedly died in Ratibor, mystifyingly, Robert died on December 30, 1887 in Braunschweig, Germany, more than 450 miles from Ratibor. Why here is unclear. Their causes of death are a mystery, though childhood diseases a real possibility.
NAME
EVENT
DATE
PLACE
Felix Bruck
(Figure 12)
Birth
28 March 1864
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
23 June 1927
Berlin, Germany
Charlotte Mockrauer, néeBruck
(Figure 8)
Birth
8 December 1865
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
1965
Stockholm, Sweden
Franziska Bruck
(Figure 13)
Birth
29 December 1866
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
2 January 1942
Berlin, Germany
Elise Bruck
Birth
20 August 1868
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
19 June 1872
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
HedwigLöwenstein, née Bruck
(Figure 14)
Birth
22 March 1870
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
15 January 1949
Nice, France
Robert Bruck
Birth
1 December 1871
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
30 December 1887
Braunschweig, Lower Saxony, Germany
Wilhelm Bruck
(Figure 15)
Birth
24 October 1872
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
29 April 1952
Barcelona, Spain
Elsbeth Bruck
(Figure 16)
Birth
17 November 1874
Ratibor, Germany (today: Racibórz, Poland)
Death
20 February 1970
Berlin, Germany
With respect to the tables above, I don’t expect readers to do anything more than glance at them; for me, they’re a quick reference as to what I know and where it came from, a form of metadata, if you will. The italicized information in the tables was new to me and originated from the Pinkus Collection.
As a related aside, Friederike Mockrauer and Josef Mockrauer were siblings. Interestingly, Josef Mockrauer would go on to eventually marry one of his sister’s daughters, his niece, my great-aunt Charlotte Bruck. Incestuous, I would agree.
Remarkably, on the very same page where I discovered Elise and Robert’s dates and places of death, I found my father and his three siblings listed! (Figure 17) Inasmuch as I can tell, the detailed family information was recorded by either Max (Max died in 1934) or Hans Pinkus around the early- to mid-1930’s, at which time my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, would have been a dentist in Tiegenhof in the Free State of Danzig, and this is precisely what is noted: “Zahnarzt im Tiegenhof (Freistaat Danzig)”; “Freistaat Danzig” was the official name of this former part of the Deutsches Reich after World War I.
Finally, from the Pinkus Collection, I was also able to confirm that Elisabeth “Lisa” Pauly née Krüger, discussed in Blog Post 40, one of the “silent heroes” who hid my Uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck during his 30-months “underground” in Berlin during WWII, was indeed married to Franz Pincus (Figure 18); Franz Pincus, readers may recall, died in 1941 as Franz Pauly, having taken his mother’s maiden name as his own surname. While the Pinkus Collection shed no additional light on exactly how Franz Pincus/Pauly died, I discovered Franz was the older rather than the younger of two siblings, contrary to what was in my family tree. This comports with a photo, attached here, showing Franz and his sister, Charlotte “Lisselotte or Lilo” Pauly, as children, found since I published Post 40; readers can clearly see Franz is the older of the two children. (Figure 19)
Tracking down the Pinkus Collection with its relevant family history is admittedly noteworthy, but the real service was rendered by Max and Hans Pinkus. Their detailed compilation of ancestral data from related Silesian families was gathered while running a full-time business and in the days before genealogical information was digitized, when most of the painstaking work had to be undertaken manually through time-consuming letter-writing, and perhaps occasional phone calls and family gatherings. So, while I take obvious pleasure in having discovered the Pinkus Collection, I acknowledge the true forensic genealogists for amassing this valuable trove of family history.
Let me conclude by emphasizing that well-done family trees to which ancestry.com leads genealogists can often be the source of valuable forensic clues but should be closely scrutinized and delved into to before accepting the data prima facie. And, finally, I have no idea how many “cold cases” I can eventually solve but the challenge is what motivates me.
Note: The previous Blog post dealt with two of my renowned great-aunts, Franziska and Elsbeth Bruck, whose connection to Berlin is indisputable. This post discusses the third of four great-aunts on my paternal side who appears never to have resided in Berlin, but about whom I learned much from examining Franziska and Elsbeth’s personal papers archived at Berlin’s Stadtmuseum; for this reason, I will talk about her now. By contrast with her sisters, Hedwig was not a renowned personage, although I came to learn about one of her sons who was an exceptionally gifted and well-known artist who will be the subject of a future Blog post. On account of Hedwig’s renowned son, and because I was able to partially trace and reconstruct Hedwig’s life through archival records discovered in five different countries, her story is interesting. The far-reaching forensic evidence I found for this great-aunt speaks to my family’s diaspora and also informs the reader how they may need to approach their own family investigations.
REMINDER ABOUT FIGURES: HYPERLINKS ARE FOUND BELOW SOME FIGURES AND MAPS ALLOWING READERS TO OPEN THESE ITEMS IN A SEPARATE WINDOW AND VIEW THEM AT FULL SIZE
Insofar as I remember, my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, never once spoke of his great-aunt, Hedwig Löwenstein, née Bruck (Figure 1), when I was growing up. Whilst I didn’t know it at the time, as a child, I met two of Hedwig’s three children, Jeanne (“Hansi”) and Heinz, in Nice, France. Nice is where my parents first met in the late 1940’s, and where I spent many summers with my maternal grandmother. Coincidentally, my mother was introduced to my great-aunt Hedwig after she started dating my father, but remembers only that she was a large woman.
I will relate the story of my great-aunt Hedwig chronologically, although how I learned what I learned was far from neat and linear. I first learned of Hedwig’s existence from the register of Jewish births from Ratibor, Germany, and found she was born there on March 22, 1870 (Figure 2); the Jewish records from Ratibor are now available on-line through familysearch.org. In 2014, when I examined the personal papers of Hedwig’s two sisters archived at Berlin’s Stadtmuseum, I only knew that Hedwig’s parents had given birth to eight children; I suspected two had died at birth or shortly thereafter, and nothing I’ve learned since refutes this.
Our next planned stop in 2014 after visiting Berlin’s Stadtmuseum was the Polish State Archives in Racibórz, Poland, where most birth, marriage, and death records from the 1870’s onward are archived. Among the documents I unearthed there was Hedwig’s Marriage Certificate where I discovered she was married in Ratibor to a Rudolf Löwenstein on September 17, 1899.
For readers who have accessed and studied vital event records, such as marriage certificates, you are well-aware they contain a wealth of valuable family information. Typically, they include the spouse and groom’s dates and places of birth; their religion(s); their occupations; their residence; the names and occupations of their in-laws; often, where their in-laws live and whether they are still alive; and the names of any witnesses. A copy of Rudolf & Hedwig’s two-page Marriage Certificate is attached here (Page 1 & Page 2), along with the translation of the document.
According to the Marriage Certificate, Rudolf Löwenstein was born on January 17, 1872 in a place then-called Kuttenplan, in the former Kingdom of Bohemia. (Figure 4) At the time, the Kingdom of Bohemia was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire; after WWI, Bohemia became the core part of the newly formed Czechoslovak Republic. On January 1, 1993, Czechoslovakia became two separate countries, the Czech Republic and Slovakia. Since the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire following WWI, Kuttenplan has been known as Chodová Planá, Czech Republic. It is located in Western Bohemia and was once considered part of the Western Sudetenland, which was annexed in 1938 by the Nazis following the Munich Agreement because it had a predominantly German population.
Hedwig’s Marriage Certificate thus pointed me to a third country, namely, the Czech Republic, to learn more about she and her family. First, I contacted the City of Chodová Planá (mestys@chodovaplana.cz) asking them where I could obtain a copy of Rudolf’s birth certificate. They directed me to the town of Plzeň (called Pilsen in English and German) in Western Bohemia, who in turn sent me to the National Archives in Prague. The vital records for former Jewish communities are archived there, and are also available on-line:
Suffice it to say, the National Archives in Prague is efficient and helpful, so for any readers who may need to access Jewish records from the Czech Republic, the process is seamless. Not only was I easily able to obtain Rudolf Löwenstein’s birth register listing (Figure 5), but I was also able to retrieve that of his brother, Ernst Löwenstein (Figure 6), who was a witness at Rudolf’s wedding in Ratibor in 1899.
I later learned Ernst Löwenstein died in the Shoah. A “Page of Testimony” (Figure 7), submitted in 1990 to Yad Vashem by Ernst Löwenstein’s daughter, Charlotte Fišerová, indicates he was murdered in 1941 in the Łódź Ghetto in German-occupied Poland. I tried to locate descendants of Charlotte Fišerová, acting under the assumption she was no longer alive (this was entirely logical as her father was born in 1869), by contacting the “Ministerstvo Vnitra České Republiky,” or the Czech Department of Administrative Affairs; however, as often happens in countries with an authoritarian history, only direct relatives are entitled to access vital records.
I learned a few other interesting things from Hedwig and Rudolf’s Marriage Certificate beyond dates of events. First, at the time they got married in Ratibor in 1899, Rudolf was a “kaufmann” or “merchant” in Munich. Second, my grandfather, Felix Bruck, was one of the witnesses at his sister’s wedding. And, third, as just mentioned, Ernst Löwenstein was also a witness at his brother’s wedding. I suspected at least one or more of Hedwig and Rudolf’s children had been born in Munich, and eventually confirmed their oldest child, Fedor, was born there on April 13, 1901. At the time, I had yet to work out the order in which their three children had been born. (See table at the bottom of this post for the summary of vital events for Hedwig, her husband, her three children, and her brother-in-law.)
Aware of my great-aunt’s connection to Nice, France, and knowing her daughter Hansi Goff (Jeanne Löwenstein) had spent much of her life there, another planned stop in 2014 was l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice, basically City Hall, where many of the city’s recent administrative records are housed. The reason why Hedwig decided to relocate to Nice from Danzig after her husband’s death (see below) is unknown. Regardless, France was the fourth country where I was able to obtain vital record information on Hedwig Löwenstein and her immediate family. I clearly remember arriving at l’Hôtel de Ville early on a Monday morning before the office got busy, which, in retrospect, was a veritable stroke of luck. We were assisted by Monsieur Jean-Jacques Delmonte whose official title is “Pour le Maire, L’Officier de l’Etat Civil délégué” or “For the Mayor, the Registrar Delegate.” Because the bureau was relatively quiet, and because Monsieur Delmonte was impressed that I spoke fluent French, he set me loose in the room with the voluminous books containing death certificates while he collected and certified the other records I’d requested. This enabled me to unearth records I would not otherwise have found.
As naturally happens when foreigners emigrate elsewhere, their prenames and surnames are often changed. Thus, in the case of my great-aunt Hedwig’s “l’acte de décès,” or Death Certificate, she was identified as “Edwige Bruck”; while it made no difference in my great-aunt’s case, death registers and death certificates in Nice are alphabetized using a woman’s maiden name, which family researchers may not always know.
I was also able to find the death certificates for two of Hedwig’s three children, specifically, for Jeanne (“l’acte de décès”) and Fedor (“l’acte de décès”). Because the German “ö” with an “umlaut” in “Löwenstein” is typically written in English or French as “oe,” it would normally be filed under “Loewenstein”; however, in Fedor’s case, his name in the death register was inadvertently alphabetized under “Lowenstein” (Figure 8), a situation that almost resulted in my not finding his death certificate. During my visit to l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice, I uncovered death certificates for a few other individuals unrelated to my great-aunt and these will be the subject of future Blog posts.
Having discovered my great-aunt Hedwig’s death record, I next inquired where she might be buried, operating under the assumption she’d been interred. I was directed to another branch of City Hall, La Mairie de Nice, specifically, the “Service De L’administration Funéraire.” Here, they graciously informed me that my great-aunt had been entombed at the Cimitiere Caucade (Figure 9), on the outskirts of Nice, and gave me the “Concession” or “tomb” number. Armed with this information, we next paid a visit to the graveyard, and quickly located my great-aunt’s headstone (Figure 10) in the Jewish section of the cemetery; her son Fedor Loewenstein’s headstone (Figure 11), his name correctly spelled, sits alongside that of his mother, although it is clear their bones are no longer interred. It is not uncommon for bones to be disinterred and placed in a charnel house if a family stops annual payments for tomb maintenance.
While Fedor’s headstone lies alongside that of his mother, I found no indication nor was I given any information on where his sister Hansi’s tomb might be located. Let me explain how I discovered what happened with Hansi’s remains. Among my great-aunt Elsbeth’s personal papers at the Stadtmuseum there exist letters from a married couple from Nice by the name of Erich and Mary-Jo Fischer, who, as it turns out, were Hansi’s best friends. My parents were acquainted with them through my father’s first cousin, and met them on a few occasions in Nice. At l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice, I obtained Erich Fischer’s “l’acte de décès,” so knew he was no longer alive. Because I did not find his wife’s death certificate, I thought she might still be alive though quite old. So, using the address I found on the letters sent to my great-aunt in Berlin from Nice, on the spur of the moment, my wife and I went to the address. Imagine our surprise when Mary Jo Fischer answered the door, still residing in the same apartment!! In 2014, she was 89 and her memory was beginning to fail. (Figure 12) While she clearly remembered my father’s cousin, the only other thing of note she mentioned was that she and her husband (Figure 13) had always intended to have Hansi buried alongside their family in “La Trinite Cimetiere” in Nice; unfortunately, her body was removed and cremated before this could happen. I had hoped that Mary-Jo would have photos of Hansi and her family, in particular of Rudolf Löwenstein, but this hope went unrealized.
Jeanne Löwenstein’s (Hansi Goff)“l‘acte de décès” provided a key piece of information. It told me that she’d been born on September 9, 1902 in Danzig, at the time a part of West Prussia. After learning this, I actually found a photo she’d sent of herself to my father taken on March 8, 1929 in Zoppot (today: Sopot, Poland) in the Free State of Danzig. (Figure 14) With a known connection to Danzig, I checked familysearch.org for Jewish vital records from there, and found two pertinent rolls of microfilm. I made an educated guess they might contain information on when Hedwig and Rudolf’s third child was born, and also when Hedwig Löwenstein’s husband, Rudolf, died. I already knew from Danzig’s Address and Phonebooks from the 1920’s and 1930’s that Rudolf had owned a “Annoncen-Expedition und Reklamebüro” in Danzig, that’s to say, an office for placing advertisements. (Figure 15) Both of my educated guesses paid off handsomely. Roll number 1184407, including Danzig births between 1905 and 1939, listed Heinz Löwenstein’s birth as March 8, 1905 (Figure 16), while roll number 1184408, listing deaths in Danzig between 1889 and 1940, recorded the death of Hedwig Löwenstein’s husband, Rudolf, as August 22, 1930. (Figure 17) Because of the way registers were typically photographed by the Mormon Church, the most recent births are usually found first, and the oldest at the end. For this reason, I discovered Heinz’s birth listing on the very last line of the very last page of the register, having by then give up any hope of finding him listed! As an aside, I later learned the original birth, marriage and death records from Danzig were destroyed during WWII, making the microfilms the only surviving copies.
Readers will learn in an upcoming Blog post about Hedwig’s younger brother, Wilhelm “Willy” Bruck; during the 1930’s, he was able to escape to Barcelona, Spain with his family. While seeking my great-uncle Willy’s descendants, early in 2014, I discovered distant cousins, one of whom named Michael Bruck lives outside Haifa, Israel. (Figure 18) Israel was the fifth country where I was able to locate information on Hedwig’s family, namely, for her son Heinz Löwenstein. Following WWII, and for reasons that remain opaque, Heinz moved to Israel, eventually winding up in Haifa. Many letters he wrote to his aunt Elsbeth Bruck survive and are archived at Berlin’s Stadtmuseum. In one letter Heinz writes that he has changed his name to “Hanoch Avinary.” Because the letter is typed, there is no mistaking Heinz’s Hebrew name. (Figure 19)
I enlisted Michael Bruck’s assistance to try and obtain Hanoch Avinary’s Death Certificate. I assumed this would be relatively straight-forward since I had both his Hebrew name and address in Haifa. This was not the case, although Michael eventually obtained a copy of Hanoch’s “Burial Certificate,” not to be confused with a Death Certificate, from the Chevra Kadisha in Haifa. Mysteriously, the Burial Certificate shows his name as “HANOCH AVNERI.” Much of the information on this certificate is either missing or incorrect, suggesting there was no next-of-kin to provide accurate information. I knew from my parents that Hanoch was never married. (Figure 20) Regardless, from the Burial Certificate, I was able to learn that Hanoch died on August 10, 1979, and was buried ten days later in the “Sde Yehoshua Cemetery” in Haifa. Obtaining death certificates in Israel for recently deceased individuals is restricted to direct descendants.
Much of Hanoch’s life remains a mystery to me although there are tantalizing clues I am still trying to track down. Clearly, Heinz survived WWII in France, either in captivity, as a member of the French Resistance, or both. Growing up, I heard Heinz would “intentionally” allow himself to be arrested by the Vichy French and taken to a detention center where he would help interned Jews escape. I have written to a French organization that retains a list of French Resistance members from WWII but they find no evidence that Heinz was a member; possibly, as a Jew, he was given an alias which may explain why no trace of him can be found. I suspect, but may never confirm, that Heinz’s decision to immigrate to Israel after the war may be tied to the role he played in France during the war and/or, possibly, to the Vichy government’s collaboration with Nazi Germany during WWII, which Heinz was a witness to.
As previously mentioned, among my great-aunt Elsbeth’s personal papers at Berlin’s Stadtmuseum are letters written by Hedwig’s daughter, Hansi Goff. Since many of these letters were typed, albeit in German, I retyped many into Google Translate trying to understand more about Hansi’s life. I had low expectations, but one letter that stood among all the others was written on October 30, 1946. Hansi’s brother, Fidel Löwenstein, the accomplished artist mentioned earlier, had passed away in Nice from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma on August 4, 1986. Several months later, Hansi wrote to her Aunt Elsbeth that one of Fidel’s paintings had posthumously sold for 90,000 French Francs. Aware this was a significant sum in those days, I contacted an acquaintance from l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice, asking how I might obtain a copy of Fidel’s obituary hoping to learn more about him. Realizing how curious I was about Fidel Löwenstein, she sent me links to several contemporary articles about him. Suffice it for the moment to say, what I have learned about Fidel has sent my family research in a direction I would never have anticipated. This story will be the topic of an intriguing future Blog post.
From knowing virtually nothing about vital dates and places for my great-aunt Hedwig and her relatives, by accessing archives in five different countries (Germany, Poland, France, Czech Republic, and Israel), I have now pieced together most of this information (this does not include the microfilm of Jewish vital records I accessed through the Mormon Church in Salt Lake City). I summarize what I learned in the following table:
In the previous Blog post dealing with the Bruck’s Hotel “Prinz von Preußen,” the hotel in Ratibor owned by the Bruck family for three generations, the reader learned about the “Archiwum Państwowe w Katowicach Oddział w Raciborzu” (“State Archives in Katowice Branch in Raciborz”) where civil records of births, marriages, and deaths from the 1870’s onward are to be found. (Figure 1) I explained to the reader the genesis of this situation, namely, that the Imperial Chancellor Otto von Bismarck and the liberal nationalists in Germany saw the existence of a Church loyal to the Pope as a threat to national unity, and, for this reason, sought to bring the Church under the control of the Prussian state. This conflict with the Church was known as the Kulturkampf (“Cultural Struggle“). Among other things, this resulted in mandating that births, marriages, and deaths be recorded as civil events. Consequently, today, a researcher is compelled to show up in person to access these records at the State Archives.
In the previous Blog post, I explained I’d been referred to an English-speaking Polish lady, Ms. Malgosia Ploszaj, who is studying the former Jews of her hometown of Rybnik, about a half-hour from Raciborz. Prior to our visit to Raciborz in May 2014, Malgosia had already visited the State Archives there and discovered the existence of an inch-thick portfolio of administrative documents related to management of the Bruck’s Hotel from about 1912 to 1928.; these have been discussed in the previous Blog post. When my wife and I visited Raciborz in May 2014, Malgosia accompanied us to the State Archives and helped us efficiently navigate the plethora of civil documents. (Figure 2)
My father’s older sister, Susanne, was born in Ratibor in 1904, and my father, Otto, three years later in 1907. (Figure 3) Once I understood their birth documents would not be among the Jewish religious records found on Mormon Church microfilms, it became a priority to find them with the civil records at the State Archives. I knew my father’s older brother Fedor had been born in 1895 in the nearby town of Leobschütz [today: Głubczyce, Opole Voivodeship, Poland], so had no expectation of uncovering his birth certificate. With Malgosia’s assistance, we were very quickly able to locate the birth records of both my father and my aunt. (Figure 4)
I found several other original family documents at the Polish State Archives in Raciborz that ultimately provided context for artifacts in my possession, and also pointed me to other towns and countries to find additional historic family records. At the State Archives in Raciborz, I also found the Birth Certificate for my great-aunt, Elsbeth Bruck. (Figure 5) Previously, I’d located the birth record for Elsbeth’s seven older siblings, born to my great-grandparents Fedor Bruck and Friederike Bruck, nee Mockrauer, on the Jewish microfilm records from Ratibor, but was puzzled as to why I’d never found hers. When I eventually learned that Elsbeth was born in the midst of the Kulturkampf, it became obvious her record would be with the civil documents, which is where I ultimately found it and where I also discovered her given name was not Elsbeth but “Elisabeth.”
A particularly interesting document I found was the marriage certificate for my grandparents (Page 1 & Page 2), Felix Bruck and Else Bruck, nee Berliner, dated February 11, 1894; prior to the discovery of this certificate, I didn’t know when my grandparents got married although I have photos of them on their wedding day. (Figure 6) This document was interesting principally because it provided context for an “erinnerung,” or remembrance, I’d found among my father’s papers. The name on the cover page of this remembrance, written in difficult-to-decipher Gothic font, said “Willy Bruck,” and was dated “February 11, 1894.” I incorrectly assumed it related to a ceremony or rite in honor of a relative who’d died on this date; unfortunately, I could think of no relative by this name who’d died on this day. After a German cousin recently examined this remembrance, all became clear. Felix’s younger brother was Wilhelm or “Willy” Bruck, and the remembrance I thought was a death announcement was actually an ode or poem Willy had written on the occasion of his brother’s marriage, “in brotherly love.” (Figure 7) While I never knew my grandfather, and my father only spoke sparingly of him when I was growing up, from this remembrance I also learned Felix’s nickname was “Lixel.”
In the poem Willy Bruck wrote in honor of his brother Felix’s marriage, he teased his brother about a few incidents that occurred to him as a young lad, such as the time he threw a stone through an expensive window and when he fell off his velocipede. Coincidentally, among the family pictures is one of Willy Bruck himself standing next to his own velocipede, perhaps a hand-me-down from his older brother! (Figure 8)
In addition to the marriage certificate I found for Felix Bruck, I also located the marriage certificates for two of his younger sisters, Charlotte Mockrauer, nee Bruck (1865-1965) (Page 1 & Page 2), and Hedwig Loewenstein, nee Bruck (1870-1949) (Page 1 & Page 2). These historic documents are of interest primarily because they eventually helped me unravel the complete family tree for these branches of my family, and, in turn, lead to some compelling discoveries. In time, I will relate to the reader these tales which are rather involved and span multiple countries.