Rozsa’s Wish

Rachel Rózsa, my grandmother, was deported to Auschwitz together with her family in 1944, where she perished. Her last words to her children were: “I have lived. Just that you should live.” 

Rozsa’s four children survived. 

I have composed a work based on her last words, which were related to me by my aunt, Miriam, who lived in Israel (after WWII). It can be heard below, performed by amazing mezzo soprano Sarah Castle, fabulous musicians, and conducted by the absolutely perfect conductor (Karin Hendrickson) for this piece, and another, The Angel of Chomutov, recorded on the same day.

My grandmother was Hungarian- and Yiddish- speaking – she came from Nagy Szőlős in Hungary. So she would have related these words to her daughter in Hungarian, who related them to me in an English which she learned entirely from watching films. Speaking not even a word of Hungarian, I got a couple of Hungarian translators and a Hungarian friend on the case. There was an issue that the words I provided were embedded in a construction that is obviously not idiomatic to the Hungarian language (or English language, in fact), and they understood the intention of these words to mean that Rozsa was saying that the sole purpose of her life up to that point, had been so that her children should live/survive. I explained that the way I understood these words, was that Rozsa had had a chance to live, so all she now wished for was that her children should survive. (My aunt told me that her mother said she didn’t mind dying as she was tired – she had had a hard life. She would have been in her early 40s, and undoubtedly what made her tired was being wrenched from her home – being forced into the ghetto and then onto a train to Auschwitz; the inhumane conditions of the journey there; and everything she found and experienced there upon arrival.) More recently, it suddenly dawned on me that my aunt had related her mother’s words to me using a Hebrew construction. “Just (may it be) that you should survive” – with the connotation that that is all she now wishes for. So the Hungarian words I chose: “Csak ti éljetek” (which are not exactly what was offered by the translators) – may be “poetic” (as one translator conceded) rather than idiomatic.

To Rozsa’s words: “I have lived. Just that you should live”, I added the following:

I have lived 

In joy 

In abundance 

With hopes 

With dreams

In an earlier blog post, I show photos of her hometown – places where she would have walked, buildings, the Carpathian scenery, she would have seen as she grew up there, until she went to Mukačevo in (then) Czechoslovakia for an arranged marriage and a married life ahead of her with a man whom she had only met once before.

Rachel Rozsa *************************** In memory of my grandmother on Holocaust Memorial Day

Piff! Puff! Pouf! “An acute delirious puff”: a licence to murder Jews in France – the case of Sarah Halimi

In France, with just one puff of marijuana, you can claim you experienced a “delirious fit” when you kill a Jew, and not stand trial. (If, however, you instead kill a dog, you will stand trial and be sentenced to 2 years’ imprisonment.)


Sarah Halimi’s flat was broken into, and she was tortured, murdered, and her body thrown out of her window by her neighbour, Kobili Traore, who had previously been subjecting her to relentless and severe anti-Semitic harassment.  Her murderer has been exempt from standing trial as he has been judged as not responsible for his actions at the time of the murder since he was alleged to have been affected by marijuana – a judgement upheld by Court of Cassation’s Supreme Court of Appeals.  He nevertheless had the awareness at the time to flee the scene of the crime.

Now he is in psychiatric care, instead of in prison awaiting a criminal trial. Why should this be? Having an adverse effect from smoking marijuana is not a mental illness, so why is he in psychiatric care? Psychiatric diagnosis is based largely on the patient’s own description of his feelings/experiences (and the psychiatrist’s acceptance of its truthfulness and accuracy). There is no other witness to the internal subjective state of one’s mind. The witness to how he presented at the moment of murder was murdered by him – so she cannot verify that he presented as having a delirious fit or otherwise. The basis on which he is being excused from trial must be based entirely on his own account or allegation of his subjective state as affirmed by 2 out of 3 psychiatrists. What about the statement of the third psychiatrist? Psychiatry presents itself as scientific! It is not supposed to rest on a vote of 2 out of 3.  Science does not rest along the lines of democratic election!  It is not the majority opinion that wins! Which assessment is scientifically most valid?  That is the question that needs to be asked.  What is the relative experience and specialism of each psychiatrist?  How can we measure the extent to which he was having a delirious fit, and why would it have been focussed precisely on breaking into the home of this particular neighbour with the tragic and violent consequences?  Were huge quantities of marijuana found in his blood stream? –  Exactly how soon after the act of murder?  As a drug dealer and hardened marijuana injester, one would have expect that he would have acquired a degree of tolerance to marijuana.

Where is the science in this?

Marijuana is legal in the Netherlands.  I don’t think this would be the case if the medical establishment in the Netherlands considered that a puff – nay – an “acute delirious puff” – of the substance could lead to delirious fits, which could induce its legally-complying marijuana-smoking citizens to commit murder.  In fact, from my own personal observations and experience, marijuana is not an activator but the opposite.  As an undergraduate at Manchester University, I did know someone who – having gone to no lectures whatsoever – revised someone else’s lecture notes while constantly smoking marijuana, and managed to get a 2:1 in her finals.  I, on the other hand, had to forget about doing any study if I shared or smoked a joint.  All I, and most people I observed, were capable of doing under the influence of marijuana was to recline, listen to music (on one occasion, appreciating two different cassettes played simultaneously on a double deck) and eat 6 milk chocolate flakes in a row.  On one occasion, a friend managed – extremely slowly and carefully – to drive herself and a couple of friends home after smoking marijuana – which was quite a feat of concentration!  Marijuana acts as a relaxant, and if anything, it suppresses physical activity.  It seems inconceivable to me that a puff of marijuana – however “acutely delirious” – and however paranoia-inducing – could give someone the strength and motivation to break down the door of an apartment, murder a person and throw her body out of a window. 

There don’t seem to be many voices making this point.  Is it that no-one wants to admit that they have smoked marijuana?  Oh Dutch people – join the conversation!  How many of you have been motivated to break into an apartment, murder someone and throw their body out of a window under the influence of marijuana?

Piff! Puff! Pouf! An “acute delirious puff” ….and a licence to kill a Jew with impunity!  In France.

What if when the murderer is discharged from psychiatric hospital (which can be at any moment, since he cannot have been sectioned with a mental illness – in fact, what treatment is given for an “acute delirious puff” of marijuana?) he then has another “acute delirious puff” of marijuana and kills another Jew? Same again? And again?

And what if the person he kills next time isn’t Jewish?  What if, the next time, the person is a judge?  Or a psychiatrist?  But it won’t be – unless the judge or psychiatrist is Jewish.  Because the intention to murder a Jew was there – in his historic behaviour as well as in his behaviour surrounding the murder.  Isn’t that what constitutes murder?  The act of murder governed by the intention and premeditation to murder? 

France – during WWII with its Vichy government – puppets to the Nazi regime.  Its own police willingly rounding up Jews for mass murder.  And in Paris, there is a delightful garden dedicated to the memory of Anne Frank – ignoring the fact that 11,400 French children were zealously rounded up by the French police to hand over to the Nazis for mass murder.  Now its own judiciary has established its own exclusive criterion for the determination of murder in the case of Jews. It has set a precedent licensing the murder of Jews with impunity.  France is back to 1939-45 era – but this time its determination of the legality of the murder of Jews is more specifically home-grown.

In short, France is not a country where it is safe to be a Jew. Many French Jews have realised that for years now, and France has been significantly emptying itself of its Jews.

How inverted racism works

Stock photo. ©Anna Nahabed

It is a tragic phenomenon, that in societies where you find racism, you also find inverted racism, and the degree of the latter is probably in direct proportion to the extent of the former.  Because just because someone is a member of a stigmatised group, does not make that person immune to the misinformation, brainwashing, and systems of thought which prop up and sustain the racism, which that person may then apply to herself or himself.

I know exactly how inverted racism works – how people come to be inverted racists,  – because I myself was one – as an 11-year old child.  It is a very straightforward process.  Suddenly, being Jewish works to your disadvantage.  It separates you from people you love.  It impedes you from doing the things that you love.  As a child with a lack of understanding, I blamed these things on my Jewishness, rather than the anti-Semites, and therefore wished to fully dissociate myself from my Jewishness and – more than hide it – deny it.

I will start further back than that, because I actually experienced anti-Semitism years before, and yet it didn’t have the same effect on me.  I think it’s because it didn’t stop me from doing the things I loved doing, and didn’t separate me from anyone.  I was born to a young “sabra” – an Israeli woman (who had had very little, if anything – to do with Catholics, and who in fact had not, to my knowledge, experienced anything of European-style anti-Semitism,) and to a holocaust survivor who, working for an architectural firm after the war, would measure up bombed-out churches.  In some of these churches, he found boards on which was proclaimed:  “The Jews killed Jesus.”  We lived in the North London suburbs, with Jewish communities of all denominations:  Religious, Orthodox, Reform, Liberal, Secular… and no shortage of Jewish schools, Church of England schools, schools that didn’t define themselves religiously.  And yet, for some strange reason which I actually think stemmed entirely from my mother’s love of the film:  The Sound of Music(!), my parents decided to bypass the Jewish schools, the C of E schools, the non-denominational schools, the schools within walking distance, and to send me to Sacred Heart Convent School. They invested annually, to accommodate my growth, in my uniform which was more composite than those for most local schools: the green tunic and green felt hat for winter, the yellow dress for summer together with the green blazer – an embroidered coat of arms portraying the sacrifical lamb bearing a crucifix emblazoned on the chest, and be-ribboned straw hat for summer, together with the white gloves which, little did my parents know – were specifically for church.

At Sacred Heart Convent School, from the age of 4, I routinely crossed myself and put my hands together in prayer, reciting as many Our Father’s and Hail Mary’s as any Catholic child; kneeling in church; and loving Jesus (pictured with long blonde hair as in my Children’s Bible: New Testament). At the age of 6, well-aware of being a sinner, and aspiring to be a nun; a year or two later, during a music-and movement class – wondering if it was significant to find my feet bleeding exactly where nails would have pierced the flesh of Jesus on the cross (after hearing stories of just such saintly signs); and, at the age of 8, being present in the confirmation classes.  When I was deemed a little disruptive of these classes – chiming in that Jesus was Jewish; even taking this idea further and informing all my classmates that that meant that they were therefore Jewish too(!), I found myself being sent to piano or elocution lessons while confirmation classes were taking place (apprehensive, perhaps, of possible reactions by Catholic parents upon discovering that, during confirmation classes, their children were being told they were Jewish!) – hence becoming well-spoken – especially for a young Jewish girl whose parents both spoke heavily-accented English.  

Once a week, on a Sunday morning, I would be sent to Cheder (the “ch” pronounced as in the Scottish “loch” – Jewish Sunday school/Hebrew classes) – so the balance was definitely in favour of the Catholic influence!

I was the only Jewish child in the school, until my younger brother and sister briefly attended.  I experienced anti-Semitism but didn’t know that it was anti-Semitism. For example, when at the age of 6, the art teacher would keep hitting me but didn’t hit anyone else – this is when I started to learn about inconsistency – with one rule (revealed after it was broken) applying to me, and another rule applying to others. A little boy had painted his entire sheet of paper a single colour, which I obviously considered a good idea, since I followed suit! I was hit – he wasn’t!

Or – another example of what I now interpret as anti-Semitism which I experienced was when the music teacher’s eyes would consistently drift past my arm straining in the air, because (for example) I knew I could easily play that bongo beat pattern which eluded the other kids.  (I got that she didn’t seem to like me, but even before this had twigged, she was the source of my unrelenting desire to play the guitar.)  

I only remember the P.E. teacher from one incident, when I forgot my P.E. kit, and she forced me – much to my great distress and humiliation – to participate in the (mixed-sex) lesson outdoors, stripped to my underwear. I don’t remember that any other child, particularly any other girl, was subjected to such sadistic treatment, and that surely wouldn’t have been because nobody else ever forgot their P.E. kit. Perhaps she derived some kind of fetishistic satisfaction from the power of forcing a young Jewish girl to run around in her underwear amidst fully-clothed (in T-shirts and shorts) Catholic boys and girls.

I didn’t know what anti-Semitism was, and certainly didn’t feel at all negatively towards my own Jewish identity and religion.  One incident that I remember in particular is that when a flaxen-haired stocky little boy called Dermot punched me in the stomach for being Jewish, at the age of 8, I knocked on the office door of Sister Maria (the headmistress); she admitted me and listened while I related to her what had happened; and she said nothing (perhaps nodded acknowledgment), and did nothing. 

The other two nuns I remember were fine! My mother would wax lyrical about how Sister Veronica would place me on her lap and read with me when I was 4. Some years on, Sister Anita would humour me by allowing me to teach her Hebrew phrases while she was on playground duty, when I had no-one to play with during the break. (I would greet her with: “Have you said ‘Shalom!’ to anyone?” Probably she hadn’t had much opportunity to!) She seemed unimpressed by my experimental artwork, but her artistic opinion paled into insignificance when my father – whose artistic judgement I valued much more highly – gazed intently at my paintings as if beholding works of genius, and kept them to his dying day! (That may have been because he forgot he had them!) Meanwhile, thuggish little Dermot was forced to be kinder to me: we were placed into the same small group to prepare a nativity play, and his best friend Adam, once it was agreed that he should be cast as Joseph, was insistent that I should be Mary, even though Dermot tried to convince him that I couldn’t be Mary because I was Jewish!

Then I was sent to St Mary’s C of E primary school when I just turned 9.  A large proportion of the pupils were Jewish, and we had separate Jewish assembly, although I preferred to go to the Christian assembly because I loved singing the hymns, and especially the carols approaching Christmas.  The headmaster was a man who maintained and inspired religious tolerance. 

Then he retired and was replaced by a new headmistress, Miss Pybus (a very tall woman with hair the colour and texture of straw, and whose face was dominated by a huge curved nose!), who took the school’s status as a Church of England school to mean exclusion of Jews (but not Hindus or any other religion).  She prevented any more Jews from being admitted to the school, so the new first year intake, for the first time ever, from having previously been approximately 30% Jewish, was now completely Judenrein!  Normally kids came into the first year of that school automatically from the neighbouring infant school, but from this point, that infant school sprouted its own separate primary school, and my youngest brother graduated to that one.  

She also prevented Jewish children from singing in the choir.  By now, I had entered the fourth and final year of the junior school, and one of the highlights of being in this year was that if you were selected, you got to sit on the stage in assembly each morning as part of the official school choir.  The previous year, I had been chosen as one of five soloists for the Christmas carol service (“About the best so far” – when it was my turn to audition, to the protest of one child who couldn’t sing properly in tune: “That’s not fair!  She’s Jewish!”)  No such protest when the Hindu girl also got chosen.  Yet in my fourth year, I was prevented from being a part of the choir of several times five, explicitly because I was Jewish!  Yet the Hindu girl was admitted into the choir.  What made this even more hurtful was that my best friend (who couldn’t even sing completely in tune – whereas I always sang perfectly in tune) was chosen as part of the choir – so every morning in assembly, we would be separated:  she on the stage with the choir – me sitting cross-legged on the floor with the rest of the school.  During that year’s Christmas carol concert, I sneaked into the choir stalls in church and sang with the choir, and the music teacher noticed but raised no objection.  This was the same music teacher who had chosen me as a soloist the previous year.

With the advent of Miss Pybus, (perhaps her intense anti-Semitism was a means of dissociating herself from Jews in view of the fact that she was the one with the huge nose!) where there had previously always been religious tolerance in the school, suddenly, in the younger year groups, fights developed in the playground between Christians and Jews which my sister and other younger brother found themselves embroiled in, and in the context of which my sister learned to physically fight tooth-and-nail!

This was the year when I started to hate and deny being Jewish, and to dissociate myself from anything to do with Judaism.  I didn’t actually hate other Jews, or change my feelings towards them – it was all to do with what had been taken away from me, and the associated humiliation. When I turned 12 and started at my new secondary school, nobody knew my background.  If anyone asked, I would say that I was Church of England.  The only other Jewish girl in my class whom I’d befriended seemed suspicious of my true identity when she came to my home, but I didn’t reveal the truth even to her.  I once asked a boy in my class who, I thought, looked quite Jewish – with his nice brown curly hair – and who seemed to have a Jewish surname, if he was Jewish, and his reaction was one of such strong anger and disgust, that that certainly discouraged any inclination I may have felt to come out.  Apparently I didn’t conform to most people’s – even most Jews’ – idea of what a Jew looks like (years later, my aunt in Israel told me I looked like a typical Russian shiksa [Yiddish: “non-Jewish woman”]), and having had a full Catholic/Christian education, I played the part flawlessly.  But to me it wasn’t a “part” – I was in full denial, and was almost close to believing it myself.  I was still being sent – against my will – to Cheder – and had a close Jewish friend.

The lovely Japanese friend, Nibou, of our Japanese housekeeper (- who had not yet started to show signs of becoming the intensely cruel and highly abusive person she subsequently revealed herself to be) had the sensitivity and insight to give me a copy of Anne Frank’s diary – just at this time when I was in denial about being Jewish and rejecting everything Jewish (except my friends and family)!

After two terms in my first secondary school, I changed to another school where it happened that about 30% of my class were Jewish and it was not an issue.  There seemed to be no further need to hold on to my inverted anti-Semitism, and I don’t think it took long to accept my Jewishness, and to stop hiding it.

So that is exactly how inverted racism works.  It can manifest in relatively small ways – such as a lack of confidence or undervaluing oneself.  Or it can manifest in pathologically self-destructive ways:  Otto Weininger comes to mind – a Jewish philosopher living in Austria at the turn of the 19th/20th centuries, when anti-Semitism was rife.  He developed a theory that Jews were incapable of originality, and committed suicide as what he apparently saw as a logical consequence of his own theorisation.  (If I have remembered this correctly from a philosophy lecture or tutorial attended as a young undergraduate student, a long time ago!) 

In another blog post of mine, I have written:  “Anti-Semites love a self-hating Jew!”  The question as to why a Jew would wish to be loved by anti-Semites is another strange, perverse phenomenon which seems pathological!   The anti-Semites’ love is more logical – it is not actually a love of the Jewish person, but it is a love of the validation they are seeking, and which is delivered by the self-hating Jew in her/his self-hatred.  They (the anti-Semites) want to say – and they do say:  “I’m not anti-Semitic:  I have Jewish friends!  So-&-so is saying this too, and she/he is Jewish!  Therefore my views are validated,” (and spewing forth from their lips come tales of Jewish cabals and the Rothschilds, and Jews controlling the media, “Zionists”, Jews as “Nazis” or “worse than the Nazis”, Israel and “apartheid”, etc.  They might express intense sympathy and compassion for actual heinous Nazi criminals languishing in prison in isolation; but none whatsoever for their victims.  They will undoubtedly express concern about the Palestinians  – but only if they are living in Israel, the West Bank or Gaza.  The plight of Palestinians in Syria, or Saudi Arabia, or Iraq, or of Palestinians suffering at the hands of their own leaders is of no interest.)   “And therefore,” they say, “I can’t be anti-Semitic.”  And the answer is:   “Yes you are extremely anti-Semitic, and so, probably, is your Jewish friend you feel so validated by, and on whose self-hatred your friendship is based!”

Of course, you also find a small number (I hope it’s small) of massively destructive Jewish anti-Semites in or from Israel.  This is a phenomenon which requires, it seems, a different kind of explanation.  Israel is not a society where anti-Semitism is experienced in the same way, or as chronically as, for example, in the UK or the States or – really horrifically – in France.  (It is not, for example, hammered by the non-Arab news outlets – or “in the air”.)  (As I stated, my mother who was born and grew up there did not, to my knowledge, encounter anti-Semitism except from neighbouring hostile countries.)  I will probably leave this phenomenon to someone else to figure out!

Witnessing WWII in Czechoslovakia – oral histories

Sudeten Mountains

Photo:  Marilyn Herman 2018.  Chomutov, near the death march route, looking towards the Sudeten mountain range on the border with Germany.

Following on from my previous blog, I very recently decided to visit Chomutov, in the Czech Republic.  I was interested to see what kind of place produced a heroine like the young woman who gave her life to give my father bread.  I wanted to get an idea of the context at the time.  

I am indebted to Jan Krupicka who grew up in Chomutov, who arranged for me to interview two couples and two widows who lived through World War II, taking me to the retirement home, and to Amalie’s village, and who interpreted between Czech and English during the interviews.

All but two of my interviewees had lived in other parts of Czechoslovakia during World War II.  From my interviews, I learned about the general situation for civilians during the German occupation of Czechoslovakia. Food rationing was imposed, and ethnic Czechs were restricted to the extent that one could not live on rations alone.  Czech men were sent to Germany for forced, unpaid labour, to fill in for German men who were in the army.  Czech women similarly had to engage in forced, unpaid labour for ethnic Germans in Czechoslovakia, or if they were younger and without children to care for, they would be sent as forced unpaid labour to Germany.  “The only people who didn’t come back were the Jews.”

 From Karel and Kvetuse, a couple living in a retirement home in Chomutov, who had lived in other parts of Czechoslovakia during WWII,  I learned that the generation of Czechs at the end of the 19th century all spoke German.

They told me that there were Czech and German schools.  Once the German occupation started, it was stipulated that there should be a German class every day in the Czech schools, and history classes were only about the German Reich, and nothing else.  Pages of history books referring to previous history were glued together, and after that the books were thrown away altogether, and history lessons were just given through talking by the teacher, without books.

There were ethnic Czechs who said they were German during the occupation, seeking benefits. They also told me of hearsay about one ethnic Czech man who was really pro-Nazi and a snitch.

I interviewed Viera on 30thNovember 2018, and relay what she said below:

 The Germans were well-off, while food was very scarce for the Czechs following the German occupation. She knew a Czech woman who worked just for food.  Ethnic Germans in the area were on higher rations than the Czechs. 

I asked if this caused resentment.  She responded that there wasn’t much resentment.  Most of the Czechs left, [since Chomutov was being bombed by the allies – there were factories there serving German war effort].  Not many Czechs were left in Chomutov.  Those who remained had to cope with how things were.

Viera would take the animals and geese to the woods when there was an inspection [by the German occupiers).  They would be warned a couple of days in advance by Czechs working in the government office.  If these Czechs had been caught, they might have been executed along with their families. 

You couldn’t survive on the food stamps.  Life was better in the rural areas.  You were in a better position to survive – to have what you needed.

Viera was studying fashion design.  Her father was recruited at the age of 17 in World War I.  He fought in an Italian batallion.  

In World War II, Czech men didn’t have to go into the German army.  They were supposed to be relocated to Germany to substitute for Germans who went to war, as forced unpaid labour.  German cities were under attack [by the allies] – the situation wasn’t good there.  Viera’s husband – a student – was digging ditches for the Germans. 

In Czechoslovakia, the men were gone, and food was scarce.

Viera’s brother was supposed to be relocated.  A German man saved him – he said that he needed him to work in his inn, where people would leave their carts and horses.  He was an old man, and said he was ill and needed Viera’s brother to work for him.

There were lots of Czech/German married couples.

 Some [ethnic] Germans collaborated with the Nazis, but others were perfectly fine.  There were people who sought benefit from siding [with the Nazis].  Maybe some Czechs were the the worst “snitches”.

 

Mrs Amalie Libuse Vinduskova had lived in the same village near Chomutov her whole life. I interviewed her on 2ndNovember 2018.  Amalie felt the need to talk about her experiences during WWII.  It caused her great anxiety to remember and talk about her experiences, but she felt it was important for them to be known.  This is what she said:

She told me about the remains of  a Jewish cemetery in a forest near the village.  Her daughter-in-law sent me photos and put stones on the graves in the Jewish tradition, since it was too late for me to go there after the interview.

 

 

 

Amalie also talked about where the victims were shot by Germans on the “Day of Executions”.  I am not clear about what she was referring to, but will try to clarify it and revise this blog post shortly.  I think she was referring to the death march after it passed through her village as she specified that it was in April 1945.  (My father related that on the death marches, as soon as they arrived at some distance from a town or village, the German guards would shoot prisoners who they thought could not continue, or would shoot a group of prisoners to reduce their numbers.)

Amalie said that more than 30 people were shot.  She said they may not have [all?] been Jews.  Germans who lived in Czechoslovakia were also among those who were executed – those who went against the regime.  Some of the graves in the woods are of German communists. None of the graves have names.

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I am arranging to have the notice board (above) translated, and will add the translation here.

Amalie’s mother asked a [German] soldier where they were taking the prisoners.  He responded:  “Up the hill, and when we’re done, you’re next.”  

Amalie heard the shooting and was shocked.  When they heard the shooting, she went out and saw a prisoner in a white-collared shirt lying by a small apple tree.  He couldn’t talk, but pointed to his mouth to indicate that he was hungry.  The German guards wouldn’t allow him to be given food.  On the way up the mountain, he grabbed some grass. He was about to put it in his mouth, when the German guard stabbed him with his bayonet.  Amalia was crying and shaking (as a girl) thinking of this man.

She was 13 when she witnessed the death march passing through her village. She turned 13 in February 45.  When Amalie saw the death march, she was shocked and couldn’t move.  Her mother went to sit in the creek for the whole day

Czech adults didn’t approach the death march.  Her mother and aunt went to hide.  The children approached the march because they were children and spoke German. The prisoners were so weak and helpless! 

I asked Amalie if she thought the woman who gave my father bread on the death march would have been Czech?  Amalie was sure that a German girl wouldn’t have handed him bread.  The Czech girl must have known what she was getting into. The guards were so threatening! It was huge, huge bravery! 

Until the War, nobody cared who was Czech, German, Jewish, Polish.  Only after the War started, such distinctions started to be made.  As soon as these distinctions started to be made, marriages started breaking up. 

Heller was a Jewish woman with a German husband.  He divorced her (after the German occupation) and she was deported together with their two daughters to Theresienstadt.

Amalie’s mother had had a hard time in 1937 when there was a rubella epidemic. Three of her children died.  She collapsed and received treatment for half a year.  After that, her peaceful place was in the creek where she would retreat to. 

Amalie’s father was Polish.  He was the only Polish person there, having come to that region when he was only 16. He had paid a farmer to keep (hide) the family, but her mother refused to leave.  As soon as he heard that the Germans were crossing the border, her father shot himself.  He had heard what the Germans had been doing to the Jews in Germany.  He committed suicide to save the family.  He could have killed the whole family together.  He shot himself to avoid deportation, and to save his family so that they wouldn’t be endangered by association with him. 

Previously her father would join the Germans going to work.  Once he shot himself, he became “the Polish bastard”. The Germans didn’t mind that the Jews were in the death march.  Before the War, the Germans wanted to leave for their “home country”.  Then [after the War] when they were being chased out, they didn’t want to go.  Her own uncle was one of the worst Germans who was beaten and chased out [after the War].  

28 German soldiers were put up in their house.  The officer would stay there all day.  He was very civil to her mother.  When a neighbour came round and said: “Do you know who you are drinking coffee with?” (in order to betray her because the family was Polish), the officer asked where the neighbour lived, and threatened her.

You couldn’t tell who was German, or who was Czech [or Jewish?] [from looking at or speaking to someone].  But once the War started, the [ethnic] Germans started feeling superior. 

The Jewish people were gassed in trucks, with the exhaust pipes discharging inside the trucks.  The local German people approved of this.  Her mother spent that day sitting in the creek.

Her older siblings protected Amalie from it.  She was the second youngest.  They didn’t talk about such things in front of her.  She was called a “Polish bitch” [by Germans?] once the War started.  They mostly spoke German at home.  Her parents were scared to speak in Czech.  After the War, her mother said she was not going to speak German anymore.

There were Germans who were neither communist nor pro-Hitler.  They wore white bands, and got food from the Russians. There were good and bad Germans.

It was a German-speaking region, and Amalie went to a German school.  There was only a German school in her area. Everyone went to it:  Jews, Czechs.  After the German occupation, at school, when she put up her hand to answer a question, her teacher told her there was no point in her learning.  Her teacher didn’t expect her to survive the War because of her Polish identity.  It was local Germans from Chomutov who were teaching in the school. 

The German pupils would get food first, and the Polish and Jewish pupils would get whatever was left, if anything.  They would be sitting on the steps [while the German pupils were eating]. In the winter, only the German pupils got meals at school, and the other children didn’t get anything.

The German flag was raised at school and the children had to raise their arms and say “Heil Hitler”. 

Amalie’s mother had lived through World War I, when she had had to be very self-reliant and creative (resourceful).  When there was a wheat harvest, her mother would collect whatever remnants were left on the field after the harvest, (although they were gardeners before the occupation) and would make little breads, and sprinkle sugar on top.  She told her children to eat these in the bathroom so that the other children wouldn’t laugh at them. 

Amalie’s cousin was mother to a six-week old baby.  As a punishment for giving frozen bread to a Polish worker, she was imprisoned for two months – despite having a six-week old baby at home.  The German mayor was nice, and arranged for her to be released early.

Amalie’s three sisters had to work as maids on local German farms.  They had to be German [i.e. the farmers they worked for].  They were nice people.  Ordinary people.  Some of the farmers could be mean to the girls [who worked for them].  It was forced, unpaid labour.  They were just given board and lodging. 

Her two older sisters were dating Germans, one of whom was very much in love with her sister and wanted to marry her.  He was sent to the Russian front, because he wanted to marry a Polish woman. 

Her brother was stationed with a Czech army unit guarding the border.  They were forced to surrender.  He went to Benechov and hid, so that he was not deported. Her younger brother worked in salt mines in Thuring.

Ritter was a nice farmer.  He would take a loaf of bread, carve it out and put lard in it, and give it to her mother. 

The German farmers were producing food for themselves and also had to give produce to the Nazis.

The Czech people were not allowed to breed animals or grow plants.  Amalie’s family used to have commercial gardens: they were gardeners who grew food [before the occupation], and now her mother had to collect remnants from fields after the harvest. 

I commented that the Czechs were being starved, like the Jews.  Amalie said that the German approach was that if you eliminate someone, you get what’s left.

Amalie’s first husband was from the Ukraine, from a village called Lapaus in the Damidovka district.  There, they brought the Jews to a forest and made them dig a grave. 

In Chomutov, there were lots of Jewish shop owners who were very nice. One Jewish shop owner would let his first customer have her shopping for free.  The second customer, he would let her have her shopping on credit.  If someone owed him money, he would come round and collect a little at a time.  He wouldn’t collect the whole debt at once. 

There was a Ukrainian general:  Vlasov who joined the German side.  When the tables turned, the “march” of Vlasov’s men took two days – to send them to Siberia.

There was a huge community of Czechs living in the Ukraine.  They came to the vacated farms (i.e. vacated by the expelled Germans.)

People need to know what was going on in the War.  Now they are making a lot of noise about how the Germans were expelled. But they are not talking about how the Germans behaved.  They would take a baby from its mother, and smash it against a wall. 

The Angel of Chomutov

Angel copy

Photo: Marilyn Herman 2018.  Angel – from a monument in Chomutov for protection against the bubonic plague.

In April 1945, my father, Abraham Herman (aged 14), and his brother, David Herman (aged 18), were prisoners on a forced death march from Rehmsdorf to Theresienstadt.  When they crossed over from Germany into the Czech Sudetenland, in the town of Chomutov, Czech bystanders were throwing food to the prisoners, but there would be such a scramble, the bread would break up, and nobody would get any.  (I have very recently visited Chomutov, and interviewed some people who lived through WWII.  They informed me that during the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, ethnic Czechs and ethnic Poles were effectively subjected to a policy of slow starvation – with food rationing enforced to a degree that it was not possible to live on the rations alone.)  The German guards threatened to shoot anyone who gave the prisoners food. One heroic, defiant young woman ran inside the line of prisoners, placed bread firmly into Abraham’s hands, and as she ran back out, a German guard smashed the butt of his rifle down on her head and she fell.  In all likelihood, she never got up again.

I am composing a work to commemorate this unknown Czech heroine.  I was scouring poetry and psalms for words, and even ordered an anthology of Czech poetry with translation.  Finally, I decided to use my own words:

*

*

The Angel of Chomutov

*

To risk your life

to give bread

to a suffering child

Not knowing if he would live

another hour

another minute

*

*

To give your life

not knowing

if all he would live to know

was that you risked your life

to give him bread

*

*

Most precious of gifts

More than all the garnet of Bohemia

all the gems of Moravia

Your bread – bestower of life

*

*

To risk your life

not knowing

that the last thing you would do

would be to give bread

to another woman’s starving child

*

*

To give your life

to show a tortured child

Life almost extinguished

by forces of darkest destruction

To show this captive child

the precious value of his life

*

*

Tower

Photo:  Marilyn Herman 2018.  Chomutov 

Jews who lived in Arab lands were NOT just fine! Jews in Yemen

YJ tefillin

Photo from Shalom Seri & Naftali Ben-David (Eds.) A Journey to Yemen and its Jews.  1991.  Tel Aviv.

It tends to be asserted – and has been for decades – generally by those who oppose Israel, that Jews who lived in Arab lands were just fine – that there were no problems between Arabs and Jews before the State of Israel was established. This assertion is made with absolutely no knowledge of the facts! The message intended to be conveyed is that it is the fact of Israel’s establishment and existence that is the source of all problems between Arabs or Muslims and Jews in the Middle East.

Having researched on the situation of Jews in Yemen during the period preceding their main exodus to Israel in the 1950s “on the wings of eagles”, I am in a position to respond to such assertions with particular reference to Yemen. So I’ll provide a brief account of the situation of Jews in Yemen, mainly from the time of the second Ottoman occupation of that country in 1872 which lasted until 1918, after which time it came under the rule of Zaydi imams.

The Arab population of Yemen was divided between a number of Muslim sects. The ruling sect was the Zaydi (Shi’ite) sect. Judaism was the only other religion to have survived in Yemen apart from Islam.

Rank
Jews came at the bottom of the hierarchical system in Yemen. This system was caste-like in respect of there being a traditional connection between rank and occupation, and prohibitions of various degrees existing against intermarriage and the sharing of meals between members of different ranks. In order of descent, the ranking system was as follows:

I Royal lineage and some other Zaydi lineages.
II Sayyids – holy men, who claimed descent from Husayn and Fatima, the daughter of Mohammed.
III Mashayikh – large landowners and religious scholars. (Bujra 1971)

The above three ranks were accorded prestige and authority. Further down along the scale were:
IV Gabili – small landowners and free farmers.
V Merchants
VI Pedlars, vagrants, slaves and other pariah groups
VII Ahl-Al-Dhimmi – protected peoples who, in Yemen, were the Jews.

It seems that in rural areas, category VI (above) was actually considered, and treated as ranking, lower than the Jews – at least among the tribespeople.

Although the Jews had no choice but to tolerate the place allocated to them in Yemenite society, I find no evidence that they accepted that they were inferior to anyone because of their rank. It is interesting to note that they referred to the class of Muslim holy men as “impures” (teme’im), (or “Jew baiters”,) expressing contempt.

Anti-Jewish legislation
During the first century of the spread of Islam, Muslims were a minority in the countries they conquered, and had to depend on the conquered peoples for their military security, administration, food, and finance. However, during the second and third centuries of the Islamic era, Muslims became the majority in all the conquered countries. At this time, they developed an elaborate religious law, and began to pass anti-Jewish and anti-Christian legislation, some of which was taken directly from Byzantine anti-Jewish legislation, and which continued to apply in Yemen up to the time when the majority of the Yemenite Jews were flown to Israel in “Operation Magic Carpet” in 1949 and 1950.

The status of the Jews in Yemen was governed by two sets of laws: those deriving from the Covenant of Omar, and those specific to Zaydi legislation in Yemen. The Covenant of Omar, originally attributed to the second caliph, Umar ibn Khattab (d. 644), is a collection of discriminatory regulations and restrictions applied to the Ahl al Dhimma (people of the covenant) – protected peoples – this status being open to Ahl Ketab (people of the Scriptures) – Christians and Jews. These regulations were issued by various Caliphs and sultans from the early years of the eighth century to the mid 14th century when the Covenant received its finishing touches, whenever religious fanaticism or envy directed towards the protected peoples spilt over. They were intended as interpretations of the following prescription of Mohammed:

Fight those who do not practice the religion of truth from among those to whom the Book has been brought, until they pay the tribute by their hands, and they be reduced low.

Because Jews and Christians are believers in the essential truth: that there is one God, they have a right to be protected together with their property. However, they only have this right so long as they pay jizzyah (poll tax) and comply with a number of other laws. The (unrealisable) idea behind the payment of jizzyah was that while Muslims should be responsible for defence and administration, the infidels should bear the entire fiscal burden of the country and the task of keeping up its economy.

According to the Covenant of Omar:
I Jews could not bear witness against a Muslim, or give testimony in a Muslim court. This in theory deprived Jews of any legal rights, but in Yemen, this severe disadvantage was counterbalanced by the institution of “protected comradeship”, as described below.
II Ahl al Dhimma could not carry arms or ride on horseback, as this would give them an advantage over some Muslims in terms of power or height.
III They had to display a respectful attitude towards Muslims. On passing a Muslim, a Jew had to walk on his left side. They were not permitted to engage in any conduct considered offensive to Muslims, such as blowing the shofar loudly, praying loudly, or displaying the cross in public. (A shofar is a ram’s horn blown on the Jewish New Year and other solemn religious occasions.)
VI They could not build their houses higher than those of Muslims.
V They had to dress differently from Muslims.
VI They could not attain to government posts, since prestige and authority attached to such posts could accrue only to Muslims.
VII Non-Muslim doctors or pharmacists were forbidden to treat Muslims on the grounds that they might poison them, or that through control of a patient’s body, they might also gain control over his soul. (In practice, Jews were appointed doctors, and even viziers, to sultans and imams in many Islamic countries, including Yemen.)
VIII Some law books of Islam state that a non-Muslim may not engage in the same commerce as Muslims. This was reiterated in a public proclamation by the Imam of Yemen in 1905, but its application was limited. The most ancient law books of Islam discriminate against non-Muslims in the economic field by imposing customs duties at 5% on the value of their merchandise, whereas Muslim merchants paid two and a half per cent, and the minimum value of consignment on which duties were paid was 40 dinars for a Muslim, and 20 dinars for a non-Muslim.
IX Non-Muslims were not permitted to use saddles.
X They could not look upon the genitals of a Muslim in the bath house, while separate bath houses were to be built for Jewish women so that they did not bathe together with Muslim women.
XI Non-Muslims, as well as Muslims, were forbidden to lend money for interest.
XII Finally, Jews were not permitted to study the Torah outside the synagogue.

In Yemen, Jews were subjected to the above legislation in varying degrees of intensity, up to the time when they left.

In addition to the Covenant of Omar, regulations specific to Yemen were imposed upon Jews, who were often called upon to carry out tasks thought to contaminate Muslims. Tobi (1999) relates that the introduction of discriminatory laws began in Yemen in the 15th century with a significant change in attitude of the Zaydi government towards Jews. When the Ottomans governed a large part of Central Yemen 1872 to 1919, they tried to raise the status of Jews to a level equivalent to that held by Jews elsewhere in their empire. But their efforts ceased in the face of opposition on the part of sectors of the Yemenite population and religious scholars. However, tribal sheikhs did not strictly enforce these laws. For example, while in San’a (Yemen’s capital) Jewish houses were lower in structure than Muslim houses, there was mostly no difference between their heights in rural districts. In the North and North East of Yemen, Jews, similarly to the local tribesmen, carried arms, and in Northern Yemen, Jews were even taught to use guns by tribesmen.

According to Tobi, the Yemenite governments were among the most extreme of the Islamic countries with regard to their treatment of Jews as anjâs (unclean). In San’a, the decree of the “scrapers” or “dung gatherers” was revived from 1846 until 1950, having previously been imposed on them from 1806 to 1808. This decree stipulated that Jews be forced to clean the sewers in the city. Jews were also obliged to remove camel and horse carcasses as part of the decree, and clear accumulated filth from Muslim streets, and the dead body of a Christian had to be buried by Jews. In practice, a small proportion of Jews were willing to carry out these tasks for a higher than normal remuneration on behalf of the Jewish community, and Nini (1991) relates how this resulted in a type of “caste” of “untouchables” among the Yemenite Jews, this status being passed down within the families, and with other families refraining from marrying from among them. These Jews were not called up in the synagogue to read the Torah, nor invited to festive occasions. Their children were excluded from studying with other children. Under Arab rule, the “dung gatherers” were unpaid for this work, but under the Ottomans, they were paid gold pounds and silver coins, and their economic situation improved. This decree was a strong motivating factor in the migration of San’ian Jews to Palestine from 1881, and the dispersal of Jews throughout Yemen and into Egypt. In 1949, Muslims in San’a prevented the migration of “dung gatherers” to Israel.

Upon the capture of San’a by the Ottoman Ahmad Mukhtar who was well disposed towards the Jews, the “decree of the dung gatherers” and the “orphans’ decree (see below) imposed on Jews were temporarily abrogated. However, this met with strong pressure applied by the Muslim religious dignitaries of San’a to reinstate these decrees. Similarly under pressure exerted by these Muslim religious dignitaries, the jizzyah (poll tax) previously imposed on the Jews of San’a was revived and raised from 27 to 77 riyals per month. Despite the positive intentions of Ahmad Mukhtar and the initial Ottoman administration towards their Jews, according to Nini, illegal taxes and bribes and their arbitrary and forceful extortion, became more prevalent under the Ottomans.

According to Nini, between 1882 and 1900, payment of jizzyah was one of the greatest burdens endured by the San’a community. During the Festival of Succoth 1990, Ottoman troops broke into the Jewish quarter of San’a and arrested ten of the most prominent community leaders, who were the overseers of the jizzyah payment. They were incarcerated and tortured for three months, while the Ottoman administration appealed to the Jewish religious court to make payment. This situation motivated a number of Jews to migrate to Palestine.

Jews under the protection of the Zaydi tribes in North and North East Yemen, where the Ottomans were not in control, were obliged to pay jizzyah to the central authority in San’a and also to pay the tribes under whose protection they were living. A compromise was reached where a symbolic payment was made to the tribal Sheikh.

Another calamitous regulation imposed on the Yemenite Jews by the Ottoman authorities was the “decree of the stretcher-bearers” in 1875.  This decree imposed on the San’ian Jewish community the task of carrying wounded soldiers from San’a through Manakha to Hudayda. This was a treacherous journey along narrow winding paths at the edge of precipices, which was dangerous even for an unladen traveller. On the eve of the festival of Succoth, they were ordered to send 80 Jews to carry wounded Ottoman solders. This entailed desecrating the holy festival. Therefore the Jewish community leaders refused to comply with this command unless those commandeered were specifically requested by name.

“On the following day a manhunt was held in the Jewish quarter, and those apprehended were cruelly beaten. Some of them succeeded in bribing the local Muslim soldiers and evading arrest. Those caught were thrown into jail when four were allocated a wounded soldier and the terrible journey to Manākha commenced. The accompanying troops urged the Jews on with whip lashes.” (Nini, 1991, 74)

A number of stretcher-bearers died by the wayside on the treacherous route. They had been forced to desecrate both the Sabbath and a holy festival, which was something unheard of under the Zaydi regime before the Ottoman occupation. Zaydi Imams and local rulers were most careful not to incur such desecration. Any Jews summoned to the Zaydi authorities on the eve of the Sabbath could evoke the Prophet’s protection of the Jewish Sabbath, and delay presenting himself until after the Sabbath.

Another hardship specifically suffered in the 19th century by those Jews who were in charge of minting coins, were accusations of counterfeiting coins. According to Nini, these accusations were almost all groundless.

From the time of their conquest in 1892, the Ottoman Turks forced the Jewish community of San’a to mill grain for their soldiers, failing which Jews and Yemenite Muslims would be beaten by Ottoman soldiers. Jewish women were therefore forced to mill flour for the Ottoman troops, and when this was too strenuous for them, they would be helped by their menfolk. At the turn of the 20th century, after years of drought and famine, many Jews had moved to the villages of Yemen, or to Palestine or Egypt. Thus the Jewish population of San’a diminished considerably, and yet the milling quota imposed on them remained the same. The imposition of this “flour-milling decree” entailed the violation of their holy festival of Passover, as the Jews were unable to keep their milling stones kosher in accordance with the rules of Passover, and led to the migration of many Sa’nian Jews to Palestine.

Another great hardship and violation suffered by the Jews of San’a in the 20th century was perpetrated by Imam Yahya al-Muta Walkil after ascending to power, when he had all the synagogues built in San’a during Turkish rule destroyed.

In accordance with Orthodox Islam, conversion to Islam should not be achieved by force, and according to Nini, there is no mention in Muslim law of a religious injunction to convert to Islam the “People of the Book”. However, in Yemen, in their eagerness to gain proselytes, an edict issued in 1921 and enacted upon with vigour from 1925 dictated the forced conversion of orphans. This decree was in force in the 19th century up until the Ottoman conquests in 1840 – 1872, and 1872-1905, and was then revived in the 1920s under pressure from “fanatical religious dignitaries”. Tobi describes Zaydi-ruled Yemen as unique among the Muslim states in its promulgation of the Orphans’ Law and Dung Collectors Law. (Besides religious zeal, another factor which gave rise to this edict may have been the Imam’s need, from time to time, to fill vacancies in his “orphanages”, which were in fact military academies.) An orphan was defined as one whose father had died before he or she had attained puberty, and was to be converted even if in the meantime he or she had grown up and married. According to Goitein, the legal basis for this is found in a statement attributed to Mohammed, that everyone is born into a natural state of religion – that is, Islam – and that other religions are merely customs taught to a child by his parents. As the mortality rate was very high in Yemen, mothers were often separated in this way from their children, and brothers and sisters separated from each other. Attempts were made to save orphans from such a fate. They would be sent to other villages where they could be passed off as the children of relatives, or anyone who would look after them. Such attempts were not always successful, and it was not uncommon that they were betrayed by their own people. This is the law which Yemenite Jews found most intolerable, and felt most bitter about. In Zaydi tribal areas, however, Nini informs us that conversion was not enforced, and orphans would therefore be sent there for refuge.

There were also other circumstances in which proselytes were made. Jews converted to Islam to escape the consequences of false accusations, and other desperate situations. In times of famine, many Jews (apparently, mostly women) accepted Islam as the only means of obtaining food from the Imam for themselves and their children. An example of this was in 1905 when Imām Yahyā Ibn Muhammad Hamīd al-Din planned a rebellion against the Ottoman rulers. He ordered his followers to lay siege to Ottoman-ruled cities, including San’a, where an estimated 6000 Jews starved to death: 80% of the Jewish population of San’a. Mass conversions to Islam occurred at this time among the Jewish population, as the Muslim clergy cared for converts.

The right to leave Yemen was denied to Jews, for once they left the territory, they forfeited their right to security of their persons and property. The reason for this restriction was perhaps the desire to keep their craft skills in Yemen, or else to inhibit their trading. In particular, the territories of the enemy: Turkey, and those under the British protectorate, were considered out of bounds. In practice, however, there were many Jews who managed to leave Yemen. This was facilitated by the British conquest of Aden in 1839. Many of Aden’s 800 original inhabitants were Jewish, and as a British protectorate, the city became a flourishing port, attracting Jews from other parts of Yemen. From here, they were able to migrate to other countries. Nini states that Jews migrated to Aden, Egypt, Ethiopia, India and Palestine, while Muslims also migrated to neighbouring countries.

The Jews of Yemen lived separately from Muslims, in separate villages, or different quarters in the towns. In San’a, this prohibition originated in the time when its Jews were expelled to the uninhabitable region of Mawza (1679-1680) where their population was decimated. When it was subsequently realised that there were no craftsmen left in San’a, those Jews surviving were allowed to return, but were forced to take up residence outside the city walls, rather than return to their homes. However, in the case of smaller villages where there were only a few Jewish families, Jewish communities did not live separately from the Muslim population.

The interpretation and enforcement of the restrictions and prohibitions imposed on the Jews in Yemen varied from district to district, and from one period to another. For the two centuries preceding the Jews’ departure from Yemen, their majority were mostly located in Zaydi regions. The Northern tribes were independent of the government in San’a, and in their regions, the status of the Jews was in effect determined by the tribal code of honour rather than any restrictive regulations derived indigenously, or from the Covenant of Omar. Eraqi-Klorman (2009) states that tribal law would override Shariah in these regions. Y. Saphir (1886) reported in the second half of the 19th century that in almost all the Jewish communities in central Yemenite plateau, Jews were found who had fled from San’a because of oppression encountered there.

The extent to which the laws were imposed upon Jews depended a great deal on the good-will of their Muslim neighbours. Habshush, the San’ian Jew who narrates Travels in Yemen (Goitein,1941), informs us, for example, that the Jews in al-Madid were relatively well-off since the Nihm tribesmen were “good-natured”, and it did not matter to them if a Jew raised his voice or built his house too high. In this part of Arabia, he continues, the tribal code of honour alone counted, even to the exclusion of the law of Mohammed. According to the former, “the overlord is judged according to his protégés”. Therefore, the welfare of the Jews of Nihm was an indication of the quality of the tribe of Nihm itself.

This point on Jews’ welfare depending on the goodwill of their neighbours is also borne out by Tobi. For example, despite the restrictions stipulated in the Covenant of Omar against Jews’ bearing arms, and this not being “customary” in Yemen – (although it was Jews who manufactured weapons) – he states that Jews in northern Yemen were not bound by this restriction and went about armed and unfearful. In fact, they identified with the tribes among whom they lived, and supported and co-operated with the Imams in their revolts against the Ottoman occupiers, sometimes joining the forces against them. (In this way, they contrasted with the Jews of central and Southern Yemen, where it appears they favoured the Ottoman and the British rulers, according to Tobi, in the case of the Ottomans, presumably before their rule became oppressive. When the Ottomans conquered Yemen in 1872, “The Jews greeted the event as a miracle”.  [Nini, 1991] This joy was particularly held by the Jews of San’a who lacked tribal protection, and were vulnerable to tribal attacks. They thought that the Ottoman presence would protect them from the sieges and starvation these onslaughts incurred.)

According to Tobi, there is a great deal of evidence that in central and Southern Yemen, the prohibition against riding on horseback was enforced. Only a sick Jew was allowed to ride a donkey, and then was required to yell: “’ala ra’yah” (“By your leave!”) in order to placate any passing Muslim. In San’a, in 1936, Muslims were allowed to haul Jews off their donkeys. In N.E Yemen, by contrast, riding was permitted to Jews even on horseback.

In Central Yemen, Jews wore black only in obedience to a government decree against fine clothing, and for fear of arousing envy among Muslims. In 1667, the Decree of the Headgear was implemented, forbidding Jews to wear elaborate turbans . However, in North Yemen, Jews are depicted in colourful and resplendent clothes and turbans.

Following “messianic activity” in 1667, Jews were ordered to grow sidelocks – which was not in force in Northern Yemen.

In accordance with the Covenant of Omar, Jews were forbidden to build houses higher than those of Muslims. While this was the case in San’a, and perhaps in other cities and large towns, again, in Northern Yemen, this stipulation was not enforced, and Eraqi-Klorman states that there was mostly no difference in height between Muslim and Jewish dwellings in rural areas. Tobi relates that in Sa’dah and Haydan, there were some grand Jewish houses 5 or 6 storeys high, with some 15-20 rooms. In the district of Barat, Jews and Muslims did not live in separate quarters.

Other stipulations specific to Yemen or deriving from the Covenant of Omar – relating to the “uncleanness” of Jews in the eyes of Zaydis, a Jew’s obligation to pass a Muslim on his left side, and the disqualification of a Jew’s testimony, were not in force in Northern Yemen.

The majority of Jews depended for their wellbeing on an institution called “protected comradeship”, whereby a Jew, or a whole village of Jews, submitted themselves by a solemn ritual of sacrifice to the protection of a powerful tribe (or even several) – in particular its Sheikh – for whom it was a matter of the highest honour to administer justice. (Subordinate Muslim groups such as the Qarawi, also acquired tribal protection in the same way.) A tribal chief was obliged to accept a request for tribal protection, otherwise his reputation would be at stake. Eraqi-Klorman states that the obligation of a tribe to protect a jar (protected subject), and the shame of any failure to do so, was related to viewing the Jews as a weak group within the tribe, and to “perceiving their men as having a blurred gender identity, as not being real men”.

The following account (Goiten, 1947) indicates the efficacy of the institution of “protected comradeship”. Joseph Shukr, a Jewish protected comrade of Bait Luhum – the most powerful tribe in the district – was repairing a leather bucket at a farmer’s house, when a “half-witted” Muslim approached him and, before Joseph realised his intention, struck him on the head with a piece of wood so violently that he died immediately. Afterwards, the murderer asserted that the Jew had bewitched him into murdering him. The news of the murder spread quickly throughout the whole village and to nearby hamlets, until, that evening, 2,000 farmers of the Bait Luhum tribe had armed themselves while a similar number had made their way to Ibn Mesar, the advocate for the murderer, also prepared for battle. Eventually, the noblest sheikhs of the four greatest tribes of Yemen were called upon to judge the matter, and decided that since the murderer was not in full possession of his faculties, he was not really responsible for his crime, which could not therefore be avenged with blood. Instead, his advocate was ordered to pay quadruple blood money: twice for the family of the murdered Jewish man, and twice for the protector, and in addition, he had to meet the very high legal costs. This judgement was accepted and fulfilled by Ibn Mesar, and the murder was thus considered avenged. This was essential to the Muslims, for if the crime had remained unavenged, the murdered Jew would “ride on the murderer” at the last judgement.

Muslims can forgive one another, but Allah himself takes care of the unprotected Jew’s revenge. (Goitein, 1947)

Therefore, while Jews may have been considered as “weak”, we can see that fear was a factor in their protection: that they were feared – particularly in the hereafter.

The Jews’ observance of their religion was a matter of concern to tribesmen in Yemen.  Muslims were dependent for their well-being on Jews’ observance of their religious laws, and therefore felt threatened by Jews who flouted any of these laws that they were aware of – the main one being the commandment which is the most important for Jews:  observance of the Sabbath.  For example, Klorman recounts an incident in which a Jewish man, Shar’abi, returned late after business dealings, and arrived home only barely in time for the Sabbath.  The village sheikh, ‘Ali Qa’id, shouted at him angrily for being late, and for having insufficient time to prepare for the Sabbath, which he was therefore in danger of desecrating.  It seems that the concern of the tribesmen was that any irreligiosity would adversely affect the whole community, including Muslims.  Therefore they saw the Jews’ compliance with their own laws as a responsibility they bore on behalf of everyone.

Jews would be called upon to hold prayers for rain at times of drought, being believed to have control over the climate.  But its corollary also applied:  Jews were believed to have the power to disrupt the climate and halt rainfall.

Some Jews were renowned for specialized magic skills, such as the power to control demons and exorcise them from people who had become possessed by them.  However, with this dependency and belief in Jews’ power came fear that Jews could use such power for harmful purposes.  Klorman mentions sources relating to Jews intentionally performing sorcery, and to Jews whose actions were incorrectly interpreted as sorcery, and who were therefore “punished”.  Klorman describes the case of Ba’al Hefetz (literally:  “Owner of the book” – a title attributed to a mori with kabbalistic knowledge of the Book of Zohar) Busi Shalom from the village of Hamd Sulayman in the Shar’ Ab district, at the beginning of the 20th century.  The area’s tribesmen:

“…sensed that something was wrong about this Jew.  They suspected that he was causing trouble with their women, and that he instigated wives to dislike their husbands and created hatred between them.  Therefore they ambushed him on the road, caught him, and tied him in a sack and threw him into a reservoir.”  (Klorman 2009:129)

Therefore beliefs were held by Muslim tribesmen in a Ba’al Hefetz’s ability to control other people’s minds.

The respect and dependency of Muslims on the religious observance of Jews, and on mystical powers attributed to them, which placed upon Muslim tribesmen the imperative to protect Jews and their religious observance, could and sometimes did, it seems, turn to fear of their relationship with mystical sources, which could become dangerous and fatal for Jews who found themselves as the target of such fear.

Yemenite woman

Woman in rustic dress.  Photo from Daughter of Yemen, edited by Shalom Seri

Economic Situation
The Jews of Yemen were scattered throughout the whole of Yemen in more than 1,000 localities: villages, towns, and some cities. 85% of Yemenite Jews lived in rural or tribal areas in order to be near their clients who were generally farmers.

By law, Jews could not engage in the same occupations as Muslims who, in Yemen, were predominantly agricultural. Nevertheless, Barer (1952) was told by Yemenite Jews that about half of their numbers were farmers: that Jewish villagers frequently had their own fields, wells, fruit trees and olive groves. However, they were not permitted to be freeholders, but had to lease their land from Muslims. In San’a and the seaports, some Jews were merchants, dealing especially in coffee. Primarily, the Jews filled an occupational niche in Yemen as craftsmen, whose skills were passed down from father to son. As the country’s craftspeople, the Muslim population was dependent on their skills.

Nevertheless, the Jews were far more dependent economically on the Muslims than vice versa, for in the considerable times of famine and drought, the Muslims could temporarily dispense with the products of the Jews, whereas the Jews could not do without the agricultural produce of the Muslims. The Jews, therefore, felt such calamities most severely. In particular, Nini refers to the drought and famine of the 1890s, and subsequently of 1903 which “decimated the population” of San’a.

For most of the period dealt with here, it seems Jews were safer and better off with the tribespeople particularly in the North and North Eastern regions of Yemen, than they were in San’a and the major cities. Yet they were nevertheless subject peoples: clients, and there was therefore a significant power imbalance. Moreover, while fear was a factor motivating their protection, it was also something which could place their lives in great danger even in these very regions where they were otherwise relatively safe, dignified, and well-protected.

Therefore, it cannot be said that relations between Jews and Arabs in Yemen were fine until the establishment of Israel as a modern state. Throughout their long history in Yemen, they went through periods of enormous hardship and suffering. Even in the tribal areas where Jews may have been relatively well-off, their position was precarious and in times of drought and famine, they were at a great disadvantage. Since their position was tied to the need for protection and the goodwill of their neighbours rather than any fundamental human and civil rights, this placed them in a very dependent position, which could change with the ecological or political situation.

YJ 3 generations

Photo from Shalom Seri & Naftali Ben-David (Eds.) A Journey to Yemen and its Jews.  1991.  Tel Aviv.

References:

Barer, S. 1952. The Magic Carpet. London, Secker and Warburg. 101.
Bujra, A.S. 1971. Politics of Stratification: A Study of Political Change in a South Arabian Town. Oxford University Press.
“Economic History” in Encyclopaedia Judaica, VI. Keter Publishing House, Jerusalem Ltd. 1972.
Esposito, J.L. 2004. The Oxford Dictionary of Islam. Oxford University Press. New York.
Eraqi Klorman, Bat-Zion. 2009. “Yemen: Religion, magic, and Jews”, in Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 39. 2009. 125-134.
Goitein, S.D. 1964. Jews and Arabs: their contacts through the ages. Schocken Books, New York.

Goitein, S.D.  1947.  Tales from the land of Sheba.  Schocken Books, New York.

Goitein, S.D. (Ed.) 1941. Travels in Yemen. (English synopsis.) Jerusalem, Hebrew University Press.
Nini, Yehuda. 1991. The Jews of Yemen 1800 – 1914. Harwood Academic Publishers, Oxford, Zurich.

Rodinson, M. 1977. Mohammed. (Translated: A. Carter.) Penguin Books, Harmondsworth.

Saphir, Y. 1866. Even Sapir. Jerusalem.
Tobi, Yosef. 1999. The Jews of Yemen. Studies in Their History and Culture. Brill. Leiden, Boston, Köln.

Rachel Rozsa *************************** In memory of my grandmother on Holocaust Memorial Day

 

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My grandmother, Rachel* Rozsa, was born in Nagy (pronounced “Noj”) Szolos in Hungary (now Vinogradiv in the Ukraine).  An idyllic spa town nestling in the Carpathian Mountains, whose name means “Large grapes” – indicative of its wine production.  (Also famous because the composer Bartok moved there with his mother.)

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Her father was Rav (Rabbi) Itzhak Braun, who was renowned for being a miracle-worker.  At the end of WWI, mothers would come to him to find out where their sons were.  It was described to me that he would close his eyes and grab hold of the mother’s arm, then after a while, he said:  “He is crossing the border NOW!” banging his cane on the ground at the precise moment at which the returning soldier was crossing the border, and it would turn out to be accurate.  It was also described to me that he would take children who were sick in their spirit into his home and they would heal in his atmosphere.

I was the first family member to visit Nagy Szolos in 70 years.  The previous visit was by Rachel Rozsa, who went to her father’s funeral taking my father when he was just a baby.

When I visited Nagy Szolos, I tried to find Rav Itzhak Braun’s grave in the Jewish cemetery.  The Mukaceve Rabbi’s driver took me there, and we stopped at a house on the way to pick up the key to the cemetery from the lady who lived there, returning it on our way back.  I spent 2 or 3 hours in the cemetery searching, but couldn’t find the tombstone.  Half of the cemetery was overgrown with weeds, so it was hard to access those stones.  Even where the weeds had been cut or trampled down, I was getting grazed and scraped by weeds, and burnt in the hot sun, trying to find it.  Many of the stones were eroded by the elements, so it was difficult or impossible to read the script.

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Overgrown with weeds:

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Rachel Rozsa’s marriage was arranged by a matchmaker.  So after her marriage, she made the journey – a whole day by ox and cart (now an hour by car) from Nagy Szolos across the border into Mukacevo in Czechoslovakia, to live with a man she had met once or twice.  This is the view along the way:

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My aunt, Miriam, told me she was not happily married.  Her mother-in-law would come into the kitchen, lift the lids off her pots on the stove, and exclaim:  “What?  Is this what you give my son to eat?!!!”  So one can imagine this did not go down very well with Rachel Rozsa!  Being Hungarian, she made goulash.  She also made dumplings and pancakes.  When food became scarcer – probably after they were closed inside the ghetto – she was able to make a chicken last for 3 meals for 6 people.

Rozsa, Miriam told me, had big dreams – but had to work hard, so she just “had her books for dreaming.”  My father couldn’t remember the colour of her hair.  Miriam, told me she was brunette, and “very conscious of being beautiful”, although my aunt, whose knowledge of the English language was picked up entirely from watching English-language films –  might have meant that she was “very beauty-conscious!”.  She was also fashion conscious.  She loved reading and was well-read, and would send Miriam to the library to get her books by Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, etc. that she read in Hungarian.  She would take some time in the afternoon after finishing housework to lie on her bed and read.  

She spoke to her children in Hungarian, and to her husband in Yiddish.  Another of the very few things I know about her is that she used to sing a song with the chorus:

Van London, van Nápoly,
van Konstantinápoly,
Van Róma, Barcselona,
Madrid, Csikágó

There’s London, there’s Naples,
There’s Constantinople,
There’s Rome, Barcelona,
Madrid, Chicago

…. and that she used to dream of going to these places.  If she had known that two of her sons would end up living in London and the other son in the States……said Miriam (who lived in Israel)!  (And of course …. if she had known that she would have 24 great-grandchildren, plus two great-great-grandsons…so far….)

When I was in Budapest (the nearest airport to Mukacevo & then a 7-hour train journey) I tried to find this song, and asked in a number of shops and museums.  Eventually someone told me it came from a film called Kek Balvany (“The Blue Idol”), and it was quite a feat to access a DVD copy of this film from the National Film Archive in Budapest, with the indispensable help of a Hungarian friend who also watched the film with me, patiently translating it!  I think my grandmother must have seen this film at the cinema in Mukacevo.  The family was religious, like all the Jews of the region.  But they sent one of their sons to the Zionist school (which the Mukaceve rebbe referred to as “that goyishe (colloquial & derogatory term meaning non-Jewish) school”, which indicates that they were not ultra-ultra religious.  And therefore I imagine she would have gone to the cinema.  Although my grandfather would consult the Mukaceve rabbi if he had any concerns about anything.  The song must also have been broadcast on the radio.

My father felt that his mother knew what was happening to Jews during WWII.

In 1944, Rachel Rozsa was transported to Auschwitz with her family.  They were forced off the train by barking SS with whips, and lunging alsations.  She was forced to separate from her sons and husband.  Someone, or some people, had decided that she should be exterminated, and had plotted, planned and collaborated to achieve this.  Someone made her strip.  Someone made her enter the gas chamber.  Someone had designed the gas chamber to accommodate her and others like and unlike her.  Someone released the gas into the chamber.  Zyklon B.  She was 43 or 44 years old.

Miriam, Rozsa’s 15-year-old daughter, was with her mother until she was taken to the gas chamber.  Rozsa told Miriam that she didn’t mind dying – she was tired.  But she wanted her children to survive:   “I have lived.  Just that you should survive.”  When mothers were selected for the gas chambers, many of their children ran to be with them and therefore also died with them.  But Miriam wasn’t close to her mother:  her mother worked too hard to have time for her.  So when Rozsa was selected, Miriam didn’t try to join her.

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Miriam circa 1947/8

One day, Miriam saw a woman she thought was her mother.  It turned out to be her mother’s sister.  Miriam met with her every day, until one day, she didn’t turn up, and someone told her that she had been cremated.

A silver leaf in Rozsa’s memory was affixed to the silver tree installed by Tony Curtis outside the Great Synagogue in Budapest, each leaf commemorating a Hungarian Jew who was murdered in the holocaust.

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Apparently Rachel Rozsa did go to Budapest once with her father (and sister – I’m not sure how many sisters she had), although it is so far away from Nagy Szolos.

* * *

* Rachel is pronounced with the “a” sounding like the “u” in “up“, the “ch” sounding like the same letters in the Scottish word “loch“, & the “e” sounding like the “e” in “bell“.

How did he survive?

sc379When I tell people that my father was imprisoned in Auschwitz, the question that invariably follows is: “How did he survive?”

As is the case with most of “The Boys” (732 child and teenage holocaust survivors admitted into Britain after WWII), the fact that my father survived is almost inconceivable.   And as we know from Martin Gilbert’s book, The Boys: Triumph Over Adversity, survival depended on a combination of factors: kind acts by others, chance and luck against improbable odds, the will to live in the face of all that was happening; and physical and mental strength and stamina.

Since Transcarpathian Ruthenia, where my father, Abraham, lived, was occupied by Hungary in 1938, Jews in this region were not subjected to deportation until 1944. However, by this time, the Nazis were in a hurry to complete the job of exterminating the Jews. This was their priority.

Deported from Mukaçevo not long after his Bar Mitzvah, Abraham was among the youngest concentration camp survivors, and the only survivor of Birchashof Birkenau – one of the camps – a farm complex – at Auschwitz. Almost all of his entire age group were exterminated with all the other children upon arrival at Auschwitz, but as is the story with many of the other “Boys”, he observed the advice of one of the Polish inmates upon arrival, given in Yiddish: “Say you’re 18!” As his family were being selected either for work or for immediate extermination, he insisted that he was 18. It seems someone wanted to believe him, and so he was steered in the direction of those selected to work and starve to the point of death, as his father did, rather than face immediate extermination in the gas chambers, as his mother did.

The photo shown is the earliest photo I have of him. It was attached to his form held by the Jewish Refugees Committee, and seems to have been taken immediately upon his arrival in England, when he was 16. This is more than three years after someone accepted his insistence that he was 18, and let him live.

In the Auschwitz barracks where he and his father were imprisoned, there were two kapos: “a nice one and a nasty one”. The “nice” kapo was a German man called Peter: “a very tall fellow: 6’6” or thereabouts” – who had been serving his sentence in a German prison after being caught just after robbing a bank. The “nasty” kapo was a brutal, heavy-set Ukrainian man called Otto. When Otto hit a prisoner, that prisoner never got up again:

“He was a real criminal. He was a murderer. He must have murdered at least one a week there beating him to death giving him twelve lashes and from him, they didn’t last long. He was doing all the beatings you know during appell. He was always doing it. People were really shuddering.”

 Peter, the German kapo, took Abraham under his wing, looking after him, bringing him extra food, and protecting him from the brutal kapo: “He told this Otto that if he does anything to me, he’ll kill him!”  When the SS there wanted fruit that had ripened on some trees, Peter recommended Abraham for the job of climbing the trees and picking the fruit, and while up in the trees, he was able to eat his fill of fruit.

“So I remember we went with a horse, a German guard with a gun, there was this German kapo [Peter], and me. We had lots of baskets. So we went, and I picked fruit for them.That was in [the summer of] 44.”

Abraham derived food from other sources:

“…there were the Polish boys Jewish, who would go and work on transports. Theyd bring some extra food back. Often it was green [with mould]…but it doesn’t matter. It was still good enough.”

Another source of food came from a Hungarian guard who had “ some German-speaking girlfriend”.

“He asked if I would write a letter in German for him. I said: “You write it in Hungarian, and I’ll write it in German.” I had learned German. before the War. I started German, I think I must have been five or six, I started to learn German at school. And my father spoke German, and I was writing the Gothic German the reason I was doing the old-fashioned German was because my father knew the old-fashioned German. Of course I learned it at school as well.”

 I understand that this demand for Abraham’s translating skills was an ongoing state of affairs, as was the extra food he received in appreciation.

Although Abraham would give some of the extra food he received to his father, instead of eating it, his father would give it to the Mukaçeve rebbe (rabbi) who was with them, since the rebbe would not eat the food they were given apart from the bread, as it wasn’t kosher.

There seems to have been a relationship of trust between Abraham and Peter, the German kapo, as Abraham discussed with him the possibility of escape.

“I was in situations where I could have escaped, but I didn’t know in which direction. I did discuss it with Peter, I remember… He said theres no way. I’m in the middle of things. Right in the middle. If I manage to get through this wire, which is easy enough.because we did get out… but you’ll not get through further. There were wires within wires within wires within wires. Theres no way. At least not from there, and with this tattoo, Id be recognized anywhere. Yes, the only other thing I had was prison uniform. Not a very good thing to cover it with.

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Abraham’s father grew weaker and weaker with starvation and labour; he was taken to the hospital, and Abraham never saw him again:

….he was writing notes for two weeks. And then they stopped, finished.”

In my father’s dossier, a summary of Abraham’s background provides the information that his mother (Rachel Rosza) was sent to the gas chambers in May 1944, and his father (Chaim) was sent to the gas chambers in July 1944.

When Auschwitz was being evacuated and the prisoners were forced to go on their first “death march”, the German prisoners were free to join the German army and head for the Russian front (which I doubt Peter would have done!) or to go wherever they wished or could get to.

Recently I have been wondering about Peter.

“….he looked after me – the tall fellow. He told me his story: he was robbing a bank, so he said, on a motorbike, and they were chasing the robbers, and he said: ‘Over there! Over there!’ So they didn’t believe him. They arrested him.”

I have been wondering what kind of person he could have been, to plan and embark on a bank robbery, and then, in Auschwitz, to make it his mission to protect and look after a young Jewish boy. My father assumed that his own father had asked him to do so, but Peter must have wanted to help Abraham regardless. He obviously hadn’t been susceptible to Goebbels’ anti-Semitic crushingly heavy-duty brainwashing and propaganda campaign.

Having lost his father, and without Peter to protect him, it seems Abraham wasn’t completely alone: during his first “death march”, he walked alongside a Hungarian doctor who kept himself alive with pills for as long as he could.  Abraham, having been based on the only farm in Auschwitz-Birkenau, (along with his father who had declared his trade as “farmer”), had to walk with the horses and carts containing agricultural machinery which he and the other prisoners helped to push.

“We were in Birchashof farm complex, and the Germans decided they were going to save the machinery and take it to Germany with their horses, carts, and many soldiers with dogs. And it was winter, December, 1944…. or maybe even the beginning of 1945….

“So there was a long line of people, about four or six abreast…I remember it was about six….and that line must have been miles long because they had been evacuated from other camps at the same time. Only we were at the end of the line because we had these carriages, horses, carts, machinery….and we were marching – starting to push it.  Now it appears that the Russians were advancing pretty quickly, so we were going day and night….. And anybody who couldn’t keep up just sat down and he was shot. There were soldiers at the back who would shoot them. Nobody could escape.  Every time somebody sat down you would hear a shot after, as we passed. And in any case, as we were at the back, there were other transports in front of us, who had marched before us, half an hour or so earlier, and the sides were littered with dead prisoners shot all along the line.”

“While we were marching, walking, the soldiers would take it in turn to sit on the carts and have their sleep. As we were pushing uphill …..there was a road once upon a time there, but there was a little track –  a snow track – we had to push the carts uphill, and there were always the Germans with their truncheons: “Los! Los! Aufgang! Los! Los! Los!”, and hitting, always hitting – some of them were just hitting in any case for no reason at all….that if you were on the outside of the line, you had a very good chance of being hit….and one hit of that on the head, you’d fall down, you’d stumble, you’d stay there, you wouldn’t get up anymore. In any case, many people couldn’t keep up so they just sat down, they just gave up.” (1984 interview)

“We were marching for two weeks. At that time, all the horses…had to be shot. The horses couldn’t march any more either. They can’t go on forever….People couldn’t push anymore.” (1989 interview)

During the last stretch of the journey to Buchenwald, the surviving prisoners were squeezed into open-top train carriages, exposed to the elements. At the last stop before being forced onto these carriages, Abraham’s Hungarian doctor companion encouraged him to try to grab some carrots from the kitchen, which he managed to do without being shot, as others were. In the absence of any other food, these carrots kept him alive.

“Now I’m going to give you an episode which sticks out in my mind. Now where I come from there were two brothers. They were hardy people – they were selling coal….they must have been 19 or 20 – and to carry coal in sacks to sell – so they were really used to hardship. There were two brothers, and they were with me on one of these open trucks…. railway carriages. After a number of days – since the total travel was only about two weeks – without food – all we had was snow for water – one of the brothers died. Then all of a sudden, somebody saw the other brother eating the flesh of his brother. And then he was pointed out: ‘Look what’s happening! Look what’s happening!” And this person all of a sudden stood up – we were all huddled together in an open carriage – stood up as if to walk on all of them: “I’m going home for Shabbes! I’m going home for Shabbesl!” As if to walk over the people, as if nobody was there. And the guard shot him. Others died, but more calmly. Just fell asleep and they never woke up. But that was something which…. It’s not that he was shot – that he was ‘going home’, that his mind had gone. [It’s] that he had eaten of his brother.”

The Hungarian doctor did not survive this stage of the journey.  My father noted that about 10% of the prisoners on the death march from Auschwitz survived the journey to Buchenwald.

Upon arrival at Buchenwald:

“We get food there, and it seems to be a bit better than the others, but every day I see people pulling carts – skeletons – dead people – to the crematoria to burn – all the time they’re pulling them, pulling them. Therefore this event of people dying there like flies seems to be an occurrence wherever we were. However I’m told: ‘Look, you’re a young boy, you’re under 16, you can stay in the childrens ward. And you will be all right.’ I said: ‘No. I’m 18 and I want to go to work. I thought to myself: If I work I’m all right. If I don’t work, I’m useless and we dieI was healthier when I left Buchenwald than when I had arrived there. Because we did have regular food. And not only that, the person who was serving the food, seeing I need a little bit extra, he gave me the extra little bithe just gave me the bit which just had a bit of meat in it. These are these little perks which made the difference between people surviving or not.”

From Buchenwald, Abraham was taken to Rhemsdorf to work in a factory which was serving the German war effort, and which was being bombed by the British, day and night. 

“…There were 30,000 prisoners, and for the first time I saw American prisoners, British prisoners, Russian prisoners….all there, trying to work, trying to … rebuild the factory after it had been bombed.  And the bombs kept falling almost any time.”

“So there [in Rhemsdorf] they did give us food simply because we were doing a useful job….so to speak, but not very much of it.  People still kept dying all the time.  There were always the ‘musulman’.  The ‘musulman’ is the person who was skin and bone.”

In the case of the American, British and Russian prisoners of war, however, “…we were not together.  They were looked after better…..they were demoralised, but they seemed to have been fed well.  But there’s no comparison.”

In Rhemsdorf, he found his brother, David who was carrying out carpentry work.  

“…the point is, he was there. That is important.  And now we were two together.”

The allies were advancing. 

“We were told again that we were going to be evacuated, and I saw people were running to the kitchen to find some food for the journey.  I also ran to the kitchen, and I found, and I took, three carrots, and I ran away.  But others managed to get shot for their troubles.  I did get away with three carrots.:   Now, we were put on the trains….after one or two days, their locomotive was bombed….The train came to a sudden halt, and as the aeroplanes came and our guards were frightened, they ran away.  And many of us, prisoners, started to run away into the woods, only to be rounded up by local Germans – old people and young people, and most of those running into the woods – not knowing where to go – they were all shot by the local people, local Hitler Jugend.  All young people were taught how to handle guns in Germany.  Therefore I don’t think anybody will have escaped that.”

“After that we had to walk, and we were walking….I think a couple of weeks ….maybe even longer – through German towns and villages, and most of our shoes had long worn out.  Some had rags [on their feet].  We did stop now and then, for a bit of soup….”

“They didn’t shoot the prisoners in the towns, but as soon as we got a certain distance from a small town or a village, we’d stop, and those they thought unable to continue were shot.  Or they would just take a group of people and shoot them in any case because they wanted to reduce some of the guards.  Some of the guards wanted to go away.  Some said they wanted to go to the front to fight, others who had other reasons.  So since there were too few guards, they reduced the number of people in the march.”

During this “death march” to Theresienstadt, Abraham and David shared the carrots Abraham had managed to take from the kitchen at Rhemsdorf – one between them each day:

“…and it kept us going: half a carrot for me, half a carrot for my brother, and it makes all the difference between whether you live a few days longer or not whether you make it or not.”  

They would eat grass along the way, and then would get stomach cramps, and want to sit down and give up. If they had done so, they would have been shot by the German guards. But neither of them would allow the other to give up – mercifully, it seems, their stomach cramps were not simultaneously severe. David and Abraham enabled each other to survive the “death march” from Buchenwald to Theresienstadt, which alone, each would not have survived.

Part of the story of my father’s survival is a Czech woman who gave him bread when the “death march” was proceeding through Czechoslovakia. While they had been marched through Germany, my father recalled that women, old people and children – the Hitler Youth – would smash bottles at the prisoners’ bare or rag-bound feet in order that they should tread in the broken glass. 

By contrast, when they were being marched through Czechoslovakia, the Czech people were throwing bread. However, for every piece of bread thrown, there was such a scramble that the bread would get broken into little pieces and no-one would get any. One of “The Boys” said it was a form of sadism: that bystanders were deriving amusement from these scenes. Whatever the case, one woman wanted to be sure that my father received bread, and ran out to place it firmly in his hands, even though the German guards were threatening to shoot anyone who gave food to the prisoners. The Czech woman who wanted my father to live, to the extent that she risked her life to make sure he got his piece of bread, then had a rifle butt slammed down on her head by a German guard as she was running back out of the line of prisoners.

When I was in Prague in the summer of 1998, one day, as I stood waiting for my friend to turn up, an elderly woman kept staring at me. When my friend arrived, he noticed how she was staring at me. I wondered: was she the one who helped my father? Did she recognize my father in me? Recently, it dawned on me that the woman who had given my father bread probably never got up again after the rifle butt crashed down on her head. I had always assumed that she had lived on, but it seems, in all likelihood, she gave her life to make sure my father got some bread. That the last thing she did in her life was to hand my father the bread, and then try to run back out of the line of prisoners.

This act of hers obviously made an enormous impression on young Abraham. The German Nazi Reich was focused on hunting him; its military machinery was designed to exterminate him and other Jews; German women, elderly people and children smashed bottles under his feet; and suddenly, here was someone, a gentile, who not only wanted him to live, but probably gave her own life to this purpose.

As with Peter, I have recently been trying to imagine this woman and the kind of life she came from. For her, we do not even have a name. Probably she was fairly young, as she was depending on her speed and agility to get swiftly in and out of the line of prisoners, and out of reach of the guards, which she didn’t succeed in doing. A kind-hearted, brave and defiant young woman, as the Czechs in general were defiant at having their country occupied by the Nazi imposters.

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The Hungarian Jewish doctor who had walked alongside Abraham during the first “death march” had told him: “After the War, when there is food, don’t eat too much. Just have a piece of bread and a piece of cheese.” Once he was liberated from Theresienstadt, and able to go out of the concentration camp and find food, Abraham remembered the words of the doctor. Abraham was obviously someone who took advice very seriously – whether to say he was 18, or to eat moderately after starvation. Others found food and died from eating more than their starved systems could take. One of Abraham’s uncles, having survived up to that point, went out and found a piece of fat which he ate, and then, after everything he had gone through, contracted typhoid and died.

“People still kept dying, because it doesn’t end at a certain point. People got used to not eating. They couldn’t take food anymore. And when they got food, a little bit of food, [they] got typhoid. [They] died of it.”

Abraham, as advised, ate a piece of bread and a piece of cheese. As long as I remember, my father always ate in moderation, despite having been so severely starved at such a young age. After Yom Kippur, he would break the Fast with bread and cheese.

The net result of all these factors is that – against all the odds – my father survived.

“…..one day we saw the first Russian motorcyclist, and that was the end of the war. And we weren’t allowed out straight away, but as soon as we heard there were no more Germans, some of us found a hole to climb out of Theresienstadt, and there were strawberries there. Some of us had some strawberries.”

An interviewer once asked my father: What kept you going mentally? And my father replied:

src=”https://marilynherman.files.wordpress.com/2016/04/dad-1984-the-war-will-end.m4a”%5D%5B/audio%5D

“Oh – the war will end and then everything will be fine, and one day I’ll have enough bread, butter and milk…. If I keep alive long enough, the war will end and I’ll still be there.”

Having survived all that he survived, he then faced the task of living the rest of his life having experienced and witnessed the horrors of Auschwitz and the “death marches”. This, it seems, he achieved largely through music. In Munich DP Camp where he spent a year waiting to go to Palestine before deciding, instead, to join his brother, David, in England, he sourced two lots of food rations. He would exchange the extra food (with the exception of chocolate which, as far as he was concerned, was not extra and not exchangeable!) for piano and violin lessons from teachers who taught at the Handel Conservatorium. In a letter to the Jewish Refugees Committee in September 1950, requesting help with fees for continuing his piano studies at the Toynbee Hall, he wrote:

“I began to play the piano at Handel Conservatoire in Munich four years ago. There, not possessing a piano, I walked every morning three miles to the street-car where I continued my journey, by street-car, for another 30 minutes to the Conservatoire, and there I was allowed to practice on one of the College pianos (if I bribed the school-keeper) until 9 a.m., when lessons started.

“Since then I have been keeping up my studies in music.”  

In fact, my father’s recently released dossier kept by the Jewish Refugees Committee during his early years in the UK, is full of documentation relating to the urgent nature, and great priority, of his need for piano lessons (and his depression before accessing these), a piano to practise on, piano repairs, further training in piano.

Abraham’s brother, Zruli, while he was in the DP camp together with Abraham, studied opera at the Handel Conservatorium, and my father seemed disappointed that he did not become a major opera singer, which he felt was within the range of Zruli’s abilities and talent.

I have no doubt that it was largely through playing the piano that my father returned to humanity, received healing, experienced the sublime, and rose from the ashes.

Thus, my father survived. Because of someone who accepted his insistence that he was 18 when he looked and was in fact only 13; and thanks to Peter – the German bank robber; thanks to his fluency in German and Hungarian; thanks to the advice of the Hungarian doctor and to my father’s strict observance of his words; thanks to the person serving food at Buchenwald; thanks to joining forces with his brother, David; thanks to an unknown heroic Czech woman; thanks to the carrots he found; thanks to his ability to eat in moderation even after having been so severely starved; thanks to the piano, and to Schubert, Chopin, Mozart, Beethoven, Grieg, Mussorgsky, Manuel de Falla; thanks to his physical and mental constitution and his will to live. And with all this, essentially, thanks to remotest chance, and luck, my father survived.

* * *

Note: Except where otherwise stated, quotes are from interviews conducted with Abraham Herman in May 1984 and March 1989.

Postscript:  From an interview in 1984, my father talking about his time in a DP camp in Munich:  “And for studying I had extra rations.  Now I had two lots of food , and for two lots of food I could pay for some of my private lessons in food, to a German music teacher, because music was not provided as part of the learning.  All the other lessons I had free….I attended Handel’s Conservatorium …….there was a woman teacher who gave private [violin] lessons in exchange for tinned food…..She invited me to her home and she had very many musical instruments:  violins and others.  So I said:  “You have very many musical instruments.  Where do you get them from?”  She said:  “Oh, my nephew was an officer in Poland.  Whenever he came home on leave, he always brought me something.”  And I remember particularly that she showed me:  “This is an Amati,” and then she mentioned the others…..  And if you think about it, there must have been between thirty to forty  musical instruments in that room, it will give you some indication of what was going on.

“Well, after that I left her.  I didn’t go back to her anymore.  I didn’t want to know her….”

“So I went down [to]…a place who arranged the administration of people leaving.  So I said:  ‘Look, I think I should go to England now.'”

Dad-earliest photo copy 5

Map showing route of train journey from Mukaceveo (Munkacs) to Auschwitz. (Martin Gilbert:  Atlas of the Holocaust [197])

munkacs 2

Maps showing route of Death March and train evacuation from Auschwitz-Birkenau to Buchenwald (Martin Gilbert:  Atlas of the Holocaust [216-7])death march

death march 2

Map showing route of Death March from Rehmsdorf to Theresienstadt (Martin Gilbert:  Atlas of the Holocaust [230]/. According to Abe’s brother, David, they crossed the border from Germany into Czechoslovakia at the Czech town of Chomutov (David Herman:  David’s Story).

Rhemsdorf