Note: Mr. David Zivie, my contact at the French Ministry of Culture clarified the roles of the “Mission for the Research and Restitution of Cultural Property Looted between 1933 and 1945 (MR2S),” which he heads, and the “Commission pour la restitution des biens et l’indemnisation des victimes de spoliations antisémites (CIVS),” which is attached to the Prime Minister’s office. Both are involved in reparation for looting of art and books confiscated by the Nazis in France during the Second World War but are separate entities doing different work.
I am grateful to my contact at the French Ministry of Culture, Mr. David Zivie (Figure 1), for having read Post 189 where I discussed the restitution of three paintings looted from my father’s cousin Fédor Löwenstein during the Second World War. David was directly involved in my eleven-year compensation claim and was instrumental in facilitating a positive resolution of the matter.
I first learned about my father’s first cousin, Fédor Löwenstein, in 2014 after scrutinizing the personal papers of two of my renowned great aunts archived at the Stadtmuseum in Spandau outside Berlin. Through further research I learned Fédor was an accomplished painter and unexpectedly discovered that the French Ministry of Culture was looking for heirs to restore three paintings confiscated by the Nazis at the Port of Bordeaux on December 5, 1940, that had survived. Having eluded the Nazi onslaught to destroy so-called “degenerate art,” the works were erroneously catalogued in 1973 as an “anonymous donation” and absorbed into the collections of the Louvre. It was not until December 2010 that two astute curators recognized Löwenstein’s works as looted art, whereupon the French Ministry of Culture ostensibly began the process of seeking the rightful heirs. I say “ostensibly” because I reached out to the Ministry before they ever tried to find me.
Following my discovery in 2014, I contacted Mme. Florence Saragoza, the curator of an exhibit featuring Loewenstein’s three “martyred” works held at the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Bordeaux that year. Seemingly, this exhibit was a public effort on the part of the French Government to find rightful heirs. Coincidentally, 2014 was the year my wife and I spent 13 weeks visiting places in Europe related to my Jewish relatives’ diaspora. As I’ve detailed in Post 105 and Post 160, Florence helped me file a claim for the paintings in October 2014 in a case that was finally resolved in 2025.
Following submission of my compensation claim in 2014, the following year my wife and I traveled to Paris to introduce ourselves to staff of the CIVS and discuss my claim. One of the staffers we met was Mme. Muriel De Bastier (Figure 2), a lady I’m still in contact with, who at the time worked for the CIVS but who now works for MR2S. Since Muriel has worked for both organizations I conflated them, ergo my confusion.
As David clarified, the CIVS is an independent commission “attached” to the office of the Prime Minister. By contrast, the Mission for the Research and Restitution of Cultural Property Looted between 1933 and 1945 (MR2S), headed by David Zivie, is a department of the Ministry of Culture. MR2S is dedicated to researching and promoting the “policy of reparation” for looting.
MR2S conducts research on their own initiative but also at the request of CIVS. The results of their research are then sent to the CIVS. The report to the CIVS attempts to clarify the facts and events surrounding Nazi looting during the Second World War, and to evaluate the looted works.
Using the report, the so-called CIVS “rapporteur” then proposes a solution and makes a recommendation on how to proceed to the entire CIVS commission during a hearing, a so-called “séance.” Accompanied by my lawyer, I attended such a hearing in April 2024 in Paris.
As a representative of the Ministry of Culture, MR2S participates in CIVS hearings, like when I attended. However, as MR2S is not part of the CIVS, they do not participate in the deliberations.
Following the hearing, the CIVS issues opinions on cases of spoliation (i.e., “the action of taking goods or property from someone by illegal or unethical means”) and recommends repatriation measures.
Relying upon the CIVS’s guidance, the Prime Minister issues “un décision,” recommending restitution and/or compensation. The Ministry of Culture then implements the CIVS’s recommendations and the Prime Minister’s decision by organizing the restitution of art and books.
The Ministry of Culture, that’s to say MR2S, also tries to find original solutions, as in the case of my compensation claim. As I’ve discussed ad nauseum in earlier posts, France is governed by Civil law as opposed to Common law. Despite being the closest surviving heir to Fédor Löwenstein, according to France’s legal system the rights of two so-called “légataires universels,” universal legatees, trumped mine. This required some delicate negotiations to obtain ownership of Fedor Loewenstein’s surviving paintings. It also required the Ministry of Culture to participate in discussions with the Musée d’art et d’histoire du Judaïsme (mahJ) to have the paintings displayed there following restitution of the paintings to fulfill conditions of the agreement signed with the legatees.
So, the MR2S (Ministry of Culture) and the CIVS are two links in the same process but are two organizations that do different work.
Note: This brief post is a prelude to upcoming posts where I will talk about thrilling events that took place during a five-week European vacation my wife and I recently took.
My wife Ann and I recently returned from a five-week trip to Europe that had us leaving from San Diego and traveling to or through parts of Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic, Austria, Slovenia, Italy (Figure 1), and France. We visited multiple out-of-the-way places connected to my Jewish family’s history. This required renting a car and driving long distances through often unfamiliar territory and on small backroads. This occasionally led to unexpected adventures and mishaps. Suffice it to say, our vacations are not conventional and are in some ways reminiscent of the semi-structured travel we took through Europe in our youth. Realistically, our advancing age makes it unlikely we’ll take more such trips in the future.
Notwithstanding the pace of our vacation, I had two primary aims during this trip. The first was to revisit the town where my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, was born in 1907, Ratibor, Germany [Racibórz, Poland]. As I’ve frequently discussed, my family owned a hotel restaurant in the town from ca. 1850 to 1925 known as the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel. The hotel survived the Second World War intact save for the burned roof, but sadly following their rise to power the Communist authorities dismantled the establishment to “harvest” bricks to rebuild Warsaw. I have old cutlery monogrammed with the three generations of my Bruck family that owned the hotel and decided to donate them to the local museum. I also bequeathed a small briefcase of my father’s surviving dental tools. (Figure 2) While my father never practiced dentistry in his birthplace, coincidentally, the Muzeum w Raciborzu has an entire floor of its exhibit space devoted to old dental machines and equipment so donating my father’s dental instruments there made sense.
The second purpose of my trip to Europe was to attend a restitution ceremony in Paris to retrieve three paintings from the French Ministry of Culture that were seized by the Nazis at the Port of Bordeaux in December 1940 from my father’s first cousin, a man named Fedor Löwenstein. (Figure 3) Following their confiscation, the three surviving paintings, among 25 originally expropriated, were shipped to the Jeu de Paume in Paris where they remain unrecognized as seized works until the early 2010s. Over the years, I’ve written multiple posts about my compensation claim originally filed in 2014. After 11 long contentious and litigious years, I finally achieved the goal of reclaiming the paintings. (Figure 4) The restitution ceremony took place on the 16th of September 2025 at the soon-to-be renovated and now empty Centre Pompidou in Paris, and my wife and I participated in this event where I delivered a formal speech in French, a language I speak passably well. (Figure 5)
In upcoming posts, I will tell readers more about these two events.
Sandwiched between these happenings, which occurred towards the beginning and end of our vacation, my wife and I met a great many other people I’ve encountered through my blog or developed a friendship with over the years. These rendezvous will be the source of additional forthcoming posts. I look forward to relating to readers some delicious little tales connected to our vacation that expand on posts I’ve previously written or that explore new topics.
Note: In this post, I detail further discoveries about Heinz Löwenstein, my father’s first cousin, and his successful escape from Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf [today:Łambinowice, Poland] in around November 1943. Relying on an account of the escape of South African Lt. Colonel Charles Telfer Howie held in the same Stalag, I infer the means and route by which Heinz might have escaped.
With the help of Brian Cooper, an English friend who specializes in the study of English World War II prisoners of war, I’ve written multiple posts about the whereabouts and survival during the war of Heinz Löwenstein, my father’s first cousin. Because I met him as a child and heard confusing accounts that he was an “escape artist,” his story has always intrigued me. What could this possibly mean in the context of the mass arrests and deportation and internment of Jews in extermination camps? It seemed unlikely that Heinz could have escaped from one of these. Because no one bothered to explain this, my childhood imagination conjured up wild explanations, none of which in retrospect approach reality.
As readers know, I’ve written extensively about Heinz’s wartime experiences and escapades. I refer followers to these earlier stories of Heinz’s enlistment in the British Pioneer Corps in Palestine in around 1935, his capture during the Battle of Greece in April 1941, his subsequent incarceration in Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf [today: Łambinowice, Poland] in 1941 (Figure 1), his multiple escapes from there between 1941 and 1943, and more.
Relying on prisoner records, POW liberation questionnaires and exit interviews, and various books and accounts by former POWs, I thought I’d exhausted what more I would learn about the circumstances of Heinz’s internments and escapes. However, following the publication of my most recent post, Post 163, Brian brought to my attention two additional books he uncovered where he’s mentioned. The first is entitled “Agent by Accident” by Claerwen Howie, the second “Facing Fearful Odds” by John Jay. Because Heinz is featured prominently in Claerwen Howie’s book, I will focus on this one because it provides in-depth details on how her father-in-law, Lt. Col. Charles Telfer Howie, escaped from Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf, the same Stalag in which Heinz was incarcerated.
As a quick correction, I mistakenly noted in Post 163 that Lt. Col. Howie had escaped from Stalag VIIB in Memmingen, Bavaria, near Munich. At the time, I questioned the likelihood of this having happened since Howie and his fellow escapee, Tibor Weinstein, eventually wound up in Budapest, Hungary, a great distance from Munich across very hostile territory. While Howie and Weinstein traveled a large distance following their escape from Stalag VIIIB, it involved a more direct and less dangerous route.
Claerwen Howie’s book is based on in-depth interviews she conducted with her father-in-law and on question-and-answer sessions she had with some of his contemporaries, including people who helped him escape from Stalag VIIIB and Hungarians, Dutchmen, and Brits he met and who assisted him once he reached Hungary. Though Heinz Löwenstein made his getaway from Stalag VIIIB perhaps a month after Howie, he likely followed a similar trajectory to freedom. For this reason, I discuss in detail Howie’s escape as a way of describing the situation at Stalag VIIIB as well as talking about some of the issues and challenges both men likely faced.
Charles Telfer Howie was a Lt. Colonel in the South African army captured by German Generalfeldmarschall (field marshal) Erwin Rommel’s troops during the Siege of Tobruk, in Libya, as part of the Western Desert campaign of the Mediterranean and Middle East theater of WWII. To remind readers, following his flight from Stalag VIIIB Howie made his way to Budapest and coordinated with opposition leaders in Hungary on an ultimately unsuccessful effort to get Hungary to abandon the Axis alliance in favor of the Allies prior to the Nazi occupation of Hungary on the 19th of March 1944. Self-proclaimed “Captain” Roy Natusch, an escapee from Stalag XVIIIA in Wolfsburg, Austria who similarly made his way to Budapest and met Howie, also discussed in Post 163, was intimately involved in Howie’s clandestine efforts to “flip” Hungary.
In any case, in the wake of his capture in Tobruk, Howie arrived in Stalag VIIIB in Lamsdorf on Sunday, the 19th of September 1943, following a lengthy and interrupted journey that included stays in Benghazi, Libya; and Lecce, Bari, Aversa, Florence, and Modena, Italy. Knowing that as an officer he would within days be transferred to an Oflag (Offizierslager), an officers’ camp where security was tighter, Howie wasted no time establishing contact with the camp’s escape committee. He immediately looked for the first non-commissioned officer who could take him to the Vertrauensmann or SBO, Senior British Officer, in charge of the camp. This was Regimental Sergeant-Major Sherriff of the Welsh Guards, also captured in Tobruk. Coincidentally, Sherriff was a WWII prisoner who was returned to the same Stalag where he’d been held as a POW during WWI.
The escape committee included many Canadiens who’d been captured on the 19th of August 1942 during the disastrous raid on heavily fortified Dieppe; ergo, it was informally referred to as the “Dieppe escape committee.” Operation Jubilee or the Dieppe Raid was a catastrophic Allied amphibious attack on the German-occupied port of Dieppe in northern France, during WWII. Over 6,500 infantry, predominantly Canadian, supported by a regiment of tanks, were put ashore from a naval force operating under the protection of Royal Air Force (RAF) fighters. The port was to be captured and held for a short period, to test the feasibility of a landing and to gather intelligence. While the operation was a fiasco with mass casualties, particularly among the Canadians, the Allies learned lessons that influenced the success of the D-Day landings.
According to what Lt. Col. Howie reported to his daughter-in-law, conditions in Stalag VIIIB were predictably deplorable. There was chronic overcrowding which affected the men’s health. Dysentery, fleas, and lice were constant problems; food rations were poor, the water supply inadequate, and coal to heat the barracks meager. Each prisoner was given one thin blanket and a spoon. Red Cross parcels were relied on to supplement what prisoners were meted out.
The large camp was surrounded by two barbed-wire fences running parallel to one another. Adjacent to the outer fence was a path along which the guards patrolled. Approximately six feet from the inner perimeter fence was a low tripwire. Crossing this wire would result in being shot. The Stalag was divided into compounds, and while movement between them was not allowed, the prisoners found ways around this restriction. Each compound contained block-like barracks that included a central washroom, an office and work area, and three-tier bunks, reaching from concrete floor almost to the ceiling. The bunks formed three rows with spaces in between. Each block housed 324 men.
One of the key members of the escape committee was a Canadian sergeant named Laurens Pals. Originally from the Netherlands, he went to Canada in his mid-twenties. When the war broke out, he joined the Canadian Light Infantry and was initially dispatched to England. Because he was fluent in French, German, and Dutch, he was sent on intelligence courses including one studying German documents, information that was to become invaluable to the escape committee. Pals was captured during Operation Jubilee in Dieppe.
A POW could improve his situation by going to a work camp, several hundred of which surrounded Stalag VIIIB. Beyond the opportunity for a POW to improve his situation and living conditions, these outside assignments provided an opening to obtain tools, documents, local currency, civilian clothing, train schedules, and other information needed by the escape committee.
Readers will recall from earlier posts that most of Heinz Löwenstein’s escapes took place from work camps to which he’d been detailed. The fact that Heinz had been born in Danzig and was therefore fluent in German meant the escape committee would have looked more favorably upon his escape attempts because of a greater chance of success.
Let me say a little about such attempts. It was a prisoner’s duty to try to escape. SBO Sherriff had reached agreement with the Canadians to back their attempts. They agreed that escape plans would be common property. Information and equipment that had been obtained by prisoners out on working parties would be shared. Forgers and tailors from other sections would give their services. While only a few men would ultimately escape, the combined skills of a great number was needed.
Planning and preparation for any escape typically required weeks, if not months. The Dieppe escape committee had selected Hut 19 in their compound as the barrack from which an escape tunnel would be sunk because it was closest to the perimeter fence. (Figure 2) It was dug immediately below the pair of three-tiered bunks pushed up against the wall facing the fence. Twenty men were involved in the work. The large amount of excavated soil had to be disposed of to avoid raising German suspicions. As tunneling progressed, tools and lights had to be improvised, and a system constructed for pushing clean air down a ventilation pipe. Also, because the soil was sandy, the tunnel was shored up using bed boards from the POWs’ bunks. By April 1943, a tunnel roughly 135 feet long which had its exit roughly 20 feet outside the perimeter fence had been completed.
Simultaneously, other POWs worked on obtaining civilian clothes or tailoring POWs uniforms into them. Alterations were made and uniforms dyed. Guards’ movements were studied. Outside the Stalag, potential escape routes were assessed with an eye towards escapees avoiding drawing unwelcome attention and blowing their cover. Work parties obtained other useful information including train schedules; details on the level of security at nearby railway stations; and examples of documents travelers in Germany required.
Obviously, the German documents had to be forged. As I learned and discussed in earlier posts, Heinz Löwenstein was a first-rate forger. Given that Heinz’s brother Fedor Löwenstein was a well-known abstract artist and that his sister Jeanne Loewenstein reputedly also a skilled painter, I’ve periodically wondered whether their ability to expertly illustrate ran in the family?
Regardless, the German documents which had to be forged included an identity card, an Arbeitskarte or work permit, a document from the police indicating the bearer was allowed to travel and, most importantly, an Ausweis or civilian identity card which had to be always carried; to advance the deception a letter or two from an escaper’s fictitious wife, girlfriend, or employer, was also forged. It goes without saying that well-forged documents could make the difference between a successful or failed escape.
Claerwen Howie recounts an amusing anecdote about Sergeant Laurens Pals. Upon reaching Stalag VIIIB, because of his intelligence training he felt he could successfully escape and return to England. The escape organization handed him a small hand drawn map of Germany to plan his escape with the approximate position of Berlin and Stalag VIIIB, as well as a forged Ausweis; he dismissed both as useless, claiming the eagle on the Ausweis “looked like a chicken.” The escape committee was insulted, and a court of inquiry was convened to investigate the incident. Pals convinced everyone his observations were accurate, and he was rewarded by being asked to head up the escape organization for the entire camp.
Pals was extremely resourceful, and within weeks obtained examples of French, Belgian, and Dutch identity papers. He found men in camp who ingeniously could carve the various stamps found on official documents from rubber soles. Incredibly he even managed to smuggle in a typewriter. Dyes, inks, and suitable paper for creating authentic-looking documents were exchanged for cigarettes which came in the Red Cross parcels or were stolen by POWs out on work parties. Because of frequent unannounced searches by the Germans, these materials had to be carefully hidden, although the remote possibility of betrayal by spies still loomed.
The fact that Howie wanted to escape within days of his arrival at Stalag VIIIB presented obvious challenges. Yet, by the time Howie asked to be put in touch with the escape committee, several things that needed to happen had already been completed. The tunnel had been dug, documents forged, civilian clothes prepared, and careful studies undertaken of the various routes prisoners could follow.
The escape committee preferred POWs who were fluent in a foreign language, preferably German, which Howie was not. Pals suggested he recruit a POW to accompany him, but he was unable to find someone. Still, the escape committee was impressed with Howie’s escape plan, so agreed to help him. Howie proposed heading east towards Hungary following his escape to minimize the distance he would have to travel. His plan initially had been to reach Hungary, then dogleg south towards Yugoslavia to connect with Tito’s partisans before eventually rejoining the Allies.
Pals came to be the primary person on whom Howie relied for his escape. He recruited a Hungarian-born Jew who was fluent in German and had a good knowledge of the local countryside and the countries through which they would pass to accompany him; his name was Tibor Weinstein, though he went by the alias “Tom Sanders.” Like Heinz, Tibor was captured during the Battle of Greece though only in the final throes of the battle when Crete was seized.
Pals and his committee had already learned from previous attempts that the best identity they could give an escaper would be that of a foreign worker because thousands were constantly moving about German-occupied territory. In Howie’s case, the false identity they created was that of a Dutch engineer on his way east to a sugar beet factory near the Austro-Hungarian. The committee theorized that if Howie was stopped the Afrikaans he spoke might fool the average German soldier into thinking it was Dutch.
Given that Howie’s escape window was narrow, he opted to flee via the tunnel rather than await assignment to an outside work party. The fact that he’d arrived only days earlier also meant that he would not instantly be recognizable by the guards and that his disappearance might be less noticeable. Howie and Weinstein’s initial nighttime escape was planned for the 25th of September 1943, a mere six days after Howie’s arrival.
The night of Howie’s and Weinstein’s planned escape it rained so their departure was postponed. When they awoke the next morning, the rain had cleared, so a risky daylight escape was decided. Howie only received his forged documents including a testimonial declaring his value to the sugar beet industry at the last minute; the money to buy train tickets was given to Weinstein. He was only introduced to Heinz Loewenstein, who had forged his documents, and to his traveling companion Tibor Weinstein on the morning of his departure. Admittedly, Howie’s stay at Stalag VIIIB was brief, but this appears to have been the only time Howie and Loewenstein met in Lamsdorf.
After saying their quick goodbyes, Howie suffered a brief moment of doubt realizing he had to crawl through the claustrophobic tunnel, an experience that seemingly caused him a lifetime of nightmares imagining being trapped in a tiny, dark passage.
A brief observation. Given that Claerwen Howie’s account is a retelling of her father-in-law’s wartime experience, I’m enormously impressed with the authenticity and detail with which she recounts the story. Unfeasible events which typically litter Hollywood movies are rare. One example of an accurate portrayal is the greatcoats the escapees wore as they crawled through the tunnel to protect their civilian clothes. Another trivial example is the civilian shoes Howie was given, which were several sizes too large and ultimately caused Howie’s feet to blister; Hollywood would have you believe that everything fit perfectly. Suffice it to say, the escape committee tried to leave as few things to chance as possible.
The escape route had been finalized by Sergeant Pals. (Figure 3) Howie and Weinstein would travel through eastern Silesia, then head south towards Vienna, and from there cross into Hungary. Their first destination would be Budapest where Tibor had family and where it was felt that Howie would be able to obtain accurate information on how to proceed to Yugoslavia. The escape committee only gave the escapees enough money to reach the Austrian border, after which they would have to manage on their own.
Since Howie and Weinstein’s escape took place during the day, the prisoners staged a wrestling match to distract the guards manning the watch tower closest to the trapdoor. Following their flight, they walked not to the nearest train station but the second nearest one in Falkenberg; the escape committee felt that if the authorities had been alerted to their escape, they would first check the nearest train depot.
Howie and Weinstein successfully arrived by train in Vienna. While awaiting the connecting train to a town near the Austro-Hungarian border called Bruck-an-der-Leitha (Figure 4), Gestapo agents checked their papers and seemed to accept their authenticity. Concerned this was a ruse and that the Gestapo agents had alerted the conductor, they jumped from the train. With no money to buy replacement tickets, they were forced to walk to Bruck-an-der-Leitha, a center for sugar beet processing. This destination fit neatly with Howie’s cover story.
Let me briefly digress on a personal note. Many years ago when I first started my genealogical research I came upon a pretentiously titled book at the Mormon Library about my family, “A Thousand Year History of the Bruck Family.” The author claims my family, then known as “Perlhefter,” originally came from Hungary, and purchased the right to be toll keepers on the bridge in Bruck-an-der-Leitha. The family eventually sold the concession and moved to Vienna and changed their name to “Bruck” because of this connection. In 2014, during a 13-week trip visiting places connected to my Jewish family’s diaspora, my wife and I stopped there. (Figure 5)
Another thing that speaks to the authenticity of Claerwen Howie’s account of her father-in-law and Weinstein’s escape are the protocols the former POWs established to avoid being caught. Aware there were likely many German informers in the area through which they were traveling, they called one another by their forenames, did not stay in one place too long, and did not approach locals, even though they were desperate for food and water.
Howie and Weinstein crossed into Hungary near Nickelsdorf, virtually atop the Hungarian border. Near the largish town of Csorna, they came upon some Polish workers who gave them shelter, food, water, and what money they could spare. Along with money Weinstein got from selling his woolen Red Cross vest, they had enough to buy train tickets to Budapest.
So much for Howie and Weinstein’s story though there is much more to it. I’ve related their tale as a way of inferring how Heinz Löwenstein’s escape might have unfolded, and the route he might have taken to get to Hungary.
I surmise Heinz successfully escaped directly from Stalag VIIIB through the tunnel in Hut 19. It’s likely Heinz’s three previous unsuccessful escapes from work camps taught him lessons he applied to finally escape triumphantly. Heinz no doubt forged his own documents.
I suspect Heinz reached Hungary via the same route as Howie and Weinstein had taken. Claerwen Howie writes that the Dieppe escape committee knew enough about railway timetables and local costs to get escapees to Bruck-an-der-Leitha. Taking a different route might have created challenges for which Heinz was unprepared.
Howie and Weinstein we know reached Budapest. Like “Captain” Ray Natusch (see Post 163), Heinz however was probably arrested by Hungarian soldiers in the countryside and briefly incarcerated in Komárom, Hungary. This is supported by a footnote in Claerwen Howie’s book stating that Heinz Löwenstein arrived there on the 1st of December 1943, and was transferred to Szigetvár, Hungary on the 19th of December 1943. This means Heinz likely escaped from Stalag VIIIB during the last week of November, so roughly a month after Howie and Weinstein crawled their way out.
In the book by Francis Jones entitled “The Double Dutchman,” we learn that on account of his language skills Heinz Löwenstein was tasked with establishing contact with the Hungarian resistance while he was being detained in Szigetvár, Hungary; the aim was to have the Hungarian resistance connect the former POWs to Tito’s partisan forces in Yugoslavia so they could rejoin the Allied forces. Had it not been for Lt. Col. Howie’s clandestine efforts in Budapest to flip Hungary and his personal visit to Szigetvár to reinforce his order that the POWs not try to escape upon the threat of a post-WWII court martial, no doubt Heinz would have done another disappearing act. Incidentally, Heinz and Howie met for the second and last time in Szigetvár before all the POWs were recaptured following Germany’s invasion of Hungary on the 19th of March 1944.
In closing, I would say given Heinz’s numerous escapes from German stalags and his skills as a forger that finding additional accounts of his exploits is still possible, perhaps even probable. That said, the general outline of the places where Heinz was imprisoned and his contribution to the war effort even as a POW are now well-documented. So I again thank my English friend Brian Cooper for helping me work this out and solve the mystery of Heinz’s Houdini acts!
REFERENCES
Howie, Claerwen. Agent by Accident. Lindlife Publishers CC, 1997.
Jay, John. Facing Fearful Odds: My Father’s Story of Captivity, Escape & Resistance 1940–1945. Pen & Sword Military, 2018.
Jones, Francis S. The Double Dutchman: A story of wartime escape and intrigue. The Dunmore Press Limited, Palmerston North, New Zealand, 1977.
Note: In this post, I shift from discussing primary source documents related to my great-great-grandfather Samuel Bruck (1808-1863), thought to have been the original owner of the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel in Ratibor, Prussia, to talking about my grandfather Felix Bruck (1864-1927), assuredly the last Bruck family owner of the hotel. I examine some records that shed light on the final months of my family’s connection to the establishment.
The inspiration for several recent posts comes from interested readers, ancestral researchers, family, and friends and acquaintances. These people have either sent me contemporary accounts or made me aware of primary source documents in various Polish State Archives related to some of my earliest Bruck relatives from Silesia. (Figure 1) These records, though not infallible, provide a framework for evaluating and assessing the accuracy of vital data obtained elsewhere, as well as placing my ancestors in their proper historic and cultural context. As mentioned elsewhere, primary source documents are my gold standard.
In May of this year, I was contacted by a gentleman, Mr. Kamil Kotas, formerly from the Powiat Raciborski, Racibórz District of Poland, now living in Münster in the German state of North Rhine-Westphalia. Having stumbled on my blog and seen the various posts about the former family-owned hotel in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland], the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel, Kamil told me he’d come across two files citing the Bruck’s Hotel from the interwar years during his online search of the Polish State Archives. (Figures 2-3) He realized my bibliography made no mention of either, so sent me links to the two files:
Having nothing specifically to do with my family, what immediately caught my attention when I opened the links is that the files are archived at the Archiwum Państwowe we Wrocławiu Oddział w Kamieńcu Ząbkowickim, State Archives in Wrocław Branch in Kamieniec Ząbkowicki. Regular readers may recall that Kamieniec Ząbkowicki, Poland is the current name of the German Silesian town of Kamenz where my dear friend Peter Albrecht von Preußen’s family once owned the still-standing castle. I wrote about the castle in Post 135. Kamieniec Ząbkowicki and Racibórz are about 79 miles apart. (Figure 4) In any case, this puts an exclamation point on something I’ve repeatedly stressed, namely, that you should not confine your search for information about your ancestors to the town where they once lived.
Because the online tags for the two files on the Bruck’s Hotel give no clue as to what they contain, I ordered both. After several weeks they arrived, and I turned to my friend Peter Hanke to help me make sense of the file from 1926. While the “Bruck’s Hotel” name was retained by future owners after it was sold by my grandfather Felix Bruck (Figure 5), I knew he had sold it before his death in June 1927. (Figure 6) Consequently, I’ve confined my examination to the earlier of the two files.
The hotel “Prinz von Preußen” is owned by the hotel owner Felix Bruck and was managed alternately by the owner and tenants. Currently, the actual tenant of the hotel is the Peace Lodge e.V. in Ratibor, which handed over the management to Hugo Eulenstein in July 1926. Eulenstein, born in Hammestädt [= Hammerstedt] in Th[uringia] in 1869, moved from Barmen [now a district of Wuppertal] and formerly managed the Grand Hotel on Lake Geneva, then was reportedly general manager of both the Caux and Montreux hotels and then owner of the Continental Hotel in Montreux, which he lost because of the war. He is also said to have been a director at the Carlton Hotel in Frankfurt a.M. and the Bayerischer Hof in Munich.
Eulenstein is the concession holder and reportedly pays an annual rent of 12000 Reichsmark. The hotel was rebuilt and renovated in 1925. The staff consists of 1 chef de cuisine, 4 to 5 waiters, 1 valet and 5 to 6 girls for the kitchen and guest rooms. The value of the existing stock is estimated at about 5000 to 6000 Reichsmark.
The financial situation is not considered unfavorable, but in the opinion of our informants the development of the circumstances remains to be seen, especially since the former tenant Max Künzer managed the hotel without success. At present, a small loan is considered permissible and at the same time it is recommended that a certain degree of caution not be disregarded.
In the letter, the credit agency W. Schimmelpfeng asks the Friedensloge e.V. in Ratibor whether it “. . .would provide information about the personal and financial circumstances of Mr. Eulenstein.”
In a reply letter from my grandfather Felix Bruck dated the 22nd of November 1926 from Berlin he writes: “Mr. Eulenstein is not my tenant but that of the Friedensloge e.V. in Ratibor, to whom I have leased my hotel for several years. I do not know Mr. Eulenstein personally, nor am I aware of his circumstances. The Friedensloge should be able to give you the most information.”
In a letter dated the 12th of November 1926, the following is written:
“Bruck’s Hotel is one of the oldest hotels in Ratibor. Since June 26, 1900, the hotel has been registered in the Commercial Register A under the name “Fedor Bruck Hotel Prinz von Preussen Ratibor” under No. 24. Over the years, the hotel was managed alternately by the owner (Bruck) and by tenants. The last tenant was Max Künzer. He went bankrupt on June 23, 1926. I have reported about it to you under 25 June 1926. Due to the lack of any bankruptcy estate, the bankruptcy proceedings were discontinued after some time. At present the actual tenant of this hotel is the Jewish Lodge in Ratibor. They pay an annual rent of 11000 Reichsmark to the owner Bruck. However, the Lodge leased the hotel to the hotelier Hugo Eulenstein and he has been running it since July 13, 1926. He has a good reputation as a professional. He managed the Grand Hotel on Lake Geneva, was general manager of the two hotels Caux above Montreux and then owner of the Hotel Continental in Montreux (Figure 8), which he lost because of the war. He is also said to have been director of Carlton Hotel in Frankfurt a.M. and of the Bayerischer Hof in Munich. In the innkeeper circles it is strange that Eulenstein comes to Ratibor after such a brilliant career.
Eulenstein was born on December 15, 1869 in Hammestädt [= Hammerstedt] in Th[uringia], married to Hertha née Voth from Cologne since August 7, 1919, and in Ratibor since August 7, 1926. He came from Barmen [now a district of Wuppertal]. He has one child aged 6 years. His deceased father was a landowner. No disadvantageous things have become known about him so far.
He is a concession holder, and the business is in his name. He is not yet registered under commercial law. The annual rent is reduced and is said to be 12,000 Reichsmark. Eulenstein claims to have invested a working capital of 15000 Reichsmark in the business. The hotel was rebuilt and renovated last year. It meets all the requirements of modern times. The staff consists of 1 chef de cuisine, 4-5 waiters, 1 valet and 5-6 girls for the kitchen and guest rooms. According to experience so far, it will have an annual turnover of about 160000 Reichsmark. His warehouse will have a value of 5000-6000 Reichsmark. House and land ownership is not available. His financial situation is still little known in Ratibor but is generally considered favorable. Complaints about his mode of payment have not yet become known. A loan of a few hundred Reichsmark does not seem questionable at present. Nevertheless, caution would be advisable. Without obligation.”
EDITOR’S REMARKS:
The letter is signed and dated the 14th of November 1926, perhaps by an officer of the credit agency who received the letter. Initially, I thought the letter was written by my grandfather, but I now think it was written by a representative from the tenant organization, the Friedensloge e.V.
This is the most informative of the documents contained in the file, providing the date when the Firm of “Fedor Bruck Hotel Prinz von Preussen Ratibor” was registered in the Handelsregister on the 26th of June 1900.
These pages confirm the Friedensloge e.V. was my grandfather’s tenant after Max Künzer went bankrupt and the Peace Lodge subleased the hotel to the experienced hotelier Hugo Eulenstein. Some vital statistics about Hugo and his family are also provided.
My historian friend from Racibórz sent me a series of undated Bruck’s Hotel advertisements from the time my grandfather owned the hotel to the period post-dating his ownership. (Figures 9a-b) One indicates that Max Künzer was the “inh. =inhaber,” owner, when it’s known that he was merely a tenant who went bankrupt. Another undated advertisement shows Hugo Eulenstein as the owner.
November 12, 1926: Felix Bruck, owner; Max Künzer, former tenant, bankrupt
November 18, 1926: Felix Bruck, Ratibor, “knows nothing”
November 25, 1926: Friedensloge e.V. Ratibor
May 21, 1927: Bruck’s Hotel Prinz von Preußen Hugo Eulenstein as the current owner
EDITOR’S REMARKS:
From Pages 4-5, we know that the tenant Max Künzer filed for bankruptcy on the 23rd of June 1926. It appears the Friedensloge e.V. Ratibor subsequently leased the hotel from my grandfather, and in turn subleased it to the hotelier Hugo Eulenstein. No later than the 21st of May of 1927, Hugo had purchased the hotel from my grandfather, who died on the 23rd of June 1927 in Berlin.
As previously mentioned, the above 1926 file discussing my family’s hotel establishment in Ratibor interestingly originates from the State Archives in Wrocław Branch in Kamieniec Ząbkowicki.
Coincidentally, I have another relevant primary source document embedded in a file archived at the Branch State Archives in Katowice, Racibórz, copied for me by Ms. Magda Wawoczny, the Polish student acquaintance from Jagiellonian University. The information on this one page (Figure 10) coincides with the period when my grandfather’s tenant, Max Künzer, went bankrupt. Translated, the text reads:
(no. 37): On August 14, 1926, the Ratibor District Court determined that a debt of 600 Reichsmark exists for inventory taken over.
The creditor is Felix Bruck from Berlin (district W15), Düsseldorferstrasse 24I, who had registered this amount on July 14, 1926.
Given the timing of Max Künzer’s bankruptcy, I surmise the following may have happened. When Mr. Künzer leased the Bruck’s Hotel, which also gave him access to the restaurant and bar, my grandfather likely additionally transferred the inventory to Max. This would have included food pantry items for the kitchen, liquor for the bar, pots, pans, glasses, silverware, china, linen, cleaning supplies, etc., in other words any items required for the daily operation of the hotel. When Mr. Künzer went bankrupt, the bankruptcy court likely seized any remaining inventory, and sold them to repay creditors While the court determined my grandfather was owed 600 Reichsmark, it’s unclear from the register entry that any monies were ever disbursed to him as a creditor, likely one of many.
The documents discussed above relate to the final months of my grandfather’s ownership of the family hotel in Ratibor, from mid-to-late 1926. However, several years ago, another of my Polish acquaintances, Małgosia Płoszaj from Rybnik, Poland, copied and sent me an additional file related to the Bruck’s Hotel that is also archived at Branch State Archives in Katowice, Racibórz. I recently had my friend Peter Albrecht summarize the contents of this “Polizei Verwallung zu Ratibor,” Ratibor police station file. (Figure 11a-b)
This police folder includes a collection of the Prinz von Preußen’s hotel and liquor licenses, violations to the stipulations of these permits, and compliance with fire safety and electrical requirements of the Prussian State. The records date from June 1912 until August 1928. The file documents the Ratibor Police Department’s enforcement of the 1808 Kingdom of Prussia’s liquor licensing requirements, including liquor production, wholesaling, and retail sales at the establishment. Over time, fire safety plans, related for example to gas lighting, also had to be submitted, as well as plans for addressing electrical requirements.
In conjunction with a new or renewed application for a liquor license and business permit, building drawings had to be submitted. The permit was granted on the 11th of June 1912 by the City Council (Der Stadtausschuss) following submission of the building drawings on the 20th of May 1912 and inspection by the city’s inspector. Several changes were requested by the inspector including that the curtains be impregnated with fire-retardant and that the locks between the ballroom (Saal) and the side room (Gesellschaftsraum) be removed since only the side room had an exit door to the outside of the building.
Many of the pages in the file involve applications by groups who wanted to hold an event in the ballroom and were requesting an extension of the curfew or “last call,” or the so-called “Sperrstunde,” beyond the normal 10pm hour.
My grandfather was only fined once for a violation, for the minor infraction of a patron not signing the guest book upon their departure.
In closing, I will concede that much of the information found in primary source documents mentioning my grandfather and the Bruck’s Hotel is rather mundane in nature, but I would again stress to ancestral researchers that the mere survival of similar records between 100 and 200 years of age help paint a portrait of a past very much different than the one we live in. And, often, buried within these documents are tidbits of chronological and contextual information that round out one’s understanding of our ancestors’ lives.
REFERENCE
Hyckel, Georg. Ein Führer durch die Stadt Ratibor und ihre Geschichte. Ratibor, ca. 1930.
Readers may have noticed that Post 134 has been removed from my blog. An astute follower pointed out inconsistencies and inaccuracies in Suse Vogel’s account of her chance encounter with the son of the notorious Nazi architect of the Holocaust, Reinhard Heydrich, who was assassinated in Prague in 1942. Unless Suse Vogel was spoofed for reasons unknown by a vengeful pretender claiming to be Reinhard’s son, which I personally doubt, at its core I think Suse’s improbable run in with Heider Heydrich took place at some point and place in time, just not accurately recalled in all its details. Consequently, I cannot ignore all the mistakes in Suse’s recollection of the event. I should remind readers that Suse’s typed letter is undated providing no frame of reference for when it was written, making it impossible to know whether her imprecise memory of the event was captured shortly after it took place or years later. Thus, in the interest of accuracy, I’ve removed the post.
Among the inconsistencies noted are the following:
Suse Vogel writes that Reinhard was murdered in 1941, when his actual assassination was in 1942.
Suse inaccurately refers to Reinhard’s son as “Reinhard.”
I have been unable to independently verify that Heider Heydrich ever set out to be a policeman or apprenticed as one in Hamburg. He received his engineering degree from the University of Hamburg and appears to have worked for the now insolvent aircraft manufacturer Fairchild Dornier in Oberpfaffenhofen near Munich, Germany in this capacity.
I can find no evidence that Heider ever lived in Wiesbaden as Suse’s letter indicates. I find Heider Heydrich listed in Munich Address Directories from 1960, 1966, and 1968 showing he was an engineer.
Heider is known to have been born in 1934, and according to Suse’s account, her encounter with him is purported to have taken place when he was 28, thus in 1962. However, the mention of the serial killer Jürgen Bartsch in 1962 cannot be accurate because Jürgen was not arrested until 1966.
Until or if I can reconcile the historical and temporal errors, I have withdrawn Post 134 from my blog.
Note: In this postscript, I discuss some intriguing new information that has come to light about Heinz Ludwig Berliner since publication of the original post, details of which bring me closer to determining his fate.
I can never predict when or from where further traces of ancestors I’ve written about in earlier posts may materialize. In my original publication, I explained to readers the challenges I encountered trying to uncover concrete evidence of Heinz Ludwig Berliner, one of my father’s first cousins. I first learned about him from a fleeting reference in a document written by my third cousin Larry Leyser’s grandmother detailing the fate of some of our family’s ancestors. His grandmother briefly remarked Heinz Berliner immigrated to some unspecified country in South America after WWII, where he purportedly committed suicide.
As discussed in the original post, I was able to confirm Heinz Ludwig Berliner’s appearance in South America through the cover of a playbill (Figure 1) sent to me by Tema Goetzel née Comac, the wife of Heinz’s nephew; the playbill showed that Heinz, using his stage name “Enry Berloc,” had performed at the “Teatro Municipal,” in an unspecified South American country, on the 19th of March 1948 in the accompaniment of a “Witha Herm” and the “Maestro Kurt Kohn.” More on this later.
For two reasons, I never imagined it would be so difficult to track Heinz’s movements and eventual destination. First, both of Heinz’ s siblings, Ilse (Figure 2) and Peter Berliner (Figure 3), wound up in New York and were known to me since childhood. And, second, as alluded to above, I’m in touch with descendants of Heinz’s siblings, and assumed they would have letters or documents showing where he’d wound up; initially, all they found was the playbill cover to the 1948 recital in which Enry Berloc performed.
Heinz’s siblings were born in the same town in Upper Silesia where my father had been born, Ratibor [today:Racibórz, Poland], and I was able to locate both of their birth certificates when I visited the “State Archives in Katowice Branch in Raciborz”; vexingly, on two separate visits I could never find Heinz’s birth record, though it was logical to assume he too had been born in Ratibor. I even asked my Polish historian friend in Racibórz, Mr. Paul Newerla, to confirm my negative findings, and his initial efforts were similarly fruitless. As previously discussed, I began to think Heinz may have been born earlier out-of-wedlock and/or born in the town where his parents had married, Meseritz [today: Międzyrzecz, Poland]. I even contacted the archives there but was told the on-line birth records would not be available until this current year; this is on account of Poland’s legal requirement prohibiting the release of birth certificates until 110 years after a person’s birth, so in the case of Heinz possibly soon after his parents married in 1909 in Meseritz.
As readers may recall, this search became moot when I recently discovered a document in MyHeritage entitled “German Minority Census, 1939,” listing a Heinz Ludwig Berliner born on the 24th of September 1916 in Ratibor, showing he lived in the Charlottenburg District of Berlin in 1939, and indicating he had immigrated to Bolivia. (Figure 4) I had some initial doubts this was my father’s first cousin, but after transmitting this new information to Mr. Newerla, Paul was able to finally locate Heinz’s birth certificate in the State Archives in Raciborz, misfiled as it happens, confirming his parents’ names.
Researching the names and information found on the cover of the 1948 playbill, I thought the “Teatro Municipal” was in Buenos Aires, Argentina, as I told readers in my original post. Hoping to locate Berliners who may have wound up there before or after WWII, I turned to family trees on JewishGen, and contacted a lady in Australia who put me in touch with a Ms. Marcia Ras from Buenos Aires with Berliners in her family tree, who turned out to be exceptionally helpful.
Following publication of my original post, I sent Marcia a link to it, and she explained that Argentina’s Ministry of Education that had supposedly sponsored the 1948 recital at the Teatro Municipal had never borne the name “Ministerio de Educacion y Bellas Artes.” (Figure 5) Quick online searches showed that in both Venezuela and República Dominicana they were called that way. I sent an email to the Dominican Republic’s Ministry of Education but never received a response. Given Venezuela’s severely dysfunctional state, I never bothered to contact them. I searched for a similarly named entity in other South American countries to no avail.
Marcia could find no evidence Heinz was ever in Buenos Aires. She told me that if he was, he did not enter the country legally. Thousands of Jewish refugees entered Argentina and other South American countries illegally, especially between 1938 and 1949, so he may well have been among them. Marcia was unable to find his name mentioned anywhere. A Ms. Silvia Glocer, an expert in Jewish musicians seeking refuge in Argentina whom Marcia consulted, confirmed she’d also never heard Heinz’s or the maestro Kurt Kohn’s names. They stressed this did not mean they’d never been in Argentina, only that no evidence could be found they’d been there.
My ongoing search might well have ended here. However, out of the blue, Tema Goetzel sent me a photo from a chatelaine (i.e., a clasp or hook for a watch, purse, or bunch of keys) (Figures 6a-b), asking if I recognized Alfred Berliner, Heinz Berliner’s father. While I know Alfred Berliner was once interred in the Jewish Cemetery in Ratibor and included a photo of his former headstone in the original post, I had no photos of him against which to compare; eventually, Tema sent two more photos, a second of Alfred Berliner (Figure 7), and a third of Alfred Berliner’s wife, Charlotte Berliner née Rothe, with their three children. (Figure 8) At long last, I’d tracked down a photo of the elusive Heinz Berliner, albeit as a young child! (Readers are reminded that in Post 18, I told the story of Heinz Berliner’s mother who perished in Auschwitz in 1943.)
In the course of our recent conversations, I told Tema the Teatro Municipal I thought was in Buenos Aires was not in fact in Argentina; I related what Marcia Ras had explained to me. Tema, the source of the original playbill, thought it indicated the country. When I told her it didn’t, she again dug out the playbill and found three additional pages (Figures 9a-c) which she hadn’t previously sent, and these sheets specifically mentioned Bolivia, the country the “German Minority Census, 1939” document identified as Heinz’s destination. Armed with a country, I now quickly found a Teatro Municipal in La Paz. (Figure 10) Another puzzle solved.
Having confirmed from two independent sources Heinz’s connection to Bolivia, I again contacted the Bolivian affiliate of the World Jewish Congress, Circulo Israelita De La Paz, asking if they could check on Jewish musicians who may have sought refuge in Bolivia between roughly 1938 and 1949. This office has been gracious and helpful beyond measure but, to date, they too have been unable to confirm Heinz’s presence there. I think what is true of Jewish refugees entering Argentina illegally is also true of Bolivia. It may well be I’m unable to ever confirm whether or when Heinz died in Bolivia.
Marcia Ras discovered one other final intriguing thing. In the original post, I told readers that the Witha Herm mentioned in the 1948 playbill was a stage name for a woman known as Herma Wittmann, who died in 1992 in Los Angeles and is interred there. Similarly, the other musician mentioned in the playbill, Kurt Kohn, used an artistic name, Ray Martin (Raymond Stuart Martin). (Figure 11) A quick online search revealed Ray was born Kurt Kohn in Vienna, Austria on the 11th of October 1918, and came to live and work in England in 1937. He was noted for his light music compositions, and created a legacy for himself in British popular music through his work with his orchestra in the 1950’s. I even located a descriptive catalog of his musical recordings, and tried to contact the compiler, Alan Bunting, but learned he’d died in 2016. Fortunately, the discography was created in collaboration with a Nigel Burlinson, whom I was able to reach. Mr. Burlinson sent a very gracious reply telling me he did not think the “Kurt Kohn” who performed at the Teatro Municipal in 1948 was the popular music conductor “Ray Martin” because at the time he was in England conducting orchestras. What to make of this is unclear? Possibly, the musical recital in which Witha Herm and Enry Berloc performed in 1948 in Bolivia merely used one or more of Kurt Kohn’s musical scores as accompaniment?
So, as often happens in my forensic investigations, I take two steps forward, one step back. I now know what Heinz Berliner looked like as a child, and confirmed he indeed immigrated to Bolivia after 1939, but am still left to ponder how and when exactly he died and whether he passed away in Bolivia.
This post allows readers to quickly retrieve all previous Blog publications, and easily see which ones I’ve written postscripts to based on newly acquired information.
“Jetpack,” a plug-in for the WordPress software package I use for my website, tracks the number of “All-time views” and tells me which posts are the most popular. It is clear readers are most interested in first-hand accounts, letters, and diaries of the people and tragic historical events I write about. Equally compelling to readers seem to be stories where I’ve worked out the fate of people my father and ancestors were acquainted with, or managed to locate their descendants. As readers can imagine, first-hand accounts are hard to come by because few exist, or they were destroyed during the war. Regardless, because most are handwritten in hard-to-decipher German, which I don’t speak or read, I rely on a network of relatives and friends for translations and interpretations; I am most grateful for their generous assistance.
As previously explained to readers, my digital “footprint” is intentionally small, so the number of visits to my Blog is correspondingly bounded. However, given the great effort that’s gone into maintaining and expanding the website, I hope by consolidating links in one easy-to-access place, I might remind readers of the wide range of topics I’ve written about and increase the number of “clicks” on my posts.
Note: In this Blog post, I provide a brief guide on searching the on-line registry of vital records and statistics at the “Landesarchiv Berlin,” the Berlin State Archive. This may be of interest to the small percentage of readers whose forebears are German and may once have lived in Berlin.
Civil registration is the system by which a government records the vital events (births, marriages and deaths) of its citizens and residents. The resulting repository or database has different names in different countries and even in different states in America (e.g., civil registry, civil register, vital records, bureau of vital statistics, registrar, registry, register, registry office, population register). In Berlin, the records of births, marriages and deaths are stored at the “Landesarchiv Berlin,” the Berlin State Archive, and can be accessed on-line, specifically, in registers of births between roughly 1874 and 1907; in registers of marriages from about 1874 to 1935; and in registers of deaths from around 1874 to 1987.
It is quite challenging to use this on-line database, so in this Blog post I will share a few hints with interested readers on possibly finding their ancestors’ names. I need to alert readers that finding your ancestors in a registry does not immediately give you access to the underlying historic document; this entails sending an email to the Landesarchiv, and, at present, waiting up to four months to have the historic certificate mailed to you. If you do all the research yourself, identifying the specific register, Berlin borough (see below), and document number, the Landesarchiv typically does not charge you for their services and copies of records.
At the end, for those who enjoy working through puzzles, using my own grandfather Felix Bruck, I will challenge readers to find the specific register in which his death was recorded. In a week, I will tell and walk readers through the steps that I went through to find his name. No doubt readers will be considerably more adept and quicker than I was at finding the proper register.
Before introducing readers to the civil registration database, let me provide some brief historic context. According to the Landesarchiv’s website, the establishment of the archive in the modern sense of the term is 1808. During WWII the collections of the archives were dispersed, to avoid destruction; following the war, during the 1950’s and 1960’s, the surviving collections were reunited. In 1991 the Landesarchiv merged with Stadtarchiv in Berlin; the latter was the municipal archive and the place where the civil registration records were stored until the merger. In 2000, the Landesarchiv also integrated collections from the “Archivabeitlung der Landesbildstelle” and the “Archiv der Internationalen Bauausstellung,” including audio-visual archives.
The portal to access the civil registration records on file at the Landesarchiv Berlin can be found at the following URL:
I can no longer recall how I became aware of this database, but given my family’s deep-seated connections to Berlin, it was only a matter of time before I would eventually learn of its existence. Figure 1a is a screen-shot of the portal page, very simple in its presentation; Figure 1b is the same portal page translated, although the database cannot be queried from here (i.e., queries must be done from the German-language page). There are three categories of records that can be searched in combination or individually (i.e., you can check one, two or all three boxes) for any area of Berlin: Sterberegister (Death Records); Heiratsregister (Marriage Register); and Geburtenregister (Birth Registers).
One of the keys to searching the civil registration records for Berlin is understanding Berlin’s system of boroughs. The German capital Berlin is divided into 12 boroughs (German: Stadtteile/Bezirke), that have political rights like a town but are not legally cities. (Figure 2) On January 1, 2001, Berlin instituted a reform of its boroughs reducing their number from 23 to 12 to cut down on administrative costs. Below is a table showing the old and new borough names, an understanding of which is critical to querying the civil registration records:
NUMBER
NEW BOROUGH NAME
OLD BOROUGH NAMES
I
Mitte
Mitte, Tiergarten, Wedding
II
Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg
Friedrichshain, Kreuzberg
III
Pankow
Prenzlauer Berg, Weißensee, Pankow
IV
Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf
Charlottenburg, Wilmersdorf
V
Spandau
Spandau (unchanged)
VI
Steglitz-Zehlendorf
Steglitz, Zehlendorf
VII
Tempelhof-Schöenberg
Tempelhof, Schöenberg
VIII
Neukölln
Neukölln (unchanged)
IX
Treptow-Köpenick
Treptow, Köpenick
X
Marzahn-Hellersdorf
Marzahn, Hellersdorf
XI
Lichtenberg
Lichtenberg, Hohenschönhausen
XII
Reinickendorf
Reinickendorf (unchanged)
Each borough is made up of several officially recognized subdistricts or neighborhoods (Ortsteile in German), that can be distinguished in Figure 2. These neighborhoods typically have a historical identity as former independent cities, villages or rural municipalities that were united in 1920 as part of the “Greater Berlin Act,” which established the current configuration of Berlin; when first established in 1920, Berlin was organized into 20 boroughs, most often named after the largest component neighborhood, often a former city or municipality, sometimes named for geographic features (e.g., Kreuzberg, Prenzlauer Berg). Today, Berlin is both a city and one of the 16 states of Germany and is referred to as a city-state (Stadtstaat in German).
On the portal page, in the box labelled “Standesamt,” one must enter the name of the borough one is seeking birth, marriage or death records from. One begins by typing the first few letters of a borough, for example “Ch” for Charlottenburg, and, often, multiple listings for that borough will come up (e.g., Charlottenburg: Standesamt Charlottenburg; Standesamt Charlottenburg I; Standesamt Charlottenburg II; Standesamt Charlottenburg III; Standesamt Charlottenburg IV, etc.); select one, then select death, marriage, and/or death records you wish to see for that borough, then do a “Suchen” (i.e., search). A new page with the list of registers available for that borough or municipality will appear (e.g., Standesamt Charlottenburg IV) (Figure 3). Scrutinize the list until you find the register covering the year(s) you’re seeking; some years may have more than one register for them, while other registers may cover multiple years.
A brief aside about “Standesamt” (German plural: Standesämter); this is a German civil registration office, which is responsible for recording births, marriages, and deaths. Readers will recall my mentioning above that in 1991, the Landesarchiv merged with the Stadtarchiv in Berlin, the latter being where the civil registration records were kept until that time. Soon after the German Empire was created in 1871 from the previous collection of German states (kingdoms, duchies, etc.), a universal system of Standesämter, register offices, was established, taking effect on January 1, 1876. The system had previously been introduced in Prussia on October 1, 1874, so it is no accident that the civil registration records at the Landesarchiv begin in this year. Today, those register offices (Standesämter) are still part of the administration of every German municipality (in small communities, they are often incorporated with other offices of the administration). Since 1876, Germans can only enter a legal marriage in a Standesamt, and every marriage takes place before the local registrar (called Standesbeamter); similarly, every birth must be registered at a register office, as must every death.
I’ve gone into detail about the history on the establishment of Berlin following the Great Berlin Act of 1920, and the organization of the civil register offices, because it partially informs us of the extent of the historic documents they contain as well as the tedious steps that must be followed when querying the civil registration database.
In the time I’ve used the Landesarchiv Berlin database, I’ve only ever found seven documents I was researching. Virtually all my Jewish relatives lived in the well-heeled borough of Charlottenburg, so I ALWAYS begin my searches here, as I would suggest readers looking for their Jewish ancestors also do. Remember that today, the borough including Charlottenburg is named Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf, so the civil registers for “Wilmersdorf” should also be examined.
Regrettably, the empty box entitled “Standesamt” that you must complete does not provide a complete pull-down menu of all Berlin boroughs or neighborhoods when you start typing so I have no idea how many different boroughs, municipalities, and places are to be found in the civil register, likely dozens if not hundreds.
The first time I used the Landesarchiv database, I was searching for the register listing of my Aunt Susanne Bruck’s marriage to her husband, Dr. Franz Müller. (Figure 4) Because I have the original marriage certificate in my possession, two different ones, I knew they’d gotten married on April 18, 1931 in Berlin-Charlottenburg. (Figures 5-6) Obviously, I began searching the registers that cover this borough, and eventually found their marriage listed in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg III No. 605 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratregister 1924-1933) (name register to the marriage index 1924-1933).” (Figures 7a-b) If readers look carefully at the seal in the lower left corner of the two marriage certificates, you can see where it is stamped “Charlottenburg III.” The “Registernummer 263/1931” in the upper left-hand corner matches the number associated with my aunt and uncle’s names on the register page, so I knew I had located the correct certificate. Even though I have two marriage certificates for my aunt and uncle, I still requested a copy of the official document from the Landesarchiv, and much to my surprise it was different and included two pages, the second of which listed witnesses. (Figures 8a-b) For this reason, even if readers have originals of vital documents for your ancestors, I still recommend you request copies of any documents you may find in the Landesarchiv database; you never know what surprises may await you.
The next person I researched in the Landesarchiv database was my great-aunt Franziska Bruck (Figure 9), who I knew had committed suicide on January 2, 1942; she too had lived and died in Charlottenburg, and I found her name listed in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942) (name register to the death index 1942).” (Figures 10a-b) I similarly requested a copy of my great-aunt’s death certificate and learned she had gruesomely committed suicide by hanging herself (Figure 11); obtaining poison to kill oneself may have been easier for Jews who were once in the medical profession, such as Dr. Ernst Neisser discussed in Post 48, unlike my great-aunt who was a renowned florist.
I’ve recently returned my attention to the Landesarchiv database in connection with writing Post 48 dealing with Dr. Ernst Neisser, who was the husband of my first cousin twice-removed, Margarethe Neisser née Pauly. (Figure 12) To quickly review. According to Susanne Vogel née Neisser, Ernst and Margarethe Neisser’s daughter, Margarethe was institutionalized for the last three years of her life and committed suicide on October 12, 1941. Ernst lived with his first cousin Luise Neisser in Charlottenburg, and the two of them committed suicide the following year after they were ordered to present themselves for deportation to Theresienstadt. In the previous Blog post, I told readers both took poison on October 1, 1942; Luise died that day, but Ernst lingered for four days and succumbed on October 4, 1942.
I was able to locate in the Landesarchiv registers, the death listings for both Margarethe “Sara” Neisser and Luise “Sara” Neisser but, interestingly, for the longest time not for Dr. Ernst Neisser. Margarethe, I found listed in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 712 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1941)” (Figures 13a-b) and Luise in “Standesamt-Charlottenburg Nr. 713 (Namensverzeichnis Sterberegister 1942).” (Figures 14a-b) I’ve requested both of their death certificates from the Landesarchiv, and await their arrival.
Finding Dr. Ernst Neisser’s listing in the Landesarchiv involved some serious forensic work and one I worked out literally as I was writing this post. I knew that Dr. Ernst Neisser lived with his first cousin Luise Neisser in Eichenallee in Charlottenburg; as mentioned above, both Ernst and Luise tried to commit suicide on October 1, 1942, and while Luise succeeded, Ernst lingered until October 4th. Even though they died four days apart, I assumed both their deaths had been registered in Charlottenburg where they lived, but I was unable to find Ernst’s death recorded in any registers for Charlottenburg nor Wilmersdorf.
According to his daughter’s written account of his final days, Ernst died at the Jüdische Krankenhaus Berlin, the Berlin Jewish Hospital, where he’d been taken following his attempted suicide. It occurred to me that Ernst may have had his death registered in the borough where the Jewish Hospital is located; I researched this and discovered the Jüdische Krankenhaus Berlin, which still exists today, is in the borough “Mitte.” To remind readers what I illustrated in the table above, today’s borough Mitte once consisted of three independent boroughs, Mitte, Tiergarten, and Wedding; the registers for “Mitte” and “Tiergarten” yielded nothing, but finally in the last possible register where I thought his name might be listed, in the borough “Wedding,” under October 1942, I found the name “Neißer, Richard Ernst Israel.” (Figures 15a-b) Success at last!
In order to successfully navigate the Landesarchiv database, it is helpful to have at least the month and year when a vital event in an ancestor’s life may have taken place. Ernst and Margarethe Neisser’s daughter, Susanne Vogel née Neisser, noted the place and date of her own marriage to Hans Vogel in the preface to the memoir she wrote about her father’s final days; it took place on the 31st of July 1926 in Berlin. (Figure 16) Assuming, as I always do, the wedding took place in Charlottenburg, I successfully located the spouse and bride’s names in the “Standesamt-Charlottenburg I Nr. 467 (Namensverzeichnis Heiratregister 1921-1927).” (Figures 17a-b)
There is one other great-aunt whose Berlin residence (i.e., “Prenzlauer Allee 113” in the neighborhood of “Prenzlauer Berg” in the Berlin borough of “Pankow”) (Figure 18) and date of death are known to me (i.e., 20th of February 1970), my renowned Socialist ancestor, Elsbeth Bruck (Figure 19); she died in East Berlin well before the fall of the German Democratic Republic in 1990. Still, despite having very specific information for her, to date, I’ve not been able to locate her name in a Landesarchiv register. I assume East Germans were equally meticulous about recording vital statistics, so I conclude I’ve just not worked out the correct parameters as to where she died. It’s possible that, like Dr. Neisser, she died in a hospital in a different borough of East Berlin and that her death was registered in that borough. I simply don’t know.
So, to let me briefly recap some suggestions when searching through the Landesarchiv database. If you think you might have an ancestor or know of someone who was born in Berlin sometime after 1874 (but before 1905), got married there before 1935, and/or died there before 1987, it helps if you can narrow down at least one vital event to a specific year or actual date. Next, if you have any idea where your relative or acquaintance lived in Berlin, this may help you determine the borough where they resided. You may know the actual address where they lived without knowing which modern or historic Berlin neighborhood or borough the street was located, so Google the address and try and narrow it down to a borough; be aware that in Berlin there are multiple streets with the same name (e.g., Kastanienallee (=Chestnut Street)). You may be able to locate where your relative or acquaintance lived by using old Berlin Address Books available through ancestry.com. If you think you’ve finally identified the borough, you can begin your search in the Landesarchiv. As I’ve illustrated through example, Berlin boroughs must be searched by their modern names, as well as by the historic municipalities or neighborhoods that comprised that borough.
I’d be very interested in hearing from any of you who are successful in finding the names of any ancestors or acquaintances in the on-line Berlin State Archive database and obtaining copies of historic documents. Active genealogists know how valuable original vital records can be in establishing precise dates for these events and possibly uncovering another generation of ancestors.
Many readers will not have any relatives nor know of anyone who had any association with Berlin yet be interested in “testing” their skills using the Landesarchiv database to find an actual person connected to the city. For such “puzzle-masters,” I’ve created a challenge to find my grandfather Felix Bruck (Figure 20) in a Berlin register. Figure 21 is a scan of his death certificate (the archaic German word “Todesschein” is used, but the modern German term is “Totenschein”).
Note: Since publication of Post 14 in October 2017, three different readers sent me information related to the M. Braun Brauerei. All three have graciously allowed me to update the original post using visuals they provided.
In the original Blog post, I included a postcard showing the M. Braun Brauerei in the early 20th Century. (Figure 1) The postcard was written on July 28, 1912 from Ratibor, by my great-grandmother Olga Berliner, née Braun, and addressed to my great-aunt Franziska Bruck in Berlin. Within the past week, my third cousin, once-removed, Larry Leyser, sent me a different postcard of the front of the same brewery. (Figure 2) While this image is rather less clear, what makes it so informative is that it names the square on which the M. Braun Brauerei was located, namely, “Neu Markt.”
Combined with an 1891 map of Ratibor (today: Racibórz, Poland) that a different reader, Mr. Paul Newerla, sent me, showing Neu Markt, I now know precisely where the M. Braun Brauerei was situated. This 1891 map even pinpoints the location of the brewery on the square, while a 1927-28 plan map of Ratibor shows the square. (Figures 3 & 4) Mr. Newerla, has written a book on Raciborz, entitled “Ratibor einst und jetzt,” translated roughly as “Ratibor, then and now.” (Figure 5). In addition to the map from 1891, Paul also sent me a treasure trove of information on the Bruck family hotel in Ratibor, the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel, which will be the subject of an upcoming postscript.
A different Polish gentleman, Mr. Grzegorz Miczek, contacted me after seeing my original post. He asked whether I had any additional documents related to the brewery as reference for a book he’s writing on the “Raciborskie Brewery.” He mentioned he possesses a few bottles from the brewery, and graciously sent me images of them that he’s allowing me to share with readers. These elegant old beer bottles speak for themselves. (Figures 6-9)
My cousin Larry Leyser made another interesting discovery. The brewer Markus Braun, after having a dozen children by his first wife, Caroline Spiegel, remarried a Johanna Goldstein and had two additional children, a daughter Wanda Eugenia Braun (Figure 10; Translation) born in 1869, followed a year later by a son Markus Braun. (Figure 11; Translation) It appears the elder Markus passed away in 1870 at the age of 53 before his youngest son was born some months later.
Note: This story relates to the brief time between 1946 and 1948 when my father, Dr. Otto Bruck, worked illegally as a dentist in Nice, France.
The Nazi’s “Reich Citizen Law,” one of two Nuremberg Laws passed by the Reichstag on September 15, 1935, declared that only those of German or related blood were eligible to be Reich citizens; the remainder were classed as state subjects, without citizenship rights. From this point forward, my father was “stateless.”
For me, this story begins more than 60 years ago in Nice, France, along la Côte d’Azur, when as a young boy I was in the company of my maternal grandmother and we were walking through Vieux Nice. (Figure 1) I’m unsure what tricks time plays with memories, but I clearly remember my grandmother stopping along a street I would recognize many years later as Boulevard Jean Jaurès (Figure 2), pointing to a building on the windward side, and telling me my father had had his dental office there. My grandmother knew this because my father had done extensive work on her teeth. This may also have been when I first learned my father was Jewish. It would be many years, in all honesty, before I would absorb the full significance of these facts.
In previous posts, I’ve mentioned having visited on multiple occasions Ratibor (today: Racibórz, Poland), where my father was born in 1907. On my second visit there, in 2012, I met a gentleman at the Tourist Bureau, who, like myself, is a retired archaeologist. He currently edits a journal, entitled the Almanach Prowincjonalny, and upon learning of my family’s connection to Ratibor, wondered whether I’d be interested in writing an article for this periodical. I eagerly agreed, and in April 2013, my article was published.
In writing this essay, I’d learned from my mother that my father had worked for a woman dentist by the name of Mme. Lotter between 1946 and 1948 in Nice. Recall, this is the city where my parents first met, and where my dad settled after his release from the English Army in June 1946 because he had an aunt and cousins living there. (Figure 3) Because Mme. Lotter was entirely disinterested in dentistry, my father essentially managed her dental practice. This was an illegal arrangement because he was stateless, in French, “apatride,” and therefore not authorized to work in France. (Figures 4a & 4b) The authorities eventually caught him in flagrante in 1948 and charged him with practicing dentistry illegally. By this time, my father had obtained a visa for the United States which was predicated on not having a criminal record. Rather than risk being denied entry into the States, my father absconded before his trial.
Fast forward now to 2014 when my wife and I visited l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice in search of information on my father’s aunt and cousins. This was discussed in Post 16. While waiting for assistance, I was left alone for some moments and encouraged to peruse the books containing les certificats de décès, the death certificates, so took the opportunity to check for deceased Lotters. Having only this surname to work with, I systematically set myself to looking through the death certificates for the years starting with 1948, the year my father left France and Mme. Lotter was assuredly still alive.
In the spirit of Branch Rickey’s mantra that “luck is the residue of design,” I quickly discovered a gentleman by the name of HENRI LOTTER who died on May 28, 1970. Fortunately, there were only a handful of deceased Lotters, all men, but this individual caught my attention because it gave his divorced wife’s name, SIMONE JAUBERT. (Figures 5a & 5b) I discovered she died on November 1, 1964. (Figure 6) I requested copies of both of their death certificates, uncertain whether this Mme. Lotter-Jaubert was even a dentist.
Armed with these death certificates, I asked where the various people were buried. I was directed to a different nearby office of l’Hôtel de Ville in Nice, Service De L’administration Funéraire, essentially the “Bureau of Cemeteries.” Here we would make the acquaintance of Mme. Joelle Saramito, who, like other French bureaucrats I’ve met, was intrigued by an American who speaks fluent French; Mme. Saramito has helped me multiple times over the years including on one of my most spectacular discoveries, which will be the subject of a future post. As fortune would have it, Mme. Lotter-Jaubert is buried alongside her husband in Cimitiere De Caucade (Figure 7), the same cemetery where my Aunt Hedwig Loewenstein, née Bruck, and her son, Fedor Löwenstein’s headstones are located. While our visit to Cimitiere De Caucade allowed us to view all the tombstones simultaneously, it did not conclusively answer the question of whether this was the correct Mme. Lotter.
To answer this question, I revisited Mme. Saramito, and asked her where I might find Yellow Pages for Nice for the late 1940’s. She directed us to the “Archives municipales de Nice” (Figure 8), on the western outskirts of Nice. So, on July 4, 2014, we presented ourselves there to the “Président de salle” (Figure 9), literally, “President of the Hall.” Unquestionably, this must be one of the most highfalutin titles I’ve ever come across. Regardless, upon our arrival, I explained what I was looking for, and “Le Président” brought out several annuaires téléphoniques, telephone directories, for the period in question. Much to my delight, in the 1947-48 annuaire, under the listing for “Dentistes,” I found “Lotter-Jaubert, Simone, place Saint-Francois 2” (Figures 10a & 10b), confirming that Mme. Simone Lotter had indeed been a dentist. Simone’s ex-husband, Henry Lotter, I discovered had been unpharmacien, a pharmacist.
There remained but one final thing for me to confirm, whether in fact a distant memory that the office building my grandmother had pointed to was indeed located in Vieux Nice. (Figure 11) And, in fact, I was able to locate the still standing building at Place Saint-Francois 2, in the old section of Nice (Figures 12, 13 & 14). This story proves that occasionally with only scant information to begin with, in my case just a surname and a 60-year old childhood memory, one can sometimes make extraordinary discoveries about one’s family.
