News of the Past

In May, my husband and I visited Prague and Vienna. I am still processing all I saw and learned. Over the next few months I’ll write a few posts about the experience.

We hired a Czech genealogist, Julius Müller, to take us to the area my grandmother lived as a girl in the late 19th Century, and about which she wrote when she lived in San Francisco in the 1950s. She wrote stories about the 1889 influenza epidemic, local events and festivals, and mentioned that she had written a few articles for her father Adolf Löwy’s weekly newspaper, the Biela-Zeitung.

Although I don’t speak German, over the past few years I have spent hours poring over online issues of the Biela-Zeitung. The Austrian National Library had digitized several years of the paper, and I had been able to look through the first 10 years of the paper since its first publication in 1874. My grandmother was born in 1886, and on our trip I wanted to look through issues from the years after her birth. I hoped to find information about family events and about things my grandmother had written. One morning, Julius took my husband and me to the Czech National Archives in Prague where he had reserved several volumes of the paper.

At the Czech National Library Archives in the outskirts of Prague.

Julius showed us how to identify death notices – they looked like advertisements, but were surrounded by a plain black border. One of the first things he found in the 1902 edition of the paper was a notice of Helene’s sister Ida’s death in 1902:

From supplement to Biela-Zeitung 1 January 1902 issue. From the Czech National Library Archives

As publisher of the paper, Adolf probably didn’t have to worry about the cost of taking out a notice other than lost advertising revenue. He printed a full-page notice, which seemed to emphasize what a tragedy it was for the family.

The notice translates:

Anyone who has suffered a similar fate in their life as we have will understand our deep and justified pain over the unexpected and unfortunately all too early passing of our beloved good wife, mother, daughter and sister, Mrs

Ida Zrzawy, née Löwy
Engineer’s wife in Brüx

and will feel and understand the pain and sorrow that comes, along with the inability to adequately thank everyone for the expressions of heartfelt sympathy from so many through verbal and written condolences and accompaniment to the grave….

Many thanks
The deeply grieving Zrzawy-Löwy family

My grandmother wrote a story called “Dandelions in May 1902” where she told the story of the upheaval Ida’s death caused the family. Everything changed from that moment. Helene’s mother Rosa moved in with Ida’s husband and their 4 children, all under the age of 8. Her sister Mathilde also moved there to help with the family, ultimately marrying the widower a year later. Helene was the only family member still home with Adolf. In addition to his grief, he was left managing the business side of his printing and publishing enterprise (which Rosa had done) as well as continuing writing and publishing of the paper. Helene wrote that her father seemed to age overnight.  

Reading Ida’s obituary, printed evidence of my family’s trauma, confirmed what I knew in an intimate, immediate, and personal way.

During our day at the Czech archive, we were not able to look through all the volumes Julius had reserved, but I knew we could do the same at the Austrian National Library in Vienna the following week. I wrote to make arrangements to visit the library and reserve the volumes I still wanted to review. To my delight, the librarian told me that more volumes of the Biela-Zeitung had been digitized up to 1898 so I only needed to look at a few later volumes, knowing I could look online at home.

I enjoy being able to look at digital editions because the technology is so good that I can search for a word or name and get results. However, there was something special about seeing and touching the paper that my great-grandfather published and my grandmother read.

The first thing I did when I got home from our trip was to download the additional volumes that had been digitized. I then searched for “Helene” in the 1886 volume, even though I didn’t recall seeing birth announcements when I had looked through the newspaper before (not that I would know what to look for). Imagine my delight when I found the following in the November 27, 1886 edition, 4 days after my grandmother was born:

From the Austrian National Library digital archives of the Biela-Zeitung.

Church News:
Born:
…Helene, daughter of Adolf Löwy, Bookseller

And so the story begins!

More sifting through history

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Earlier this year, my husband and I took a trip to England. A few weeks before we left, I received an email from the World Jewish Relief Archives in response to a question I had asked about my mother’s first cousins Paul and Robert Zerzawy’s attempts to leave Europe in 1939. Robert was the first in the family to get out, arriving in England in March 1939. Paul soon followed in April, stopping briefly in England before sailing to New York.

I must have made my query through their website and have no record of when or what I asked. The writer, an archives volunteer, apologized for how long the response had taken. She explained that “World Jewish Relief (formerly known as The Central British Fund) opened case files for each person who came to the United Kingdom fleeing Nazi occupied Germany and Austria before the Second World War.” She told me that she found a registration card for my mother’s first cousin Robert Zerzawy and also “registration cards for an uncle by the name of Vitali (Chaim) Cohen and his wife Helene (nee Cohen).” That of course was important information for me since those were my maternal grandparents! If I understand the cards, it looks like the ones for Vitali and Helene were created by Robert after he learned of Helene’s release from Ravensbrück and the prisoner trade that sent her to Istanbul. The Istanbul address is the business address of one of Vitali’s relatives who helped my grandmother ultimately make her way to the U.S. The only thing Robert knew about Vitali in late 1945 or early 1946 was that he had last been heard from when he was imprisoned in Buchenwald.

Robert’s card indicates that the authorities believed he may have gone to the U.S. This corroborates family letters which talk of Robert planning to join his family in San Francisco. Unfortunately, that never came to pass.

Information provided by the World Jewish Relief Archives

I wrote back and asked whether the archives had any information about the Stopford Fund which was created to help Czech refugees get out. I believe that this fund helped Robert and Paul emigrate. The volunteer had not heard of it but kindly did a bit of sleuthing and found that the National Archives at Kew in the outskirts of London had information about the fund. I went on their site and asked some questions through their “chat” feature. Although I ultimately found no information in the Stopford Fund files related to the Zerzawy brothers, the librarian on the chat found Robert’s British naturalization certificate. It hadn’t been digitized, but since I was going to be in London, I could make an appointment to view the document.

It was fun to do something non-touristy while in another country. I took the train to Kew. Unlike other tourists, I headed for the archives instead of the famous gardens. I was given an official library card and requested the file. When the file was ready, I was assigned a specific spot in the reading room where I could look at it. The naturalization certificate told me a bit more about Robert, including his occupation – an expert in hemp and cotton spinning.

While I waited for the file, a librarian helped me search further in the online catalog and we discovered that there were additional documents available related to Robert’s naturalization. I tried to request them, but for some reason these documents had been closed for 100 years until 2069! I knew I couldn’t wait that long and made a Freedom of Information (FOI) request to be allowed to see the files. The request was granted, but not in time for me to go back to see the files in person.

When I received the digitized documents I’d requested, I learned more about Robert’s first years in England – about the company he worked for and some of his early experiences. For example, in 1940, his landlady had said negative things to police authorities about his “moral conduct” with no details or corroboration from others. Later character witnesses for his naturalization said nothing but positive things. It made me wonder whether this was an example of antisemitism or xenophobia. Not long ago, we watched the first episode of “Foyle’s War”. It takes place in 1940 and showed clearly how unwelcome Jewish refugees were to much of the general population in England during the war.  

Also on this trip, I visited a few of the addresses Robert lived in in the 1960s. An apartment building in the Kensington area of London and a small house in Chiswick, a lovely town near London. I didn’t have a house address for the Chiswick, just a name – Pontana. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to find it. However, it exists, and it still has the name rather than a number!

Apartment in Kensington

“Pontana” in Chiswick

It was wonderful to learn more about Robert. I still have questions about why he never joined the family in San Francisco. Hopefully one day I will find the answer. 

A Family Heirloom

As I mentioned in my last post, in 1979, my mother flew to France to join me at the end of my junior year abroad in Montpellier, France. She had not been to Europe since she and her brother had been forced to flee Vienna 40 years earlier.

While in Paris walking around Montmartre, my mother paid a sketch artist to make a charcoal portrait of me. I never felt that the portrait looked much like me, but my mother was happy with the likeness. Perhaps I just didn’t like the way I looked! She was inspired to have the drawing made thanks to a pastel portrait she had of her own mother which had been done in the 1930s in Vienna. My mother and her brother brought the portrait them when they came to the U.S. in 1939.  

Upon arriving back home in San Francisco, my mother framed the sketch and hung it on her bedroom wall, accompanying the one of her mother which already hung there. Although I didn’t like my own portrait, I thought the artist captured my grandmother’s likeness well.

I don’t recall seeing my grandmother’s portrait before 1979, but perhaps it was hanging in our home throughout my childhood.

When my mother moved to the condo I live in now, her mother’s portrait hung prominently in the dining room. I loved seeing her each time I visited, looking out on her family. After my mother’s death, I stored the portrait safely in a closet.

In 2017, when I began going through my family papers, I brought out the portrait again to add it to the digital archive I was making. I then hung it up in our hallway. Looking at a newly digitized photo of my mother’s 16th birthday party from May 1937, I could see clearly something I had not noticed on the small original 2-1/2x3inch photo – my grandmother’s portrait was hanging on the wall in their dining room! I loved that my grandmother was now looking at me every time I walked down the hallway, just as her image had looked on she and her family in their home in Vienna.

Recently, I wondered whether my grandmother’s nephew Robert Zerzawy had made the portrait – he had been an accomplished artist. I was going to ask Sherlock Cohn (a woman who helps identify people and places in old photos) to compare the drawing to others I know he had made. Before doing that, however, it occurred to me to take the portrait (gingerly) out of the frame and see whether it was signed. Indeed it was! As so often has happened on this journey, I discovered that the story I told myself about the object was not true. The portrait was signed and dated by Wilhelm Wachtel in 1937 – so the portrait was quite new when my mother celebrated her birthday. My grandmother’s 50th birthday was in November 1936. Perhaps the portrait was made in honor of that milestone.

There is not much information available on Wilhelm Wachtel. It appears that he was born in Poland in 1875 and died in the US in 1952. He seems to have been prolific and fairly well-known when he was alive. If you do an internet search, you can see many examples of his work.

What an amazing artifact that gets richer each time I look at it!

Top photo: at their home in Vienna on my mother’s 16th birthday in 1937 with the portrait on the wall behind them and a red line pointing to Eva; bottom left photo: at my mother’s home in San Francisco with her brother Harry and her caregiver with the portrait on the wall behind them; bottom right photo: the portrait itself.

Vienna

In a recent session of Barbara Krasner’s Writing Family History group, we wrote about a geographic place that is meaningful to our family. I chose Vienna, Austria:

I am in Vienna: the one I visited in 1978-1979 with a friend over Christmas break during my junior year abroad in France and again the following summer with my mother on her first visit back to Europe since fleeing in 1939; the Vienna of my mother’s youth in the 1920s, and of her own mother’s youth at the turn of the 20th Century.

The music of Strauss fills the air. I am swaying to the strains of the “Blue Danube.” I am in line for standing room only tickets to attend a performance of Die Fledermaus on January 1, 1979, the opera played every new year at the Vienna State Opera. I wasn’t able to attend the New Year’s Eve performance, but I came close! I had one of my first “Twilight Zone” experiences that night as we waited for the streetcar to return to our pension after the performance. Out of the darkness a woman completely enveloped in a huge coat against the bitter cold appeared and said “Hello, Helen Goldsmith.” She was a friend from UC Berkeley who was studying in Edinburgh while I was in Montpellier, France. What a strange and magical experience to have someone from home suddenly appear!

Now I am in Stadtpark near the statue of Strauss. I imagine my mother and uncle playing on the grass when they were children, with my grandmother delightedly watching them. Despite the fact that everywhere I look are signs prohibiting people from walking on the grass.

Strauss statue in 1979.

I walk to the Hotel Sacher for a cup of coffee mit schlag, and a slice of the famous Sacher Torte, a two-layer chocolate cake with apricot jam between the layers, topped with dark chocolate icing. When I was a child in San Francisco, my mother would sometimes make a Sacher Torte for special occasions. My mouth waters as I imagine licking the spoon after she finishes icing the cake.

Now, I am peering in the window of Café Centrale, around 1906, seeing my 20-year old grandmother, a young shop girl whose social life includes visiting the café most days. She lives in modest quarters and the café is her living room. She reads the latest newspapers from Vienna and around the world and meets her friends for conversation, intellectual arguments, and laughter.

Now it’s 1934, and I am on the Stubenring looking at Libansky & Co, my grandparents’ stationery shop. This is the heyday of my grandfather’s “magic shop.” He stands outside basking in the sun, leaning against the building. He chats up passers-by, once in awhile inviting one of them into the shop for him to read their palms or sell them a mandrake root for their protection.

A postcard of the Stubenring. The arrow points to my grandparents’s shop, Libansky & Co.

Vitali at the shop window with customers in 1934.

Again recalling my visit over Christmas break in 1978-79, I am back at the pension near St. Stephen’s Cathedral. An old widow runs it. She has a small, wheezy, unfriendly dog who roams the halls at night. At breakfast, one of the guests – an employee of the Mexican embassy – says in stilted yet lovely English, “Madam, your dog does not look at me with good eyes.” I couldn’t have said it better.

St. Stephen’s Cathedral and ticket to Die Fledermaus from 1979.

The pension is above a nightclub (perhaps a strip club) called “Casablanca.” When my mother and I stay there the following summer, I ask her to go into the club and get me a poster as a gift for the friend I had visited Vienna with several months earlier. She is too embarrassed to do so, but teaches me the German to go in and ask myself. I am successful and secure two posters, one for my friend and one for me. A few years ago, my husband and I had dinner with friends and reminisced about student travel. It turned out that they had stayed at the very same pension and were thrilled when I gave them the poster.

Final image: it is the summer of 1979. My mother has decided she needs a copy of her birth certificate in case all the other documentation she has about her existence will not be sufficient for her to apply for Social Security benefits in a few years. We go to the Jewish organization that has all of the old books of Jewish records. It is the 4th of July, which seems auspicious! Births were recorded by hand in huge tomes. The less-than-friendly employee unenthusiastically hands my mother the book for 1921, the year of her birth. She is nowhere to be found and my mother is crestfallen. My mother decides that since we are there, she might as well see whether her brother appears in the 1924 book so the visit might be worthwhile. We find him immediately. My mother listlessly continues to turn the pages without much hope and suddenly finds her own birth recorded a few years after she was born. For some reason, her father hadn’t wanted to deal with the bureaucracy to record the information (or considered it an invasion of privacy?) until after his second child, a son, was born. 

Copy of Harry’s birth certificate from 1979.

I smell the coffee and pastry, hear the strains of Strauss waltzes, see the Vienna of my mother’s childhood, and the Vienna my grandmother loved before it became an unfriendly hellscape. What is the real Vienna – the idyllic playground or the antisemitic nightmare? Probably both.  I look forward to visiting again to see whether there is a Vienna that is mine.

A day to remember fondly

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Today would be my Uncle Harry’s 99th birthday and Hilda Goldberg Firestone’s 119th. My grandmother and mother never missed a birthday and I learned to do the same. I will raise a toast to both of them.

Hilda and Nathan Firestone, around 1940

Harry taking delight, perhaps around 2010

Recently I’ve been rereading stories my grandmother Helene wrote about her childhood in Bohemia in the late 19th Century. When she was two or three years old, she came down with scarlet fever which resulted in her being almost deaf in one ear. That caused her to pay close attention to whatever anyone said to her. She trained herself to memorize what she heard so she wouldn’t have to take notes in class – notetaking would have caused her to look down at the paper and not be able to read the teacher’s lips. She prided herself on her wonderful memory. During the stress of war and separation from her children, she realized that she had lost some of that skill and regretted being confused about people’s birthdays.

One source of confusion was the date of her young cousin Hilda’s birthday. She knew it as January 12th or 13th (her son Harry’s birthday). As we learned last year, Hilda was born on Friday January 13th, 1904. Her family felt that was a bad omen, particularly in light of her mother’s death due to complications of childbirth, so celebrated her birthday on the 12th.

What follows are excerpts from and links to letters we saw in earlier blog posts where my grandmother and uncle make sure that Hilda knew they remembered her birthday, even from afar.

Vienna, 20. Dec. 1940

…I remember once you wrote to Harry that your birthday is either 12 or 13 January too. Therefore, accept my best wishes for that. Spend this day especially gay and happy and not a sad thought may disturb your pleasure. Enjoy your life as profoundly as you can. It is a pity for every day you don’t do it. I hope you have a good temperament and laughing is easier for you than weeping. Unable to give you a little birthday gift, I give you the second musical lesson (Melody Harry will instruct you) in German.

From Helene to Eva in San Francisco:

Vienna, 27 December 1940

When I sent the official birthday letter to Hilda, which only included a heartfelt greeting to you, you must have been thinking to yourself: “what marvelous stuff is mom up to now?”

From soldier Harry serving in the South Pacific to his sister Eva in San Francisco:

December 16, 1944

Please have some nice flowers sent to Tillie and Hilda on their birthdays, January 11th and 12th, and be sure to have the cards sent with them.

From Helene to Eva and Harry in San Francisco:

Istanbul, 11 January 1946

…I am sending Hilda, Tillie, and Harry my most sincere wishes for happy birthdays. Everl and her husband I wish to all the best to their second anniversary [actually it was their first] and that our European sadness will turn into American happiness and joy. I have certainly counted on the fact that this week of family celebration is something I will be able to spend with you, and it would have also been possible if I hadn’t been thrown to the wolves again. But in Vienna, one said: “if God wishes, then the broom will stand up.” And certainly God wants me to have you again.

December 31, 2022

A few final words about Hilda

Some readers were confused because Hilda, although Jewish, took such delight in Christmas. In her eulogy, Joan Zentner said: “Her Grandfather and her nurse Alma were her favorites. Here was a dichotomy, as Alma was a devout Catholic and Grandfather was a devout Jew. He was not Orthodox and the Pierce Street home observed all the Ritual Holidays. Hilda attended [Jewish] Sunday School, as well as occasionally attending Sunday Mass with her devoted nurse. Her young mind compared and analyzed the two faiths and philosophies. While she thought little of angels and heaven, she adored Christmas…. She loved this holiday so much that she convinced her Grandfather, and Christmas was celebrated to the joy of all at the Pierce Street household.”

Joan typed up “Rainbows and Worms” and this year my posts have come from a copy of it that she had given my mother in 1991. According to Joan’s eulogy, while Hilda was unhappily married and living in Brazil, she passed the time by writing about “her childhood in a book which she called ‘Rainbows and Worms’; it is a detailed account of life in and around Pierce Street, and no doubt drawn from a meticulously kept diary.” At last we have the answer to a question I often asked myself and others have asked me – did an 8-year old really write this diary? If Joan is correct, Hilda edited and probably embellished the diary she’d written as a child. It would have been written in the mid-1950s when Hilda was in her early 50s. (At the very same time, my grandmother would have been typing up her memories of her childhood in Bohemia from 1889-1902!).

Although I have had Hilda’s original copy for a few months, I avoided looking for fear of getting caught up in comparing differences between it and Joan’s version. Here is the first entry from Hilda’s original typed copy:

Hilda’s first paragraph of “Rainbows and Worms”

Over the past few days I’ve posted photos of the gravesites of the people we have read about over the year. My cousin and I visited the Jewish cemeteries in Colma in September so we could see where Hilda is interred. Jacob Levy’s family plot is in Salem Memorial Park. Tillie is buried in her husband Julius Zentner’s plot at Home of Peace Cemetery.

In Hilda’s eulogy, Joan Zentner wrote of how close Hilda and her nursemaid Alma were: “Her alliance with Alma was bonded by a love and faithfulness throughout life. Alma is buried in our Family Plot in Colma very near Hilda’s mother and father.” We didn’t see Alma’s grave on our initial visit, so after finding Hilda, we went back to Jacob Levy’s family plot, but Alma was nowhere to be seen. As I was writing about Hilda over the past few days, I looked at all of the photos I took at the cemetery in September. On that first visit, I visited the graves of other family relatives who are more part of my mother’s and grandmother’s family story than of Hilda’s. One of those people was Erwin Fulda, who offered to provide financial assistance to help bring over my grandparents in 1939 (as did Aunt Tillie and Hilda and Nathan). He is also the boy who Hilda played with in 1912.

Erwin is buried in the Fulda family plot at the Home of Peace Cemetery. I took photos of his grave as well as others in the plot.

Could Alma R Orack be Hilda’s Alma?!

In preparing for our visit to the cemetery, I did an online search for where to find Hilda. I learned that she had been cremated and that her ashes are in the Hills of Eternity Mausoleum (not far from where Wyatt Earp is buried). My cousin and I found the rest of the family, but Hilda’s crypt eluded us. After wandering around the mausoleum for a long time without success, someone working at the cemetery directed us to the room she was supposed to be in, but we still were unable to find her. We jokingly agreed that Hilda chose to elude us because she wanted us to make a special visit to see her. We called the cemetery after our visit to confirm we had been looking in the right place, and we were assured we had been.

A few weeks ago, we returned to the cemetery, went to the same room, and within less than a minute we found Hilda! This time we realized she shared a space with her beloved Nathan. However, as you can see, Hilda’s name is difficult to read. Apparently etching skills did not improve over 40 years.

Hilda always had hoped to have her diary published. After Joan typed the manuscript (and edited it a bit), she sent it to a publisher. The last item I share with you is a response from Doubleday.

Several readers have asked me if I will look for a publisher. Perhaps the time has come and the world is ready to hear Hilda’s voice. There are differences between Hilda’s original and the one I used this year. If I ever try to get it published, I’ll have to spend some time comparing the two!

For subscribers to my blog, I have an idea about something I might do next year, but plan to write far less often. Please don’t be surprised if you do not hear from me for awhile. Thank you for going on this journey with Hilda and me this year!

December 29, 2022

1940-1951

Although we learn and change and grow over time, it is amazing to me how much we are already fully formed as children. Hilda’s love of animals is evident on every page of her diary. She showed a sensitivity – to music, to her own emotions. She was absolutely honest and could not dissemble.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, Hilda and Nathan made a home for her young cousin Harry when he and his sister Eva arrived from Vienna in October 1939. Their first cousin Paul Zerzawy had arrived in the U.S. a few months earlier, unsuccessfully tried to find work in New York, and headed to San Francisco to be with his young cousins and have the support of the Firestones and other cousins. Hilda and Nathan would have enjoyed Paul’s company as he was a talented musician. Although trained as a lawyer, because of his English skills and lack of license, the only work he was able to find in the U.S. was as a musician and piano teacher.

Paul Zerzawy at left with Hilda and Nathan Firestone next to him. Date unknown. It is possible that one of the man next to Nathan is Yehudi Menuhin.

In 1940, San Francisco must have felt a million miles away from the war in Europe, although the Viennese cousins were a reminder. The Golden Gate International Exposition was an exciting event that took place in 1939 and 1940. My mother Eva had fond memories of attending as often as she was able. Hilda and Nathan enjoyed visiting the fair, as evidenced by these handwriting analyses they had done:

Handwriting analysis for Hilda Firestone (see initials on bottom right)

Handwriting analysis for Nathan Firestone (see initials on bottom right)

It is interesting to see what their handwriting said about them! The check marks indicate that traits were particularly strong. Hilda’s handwriting showed that she expressed emotions and feelings, could be moody, was determined, had high ideals, could be sarcastic, impatient, and stubborn, could hold a grudge, was inclined to worry too much, and had a good memory. It seems pretty on target from Hilda’s diary as well as from the letters we have from her later life!

Nathan’s handwriting showed many of the same traits. If the system has any merit, I wonder whether that shows how well-suited they were or whether they became more alike over time.

San Francisco Examiner September 21, 1941, p41

Music continued to be the center of their universe. Here is a a profile of Nathan as a musician.

San Francisco Chronicle, December 29, 1941, p. 11

 And here is a portrait of Hilda and Nathan with their dog Mouffle, showing how true it was that “Dogs — particularly cocker spaniels — are an affectionate avocational interest of Firestone and his pianist wife.”

Hilda’s happiness ended abruptly with Nathan’s death in September 1943. Unsurprisingly, her life was never the same and it took her many years to be able to find joy again.

Here is a copy of Nathan’s eulogy given by conductor and music professor Albert Elkus:

Nathan’s obituary appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle on September 23, 1943. He sounds like a wonderful man. I wish I had known him.

San Francisco Chronicle, September 23, 1943, p10

Hilda was devastated by her loss. She wrote a heartbreaking letter to my grandmother who was in 1946 waiting to come to the U.S. after having been interned at Ravensbrück. As we could see in the letter Hilda wrote, one source of support in her life was her cousin (and my grandmother’s newphew) Paul Zerzawy. They remained close and their shared love of music undoubtedly gave her comfort. She mentions that he had been ill. He died in July 1948, appointing her executor and leaving most of the few worldly goods he had to her. His death notice lists Hilda as his survivor.

San Francisco Examiner, July 26, 1948p11

Apparently Hilda remained active in the music community. In February 1951, she was one of the sponsors for sonata recitals given at the San Francisco Museum of Art by pianist Lev Shorr and his wife.

After her father Sol Goldberg retired from his job in New York City, he moved to San Francisco. After Nathan’s death, Hilda lived with him and they appear together on the 1950 census when he was 78 and she was 46. They also had a live-in maid. He died on September 28, 1951.

San Francisco Chronicle, September 30, 1951, p20

His gravestone is next to his wife in the Levy family plot.

 By 1951, all of the important men in her life had died. What to do next?

December 13

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Today we have a letter from Helene in Vienna to Hilda Firestone in San Francisco. Harry has lived with Hilda and her husband Nathan since arriving in San Francisco in October 1939. Since they do not share a common language, Helene writes in her halting English, interspersing some German (indicated in italics). Helene’s nephew Paul Zerzawy was also in San Francisco and would have been able to translate the German. I admire Helene’s courage to write in a foreign language – even after years of studying French, I was always reluctant to expose my lack of fluency.

Vienna, December 13, 1940

Dear Hilda!

Generally I don’t like winter in spite of snow-romantic, winter-sport and carnival-revel, for all that, years ago, I waited for Xmas with palpitation of the heart. There were the little things with which we could give so much pleasure. Today it is quite another thing. There are no children (own) and no relatives, but only a few friends to find a little surprise for them and therefore I hate this time. Nevertheless, I hope that you will spend Christmas in funny society, gay and cheerful and wish you and Nathan a happy New Year.

Harry wrote me that you make great progress in the study of German. I am quite enthusiastic. I will not trespass on Paul, but I find it is easier to learn a foreign language with background music, for instance: 

Viennese expression: don’t push me. German: don’t spill tea on me. Fluency, I beg your pardon, volubility you can reach by reading of the following sentences: [tongue twisters] “We Viennese washerwomen would wash the soft white wash if we knew where warm soft water was.” Or: “Fritz Fischer fishes for fresh fish early in the morning when it’s fresh” [a famous tongue twister, embellishing the original]: “ The cow ran until she fell.” is an easy one, much shorter. Also, [a pun on eel & lox]. And “Potsdam & Cottbus postal carriage is polished with postal carriage wax.” [riffing on another famous tongue twister] Your teacher will have already taught you this.

Now I’m done, but I’m afraid of Paul because he may forbid you to correspond with me in the interest of your making progress in learning German. Excuse me when I wrote such gibberish. It smells bad and I am afraid it is our dinner. 

Yes, it was. Poor Vitali!

With my best regards to Nathan and you I remain fondly

Helen

P.S. Just now Vitali came home. He caught a cold. Therefore he has no idea that our dinner is black-colored. He sends his best greetings.

After delving into my family letters this year, I have gained a deep appreciation and affection for these relatives who were shadowy names to me all my life. I so wish I had known the Zerzawy brothers. Hilda too. Although they would not meet until 1946, Helene was grateful to that her beloved son Harry was safe in the care of her cousin Hilda (technically her first cousin once removed – the daughter of her first cousin). Even living oceans apart, Helene always tried to stay connected to her family, most of whom she never would meet. We saw a letter in the February 23rd post where Hilda recalls a fond childhood memory of receiving a book of German folk songs from Helene, which would probably have been sent around 1910.  

Even in her broken English, Helene gives us a vivid picture of her anticipation of the holiday season when the family was all together. Despite the separation and her lack of resources, she tries to mark the season with her friends.

The original tongue twisters Helene uses can be found at this link and can be heard spoken by a native German speaker here.