July 1

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Today we have a letter and document each from July 1, 1939 concerning the Cohen family’s efforts to come to the United States.

 American Consulate General Vienna, Germany

Mr. & Mrs. Haim Seneor Cohen and Helene Cohen

Under consideration of the questionnaire which you have filled out and submitted here containing your request for preregistration for the purpose of emigration into the United States of America, it is being communicated to you that you have been registered as of the date October 21, 1938 on the Turkish waiting list under the preregistration number Turk. 53 D, 53 E.

You will be notified in good time when your number on the waiting list has come up. This written document is to be carefully preserved. A copy cannot be issued. The preregistration number is not the same as the quota number.

Stamp: American Consulate General Vienna, Germany                 July 1, 1939

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Vienna 1 July 1939

My dear Paul! On the 20th of July, the children have an appointment for a medical examination. Since we took all necessary steps to take care of this formality in Istanbul, it is not impossible that the emigration of the two children can happen at an even earlier time than we thought. All documents are ready. Vitali has really outdone himself this time. If I try to tell you about his work, there’s too much to delve into. As soon as we have the date set, we will let Arthur know and the Zentners so you will know about receiving the children. I am very happy that my patience of a lamb is not going to leave me in the lurch. It becomes clearer every day that doubt is a sacrilege. There are also things I could say about me, but I’m protected from head to toe from everything that does not have to do with the children’s departure. As soon as this question is clarified, you will hear about our plans. I think of you every day and I must ask you not to worry about the future. You have worked so hard in the last few years that the non-voluntary break from work is almost a blessing. We have no reason to tempt fate so don’t worry about us. If you are in good standing with the lord God like we are, there is nothing to fear. Do not make me wait so long for an answer. Both of you, you and Robert, have the talent to play the violin out of my nerves. I’m hoping you get better soon. How is your health? How do you stand the rather unpleasant New York summer climate? The children have become rather slender. Harry has lost 8kg but he is still healthy and he calls himself a “matjes herring”. Eva has, according to the passport picture, the kind of figure that she always wished she had in Vienna but which the cuisine in Seidlgasse made it impossible.

Paul, please write soon and please don’t be insulted that I am sending you postage. I automatically include it with all letters sent to other countries.

Kisses
Helen

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Both of today’s documents remind us again of how difficult the process to leave Europe was — no one made it easy or straightforward. As in previous letters, Helene talks about the lengths Vitali went to get the proper paperwork and documentation. It sounds like he haunted the American and Turkish consulates daily.

At this point, Paul Zerzawy has been living in New York for a few months, staying with relative Arthur Schiller who was a law professor at Columbia, and unable to find work. Like Vitali, Paul has spent much of the previous few years trying to get himself and family members out of Europe. When Eva arrived in San Francisco, she stayed with Arthur’s parents. We saw Eva’s letter about the physical exam in the June 26 post.

We saw in the letters from April 13 and May 7, 1940, that almost a year after today’s letter, Helene addressed Harry as “matjes herring” – her pickled herring. It appears he dubbed himself that in a letter I do not have that he wrote to his parents from Istanbul. I thought Helene made up all her pet names for her children, but apparently sometimes she had help! A friend who read this post found the following definition of “pickled herring”: “[Dutch pekelharing, from German pickelhering, from Pickelhering, droll comic character of the 17th century German stage] : buffoon.”

June 30

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Today we have a picture postcard in German and English from (and of) Helene’s nephew Robert Zerzawy with a note in pencil that it was received on June 30, 1963.

This is not Mr. Dean Rusk; rather, it is your nephew on one of his missions to Germany. Touchwood, I have a little slimmed since then. 

Love, Robert

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A few comments:

The photo credit is by the airline – perhaps they took photos like they do these days on cruises and Disneyland rides?

The photo at Wikipedia entry for Dean Rusk does indeed show a resemblance.

In the 1960s, Robert worked for Bayer. Presumably this photo was taken on a business trip to Germany as he was preparing for the opening of the London sales office:

When I began this project, I thought of brothers Paul and Robert Zerzawy as distant cousins who were tangentially related to my family’s story. As we have seen, Paul was a major presence in my grandmother’s and her children’s lives. Robert is also important, but I have far less evidence. In March, we saw a few letters from him from the 1960s as well as a few letters to him from Helene from 1945-1046 in Istanbul – he appears to be the first relative she was able to reach. Helene mentions his sensitive nature and how life might be particularly difficult for him. In Robert’s letters he mentions emotions, while letters from his brother Paul, who was trained as an attorney, are usually all business – as a soldier in World War I, trying to make sure that family members at home have all they need and that Robert is taking care of business in his absence; and during World War II, emigrating and trying to help Helene, Vitali and their children emigrate as well. Although Robert also intended to emigrate from England to San Francisco during or after the war, for some reason that never happened, and he was separated from his family for the rest of his life.

Robert seems to have had a sensitive artist’s temperament. Although he tried to follow in Paul’s footsteps and study law, from the WWI letters it appears his heart wasn’t in it. Below is a photo of Robert that was probably taken during WWI that shows him sketching his grandmother while his sisters watch in the background. At this point his father and older brothers Robert and Erich are away at war (Erich probably in a POW camp in Siberia at this point), so young Robert was the man of the house. He had lost both his mother and step-mother by the time he was 11.

Below is a self-portrait Robert drew dated September 16, 1921, when he would have been 22 years old — a portrait of the artist as a young man.

June 29

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Today we have a translation of a newspaper article about my grandfather, Haim (Vitali) Cohen, that appeared on pages 5-6 of the June 28, 1934 issue of the Vienna Neue Freie Presse.

The Magic Shop.

There are no magic links and no miraculous tickets for sale in this shop - none of those little things which keep “a whole party” amused. There is nothing but – paper. A simple stationer’s shop in the center of the city is the place, where ‘miraculous things” do occur. It has happened, several times already, that a buyer would hand the stationer his fountain pen in order to get it repaired – and that, while he was waiting for it, he would, quite casually, be told some details about his life, past, present and future. For some quite unaccountable ideas and images had come into the mind of the cheerful little man dealing with the fountain pens – images and ideas which he himself paid no attention to at first; until they became so powerful that they forced their way and forced him to splutter them out. And it turned out that those were the private lives of his customers which he now was, quite truthfully, describing!

This paper-dealer, being an oriental and a Turk, is not quite inaccessible to mystic tendencies; yet on the other hand, having formerly been an architect and engineer, he cannot help considering himself a cool rationalist. His first reaction to these events were a kind of shame and embarrassment; and he tried not to listen to the voice within himself. Yet when, the next time, people again came to have their fountain pens mended, the vague characters which they scribbled in order to try them out again gave reason for the Turk seeing and telling about images and impressions.

CUSTOMERS HANDS ARE PAINTED RED

Mr. C., the clairvoyant in spite of himself, now happened to visit the lecture of a chirologist - an event which occurred about a year ago - who, with the help of various photographs and plates, revealed the secrets of palm reading. “Why, that’s as easy as playing a child’s game,” thought Mr. C.; and when, on the following morning, a customer entered the shop he simply smeared his palms with red ink - much to the horror of the good man - and pressed the red palm down on a sheet of white paper; he then examined the portrait of the hand. Fates appeared before is mind’s eye, images whirled through his brain, and, full of eagerness, he told the customer what he saw. This was repeated several times; and the customers, amazed, could but corroborate the accuracy of his “visions.”

Within his inmost heart, C. admitted that he actually had no idea of palm reading; and that he only spoke out of intuition. Yet he got all the more interested in the network of lines which appeared different in every hand; and he took imprints of the hands of his relatives, friends, and customers with great eagerness. His predictions and prognoses became more and more daring, and more and more sure; until, one day, he told a rather taciturn fellow, who was out for acquiring some wrapping-paper, some of the most intimate things about his whole life. The buyer turned out to be one of the best-known chirologists in England, who on his turn, amused himself by proving that the prophet had not the slightest ideas of any questions of palm reading. Yet he could not deny that the things he had said were true. Quite the contrary: he wrote, underneath the imprint of his own hand: “Well roared, lion!” and encouraged Mr. C in developing his faculties.

2200 PAIRS OF HANDS WITHIN A YEAR.

C. has taken the advice. It is not much longer than a year since his customer’s private affairs first forced their way into his mind - and he already owns 2200 well-ordered imprints of pairs of hands. He no longer has to beg people to let them take the imprints of their palms: quite the contrary, there are many who beg him to look at them. But his sixth sense is not well disposed toward all callers; and he is quite capable of being disagreeable in some cases. Yet he always has time for those who really are in need of help. And he knows to tell, dramatically, of the way in which people can be spurred to higher efforts by the very intensity of their despair. It yet does occur, however, that, leaning in front of his shop in the sunshine, he suddenly will rush up to some guileless passer-by, draw him into his shop, and then, in a small back-room, will tell him the most important and urgent matters about himself; until the surprised visitor will feel almost faint with surprise and emotion.

This small back room looks queer enough. The skeptical, paper-selling and prophetic Turk has had the blue walls painted with symbols of the zodiac; which still make a mystic impression on innocent minds. There is a wash-basin which serves the practical purpose of having the clients wash the color off their hands; for C. no longer uses stamp colors, which can only be removed with the help of some chemical ingredients; but some color that comes off quite easily. He shows the unique case of a college teacher, whose right palm is imprinted in the brown color which actually was used on it, while the left- being painted with exactly the same material - has come off green. C. Is not quite certain of an explanation for this phenomenon; he supposes some abnormal polarization of the emanation of the hands; or the consequences of a cure of injections which the college professor took, and whose poisons, being now part of the skin, transformed the color as it touched it for chemical reasons.

THE SECRET OF THE WOODEN BOX.

And then there is a mysterious small wooden box, which C. hands to every visitor, requesting him to place each hand on it, alternately. I do it just to please him, I spread my hand over the little box, and, after a few minutes, I feel a breath of cool air on my palm. I now change the position of the hands and I feel —- nothing at all. Mr. C. begs me to put my observations down in a book, which is already filled with notes written by my predecessors. One has felt warmth in the right hand, and, on the left, a feeling of having touched upon an electric current. The other one felt nothing at all in his right hand, but a violent twitching in — the next when he held the left hand above the box. And what is there in the box? I open it, and find nothing but a small, withered root, which is oddly ill-shaped but, on looking at it more closely, one discovers that it is the likeness of a bearded man in a dancing position. “Why yes, it’s a mandrake,” the ever- cheerful miracle man will answer to my questioning look.

The mandragora, the famous magic plant of olden days! Oval leaves have grown from it, and berries which all served magic purposes. Arabs, to this day, eat these berries in order to go to sleep; but as aphrodisiac effect also is ascribed to them. Love-potions were distilled from them in antiquity. The leaves were placed on open wounds in order to soothe the pain; and the root was uses as anesthetic for operations. If the fleshy, beet-like root is dried, it assumes, in many cases, the oddest and most uncanny shapes; and, with a little good will, one may see the likelihood to a human form. It is a small wonder that miraculous powers were ascribed to them. They were supposed to bring luck and money, and they were being secretly tended and kept like human beings.

MANDRAKES FOR SALE.

These products of the Mediterranean regions had, in our time, been forgotten. An Austrian ex- serviceman, Colonel Franz Koeppl, was the first again to take interest and to study these rare objects; and, in the course of many years, he acquired 900 of them - all shapes and sizes. A laic might take it for granted that, owning so many talismans, this man must be loaded down with luck and riches. But this point does not seem to be quite clear; the Colonel certainly has handed his collection to Mr. C. for the purpose of selling it; for he says that it is to every mandrake that will bring luck to every man; it takes a clairvoyant to discover the root which fits one. “I originally thought that all this talk about the mandrakes was nothing but a bit of humbug,” says Mr. C. “But there remains the strange fact that the owners so often come to see me, and will assure that they are gaining new strength by the possession of this queer plant - and, consequently, new successes. I daresay it is all imagination - but the favorable effect does remain the main thing.”

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This newspaper article was among the documents Vitali had translated into English in the hopes of continuing his occupation when he and Helene finally made it to America. We saw translations of testimonials in the May 22 post. We saw a far less complimentary article from 1939 in the April 7 post. What a difference a few years made.

When I read this article, for the first time I had a sense of who my grandfather was. He seems to have been a brilliant, charismatic, confident, insatiably curious, and intuitive man who was open to unusual and unpopular ways of thinking. Palm reading piqued his curiosity after attending a lecture in 1933, and by 1934 he was sharing his insights with anyone who would listen. In other posts, I describe my own journey to get to know my grandfather – first, having my palm read and then getting trained in hand analysis. In my year-long training with Richard Unger, I was required to read 100 hands, which was a daunting task for me. In the same amount of time, my grandfather had looked at more than 2200 pairs of hands!

Although Eva and Harry never told us about their father’s occupation, we have a wonderful photo of him taking handprints of the entire family. My archivist colorized this photo beautifully. You can see Eva and Harry looking on with great interest while Vitali rolls ink on Helene’s hand to take a print. Pages with handprints are strewn on the table.

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In the photo below, you can see Vitali at work with all the tools of his trade: an inked handprint, a pendulum, mandrake root and a few other things I can’t identify.

June 28

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Today we have a letter from soldier Harry Lowell in New Guinea to sister Eva Lowell in San Francisco.

New Guinea
June 28, 1944

Dearest of all my sisters,

I received your letters of June 5th, 10th, and 13th, and I was glad to learn that you finally found yourself a nice apartment. I imagine that you haven’t yet forgotten how to cook, although you have been away from it for so long. Do you remember that charcoaled beef-broth you made for us during your culinary apprenticeship – in your greenhorn days? Anyway, I would like to pay you a visit sometime and taste your cooking; how big is the new domicile? Don’t you think it would be a good idea to have one of your girlfriends live with you so that you don’t have to give parties to make cooking pay. Otherwise your apartment will cost you more than you expected. “I know,” says Mr. Anthony.

There is no news to give you, as usual; the war is still going on and nothing has happened here that would be of special interest to you. As you probably know, Ralph is on this island; he isn’t too far away from my camp, yet I haven’t had the chance to pay him a visit. When I see him I’ll tell him you said hello.

If you haven’t sent me those fountain pens yet, don’t send them, because I got one from my pal; send me a gallon of fresh milk, instead. Ah, milk! As soon as I get back to the states, I’ll get drunk on milk; I will drink gallon after gallon and eat half a steer on the side (rare, of course). It is wonderful to dream, isn’t it? Dreaming furthers one’s imagination and improves one’s sense of appreciation. I could ride in a streetcar all day and get a kick of doing so – especially now, on the consolidated Market and Municipal lines. I would even stand half an hour of one of those cocktail parties, mind you, half an hour!

Ursula has some sense of humor, hasn’t she? You ought to be able to retaliate and write scandalous letters yourself; you have a pretty good imagination and it wouldn’t be hard for you to pay her back.

What has come over the snake-charming family, that they got rid of their reptiles? I thought they were serious collectors; and now they trade their precious collection for a dog – what a shame!

I guess Paul is getting along all right. He probably keeps himself busy: I bet his little book is filled with appointments and concert tickets. Give him my best regards when you see him.

Sis, I am becoming an old man; judge for yourself. Before I came into the Army I had to shave only one and a half times a week, now I have to do it tow and a half times. To top that – I got hair on my chest now, I am a man; yep, the Army has made a man out of me. I suppose that staying around the jungle has something to do with this hairy transmutation; I must look into Darwin’s works some day. Maybe I can revise his theory a bit.

Do you realize that I will be twenty-two or older by the time I come back? Awful, is it not? What a waste of time! However, I am rather fortunate being as young as I am; imagine all those fellows that will be over thirty when they get out. You see, I have no reason to complain.

Do you like your job now or have you been thinking of that Standard Oil deal again? I am still quite in the dark as to your present job; tell me more, old girl.

In your association with servicemen you probably heard someone mention the term “section eight,” which means mentally unbalanced. (It is actually a paragraph in the military code, classifying unbalanced soldier under “unfit for service,” which means a discharge from the army.) As you can imagine, a lot of men have done their darndest to convince army psychiatrists of their insanity; some were successful, some weren’t. As a rule, nobody gets away with it unless he is a brilliant and highly intelligent actor; you’ll seldom find such a combination, because an intelligent man knows better. (Of course, that’s a matter of opinion) Do you think I am eligible for a “section eight”, after reading the following poem over which I labored for ten minutes? Here it is:

Jungle Wacky.
‘Twas a trally gnory morn,
Some Quackles in the croot were born.
They sliddle and snide
And dribble and hide.
What a jolly good time they had!

On comes Cobble with wings of flame;
The palm leaves clooned and burbled as he came.
He clickers and raires
And sneer and blairs.
His intentions were utterly bad!

The face of the Cobble was croopled and twixt,
Yon teeth of terror for eenie Quackles they ixed;
He sneeketh and crawls
And bambles and mawls.—
A meal of young Quackles he had!

Poor Quackles, so pippy and knacky they were!
‘Til Cobble so grootedly morted them there.
O wamble and Bloh,
O pity and woe!
Moral? – Stay out of the jungle my lad.

            Harry Lowell.

[handwritten along the side: Isn’t that awful?]

Well? You didn’t think I had it in me, did you? (I didn’t either.)

Well Eva, I think I have written you a longer letter than I intended to; I guess you deserve a long letter once in a while, because of your faithful and regular correspondence. Nevertheless this is going to be the last page, absolutely.

I have been receiving the Chronicle almost every week and I have enjoyed every copy; I am looking forward to receiving the Examiner. (A scandal sheet is just the thing for jungle life.)

Give my best regards to everyone and keep on writing. 

Love,
Harry.

P.S. I told Julia to look you up and taste your cooking; you can expect her any day.
P.P.S. When are you going to send me your picture, eh?

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A few notes on Harry’s letter:

Mr. Anthony must be John J. Anthony (born Lester Kroll), who had a radio show called “Good Will Hour” that focused on marital problems. According to his New York Times obituary of July 18, 1970, the show opened with “Mr. Anthony, I have a problem.” and ended with “That’s my advice to you.” Reminiscent of Frasier Crane’s tag line “I’m listening.” In 1945, he published a book called “Mr. Anthony Solves Your Personal Problems.”

You can hear a segment of his radio show from 4/4/1945 and learn more about him here.

Harry’s desire to ride a cable car all day long was probably unfulfilled. According to the Market Street Railway website, “after Muni took over the Market Street Railway Co. in 1944, streetcar lines quickly vanished by the dozens…”

It is interesting to hear Harry’s take on soldiers trying to get discharged from the army – reminiscent of scenes from Catch-22 and M*A*S*H. His homage to Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky is quite an achievement for a non-native English speaker! 

June 27

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Today we have a letter from Helene in Vienna to her children Eva and Harry in San Francisco. As in a previous letter, they are still awaiting their visa from the American Consulate which has irritatingly closed during the last two weeks in June. They have tickets for a ship voyage from Italy to America on July 15.

Friday, 27 June 1941

My dear children!

There has been a terrible mugginess here the last few days, which has a debilitating effect on one, but what is debilitating me even worse is the fact that I have still not received any letters from you. We are experiencing the longest day, not just in the sense of the calendar but with the effects of not getting any mail and the fact that nothing is happening with our matters of emigration. We are living in such an abnormal time that the meaning of all geographical and astronomical concepts has shifted. For example, we have here at the same time the longest days and the longest nights. When we are able to be with you again, it’ll be the opposite. We are waiting every day 48 hours for the visa. You try doing that! The feeling of missing the train and waiting for the next one at the train station is coming over me when I look at our suitcases that are already packed. I could write a book about that. “The suitcases are looking at you!” Downright reproachfully. I suppress the wish to get a handkerchief in the most valiant way because I don’t want to have to open a suitcase. Every day I have washing to do because I have organized the changing of clothes in such a way that one set is drying while the other is being worn. You will tell me that that is how you do things in America. That’s true, but it’s only when you’re talking about underwear which is so easy to wash it’s like child’s play. But that’s not true of the sheets on the bed or the things you have to wash in the house. But what kind of nonsense am I telling you? I find that when I am writing to you, I need to keep my temperament in check because I don’t want you to be witnesses to an emotional outburst. And so I will end now. Maybe the days will start to get shorter again by Tuesday.

With many kisses
Helen

June 26

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.

This is a copy of a letter from Eva and Harry to the American Consulate General. I assume it was written by Eva — her English is fairly good, but not as fluent as it would become.

 Istanbul 26 June 1939

EVA & HARRY KOHEN
            From Vienna III Seidlgasse 25
at present living in Istanbul Sisli Bomonti Sagdic Sokak 14

            To the American Consul General       in         Istanbul

“Concerns the emigration of the above-mentioned Eva and Harry Kohen to the U.S.A.”

We recently received from the American consul General in Vienna a summons to the physical inquiry for July 20th 1939. We are enregistered on June 7th 1938 with the German Quota 28475-76

As we are at present in Turkey and do not want to return to Vienna, we beg you to communicate to the American Consulate in Vienna in order to get the permission that the physical inquiry should take place at the American Consulate in Istanbul and that you should be authorized to give out the visum.

We beg you to write as quick as possible to Vienna, as the physical inquiry must take place on July 20th 1939, otherwise it is possible that our emigration to the U.S.A. would be much delayed.

Please write us before long, to the above-mentioned address if it is possible to get here the visa.

Awaiting your quickest answer we remain, yours sincerely

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Apple maps took me to Sağdıç Sk. No:14 in Istanbul:

The German quota appears to refer to US immigration quotas for Germany and Austria. It looks like Eva and Harry had visa numbers #28475 and 28476. According to the USHMM, only 27,370 visas were available, so they must have been added from the waiting list.

We see again the number of hoops there were to jump to escape an awful situation when no one wants you – neither the country or countries (both Austria/Germany and Turkey) eager to see you go (but perhaps more eager to torture you), nor your desired destination. Unlike their parents, Eva and Harry’s story had a happy ending.

June 25

Today we have a postcard from Vienna sent on June 22, 1958 to Helene in San Francisco.

We think of you often, not least in Vienna, on the Ring. Why don’t you write.
Love,
Judith & Alfred

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I thought this would be a very brief post, given how short a greeting there was on the card. But as often has been the case on this project, more puzzle pieces came together and suddenly this seemingly random postcard from an unknown friend leads us to something much richer.

When I first saw the postcard a few years ago, I read the signature as being from someone named Judith Alfred. I’d never seen her name before and was surprised that my grandmother had kept the card. Perhaps because the picture on the card was of the Vienna opera house? In the March 13 post, we saw what Helene wrote about the rebuilt opera house in 1955 after it had been destroyed during the war. 

As I was preparing today’s post, I looked again at the signature. I realized it might say Judith & Alfred. Which made me recall the name of someone whose writing takes up a lot of space in the papers my grandmother kept. In addition to several binders of her own stories, Helene kept two binders with magazine articles, German language cartoons, newspaper clippings, etc. Included in the binders were several articles by a man named Alfred Werner. I found that, like my grandmother, he too had lived in Vienna until being deported to Dachau. He came to New York in 1940 and became an art historian and journalist. His first wife died in the 1940s and he married Judith in 1953. You can learn all about him at the Center for Jewish History and can look at and download his entire archive. 

Since they had been in Vienna at the same time, I assumed that my grandmother was interested in Werner’s writing because she’d read work by him in Viennese newspapers and because he often wrote about her beloved pre-war Vienna in US publications. As I looked more closely at the articles my grandmother kept, I noticed that he had signed two of the reprints for her. He signed a reprint of a 1949 article entitled “Vienna Paradise Lost” that first appeared in The Chicago Jewish Forum (Volume 7, Number 4, Summer, 1949), when he was in San Francisco in 1955: "To the muse of twelve generations of Austrian writers and artists, honored by one of her many sons of the muse - Alfred, SF 1955." Presumably he is likening Helene to her namesake Helen of Troy. The signatures on the article and on the card look like they came from the same hand. Although there was an age difference of almost 25 years — Alfred was born in 1911 — Helene and Alfred shared a love of literature and music. I imagine them meeting at the Café Central in the 1930s and chatting for hours.

We have already seen a bit of his writing in the May 22 post, showing the testimonials to Vitali’s work in Vienna. Alfred Werner’s quote does not appear in Vitali’s “business card”, but it was in the translated document created when Vitali and Helene were preparing to come to the U.S. I do not have the original German.

Sub specie aeternitatis
The deeper I am looking into thee, blue sky,
The nearer dost thou still appear to me;
The stronger, God, I think Thee to the end,
The pitifuller do I fall before Thee….
From my volume of poems
To Mr. Cohen, with grateful admiration.
Alfred Werner.

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As I have found so many times before on this journey, my grandmother kept everything for a reason. Even people who at first seem like strangers or mere acquaintances end up playing a much more important role in my grandmother’s life and story than I could have imagined.

June 24

Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships. 

A letter from Helene in Vienna to her children in San Francisco.

Vienna, 24 June 1941

My dear ones! It’s unbelievably long the way the time passes by when my head and heart have nothing else to do except wait for letters from you or wait for the American visa. One would have to be a centipede, or really a millipede, to do all the errands that we have to do. We have put most of our possessions that we still have around into our suitcases and we have only left behind the necessary items such as hand towels and dishes and clothing in order to be able to at the very last minute put ourselves together and get to you. For weeks the containers with our travel effects have been looking at us rather suspiciously and when I dust them every day, I feel like I should excuse myself to them and to assure them that it is not our fault that they have to be penned up together in this heat and wait for the last moment in which we will be freed. A Faustian wish takes me over and when I see you, I will say “stay awhile, you are so beautiful.” This is the nth time that Papa has been to the shipping company and asked about our luggage. Achter is the name of the company that will be taking our order. Paul’s move was like a game of tag compared to ours, and probably the effect will be the same. The few objects which I would like to have there and which would make it easier for me to believe that we were setting up house there, I hope that these will arrive. Sentimentality was never my weakness. It would me most desirable to me to take just a minimum of hand luggage onto a plane and have ourselves transported through the skies to you. But since we live in abnormal times, the luxury of going with just a toothbrush and pajamas is something we cannot allow ourselves. We don’t know how long we’ll be traveling. I don’t really have anything new to tell you today except that the lack of mail is tearing an insurmountable hole in the power of my imagination (the only thing that I really have). When I think about you, I don’t even think of you in diary form anymore, but in contextless unorganized thoughts. And despite the troubles I go through to imagine what you are doing I just can’t seem to do it. From this collection of thoughts, it seems like dark and amber colored eyes are looking at me, those eyes that I love so much and that I will love forever. Little 2-year old Ebi once looked at the starry sky with Pepperl and she was fascinated. “Look Peppal, Ebi’s eyes are going for a walk up there. Do you see them shining?” I see your eyes shining when I look out the window at night and I send you my blessings telepathically. The longest day of the year has passed, and I hope we are soon coming to the most beautiful day of the year, the one in which I will be taking you into my arms, and not just in my thoughts.

With my most sincere greetings and kisses, I remain your
Helen

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Helene never fails to come up with new nicknames and endearments. We’ve seen Ebi, her nickname for Eva, in a few earlier stories about her young daughter. And in this letter we have two sweet names for Papa – Pepperl and Peppal.

Again, Helene quotes Faust – according to Wikipedia, the quotation is from Part I when Faust is making a deal with Mephistopheles: “Werd ich zum Augenblicke sagen: Verweile doch! Du bist so schön!“ – “Tarry a while! You are so fair!”

At this point Helene feels that like Faust, she is making a pact with the devil in order to be reunited with her children. In the end, she was trapped for years in Vienna, was sent to Ravensbrück, and never saw her husband again. She paid a high price indeed.

June 23

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Today we have another letter from Harry Lowell who is training in the Quartermaster Corps in Fort Francis E. Warren, Wyoming to his sister Eva Lowell in San Francisco. Eva has just finished her nursing degree.

June 22, 1943

Dear Sister,

Thanks for the letter (I have attended to the payments of the premiums; you may rest in peace now.) Say, could you write longer letters from now on; I usually read your letters in less than a minute and then am just as dumb as before. Pardon my criticism, old girl.

So you are going to graduate in August, eh? What are your plans? Did you get any word from the Red Cross and have you any chance of becoming an army nurse?

I’m certainly glad you didn’t show Tillie my letter; I’ll send you a few postcards so you can show them to her 

The weather has jumped from pretty cold to extremely hot temperature; I have been gypped out of Spring, so to speak.

I am getting to like Cheyenne now. It’s full of green trees and lawns; it looks like a nice city at present.

As I write this letter a drunk young punk is popping off and cussing at the army; the M.P.s just brought him in. Incidents like that happen almost every day. – And here I sit with a quart of milk, moo! Ain’t I the perfect specimen, though?

I’d make a good husband, wouldn’t I? With my virtues and additional skill in washing dishes, eh?….

How is Paul getting along? I haven’t heard from him yet; I guess I’ll write him another letter to wake him up.

I got a few letters to answer yet, so I’ll conclude my little letter.

Take care of yourself and keep smiling.

Your brother,
Harry

Fighting Quartermaster

P.S. Pardon my scribbling; I drank a quart too many. Moooo!

Harry ends his letter with a charming “self-portrait” as a “fighting quartermaster.” In previous letters, Harry has bemoaned that he will not see combat and instead has been placed in the quartermaster corps. (See posts from April 21 and June 8.)

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June 22

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Istanbul, June 22, 1945

Dear Mrs. Helene, 

I am forwarding a telegram to you from San Francisco and letting you know that I took the same document to the American Consulate and spoke to Mr. Mac Vigor, the Vice Consul, about your case.

I was told that at this time these matters cannot be handled; registrations will however, start on July 15.  I was told to come back then. 

Mr. Mac Vigor might be willing to meet with you; below, I give you his address and his office hours in case you want to pay him a visit. 

Extending you my best greetings, I remain
Your
Yomtov Cohen

Address
Mr. Mac Vigor
Vice Consul
American Embassy
Beyoglu, Mesrutiyet Caddesi
Office Hours:  Mornings, 10 a.m. – noon
                      Afternoons, 3 p.m. to 5 p.m.

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The Joint Distribution Committee (the Joint) had taken on the expense and responsibility for Jewish prisoners who had been freed in a prisoner trade and brought to Istanbul. However, their funds were limited and they did everything they could to resettle the prisoners and if possible reunite them with their family as soon as they could.

On the back of the letter is a note Helene drafted in English saying “Not allowed stay here any longer. Affidavit urgent or shall be sent to Palestine.” I assume this was the contents of a telegram she sent to Eva in San Francisco. The affidavit must have been provided, since Helene remained in Istanbul until she was able to come to the U.S. in 1946.

It seems cruel and unfair that after years of being trapped in Vienna and the horror of Ravensbrück, Helene could not escape bureaucracy, penury, and isolation. Rather than feeling joy and relief, she found herself sent down an unending rabbit hole of complications and delays.

Earlier this year (see posts from January 14 and January 26), we saw other efforts by Vitali’s relative Yomtov Cohen to help Helene. It must have been heartening to know that despite her difficulties, she had an ally.

June 21

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The Search for Vitali

Helene and her children never stopped hoping to see Vitali again. One of the most poignant things my mother ever said was in March of 1988 when she acknowledged that she probably would never see her father again. She had never lost hope that he would arrive on her doorstep one day. He would have been 100 years old.

Helene’s search began the moment she arrived in Istanbul from Ravensbrück on the SS Drottningholm in April of 1945. The JDC archives include several documents that included Vitali’s name on the list of missing persons being sought by the released prisoners. We learned about Helene’s voyage and experiences in Istanbul in several earlier posts, including JDC documents posted on April 16 and April 20.

Today we see documents from 1947, 1949, 1950, and a copy of a letter from Helene dated June 21, 1955. Helene was tireless in her search for Vitali, ever hopeful that she would see him again.

21 June, 1955

To Special Registry Office

Arolsen
Germany

Dear Sirs,

With this letter I send my polite request that you inform me about further steps to take in my quest to find out if my husband is still alive.  I would be extremely grateful to receive any information about him.

My husband and I were arrested on October 15, 1943 in our home.  While I was transported to Ravensbrück, my husband was sent to Buchenwald. 

From the PCIRO Child Search Tracing Division Wiesbaden (16) I received this information on July 7, 1947:

Cohen, Haim, political prisoner (Jew) was alive at the time of liberation. 

The attached document contains a copy of the data I have.  I will be glad to send more if necessary.

Thank you in advance for your trouble,

Sincerely,

June 20

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Today’s letter is from soldier Harry Lowell to his cousin Hilda Firestone. Harry lived with Hilda and her husband Nathan when he first arrived in San Francisco.

Philippines
June 19, 1945

Dear Hilda,

I wasn’t going to write you for another two weeks, however, circumstances compel me to break my resolution and send you a letter now in order to avoid misunderstandings that may be caused by a letter from my Colonel to Eva – a letter of recommendation in which he mentions that I have been hospitalized. Well, I want you to know right now that I am in full enjoyment of all my faculties including my good humor. I am enjoying the long-forgotten luxury of sleeping on clean white sheets and pillows, not forgetting the comfortable pajamas I wear all day.

I am writing you all this because I remember the last time the Colonel wrote a letter home he made me the hero of the family; this time he probably made me a martyr. The fact is that I turned in to the hospital because my metabolism has an aversion to tropical climate and a strong affinity, under the present circumstances, to the climate in the USA.

Here you have the story of my martyrdom in a nutshell; no Purple Heart, DSC, or pension. If I should get back I’ll have an opportunity to volunteer for the other side and be of help at least. So much for that.

I received your letter of April 3 and enjoyed it very much as usual. It is with misgiving that I look upon your menagerie; no good will become of it. Anything may happen in this fast-moving era of ours. What if Penelope and Mouffle ignore the instincts and conventions of nature and become pioneers of a new breed? Should offspring result from this mésalliance, I would suggest to add to the next potential litter a strain of canary or nightingale to give that revolutionary breed a bit of culture. (Maybe I ought to enter into the field of animal husbandry after the war.) Anyway, don’t let anything happen until Dr. Lowell arrives.

I should give you a description of the Philippines but I think I’ll narrate my experiences over the dinner table one of these days. I’m glad to have had the opportunity of seeing quite a lot in the Philippines.

In regards to your questions about the packages I was to receive, I haven’t received them yet, however, they are undoubtedly following me all over the Pacific. I did receive a package from a friend of mine the other day. Whatever had remained of a once-delicious fruitcake arrived here in a very pitiable condition. The contents of the moldy package consisted of half-inedible cake and half a collection of bugs, ants, caterpillars, and spiders. It was a very distasteful sight.

By the way, please tell everybody not to write me unless I write first from my new address. It’ll take letters a long time now to reach me. If anything important should come up, tell Eva to cable me at my old address – only when absolutely necessary.

Well Hilda, there isn’t much more to say. I hope everyone is well and happy. Please give my best regards to all. I hope to see you soon.

Love,
Harry

P.S. Please tell Eva not to answer the Colonel’s letter until I see her; I have something on my mind in regards to that letter. Thank you.

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I continue to be amazed how the letters and documents in my archive answer most questions or corroborates stories I heard growing up. We saw the letter Harry refers to in my post of June 18. I assume the “other side” he considers volunteering for would be in Europe, where his language skills would have been extremely valuable.

Harry’s postscript might refer to another memory I have of something my mother told me – Harry probably showed his fellow soldiers photos of his sister (he often asks for photos in his letters), and the Colonel may have been interested in dating her upon his return. Harry would not have mentioned that she had married earlier in the year!

I do not know the breed (or species!) of Penelope, but we’ve seen photos of Mouffle in earlier posts. The letters continue to answer questions. In the February 21 post, the first letter that mentioned Mouffle, I guessed that Mouffle was the dog in the photo with Nathan and Hilda. In a letter posted a few weeks later, it became clear that Mouffle was indeed Hilda’s dog.   

Below is a photo with Eva, Harry, and Mouffle:

I looked through the photos I have of Hilda and Nathan and found one with a cat – perhaps this is Penelope?

June 19

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Over the past few weeks we have seen letters from Helene talking about her and Vitali’s anticipated departure from Europe on the ship Ciudad de Sevilla – see posts from May 29 and June 13. The saga continues in today’s letter to her children Eva and Harry.

 Vienna, 19 June 1941

My dear children! The obstacle course is not over yet. We have everything except the visas. Since the American consulate general is closed this month from the 15-30th, we cannot apply for the transit visa for Spain and Portugal until we have the American one. Originally, we were supposed to leave Europe on the Ciudad de Sevilla on July 15, but I can’t imagine that that will be possible since our passports will have to be sent to Berlin to get transit visas issued.

Vitali cannot understand that my dark mood is still continuing, even though we are so close to our goal. I am inconsolable because except for your two letters from the beginning of May, I have heard nothing from you. Although I am very busy with my travel preparations, the thought of what you are probably doing doesn’t leave me for a moment and the 14 days in which the consulate is on vacation seem unending to me.

Our store is no longer in our possession since the 15th of this month. However, Papa is still going there for an hour or two every day as long as we’re here. The new business will not open until the fall, so Vitali can continue to do his “stressful work” from 1200-1300 and from 1700-1800.

There is really nothing new to tell you. I hope that we will soon receive the summons for the doctor’s exam soon – i.e., soon after the opening of the holy doors of your consulate so that the sending and returning of our passports can happen in good time and we will still catch the small family rowboat. We are trying to send our luggage ahead and we are waiting every hour for permission from customs. We are weighing our hand luggage every day and hoping and hoping that it will become lighter by the time we leave.

I would love to know if you have gotten letters from us. Papa sings Manon while he is shaving – that is, my trained ear is hearing what he is trying to sing. He is in a good mood. He sometimes bellows out “He hombre” and when I look up in horror, he says, “oh that will be a great hurry when I call Harry that from the train station.” Well, it’s more than just a rush for me – it’s the fulfillment of the goal of my life -- I am so looking forward to it, but it’s more than singing He hombre can express. Cross your fingers, my little bunnies, that the last stage of our waiting is not delayed longer by any circumstances. I am dying to see you and hold you in my arms. The greatest happiness is waiting for us, although it is a leap into the unknown as far as the possibility of our existence, but Papa just laughs away my concerns about this.

Please greet all the dear ones and friends from us and cross your fingers, cross your fingers. I kiss you, I am yours, and I am still waiting so fervently for you

Helen

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I often felt that my mother didn’t feel loved and appreciated for who she was. Eva was a strong, independent, intelligent, and often stubborn woman who had to grow up very quickly. In her 20s she found herself more in the role of parent than child while helping her mother make her way to San Francisco and settle here. When Eva and Harry came over, she never felt wanted – the story she told me was that young Harry had so charmed the American relatives when they visited Vienna in the 1930s that when it was clear things were heating up in Europe, they wrote to Helene and encouraged her to send him to be safe in their care. Helene would only send Harry if Eva went with him, and Eva felt that she was unwanted and barely tolerated. I don’t think she ever outgrew that feeling. These letters from Helene are so loving, warm, and witty – I hope that Eva believed her mother’s words and that they made her feel loved and valued, if only for a little while.

June 18

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Today we see a letter addressed to Eva Lowell (perhaps Harry did not know yet her married name) from her brother Harry’s commanding officer.

 HEADQUARTERS
83D QM Bn Mobile
APO 73

18 June 1945

Miss Eva M. Lowell
3494 21st Street
San Francisco, California

Dear Miss Lowell:

I am writing you a letter concerning your brother, Harry who has been a member of my command since April 26, 1944. Harry joined our unit in Milne, New Guinea for more than over a year. Your brother has rendered my Headquarters and the Army of the United States a very valuable service. There was never a time that he was not willing to give his entire resistance to work long hours to get the job done. You and your community should be very proud of your brother and hope sometime I will be able to meet you and Harry back in the States.

Harry is in fine shape physically with the exception of a rash that is apparently impossible to clear up here in the Pacific. The doctor states that this rash could only be cleared up back in the States. I wish him well and I know that he will be seeing you soon which undoubtedly will be a comfort to you.

It is with regret that Harry has to leave our organization with his fine services behind him, but on this matter it is very necessary that he be taken care of now.

Bruce A. Good
Lieutenant Colonel
QMC
Commanding

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This letter made my mother very angry. If I recall correctly, she told me that it was delivered in person by a soldier. That, coupled with the bulk of the first paragraph, led my mother to think at first that her brother had died. I imagine that Eva spent much of the war being very anxious – for most of the time, she had no idea about the fate of her parents, and she must have worried every day about her brother in the South Pacific.

June 17

I am often reminded as I look at the materials in my archive that there is nothing new under the sun. In previous posts we have seen that family members shared letters and photos in much the same way as we do today, only the process took a lot longer. Without the internet, email, Instagram, etc., people were left to read and pass on letters by mail. They created photo postcards (see June 11 post) to show people living far away what they looked like.

Today, we see 7-1/2 year old Harry’s smallpox immunization record from 1931 in Vienna. Interesting to see this as countries today grapple with how their citizens can prove that they have been vaccinated against COVID-19.

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Re-vaccination Certificate

Name: Harry Cohen   Age: 7-1/2 years
Address: 3 Seidlgasse 14           Date: 8 June 1931

Vaccinated again.

The revaccination showed at the vaccination sites:

1.     No inflamation
2.     Inflammatory nodules
3.     Changed, but noticeable vaccination bubbles
4.     formed protective smallpox as with the primary vaccination
5.     Strong irritation

(The applicable is to be underlined.)

Vienna, 17 June 1931

Dr. Fritz Schenk 

June 16

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Apology to subscribers: For some reason the June 15 post got sent twice — once combined with the June 14 post and once on its own yesterday. Sorry for the repetition! I’d like to blame the technology but it’s probably me. Or it was my grandmother and the rest of the family wanting to make sure you all understand the importance of music to their lives!

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Today we see another Red Cross postcard from POW Erich Zerzawy in Siberia to his siblings in Brüx, Bohemia.

Monday 16 June 1917.

My dear ones!

I can’t tell you anything new. After all, nothing happens. I have only gotten mail from Paul from Gablanz [?]. I would have liked to write to him but the card was from April 19. Of course, there could be no answer card to send there. I hope he is doing well. I wish him the best in case he might have left. That’s right, only now do I know who Hedl’s husband is. Even though such knowledge does not serve me well, I still want to send a kiss of the hand to Mrs. Hedl. A thousand kisses to all of you.

Erich

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From Paul Zerzawy’s letters, we learned that as a soldier he often was not allowed to write to Erich directly. Paul had to make do with sending messages through his family members. I don’t know where Gablanz is, but found a town in Germany named Gablenz (also known as Jabłońc) which has an amazing bridge built in the 19th century.

As I read my family’s letters, when the letter provides more questions than answers I often find myself creating stories. That’s the case with this card from Paul’s brother Erich. In this letter, he mentions a woman named Hedl who has recently gotten married. Perhaps she was Erich’s girlfriend before the war. Another reminder of the disruption of war and how easily one’s hopes and dreams can be dashed and the world turned upside down. At this point, Erich is just 19 years old, has been a POW in Siberia for at least 6 months, and will not survive the war. Despite his situation, his letters home are always sweet and positive, trying not to cause more worry than necessary to his family.

June 15

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Domestic scenes – the life they left behind

These two photographs of Helene’s nephew Paul Zerzawy’s apartment are dated June 15, 1938. They are a nice window into his homelife in Vienna. I wonder whether he took these photos because he knew he’d be leaving Europe and wanted to have a keepsake of his old life.

Perhaps the following photo was taken at the same time for the same reason.

The entire Zerzawy family enjoyed music. Below is a photo of Paul’s brother Robert with their father and step-mother in the 1930s.

Photos from the 1930s of Eva and Harry show them in their apartment on Seidlgasse in Vienna. Snapshots of happier, more carefree times.

Harry on a swing:

Harry and Eva in fancy dress:

Eva busy at the sewing machine

A portrait of young Harry which he doodled on, adding a mustache and monocle as well as other details.

Eva walking through the park

Harry and Eva on the piano. The photo of Eva is very dim but shows clearly the drawing of Helene which appears in other photos we saw in an earlier post.

Eva and Harry brought the portrait with them when they came to San Francisco in 1939.

Music played a central part in everyone’s lives – something we know from Helene’s many musical references in her letters and because she named her daughter after a Wagnerian heroine. Happily, music knows no boundaries and the family could enjoy music in their new home as well as their old. Nearly everyone in the family played piano, some better than others. This was a lifesaver for Paul Zerzawy — he was unable to practice law when he came to America, but was able to make at least some money in San Francisco by teaching piano and accompanying singers.

Eva loved music but was never a musician, for many years having season tickets to the opera and symphony in San Francisco. Harry had perfect pitch. He never learned to read music but could imitate anything he heard. He entertained himself and others, often spending hours each day playing piano.

Below is a photo of Eva in front of her piano in San Francisco - if I recall, she inherited it from Helene’s cousin Bertha with whom Eva lived while she finished high school. When my husband and I moved back to San Francisco several years ago, we had no room for the piano and had to give it away. That was the one possession that was difficult to part with and brought me to tears.

Eva’s piano leaving our lives forever.

Below is a photo of Harry playing piano at home and at my wedding.

June 14

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Tennis

My mother loved playing tennis. When I was young, she tried in vain to get me excited about the game, having me take tennis lessons at the courts in Golden Gate Park. She became a regular there, playing every week and making many friends.

About 20 years ago I was in England and went to Hampton Court. There, I was surprised to learn that Henry the VIII loved tennis and saw the court he played on.

According to Wikipedia the rules of modern tennis were created in England in the late 19th Century. In looking through family photos, I see that family members enjoyed the game dating at least to the early 20th century, so they were playing a relatively “new” game.

The above photo was probably taken in 1908 or earlier. There is a note on the back mentioning Robert Zerzawy. I think he is the young boy in the cap holding the ball and facing the camera. The photo of the four children below would be siblings Paul, Erich, Klara, and Robert. Likely taken in or near Brüx in Bohemia (German name for Most in the Czech Republic).

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 Probably 1937 or 1938 – Eva and Harry playing doubles in Vienna:

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1938 – Paul Zerzawy notes the date of June 16, 1938 on the back and that it was taken at the Gartenbauplätz in Vienna. A friend named Walter Reif is hitting the ball in the foreground. The only reference I could find to Gartenbauplätz was about it being the site for ice hockey tournaments in the early 1930s.

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1941 – Mission High School in San Francisco – we saw this photo of Eva and Harry from February of 1941 in a previous post.

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Probably the late 1970s – Golden Gate Park Tennis Club at a Halloween event. Eva taking a cigarette break, dressed as a gypsy. My mother “made” similar costumes for me once or twice for Halloween. I always thought she did that because it was a cheap and easy way to dress up, but more recently I’ve wondered whether it was a silent nod to her father the palm reader.

June 13

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Vienna, 13 June 1941

My children, dear Paul, and all of my dear ones!

On the 15 of July we are leaving with the Ciudad de Sevilla Europe by way of Lisbon. It would be appropriate for me to express our delight in a very exuberant way and to thank all of those who have helped us to achieve this in a very well written speech. But that doesn’t work today because of all the excitement (last week our departure was still very much in question) and the exhaustion – we are getting up about 4:15am and Papa often had to be at some office by 7am – so I am tired and I am no good for any mental work. I am just amazed at Vitali’s vitality! With him, it is a “nomen omen” [omen est nomen - the name is a sign]. But when we are out there on board the Seviglia, I will drink manzanilla with Carmen and dance the seguidilla out of delight that I will be with you soon. Our horses have been saddled and we’re just waiting for the shipper to pick up our things and take them to the Portuguese “stall.” He let you know yesterday by telegram about our order and we hope that the telegram came through without any difficulty. For this reason, we want to get an answer by telegram. We will, if everything goes well, leave a few days early for Lisbon, because the train trip in today’s current conditions will take about 5-7 days. We are thinking of leaving Vienna 8-10 days before our rowboat departs from Lisbon. What do you think about that? We are taking the de Seviglia. Lisette will be surprised when she hears about that. 

Today we really thought we would get our passports issued and while Papa is waiting in Prinz Eugenstrasse [the Turkish embassy] and taking care of the agenda items that are still missing. Then came a card which said that we would also need a certification from the Employment Office to certify that this office has no objection to our departure. One more day of delay, but that’s all right. We still have enough time, even if there are a few more things that stand in our way.

On the 15 of June, the Stubenring will not see us anymore except as visitors. Papa will never have such great work hours again as he has been able to arrange here. Which are from about 11am to 1pm and 5-6pm. I must admit that Papa has been very strict about the closing time. One minute after this time, he was already long gone. The miracle of the Stubenring. All the other shopkeepers admired him.

Our acacia trees on Kopalplatz are really blooming a lot and I can feel their fragrance when I stand by the window at night. Even if there is quiet above all tree tops, I feel their whisper.

Trrrrrrrrrrr [imitating a phone ringing] - it was Papa - he called me to let me know that he had taken care of the matter with the employment office and that I should be ready by 2pm to receive my passport. It all seems like a dream to me and I take care of business like a well-oiled machine. I have a feeling as one often does in a dream - when you dream something that you wish for but to still stay in touch with reality a little bit and say, “well, it is just a dream.” Dreams were my El Dorado in the last few weeks because through dreams I was with you. Soon, in order to speak with you I will not have to dream burlesques anymore.

It is time to finish making the food and I will have to get my ticket for the great big confusion which is known as “Vitali and Helene Cohen’s trip to heaven.” I am starting to reflect and to feel that I am awake and that I am not just some fool who is being duped by her wishes. I run around, I walk, I hurry to receive my happiness document. No matter what I do, the ship will not leave a moment earlier, but I will be cheering: “I have a passport, my own passport!” At night I will put it under my pillow and dream about you again.

On Monday, Papa will find out if he can take his work with him or not. Even in the most unfortunate case Papa promised me we will leave and we will leave his work behind, even though he really doesn’t want to. O n  T i m e! He has, as usual, been proven right. On time! Punctual! A nice word. Don’t you think so?

We are still being boycotted by the post and we haven’t received anything from you. You will have to make it up to me.

Kissssssssssses

Helen

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A few observations:

In her greeting to her family, Helene acknowledges that her letters are being shared with all the relatives.

Helene alluded to their upcoming visit to Spain in the May 29 post.

Lisette was a young relative of Vitali’s (perhaps his niece) in Istanbul (see letter in May 11 post). Her last name was something like de Sevilla – I assume her mother’s married name.

I looked up Kopalplatz, which no longer exists. It is now known as Oskar-Kokoschka-Platz and was quite near Helene and Vitali’s shop on the Stubenring and about a half-mile from their home on Seidlgasse. I suppose it’s possible the fragrance of the acacias wafted that far on a summer night.

As is so often the case, Helene alludes to Goethe in this letter. When she writes of the acacia trees, she uses a pun to reference a Goethe poem  – über allen Gipfeln; Gipfel = mountaintop; Wipfel = treetop]. You can hear a version of Schubert’s version of the Goethe poem here.

As they prepare to leave and it is looking likely that they will succeed, ever more hurdles are put in their way: Vitali haunts the Turkish consulate daily, rules on what they are allowed to take with them change constantly, new bureaucratic requirements pop up to obstruct their progress.

There is one word in my grandmother’s letter that I had trouble finding a translation for: “Remasouri”. Roslyn translated it as confusion or mess, but I wanted to see if there was any other possible reference or translation. The only thing I could find with was “remasuri” which is the name of a German language card in the science fiction role-playing card deck “Magic: the Gathering.” Often the ideas and words in modern games come from classical references, so I’m guessing that the card name came from some arcane source. Given Vitali’s mystical and metaphysical profession and the tone of Helene’s letter — our two heroes on a years-long adventure with obstacles to overcome but appearing to be reaching the end of their quest — the cards with magic, wizards and dragons seemed absolutely appropriate.

June 12

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Today we have a letter from Helene’s daughter Eva in Istanbul to her cousin Paul Zerzawy in the U.S. — Eva and Harry’s parents Helene and Vitali are in Vienna trying to arrange for their family’s departure to the U.S.

 Istanbul, 12 June ‘39

Dear Paul!

We got copies of both of your letters from Mother. It is very nice of you to help us but I don’t think your efforts will have much success because there are a lot of people here who are waiting for their emigration to America. It’s not a bad place to wait in Istanbul. At first I didn’t like it here, because in the best and most elegant streets the cobblestones are as bad as in the worst suburbs in Vienna. Going through the entire city as far as I know the city, there is like one street which goes pretty straight and is fairly good and there are to the left and the right small streets that go downhill to the sea and uphill to the other side. To make walking even more difficult, on the sidewalk there are what appear to be half inch high steps which one has to climb up. Now finally I am starting to see what beautiful buildings there are in the streets, because at first I was just paying attention to my feet so I wouldn’t fall. In the first month we were here, we had no money at all, but then as if some sort of miracle, a donation came for which I could buy some material for making silk flowers. Unfortunately, there’s not a whole lot to be done with that here, although most women run around like flower shops. I did get some orders from the two biggest stores, probably because I’m an immigrant, but unfortunately just once because they don’t need anymore. I was working while cooking on the gas flame, trying to save as much as possible, and I earned just about enough that I could buy myself a French textbook and dictionary.

For the last week I have a position as a seamstress in a laundry. And I am getting 15 Turkish lire a day. To translate into hours, I’m getting the equivalent 8RPF an hour. At the moment I’m not getting much done because the idea is that you’re supposed to work quickly, and I don’t even understand how to use the machine very well yet. People in the store are very nice and don’t treat me like an employee. They know that I’m not someone who knows how to do this kind of work and they hired me anyway. I am trying to learn as fast as I can. I do have an hour lunch break that I use for that purpose. One of the bosses speaks German very well and with the other female workers I speak French, but it’s anything but correct. Now I’m actually mostly learning Turkish since I probably have a lot more chance of getting a good job and one that is well paid with that. I must save my money in order to pay for our stay with the relatives because they are being burdened by our stay here. I will them give 7 Turkish lire - that’s all I can give them - because I need the rest for my travel and lunch.

I unfortunately can’t write anymore today because I have to leave and it’s 7:30. My greetings to the Schiller family and I wish that your attempts to find a job will soon find success.

Many Kisses,
Eva

P.S. Send the letters to us together with those from the parents to save postage.

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This is one of the few letters I have written by my mother. It’s wonderful to hear her voice and see her handwriting, both of which were virtually the same at 18 as it was at 80. Even at that young age, she was practical, independent, making the best of a difficult situation, spending nothing on herself except for necessities. At least on paper, she sounds optimistic and fearless – she will do whatever it takes to support herself and succeed. She doesn’t complain or rue the things she can’t control or the dreams that are dashed, or at least delayed. At the same time, she is concerned about her own (much older) cousin’s financial situation and asks him not to worry about them. (I was not able to figure out what 15 Turkish lira/8 German Reichsmarks were worth to get a sense of how little or how much Eva was making and spending.)

We heard some of the same news from Helene when she wrote to her nephew on May 30. In that post, we saw examples of Eva’s flower making tools. Helene mentions how amazed she is at the practical streak in her children – they are figuring out how to survive in Istanbul on their own, since the relatives cannot afford to support them. Knowing that her children could thrive independently must have been both heartening and bittersweet – it must have helped her immensely in the years of separation to come to know that they would likely land on their feet.