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Beginning
June 30, 1938, at thirteen, I said goodbye forever to my family in a
crowded waiting room of the
Anhalter:
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holding on for life |
On Bahnhof station
in Berlin. I was about to leave on the Kindertransport to the United
Kingdom. In spite of the horrors of Nazi Germany, I did not realize how
happy I had been. I was loved, sometimes even spoiled, but knew I
belonged. We were sure that we would meet again, very soon, in the
United States and Norbert, my younger brother nicknamed Bibi, would be
able to fly the promised Mickey Mouse kite in Central Park.
My weeping mother, Mama, reminded me, once again,
to always say thank you and to look at the stars and pray to the “lieber
Gott.” My Papa's last words were to find children, tell them stories and
make them laugh, even if I felt sad. Bibi, at the final minute, wondered
whether I could send him a pair of boxing gloves. We hugged, prayed and
held on to each other until my name was called over the loudspeaker. I
said a hurried good-bye to my family, not knowing it would be forever.
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Refugee:
It took two days of not belonging, not being held, not being
asked any questions to change me into a desperately lonely
thirteen year old. Nothing worked, not my smiles, not the
presents from my parents, nor sharing a meal together. My
guardians, called Auntie and Uncle, made strict rules which I
was asked to repeat: bedtime at 7:00; no seconds at meals; and,
maybe, the visit of a friend, once a month, if I found one. I
was always cold and hungry and sometimes stole change from a jar
in the kitchen to buy scraps at a local bakery. After a while I
even had to help myself to money for stamps to write to cousins
in the United States, telling them to please hurry up and help
us come to America.
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I
did a lot of weeping and praying, Sh'ma Yis-ra-el...,
while looking at the moon. There were no lights. One day
Auntie pulled the shade and said, "You are supposed to
be sleeping." That's when I temporarily stopped
functioning. |
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Guardians |
Nursery
Helper: Auntie and Uncle took me out of school and put me on
a train to Hertford to become a nursery helper in a London County
Council residential nursery. I was fifteen years old and suddenly
acquired a family of six children. I was reborn and happy. I told the
children stories, sang songs, played and laughed with them. Papa was
right. He knew that in spite of sadness, longing and fear, relating to
children would be my salvation.
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