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A letter from Helene in Vienna to her children in San Francisco.
Vienna, 29 July 1940
My dear children! When I write to you, it reminds me of my childhood, a game that I found very special:, if you have Thaler, buy something; don’t say yes, don’t say no, don’t jiggle, don’t shake, don’t shake, don’t say it’s not black or white. Just say yes to everything. Saying “yes” to everyone was never my weakness. There is no point in jiggling around, and in black and white, I just want to know that you’re okay and that you’re healthy and content. All of this you may assume for us, just that the lack of mail is a concern and that the possibilities of the reason for this are so many that it’s hard to know which version of the explanation one should decide on. You can’t shake the dice with this game. You just have to be calm; otherwise, you’ll lose.
Yesterday Papa and I went for a walk and we went to the Weißgerberlände [a street along the Danube near their apartment]. Since you’ve been gone, I have not visited this part of town. We noticed a house there that neither of us had ever noticed before, even though we’ve gone by there so many times. If it didn’t have the year of the building on it, we would have thought it was much newer construction. What we really noticed about the house is that the front was filled with bas reliefs, they were almost life sized. We used to go by such things and not even give it any thought. Whatever path we take, I just see you - every square, every street, every house reminds me of our walks together. In Stadtpark, I see you as small children; near the Prater Park, I see you as a little older youth, and in the city I have this picture of you in more recent times. This is a driving force that takes me there nearly every day. I stand there by every shoe store, not because I really want to buy a pair, but in memory of Eva, and in memory of Harry in photo shop windows. This kind of activity has become a very typical one for me. Sometimes I catch myself looking around for you if you’re maybe just catching up to me and at which picture window did you stop to look? With these crazy ideas, I spend my days. Recently I saw an illustrated newspaper that is probably more interesting to Eva. There I saw pictures of nurses who were taking care of soldiers. They were medical students who before they are allowed to begin their studies have to spend several months doing nursing duty and they must prove that they’ve done that. By the way, have you heard anything from Dr. Grete W? Eva, are you perhaps in touch with her and have you heard anything from Erni and Maxi? Their mother is someone I used to see every now and then, but I don’t know if they’re still here or maybe they moved somewhere else. We have only heard news from our Turkish relatives a couple of times since you’ve been over there. Our situation does not seem to interest them much if at all. Are you in correspondence with them? I would like to send you picture postcards of your favorite mosque and the bazaar. Since there is this interruption in postal service, I apparently am out of the picture as to what your interests are. I find it “funny” when Eva ends a letter with the excuse that she must wake the baby to go take a walk. Is that your idea or is that the mother’s idea? I really don’t think it’s a good idea to wake such a small child. Isn’t it more important for them to sleep than to take a walk? Maybe a little later and then you can maybe walk later and a little longer. What is Paul doing besides not writing to me and Robert? Have you heard anything from him? This letter will not go off until tomorrow morning. Maybe by then I will have received a letter from you. In this hope and expectation, I send my dearest kisses
Helen
I could not find the game Helene describes in a brief search, but we get the idea. It perfectly describes her helplessness and uncertainty. There is nothing she can do or say to change an impossible situation.
Helene walks through the streets of Vienna and sees nothing but ghosts of the past – her children at all ages – as children playing in the park and as teenagers interested in more worldly activities like fashion and photography. Friends are disappearing from Vienna, often without a word. It must have been very disconcerting and disorienting. Vitali’s Turkish relatives had their own challenges so could not be blamed for their perceived lack of interest, although Helene doesn’t understand that.
As I mentioned in an early post, at the end of my grandmother’s life she lost much of her memory — whether from Alzheimer’s, which did not have a name at the time, or from self-preservation to protect her from thinking about the horrors she had experienced. Her brain took her to pre-World War II Vienna, the happiest time in her life. When I visited her in the assisted living facility a few months before she died, she greeted me as a friend or stranger — she had no idea who I was. She asked if I knew her children, and pointed to a place seen only by her, where they were playing in the park. When I read this letter for the first time, I realized that this memory was her “happy place” and that it had kept her going during the many stressful times in her life.
The photo below shows the children at a bit younger than Helene describes as they walk past the shops of Vienna. Helene is on the left between Harry and Eva. I do not know the woman on the right.
