March 4

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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

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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.

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).

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:

·      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.

March 3

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Although I have been working with these papers for over three years, I am only now understanding what a rich and full story they tell. My mother Eva had a handful of letters which I had seen over the years – mostly the ones Helene had sent from Istanbul in 1946. Harry had kept the majority of the papers in a variety of places and boxes in his house (and in every house he’d lived in since at least 1948!). Little of it was organized. Harry had a separate box of Paul Zerzawy’s papers, which included his letters from and to Helene and other relatives. Harry also had the envelope of Helene’s letters from Vienna from the time Harry and Eva left Vienna until late 1941 when the U.S. entered WWII and all letters stopped. The story of discovering these letters is told in more detail earlier in the blog.

I was still discovering new items amongst Harry’s things when Kelsey began archiving everything. We realized that putting documents in order by date would delay the process. Since she was creating a digital archive, it would be easy to search by date later on.

When I began working with Roslyn to translate the letters, we didn’t begin in date order either. We began with the letters that were most legible, which was the letters that were typed. As we got into a groove, Roslyn translated the Vienna letters stuffed in the envelope first. I still hadn’t understood how key to the story Paul Zerzawy was, so I wasn’t in a hurry to translate his letters. What I discovered when Roslyn began translating Helene’s letters to Paul was that often those letters referred to things she’d mentioned in her letters to Harry and Eva, but sometimes more directly and with more information about how desperate things were in Vienna. It was also obvious by the censorship numbers or the contents of the letters themselves that some of the letters to Paul were sent in the same envelope as ones to Harry and Eva.

One document in the box of Paul’s things was this small page with the language he used to send the long-awaited, much requested telegrams to Helene and Vitali which Helene refers to in the two letters written on March 3, 1941. The first telegram — which appears to have been sent on February 28 and received on March 1 — contains good news. Unfortunately, in the telegram he sent two weeks later on March 14, Paul does not offer Vitali hope that he will be able to continue his work in metaphysics in the U.S.

Telegram II   2/28/41
Negotiations about the affidavit and the ship tickets have been set in motion.  We hope for success.  These things take time.
Eva, Harry, Hilda, Paul

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Telegram III 3/14
NLT Haim Seneor Cohen Seidlgasse 14, Vienna to Germany
Prospects for the affidavit have improved.  We are expecting a further report in about a week.  Vitali cannot work in his profession here.
Paul

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The following letter was written to Hilda Firestone in English. I have edited it a bit for clarity. Harry lived with Hilda and Nathan Firestone until he finished high school in spring 1941. Here we discover the answer to the mystery of on February 21: Who is Mouffle?

Vienna, March 3. 1941

Dear Hilda! Just now I received your letter from the 20th of January. It was your description of the Christmas and New Years party on the Firestone-Hill. The number of your guests was wrong. Two you have forgotten to count: Vitali and Helene, who were in your company, not invited indeed and only in our imagination.  

The German language is not so difficult – as you will find after reading my silly letters – only written with the intention of giving you advice to spend your time on the study of another thing. Foolish sentences there are in every language. In the first lesson - given by a young teacher - we learn to say: “I love you” in any language. The intellect never denies anybody. After this knowledge - comprehended easily by everybody - the teacher is trying to show himself in his splendor and gives you an example of his volubility. The pupil is enthusiastic and thinking in this very moment: “Never shall I comprehend this difficult study.” I am anxious – Paul is right to forbid you the correspondence with a fool like me – but sometimes, if it is absolutely necessary, I can write seriously too. The next time I will begin with: Today let us be silly, it is easier.  

Last week I read a book which caused some furor fifteen years ago, by Anita Loos. “Gentlemen Prefer Blonds.” I know it is not a book for people who want to learn the elegance of a foreign language, but I found it very amusing and I have learned a lot of slang which seems to be very necessary to understand Harry. I am sure the Oxford-pronunciation is gone and my son speaks the “erdbergerisch” of San Francisco for what knowledge he will be envied by the inhabitants of all suburbs. He likes speaking on the periphery. Maybe in your society he has no occasion, but his excursions with Mouffle are for study I am sure. Mouffle is discreet and tells nothing about this object. Surely Harry allowed him to do things that are not allowed him if he walks with a lady.

Eva must be very engrossed in her work. I am glad that she has chosen this profession herself. She doesn’t find it so hard. When she was a child of 6 years, she wanted to be a physician. I hope she will reach her purpose.

Hilda, my Dear, I thank you for signing the cable too. I was so happy when I read all your names. I hope to see you very soon as equivalent for all the gloomy hours we had.

Vitali sends his best greetings to you and Nathan, and so do I. Giving you a long kiss, I remain your fondly

Helene

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From the same day, a letter to Helene’s children Eva and Harry and her nephew Paul Zerzawy: 

Vienna, 3 March 1941

My dear children and Paul!

Saturday on the 1st at about 1 in the afternoon I got your telegram. Papa wanted to send you back a telegram to confirm receipt, but that apparently is not possible right now. You can imagine how happy we were that we sent things off in good time. Our battery is recharged and with at least ten HP it will go on for awhile.

Papa says that since receiving your dispatch I am behaving in a more civilized way, at least at night and I am using it to sleep as it should be. I actually had a strange feeling when I laid down. It was the condition of not being awake but not having fallen asleep either. I lay quietly and pleasantly in bed, like an object cautiously packaged in cotton. Now, your spirit is leaving its shabby dwelling. I would like to know where it’s going, I thought. Oh, that’s nonsense. If he had left your body, you would not be able to think. I began to count and I was taking care to concentrate on my thoughts as I do before I fall asleep but it just wasn't working. That made me so mad that although I was tired and sleepy when I laid down, I did not fall asleep for a long time. I wanted to think about you but my thoughts took a different direction all the time. It was clear to me that I had left. I identified myself with the spirit which had left my body, but where are all these thoughts coming from which seem so strange to me? Is my body an asylum for homeless ghosts? It sort of disgusts me that my body seemed to me like a wormy apple. No matter what I did to send my thoughts into a specific direction, it was no use, and I began to count again in order to fall asleep. I couldn’t count anymore and I kept having to start over again. I longingly waited for my mind to return. I want to call it my sense of reason and ask it to please not leave me behind, because with the other spirits torturing me, I do not want to have to waste my time on them. Towards the morning I did in fact fall asleep, and when I woke up I had a pleasant feeling like after you take a bath. I must have groomed myself inside, or when my sense of reason came back, did it perhaps notice what a mess I was and clean up? I apparently am just a kind of packing material or box for my own ego [Ich]. My lower case self [ich] has become rather frumpy and I must prepare you for that so that you won’t be horrified when you receive us. The packing material that your father has around him seems to be in better shape or perhaps seems to have been preserved better or it was of better quality. You will recognize him easily.

Today I received a letter from Hilda from the 20th of January. If I can I will answer it so that it will go out with tomorrow’s mail. Yesterday I was reading through letters from you and I must say that the patient who asked her if she had any Spanish blood in her veins was not really so far off. Do not forget that a part of your ancestors until the time of the congenial Isabella lived in Spain. What an enchantress she must have been as Hans Heinz Ewers described in one of his cultural descriptions and explained why such an indefinable color, when you don’t know whether it’s pink or maybe sort of dirty gray is called “Isabella color”. It is worth your while to read this check. Everl’s hospital stories are in comparison to it, the tales of a young girl. Do you remember Everl how one of Papa’s clients, the one I recall either he is a rabbi and his name was Malheurowitsch, or was a Maler [painter] and named Rabinowitsch, said the same thing and wanted to paint you in a Spanish outfit? 

Harry’s last verses were sort of limping along. I know it was the corns on your feet [or referring to chicken eyes of last letter?]. He said he should not be mad about my disparaging criticism of him because a fair critic is what genius really needs. Think about how often Beethoven edited one of his works or Goethe among his understanding and well-meaning friends would read parts of his works aloud and afterwards he would work on them as if he were filing off mistakes.

Gablonz produced heads of great German men for a charity fundraiser. Papa, following my wishes, bought almost all of them. Some of them are not available anymore and he wants to see when he goes out and mails letters how and in what way I can send these to you.

Kisses for you and all of yours from your Helen full of hope.

            Helen

[Handwritten] It’s too bad that I don’t have any well-meaning friends around. They would certainly suggest that I write this letter in a different way because I am out of control. No matter for that for I am happy.

I searched for the name “Gablonz”, thinking I’d find an artist. Instead, I found a company that made bohemian beaded Christmas decorations. Gablonz (Jablonec in Czech) was known for its glass and jewelry production. In a letter written the following day, Vitali has discovered that you need permission of an army officer and that postage would be prohibitive, so the items were never sent.

March 2

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Istanbul, 2 March 46

Everli, my golden Everli!

Isn’t it strange that I got the first letter from you on the anniversary of my “liberation?” Here it is winter. We have the wonderful show that nature puts on to watch. Within 24 hours all four seasons with their advantages and disadvantages - that’s what we experience here. It’s a spring day. Almond trees and other trees and bushes whose names are not known to me are blooming. Around mid-day the sun was beating down with such intensity like in the middle of summer. Suddenly, some dark clouds came up. At first this looked like it would bring a cooling summer rain, but gradually there were mixed in with the raindrops little pieces of hail and then snowflakes. So strange - they were so big that you would think it was Hollywood (one or two “l”s?) just finishing up a guest performance in Istanbul. The night was icy cold and I was freezing in my little room which cannot be heated. I was under two heavy blankets and I was pitiful in that situation. I did what I always criticized Vitali for when he did it - I put my coat and all of my clothes over my feet. When I woke up in the morning and wanted to change my embryonic state, I saw the most splendid winter landscape that I had ever seen in my life. Palm trees, magnolias, almond trees, and laurel trees were covered with snow. A blue sky and the sun was going up like a red balloon. The snow disappeared incredibly fast from the trees and bushes. The sun looked golden and I opened the window which I had so fearfully closed. It was singing in me: Winter storms make way for the moon of delight [does some wordplay with “Unwalkürlich” play on Unwillkürlich/Walküre - involuntarily]. The large amounts of snow metamorphosed into ponds. The paths were impassable. I think the god of weather wanted to make an impression on me and pulled out all the stops. The Lodos [strong south-westerly wind, like the Mistral in southern France and the Santa Anas in southern California] paraded with the trees, having them do knee bends until the ponds disappeared and the dirt on the streets looked like mountains of mud. It led me to believe that there would be a new summer afternoon. It’s cold again, it’s raining. The oven in the day room is eating up forests of wood. Around the oven, people are sitting and letting themselves be baked. I am not cold, I’m warm and I have the sun in my heart since yesterday. But your long letter did not completely satisfy me. I am dying to know about my son, your husband. I want to know more about him than just his name. I don’t share your fear that a description could be too conceited. You could have tried to say something negative about him. This is the first and I swear the last mother-in-law advice that I have given you. There is nothing else I can do besides follow your advice and form my own judgement about this.

The day before yesterday I found out about your money transmission (100 lire) which I’m very grateful for. As much as cousin Yomtov has taken on my case and has declared himself ready to pay for the costs of my boat crossing, the Joint committee would not take payment in lire and insisted that payment had to be made in dollars. Here too he could have found a way, but the Joint insisted on the dollar transmission, although thousands and thousands of people have managed to be sent to their country of destination without even paying a penny. I will get to the bottom of this thing as soon as I am over there with you. I have to go now. In a half hour we can’t have any more lights burning. Be well my little bunny. Good night. Soon I will feel your good night kiss, not just in my dreams.

Your Mutti

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[In English]

My dear Ludwig,

Many thanks for your kind lines and the courage you have given to me. The very thought to be able to live with and for you makes me happy and I hope never to be a stumbling-stone in your happiness. You quoted a sentence by Voltaire I had not known and I found it very true. I remember another from him about Rousseau: “Poor Rousseau should have a blood transfusion, for his own blood is a mixture of arsenic and vitriol. He is the most unhappy human being because he is the most evil.” Does this quotation not much more fit to Hitler? By and by I feel reconciled with my fate. What it took away from me, it gave to my children. Eva her husband, Harry his independence. I thank you for your effort to look out for a bigger place and I assure you I will endeavor to keep your home well as long as you want it. Although I am only a shadow of my own self I wish to be helpful if not even to you but to your children. I am the fairy tale grandmother devoured by the greedy world. Do you know another grandmother who can tell her grandchild this adventure with more authority? Just now I am not afraid by the big bad wolf and you must not fear I will amuse your little son or daughter with the description of the bad digestion of the poor voracious animal.

My dear Ludwig, you have taken from us one of the two most valuable things we possess and still I am not cross with you. It is funny, is it not? Please ask your wife to translate my first little letter into a correct English. I hope to hear from you very soon, but I should prefer to see you personally much sooner.

Love,
Helen

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Again we have a letter rich with imagery, detail, and enough information to help us understand Helene’s life in Istanbul. She mentions her “liberation” in quotation marks, because although she was no longer a prisoner in Ravensbrück, for her the past year has been a different kind of imprisonment. She gratefully writes of Vitali’s relative Yomtov who has been working to help Helene get the money and paperwork to go to San Francisco. We saw some of Yomtov’s letters in January.

Winter in Istanbul is very different from Vienna, but Helene suffers some of the same hardship. Her residence is poorly heated and she does not have enough blankets or clothing to keep warm. The Lodos are strong south-westerly winds, much like the Mistral in southern France or the Santa Anas in southern California. Even after all she’s been through, she continues to use humor and word play, keeping as light a tone as possible. She is trying not to sound depressed and heartbroken – at her experience in Ravensbrück, at losing Vitali, at the lost years seeing her children grow up, at losing her beloved Vienna, and now at the sorrow of not having been by her daughter’s side for her wedding.

Eva apparently shared little about her husband, including a key detail that he originally was from Germany and was fluent in German. So Helene struggles to say grateful and kind words to him in English.

It is a bit disorienting for me to read her note to Ludwig, my father. She writes of telling stories to her grandchild. I am that grandchild. I don’t know if she ever told me about the fairy tale big bad wolf or the real one she personally experienced. All I remember is a woman who was sweet, loving, and kind — despite the hell she had experienced.

Helene will finally be reunited with her children in a few months. Here is a photo probably taken later that year. Although a bit blurry, it is nice to see Helene looking so happy after all she’s been through.

Helene, Harry, Eva, Ludwig

March 1

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No 18                                      Vienna, 25 February 1940

My dear children!

I’m rubbing my eyes not because I’m tired and sleepy, but because I’m trying to figure out whether I’m dreaming or awake. Yesterday Germany was a winter fairy tale, today there’s summer sun shining and I even washed dishes with the window open. Our balcony no longer looks like the Adelsberger Grotto, the beauty ended overnight. I don’t believe that spring is here to last but is sending out a harbinger. But it’s beautiful music from the future that I’m experiencing. The day would have to last 48 hours for me to describe all that I plan to do. If I get mail from you tomorrow, then I will be really happy.

When Lisette’s [Istanbul sister or niece?] letter arrived, Papa wrote to Beppo and gave instructions on our paperwork. Let’s hope the thing will get rolling now. I would love to hear the train wheels rolling along. Geographically, I wouldn’t be any closer to you, but the waiting time would be shorter.

Vienna 1 March 1940

My dear, dear Vierel [Eva]. It took 73 days exactly for your 9 September letter to arrive, which told us what you were doing as a student. Since Everl [again, Eva] also told us in her letter from Istanbul that she is doing well in school, you can imagine how happy I am. It goes without saying that I am incredibly worried about you, and when I ask Papa the typical question at breakfast: “What are your children doing now?”, the answer is: “Oh, let them sleep.” A simple question-and-answer game repeats itself at all times of day and is how we entertain ourselves. Otherwise, nothing much is new.

The summer guest performance was no Fata Morgana, showing me by the way people who cross the street are acting. They dance like Lippizanner horses, turn around a few times on their own axis, and then they sit down by their 4 letters [?]. They are like Käthe Hye, touching their fingers to the ground and then stretching upwards to the sky. They do this exercise again and then their morning exercises are over, like they are practicing for summer. It does seem that the coldest weather has gone back to its home. I’m not superstitious, but in any case I’m going to knock on wood [in German: knock on the table]. The new world order seems to have a catarrh, the muscles we swallow it’s seem ill and our throats are turning to stone and there’s acute bronchitis. That does not stop us from saying “Hey Papa Cohen, when are we leaving?” Papa Cohen: “What’s Helen doing?”

I’m writing to you and figuring out when I might hear from you again. The roofs which were having avalanches yesterday now have new snow. I’m afraid that my assumption that winter left may have been wrong. Father just got his degree as an electrician. Our corridor worker had laryngitis probably because of Jo making so much noise and Papa helped her get that back together.

Something important I almost forgot. Please tell me the telegram address for the Zentners. Papa is letting telephone number 3151 and 3152. Then I have another request. About 2 years ago in a beekeeper newspaper there was a notice that California needed beekeepers. Please let us know if this is true and if the lack of beekeepers is still of current concern.

With hearty kisses,
Mutti

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Today we are back in 1940, just a few months after her children have left Europe. Helen began the letter last month. Rather than sending such a short note, she continued the letter and filled up both sides of the half sheet, saving money on postage and paper. It is another vivid letter, rich in description and literary and cultural references. 

It is confusing that Helene refers to her daughter’s letter from Istanbul as if Eva still was in Turkey rather than in San Francisco. She must be referring to a letter Eva sent to the relatives in Istanbul which they sent on to Helene and Vitali in Vienna. Rather than writing the same information to everyone, family members seem to have shared letters and news far and wide. Much like forwarding an email today, but far less reliable or efficient!

I looked up Wintermärchen, and it has several meanings. Being more familiar now with Helene’s writing than I was three years ago when Roslyn translated this letter, I am guessing she is probably using most of them. The literal translation is “winter fairy tale.” There is a 1918 lithograph with that title by Richard Janthur, a German artist. There is a plant with this name, also known as Elephants Ears, which has colorful leaves in winter and produces bright flowers in early spring. Finally, it is the title of an 1844 satirical epic poem by Heinrich Heine.

According to Wikipedia, a Fata Morgana is a type of mirage seen in polar regions, “named after the Arthurian sorceress Morgan le Fay, from a belief that these mirages… were fairy castles in the air or false land created by her witchcraft to lure sailors to their deaths.”

Käthe Hye-Kerkdal was an Austrian enthnologist. I could find little in English except a journal article she wrote in 1955. There is a summary of her life and work in German in a book of biographies of important Austrian scientists

I assume that Helene is being tongue in cheek when saying that Vitali got a degree as an electrician – presumably she is referring to his helping their neighbor Jo when the person who did building repairs was ill.

Finally, they are trying to figure out how to make a living in the U.S. — If Vitali is not allowed to work in metaphysics, how will they support themselves? They’ve been doing what research they can manage in the days before the internet, recalling an article in an old beekeeper newspaper (!) about California recruiting beekeepers. Clearly, they were open to learning whatever trade might allow them to emigrate.

February 28

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Nr 77              My dear children!                  Vienna, 28 February 1941

I had already pulled out my machine to write to you when your letter #4 of the 29th of January arrived. Apparently at this time a Clipper Letter takes exactly one month to get to you and as long to get to us. I could only wish that the regularity of this would not be interrupted. Even when the news is a little old or even already outdated, at least getting letters on a weekly basis gives a person some peace of mind - the joy of getting several letters all at once does not really make up for it. When the regularity of contact has been disturbed, then a rain shower of letters is always the end of a long period without news.

Apparently, it is not any better with telegrams. We telegrammed you on the 18th of this month: “we request most urgently the affidavit and ship tickets so that we will arrive on time.” Despite this telegram which we sent with a return receipt, we did not receive an answer. I mentioned at the outset that I did not expect to get an immediate answer by cable. If you have never experienced the onslaught or stampede when you are standing in line to send telegrams, you can’t really imagine it. In any case, Rudolf Beck who telegraphed about getting his affidavit which has run out extended, he did receive an answer very quickly. (I think it was the next day after he sent it).

Everl told me that she got my letter of December 27. In this one I cited a refrain from a couplet. The last line is at the moment quite current in Europe in both the literal and the figurative sense. For us, thanks to our fatalistic attitude, the only thing that counts is the Homeric-humorous mood at every opportunity. The only way not to be nuts. Papa asks if you still know your numbers. Think of them when you are taking care of our affidavit matter. Your feather [pen] appears to be doubled over with a back ache.

Papa wants to give you advice which he has after considerable consideration and just like the old pious Mr. Schlumberger who told his sons the greatest secret of his life while he was on his deathbed. Actually, it was the secret of his company. He did not reveal that until as I said he was on his deathbed and made them promise to keep the secret just as he had and not to tell the grandchildren until they were in the same situation, feeling themselves to be at the end of their days. The so carefully and fearfully kept family firm’s secret was: “Sometimes my dear sons, in particularly unfavorable years, you also can make wine from grapes.” Your father is not old Schlumberger but he is still a young healthy man. But you are far away and who’s he saving the secrets of his firm for? So Everl, take your feather, cut the nib with manicure scissors so that the broken point will still work and sharpen it with your nail file, very gently and carefully. The iridium tip of the pen is gone, but the feather will still work. It is best that you do this operation right after one of your anatomy lessons, maybe Papa’s secret will help you be first in your class if you use this method when you are taking out an appendix or perhaps removing a carcinoma.

I would not like to see Harry’s chicken eyes treated in this manner however. According to his verses, the young man must have suffered quite a bit. However, his music critic treatise about a composition of a certain Roy Harris is of an exemplary vividness. It is nice that in the actual sense I cannot really imagine the symphony when there are factory sirens, auto horns, and war reminiscences as his inspiration. However, maybe a resourceful or clever manager will announce when the concert will be repeated. It is particularly to be recommended for those hard of hearing. I determined rather sadly in this matter that the mentioned letter about the music critic which was sent from Istanbul did not reach us.

I have kept all the letters and I will use the day after tomorrow, Sunday, to read through those letters, because we have reached the topic of reading. Quite awhile ago I read a novella, or more correctly a modern fairy tale, a utopia. Once upon a time there was a city, and in that city lived only happy, satisfied, good people. They could be that way because in this city they knew no need and no sorrow. They all had a job which they enjoyed and the only care that they experienced was that they wanted to make sure they could cause pleasure for their fellow citizens until one day the residents of this happy city were overtaken by a terrible end. A terrible illness broke out among them. First it was sporadic but then it became an epidemic. The otherwise so kind and loving population changed in its nature. At first, they had been particularly interested in doing right by everyone else. Now they seemed to want to make things more difficult for others after this happened. The doctors didn’t know what to do about this illness and it was immediately obvious to them that there was indeed an illness. They had no advice and they gave this illness the academic name mania contradicens. They observed the patients who seemed to be suffering from contradiction, and the only thing that they found out was that they realized that the person who was ill wanted exactly the opposite of what he intended to do and could not, no matter how hard they tried and wanted to, figure out which bacteria was involved. They couldn’t even think of a therapy.  

I read this instructive story and came 20 years later to the idea that Papa has caught such a disease. These bacilla have infected him and he always says “no” when he means “yes”. You did live in the east for a while. Did you not notice that the Turks shake their head when they mean yes and the same movement means yes when we do it? “No” is expressed by a slow movement of the hand and a movement made with the head which we would translate as “yes”. Since I have become more enlightened by this reading, I take Papa’s “yes” to mean “no” and vice versa. Especially consequent I am about this when he starts his now very common lecture with “You know, we really eat much too much.” Then I nod approvingly, well, you already know that.

That (have you ever seen such a cramp of a machine?) That you have heard news of Robert I am very happy to hear. Please give him my warmest greetings. He will be in Frisco soon and the 3-leaf clover will become I hope a 4-leaf one. Hilda will soon be able to open a curio collection. So many things to see in one city - there must be a very high entrance price. When Vitali and Helen come rushing in, of course the price will double and will help some relief organization. Oh listen, Papa’s singing! I doubt if his singing is because of your letter of tomorrow morning; I’m not sure if it's that or if it has to do with the oatmeal cakes that he ate a considerable number of this morning while he was giving me that lecture which I mentioned. Is that perhaps the cause of his guffawing? My question about this was answered rather dismissively with “Oh you just don’t understand art!” I think of the malicious mania-contradicens-bacillus and say well, he wants to sing but I have to finish up with this because Papa is hurrying off. I kiss you and I expect an answer soon. I kiss you, all of our dear ones, and any old person who might send me an affidavit in recompense for the kiss. Is America the land of unlimited possibilities, or not?

10000000000 kisses and, all with honor and even more I’ll give you
if you send me an affidavit from somewhere. [a rhyme]

Helen

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I was astounded by the richness of today’s letter. Every sentence is a gem and seemingly unrelated ideas come elegantly together. Packed into two dense pages we have: observations on the unreliability of the postal service; repeated and even humorous pleas for the necessary affidavit from the U.S.; comments on letters received from Eva and Harry; two different stories that shine a light onto Vitali’s personality and his relationship with Helene; musing on when they will all be together in San Francisco; and through all of this, she gives us a sense of the world they inhabit, where life is difficult, nothing makes sense, and all they can do is try to maintain their sense of humor while jumping through never-ending bureaucratic hoops. She even takes a moment to complain about the quirks of her typewriter when it forces her to remove the sheet of paper and put it back in because the carriage didn’t return properly.

Roy Harris’s Symphony #3 was written in 1939, so I assume that is the concert Harry described in less-than-glowing terms to his mother. You can listen and decide for yourself. 

In the middle of the letter, Helene shares Vitali’s wisdom with his daughter Eva on how to repair a fountain pen, implying that this skill will be transferable to the skills she is learning in nursing school. Repairing pens is in fact something that Vitali and Helene knew how to do. The stationery shop they ran (at the back of which Vitali engaged in his metaphysical pursuits) offered pen repair. You can see in the photo below that on the awning of the shop in Vienna is a picture of a fountain pen with the words “repairs immediately”. The shop window is filled with evidence of Vitali’s work: a Turkish flag, mandrake root, newspaper articles, a set of hand prints. Other than the awning, the stationery aspect of the store seems to have become an afterthought. My grandmother is smiling in the doorway. My guess is that the boy with his back to the camera is Harry. The photo would have been taken sometime in the early 1930s.

February 23

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First page of letter from Hilda Firestone

San Francisco, Calif.
Feb.23, ‘46

Helene dearest,

I’ve always considered a typewriter a most impersonal machine, wholly inadequate for an expression of any emotion deeper than a plea for payment of a laundry bill. But in this case it’s my deep affection for you that prompts me to use it, as I feel that it’s hard enough for you to struggle with the English language without having to decipher my hieroglyphics, which, which my best friends tell me would strike terror to the heart of the most eminent archaeologist alive. Of course I regret not being able to write in your own language, But Paul long ago stopped my lessons in despair, and I consoled myself with the thought that I can at least understand a tiny bit of German, till one night not so long ago I convulsed a room full of people by thinking that “ich grolle nicht” meant I don’t growl [actual meaning: I bear no grudge]. So much for my linguistic ability.

But neither in German nor in English could I begin to make you understand what it means to me to be able to talk to you in this way. It seemed so hopeless for so long a time. You know, Helene dear, that you go back to some of my earliest childhood memories, and so in some very sweet and undefinable way you belong to me, along with other lovely scenes of so terribly long ago. With grandfather, for instance, and with a picture that used to hang on his bedroom wall, and which later on turned out to be Paul and Robert. You will see it when you come - you probably remember it, a group of adorable, wistful, blond children with a fat comfortable-looking grandmother and a somewhat stern father sitting in their midst. The grandmother looks as if her sole purpose on earth is to stuff them with lebkuchen, but the father, I suspect, was unduly interested in their report cards. (I’m afraid my typing is as confusing as my own hand). You are identified particularly with a most beautiful book of German folk songs, which you sent me, and from which I derived my idea — now long shattered, I’m afraid — of God as a very benign person. The book contained a picture of him, sitting on a cloud surrounded by baby angels. The song it illustrated was “Weiss du wie viel Sternlein stehen” which was always my favorite. There was another book, too, but that, I believe, was from your mother, so I mustn’t hold you responsible for all the sleepless nights it caused me. That was about a little girl and a little boy who seem to have been everything they shouldn’t have been, and the punishments inflicted upon them were almost worthy of Hitler. There was a picture, I remember, of the girl with her dress in flames, the fire mounting to her hair, and another one showing her being put through a wringer, and being ironed out with a hot iron, and her brother or playmate — whoever he was — had hay growing out of his nose and ears, and rats and mice romping around in it. I’ll show you that, too, when you come. We can have a good laugh over it. Shall it be with afternoon tea, or do you think you could be sufficiently American for a cocktail, or better still, a whisky and soda? That seems to be Robert’s favorite drink as well as mine. I like the relaxation it brings to taut nerves at the end of the day. Robert is another bond in common, Helene. I began to write to him six years ago, merely to tell him all about Paul and now I find that I’m doing it only for my own radiant joy in the friendship. For I find in Robert a capacity for affection and tenderness that I yearn for. It is strange, is it not, that the most profound spiritual happiness I have now is from a man I’ve never seen? The children seem to have forgotten to tell you that I’m now alone. Nathan died in September, ‘43. I had known for years that he had a heart condition, but I kept lulling myself to sleep with that oft-repeated nonsense about people with heart trouble outliving everyone else. At the end he was gone in less than an hour. When I say I’d lulled myself to sleep I’m not being entirely accurate. For six years I’d been worried every moment of the day. When he was working at nights, from the moment I expected him home until he was in the house I’d stand at the bedroom window watching headlights coming over the hill. When he was resting during the day, I’d tiptoe into the room to listen to his breathing. At symphony concerts if he came on the stage a minute later than I expected him to, I was ready to go backstage and see if he was well. He was my husband and child all in one. But ironically, the last day, I paid little attention to him. It was fearfully hot, and everyone was more or less miserable. When he complained of not feeling well, I made very light of it, and merely suggested that he see the doctor for a check-up, as he had a quartet concert a few days ahead. I went to the doctor with him, and at three o’clock the doctor pronounced him perfect. Fifteen minutes later I had a little errand and left him in the car. I was gone less than five minutes, and when I returned he was unconscious. That was all. The thing that couldn’t possibly happen to me had happened, and I felt as if nothing would ever again be important. But gradually all the old zest for sheer living is returning, the old desires, the old curiosity, the old sense of joy in just a spring day. So here I am. You are the one person ono earth to whom I should never speak of anything but happy things, but I have a strange feeling that when you are in San Francisco you will be the one woman to whom I will be able to speak unrestrainedly. I’ve never been very close to women. Nathan used to say that one has only a certain amount of love to give and that my entire supply went to the few men who were important to me. My friends all know me. Only a few days ago one of them called me up and coaxed me to come out to lunch, and when I tried to beg off (because I hate to eat lunch) she said maliciously, “Really, I should think you’d come out once in awhile when my husband is not at home.” It’s not that I don’t like my women friends, just that I don’t trust them, with a few notable exceptions, and it’s perfectly true that I prefer them at night when their husbands are with them.

Paul has been a perfect comrade all this time and I shall always be grateful for his loyalty. Perhaps Robert has told you he hasn’t been too well. He, too, it seems, has a heart. I don’t believe it is an alarming case. it just requires care and rest, and above all freedom from excitement. The last is hard on Paul as you know he works himself into a lather over a piece of burnt toast. Yesterday we passed a store in which he saw a pocket adding machine that simply captivated him. I must admit I can’t get excited over such a thing, and when he asked me to share his enthusiasm I merely said that I personally prefer those pretty little colored balls on wires that the Chinese use to add up their bills. And you should see with what speed they do it in the Chinatown markets. Well, you should have heard the storm. He said he doesn’t see why I don’t burn candles, and look for a horse and carriage instead of a taxi, and why don’t I write my letters on rocks (they couldn’t be more illegible anyhow). Und so weiter. [And so on.] But on the whole we have fun together, and way down beneath the surface there’s a deep bond of feeling between us. When you and Robert are here I hope to see an enormous improvement in his health. You will be of his own world, an integral part of his immediate background. You will share his memories and traditions. It will make many things easier for him. As for Robert, I hope he will be happy in America. And I hope he will like me.

Harry is here at the house as you know. It’s a great joy to have him, as he’s gay, and young, and there’s always something to laugh about. He’s had and lost his first girlfriend and is none the worst for the experience — just a bit surprised that he’s alive. When I told him he wouldn’t die of the thing he didn’t believe me. Eva is extremely happy. Her husband is a nice, quiet, gentlemanly person. He’s not exactly scintillating. I’ve never heard him say anything except “please pass the salt” but I presume that in the privacy of their own apartment his conversational ability is somewhat heightened. The main thing is that Eva loves him and I think he must be good to her.

It’s quarter of one in the morning and I must get up early as Paul and I are leaving early in the morning for a few days in the country with good friends of ours, Adolph Baller and his wife. Do you happen to know them, too? They happen to be from Vienna. Adolph is Yehudi Menuhin’s accompanist. During the summer months they are at Yehudi’s place at Los Gatos, and tomorrow Adolph is giving a solo concert down there. I wish you were going with us. We shall think of you and speak of you, and keep hoping it won’t be long now before we’ll all be together, you and Robert, and Paul and I. Life could be very beautiful.

I assume that the original of this letter was sent to Helene while she was in Istanbul waiting for the money and papers to be able to come to San Francisco. When I found it somewhere in Harry’s closet, I felt like I’d been given a gift. It is beautifully written and tells us about the family over almost 50 years. We learn about Hilda’s childhood in the early 1900s in San Francisco and her feeling of connection to her cousin in Vienna – Helene was Hilda’s mother’s first cousin. It’s interesting to see how close Hilda felt to family members who she had never met. It appears that Helene and her mother kept in close contact with their relatives in America, sending gifts to their children in addition to maintaining a rich correspondence. It is wonderful that Hilda could connect one of her favorite children’s books with Helene. Apparently Hilda’s favorite song is still sung.

Hilda recalls a photo of Paul and Robert’s family hanging on the wall when she was a child. I don’t know if I have the photo she refers to, but this photo from Paul’s album shows the Zerzawy children, with their father Julius and their grandmother Rosa on the right. In addition, we see Helene the second on the left and to her right Mathilda, Helene’s sister and Julius’s second wife. I’m guessing Hilda recalls a different photo, because this one doesn’t make me think their grandmother was eager to bake cookies!

Zerzawy famly, taken probably between 1907-1910

We get a real feeling for Paul’s personality and that he has a bad heart. I was happy to see that he had such a good friend in Hilda and hope that this gave him comfort while he was separated from his brother and aunt. Apparently as in 1941, they are still waiting for Robert to emigrate to San Francisco. It is lovely that Hilda and Robert also became friends during the war and were able to share thoughts and emotions. We learn about Eva’s husband – for the first time, I got a window into my parents’ early life together.

We learn about Hilda’s emotional and everyday life. Her description of her grief at being widow is beautiful and real, expressing exactly what it is like to mourn the loss of a loved one over time. Her husband Nathan Firestone had been a member of the SF Symphony since its inception in 1911 and was principal viola at the time of his death in 1943. Although the page on their website about Nathan says he left the orchestra in 1941, if you scroll down to the name Firestone on the List of SF Symphony musicians, you’ll see he played until 1943.

Hilda is conscious of doing the one thing she has been told not to do – discussing unhappy subjects with Helene. Long after my grandmother’s death, my mother regretted not having encouraged her mother to talk about her experiences. In the 1940s, talking about the past was not considered the best way to deal with trauma. My grandmother was very conscious that no one wanted to hear about her experiences, although she was eager and willing to do so. Given Hilda’s and Eva’s comments, I don’t know whether people didn’t want to hear or whether they were trying to protect her from unnecessary pain. Perhaps a bit of both.

Hilda’s letter brings me to tears for all that might have been - her last sentence is touching and bittersweet: Life could be very beautiful.

February 22

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Vienna, 22 February 1940

My dear, dear children!

In letter #17 I made the boring daily life responsible for missing the Clipper airplane. Then I missed it because the events were going on and on. You must believe me that I just didn’t get around to it.

On the 18th, I was going to continue my epistle from the day before and decided to create a cozy atmosphere first. I had to use an armchair, an old sofa cushion, a couple of coat racks, and a few shoe stretchers for both men and women. It didn’t exactly get warm – the coal deliverer had left us hanging. But Papa decided that I would be a pyromaniac. While I was trying to have a little talk with our oven, trying to explain that a reasonable oven would realize there was no coal there, but it could eat something else. Our oven did not listen to reason. It made noise. The house manager said that the pipes had burst because of the Siberian cold, so we had no water in the kitchen. That wasn’t so bad, we at least could use the phone and bathroom. Jo came over the next day as usual. Since I was just getting dressed, she told me with Schadenfreude that “the pipes are broken, you may not use the toilet or bathroom.” She said that and just disappeared. Papa played “John Gabriel Borkman” and ran as that guy did with his hands on his back and I tried to let out my feelings. Then I felt a little better. What about the empty rooms? Maybe I could make them into a telephone booth. Well, no sooner said than done, Papa gave up his Ibsen role and we decided not to worry about it anymore and then everything was okay. I heard some steps in the hallway. It was the neighbor mopping the stairway. “When do you think the pipes will be taken care of?” He replied: “Well, I haven’t heard anything about that.” “But you told my friend” “No” - I just had her tell you that you shouldn’t throw anything in the pipes because it would fly into the faces of the workers who are working on the break.” Jo is only alive because she hasn’t shown her face for a couple of days.  

Hurray! Papa has brought me letters from Eva Maria Lowell from January 18, which Lizette gave us on the 16th of this month and in the accompanying letter she again informs us that our thing is “coming along.” I believe our matter is just sitting there. Papa went to the Consulate today so they wouldn’t forget who he is. Again, they told him that we can only get the passports from here if we leave the continent. Maybe the longing of our relatives is so great that they will take care of it for us. So we just sit around and wait. Eva probably has received notice of the 1st clipper letter so it seems like since that should have happened by now, we should be able to get a report soon. You can probably tell how anxious I am to get this. … And Harry-Bubi? Why is he being so silent? Has Pegasus lost a hoof? Famous …figures were made into badges as part of a winter charity collection. They are quite charming and you will enjoy them when I get a chance to send them to you. There will also be a collection of Viennese porcelain figures which represent Viennese types. My box of tricks has quite a few different things which will remind you a great deal of Vienna.

Many, many kisses,
Mutti

This letter was written a year earlier than those we have seen the past few days. Helene’s children have been in San Francisco for about four months and she and Vitali are hoping to follow shortly. We learn from this that their attempts to emigrate went on for well over a year, with Vitali haunting the Turkish and American consulates hoping for assistance. Helene calls her daughter Eva by her full name, because to Helene her name is foreign and unknown – as if her daughter has become a new person in America. Eva and Harry were advised by their relatives in San Francisco to change their last name to something “less Jewish.” They chose the name “Lowell,” probably because it was similar to Helene’s maiden name Löwy.

Jo was a neighbor and I believe Lizette may have been Vitali’s sister or niece in Istanbul. 

John Gabriel Borkman was written by Ibsen in 1896. The Irish Theatre Institute summarizes the play as follows: “disgraced and destitute after a financial scandal and jail, the former director of the bank paces out each day, alone in an upstairs room, planning his comeback. Downstairs his wife Gunhild lives a parallel life, plotting for their son to restore the family’s reputation. The claustrophobia of their lives is shattered once and for all…” The play’s description certainly paints a vivid picture of how Helene and Vitali felt on these cold, uncertain days.

I continue to be amazed at how Helene’s letters from long ago resonate with the times we live in. In the past week, much of the world has been covered in snow, large parts of Texas have been without power and/or water. Much like Helene’s Vienna of February 1940, where they are trying unsuccessfully to burn furniture for heat because no coal was available. An article from the January 26, 2018 issue of the Guardian said that “January 1940 was the coldest month on record for almost 50 years.”

I understand some of Helene’s disorientation at her children's new American last name. It used to be that the main identifying question to make sure you were the person who owned your bank or other account was your mother’s maiden name. For most people, that question is straightforward and they can answer immediately. For me, it was always a head scratcher. My mother had two different maiden names and I would always pause and hope to guess correctly. It made me feel suspect as I tried to answer such a simple question. I wonder how much of that sense of hiding and being suspicious attached to my mother’s everyday existence as she masqueraded under this new last name before she was married.

February 21

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Slightly edited, for clarity:

Vienna, 21, February 1941!

Dearest Hilda! Everybody, I suppose, has a mission to fulfill in this world. Yours seems to be guardian angel to the Lowell-Zerzawy “children”. The last one, Robert, I recommend to you especially. He is such a nice fellow, I love him very much and fate was not always nice to him. I promise you to repay all you have given to my children and to the Zerzawy-boys. Mouffle will have a more comfortable life (if such is possible generally) when once I shall be in San Francisco. My own mission is unknown to me, but I am sure I am good for something and I always think, it should be time to know for what reason the creator saved my life. Don’t be angry, if you cannot understand the sense of this letter. You seek for it in vain. It has been a long time since you wrote to me. Fear of master Paul? Don’t be afraid of his censorship! Tell him, when he scolds you, nonsense is the favorite food of mine and he cannot be so heartless to forbid it. Just now a wave of sorrow came over me, therefore the musical lesson falls away for this time. The next letter I hope will contain one as a sign that my mind is healthy again. I finish these lines with heartiest greetings for you and Nathan. He may forgive me that I made a dovecot of his home – our doves are vivacious, most vivacious sometimes, I know.

I hope to receive a long letter from you soon, and in this expectation I remain yours sincerely

Helen

These are apparently the “few words” she wanted to say to Hilda that she mentioned in yesterday’s letter. The censorship numbers on both letters are the same.

How different in tone this letter is – she expresses her gratitude to Hilda, not mentioning the anxiety she is going through trying to arrange for passage to the U.S. Although Hilda and Helene have never met, they share a kinship as Hilda takes in Helene’s beloved children and nephews. She mentions that Robert has not had an easy life. His mother died when he was 3, his aunt/step-mother when he was 11. One of his brothers died in WWI. At the time of this letter, he was alone in London, trying to make his way and apparently trying to join the family in San Francisco. As I have gotten to know the “Zerzawy boys” through their letters, my heart goes out to them. Life indeed was not easy for them.

Helene again discusses Fate, pondering her purpose in life. As I am trying to show with this blog, I believe her purpose was to communicate to her family and the world about the life she led and the hardships she faced, shining a light on society in the 19th and 20th centuries, and on the plight of Jews in that society. Her father taught her to hate injustice and to call it out when she saw it. She was a woman with a message – it just took a few decades and generations to share her voice with the world.

Aside: I do not know who or what “Mouffle” was – Hilda and Nathan loved dogs. Perhaps we see Mouffle in the photo below?

February 20

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

Nr 75                          Vienna, 21 February 1941

My dear children! I am sorry to have caused you dark hours by my telegram and you may believe me that I did hesitate about this quite a long time, maybe too long. For the moment I only need to know that my telegram did arrive and it would not surprise me in these agitated times if it had not arrived. Papa wanted to send the following cable to Oncle Isaac, but it was not sent because transmission for private use is closed off right now: Urgentez accellerez intervenez reglement Beyanname reussissez avisez [in French and Turkish: “urgently speed up your interventions Affidavit advise of success”]. Since we do not know Yomtov’s address, please telegraph this information to him so that if we do get an affidavit we will have everything in order. So that would be all I have say on this subject.

Yesterday a letter came from Bertha Schiller from the 21st of January. I was almost happy to see that the answer to one of my letters must have been lost - I have this fixed idea that Bertha must have something against me but this letter fills me with satisfaction that she did in fact answer me. The tone of her letters is really not the same tone that she used to take with me. The clever deception that age makes people more weary and indifferent really can’t apply to her because Bertha really is not that old. Certainly not old enough to be so resigned. George’s illness must have taken a lot out of her, but I understand from all reports from everyone else that he seems to be doing pretty well. I know only too well where the wind blows, but I ask you not to worry about it. I will have a talk with this wind when we are so fortunate to be reunited with you.

Robert’s arrival is something you seem to be expecting pretty soon as I could read in Bertha’s letter. We are happy and hope that we will get some positive news about that in the next letters. 

Everl’s hospital work seems to be mentioned as very praiseworthy and this certainly makes me proud. Just keep it up. Letter #1 has not come yet and that’s unfortunate. #2 from January 14 is the only letter that we have from you.

That’s all for today. We are doing well with our health. As the days grow longer, also our hope to see you again soon grows. I am going to write to Bertha next and to the Zentners as well. I do want to say a few words to Hilda today as well. Greet Paul and all those I mention above from me and hugs from

Helen

This letter continues the story of the last few days. Helene and Vitali realize that their window of opportunity to leave Vienna may be closing quicker than they anticipated. They have been packed and ready to go for months, yet have not been able to get all the details in order. Vitali has been running from consulate to post office to telegraph office, trying to understand and obtain what they need.

Eva and Harry never told my cousins and me much about this time. I had always wondered why their parents hadn’t followed them to the U.S. and had harbored ill will toward the relatives who did not seem to help. After Roslyn translated letters from 1940-1941, I suddenly had a completely different view of that time. Relatives in California and Istanbul were (perhaps reluctantly) willing to help but Helene had been too proud to ask for any more assistance than she’d already gotten to secure her children’s safety. It was only when she realized that times had become desperate that she asked for assistance. And unfortunately by then it was too late. One question from a recent letter gets answered by inference: Onkel Isaac must have been a relative of Vitali’s in Turkey - the unsent telegram uses the Turkish word for “affidavit”. Yomtov is another relative in Turkey - we’ve seen letters from him in January when he was trying to help Helene come to the U.S. after being released from Ravensbrück and sent to Istanbul at the end of the war.

We see that Paul Zerzawy’s brother Robert had been trying to emigrate to the U.S. from England. I don’t know what prevented him from doing so. All we know is that he visited California once after the war, but spent the rest of his life in London. What a different life they would have had if their efforts had been successful – Helene and Vitali being reunited with their children, as well as Helene’s nephews Paul and Robert being nearby.

February 18

No 74                                                              Vienna, 18 February 1941

My dear children and dear Paul! Papa is on his way to send a telegram to you via Hapag. We telegrammed: We urge you most urgently to deal with the affidavit and ship tickets so that we will arrive in time. For Vitali is certain that the time has now come. My last letters always contained a comment about urgency even if it wasn’t all that direct. However, I believe I sent you enough information so that I did not need to be even more emphatic. Well, it has been advised to us that we should send a telegram. We have no choice to do anything else. I would have preferred to send you my obituary than to ask with such urgency for this affidavit. And ship tickets too. But there’s no other way. I ask all three of you to make it clear to the relatives that we are sending these telegrams through our survival instinct and we wish this to be understood that this is the urge to keep oneself alive. This is survival. In these parts, when people use that term, they understand rather an egotism which is of the highest order. I have no fear of starting over again.  

When I was 15, there was nothing for me. No one helped me to get ahead. One can counter that those were other times and that I was still young. But I was looking for work and bread without having learned anything useful. As an apprentice, I could not put myself into service because that kind of work was unpaid and I didn’t have anybody who would guarantee my shelter for that long. I wouldn’t have accepted that from anyone. Every job that I thought I could do was already filled. Even when I thought I was on time – I had to walk very long distances by foot because I didn’t have any money for any kind of transport – then there were 40 or 50 girls waiting in line before me.

It would be ridiculous to draw a parallel between that and today and if I mention my struggle in those days, I’m just doing it to say that the lack of youth is maybe compensated by the practical knowledge I have acquired. Vitali is also not thinking that I could pay for all of our living expenses through my work. Rather, he really has a burning desire to be able to work again and to be allowed to work. We know that it is not possible everywhere in the USA, but in many states we think it would be. When we land there, we will be thankful for every hand which reaches out to help us but only to get on our feet. We have no fear of what comes after. Our needs have become more than modest. A roof over our head, our stomachs will be taken care of.  

At the same time, we also sent a telegram to Onkel Isaac. Maybe he can understand our situation a little bit better. Many acquaintances have turned to Onkel Fulda for an affidavit and have gotten it, but I do not want to get it from him. At the very least, I don’t want to ask him about it. You’ll understand my point of view on that. Am I right? It is so that one feels the need to help Fate along a little bit. One thinks one is pushing and one is pushed. I have to be prepared for Paul’s criticism that I didn’t insist on this earlier. But I thought it would be okay for awhile. Unfortunately, we had to rush into this – things have become more urgent. It is just a matter of getting those who will write our affidavit to convince that there’s no reason to fear that we will exploit them. Letter #1 is still outstanding; Letter #2 will be answered on Friday. With the rush to get to the telegram office one can imagine that a telegram and a repurchase [RP = COD?] agreement would take quite awhile before it gets to you. With our most sincere greetings to Zentners, Schillers, Firestones and to you, I am as always

Helen

Today’s letter is terrifying and heartbreaking. For the first time, we feel Helene’s urgency and fear. Until now, Helene has had confidence that all will work out okay and has felt that hinting at her concerns for their safety was sufficient. Today she shows regret at not having asked for help sooner from distant relatives. I have an earlier letter where she is adamant she does not want to apply to Onkel Erwin for assistance.

As we learn from today’s letter, Helene has been a strong, independent woman all of her life. She felt she had no one to rely on but herself. I am still trying to discover the details. What I do know is that by the time she was 15, she realized she was on her own. Her father was ailing and his business was foundering, her mother was taking care of the Zerzawy grandchildren, her sister in Vienna was not well. By late 1902, at the age of 16, she arrives in Vienna. On her own? With one or both of her parents? To live with her sister Irma? These are answers I still hope to discover.

Helene and Vitali are eager to come to the U.S. and to find a way to support themselves. Vitali was hoping to continue to do his work in metaphysics, but they are not sure whether he would be allowed to do so. Their independent streak was inherited by their children. As teenagers when they first arrived in the U.S., Harry and Eva stayed with relatives while finishing high school. As soon as possible, each of them immediately found ways to support themselves: Eva went to nursing school and Harry joined the army. Their parents instilled in them the need to not rely on anyone but themselves, which may have made it more difficult to get the assistance they needed from relatives to enable their parents to get out of Vienna.

As I was reading today’s letter, I was surprised to see that Helene repeated the concept of being a fatalist and pushing/being pushed, which she described in the story posted on February 15. Clearly, this is an important part of her identity. It occurred to me to look further to see whether this was a quote. In her story on being fatalistic she said she “glaubte zu schieben und bin geschoben worden” - she believed she was pushing and was being pushed. It turns out that, as with so much of what she writes, she was quoting Goethe! The original goes: “Du glaubst zu schieben und du wirst geschoben” - from Part I of Faust. Translation: You think you are pushing and you are being pushed. Free will or fate?

I do not know who Onkel Isaac was – perhaps a relative of Vitali’s in Istanbul. Onkel Erwin Fulda was in San Francisco. If I understand the 1997 family tree correctly, the Fuldas were first cousins of Adolf’s grandparents (Helene’s great-grandparents) – no wonder she didn’t want to ask for help – she probably felt they were barely related and didn’t want to be yet one more person asking for help. I have a photo of Erwin Fulda (according to the family tree he sold meat in San Francisco) with my grandmother (probably in Vienna). I am not sure when it was taken, perhaps the late 1920s or early 1930s?

February 17

Vienna, 17. February 1940

My dear children!

Every day is so much the same –now I’ve missed the deadline for Clipper Post and I have to “wait” again.

I don’t know why it’s not considered proper form to write about the weather, and it shows you have an intellectual poverty if you do something so mundane. I don’t find that there’s anything that changes more than the weather. After we had a few days of normal winter temperatures, it was -5 degrees even in the sun. Fingers while playing musical accompaniment were even able to do a few knee bends. Then the weather went downhill again. My limbs felt that new cold and became stiff again. All the clothes I wear in the kitchen, I look like something out of a fairy tale - sort of a combination of Red Riding Hood and a witch, but really more on the side of the witch. With Papa I have developed a certain signal. If I leave after we eat soup and don’t come back before the second course we might have, then he should come looking for me, although I haven’t turned into a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife but I probably have turned into an icicle. But this sensation didn’t even happen and I really can’t report anything interesting to you at all. As hard as I try, I just can’t do it.

Olga sent me a pretty long letter which didn’t have a whole lot to say which isn’t typical of Olga’s letters, but it is typical of our friends living in other countries. She asked if Frieda ever gets in touch or if she’s too chicken to do that. Since she asked her to check on Gisl who was still in Vienna, Frieda did so but just entertained Gisl with her own problems. I am sure that’s how it was because anyone who knows Frieda knows that’s how she does things. Olga got upset about it. In the same letter which answered my letter promptly I told her that I get letters from you and that she should not worry about getting in touch with you. She wrote to me that she was such a good correspondent that she hadn’t managed to write to you yet. This same Olga complained about Frieda “not understanding.” If a relative had run away and hadn’t been heard from for two days, Olga who pretends she doesn’t suffer from nerves, would certainly have been beside herself. I don’t really blame her because empathy is something I have found in so few people. The egoism seems to be the most natural protection against such feelings. We hear nothing from our relatives, as if they had all disappeared. You, my dears, must not believe that I am worried about this; I don’t even wonder about it anymore because it’s such a common problem. Everybody is afraid I might ask for a favor. When I get mail from you, I am happy and when I have to look for a new job, I do not choose to become someone who improves the world, because that would be a difficult and hopeless prospect.

I just wish I knew how my Eva-child is doing and if Harry’s weight is in proper proportion to his height, what Paul is up to and how Robert is doing. Now I ask you to tell me all about the relatives, whatever you know about them. I want to work with Mischpochologie [Yiddish for family background], the Turkish is too complicated for me.

What the Viennese cannot imagine: Papa is wearing an overcoat and not hanging it over his arm. Whenever he does the shopping, the hearty Viennese women let him go first because they worry about a man who does not have a winter coat.

Old Zentner came to Papa recently, beaming, saying that Heinz had sent an affidavit to his sister Lotte. Bertha and Ida – who are those complaining kind of women –received a telegram from Erich Bauml that their affidavit is on the way. I am very happy. Many, many heartfelt kisses. Mutti

                        Helene

We get a vivid picture of life in Vienna in early 1940. The weather is freezing and Helene and Vitali do not have enough clothes to keep them warm, even in their own home.  People they know are getting affidavits to leave Vienna for a safer and better life which must have given Helene hope that their turn would come soon. Helene has found that many people are not eager to hear from her, worrying that she might ask for help that they cannot or do not want to give. She is imagining what new profession she might have when she is somewhere else – she knows it won’t be something that changes the world because she sees the world as too cruel for that to be feasible. Here she was, 53 years old, trying to imagine a future where she must make her way in a new country and language. It must have been incredibly daunting, but she knew she had no choice.

January 26

This continues the story begun on January 14.

From the letters today, we see that it took a lot of people and agencies from across the globe to help my grandmother: Simon Brod and the JDC, Vitali’s relative (?) Yomtov in Istanbul, Helene’s nephew Robert in England, and her children in San Francisco. Managing to make such a thing happen with today’s technology would be frustrating, overwhelming, and time consuming – it’s almost unimaginable what a hurdle this must have seemed to Helene and her children. Thank goodness there were so many people concerned with her welfare who went out of their way to help. It’s amazing to see that all of this happened in just a few weeks’ time.

A final note: I continue to be amazed by how fluent people were in multiple languages. Yomtov lived and worked in Istanbul and I have letters written by him in French and German. Eva and Harry always talked about how many languages Vitali spoke - if I recall, it was about a dozen! It appears that this was not unusual.

                                                                       Istanbul, January 24, 1946

Dear Mrs. Helena,

I have read your valued lines of December 31, 1945 with great attention.

I looked for Mr. Brod again, and since I could not find him, I wrote a letter to him about your issue and received his answer, of which I am sending you a copy.

You will see that Mr. Brod sent a wire to your daughter in order to get the necessary information about your departure.

Yesterday I received a telegram from Bridgeport, according to the enclosed copy.  You will learn from it that people are dealing with your situation in America and asking that you be patient.  Hopefully your situation will be resolved very soon.

I remain, as always, ready to be of further service to you.

Your

Signature

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                                                                          Istanbul, January 30, 1946

Dear Mrs. Helena,

You must have already received my letter of the 24th.

Today I received the following telegram for you, dated the 28th. from San Francisco:

“Received wire from Robert mentioning delay because cost of tickets if money or anything needed wire me at 3494 21 Street please let me know your exact address awaiting your arrival anxiously Love - Harry”

It is, thus, a telegram from your son, who is also working on these matters for you in America.

Also, I wrote to Mr. Brod today, and I am enclosing a copy of my letter to your attention.

As you see, I am following this matter with great interest, and I hope that it will be resolved satisfactorily in the near future.

In the meantime, I remain

Your

Signature

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  Istanbul, 30/1/1946
Dear Mr Brod,

I received your letter of the 14th of this month, the contents of which I am giving my best attention. 

Please let me know if you have received any instructions from the Jewish-American emigration office related to the departure of Mme. Helene Cohen.

For your information, I am sending you copies of the contents of two telegrams sent from America to Mme. Helene Cohen care of my company.

1.     Bridgeport 22/1/1946: Harry allright everything soon settled keep patient Love Robert Zerzawy

2.     San Francisco 28/1/1946: “Received wire from Robert mentioning delay because cost of tickets if money or anything necessary wire me at 3494 21 Street please let me know your exact address awaiting your arrival anxiously Love - Harry”

I would like to believe that these two telegrams are perhaps in response to your letter from the 9th of this month to Mrs. Eva Goldschmidt, daughter of Mme. Helene. In any case, it appears from these two telegrams that money is the cause of the late intervention in the departure of Mme. Helene.

If the emigration office has not yet provided you with the cost of the ticket to reserve a place on a boat leaving soon, please let me know the amount and whether the payment could be made in Turkish lira so that I can assist you in the departure of Mme. Cohen.

In case a place can be reserved on a boat and that the ticket must be paid in dollars, please let me know also, letting me know the price of passage to New York including meals, so I can inform by telegram Mr. Harry, son of Mme. Helene Cohen in response to his telegram of the 28th.

Please send me your answer as soon as possible, and in the meantime, I offer you, Dear Mr. Brod, my most sincere greetings.

January 20

On Inauguration Day it seems appropriate to post a copy of my grandmother’s January 21, 1952 naturalization certificate. She was now a U.S. citizen with all the rights and responsibilities that go with it. Imagine what that must have felt like for her, even if she never felt quite “at home” here. From this date on, Helene had an absolute right to live somewhere. She could vote in elections and I imagine she took that responsibility very seriously. My mother certainly did and passed on that sense of duty to me.

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Helene was born in Bohemia, where laws and attitudes towards Jews were tepid at best, dangerous at worst. In her stories, she writes about several antisemitic incidents and memories. There was no escaping being the ugly “other.” After her 1920 marriage to Vitali in Vienna, she was considered a Turkish citizen by the Austrian government, even though she had never set foot in Turkey and did not speak the language. In 1945 when she was sent from Ravensbrück to Istanbul, the government would not recognize her Turkish citizenship. She was alone, stateless, homeless, penniless. She was not welcome anywhere.

I was interested to see that the certificate tells us that in 1952 it was the 176th year since American independence – I wonder if the current certificates include that.

Note Helene’s marital status – she lists herself as “Married”. At this point Helene still hoped that Vitali would arrive on her doorstep one day. Eva (and I think Harry) believed it too. It wasn’t until 1988 that my mother told me that she had finally given up hope of seeing her father again, since at that point Vitali would have been 100 years old and if he hadn’t shown up yet, he never would.

January 19

Throughout my journey to make sense of my family history, I have found myself creating stories to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. I have been fortunate to solve many of the mysteries, often discovering that the story I told myself was completely off base. That was the case with this newspaper article:

Helene’s husband Vitali was an unusual man with an unusual profession. See the section on Metaphysics & Mysticism to learn more.

When I first saw this article, I assumed it was from the early to mid-1940s. According to IMDB, there was no film with the title mentioned in the article but there was a short film made in 1941 called Hands of Destiny in which he discussed the handprints of Mussolini, Hitler, Churchill and Roosevelt. He also wrote the screenplay for and appeared in a documentary of the same name in 1954.

The reason I decided it must have been an article from the 1940s is that I found 2 copies of the article in my documents — one in my grandmother’s papers and another in the box of Paul Zerzawy’s papers. Paul died in 1948. I knew that Helene had sent Paul documents related to Vitali’s profession in Vienna in order to show that he had a way to make a living if he and Helene were given visas to come to the U.S. before 1941.

In June 2020, I realized that in addition to online genealogy resources available through the public library, it’s possible to look at many old newspapers. I spent several hours one day trying to find the dates for a number of newspaper clippings I have in my archive. It turns out that this article appeared the San Francisco Chronicle on January 19, 1955. Not in the 1940s, not while Paul Zerzawy was still alive.

San Francisco Chronicle (online), 19 Jan 1955 19

One question I may never be able to answer is whether Vitali and Helene knew Ranald. He had spent time in Vienna. Perhaps he even gave the lecture on metaphysics that Vitali attended which inspired him in his future pursuits? I have found that my grandmother kept articles and papers for more than mere interest or a reminder of times she remembered. When I first saw this article, I thought it had been kept to show Vitali if and when he arrived in the U.S. that it might be possible for him to make a living reading palms. The fact that two people in the family kept the same article makes me think that it was saved not just because of his profession, but because they knew him.  

Ranald had quite a life and was an excellent storyteller. When I read How to Know People by Their Hands (published in 1938), in which he discusses and the hands of famous people including those listed above, I wondered how much of his autobiography was true and how much was made up to form a mythology as a showcase for his work. Decide for yourself by reading the introduction of his book, available on the Internet Archive.

January 13

A day of celebrations

We take a brief respite from tales of war and deprivation to mark some happy occasions.

Harry was born on January 13, 1924.

Helene’s memories of life in Vienna were happy ones, recalling being with family and celebrating important occasions like birthdays and holidays. This is something passed down to my generation and beyond. Harry’s wife coined a term for these gatherings – “Furry events”, FUR standing for Family Unification Ritual – the first such named event came with a stuffed animal for each family member. Gifts were usually creative, silly, fun, and inexpensive. Often wrapped in deceptive ways.

Here is his mother’s note on his 40th birthday (clearly a paraphrase): 

January 13, 1968.

Where shall I turn,
When the sorrow and grief weigh upon me?
To whom can I express my delight
When my heart is beating faster?
To you, to you my Harry,
I come in sorrow & joy.
You share my joys,
And you heal every pain.

Your mother.

German Mass - Franz Schubert.

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Here is Harry wearing a hat my mother brought him back from Russia for his 60th birthday:

On Harry’s birthday in 1984

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My parents got married on January 13 - perhaps they chose the same day as Harry’s birthday because it was a Saturday and they were not working that day. They wed in 1945 while Harry was a soldier in the South Pacific and her parents were interned in the camps. I’ve always wondered whether she would have married so early had she not felt so alone in the world.

January 13, 1945

One of the curious coincidences that occurred recently is that last week I needed a blank notebook. Harry always kept oodles of blank paper and after he died I discovered a stack of blank notebooks. I thought I had used them all up but a few days ago I pulled out a notebook and on the first page in Harry’s handwriting it said “Happy Birthday!” along with a cryptic message that would have gone with whatever eccentric gift he was giving that year. I felt that he was making sure I wouldn’t forget his birthday this year. Happy Birthday, Harry!

January 7

January 7, 1948

In April 2017, I attended a genealogy workshop at my local public library. By the end of the session, I had learned to maneuver through the library edition of Ancestry.com and found many documents, including the one below.

I was astounded by how quickly and easily I could learn a great deal about my family. As mentioned yesterday, it is worth looking often and in different ways to see if anything new has turned up. There are some documents I found that day in April that I have never stumbled upon again and I continue to find new ones.

Declaration of Intention to become a US citizen

Helene’s “Declaration of Intention” includes a wealth of information:

-Her address in San Francisco
-Her birthplace
-Her vital statistics
-Her husband’s name, birthdate, and date and place of their marriage
-Her children
-Her last place of residence
-The name of the ship and where it left from – in this case, the SS Vulcania from Alexandria Egypt
-Date of arrival in the US

It’s wonderful to get all of this information in a single document. It has helped me in other searches. It also is consistent with information my grandmother wrote in other letters and paperwork. One of the things that genealogists emphasize is the need to corroborate family stories and lore with official documentation. There are times when I’ve wondered whether my grandmother’s memories might have been faulty, as our memories often are. However, I continue to find articles and paperwork that prove that Helene’s memory was excellent and that she was reporting the truth as she remembered it. This gives me confidence at the times when I don’t have something official, that what she has written is likely true.

This journey has made me feel even closer to my grandmother, not simply because we share the same name. The timing of my research has been especially poignant. A few years ago as we began translating my grandmother’s letters during the war years, I realized that I was her age when she was writing them and then sent to Ravensbrück. Currently I am the same age that Helene was when she filled out this document. Thanks to her efforts to provide a better life for her children, what she went through is completely foreign to my own experience.

Aside: if you are curious about your own family history and have always wanted to try Ancestry.com and similar services, now is the perfect time to do so. It used to be that you could only access these services by paying or by researching in person in your public library. Since libraries have been closed, these companies and the libraries themselves have made many services available from the comfort of your own home. All you need is a library card!

Contemplating Loss

Over the past few months of shelter in place, I have spent many hours reading through my grandmother’s papers. Sometimes I feel as though I am experiencing life in the past and present simultaneously.

As the number of Covid-19 deaths in the US have reached almost 160,000, I have been thinking about the number of lives cut short, the loss to their families and friends, the contributions to the world that will never be. At the same time, I have a deeper understanding of my grandmother’s family and the amount of loss she suffered over almost a century.

One thing that strikes me is that many of us in the first world have had the luxury of not having to face much loss in our lives, sometimes “only” losing family members and friends who have lived to a ripe old age. That wasn’t the case for my grandmother or indeed for most people of her generation. Death and loss were sad, but not unusual.

Helene was the youngest child born in 1886 to Adolph and Rosa Löwy. My mother told me that Rosa had 13 pregnancies, but most of the children died in childbirth or infancy. As a child, Helene knew her sisters Ida, Matilde, Clara, Irma, and Flora, and her brother Max. As far as I can tell, by 1918, Helene’s only surviving sibling was her brother Max, although I’m not even sure of that.

Ida married Julius Zerzawy in 1894 and died in 1902 following a miscarriage, leaving 4 young children behind. Ida’s death had a devastating effect on the Löwy family — Rosa and Matilda left the family home to take care of the Zerzawy children, leaving only young Helene with her father. Matilde married Julius in 1903, becoming stepmother to her nephews and niece, and had a daughter Käthe in 1904. Matilde died in 1910. By 1918, Helene’s only surviving nephews were Paul and Robert. Her nieces died in 1916 and 1918 and her nephew Erich died as a prisoner of war in Eastern Siberia in 1918. By that time, young Paul and Robert had lost 3 siblings, their mother, and their stepmother. As a soldier, Paul no doubt had experienced even more loss.

After several happy years with Vitali and her children, Helene again faced tremendous loss when she sent her children away to safety in America. Then came four years of worrying about them and watching her opportunity to follow become nothing more than a dream. Then separation from Vitali as they were sent to Ravensbrück and Buchenwald, and she was never to see her husband again. Finally she came to America, was reunited with her children.

In 1939, Helene’s nephews Paul and Robert made their way to the US and England, respectively. I cannot imagine the loss and disconnect they felt as they left the old world behind to start anew in a different country and a different language, leaving in Vienna their Aunt Helene, their only surviving blood relative. Paul worked tirelessly but unsuccessfully to bring Helene and Vitali to San Francisco. Although a lawyer by training, he eked out a living in San Francisco as a piano teacher, dying in 1948 at the age of only 53. His brother Robert died in London in 1967. Helene survived them both.

What would it be like to lose everyone and everything? I am in awe of my grandmother’s resilience facing loss, rebuilding her life, and finding ways to continue in the face of such tragedy and loss.

The Story Unfolds

My mother and her brother did not encourage their children to ask questions about the past. My uncle was a sunny optimist who didn’t want to discuss the past, which would bring up painful memories. I have no idea how much guilt they may both have had for having been unable to save their parents from the camps, despite the fact that they were teenagers without resources and had done the best they could.

As psychological theories evolved, my mother had a new source of guilt after her mother died when “talk therapy” came into vogue. When my grandmother first arrived in the U.S., the prevailing theory was that talking about painful events would only make the situation worse. My mother told me that she would always change the subject if my grandmother wanted to talk about all she’d been through.

Giving Helene the tools to tell her story

As I described in the “Hidden Treasures” section, I have been sifting through an enormous amount of material and am sometimes daunted by the process. One part of my grandmother’s papers has truly overwhelmed me, as it did my mother.

At some point in the 1940s or 1950s, my uncle bought Helene a typewriter and encouraged her to write down her stories to get them out of her system. My grandmother was obedient to her son’s encouragement and began writing. She wrote and wrote and wrote.

This was before computers or even electric typewriters and she was using an English keyboard which didn’t have German diacritical marks, so it must have been slow going. No cutting and pasting, no copying from previous drafts. I do not know whether she began by writing her drafts in longhand, but she kept many versions of some of her typed stories and it’s not always clear which version, if any, is the final draft.

Although she fictionalized her maiden name and a few other surnames, it appears that the stories themselves were what she recalled and were not fictionalized.

She produced at least a dozen binders worth of writing:

My mother had the best of intentions and wanted to go through the binders, translating stories from German, and organizing the writing so there weren’t multiple versions of the same story. But she never managed to do it (and as with everything, probably had a fair amount of guilt about it). I don’t blame her! Although I have had these binders for a few years, I too have avoided trying to make sense of their contents. When Kelsey created the archive, I handed the binders over to her and asked her to come up with some sort of order so I wouldn’t have to.

Only now have I been able to begin the process of reading and transcribing Helene’s stories and it is slow going. I cannot imagine how my mother would have managed with just a typewriter herself.

Helene made do with whatever she could find to keep things organized, sometimes gluing paper on the spine to show the contents:

Apparently she ran out of paper clips and didn’t have a stapler, so some stories are bound together by string:

As I begin to read her papers, I am finding that Helene’s writing continues to answer my questions. Unfortunately some of the stories listed on the binder spines didn’t end up in the binders, so at least a few that I would have loved to read are missing (for example, a story about moving to Vienna and one about her first job).

One question I’d been trying to figure out how to answer over the past few months — particularly in this time of shelter in place when going to libraries is impossible — was the population of Bilin (now Bilina), the town my grandmother lived in until at least her late teens. On the JewishGen site, I discovered that approximately 75 Jews lived in Bilin in 1900. However, I could not figure out how to find out the total population of the town. Last week, I transcribed a story Helene wrote entitled “Dandelions in May 1902”. In the story she describes a momentous year where family life was turned upside down by the death of her eldest sister. In telling the story, she mentions that at that time the town had about 6000 inhabitants (according to Wikipedia, currently approximately 17,000 people live there). Question answered!

Although there are hundreds of photos, I do not always know who is in the picture. Unfortunately when I was ready to sit down with my mother for her to help identify people in the photos, she was no longer able to do so. Although Harry often talked of our looking at the photos together, there was always some excuse not to do so. Toward the end of his life, I realized we would never know the identity of people in the photos. In general that’s true. However, my grandmother’s writing is helping identify people as well.

In addition to photos my mother and uncle brought over themselves, they also had Paul Zerzawy’s photos which they got after he died in 1948 in San Francisco. My mother had his photo album and Harry had a box of miscellaneous photos and papers.

Below is a photo from Paul Z’s photo album:

In the above photo, I recognized my grandmother (second from the right) and her mother (older woman at the back on the left). Since it was in Paul’s album, I figured it was a photo of he and his siblings but I did not know the identity of the woman sitting next to my grandmother. I was able to piece it together and understand a rich story using two items from the archive: the story “Dandelions in May 1902” from Helene and the Zerzawy Family tree from Paul which was created in the 1920s or so.

From the family tree, we learn that there were 4 Zerzawy siblings born to Julius Zerzawy’s first wife Ida (Helene’s oldest sister): Paul, Klara, Erich, and Robert. Ida died in 1902. Her sister Mattl married Julius in 1903 and gave birth to a fifth child Käthe in 1904. Thus, I assume that since there are 5 children in the photo, the woman next to Helene is her sister Mattl who died in 1910. The youngest girl looking at the camera (and us) must be Käthe. Which means that the photo was probably taken around 1908-1910.

Will the world ever change?

I began writing this several days ago and it seemed appropriate to post it on Juneteenth.

Over the past few months, the world has seemed out of control — the pandemic killing hundreds of thousands of people all over the world and in the midst of that, the country and the world seeming to wake up to the killing of black and brown people every day at the hands of those in power.

At the same time, my book group decided to read “The Plague” by Camus. As I read it, I felt like I was reading my grandmother’s letters while she was trapped in Vienna and separated from her children who had been sent to relatives in the U.S. There was the same sense of helplessness, loss, and isolation — very similar to how so many of us are feeling these days.

Delving into my grandmother’s papers has been an education both about my family and about the world. It’s heartbreaking to think that the promise of America is a nightmare for so many. And that it hasn’t changed in hundreds of years. My grandmother’s correspondence reflects her disillusionment. In 1939, she sent her children away for a better life (and the opportunity to actually have a life). For the next 6 years, she heard little from them. She was reunited with her children in 1946 after being unable to leave Vienna for over 3 years, being imprisoned in Ravensbrück and then essentially being imprisoned again in Istanbul while trying to get papers and money to make the voyage to San Francisco.

In the late 1940’s, my grandmother sent to friends and relatives living around the world books, articles, and letters about the disconnect and hypocrisy she saw between the message of the Statue of Liberty and the reality of living in the U.S. — although I don’t have any of the letters she wrote, I surmise this from the replies she received from her correspondents.

One book she read and then sent to others was “Knock on Any Door” by Willard Motley. The book is about the effect of poverty on families and individuals and how people may be driven to crime and end up in prison due to their impoverished circumstances. From Goodreads: “Motley researched his novel on the streets of his native Chicago, talking to immigrants about their experiences and visiting juveniles in Illinois's youth detention centers. In Knock on Any Door, Motley creates a painfully vivid picture of poverty, the struggle for ethnic identity, and the flaws of the penal system in urban America.” (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/257127.Knock_on_Any_Door). On its own, the book is incredibly depressing, but made even more so by the lack of progress that has been made since it was published in 1947.

I imagine my grandmother saw the treatment of African Americans in the U.S. as similar to how she was treated by the Germans. She kept a binder of articles and papers that meant something to her. In it, was an article and editorial from 1952 about a case in North Carolina:

For more on the case, go to https://www.aaihs.org/mack-ingram-and-the-policing-of-black-sexuality/

I don’t know what my grandmother would have made of the world we live in today. She always called herself a “fatalist”, but Fate hasn’t been very kind this year. I hope that will change soon.

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.

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.