Kristallnacht
Berlin, November 9, 1938, the telephone rings at my grandparents home. Only a single word is spoken, and then the line goes dead. "Leave." With that my grandfather gathered his family and left their home with nothing in hand. The memory of a seven year old was not enough to keep details like, what time they left, where they went, or when they came home.
I don't know if they knew what was going on until they returned home to the ruin of the synagogue and most likely their home. The event was called Kristallnacht, Kristall (glass) and Nacht (night). This was a military action taken by the Gestapo against Jews in Germany on November 9 and 10, 1938. It was an attack primarily against synagogues with another purpose to arrest more than 25,000 Jews, especially the well-to-do.
The Gestapo were intent on destroying the synagogues, and businesses owned by Jews. as well as and rounding up and arresting many young, healthy, Jewish males, who were subsequently sent to concentration camps.
Although I don't know where they went for those two days, I do know that when they returned, they knew that they had to begin the process of expatriation. Although one can hardly reason with insanity, it seemed that the Nazis would have been happy to export their "problem", however they didn't make it easy for the Jews to leave. Furthermore, there certainly weren't a lot of places in the world that wanted to absorb the Jews who were interested in leaving.
My family was extremely fortunate. My grandfather was highly respected in the community, loved by Jews and Christians. Through his network, he was able to secure passage on a ship to Shanghai in 1939. China was one of the few countries that allowed the Jews in. And so my family boared a ship in 1939 and sailed to Shanghai. Clearly, they were fortunate enough to make it to Shanghai, surviving wickedly rough seas, near fatal infections, and overcrowding. But they were fortunate in that they made it. For everyone knows the stories about ships that left Germany, full of Jews who were turned back from their intended point of debarcation, only to have their human cargo moved into cattle cars and trained directly to a "work camp". "Arbeit Macht Frei", translated, "Work Makes Freedom".
Freedom.
Freedom, perhaps, meaning death.
Kristallnacht
We had our own Kristallnact in California. It was April, 1979. I was a senior at Redwood High School, and my father had helped me secure employement at The Emporium (later absorbed by Macy's). Four nights a week I sat at a small desk in the lamp department. For retail, next to selling furniture, I had the least glamorous job. "The Little Lamp Lady" was my nickname. And although I didn't get to work in juniors with the cool teens, strutting around in cute little outfits, I had something they didn't have... a desk--with a chair. Now that was luxury.
My work shift went something like this:
It was cushy, and despite the fact that I led a fairly solitary existence in lamps, I enjoyed my job and made a little spending money.
But back to Kristallnacht.
April 1979: I'm "working", hard, at the desk when the phone rings. It must have been late, because the department was empty, and that phone seemed to ring louder and more urgently than usual.
"Lamp department," I answered. "Don't come home" my mother whispered loudly into the phone.
"Huh?"
"I don't want you to worry, but I also don't want you to be scared. I'm not sure you should come home."
Sure, that's hearing someone say, "ew that's gross" and then tell you not to look.
"Just tell me what happened."
David and I came home, and we found the dining room chairs on the floor and plates and glasses smashed in the kitchen. There's glass and food all over the place. David is really upset, and I'm not sure what to do."
"Where's dad?"
"We found him outside sitting under the weeping willow tree. He was crying. All he said was, "What's the point?"
April 1979: we didn't talk about abuse back then. I don't think we even knew what that meant. Besides, within our family's views, Jews aren't abusers. We have loving families that focus on education. There certainly was never discussion about battered wives, or emotionally abusive fathers. My dad was simply, "having a bad day."
Of course I went home after work. I clocked out and drove home like I did the other three nights each week. I got home and the house was dead quiet. My parent's bedroom door was closed, David's door was closed, and mom was asleep in front of the TV. The kitchen looked as if nothing had happened.
Unlike the Berlin of 1938, our Kristallnacht was over quickly and no one had to escape for the night. But like Berlin, there were emotional scars. My brother David never talked about that night. This was one of the few times that his hero, my father, behaved in a way that wasn't consistent with his view of how heros behave. He, like the rest of us, preferred to chalk it up to "a bad day". My mother in her usual mollifying way, swept up the problem with the glass. It was taken out to the trash, not to be discussed (until much later). I didn't dare say a word. My father and I constantly lived on an emotional precipice. We each had a way of pushing each other's buttons. As best I can remember, after returning home, I looked around; saw that things looked normal; went into my room, shut the door, and went to sleep. And like so many incidents that we prefer to ignore, the light of day makes the events of the night a distant memory.
Berlin, November 9, 1938, the telephone rings at my grandparents home. Only a single word is spoken, and then the line goes dead. "Leave." With that my grandfather gathered his family and left their home with nothing in hand. The memory of a seven year old was not enough to keep details like, what time they left, where they went, or when they came home.
I don't know if they knew what was going on until they returned home to the ruin of the synagogue and most likely their home. The event was called Kristallnacht, Kristall (glass) and Nacht (night). This was a military action taken by the Gestapo against Jews in Germany on November 9 and 10, 1938. It was an attack primarily against synagogues with another purpose to arrest more than 25,000 Jews, especially the well-to-do.
The Gestapo were intent on destroying the synagogues, and businesses owned by Jews. as well as and rounding up and arresting many young, healthy, Jewish males, who were subsequently sent to concentration camps.
Although I don't know where they went for those two days, I do know that when they returned, they knew that they had to begin the process of expatriation. Although one can hardly reason with insanity, it seemed that the Nazis would have been happy to export their "problem", however they didn't make it easy for the Jews to leave. Furthermore, there certainly weren't a lot of places in the world that wanted to absorb the Jews who were interested in leaving.
My family was extremely fortunate. My grandfather was highly respected in the community, loved by Jews and Christians. Through his network, he was able to secure passage on a ship to Shanghai in 1939. China was one of the few countries that allowed the Jews in. And so my family boared a ship in 1939 and sailed to Shanghai. Clearly, they were fortunate enough to make it to Shanghai, surviving wickedly rough seas, near fatal infections, and overcrowding. But they were fortunate in that they made it. For everyone knows the stories about ships that left Germany, full of Jews who were turned back from their intended point of debarcation, only to have their human cargo moved into cattle cars and trained directly to a "work camp". "Arbeit Macht Frei", translated, "Work Makes Freedom".
Freedom.
Freedom, perhaps, meaning death.
Kristallnacht
We had our own Kristallnact in California. It was April, 1979. I was a senior at Redwood High School, and my father had helped me secure employement at The Emporium (later absorbed by Macy's). Four nights a week I sat at a small desk in the lamp department. For retail, next to selling furniture, I had the least glamorous job. "The Little Lamp Lady" was my nickname. And although I didn't get to work in juniors with the cool teens, strutting around in cute little outfits, I had something they didn't have... a desk--with a chair. Now that was luxury.
My work shift went something like this:
*Clock in at 5:15
*Stroll through cosmetics and check out product
*Try a new perfume
*Escalate upstairs
*Enter the home center
*Spend 10 minutes catching up with my manager
*Dust
*Tend to customers (few)
*Do homework
*Dust
*Close register
*Drop off cash at office
*escalate downstairs
*clock out at 9:15
It was cushy, and despite the fact that I led a fairly solitary existence in lamps, I enjoyed my job and made a little spending money.
But back to Kristallnacht.
April 1979: I'm "working", hard, at the desk when the phone rings. It must have been late, because the department was empty, and that phone seemed to ring louder and more urgently than usual.
"Lamp department," I answered. "Don't come home" my mother whispered loudly into the phone.
"Huh?"
"I don't want you to worry, but I also don't want you to be scared. I'm not sure you should come home."
Sure, that's hearing someone say, "ew that's gross" and then tell you not to look.
"Just tell me what happened."
David and I came home, and we found the dining room chairs on the floor and plates and glasses smashed in the kitchen. There's glass and food all over the place. David is really upset, and I'm not sure what to do."
"Where's dad?"
"We found him outside sitting under the weeping willow tree. He was crying. All he said was, "What's the point?"
April 1979: we didn't talk about abuse back then. I don't think we even knew what that meant. Besides, within our family's views, Jews aren't abusers. We have loving families that focus on education. There certainly was never discussion about battered wives, or emotionally abusive fathers. My dad was simply, "having a bad day."
Of course I went home after work. I clocked out and drove home like I did the other three nights each week. I got home and the house was dead quiet. My parent's bedroom door was closed, David's door was closed, and mom was asleep in front of the TV. The kitchen looked as if nothing had happened.
Unlike the Berlin of 1938, our Kristallnacht was over quickly and no one had to escape for the night. But like Berlin, there were emotional scars. My brother David never talked about that night. This was one of the few times that his hero, my father, behaved in a way that wasn't consistent with his view of how heros behave. He, like the rest of us, preferred to chalk it up to "a bad day". My mother in her usual mollifying way, swept up the problem with the glass. It was taken out to the trash, not to be discussed (until much later). I didn't dare say a word. My father and I constantly lived on an emotional precipice. We each had a way of pushing each other's buttons. As best I can remember, after returning home, I looked around; saw that things looked normal; went into my room, shut the door, and went to sleep. And like so many incidents that we prefer to ignore, the light of day makes the events of the night a distant memory.
posted by Wintermade at 1:31 PM
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