10
Refuge
THE KUSITZKYS’ HOME was at 206 Benekendorffstrasse in the town of Lübars. The house was situated on a hill that rose gradually from the street and overlooked the surrounding area. As I looked at it from the road, I estimated it to be between 100 to 150 feet away, with the nearest neighbors at least that far. This was much better for anyone who needed privacy and would certainly be much safer than the crowded conditions in most apartment houses.
This was the first freestanding house I had ever visited near Berlin. I had lived in the big city of Berlin for all of my nineteen years, where almost everyone lived in apartments. My only experience with a house of any kind had been the huge home my maternal grandmother, Henriette Wolff, had at 10 Tilsiter Strasse in Heidekrug, East Prussia. I visited it during the summers of my early childhood, before the Nazis took power.
A simple walkway paved with fieldstones led from the street to the house. Fruit trees were growing along the borders of the property and along the walkway that led to the front door. As I walked up it, I noticed large beds of vegetables and flowers of various kinds, all bearing evidence of painstaking care.
As I walked farther and looked ahead, I was able to pick out some details. It was two stories high, with a steep gable. It appeared to be made out of stone on the bottom, red brick and stucco in the middle, and wood on the top. There was a prominent chimney in the center of the house. It seemed well built, though only about thirty feet wide, resting on its grand little hill.
The Kusitzky House in Lübars. The upper window is the room in which I was hiding.
I walked around to the side of the house, up to the front door, and hesitated. There was no way of knowing if the residents would be truly sympathetic to my situation, or whether Dr. Finger had got it wrong and I would be greeted by people only too happy to do their duty to the Fatherland by turning me in. Whatever the truth was, I had little choice. I had to take the chance. I looked around and familiarized myself with the way I had come up from the street, in case I needed to depart in a hurry. By now, it had almost become second nature to plan for disaster. Survival demanded it. No matter where I went, the possible need for an escape route was foremost in my mind.
I rang the doorbell and waited. Very soon, the door opened. A woman stood before me, of medium build, with straight black hair combed back and tied into a bun. She wore very simple clothes with a striped apron and a pocket on the side. She wore not a stitch of makeup, with a decidedly non-Aryan looking pair of dark eyes and a straight nose.
“Yes?” she asked, looking me up and down.
Before she could say anything else, I blurted out my name: “I’m Dagobert Lewin,” I said and mentioned the name of the family who were hiding the Fingers.
“Ach, so! Please come in!” she said, her face lighting up with excitement. “I am Anni Kusitzky. Come this way,” she beckoned.
She led me into a small but well-organized kitchen. There was a large hearth in which a fire crackled. Pots and pans were hanging on the racks above the hearth and along the wall, creating a very cozy effect. There was a sturdy wooden table in the center of the room, with containers prominently displaying flour, sugar, and other essentials.
“Please sit,” she said, as she turned around and, to my astonishment, put down what looked to be a plate of homemade cookies. She then poured two cups of ersatz coffee and came and sat down, putting the plate of cookies in front of me.
It had been a long time since I’d had anything like cookies and I gulped them down. I was very, very hungry. Flour was practically impossible to obtain in quantities large enough to make decent bread, much less sweets. How could she have so much flour, I wondered?
The deprivations created by the war were felt in every area of society, but nowhere more than in the food supply. Only very basic items, such as low-quality bread, a few eggs, and occasionally a small amount of meat were available to the general population. On rare occasions we could acquire beans and some vegetables. More often than not, our meals were a watery soup, made of whatever ingredients we could come up with.
Living in hiding with Ilse and Klaus, I had to purchase ration cards on the black market for three people. They were not always available, and sometimes we came close to starving. Even if I could get the cards, the food itself was expensive. On the black market, where you could buy food without ration cards, it was even worse. An egg went for twenty Reichsmarks. One pound of butter cost five hundred. I was still buying illegal ration cards with the money I’d made from the sale of the motors stolen from the weapons factory.
I would purchase the ration cards through some contacts that I had made before my parents were deported. There was a trade in the illegal cards even then, because Jews were legally allowed very little food, far less than the general German population. Those Jews who had the money and black market contacts bought ration cards. There seemed to have always been a black market, not just for food but for a huge variety of items—clothing, gold, diamonds, passports, identification papers—anything and everything.
Anni noticed I was hungry and she looked at me somewhat sadly. “You must have not had much to eat recently,” she said.
I finished chewing the cookie that was in my mouth and looked up at her. “Yes, you’re right. I have had very little to eat for a long while.”
“Tell me about your family and your background,” she said.
I had nothing to lose in divulging my background. She already knew I was Jewish and living illegally. She had all the ammunition she needed to call the Gestapo, if that was her intent. As my father told me long ago, “You can’t trust everybody but you have to trust somebody.” So I decided to tell her what she wanted to know. “I am Jewish. I was born in Berlin. My parents, Leopold and Johanna Lewin, were deported by the Gestapo a little over a year ago. The Gestapo forced me to work in one of their gun factories.”
“And you are married?” she asked.
With only the briefest hesitation, I said, “Well, yes, I am.”
“When did you get married, dear?” she asked, almost maternally.
“Not too long ago, actually,” I replied. “Ilse and I have been married just a few months.”
I stopped and continued looking at her, thinking she would respond. But she didn’t. I decided that I should continue.
“So, I worked at the gun factory until the end of February. One morning, as I went to work, I was warned that the Gestapo were loading Jewish employees onto trucks for deportation to the camps. So it was that morning that I ran from the factory and started my life as a nonperson, running from the Gestapo. My wife, Ilse, and I, together with her son, Klaus, went into hiding in Berlin.”
“Your wife, you said her name was Ilse?” she asked.
“Yes, exactly. Ilse,” I responded.
“And she has a little boy, yes?” she asked.
“Yes. His name is Klaus.”
“Please, please tell me about the little boy. I am very interested in him,” she said.
“Well, Klaus is a very nice little boy,” I began, feeling awkward.
“How old is he?” she asked.
“Five.”
“And he is with Ilse, your wife, right now?”
“Yes. We have been living with a man in Berlin. Unfortunately, though, we now feel we are in great danger by living there. He is an alcoholic and this makes it difficult to remain unobtrusive.”
“Hmm. Awful!” she exclaimed.
“We try very hard to be quiet and to live unnoticed, but his drunken escapades have provoked our neighbors until they have become angry and suspicious. The police came to the door two weeks ago. We stayed very quiet and eventually they went away, but I know it won’t be the last time they come.”
“You think the neighbors know this drunk man is hiding Jews?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think they know that we are there. But I do think that his behavior is so bad that they have begun complaining to the police. So it is only a matter of time before they complain again and the police return. If the police come into the apartment, they will find us and we will be sent to the camps. That is what we fear. It is a very, very dangerous situation.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said.
“This is why I am here. We are desperate for a new place to live, even for a short period of time. I am hoping that you can help us.”
“Hmm,” she said and rose from her chair. She started to walk a bit around the kitchen.
“Dr. Finger’s friends told you about us, didn’t they?” I asked, wondering why she seemed a bit surprised.
“Well, yes, they did tell me a bit,” she said. Then she paused.
I was very worried. Something wasn’t right here.
“You see,” she began, “I had told them that I wanted very badly to help a child. I want very much to help a little boy or girl. But I am not sure that I can hide all three of you.”
“Oh,” I said dejectedly. I didn’t know what else to say.
She looked at me sadly, seeing the expression on my face. “Let us wait until my husband comes home before we make any decisions. In the meantime, tell me more about yourself.”
And so I described my father’s large, close family in Lithuania, my mother’s family in Heidekrug, and how I had visited them when I was very young. I told her how my father’s business had been taken away from him and how Nazi law made living in an orphan’s home my only means of obtaining an education. I described my metalworking apprenticeship, where we lived, and so forth. She listened, rapt.
“Tell me about the people who referred you to me,” she inquired.
This was an interesting question. I was aware that she knew these people very well. I, on the other hand, did not know them at all; I had only heard about them through Dr. Finger. But I described them as best as I could. I had the feeling she wanted to test me to determine in her own mind whether I was telling her the truth.
When I finished, I sat there and looked at her, waiting for another question. She smiled softly and took a deep breath.
“I have great sympathy for your plight, Herr Lewin. I hope, though, that you will understand that I cannot make a commitment to you without first talking to my husband, Alex Kusitzky.”
“Yes, of course,” I answered, quite worried. I wanted some comfort, some definite assurance that we could come here. But there was no choice except to wait.
Almost immediately, I heard footsteps behind me. I spun my head around quickly, with a start. In the doorway to the kitchen stood a man. He was about my size but very muscular. He had blond hair and wore heavy thick glasses. He acted very surprised to see me.
“Alex,” Anni immediately began, rising to her feet. “This young man is Dagobert Lewin. He is here for our help.” Anni told him a few things about me and why I was there.
“Dagobert, would you please tell my husband what you have told me? Please tell him every detail. Spare nothing.”
And so, I gathered, the test of my honesty would continue. I was more than glad to oblige. It was a fair request.
As I spoke, Alex just watched me, listening. He was not a long-winded man. Alex said little and when he did talk, he spoke in a sort of monotone, using short sentences.
Anni and Alex then turned to each other and began to talk about the situation while we sat around their kitchen table. They were right in front of me; I could hear everything they said. They talked about basic considerations—where would they put us, and how they would go about helping us. They pondered aloud the logistics and practicality of letting three new people into their house, one of which was a small child.
There was a small pause. I held my breath as their audible conversation died and they seemed to communicate silently, as people who have been married for a long time sometimes do. Finally, Anni turned to me and smiled.
“We will help you, Herr Lewin. We are happy to help all three of you for now.”
My heart jumped with joy. I smiled and my eyes became watery. I was so thankful that I was sure that both of them could read this on my face.
Up until this point, Alex Kusitzky had remained mostly silent. But now, he began to speak.
“However, Herr Lewin, I do not feel it would be safe to have all three of you hiding here for a long time. I think it will be best if you and your wife make other arrangements and leave the child here. This way, the child will be safe and will live in a stable situation.”
I looked at him, surprised.
He continued, “You see, Herr Lewin, we feel strongly that what the Nazis are doing to the Jews is a violation of all we believe in. We have been watching the government’s actions, and we cannot sit idly by and allow them to proceed. We are not the only people who feel this way. There are others in our church who feel as we do. Most people are afraid to do anything that the Nazis would object to, because they fear the consequences. But we feel so strongly about this that we are quite willing to take the risk, as we are convinced we are doing what God would expect of us. That is why we are not only willing but anxious to help you. I wish we could tell all three of you to stay here indefinitely, but I do think it is safest if we permanently hide only the child.”
My emotions about this were mixed. On the one hand, I felt like kissing his hands. After all the years of Nazi persecution, I had never once heard anyone make statements like that. German society of that time had been so thoroughly deluged with anti-Jewish dogma that all I recalled were degrading, condemning comments about Jews from all kinds of people.
The source of much of the Nazi propaganda about Jews was the work of Dr. Joseph Goebbels. In March 1933, Hitler had appointed Goebbels to the position of Reich Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda. Much of the ideology of the Nazis was based on the idea of a pure-blooded “Master Race” whose members were tall, strong, and healthy, with blond hair and blue eyes.
Goebbels himself had been rejected for military service during World War I because of a crippled foot, the result of contracting polio as a child. Some feel he was tormented by a sense of physical inadequacy and these negative feelings were made worse by his diminutive frame, black hair, and intellectual background. Bitterly aware of his deformity and fearful of being regarded as a “bourgeois intellectual,” Goebbels overcompensated for his lack of resemblance to the Nordic type by attempting to be the perfect Nazi and by the intensity of his commitment to Hitler and the Nazi Party.
Like Hitler, Goebbels believed that Jews were the primary enemy of the German people and the reason for their failure to dominate Europe. He became a relentless Jew-baiter, demonizing Jews as shadowy figures working behind the scenes in international financial circles and allied with the “Jew-Bolsheviks” in Moscow, in his mind the chief cause of Germany’s disgraceful defeat in World War I.
So to hear Germans talk about Jews in any type of positive way was as shocking as it was welcome. And I was happy that they were willing to take care of Klaus. At least he would be safe. But the question of what would happen to myself and Ilse remained up in the air, not to mention how Ilse would feel leaving her child with people she didn’t know. But Anni Kusitzky seemed to be reading my mind.
“Herr Lewin,” she began, “I think it would be best for all of us if you and your wife lived here with us and the child for a week or so. This way, the child will get used to our home in the presence of his mother. And as well, I am sure that your wife will want to be certain of the atmosphere she is leaving him in.”
Her husband interrupted, “You see, Herr Lewin, my wife and I have a son of our own. His name is Heinz. But we were not able to have more children, and we had always wanted them. So by leaving Klaus with us, you will not only be helping Klaus. You will be giving us some of what we have yearned for all these years. Another child.”
I let this sink in and then decided that now was the time to speak. “I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am to both of you. I can only hope that God will give you a just reward. I hope that someday I will be able to pay you for your kindness.”
That having been said, Anni spoke up and said, “Let’s eat. Though I didn’t know we would be receiving a special visitor, I think I have enough food prepared to feed us all a nice dinner. Please stay with us. I know you must be very hungry.” After the months of deprivation, I certainly wasn’t about to turn her down.
For me, the food that she had prepared was a feast. Mashed potatoes, beef, carrots, bread, butter, and finally kohlrabi cooked with ham. I had never in my life eaten ham. At that moment, though, I was so hungry that I could not have cared less what was in the kohlrabi dish.
As I ate, I wondered how they could obtain this much food. The carrots, potatoes, and kohlrabi might have come from the garden I’d passed on the way up from the street. But the bread seemed to be of a much better quality than one could buy on ration cards. And the beef! Even non-Jewish ration cards did not allow that much beef for one meal. And this was a meal she had prepared for two people, not three. Finally my curiosity got the best of me. “This is all so delicious, Frau Kusitzky. It seems that you are blessed with more and better food than others in Berlin.”
It was then that Alex piped up. He explained that he worked for a butcher and so had access to a variety of meats. His boss allowed him extra rations of the beef, which he then traded for items like flour, butter, sugar, even clothing.
“This is certainly a wonderful position to be in,” I said. “I’m very happy for you.”
Anni then spoke, “You know, Herr Lewin, you are the first Jew that we have ever met. We did not even think about Jews until the Nazi regime came to power. They certainly have brought the Jewish people to the forefront of the public mind. All the discussions and reports and statements about Jews make them out to be evil, almost subhuman. We know that most of what has been said is just a hate campaign. We’ve heard rumors that the Jews are being mistreated, arrested, beaten, and killed for no reason at all. We don’t want that to happen to you or your wife and son.”
“Thank you very much, Frau Kusitzky,” I responded. “I do not think there are words to describe how very grateful I am to you and Herr Kusitzky.”
We continued talking late into the evening about matters in general, but mainly about my own circumstances and what would happen to the Jews in Germany. The Kusitzkys told me they were devout Catholics and that they knew the Nazis were persecuting Catholics who did not agree with Nazi policies.
Finally, we found ourselves still sitting around the dinner table at nearly midnight. I was so tired I could barely move. Anni noticed my exhaustion and immediately stood up. “You must sleep here tonight. Here with us,” she said.
Through my mental fog, I thought about her proposal. I had not planned on being away from Ilse and Klaus the entire evening, but at this time of night, I didn’t have much choice. There were no trains or buses running that could take me back to Berlin. Ilse and Klaus were back at the apartment, and there was no way to contact them. So I meekly nodded my head and smiled.
“Let me take you up to your room,” Anni beckoned and led me out of the kitchen and up a narrow flight of stairs. “Here is the bathroom,” she said as she pointed to a door at the top of the stairs.
Then Frau Kusitzky opened up a section of wall paneling that I could now see was also a door. Behind the paneling were stairs leading to the attic. We walked up those stairs and into a room under the eaves of the roof.
“I hope this room will suffice,” Anni began. “Our son, Heinz, sleeps here when he is home, but that is rare these days.”
The attic was a bit chilly, but it contained a bed big enough for two, with a bedspread and plenty of blankets. I lost no time in lying down, feeling completely safe, at least for one night. I fell asleep immediately.
By the time I got up, Alex was already gone. Anni demonstrated her skill as a cook once again by feeding me a breakfast consisting of eggs, homemade bread, butter, something like grits, sausage, and fruit. I thanked her for the offer of help and told her I would return later that day with Ilse and Klaus.
As I walked away from the Kusitzky’s home, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps my luck was changing. German propagandists made every effort to portray Jews as fiends whose fondest desire was to destroy Germany. To find a couple who could think for themselves was the best of luck. I tried not to think about the fact that the stay for Ilse and I would be only temporary. I’d just have to deal with that later.
I made my way to the Lübars station and then back into Berlin and to the apartment for what I hoped would be the last time. I walked up the flights of stairs and then rang the doorbell. Braun, drunk as ever, answered the door and let me in. I nodded a curt hello to him and went into our room. I told Ilse about the Kusitzkys, that they would keep us for a while and were willing to keep Klaus for much longer, if she felt comfortable with the idea.
Ilse paused and mulled this over. I could see that she was not at all happy with the idea of leaving him. “At least we’ll be able to stay there for a while to get to know them,” I said. She nodded in reply.
And so we packed our two little bags. Into one, she put Klaus’s things. Into the other, she packed what few possessions she and I had managed to hold on to. I had very little, only an extra sweater, some basic toiletries, and the spoons I had taken from my parents’ apartment.
When this was done, I went out into the apartment to make sure Braun was asleep. I had no patience for a shouting match, especially now, when we had a real chance at obtaining safety.
Luckily, Herr Braun was in a drunken stupor and would not be getting up for anything short of an air raid. And so with that, I picked up Klaus, Ilse picked up the bags, and we walked out into the early morning fog, toward what we hoped would be the start of a new life.