During 1936, Nazi persecution of the Jews decreased markedly. Visitors from all over the world would soon be arriving in Berlin to attend the Olympic games and Hitler knew it was in his best interests for Germany to show a friendly face to all and sundry. The ubiquitous signs declaring JUDEN UNERWÜNSCHT (JEWS NOT WELCOME) mysteriously disappeared from public places and Nazi abuses of the Jewish population suddenly dwindled away as the country went on its best behavior. This artificial calm was not to last, but it was enough to sway many German Jews into thinking that the leopard had changed its spots, that henceforth things would be better.
My father was one of those who hoped that the downswing in Nazi harassment would be permanent. Partly because of this, he was hesitant to consider emigrating from Germany, even though my uncle Benjamin tried repeatedly to convince him to leave, or at least to send me to live with him in America.
My parents were disinclined to take such a drastic step. The thought of sending their only son away, not knowing whether they would ever see him again, was more than they could bear. But it must have caused them to devote more attention to the future, because shortly after this my father enrolled me in an apprenticeship program sponsored by the Jewish Community.
Living anything like a normal life was becoming an impossibility for anyone of Jewish descent. German society was being hypnotized by the speeches of Hitler and by his promises of a better tomorrow, once Germany was made Judenrein (free of Jews). The leader of the nation was telling so many lies so often that the German people became convinced that the Jews were the cause of all their problems and that, conversely, their expulsion would mean the return of good times for all.
Emigration was on the minds of many Jewish families. When Jews made inquiries at the consulates of countries that welcomed immigrants, they learned that professionals such as doctors, lawyers, and bankers had low priorities in being considered for immigration visas. There were few job openings for German-speaking white-collar workers.
Preferred applicants were those who could help alleviate the chronic shortages in certain trades. Near the top of the list were the trades of machinist, metalworkers, and machine builders. Naturally, proof of training or experience was required with the visa application.
The program my father enrolled me in was designed to train suitable candidates in machine building and metalworking. I was fortunate to have been selected for participation. And once I began attending, I was able to live with my parents again, commuting every day to and from their apartment. This was quite welcome as, during my years in the Orphan’s Home, I only rarely saw them. Using the local S-Bahn, the commute was an easy one, to and from Wernerwerke (Siemensstadt).
Classes were conducted in a building owned by a company known as Fleck und Söhne. They were manufacturers of precision machine tools such as lathes and milling machines. Their factory occupied the first and second floors. On the second floor, about eight thousand square feet were given over for use by the apprenticeship program.
The class was made up of about thirty apprentices and four instructors. These instructors were all experts, with years of experience in their particular specialties. They did a wonderful job of passing on their expertise and know-how to the apprentices. At the same time, they insisted on strict discipline and impeccable performance from everyone.
Herr Schmidt taught welding in all its aspects, both gas and electric. This man duplicated or created conditions that were comparable to actual industry situations. This included gas and electric welding overhead and vertically, such as might be encountered in ship or bridge building. After undergoing Herr Schmidt’s training, we felt that we were equipped to handle any welding application that might come along.
The lead instructor and general manager was Herr Kaminski. He was most involved with teaching the use of so-called chip-making machines, such as lathes, mills, grinders, drills, etc., as required in the precision machining of parts and components.
A third instructor was Herr Tichauer. His forte was metal forming, such as forging, blacksmithing, bending, punching, and coping. He was particularly skilled with anything that had to do with blacksmithing. For example, he instructed us in such basic skills as the forging and machining of various types of tools, such as chisels, screwdrivers, hammers, tongues, ornamental iron structures, and many others.
Lastly, there was Herr Lederman. Up until two years earlier, he had been the chief engineer and chief designer of the Loewe company in Berlin, a large, well-known, and well-respected builder of machine tools. Their machines were used not only in Germany but throughout Europe. Because he was Jewish, Lederman was dismissed from the company. This was the Loewe company’s loss and our gain. His experience, ability, and effectiveness at passing on knowledge to the apprentices was outstanding. His dismissal was made even more ironic by the fact that, like some other highly successful machinery companies in Berlin, the Loewe company was originally founded and operated by Jews.
Lederman was a genius when it came to machine design. We could well understand why he was the chief designer and chief engineer of the Loewe company for so many years. He was responsible for the design of many of their high-grade machine tools, which were in use throughout Europe.
After being discharged from the company, Lederman volunteered to teach several subjects in our program. These included machine drawings, parts manufacturing, and metallurgy and several others. I took all of these classes from him. Lederman taught us in a few months what would usually have taken years to learn.
The instructors continuously inspected our work to make sure that it met the high standards they demanded. If something failed to meet their criteria, they required repeat performances. For example, one of the basic essential requirements in machine building and metalworking is the mastery of hand filing. As a training exercise, filing was used to produce surfaces, angles, and sizes of steel blocks from a rough blank to a finished product.
We were given a steel cube measuring roughly three inches on all sides. When finished, all four sides had to be in perfect rectangular relationships. In addition, each side had to be perfectly flat with tolerances of plus or minus one-tenth of a millimeter, roughly the thickness of a human hair.
On the average, a student would spend about a month filing his block, which would be intermittently inspected by the instructors. The instructors were insistent on near-perfection. When we thought that we had it right, we presented the block to the instructor. He inspected it by means of a precision square, and if he found it to be less than nearly perfect, he handed it back to the apprentice with appropriate comments, explaining what was wrong and instructing them to continue filing.
All day long, day after day, we would stand at the workbench, the block of steel clamped in the vice, filing away. The instructors would walk up and down the rows of workbenches, checking our work. We each had three files: a coarse, a medium, and a fine. The files had to be laid on the workbench in such a manner as to be perfectly straight.
It was not unusual to finish with a block one and a half inches to two inches per side. This is amazing considering the original size of the three-inch cube. Some people may not appreciate the amount of metal thus removed by hand filing, but I want to emphasize that there was a phenomenal amount of persistence and patience necessary for this endeavor. We were not allowed to move on to the next section of the course until our blocks met the specifications required by the instructors.
It may seem that the instructors were overdoing it, but one has to remember that it was a great privilege for us to be allowed to attend the course at all. We were expendable. For every student attending the course, there were many others who would have very much liked to take his place. We were learning not just how to file but also perseverance and self-discipline. The famous German reputation for quality craftsmanship was being taught to a new generation.
All of the instructors insisted on strict discipline, not only as it concerned behavior but perhaps even more importantly as it concerned our performance in each subject. They wanted only serious students. They were extremely pleased with all the students who were attending, for their seriousness, their ability and willingness to learn.
By the time I finished the course, I had made up my mind never to use another file, but it was not to be. Never say never, because never is a long time. The mastery of filing I obtained from this course very possibly saved my life, as is recounted earlier.
Toward the conclusion of the three-and-a-half-year course, every apprentice was required to design and manufacture one or two typical objects. I chose a bench-mounted punching and shearing machine, manually operated, as well as a lock and two keys, utilizing the wing key design. Both of these items had to be designed using all proper standards in effect at the time. This design had to be approved by two of the instructors, one of which was Lederman and the other Kaminski.
I was successful in completing both objects (the punching and shearing machine, as well as the lock and keys). Both were inspected by all instructors, and I received the highest possible grade, which was very satisfying. There were also oral and written examinations. After passing both, I got a diploma with a statement to that effect.
I made quite a few good friends during the apprenticeship. How many of them survived the Holocaust, I don’t know, but one who did was Harold Baum. I succeeded in tracking him down in 1999. Harold had participated in the same apprenticeship program as I, albeit a shorter version. He was fortunate enough to have been able to leave Berlin in 1941, to immigrate to America. He now lives in Florida.
Recently, Harold informed me that Herr Lederman had not survived the war. He was about to be arrested by the Gestapo when he threw himself in front of a moving S-Bahn train. Like so many others, Lederman committed suicide rather than face whatever agonies the concentration camp would bring him. In this manner, one more unique, talented, irreplaceable soul was lost to Hitler’s madness.