March 4

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

This long letter to Harry was written over the course of two days. Words in italics were written in English in the original letter.

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                                                                        Istanbul, 3 March 46

My dear, dear He-Hi-Ho-Hu-Harry,

I am so happy, so unspeakably happy to get mail from you and to know what one lives for. My happiness laughs out of your eyes. Everl’s face hasn’t changed as much as my piano-dissecting, washhouse-key-destroying, tooth-knocking-outing, not-wanting-to-learn-anything useless rascal, Harry. For the sake of the great services he has shown the U.S.A., I will forgive him for all this.

From Ebi, I got one of her patented telegram letters two days ago and she hid from me what her photo revealed, that she will need me soon. How vain mothers are, even when they think they’re being clever.

People have mothers or they don’t, but they’re not really necessary now in the time of the atom bomb. It’s no longer the modern style to write long letters I know, but I am not going to follow this trend any more than I did those of wearing yellow-orange lipstick or vermillion nail polish - I didn’t do that either. My son-in-law I am sure I will like very much. Here I sometimes see American newspapers with the picture section. What is wrong on it? The happy Goldsmith family photo is incorrect – it says that he drinks and she doesn’t. (I am upset about it.) And that she smokes and he does not. (I am even more upsetter)

Harry, what you all suspected is right. In this I recognize that you are more the children of your father than mine. You are very intelligent, but in one point you lack Vitali’s spirit. Letters which cannot be delivered remain at the main post office for three months before they are sent back. In case there is a demand, your letters would have been presented in a packet. Doesn’t matter! As long as we were together, I never thought that I could become old. I thought that I would always remain young with you, always understand your tricks and jokes. Papa’s sparkling temperament contributed a lot to that. I believed that nature would forget to have me get old. Sometimes in the autumn when November storms caused the leaves overnight from the trees on the Ringstrasse to fall, I sometimes saw one or two trees that still had their green leaves and it looked as if they were strong enough to weather the winter storms. But that was just the appearance of it. A few days later they were just as bald as all the other ones. I lost my green leaves and I am so glad that you still love the Helen-tree that has lost its leaves. Inside I am not really that old; and if you want to decorate me like a Christmas tree, nobody will see on me what kind of storms I survived on the Lüneburg Heath [where Germany surrendered May 4 1945, a three-hour drive from Ravensbrück] and on the Sea of Marmara [Istanbul].

Now, however, let’s get to the matter at hand. Every month transports leave here directly to America. Of course, soldiers are taken first. Some ships have a policy of not taking women on board. Thousands of students are also waiting for a spot on a ship. I don’t dare think about the possibility of flying. Everl thought I wouldn’t want to fly. Really? Didn’t I go through training for that with you on the Hochschaubahn [roller coaster in Vienna’s Prater]? I would, if I had to, dare to take this trip in a herring barrel. A good thing that came out of the “University of Nazi Germany” is this: Nobody is afraid, nobody who survived it knows fear. The only fear is fear of yourself, in other words, the fear of fear. It is as if someone who suffers from insomnia is tired and sleepy, lays down and the fear of not falling asleep means that he does not fall asleep. You advised me to go to the American Consulate and the Vice Consul is a “charming” person and he showed me the same consideration that you were shown at the Vienna Consulate back then. I was armed with your letters and at your advice, I will ask Yomtov to accompany me to the consulate. If the result is negative, I will send you a telegram with the request to contact the General Consul about the matter by telegraph.

I will, as Papa would say, take the matter into my own hands. Up until now I had to let the Joint Committee take care of it. But I believe, little Harry, that Yomtov and I will manage to take care of this. As I said, if not, we will send a telegram.  

Since November I have been in touch with Robert. You cannot imagine how much moral support he has been for me. His dear devotion really gave me some courage. From March to November I got, other than 2 telegrams from Everl, no mail. Thank God that this bad time is over, and I hope I will soon find out from the Red Cross where Papa is living.  

I was shocked by the death of Nathan. Poor, poor Hilda! I have not had the courage to send my condolences to her by letter. I wrote her several times, I also wrote to Bertha and Tillie.

Also, in Vitali’s family there have been some accidents in the last two years. As his youngest sister was visiting F, she suddenly, without any indication that she’d been ill, died. A brother-in-law of Ida Cohen jumped off the tram and ended up under a car and he was fatally injured. The daughter of Onkel Bondi got married when she was 17 years old. She was supposed to be a real beauty, and this is why she could marry without money. You know that this is only possible once every four years on a leap year. At age 18, she had the first baby, which was 9 months old in August. A second was on the way and the mother-in-law forced her to do something about it. She obeyed. 24 hours later, she was dead. Vitali’s brother is crushed. I did not know this niece, but I was also very concerned. I heard that there might be legal repercussions.

In the first months that I spent in Moda, I got quite a few visitors. But then I lived in Burgaz and then in Balat, both places which are hard to get to. When someone wanted to visit me, I was usually somewhere else, and I could hardly blame anybody if they don’t have a taste for this hide and go seek game. — Tomorrow, Monday, I will sneak out to Stamboul. I will see if I can get away with it. While I am writing to you, I am looking every now and then at your pictures. Is the young lady really my Everl, and isn’t she ashamed to be in such an intimate position with a man I do not know? And is the handsome young man who looks like a well-paid film star really my product? What is Paul doing? Why doesn’t he let himself be heard from? What is new with the Zentners and the Schillers? I am asking too many questions now all of a sudden, but you had a long quiet period from me, so I won’t even excuse myself for doing this. I greet all. Please say hello to everyone from me, including Robert, and tell him how much I thank him.

Harry, I hope the sky doesn’t fall which would rob me of my great fortune of being with you again.

I kiss you
Helen

                        4. March 46

My dear little boy,

I read through what I wrote yesterday and I find that I didn’t go into enough detail about the most important points. Enclosed is a copy of a letter to the consulate. You see that I have made mention of the fact that you are or were a soldier. I don’t know if it was September or October. I think in October I got a letter from the San Francisco Committee for Service to Emigrées with a notification that my affidavit was dispatched on the 23rd of July and that I should get in touch with the consulate immediately. That happened after various reminder letters sent on my part and by the 15th of November, 1945, my papers were in order. At the beginning of November, we refugees moved from Moda to Antigoni. Our situation in life became much worse, and because of the worsening of our situation, the painful aftermath of the Kazet [aka KZ – the German word for concentration camp], and the constant worry about Papa, and of course about you, made it possible for me to go to Balat to a Jewish hospital for the poor. The only way you could survive that is with humor and iron will power. I recovered quickly and I would have been able to leave 14 days later, but the boss of the committee to stay as long as I could until they could find a better shelter for me. My living costs would be covered by the Joint until my entrance into the hospital. Because of this, I was assigned not to Joint but to the Cultus [sp?] community as their responsibility. Since I wasn’t costing Joint any money, it wasn’t important for the men here to worry about my case. They just forgot about me. On the 2nd January 1946, I left the hospital. All papers and my exit visa were ready. Suddenly, they got the idea to ask specifically of me money for the passage. I can’t really speak about it the way I would want to yet, but the men of the committee know what I think about this. Now that I know that you children are standing by me, I am regaining my courage. You wrote that I would be able to see from the affidavit that Eva works as a Nurse-Secretary. I have not seen the affidavit yet. The American substitute for a passport and the affidavit will be issued to me, but not until they tell me which ship I will be taking. At the consulate they told us that the Joint is getting the ship seats. Joint told me that the consulate would be dealing with the seats that are free first. Isn’t that cute? Isn't that right? The actual value of the consulate in Vienna - I found out about that when I was on the Drottninghölm where I had the time and opportunity to do some studies. I have to go. I want to go to Stambul, that is Pera, to the Consulate.

Kisses
Mutti


At first, I wasn’t going to comment on this letter because it’s so rich and can stand on its own. As I thought about how much information and feeling is packed into a few pages, I wanted to pause and appreciate.

Helene refers to photos of her children and how much Harry in particular has changed. He was just 15 when Helene had last seen him in 1939, and by 1946 he would have been 22. Eva was already 18 when she left, so was far more recognizable almost seven years later.

Below are photos of Harry and Eva – their Turkish passport photos from early 1939, one of Harry on the ship to the U.S. in October 1939, and one as a soldier in the 1940s with “laughing eyes”. I imagine this the photo of Eva and her husband Ludwig that Helene mentions – she holding a cigarette and he a glass. It’s possible that she was pregnant – Helene certainly thinks so. Eva suffered several miscarriages before I came along.

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I imagine that Helene is referring to the photo of Eva and her husband Ludwig below – Eva holding a cigarette and her husband is holding a glass. It’s possible that she was pregnant – Helene certainly thinks so. Unfortunately, over many years Eva suffered several miscarriages before finally successfully having a child (me).

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Looking at the letter from the beginning we learn something new every few sentences – the letter has few paragraph breaks – I have added them for clarity.

We learn that:

·      In the second sentence, Helene summarizes Harry’s childhood antics in just a few words – my mother and Harry often joked about his dismantling the piano when he was a child. Of course, he was not able to put it back together so it ended up being an expensive experiment! Perhaps Harry is playing on the same piano in the photo below:

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·      Although Eva wrote to her mother about her marriage and sent a photo, she provided very little information about Helene’s new son-in-law.

·      Helene sent many letters to her children but didn’t have the correct addresses for them so were not delivered (and eventually returned?). She bemoans that her children did not think to go to the post office to see if anything was waiting for them – Vitali would have done so. At least in the Vienna of her memory, mail got to its recipient even when the address was mysterious. This must have been awful for Helene who was finally “free” in Istanbul and able to write to her family, yet heard nothing from anyone but her nephew Robert in England.

·      After all she has been through at the hands of the Nazis and in Istanbul, Helene has aged and no longer looks or feels as young as she once was. In Vienna, being a mother and married to charming Vitali who always kept her spirits up, she was able to feel that time stood still.

·      The logistics and challenges of getting to America – Helene is willing to do whatever it takes to finally be reunited with her children.

·      There have been many family tragedies, including the death of Hilda’s husband and deaths of several members of Vitali’s family. We see the effects of abortion when one of Vitali’s nieces was “forced to do something about” a pregnancy. Interesting to see abortion discussed in a letter – it was such a taboo subject when I was growing up that I couldn’t imagine someone writing about it. Was Helene more willing to talk about difficult things, especially after all she’d been through? Was it the result of her being the daughter of a journalist who sought to tell the truth or the fact that she and her husband were valued freedom of thought and lived a bohemian lifestyle? Interesting that Helene was Bohemian in both senses of the word – someone from Bohemia and someone who lived an unconventional lifestyle compared to those of her neighbors.

·      Helene has little freedom in Istanbul and must “sneak out” to take care of business. Because she has been moved several times in Istanbul, relatives cannot find her to provide company and support.

·      Helene had been in contact with a Jewish organization in San Francisco.

·      After all she’d been through, Helene suffered what would have been called a “nervous breakdown” and was hospitalized for a few weeks. The Joint, the Jewish organization that had been supporting her stay in Istanbul, encouraged her to stay longer so that they would not have to pay for her lodging. She finds herself yet another kind of prisoner. For someone who had led an independent life and supported herself since she was 16 years old, these past years of powerlessness, loss, and endless bureaucracy must have been unbearable. Every time she thought she’d overcome a hurdle, another higher one was placed in front of her.

February 25

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

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Vienna, 25. February 1941

Nr 76              My dear children!

Since Saturday I have been living in a sort of opium high. Of course, I’ve never really experienced even such a normal, usual experience, most certainly not a narcotic one, but I sort of imagine that this is what the effects are like. Because? I got in the post this morning Letter #1 and in the afternoon mail came #3 from January 28. And that after quite a long break.

All the dark thoughts were washed away and I was less worried about the troubles of our relatives. I thought about Chamisso’s “Kreuzschau” which is not very well known, which is why I’m telling you this legend. A pilgrim, tired from long walks, laid down on the side of the road, fell asleep, and had an unusual dream. The Lord God appeared to him and he complained that he has put too heavy a cross on him. The Lord took him into a room where there was nothing but crosses and told him to pick one out. There were splendid crosses made of pure gold. He quickly grabbed at one of those but it was so heavy that he couldn’t even lift it. Wonderful crosses made of marble. He wanted one of those, but the edges of it cut into his flesh. He tried many, many more but none of them seemed to fit him. Quite hidden away in a corner he saw a small plain cross. He grabbed that and it was so easy he could hardly feel it. He decided to take that one with the following words: “Lord, if it be your will, this cross is mine.” Then when he measured it a little more closely with his eye, it was the one he was carrying before. So he decided not to grumble. He picked it up and carried it without complaints [direct quote from poem].

I read your letters and I was happy. How happy I am that Everl is making quite a splash with her talents and that her success is not the result of cramming long nights. Rather that she has some of Papa’s intuition. I feel that Everl will be able to push her wagon home alone. Already in kindergarten, Harry had the stuff to be a self made-man. As far as kindergarten goes, read the passage of letter #61. It is sort of a prelude/foreshadowing to our telegram of the 18th of this month which we would like to get confirmation of. We didn’t think the answer would come so quickly. Because there were so many telegrams before ours to be sent before we got there made us think that it was going to take quite a while until you get ours, if you get it at all. Included is a copy of the current rules of the American General Consulate which I cannot assume you have. As long as we have not had our telegram confirmed by you, I repeat the text: “Urge affidavit and ship tickets so that we can arrive on time.” I hope the cable arrived without being garbled. Do you remember your arrival communique and the confusion caused by its mutilation?

It’s interesting that Everl mentioned poor Hansi’s episode. Paula was here at our house again yesterday after not having been here for quite a while. We remember that I told her the last time she was here about the story of your grief and how she laughed when I described how Harry couldn’t find anywhere lovely enough in the Prater or even in the Stadtpark to bury his little pet bird. And then in the garbage can he found a “Maüseleum.” Just by chance we could all remember the exact day when we were having this conversation – it was the day when Everl wrote the letter. Who could doubt telepathy after that? What do you think about the product of my education? Papa now is willing to post letters on Tuesdays too without complaining. The only comment about this is “What are you going to do when you are in Frisco and the children don’t write to you anymore? You will be without work, you will have nothing to do. No letters to write, none more to read.” The latter activity, reading letters, really does fill up all of my free time. When water for tea is boiling, when the potatoes are becoming soft, when the dishes are drying, I take the last letters to arrive out of my purse and I read through them. I don’t just know them by heart; I know even on which part of a page each word is and on the other hand I wouldn’t have any idea of what I write to you if I didn’t keep a copy. Mostly I do that by turning the carbon paper around.

Say hello to everybody from us. With many many kisses.

            Helen

PARALLEL-CASSE Is Kegelgasse called Körbergasse? I’m not sure.


Today, we again see the importance of letter writing and keeping in contact with loved ones. For Helene in Vienna without her children, her entire life revolved around the post. Writing letters, waiting for letters, reading and rereading letters. The mail was delivered twice a day – meaning twice the hope and heartbreak depending on whether Helene heard from her children. Each day without mail felt like a heavy cross to bear. Vitali had been limiting the number of times he would take letters to the post office, presumably because of the cost of postage, but today he relented and is willing to go more often. Helene kept all of the letters close and reread them constantly. She kept carbon copies of her own letters so that she could recall what she wrote.

Included in this letter was the copy of the American Consulate’s instructions from February 19.

This letter makes so much more sense to me now than when Roslyn translated it in July of 2019. Helene refers to other letters she has sent, including a story she told in her letter of January 24 about a 2-year old Eva stubbornly wanting to make her way through the streets of Vienna on her own.

Helene also refers to a story about Harry trying to bury a beloved pet bird when he was kindergarten-age. I had heard part of the story from my mother Eva, one of the few stories she told about her childhood. As adults, Harry would tease her about his mistreatment at her hands. Their version of the story involved peaches and a bird: My mother always loved fresh fruit and at one point she and Harry were given fresh, juicy peaches. She liked them so much that she offered to give her pet bird to her brother if he would give her his peach. They were both satisfied with the deal until the next day when the bird died.

Helene’s point in relating both these stories seems to be to assure her children that she feels less concern for them despite their distance and youth, because they seem well able to take care of themselves, as they’ve each been able to do from a very young age.

A few weeks ago, I transcribed one of Helene’s stories, this one with a mysterious title (many of her titles are a mystery to me – the contents often barely, if at all, related to the purported subject) – Maran. The story is charming, telling the tale of Eva’s tonsillitis, a pet bird given to her as a get-well gift, the subsequent peach-bird trade, the death of the bird, ending with Harry’s heartbreaking attempts to find a suitable burial spot for his beloved pet.

Literary note: According to “The New International Encyclopaedia”, Adelbert von Chamisso (1781-1838) was a German poet and naturalist. He translated much of Homer into German. He had quite a life, joining the Russian polar expedition, staying with Mme de Staël, studying botany, wandering in Bohemia – nowhere near an exhaustive list of his adventures. The Encyclopaedia says that Die Kreuzschau ranked among the “finest in German literature.” The full text of the poem is online in German.

February 15

On Being Fatalistic

With no letter dated today or tomorrow, we turn to Helene’s memoirs (slightly edited for clarity). In honor of Valentine’s Day yesterday, the stories concern Helene’s and her mother’s romantic lives.

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 On Being Fatalistic.

Before my fate was linked with that of Vitali, I was fatalistic. Uncountable times I observed that I glaubte zu schieben und bin geschoben worden [I believed I was pushing and I was pushed]. By whom? Call it superstition, but I have reliance on my fate, which sometimes prevented me from doing something I thought very reasonable. Afterwards I found out that it would have been a failure, but more often I was forced to do something; I struggled but this gewisse etwas [certain something] prevailed. Reluctantly I gave in, and I never regretted it, although I acted against my “better judgment” as I put it to myself, only to learn after that it was all right. Several times it happened to me that I came to a decision. I thought over and over again, and when it came to the point to act, I just did the contrary – something interfered, prompted me to do or say something – it was surprising.

My encounter with Vitali is a proof to me that there is no such thing like a blind game of chance. Vitali came from Constantinople for one week or so and remained for good. Veni vidi vici? No. I saw that he was in a higher strata than I, I liked his bearing, his self-assuredness without being arrogant, I liked him, found him good-looking, amiable, interesting and God-knows-what-else, but when he asked me to marry him, I refused, knowing that one day I would give in. Vitali was not obtrusive, but he chased away all my boyfriends I liked so much. They felt his superiority, and retired, which made me no more friendly towards Vitali, but he pretended not to see it.

Our spiritual compatibility was astonishing, the more, as we in daily life affairs were often of contrary opinion, and struggled. Vitali liked to belittle me sometimes out of pure opposition, but when I sometimes said: I have to do this or that, he gave me an understanding look and asked me: what is the matter, what did you dream of?

Vitali was in business-affairs more often a hindrance than help, but he never would allow anybody to think so, therefore he minimized my success in business, and was jealous. Jealousy was his main-strain and that I could not stand. I had been independent for 20 years, and that is deep water. When after a serious sickness everything in our business went topsy-turvy, I experienced that my Deus ex machina, as Vitali expressed it, had not forgotten me, only that he came always at the very last moment, just when my desperation reached its climax.  Anytime I was nonplussed, Vitali was not – he took it for granted.

Once, shortly after we had to separate from our children, we went to a show. I forgot the name. It was the story of a couple, separated by force in different ages. The features of this couple had changed only little: changed only was the apparel, the circumstances, but not their fate, always they were separated, to find themselves together after centuries, and on different continents. When we left, we didn’t talk. All of a sudden V. took my hand and squeezed it. I tried to be cheerful when I said: “Vitali, did this actor imitate you or have you seen this picture before and you imitate him?” (Vitali’s carriage was characteristic for him, I observed the same bearing among some men in Florence, every inch a Renaissance-Prince) Vitali didn't answer this question, only said seriously: “It wasn’t the first time chérie we met each other, and it will not be the last.”

When traveling on the Drottningholm [the ship that took Helene to Istanbul in 1945 after being part of a prisoner trade and being released from Ravensbrück] I took a book at random, there were not too many. It was: I Met a Gypsy, by Norah Lofts. This book excited me immensely. This book harps on the same subject. When I came here, I asked several people if they can remember that a picture was made from this book, nobody could.

I am a believer in the immortality of souls.

This story was included in one of the binders filled with Helene’s childhood memoirs. All of the other stories in this binder are about her youth, are double-spaced and go on for many pages – very different from this single-spaced stand-alone sheet. It is much more personal and romantic. When I came across this story, it was the first window I had into Helene’s and Vitali’s relationship. We see that Helene felt that they were soulmates, despite differences in style and a tendency for Vitali to criticize or belittle her. A few of her other stories give examples of this less-than-charming side of her extremely charming husband. She put up with his behavior because there was so much more she saw in him.

After reading this, I tracked down a copy of I Met a Gypsy by Norah Lofts. It was a fun read and I was happy to read something I knew my grandmother had read, but it seemed a stretch to connect it to Helene’s experience. The book is a series of short stories about the descendants of a gypsy, and takes place over centuries, continents, and generations. Although one or two of the stories were made into films, the earliest was made in 1947, long after any film Helene and Vitali would have seen in Vienna in 1939 or 1940.

For someone who was not religious, being a fatalist must have made a lot of sense. How else to understand the course of one’s life? Why do some people survive and others not? Helene’s mother had had 13 or 14 pregnancies, 7 children survived into childhood. By 1910 at the age of 24, Helene’s only surviving sibling was her brother Max. By 1918, three of her sisters’ five children with Julius Zerzawy had died, leaving only her nephews Paul and Robert surviving past age 20. Helene was not harmed by the 1889 flu pandemic (see blog posts from January 16 and 17) and TB, while many others around her did not.

My mother and Harry both called themselves “fatalists”. I thought it was something unique to them, based on the circumstances of their childhood and separation from and loss of their parents. Here we discover that they learned to think of themselves as fatalists from their parents. As so often has happened on this journey, I am reminded how attitudes and opinions are handed down over generations – often unspoken or unconsciously. There is nothing new under the sun.

I would like to think that Helene and Vitali will meet again.

February 11

Helene was very prolific in February 1941. I have 8 letters written by her in the first 7 days of the month and a total of 16 letters for all of February. You can see she’s not in a good mood as she writes this letter to her nephew Paul. Such a different tone from the funny, warm letters to her children. I guess she had to vent her anxiety on someone.

She thanks Paul for his birthday greetings – yet another example of how long mail took to get to Vienna – her birthday was in late November.

We learn a bit about what life was like in Vienna before the war – how often Paul spent time with his aunt and cousins, how much they were involved in each other’s lives. Also, we see that despite the friendly letters exchanged by Helene and Hilda Firestone, Helene felt awkward because she was writing to a stranger. Although Hilda opened her house to Helene’s son and made Paul welcome, she was nonetheless a stranger – they would meet for the first time in 1946 after they had both lost their husbands. Despite not feeling close to Hilda, Helene complains of hearing more news from her than from her beloved nephew.

Whether for financial reasons or feeling like he had nothing to say, it appears that Paul only wrote letters when there was important information to relay. He was not a chatty writer like his aunt. Given how tenuous his finances were, I could imagine he felt inadequate about trying to assist Helene and Vitali to come to America, even while feeling responsible to make it happen.

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Vienna, 4 February 1941

Dear Paul! Thank you for your birthday wishes. I am very lucky. It had to come the way Hilda wrote to me. If that had not been the case, I could certainly wait for the as yet unpublished memoirs. It shouldn’t have happened to such a confirmed bachelor as you in a weak hour to make such a binding promise. After the agreement to send a detailed letter didn’t really make you do anything, we don’t have to go to court about it. Today I’m in such a pugnacious mood that I will go into the topics that you alluded to in your P.S. There were two of them:

Point 1) You were certainly wrong to accuse Hilda of indiscretion. First, Hilda wrote in a very nice conversational tone about the hours you have spent in the Firestones house and told me about it, which I am very grateful for because I find out very little from you. Every profession rubs off on someone and your legal studies may be at fault that you think it’s the right idea to only write down the important things.

Point 2) You forget that Hilda and I do not know each other personally. We have no common memories, our interests and characteristics are something we don’t know from personal acquaintance, only from descriptions of third persons. Our correspondence has despite the sincere tone of those who might be related still something lacking, the inclusion of personal realizations. To make amends for this we speak about trivial things. I, however, really reject this expression. Everything that has to do with people with whom I correspond interests me. I only correspond with people like that. It interests me if the person involved has perhaps gotten a permanent or a manicure. Or perhaps there is a new lipstick. If the boxing partner was knocked out KO. In short, anything of all the things which might not interest me in the least if they were about my own person. I have made a deal with the children to tell all the smallest details too so that the distance feels less. If you wanted to wait to write a letter until something more important happened, or until you have a good idea, oh my goodness then you’d have to wait an awful long time. I remember one of the letters that Goethe wrote to Frau von Stein. [one of Goethe’s muses per Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlotte_von_Stein]The great Olympian wrote about his work, but he also wrote about food and even banal and trivial things. Of course, he wrote such things only to people who were close to him. I am claiming the same right, even though I have never climbed Olympus, never made it to the summit. If Everl writes to me if and with whom she went out, if Harry writes to me that his pants have holes like Swiss cheese when he fell down, that interests me more than some of the things in current events in the world. I have put blinders on and I don’t let them be torn off of me through your attempt and perhaps the best of intentions to write only about important things. And not to speak of the fact that one can’t always do what one wants.

I hear you speaking like Hamlet: what a noble spirit was destroyed here. Just kidding. As long as you were in Zelinkagasse and I was at Stubenring or Seidlgasse, we could afford the luxury of not hearing from each other for weeks. If we wanted, or if there was some issue or something, we could then clear it up by a phone call. There were only 3-6 possibilities: office, cafe, Schottenring.... Even in the worst case, maybe at home. I mention this last, because that’s the last place I ever expected to find you. But the distance between Vienna and San Francisco means we must do things differently. Do you disagree with me? Do you remember that hardly a Sunday went by without something happening that we talked to you about? Do you remember that that changed at one point? It changed yes in the sense that every day and every hour something was happening. Of course, that seemed like a matter of course to me before to speak with you about everything. Today it’s not really possible. If it were, I would have maybe gotten out of the habit, or rather you would have gotten me out of that habit by putting yourself behind a wall of silence which would be more eloquent than a torrent of words. It says, no, it screams, “please spare me all your details” then I’d do it too. But that doesn’t work anymore. Be glad I had an awful lot more on my heart.

Kisses

Helen

January 23

My family’s library and soundtrack  

Going through my family papers, I am struck by how often my grandmother and her children refer to music and literature, and intersperse their letters with phrases and quotations in multiple languages. As we translated material, I tried to keep a log of the various composers and authors mentioned, realizing that I had the makings of a wonderful education. Goethe, Schiller, Dickens, Bach, Mozart, Mahler, Wagner, mythology, the list goes on and on. I love the idea of creating a family “soundtrack” as part of the archive.

My grandmother passed on her love of music to her children. She named my mother Eva after the heroine in her favorite opera - Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg. She raised her children to enjoy music of all kinds, particularly classical. When Eva and Harry were young, during bath time they would play “name that tune” games where Helene would sing song snippets and the children would guess the opera.

My mother loved going to the opera and symphony. Harry enjoyed listening to music, but he loved making it even more. He played piano by ear. When he wasn’t playing music, he was inevitably humming a tune to himself.

My mother told me that Helene did not name her son after the Meistersinger’s hero Walther because she did not want him to be saddled with the initials “WC” which even in German stood for Water Closet. According to Harry, he was named after a character in a book entitled Helen’s Babies. It was very popular, first published in 1876 and republished many times in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The book is full of humor and mischief-making children. Many versions can be found online. It was made into a movie in 1924, starring Edward Everett Horton as Uncle Harry. A few years ago I found a copy of the book on reserve at the SF Public Library:

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Vitali and Helene at home

As I transcribe my grandmother’s stories, I am getting to know who she was as a person. At the same time, her writing sheds light on her children’s personalities as well as my own. I hear my mother echoed in her humor and outlook on life. And sometimes I hear echoes of my own voice.

In addition to complete stories, I have fragments of writing that either I will find later on had been incorporated into full stories or were the beginnings of ideas that never were fleshed out. Yesterday I found a few versions of a story (or two?) about Helene and Vitali’s home life in Vienna, entitled variously “Water Come” and “Vitali — A domestic Study”:


Water Come/Vitali — a domestic study

Vitali has a genius for influencing people to do his will. His way of doing so is simple but effective, compelling rather than repelling. That his wishes are realized always he takes for granted, as if it would be the simplest thing in the world. He doesn’t give a damn for what people think or say about him.

Once, it was an awfully hot afternoon in August. The Viennese suffered through a heat wave. People who were forced to be on the street didn’t walk, they crept.

The children were on vacation, our household help had her day off, and we both were relaxing on a couch too lazy to move, even to talk. He interrupted our dulce far niente* by saying:

-Chérie, I am thirsty, I want a glass of water.
-I am thirsty too, but I am too lazy to get up.
-That is why I want you to bring me a glass of water.
-I think your way to the faucet is just the same as mine, why don’t you fetch it yourself?
-It is so agreeable to relax.
-I agree with you.
-I am glad you do, it does not happen very often.
(I become taciturn)
(Vitali after a while started: Water come, water come, water come, water come.
I: What means that?
V: I am playing Moses, only I have no stick with me.
I: Do you want to beat me?
V: No, Chérie, I would hit the wall only to get water. Continuing his sing song: Water come, water come, water come, water come, water come.
(I faked snoring; Vitali, lowering his voice but continuing his monologue)
Water come, water come, water come, water come.
(It drove me crazy; I got up and came back with a tray of several glasses of fresh water.)
Vitali gave me a big nice smile, saying:
Have you seen, piccola, how obedient water can be if you know how to deal with it and force your will on it?


I had the very desire to throw at least one glass of that “obedient” water into his face, but the way he was smiling victoriously was too irresistible; we both were laughing like two naughty children after they had done something funny.

*note: dulce far niente is Italian for “sweet idleness”; also a poem by Finnish poet Aaro Hellaakoski, published in 1928


On my mother's 99th birthday

If she were still alive, today my mother would have been 99 years old. I’ve been thinking a lot about her during the last few months of shelter in place due to Covid-19. For most of her working life, Eva was a public health nurse in San Francisco. Whenever she took public transportation — which she only did after she gave up driving well into her 70s — she was concerned about dirt and germs and she always would wear gloves. When I would see her after a trip on Muni or BART, she would show me how filthy the gloves had gotten on her travels.

Happily for me, my mom had a collection of lightweight leather gloves that I have been using each time I leave the house, so she continues to take care of me.

For most of her life, my mother had very little expectation of being important enough to be noticed. I only know of two times when my mother was made to feel special: her “sweet 16” birthday, although I imagine that’s not what it was called in Vienna, and “Eva Goldsmith Appreciation Day”, a surprise party I gave her when she was 70 — I wasn’t able to throw it near her actual birthday but did so 6 months later so it was a real surprise. I don’t think I ever saw her as happy as she was on that day, surrounded by family and friends.

On Eva’s 16th birthday in Vienna. She is seated on the right. Behind the girls is a pastel drawing of Helene, which Eva and Harry brought to the US and hang in my mother’s house throughout her life.

On Eva’s 16th birthday in Vienna. She is seated on the right. Behind the girls is a pastel drawing of Helene, which Eva and Harry brought to the US and hang in my mother’s house throughout her life.

Taken at the surprise party I threw for my mother. You can see the expression of complete joy and surprise at being the center of attention for one of the few times in her life.

Taken at the surprise party I threw for my mother. You can see the expression of complete joy and surprise at being the center of attention for one of the few times in her life.

Happier times

Helene, Vitali, Eva and Harry seemed to have had a lovely time in Vienna before life became difficult and dangerous. They enjoyed music, both in public and at home - Helene’s nephew Paul Zerzawy was a talented musician (which allowed him to pay the rent when he moved to San Francisco and could no longer practice law). They often played “tric-trac”, a form of backgammon. They took walks and played in the park.

Here are a few memories Helene wrote of while separated from her children - she didn’t want to worry them with what life was like in Vienna and she didn’t have much else of current interest to share with them. So sometimes she wrote recollections of happier times with her children.

From a (translated) letter dated July 29, 1940, Helene recalls:

“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 the same picture window I see Harry’s thoughts. 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.”

Young Harry & Eva in Vienna

From a (translated) letter dated March 5, 1941 (Ebi and Everl are nicknames for Eva):

“It is an unwritten law for me to hum a melody when I am in the bath. Not just any melody, but one from the era of “Mutti prüf much!”. Of course I begin with the summer night’s dream which Ebi would associate with the entrance march for the guests on the Wartburg. I as the next harmless parasite climb up to Juliet’s balcony for the nth time. Eva’s answer is ‘hey, this time you can’t trick me, mom!’ ‘Manon!’ A third time my daughter can still guess and then it’s Harry’s turn. I am exercising my brain. Eva: ‘I know what comes now.’ I sing an aria from ‘Samson and Delilah’ and Eva knows that it is ‘Tiefland.’ Probably I have sung it so badly that she couldn’t recognize it. Don’t worry about it Everl. I know lots of people here who think Johann Sebastian Bach is from somewhere in the Vienna Woods; who think Mozart is a physicist who discovered a noticeable sphere; that Hölderin is the inventor of powder made of insects; that Beethoven is the ‘spiritus rector’, a quotation from Götz; and that Götz himself is the person who invented the patent for estimating LMIA.”

Eva/Ebi in 1923

From a (translated) letter dated January 24, 1941 (Ebi and Everl are nicknames for Eva):

“My dear, dear Everl!
I always when I haven’t had any letters from you for awhile notice that among the things I have lost track of is also the sense of time. When I think about you I don’t think about you in your current form, but these pictures of times long past appear to me. We write ‘January 1941’, but my memories are in May 1923 [when Eva would have been 2 years old]. Papa Vitali and Mutti Helene meet at Krieau and the motto is ‘Ebi Wagerl allein schieben’ - Ebi wants to push the stroller. Marie and her daughter are waiting and rather annoyed because they are waiting for us to show up which we were supposed to have done by 3 o’clock. Finally, exhausted, Mr. & Mrs. Cohen show up, but little Miss Eva doesn’t seem to be there. Not even a bundt cake could convince her to come the table. The shopping cart was steered through the various aisles and we could tell from Marie’s face that this getting together of our two daughters was not a great pleasure and we had hardly drunk our coffee when the threatening clouds started to show up. We asked the waitress to pay and the wind was already playing the prelude to a storm symphony with the tablecloths. The waitress nodded at us to show that she had heard us, but other guests at other tables held her back because they like we wanted to hurry up and get home before getting all wet. ‘Come Eva, get into the stroller, it’s going to rain now, come on Eva.’ ‘No, I’ll push it home myself’ was her most definite answer to this. The thunder was already coming and the storm seemed fairly far off. I didn’t see any reason to force the issue because Eva was stepping right along, pushing her stroller. We reached the main street. I was allowed to cross this one, but we were hardly over to the other side before I heard it again: ‘Ebi wants to push the stroller home all by herself’. Thank God we had already passed the .... We were getting close to the Institute for the Blind and once again I was allowed to cross the street and I thought maybe my daughter would give up on doing the driving but then I heard it again: ‘Ebi wants to push the stroller home’. Resigned, I looked up at the sky. The sky seemed to understand my problem, but recommended that I hurry. There’s a big bolt of lightning. For several seconds we stood on the Rotunda Bridge and it was like being in a big picture with the light. The thunder which followed right after proved not only that the storm had already reached us but it caused fear in everyone except for Eva. Papa’s patience was at an end and he ran as fast as he could to the deities of the storeroom [Penaten - Greek household goddesses and also a name of a diaper rash cream]. Eva was exhausted but just as determined as ever to do what she wanted to do and she pushed the stroller in front of her. I looked up at the sky again. I implored the lord of the heavens to wait just a few minutes. But the heavens had no more patience. I saw Sofien-Saal [concert hall around the corner from their apartment]. Should I wait out the storm under this roof or should I try to confront the weather for a few more steps? Eva interrupted my meditation with the phrase that I had already heard quite enough: ‘Ebi wants to push the stroller home all by herself’. It was 9 o’clock by now and we were sopping wet. The 2-year old little imp had gotten her way. I was amazed at the determination and single-mindedness that must have informed her subconscious and depressed because I feared that I had relinquished control of this little being. But fortunately it didn’t hurt anything.

Your letter came and now I am back on earth again. I picture you when you left and in years maybe my grandchildren will say ‘little girl wants to push the stroller home’ and I will see my memories in front of me. Harry, with his horribly exotic pronunciation and Eva in her little gray travel costume, the way she handed me a 50 pfennig coin through the window of the vehicle to bring me good luck. I have made sure to keep them safe.

It is time, I have to wake up now, because Papa is ready to go to the post office.”

The route Ebi pushed the stroller (almost 1-1/2 miles). Click on image to enlarge.

 

Young Harry in Vienna with parents, Helene’s nephew Paul, and Helene’s cousin Bertha from San Francisco