Asked To Leave School Memories 937: Eichmann Asking For Chopped Liver Fred Barschak On Saturday: elderly Jews scrubbing the pavements & marvellous shouts of ‘At last, Hitler’s found work for the Jews!' Read Full Memory 938: Some Kind Of Darkness Eva Evans MBE I wanted to be a writer. But I never felt that I could write in English the way I could have done in German. So that was the end of that... Read Full Memory 958: Discovering I Was Jewish John Dobai My parents thought that by changing their religion, it might produce some sort of saving, at least for me. But they were wrong... Read Full Memory 993: Jews Not Welcome Ruth Jackson One thing stands out in my mind. I went shopping with my mother & saw a man in front of me with a swastika burnt into his skull... Read Full Memory Previous Experience Next Experience

931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett, 3rd foster home, East Harting Farm, West Sussex, 1949: Ruth Barnett MBE Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Ruth Barnett MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Ruth Barnett MBE Betrayed Foster Family Kindertransport Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Ruth Barnett, 3rd foster home, East Harting Farm, West Sussex, 1949: I was 14 & still there & planned to leave school—you could leave at 14—& stay on the farm & raise animals & be a farmer. I'd have been so happy doing that. Then my mother appeared out of nowhere. Which was how I experienced it: the grown-ups made arrangements & then I was told. I think the Hoskings wanted to keep me. I think they had plans to adopt me & they took the view that four years after the war how could my parents want me if they'd left it four years. They didn't understand that Europe was absolute chaos. I mean, England was pretty chaotic, because it was so badly bombed, but all the structures were still in place in England. It was not the sort of chaos in Europe where waves of displaced people were on the move. It was a long time before I understood the chaos preventing my parents making contact earlier. But another 4 years in England postwar made it impossible for me. At 10 I'd probably have settled down after a while. But at 14 there was absolutely no way I could go back to Germany. Ruth & her brother Martin had last seen their parents in 1939 before their Kindertransport. Martin & I had to meet her at the station. I remember not knowing what to do & Martin telling me she was our mother & we should be happy to see her. Then he couldn't face her either. He looked away & was ill at ease once she arrived off the train. It was an impossible situation. She didn't speak any English & I didn't know any German. Very, very painful for everyone. Furious arguments with Mrs. Hosking. And my mother went back to Germany without me. Which must have been terrible for her, particularly as she didn’t know any English. As soon as she got back to Germany, my father served a court order on my foster parents. And my foster mother, who'd said I was one of the family, had to take me to Germany & leave me there. The final betrayal. The one person I thought was really there for me had to leave me. In my head I knew that she had to. At 14 I knew what a court order was. But in my guts, it was the final betrayal. I decided trying to be good & please people had never worked. I turned very nasty. I gave my parents a hell of a time, which I'm not proud of. They tried to make me go to school. They fixed up art lessons for me. They fixed up a horse for me to ride. I mean, they did everything they possibly could, but it had no chance of working. My mother never talked about her war experience. I think she was the most severely traumatised of the four of us. I never, ever saw my parents completely relaxed & happy after the war, together. They weren't capable of it. They'd experienced just so much tension & fear. There’s an alertness when you’re in danger. I don’t think that alertness ever left them. I was being such a nasty beast. I refused to do anything I was asked to. If they mentioned the word ‘school’ I was out the door & didn't come back till the early hours of the morning. My parents realised that it was impossible & a big mistake very quickly. They said I could go back to England if I promised to stay at school & come for holidays. I was desperate to get back to England so of course I promised. But it took a year to get the necessary documents. I went back to the family & my school. But I felt betrayed that they'd taken me to Germany. I couldn't trust anyone. But I could trust the animals. I got the emotional support & the comforting from animals that I couldn't accept from people. They’d let me down too many times. 931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett MBE Edited from Ruth Barnett MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Brussels 1942: 6-month-old Jacques Weisser BEM is hidden in children's homes & hospitals. His father is forced to become an Organisation Todt slave labourer. His mother is deported to Malines & murdered in Auschwitz. I should've delved more into it, asking questions. But most of the time after the war I wasn't with my father. When I was he never wanted to talk about it. 'It was what it was, we survived, we made a life for ourselves'. That's what he'd say. He refused to be interviewed by the Shoah Foundation. Maybe being on camera wasn’t his thing. My father was already gone when my mother was taken in the street. The question is, who was I with during that period? Who looked after me for a few days before putting me in this Meisjeshuis [children's home]? It’s a blank. Nobody can tell, nobody knows & I have no memories. There's nobody to ask any more & no records. In my understanding my given name would be 'Salomon Weisser'. Subsequently 'Jacques' became my nom de guerre but in the Jewish orphanage, they misspelt my name & got my birth of date wrong. That's why the research has been so hard. In Belgium there were a lot of children that were somehow saved in one shape, form or another. There was quite a decent underground. A lot of them were Jewish communists, including my uncle, Chaim Weisser. He was responsible for Charleroi. His son was also a hidden child. In August 1944 German officials decided to send the last orphans to Malines. The Belgian resistance hid the children instead. Jacques was hidden in the Ardennes with a boy called Bill. Many years later I found the lady who was involved in hiding in me in the Ardennes. I found her name, Mme Wittamer. I managed to make an appointment to see her but she never turned up. I subsequently learnt that she’d married & never told her husband that she’d hidden a child during the war. My father says that when he found me she didn't want to give me up. A lot of them didn't. She wanted to keep this child. He never talked about her either, which again I found subsequently difficult to understand because it was the last step, if you like, in the life story of being alive. The Resistance put me with her in the Ardennes. And, for whatever reason, no information of any kind from any of the family, apart from the fact that they may have met her once. Not from my father, not from my stepmother, not from anybody. That in a way hurts because that would have been [sighs]—it would have been good. To close the circle I suppose. I only know her first name because there is a card that was found. Her name was Wittamer. For many years I had photos of me, I knew it was me but where they came from, where they were taken, I had no idea. One of them gives my name on the back of one of the photos: 'souvenir de Jacqui'. Who wrote it, no idea. There's so many different layers—the puzzle, you know, trying to find the bits & pieces, it’s complicated, complex. Jacques' father was liberated by US soldiers in the forest of Waldenburg. He came to Brussels. In those days “the place to go to” when you came back was the station, always the railway station. There he met somebody he knew who told him: don't bother going to Antwerp, nothing there for you anymore, your wife died, your brother has survived. We believe your son is alive. So my understanding is he found where I was, through the Red Cross. He found me, he says in Virton but maybe in Esch-en-Raphaël, & brought me back to Brussels, met his wife-to-be, my stepmother, & his life carried on from there, as did mine. 973: The Puzzle & The Blanks Jacques Weisser BEM Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 973: The Puzzle & The Blanks ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Jacques Weisser BEM Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Jacques Weisser BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, December 2023 • Learn More → Jacques Weisser BEM Close Family Murdered Finding Out Hidden Child In Hiding Never Finding Out Not Remembering Staying With Strangers Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Belgium See Locations Full Text Brussels 1942: 6-month-old Jacques Weisser BEM is hidden in children's homes & hospitals. His father is forced to become an Organisation Todt slave labourer. His mother is deported to Malines & murdered in Auschwitz. I should've delved more into it, asking questions. But most of the time after the war I wasn't with my father. When I was he never wanted to talk about it. 'It was what it was, we survived, we made a life for ourselves'. That's what he'd say. He refused to be interviewed by the Shoah Foundation. Maybe being on camera wasn’t his thing. My father was already gone when my mother was taken in the street. The question is, who was I with during that period? Who looked after me for a few days before putting me in this Meisjeshuis [children's home]? It’s a blank. Nobody can tell, nobody knows & I have no memories. There's nobody to ask any more & no records. In my understanding my given name would be 'Salomon Weisser'. Subsequently 'Jacques' became my nom de guerre but in the Jewish orphanage, they misspelt my name & got my birth of date wrong. That's why the research has been so hard. In Belgium there were a lot of children that were somehow saved in one shape, form or another. There was quite a decent underground. A lot of them were Jewish communists, including my uncle, Chaim Weisser. He was responsible for Charleroi. His son was also a hidden child. In August 1944 German officials decided to send the last orphans to Malines. The Belgian resistance hid the children instead. Jacques was hidden in the Ardennes with a boy called Bill. Many years later I found the lady who was involved in hiding in me in the Ardennes. I found her name, Mme Wittamer. I managed to make an appointment to see her but she never turned up. I subsequently learnt that she’d married & never told her husband that she’d hidden a child during the war. My father says that when he found me she didn't want to give me up. A lot of them didn't. She wanted to keep this child. He never talked about her either, which again I found subsequently difficult to understand because it was the last step, if you like, in the life story of being alive. The Resistance put me with her in the Ardennes. And, for whatever reason, no information of any kind from any of the family, apart from the fact that they may have met her once. Not from my father, not from my stepmother, not from anybody. That in a way hurts because that would have been [sighs]—it would have been good. To close the circle I suppose. I only know her first name because there is a card that was found. Her name was Wittamer. For many years I had photos of me, I knew it was me but where they came from, where they were taken, I had no idea. One of them gives my name on the back of one of the photos: 'souvenir de Jacqui'. Who wrote it, no idea. There's so many different layers—the puzzle, you know, trying to find the bits & pieces, it’s complicated, complex. Jacques' father was liberated by US soldiers in the forest of Waldenburg. He came to Brussels. In those days “the place to go to” when you came back was the station, always the railway station. There he met somebody he knew who told him: don't bother going to Antwerp, nothing there for you anymore, your wife died, your brother has survived. We believe your son is alive. So my understanding is he found where I was, through the Red Cross. He found me, he says in Virton but maybe in Esch-en-Raphaël, & brought me back to Brussels, met his wife-to-be, my stepmother, & his life carried on from there, as did mine. 973: The Puzzle & The Blanks Jacques Weisser BEM Edited from Jacques Weisser BEM's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, December 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

939: How To Bake A Stuffed Pike Fred Barschak Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close During the Anschluss, Fred Barschak's father Aaron ran the Restaurant-Hotel Barschak in Vienna's Leopoldstadt: The building still exists. Right next to the Prater, the great playground. But when I went back 25 years later I was disappointed. It's lost all its charm. At the time there were maybe 40 kosher restaurants in the area. Three different categories. Some had very good food & were hardly kosher at all. Some were kosher but the food was... ‘unessbar’: uneatable. One or two managed to combine good food & kashrut, & ours was one of them. Us & Schreiber: so kosher that when tens of thousands of Galician Jews fleeing the Russian armies in WW1 came through Vienna, the one thing they knew if they wanted to be kosher, they came to either Schreiber or Barschak. Neugroschl may also have been kosher. I’m not 100% sure. Restaurants in Vienna & all over the continent stayed open on Shabbat. This is how. The staff were non-Jewish on Shabbat. The method was used all over Vienna & in Berlin & Lemberg in Poland. We had a regular clientele, known as the Stammgasts. We had markers, I remember them. 8 sides, bronze & numbered. Every table had a number. If Mr Cohen came in & had a meal on Shabbat, there was a box—there were maybe 80 boxes—& a little marker was put into that box & that meant that on Sunday, when father did the accounts, he'd send out a bill to Mr Cohen whose address he knew. Or in fact he didn’t have to because Mr Cohen usually either paid before or afterwards. As to the casual visitors, my father always took a chance. If somebody wanted a meal on Shabbat, he got it even if he hadn’t paid. He hardly ever lost any money. The restaurant was busiest on Shabbat. Friday night you had a full menu. A choice of stuffed carp, six other hors d’oeuvres at least. Friday night, it was usually only one soup: chicken soup with whatever you wanted in it. Then then they could have roast chicken, roast duck. Braised beef, which we called Gedämpftes Fleisch. We had about 14 entrees. Shabbat it was more limited. The fish was always there. The gefilte fish, the stuffed carp, & above all stuffed Hecht, pike, which is a labour of love. It is a schwere Arbeit, you know." To bake a stuffed pike this is what you have to do: you have to take the pike in your left hand, use a very sharp fishmonger’s knife here, go around getting the skin away from the flesh & you peel the skin of this long fish as if it were a stocking. It could take 20 minutes. You mustn’t pierce the skin because if you do you’ll have to sew it up. You get all the flesh away & you keep the bone. From the flesh you make the minced fish & you never have just the pike. Gefillte fish is always better when it’s made from three fish. You choose what you want. You usually choose whiting. Mackerel is not good. Funnily enough, hake is quite good, makes more jelly. Then you have a recipe: onions, almonds, a little salt, pepper & certainly sugar if you come from Galicia. And then you mix the fish & you put the fish into the stocking. Separately, with the bones & whatever else, you make a stock & in that stock, which takes ¾ of an hour at least, you poach the fish in a fish kettle very, very gently for 2¼ hours. Then you do have a gefilte fish. That’s why it’s called gefilte fish [stuffed fish]. It’s not the balls that you get in England. And the Cholent. It was different at Barschak. Hungarian Jews put in—in addition to all the normal ingredients of Cholent—some smoked meat: geräuchertes fleisch. A very special flavour. That's what Barschak’s was known for. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Fred Barschak's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2007 • Learn More → Fred Barschak Anschluss Food Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Austria Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

996: How To Hide In Berlin Hans Danziger's Jewish parents survived the war in hiding in Berlin: Hans Danziger Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Hans Danziger's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2021 • Learn More → Hans Danziger Arrested Encounter With Nazi Officials False Identity Helped By Non-Jews Hiding In Plain Sight In Hiding Near Escape Nerves of Steel Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Hans Danziger's Jewish parents survived the war in hiding in Berlin: My father had nerves of steel. Before the war, Jews were obliged to put ‘Israel’ in front of their names. My father refused. He said his name wasn't Israel & nobody was going to tell him what to do. So he was hauled up before the magistrates, who sentenced him to 3 weeks in Spandau. He went to prison. My mother was absolutely terrified of what they were doing to him inside, came to meet him at the prison gates with bags of sandwiches in case he’d been starved. He said, “Put those away. I couldn’t eat a thing more.” In the evenings, he said, the warders used to come round to his cell, & say, “Come on Danziger, tell us. What are these idiots doing to the Jews?" He told them what was going on & they were amazed. Another time, when they were hiding during the war, he'd been somewhere & was coming through the railway barriers. My mother was waiting for him & somebody jostled my father. My father turned around & offered to punch him in the face. My mother nearly died. They had no papers, nothing. My father said to her afterwards “If I'd cowered, they might have been saying, ‘Are you a Jew or something?’” He said, “As it was, nobody dared question it.” Another day, he was on the tram, having been to the country to fetch eggs & butter & so forth from a farmer. Black market. He was on the tram & some Nazi with a big swastika in his buttonhole said to him, “What have you got in your case?” My father said, “I've got butter, eggs, sugar, a bit of this, leg of chicken.” The chap says, “Yeah, yeah. In your dreams.” My father said, “Just shows you my son, always tell the truth.” This is how they first hid: my father was working in Daimler-Benz. One day, the Jews were told to stay behind. My father thought, well, this does not bode well. So he put his hat & coat on, & went. The gatekeeper said to him. “A bit early, isn't it?” My father said “I've got a dental appointment.” “OK, see you tomorrow.” He obviously hadn't been told to keep the Jews in. So my father went. God knows what happened to the rest. My father went straight to the underground, took off his yellow star, rode around, I don't know for how long. He then phoned some friends who said, “Yes, Lotti’s with us.” So he knew my mother was safe. Then he went to the house. Fischer, the porter, had made an arrangement with him. If there was trouble or the Nazis were upstairs, he would turn a cup upside down in his porters’ lodge. So my father went past & he saw the cup upside down. So he didn't go up. Then a couple of nights later, he went back again. There was nothing there. So he went upstairs. He broke the seal on the door, because the Gestapo had sealed the door. He started getting the boxes ready & the porter came rushing up & said, “What are you doing? Are you mad? Some people are saying there's a light on in the Danziger flat.” So they turned the lights off. My father said “Take what you want, just get the boxes to Goerner.” So they did up the boxes & manhandled them downstairs to the porter’s lodge. From there, they went to his friend Goerner’s place. These were all non-Jews. There were many people, all non-Jews who helped them, hid them, gave him false papers, took them out. I can't say enough about them. My father tried with Yad Vashem to get honours for certain people. One of them employed my father as a night watchman. So during the day, my father went out of the district where he was known & went to different places. At night, he had a safe place to go as a night watchman. By this time, my mother had been questioned by the Gestapo about where my father was. She could answer honestly saying she hadn't a clue. They left her alone. Then her friend Helli was working at an electrical plant, Siemens. The foreman there quite fancied her. When it was time, all the Jews stayed behind, he said to her “Look, I know you're not that keen, but do you want to go with them? Or do you want to come home?” She said, “I'll come home with you if my friend Lotti can come.” So he said, “Alright, bring your friend Lotti, but you’d better hurry.” So he got them to his house & put them up. There was an old railway carriage at the end of his garden with the chickens in. He threw out the chickens & installed Helli & my mother. He used to bring them little bits of felt to make hats, which he then sold in the factory. Nobody asked where he got the hats from. He was a bit of a drunk, & when he was drunk, he used to sing anti-Nazi songs. Not a good thing to do in those days. So, my mother got very frightened & said to Helli, “I don't think we ought to hang around here.” So my mother stayed with some other friends, one of whom was not Jewish. Had been married to a Jew, who had divorced him. He found my mother a job with some woman who had dementia & was some raving old Nazi. My mother didn't look very Jewish so that was OK. We have a photo of a Nazi officer in the photograph book. And we said, “What on earth’s he doing in there?!” You know. She said, “you don't judge a book by its cover”. She said she was somewhere at a party & this officer was there & he said to her, “I'm sure,” you know, “ask your husband's permission, but honoured Lady—gnädige Frau—if you would care to have my arm should you want to go out. I would always be—here's my phone number.” So she phoned him & he took her out. If she wanted to go shopping to some shop, where she wouldn't be allowed normally, he would take it to the shops. He knew she was Jewish. He didn't ask any questions; he didn't want to know. He never asked. He never said anything. But obviously, why should he bother, you know? Sadly, sadly, he was killed by the Russians at the end of the war & both his sons died on the Russian front—they were both doctors. Very sad. The ones who do good get killed. 996: How To Hide In Berlin Hans Danziger Adapted from Hans Danziger's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2021 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

946: Being Stateless Is An Advantage Benno Stern: Benno Stern Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Benno Stern's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, June 2016 • Learn More → Benno Stern Encounter With Nazi Officials Hiding Valuables Nerves of Steel Polenaktion Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Benno Stern: My father, by a great stroke of fortune, was made stateless by Poland because he’d fled the country. In Germany, he was stateless; he never took German citizenship. When Germany sent Polish Jews back to Poland he was not sent back, because he was stateless. In England, my father wasn't interned in the Isle of Wight because he was stateless. It worked to our advantage. My father came to England with my sister & myself after Kristallnacht. My mother stayed on in Essen for a week. Why, I’ve never really been able to fathom. They thought it was safer to travel separately rather than together. She stayed on for a week. The tragedy of that particular case was firstly, the Gestapo came for my father. He wasn’t there. They said, 'Where is he?' She said, 'He’s gone to Berlin to get visas. He won’t be back till Monday.” They said, 'If he’s not back Monday, we’ll take you instead.' She'd had the forethought to throw her passport out of the window into the courtyard. They searched for the passport & said, 'Have you got a passport?' She said, 'No'. After they went she closed the flat up & left in the clothes she was wearing. Stayed with friends & then came on. The other tragedy was: when he got to England, my father telephoned my mother's mother who was living in France to say that he & the children had arrived safely. So my grandmother said, 'Where’s Esther?' He said, 'She’s on her way. She’s OK.' Her mother said, 'No I don’t believe you. You never would have left Germany without Esther.' And she had a stroke while he was on the phone to her, & she never spoke again after that. She died a little while later. Funny what you remember as a child. Our local rabbi in London came to see my mother & broke the news to her. I can remember my mother crying. Sad days. A tragedy. But my mother did arrive. She had quite a horrendous journey in the train. She only had 10 marks, nothing else. At the border the police collected all the passports & didn’t return them until the very last moment. People were shouting & screaming: 'Where are our passports?' In the end, they threw all the passports through the open train window. People were treated very badly. They took her money; she arrived penniless. But she didn’t have much anyway. I remember our journey. We left Hachestraße at dawn. Light was just breaking. I had a particular comforter blanket. The station was immediately opposite our flat so we had a very short walk. The train journey is vague but I remember the ferry. I was one of the few people who was not sick. The sea was rough and I saw everyone else being sick. We then arrived by car to Ealing, in the evening. I remember lights. My uncle had a huge dog which I now know was a border collie. I was so frightened of this dog, whose name was Dinkie. I was so scared. I could only speak German. They offered me some lemonade which I’d never seen before. Coloured lemon lemonade. That was what I remember. 946: Being Stateless Is An Advantage Benno Stern Edited from Benno Stern's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, June 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

May 27, 1942: Reinhard Heydrich, a principle Nazi architect of the Holocaust, was fatally shot in Prague by Czech & Slovak soldiers trained by British Intelligence. Frank Bright remembers the Prague aftermath: Two Gestapo men came to our flat & asked where was I at the time. My mother had been indoors. I had just arrived from school. I didn’t look as if I had a gun on me. So they left, but they had to to tick their box [half-laughs]. They looked like typical Gestapo men. They didn’t wear uniform. They wore civvies. But they all wore the same outfits, the same raincoat, the same hat! You could see them from a mile. The reprisals were awful! It just wasn’t worth the candle. A whole village called Lidice was decimated, they shot all the men & took the women to concentration camps. They killed the children. A few they sent to Germany, to be with families, to be brought up as German. My friend Kurt Hirschman & his mother were sent on a transport directly to Poland & shot on arrival. They obviously had nothing to do with it. They were not sent to Theresienstadt first. This was the only transport that was sent directly to Poland, as a result of the assassination. The synagogues in Prague were used at that time as storehouses for the loot they got from the homes of people who had been deported. One of my teachers asked my father if he could prepare me for Bar Mitzvah. My father didn’t really care. He said, “Yes, if you want to” I went to see my teacher, Dr Glunsberg, a Doctor in Oriental languages. My portion was Isaiah, ‘Nachamu, nachamu ami’ [comfort, comfort my people]. I can recite it now. The day came, and they got cold feet. Because there were things like Razzias: where a group of Jews would congregate, the Gestapo would appear, arrest them all, & they would never be seen again. Razzia is an Italian word. And so they got cold feet, so nothing forward. So I had to learn a second portion. Again, Isaiah, & again I can recite it more or less. That was to be held again, at a synagogue of course. They got cold feet again. They were afraid that the Gestapo would hear of it, & they would disappear. So I had to learn a third one. Third time lucky. But that wasn’t held at a synagogue. That was held at a prayer room; this was the ‘Shtiebel’ as they called it, from the German ‘Stube’. There were only the right, minimum number—10—around. People I didn’t know, apart from my teacher. My father wasn’t there. So the atmosphere was one of fear. We had to wear a star. We had to hand in things the Army needed: anything from cameras to bicycles to woollens to typewriters to sewing machines. Musical instruments, including gramophones & records. You could whistle; that was about it. We could only shop during two hours in the afternoon, when things that were off the ration had already gone, Our rations were far, far smaller than anybody else’s. We had no allocation of fruit, or fish. Meat. No soap. We couldn’t go to a hairdresser. No onions. No clothing coupons. Everybody had to fill in a form giving every detail of their property, from the number of cups & saucers, to knives & forks to spoons, to frying pans, saucepans, ironing boards, irons, jackets, shoes & socks, chairs & tables & display cases. The lot. No vitamins & minerals. So we were susceptible to infections, no resistance. We got inflammations. I had a huge one under my arm. You'd use hot compresses to what they call ‘ripen it’ & then squeeze it out. That would heal & the next one would appear. 960: The Awful Heydrich Reprisals Frank Bright Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 960: The Awful Heydrich Reprisals ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Frank Bright Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Frank Bright's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2016 • Learn More → Frank Bright Attempted Humiliation Encounter With Nazi Officials Food Reprisals Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text May 27, 1942: Reinhard Heydrich, a principle Nazi architect of the Holocaust, was fatally shot in Prague by Czech & Slovak soldiers trained by British Intelligence. Frank Bright remembers the Prague aftermath: Two Gestapo men came to our flat & asked where was I at the time. My mother had been indoors. I had just arrived from school. I didn’t look as if I had a gun on me. So they left, but they had to to tick their box [half-laughs]. They looked like typical Gestapo men. They didn’t wear uniform. They wore civvies. But they all wore the same outfits, the same raincoat, the same hat! You could see them from a mile. The reprisals were awful! It just wasn’t worth the candle. A whole village called Lidice was decimated, they shot all the men & took the women to concentration camps. They killed the children. A few they sent to Germany, to be with families, to be brought up as German. My friend Kurt Hirschman & his mother were sent on a transport directly to Poland & shot on arrival. They obviously had nothing to do with it. They were not sent to Theresienstadt first. This was the only transport that was sent directly to Poland, as a result of the assassination. The synagogues in Prague were used at that time as storehouses for the loot they got from the homes of people who had been deported. One of my teachers asked my father if he could prepare me for Bar Mitzvah. My father didn’t really care. He said, “Yes, if you want to” I went to see my teacher, Dr Glunsberg, a Doctor in Oriental languages. My portion was Isaiah, ‘Nachamu, nachamu ami’ [comfort, comfort my people]. I can recite it now. The day came, and they got cold feet. Because there were things like Razzias: where a group of Jews would congregate, the Gestapo would appear, arrest them all, & they would never be seen again. Razzia is an Italian word. And so they got cold feet, so nothing forward. So I had to learn a second portion. Again, Isaiah, & again I can recite it more or less. That was to be held again, at a synagogue of course. They got cold feet again. They were afraid that the Gestapo would hear of it, & they would disappear. So I had to learn a third one. Third time lucky. But that wasn’t held at a synagogue. That was held at a prayer room; this was the ‘Shtiebel’ as they called it, from the German ‘Stube’. There were only the right, minimum number—10—around. People I didn’t know, apart from my teacher. My father wasn’t there. So the atmosphere was one of fear. We had to wear a star. We had to hand in things the Army needed: anything from cameras to bicycles to woollens to typewriters to sewing machines. Musical instruments, including gramophones & records. You could whistle; that was about it. We could only shop during two hours in the afternoon, when things that were off the ration had already gone, Our rations were far, far smaller than anybody else’s. We had no allocation of fruit, or fish. Meat. No soap. We couldn’t go to a hairdresser. No onions. No clothing coupons. Everybody had to fill in a form giving every detail of their property, from the number of cups & saucers, to knives & forks to spoons, to frying pans, saucepans, ironing boards, irons, jackets, shoes & socks, chairs & tables & display cases. The lot. No vitamins & minerals. So we were susceptible to infections, no resistance. We got inflammations. I had a huge one under my arm. You'd use hot compresses to what they call ‘ripen it’ & then squeeze it out. That would heal & the next one would appear. 960: The Awful Heydrich Reprisals Frank Bright Edited from Frank Bright's interview with Dr Jana Buresova for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

939: How To Bake A Stuffed Pike During the Anschluss, Fred Barschak's father Aaron ran the Restaurant-Hotel Barschak in Vienna's Leopoldstadt: Fred Barschak Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Fred Barschak's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2007 • Learn More → Fred Barschak Anschluss Food Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Austria See Locations Full Text During the Anschluss, Fred Barschak's father Aaron ran the Restaurant-Hotel Barschak in Vienna's Leopoldstadt: The building still exists. Right next to the Prater, the great playground. But when I went back 25 years later I was disappointed. It's lost all its charm. At the time there were maybe 40 kosher restaurants in the area. Three different categories. Some had very good food & were hardly kosher at all. Some were kosher but the food was... ‘unessbar’: uneatable. One or two managed to combine good food & kashrut, & ours was one of them. Us & Schreiber: so kosher that when tens of thousands of Galician Jews fleeing the Russian armies in WW1 came through Vienna, the one thing they knew if they wanted to be kosher, they came to either Schreiber or Barschak. Neugroschl may also have been kosher. I’m not 100% sure. Restaurants in Vienna & all over the continent stayed open on Shabbat. This is how. The staff were non-Jewish on Shabbat. The method was used all over Vienna & in Berlin & Lemberg in Poland. We had a regular clientele, known as the Stammgasts. We had markers, I remember them. 8 sides, bronze & numbered. Every table had a number. If Mr Cohen came in & had a meal on Shabbat, there was a box—there were maybe 80 boxes—& a little marker was put into that box & that meant that on Sunday, when father did the accounts, he'd send out a bill to Mr Cohen whose address he knew. Or in fact he didn’t have to because Mr Cohen usually either paid before or afterwards. As to the casual visitors, my father always took a chance. If somebody wanted a meal on Shabbat, he got it even if he hadn’t paid. He hardly ever lost any money. The restaurant was busiest on Shabbat. Friday night you had a full menu. A choice of stuffed carp, six other hors d’oeuvres at least. Friday night, it was usually only one soup: chicken soup with whatever you wanted in it. Then then they could have roast chicken, roast duck. Braised beef, which we called Gedämpftes Fleisch. We had about 14 entrees. Shabbat it was more limited. The fish was always there. The gefilte fish, the stuffed carp, & above all stuffed Hecht, pike, which is a labour of love. It is a schwere Arbeit, you know." To bake a stuffed pike this is what you have to do: you have to take the pike in your left hand, use a very sharp fishmonger’s knife here, go around getting the skin away from the flesh & you peel the skin of this long fish as if it were a stocking. It could take 20 minutes. You mustn’t pierce the skin because if you do you’ll have to sew it up. You get all the flesh away & you keep the bone. From the flesh you make the minced fish & you never have just the pike. Gefillte fish is always better when it’s made from three fish. You choose what you want. You usually choose whiting. Mackerel is not good. Funnily enough, hake is quite good, makes more jelly. Then you have a recipe: onions, almonds, a little salt, pepper & certainly sugar if you come from Galicia. And then you mix the fish & you put the fish into the stocking. Separately, with the bones & whatever else, you make a stock & in that stock, which takes ¾ of an hour at least, you poach the fish in a fish kettle very, very gently for 2¼ hours. Then you do have a gefilte fish. That’s why it’s called gefilte fish [stuffed fish]. It’s not the balls that you get in England. And the Cholent. It was different at Barschak. Hungarian Jews put in—in addition to all the normal ingredients of Cholent—some smoked meat: geräuchertes fleisch. A very special flavour. That's what Barschak’s was known for. 939: How To Bake A Stuffed Pike Fred Barschak Edited from Fred Barschak's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, February 2007 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Berlin, 1938: Rudolph Sabor, a teacher at a Jewish girls' school, witnesses the November Pogrom (Kristallnacht): It strengthened my belief: this cannot be forever. The people who produced Dürer, Goethe, Kleist, a cultured people like the Germans, would wake up any day. Total delusion. The only thing I can say to make it explicable is that my love for everything German was greater than my common sense. Afterwards, my uncle was taken to a concentration camp & murdered. He had urged me to leave. Everybody did. From mid ’38, most of the girls had exit plans. When I left, of my class there were about 10 left. One was Laura Lewinski. She & her father were hiding—I got this from eyewitnesses later—in two separate houses. They communicated through neighbours who passed messages. One day they decided it would be safe to meet outside. They met, & after 5 minutes they were followed by an informer. They were denounced to the Gestapo & both were killed. I was lodging with a working-class couple, Communists until ’34, when they became Nazis. It was impossible to sleep there because of the bed bugs. I complained to the Frau, she denied she had any. I then told this story to a friend of mine, who sent me an open postcard, in which he said: ‘I’m sorry to hear about your bed bugs. This postcard came to the Frau, who put this on my bedside table. But I picked up the bed bugs one by one, & nailed them to the wallpaper. I had about 40 bed bugs as evidence. That was the end. Rudolf's future wife came to the UK early in 1939 & arranged a visa for him. I got a telegram from my wife that the visa is on its way. That night at 3am I had a phone call from a former classmate who was now in the SS. He said: 'Rudi, hau ab [get lost]! We come & fetch you in half an hour.” And Rudi hau’d ab. I was gone in 10 minutes. I packed willy nilly: photos, books, my guitar. The only thing that ran then was the U-Bahn which in those days was underground & above ground. It went round the city, & then it went round again, & then it went round again, always stopped at the stops, but never stopped for longer than to admit people to get off and on. I sat on this all night. In the morning I went out to the lavatory & to buy some subsistence & phoned my landlord, & told him what had happened, & asked him: ‘Has the visa come?’ Nothing had come, so I continued the travel for another day & night. On the third morning I phoned my landlord again. He said: ‘Yes, it has come.’ I asked him to come to the station—I think it was the Zoological Garden, but I’m not quite sure. I paid him for my outstanding rent & received the visa from him. I found I had an hour and a half before my train to Hook van Holland left. With the visa in my pocket I went to the restaurant, which was above the station. It said: ‘Juden unerwünscht’ [Jews not welcome] but I went in, idiot that I was. It only took one person to recognise me & that would have been it. There I had my favourite dish: Leberknödel. I ordered another because I had another half hour to go, & I had a Weisse mit ‘nem Schuss. That is white beer, a very big beer Seidl & a Schuss of alcohol in it. And suddenly, I noticed from a tree which was above me rain drops fell into my beer. But I looked round and it wasn’t raining, and I looked again in the tree and there was a cat sitting in the tree and tending to its business. And that somehow sealed my leaving Berlin when the cat piddled in my beer. That was of significance. 944: Cat Piddle In My Beer Rudolph Sabor Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 944: Cat Piddle In My Beer ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Rudolph Sabor Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Rudolph Sabor's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, January 2007 • Learn More → Rudolph Sabor Encounter With Nazi Officials Food Helped By Non-Jews Near Escape November Pogrom / Kristallnacht Quirk Of Fate Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Berlin, 1938: Rudolph Sabor, a teacher at a Jewish girls' school, witnesses the November Pogrom (Kristallnacht): It strengthened my belief: this cannot be forever. The people who produced Dürer, Goethe, Kleist, a cultured people like the Germans, would wake up any day. Total delusion. The only thing I can say to make it explicable is that my love for everything German was greater than my common sense. Afterwards, my uncle was taken to a concentration camp & murdered. He had urged me to leave. Everybody did. From mid ’38, most of the girls had exit plans. When I left, of my class there were about 10 left. One was Laura Lewinski. She & her father were hiding—I got this from eyewitnesses later—in two separate houses. They communicated through neighbours who passed messages. One day they decided it would be safe to meet outside. They met, & after 5 minutes they were followed by an informer. They were denounced to the Gestapo & both were killed. I was lodging with a working-class couple, Communists until ’34, when they became Nazis. It was impossible to sleep there because of the bed bugs. I complained to the Frau, she denied she had any. I then told this story to a friend of mine, who sent me an open postcard, in which he said: ‘I’m sorry to hear about your bed bugs. This postcard came to the Frau, who put this on my bedside table. But I picked up the bed bugs one by one, & nailed them to the wallpaper. I had about 40 bed bugs as evidence. That was the end. Rudolf's future wife came to the UK early in 1939 & arranged a visa for him. I got a telegram from my wife that the visa is on its way. That night at 3am I had a phone call from a former classmate who was now in the SS. He said: 'Rudi, hau ab [get lost]! We come & fetch you in half an hour.” And Rudi hau’d ab. I was gone in 10 minutes. I packed willy nilly: photos, books, my guitar. The only thing that ran then was the U-Bahn which in those days was underground & above ground. It went round the city, & then it went round again, & then it went round again, always stopped at the stops, but never stopped for longer than to admit people to get off and on. I sat on this all night. In the morning I went out to the lavatory & to buy some subsistence & phoned my landlord, & told him what had happened, & asked him: ‘Has the visa come?’ Nothing had come, so I continued the travel for another day & night. On the third morning I phoned my landlord again. He said: ‘Yes, it has come.’ I asked him to come to the station—I think it was the Zoological Garden, but I’m not quite sure. I paid him for my outstanding rent & received the visa from him. I found I had an hour and a half before my train to Hook van Holland left. With the visa in my pocket I went to the restaurant, which was above the station. It said: ‘Juden unerwünscht’ [Jews not welcome] but I went in, idiot that I was. It only took one person to recognise me & that would have been it. There I had my favourite dish: Leberknödel. I ordered another because I had another half hour to go, & I had a Weisse mit ‘nem Schuss. That is white beer, a very big beer Seidl & a Schuss of alcohol in it. And suddenly, I noticed from a tree which was above me rain drops fell into my beer. But I looked round and it wasn’t raining, and I looked again in the tree and there was a cat sitting in the tree and tending to its business. And that somehow sealed my leaving Berlin when the cat piddled in my beer. That was of significance. 944: Cat Piddle In My Beer Rudolph Sabor Edited from Rudolph Sabor's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, January 2007 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

951: Passover in Lviv Lili Pohlmann has fond memories of Passover in Lviv: Lili Pohlmann MBE Read Full Text Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Home All Memories About Menu Close ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Lili Pohlmann MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Lili Pohlmann MBE Jewish Festivals Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Poland See Locations Full Text Lili Pohlmann has fond memories of Passover in Lviv: My mother and us two children went every Passover to Lviv to my grandparents, her parents, which was lovely. She was the apple of their eye. We lived in Krakow. So for Passover we used to go to Lviv on the train. It was an adventure for children. There was a large extended family, cousins & so on, & they all had children. So that was quite something. My grandparents were called Hinda & Aba Brück. I was actually born in Lviv, in my grandmother's bed. My mother wanted her mother to hold her hand. It wasn’t in those days that husbands were present at birth, you know. So she went back to Lviv to give birth & stayed for two weeks, then brought me back to Krakow. I remember everything about Passover. Everything! You don’t want to go into all the details; it will take you forever! The journey one looked forward to: Oh, my God, going by train! It was always a fast train. It took four to five hours & always stopped in Przemysl. My mother & father had family there. So they all came out, waited for the train. Not like here today, you know. Waited… with food—with food! This one brought broth, that one brought eggs, this one brought sandwiches 'so that the children shouldn’t starve, heaven help us!' You know. It was great fun! We looked forward to it. We saw these people for the half hour or so the train stopped. They brought all the food & we…[laughing] were stuck with it. It was very lovely. And the same on the way back. Everybody came. Perhaps 10 people. I don’t know—practically the whole family came up [laughing] to see you. My grandparents were very religious, orthodox. My grandfather spent his days praying in the synagogue. On Friday he came home & there was a queue of people waiting to be offered this & that & food. Tzedakah [charity]. My father was really non-believer, an agnostic. My mother had candles every Friday for her parents, you know. My grandmother sent every week a challah which she made & some bits & pieces, some cakes & this & that. She baked, & that came by post every week to have it on Friday. My mother did some praying, my father was the opposite. But they were the most loving of couples you ever saw. He was a wonderful father, marvellous. We were a very, very happy family. Until the outbreak of war." 951: Passover in Lviv Lili Pohlmann MBE Edited from Lili Pohlmann MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

984: The Attack On Our School Albert Lester Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Albert Lester was 11 & a boarder at a Jewish school in Esslingen during the November Pogrom, November 9, 1938: I was playing with a little car in the common room when there was this huge commotion, children were running, screaming. I opened the door & was swept away by the screaming children. I went down the corridor & into the dining room, down to the kitchen under the spiral staircase, over the kitchen garden, over the fence. There was a huge drop down to the pavement in front of a 3-foot high wall. I thought if I jump here, I’m going to break my neck [laughs] or my legs. Then I saw a little boy next to me hang himself on the top of the wall by the fingertips & let himself drop & I did the same. So, I got out, got down all right. Then a lot of the children ran down towards the town, Esslingen. Some of us ran up to a little wood. We sat down on some broken tree stumps & didn’t know what was going on. We just sat down & waited. Then we decided after about quarter of an hour, you know, we can’t sit here all day, so one of the girls—there were about maybe six or seven of us—there was one girl & we sent her back to school to do some reconnaissance. We thought a girl wouldn't be harmed, while a boy might. Anyway, she went & came back & told us, yes, she spoke to somebody & we all have to go back. So we all trooped back, didn't know what was going on. Then we saw really what happened. In the playground stood men with clubs & sticks. The front door, this beautiful oak door, was ripped off its hinges, all the windows were smashed. There was a beautiful marble imitation statue of Michelangelo’s Moses. The head was chopped off & it was rolling on the ground. All the bottom panels of the classroom doors were all kicked in & it was shambles. We were then told to go into a classroom where there were already something like 30 or 40 children whom they collected. There we were told to sit down & not talk, just sit there. We sat there, nobody cried, we were all terrified but we didn't know what was happening. Then I was looking at this big hole in the door. I really thought they're going to put a machine gun in & just let us have it. I was quite—I really thought that this would happen. There was a guy with a big club keeping us quiet. Then he left after about quarter of an hour & then the headmaster, Dr Rothschild, came in. He sat down on the desk in front & he put his head in his hands & began to weep. Then of course everybody began to cry. The floodgates just opened up. After he composed himself, he told us what had happened, that this German, von Rath was killed by a Polish youth in Paris & there was a big uprising of the German, the “Volkswut”, & they smashed all the synagogues & set synagogues alight & burst in Jewish shops & arrested all Jewish men, including our teachers. I don't know why he wasn’t arrested, maybe because he was an old man, about 60. He told us that the school would close & we’d all be sent home. The Jewish community in Stuttgart nearby heard that they raided the school, so they came in their cars to pick us up & take us home to look after us while arrangements were made to send us home. I was given a ticket & sent home with my suitcase. In Heilbronn I changed trains into a D-Zug. I sat in the compartment alone when the door flew open & there stood a man in full SS uniform. I thought, my God, you know, this is going to be bad, so I pretended to be asleep. I prayed: ‘please dear God, don't let him start talking to me’. You know, what's a little boy doing on his own on an express train. I pretended to be asleep & he sat there. He didn't say anything. Mercifully at the next stop he got up, got to the door, a ‘Heil Hitler’, & left. Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Albert Lester's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, January 2024 • Learn More → Albert Lester Destruction Of Property Encounter With Nazi Officials November Pogrom / Kristallnacht Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany Text adapted & edited by Susanna Kleeman See Locations Facebook & Instagram Posts

Ursula Gilbert, Berlin, prewar: My father always used to find something good in everything. Family was very important to him. He always used to read to us & talk & explain. He'd always say: ‘Things are not so bad. We'll get through it.’ Until the very, very last day. During WW1 he was a prisoner of war in Russia. That's how he got the Iron Cross. When war ended he walked back to Berlin. He said it was quite easy: ‘I walked along the railway lines from Tashkent'. My parents were under 50 when I left, before they were sent to Auschwitz. Older people were sent to Theresienstadt & younger people to Auschwitz, unfortunately. The little things I remember. My father sometimes talked about the children who were desperate to come to England on the children’s transport. I wanted to get away quickly. At school the Jewish children had to sit near the window instead of wherever we wanted. We had to be separate. We couldn’t mix in the school yard. We weren’t allowed to buy any second-hand books because ‘No, you can afford to pay for the new ones’. Lots of little pinpricks. My father was very conscious & god-fearing. He believed in the goodness of people. He always said ‘Why quarrel?’ My sister & I, ‘you don’t get anything out of it, it’s silly.’ Words were very important. He'd always find the right words. Even the last—I have a lot of letters. Because my parents were sent to Auschwitz very late, in 1943. He sent a telegram to my uncle in Sweden saying ‘I’m going on the 9th transport’. That was the last I ever heard from them. Life is strange! My sister was 18, she met a boy, they got married on special permission. In Berlin she never had a boyfriend. Then she'd write to me, talking about this particular boy. They got special permission & were married the day before they were deported. So they were able to all be deported together, my father wrote. Because he was convinced everything’s going to end in a happy way, I feel my father made it possible for my mother & sister not to be so frightened. It made their life more pleasant & more bearable, I think. He could talk & you could find always the good side of things. 925: Finding Something Good In Everything Ursula Gilbert Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 925: Finding Something Good In Everything ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Ursula Gilbert Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Ursula Gilbert's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, January 2007 • Learn More → Ursula Gilbert Attempted Humiliation Auschwitz Close Family Murdered Deported Nerves of Steel Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text Ursula Gilbert, Berlin, prewar: My father always used to find something good in everything. Family was very important to him. He always used to read to us & talk & explain. He'd always say: ‘Things are not so bad. We'll get through it.’ Until the very, very last day. During WW1 he was a prisoner of war in Russia. That's how he got the Iron Cross. When war ended he walked back to Berlin. He said it was quite easy: ‘I walked along the railway lines from Tashkent'. My parents were under 50 when I left, before they were sent to Auschwitz. Older people were sent to Theresienstadt & younger people to Auschwitz, unfortunately. The little things I remember. My father sometimes talked about the children who were desperate to come to England on the children’s transport. I wanted to get away quickly. At school the Jewish children had to sit near the window instead of wherever we wanted. We had to be separate. We couldn’t mix in the school yard. We weren’t allowed to buy any second-hand books because ‘No, you can afford to pay for the new ones’. Lots of little pinpricks. My father was very conscious & god-fearing. He believed in the goodness of people. He always said ‘Why quarrel?’ My sister & I, ‘you don’t get anything out of it, it’s silly.’ Words were very important. He'd always find the right words. Even the last—I have a lot of letters. Because my parents were sent to Auschwitz very late, in 1943. He sent a telegram to my uncle in Sweden saying ‘I’m going on the 9th transport’. That was the last I ever heard from them. Life is strange! My sister was 18, she met a boy, they got married on special permission. In Berlin she never had a boyfriend. Then she'd write to me, talking about this particular boy. They got special permission & were married the day before they were deported. So they were able to all be deported together, my father wrote. Because he was convinced everything’s going to end in a happy way, I feel my father made it possible for my mother & sister not to be so frightened. It made their life more pleasant & more bearable, I think. He could talk & you could find always the good side of things. 925: Finding Something Good In Everything Ursula Gilbert Edited from Ursula Gilbert's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, January 2007 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts