Shattered Crystals by Mia Amalia Kanner (management books to read .TXT) 📖

“The man in Nazi uniform swooped Eva off the ground.”

“Juden Verboten!” I cringed every time I saw a notice that specified “No Jews” or “Forbidden to Jews.” The signs were posted all over Halle after the Nuremberg Laws were passed.

“But that means us,” said my shocked older daughter when she read the sign at the entrance to a children’s show. Ruth was six now, a very smart girl and in her first year of public school.

“A girl in my class saw the show and said it wasn’t very good anyway,” Ruth said good-naturedly. She attended Hebrew classes at the Orthodox shul and accepted the fact that she was different from the other children in her secular school.

But when she learned she could no longer go to the town swimming pool, she cried and all I could do was hug her and say “That’s the way it is now. I can’t help it. When we get to Palestine it will be better.”

Early in 1936, not long after Hilda Frankl came to us, I found I was pregnant again. Hilda was a friend of Hanni Koppel, Sal’s niece. She was fifteen years old when we took her on to replace Lisbeth, and we could not have made a better choice. She was a kind and cheerful girl who loved to sing and play with Ruth and Eva. What a relief it was to have a girl in the house who was at home in our kosher kitchen and shared our joy at the coming of each Shabbos. She sang old Yiddish songs and helped five-year-old Eva form her Hebrew letters.

Her presence in our household was a great help to me, especially since it had become necessary for me to make frequent trips to Leipzig. A stroke had confined Mama to a wheelchair, and she was getting worse. Papa nursed her with great devotion and patience, catering to all her needs and demands. Mama hated being unable to move freely and having to depend on others for help with most of her ordinary needs. I went every week and stayed overnight to spend time with Mama and to give Papa some relief.

Mama died in the spring, unaware of the increasing hardships the Nazis were inflicting on the Jews in Leipzig where anti-Semitism was much more blatant than in Halle. Now, only Papa was left to care for Edith. My sister suffered from a thyroid deficiency that led to her having a tremendous appetite. She ate voraciously yet remained slender. She was a lovely girl of sixteen, but her intelligence was at most that of a ten-year-old child. Every month or two, I brought her to Halle for a few days. It gave Papa some rest and brought pleasure to my children and me.

More than a year after our application, we were still waiting for our visa to Palestine. I did not think we could or should have a holiday that summer, but Sal insisted some time in Marienbad would do me good. The long winter of worrying and rushing back and forth between Leipzig and Halle, of grieving for my mother, and of living in Nazi Germany exhausted me physically and emotionally. My doctor concurred with the advice that I must think more of the coming baby. We had been to the beautiful Czech spa once, and now we made reservations for a short holiday. To be away from Germany and its strutting Nazis and Juden Verboten notices was very appealing.

The doctor urged me not to overexert myself, so we took Hilda to Marienbad to help with the children. Ruth and Eva were overjoyed when they realized they could swim every day. They splashed in the pool while I soaked in the soothing waters of the ancient spa. We also strolled along the graceful avenues and parks of the elegant mountain resort. Our kosher hotel was spotlessly clean, our rooms were airy, and our meals were excellent. What a pleasure to be among Jews, free from constant tension or fear of being singled out.

One day halfway through our vacation, Sal and I were sitting on lounge chairs in the park while the children played quietly next to us. How well they looked and so pretty—Ruth with her brown hair, delicate features, and inquisitive look and Eva, red-haired, blue-eyed, smiling to herself.

Suddenly, a Sudeten-German in a Nazi uniform with the Nazi insignia emblazoned upon it swooped Eva off the ground. He swung the child back and forth in front of me perhaps three or four times. I was gripped by fear, aware of nothing except this single fact: The Nazi was holding my daughter.

He sat next to us and began bouncing a smiling Eva on his knee. “An exquisite child. Absolutely perfect Aryan features. A child of the Fatherland. Dear lady, you are to be congratulated.”

He rose and returned my child. Standing directly in front of me, he raised his arm in a salute and said “Heil Hitler!” Then he walked out of the park. I continued to hug Eva, who was still smiling quietly.

Sal took Ruth by the hand and said “We are going back to the hotel now.” When she began to protest, he repeated what he had just said, and Ruth complied.

Hilda, who had gone shopping for a souvenir to take back to her mother, was waiting for us when we came back to our hotel. She took the children into the garden, and Sal steered me to the veranda where coffee was being served. From my chair, I saw Hilda playing cat’s cradle in turn, first with one girl and then with the other. I reached for a cube of sugar to put in my coffee and noticed that my hand was shaking. Until then, I had not been aware that I was trembling.

“What a stupid mistake. The joke is definitely on the Nazi,” Sal said.

I knew that he was trying to make me see the humor of the incident, but I found it difficult to recapture the mood of relaxation we had enjoyed since our arrival at the resort. We might as well have gone back to Halle. The incident tainted the remainder of our vacation at Marienbad.

Back in Halle, our friends were eager to hear about our trip and see the photos Sal had taken with his Leica. Social life was almost totally limited to visiting with family and friends, and I could not blame those who seemed to want to recapture the days before Hitler. But the Nazis had ruined my trip, and I took no pleasure gossiping about our holiday adventures.

I needed a new coat and decided to shop at Huth’s Department Store in the center of the city. Walking the few blocks to the store after my trolley ride, I found the streets crowded with shoppers and strollers. I was just about to cross the street when I saw several dozen Nazis. They were carrying party banners and moving towards the corner where I stood. Traffic halted and all the pedestrians lined up against the curb, two or three deep. With the crowd pressing around me, I grasped the awful truth. I was trapped in a demonstration. All around me people raised their arms and began to cheer the approaching column. For an instant, I did not know what to do. Then I realized that if I did not join in, I would be assaulted and very likely be thrown to the ground. I felt the child stirring within me and forced up my arm, holding it straight, even as it stiffened with pain. As the goose-stepping cavalcade thundered past me, I clenched my fist to hold it steady. I wondered how many others in the crowd saluted and cheered from fear.

The crowd dispersed. I breathed deeply and told myself I could not let myself fall apart each time I encountered threatening Nazis. Then I continued on to Huth’s and found a gray wool coat.

Back home that night, Sal agreed I had done the right thing. “You always know how to behave and what to do. I admire you for it.”

Our third daughter was born on November 9, 1936. The hospital where Ruth and Eva had been born no longer admitted Jews, so I gave birth at home, without any difficulty. As we had done with the two older girls, we chose a biblical name, and one in remembrance of dear Mama.

Lea Jenta’s birthday was recorded at our Halle hall of records. Her name was inscribed in our official family record book with the same fine calligraphic strokes as on the previous pages that listed our marriage and the births of the two older girls in the years 1929 and 1931. The difference was in the official stamp—a circle surrounding a hideous swastika.