I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, freezing and alone, except for the company of a few small beams of sunlight streaming through the cracks. Shaking the ever-present dust off my clothes, I made my way out of the basement and onto the streets of Berlin. I spent the day walking the streets, using my ration cards to buy bread and salami. Having no way to do any cooking, I was limited to food that wouldn’t easily spoil, that I could carry or hide.
For the next few days, I followed this same routine. Nights in the basement, corpse and all, days wandering the streets, avoiding police and SS patrols. On the third day, I decided that I needed to move. More than three days in the same spot was too risky. Prolonged occupation increased the chances of someone spotting me and denouncing me. I would then have unwelcome visitors to my little abode, men who would insist on moving me to an even less desirable one.
Thanks to the Allies, there was no shortage of bombed-out apartment buildings. After returning to Herr Hirschfeld’s residence and picking up the rest of my money, I resumed scouting the area until I found a suitable basement. This became a routine: staying in a building for three days, then moving on to another. Finally, I judged that enough time had passed to risk returning to the Kusitzkys.
I had thought often about them and about Ilse and Klaus. I awoke very early one morning, well before sunrise. Brushing myself off, I hurried out of the dark basement to the S-Bahn station, excited at the prospect of seeing my family again.
When I got to the station, most of the people in line were turning around and leaving. When I reached the front, I discovered the reason. On a temporary post in the middle of the walkway, a homemade notice was posted that read: “Track line interrupted by bombing. S-Bahn will not be running for an undetermined period of time. Will reopen as soon as possible.”
My heart sunk. How was I going to get to Lübars? I looked around to see how other people were reacting when I overheard two men next to me talking. One of them, an older gentleman wearing a brimmed hat, was trying to visit his mother in the northern suburbs. His companion suggested, “Why don’t you try taking the busline north, past the center of the city? Hopefully, the tracks near Reinickendorf will be operational. You can catch a train there.”
Brilliant idea, I thought to myself. I’ll do that and go from Reinickendorf to the Waidmannslust station near Lübars. From there, I could walk to the Kusitzky house on Benekendorffstrasse. I hurried toward the bus stop.
But there was one problem. Daylight. With the S-Bahn closed, there was no way I could make it to Lübars before the sun rose. I couldn’t risk being seen. I would have to kill time walking around Berlin and leave for Lübars in the evening.
And so I did. I wandered around until finally, close to sunset, I arrived at the Reinickendorf station. The train was running! I boarded, taking the S-Bahn to Waidmannslust. My roundabout route took twice as long to reach my destination, but it allowed me to arrive after sunset. I walked in darkness to the house, being careful to avoid being seen by anyone on the streets.
My heart beat faster and faster. I couldn’t wait to see everyone, to hear voices who wanted to hear mine.
Anni Kusitzky answered the door. “Dagobert! What a surprise! Come in! I’m glad to see you!”
I walked inside. Alex walked toward me from the kitchen, his expression worried. He held out his hand. Before he could speak, I shook it and said, “Do not worry. I will not stay long.” He smiled a bit of a guilty grimace and silently nodded his head. Alex was not a man of many words.
Little Klaus came barreling down the steps, looking like a child running into a toy store. “Dago! Dago! You’re here! You came back!” I reached down and picked him up, swinging him around. “Yes, Klaus. I’ll always come back,” I said, feeling surprisingly paternal.
I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. As always, I recognized them. Ilse.
I was kneeling, hugging Klaus. I stayed right where I was and looked up, fearful of the greeting I would get. Would she be happy to see me, or still disgruntled about the manner of my departure?
“Hello, Ilse,” I said hesitantly.
She stood on the steps and looked down, blinking her eyes. “Hello.”
Putting down the giggling Klaus, I smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek. This prompted only a small, wan smile. She had a hard time looking me in the face.
I suppose it was inevitable that there would be some hard feelings, and I had dreaded having this conversation. Even before I had actually left the Kusitzkys, I knew that sparks would fly on my return. It didn’t take a genius to see that I had hurt Ilse’s feelings.
In the ensuing conversation, she made it plain that she felt that I had abandoned her and Klaus. It didn’t seem to matter to her that the neighbors were keeping a close watch on anyone deemed to be acting in a suspicious manner, or that the sudden arrival of three new faces would inevitably be noticed.
The fact of the matter was that Ilse was scared. I would have had to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to see that she had married me, at least partially, to avoid being alone. She was a young, single woman, with a child, trapped in a situation that could well prove fatal.
I tried to continue the conversation, but Ilse couldn’t even look at me. Finally, Anni and Alex got smart and took Klaus upstairs for some cookies.
I now had the opportunity to explain to Ilse how I been living. Although it did not completely satisfy her, at least she understood where I had been and what I had been doing. She broke down in tears.
“I’m scared, Dagobert!” she said. “How can you endure it?”
“I don’t know how, Ilse,” I said. “The Gestapo have already taken my parents, but they won’t get me! I want to beat them. To survive in spite of them. I will not go like a lamb to the slaughter. They are not going to get me, and you should feel the same way.”
This seemed to break through her shell, at least partially. “All right,” she said. “I’ll try.”
After that, things seemed to go better. Our marriage may have been one of convenience, but at least we had helped each other along the way. Our biggest problem was in communicating. Perhaps now, we understood each other a little better.
I stayed with Ilse for two more days, talking to everyone and catching up on what they had been doing. Our biggest fear was unexpected visitors. If Ilse and Klaus were seen by anyone, there was a good chance questions would be asked. This could lead to a visit from the Gestapo. To minimize the possibility of being taken by surprise, they had developed a system to alert them when visitors came.
Whenever the doorbell rang, Anni would send Ilse and Klaus to the attic and warn them to be quiet. They had some advance notice whenever someone came to visit because there was a bell mounted on the garden gate. When anyone entered the garden, the bell would ring, and even though it was about 150 feet away from the house Anni would usually hear it. She would then alert Ilse and Klaus.
On occasion, though, Anni would fail to hear the bell and they would have no warning until the person actually rang the doorbell. Then the situation became urgent. Ilse would have to grab Klaus and run up to the attic.
This happened once during my visit. I had not been around when the system was initiated and had not had much practice in implementing it. Anni didn’t hear the garden bell, and she went into a panic when the doorbell went off. I had been busy in the living room when she ran in with a wild look in her eyes. “Get to the attic!” she whispered urgently. “Find Klaus and Ilse and get to the attic!”
I threw down what I had been doing and ran around the house, looking for them to no avail! Where were they? I darted into every room, searching frantically. Finally, I was forced to give up the hunt. I ran up the attic steps, trying to not make much noise. As I reached the top of the steps, I sighed. They were already there. Ilse had grabbed Klaus on the second floor and had gone up without me. We huddled there, trying hard to be quiet. It reminded me of hiding at Braun’s apartment, afraid for our lives.
Time was passing and I knew that I could not stay with the Kusitzkys any longer. Every day I was there increased the chances that we would all be found out. So the next morning, I woke up before dawn, kissed Ilse and Klaus good-bye, and left for Berlin.
Enough time had passed since I had been at the Herr Ziegler’s apartment. Perhaps they’d let me stay with them again, even if just for a few nights.
Arriving in Berlin. I made my way to the Dobriner apartment. They lived quite close to the train station, so it only took about fifteen minutes to reach their apartment. I climbed the steps and made my way to their door. I knocked and Frau Dobriner answered as usual.
“Dagobert!” she exclaimed, smiling. Good, I thought to myself. Her smile was a good sign. Perhaps she’d let me stay. She seemed to be in good spirits.
I knew from my past visits that this was not always the case. Frau Dobriner was often very sad. Sometimes she would cry, complaining that she felt trapped in her tiny, miserable apartment. The last time I saw her, she had wept bitterly and frequently over the fate of her son, Horst. She had no entertainment and no way of communicating with anyone on the outside.
Horst’s father had died before the war of a rare disease, leaving her with their son to raise. She had never quite gotten over that. She told me about her deceased husband many times, about what a wonderful man he had been. He had been a mathematics teacher in a prominent Berlin gymnasium (high school). She related how proud he had been; several of his graduates had gone on to become well-known scientists and engineers. “He did this only to have died at a young age,” she’d weep, sitting on an upholstered chair in her combination living-dining room.
Sometimes Herr Ziegler was present during these conversations about her late husband. He would only listen. He did say on one occasion, “Can’t we talk about something else? We already know about your husband and how great he was and successful he was!” Then Frau Dobriner would start crying more heavily and Ziegler would leave the room in disgust. It was during those times that I felt they could both stand a good vacation from the apartment and from each other; neither of which were a possibility.
As I entered the living room now, Ziegler greeted me warmly. “I’ll only stay a short time,” I assured him, thinking to myself that this had become my standard greeting. They both seemed to be happy to have me in spite of the scare that had forced me to leave weeks ago.
After a bit of small talk, everyone retired to their respective bedrooms. Herr Ziegler and Frau Dobriner shared a bedroom, and Ziegler’s son had a very small room of his own. I slept in my underwear on the dingy, upholstered couch in the living room. I had a blanket to lie on, another to cover me, and for total luxury, a pillow.
In the middle of the night, I awoke to a peculiar tickling sensation in my legs. I lifted the blanket and saw a number of little round creatures the size of a pea. Bedbugs, already swollen with blood they had sucked from my legs.
I will skip the gruesome details of how the night progressed. Suffice it to say that, the next morning, I said my farewells to the Dobriners.
“Frau Dobriner, I greatly appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me in letting me stay here, but the time has come for me to move on for good.”
“Why, Dagobert? What is the matter? Did we say something offensive? Tell me.”
“No, Frau Dobriner. It’s nothing that you’ve said. I just cannot stand the hordes of bloodsucking bugs that descended on me during the night. I’ve never seen anything like it before and I cannot take it. You’ve been so wonderful in helping me, and I very much appreciate it, but I have a great fear of insects.”
I went up to her and shook her hand. “Thank you for everything. I wish you well.” She just stood there, looking as if I had hit her with a club, mouth open and eyes staring. I turned to the door, opened it, and left. Perhaps I am overly fastidious but, homeless though I was, I would rather face a single corpse in a bombed-out apartment building than hordes of bloodsucking insects. I never went to the Dobriners again.
I decided to shake off my revulsion by treating myself to an imitation bratwurst and beer at Aschingers, the quick-serve, stand-up restaurant. Aschingers was an automat, where you dropped coins into a slot. A circular, rotating dispenser placed the food in front of a small window and you reached into that window and pulled out your food. It was an early version of what would later be called vending machines. There were no tables, only tall platforms where you could stand and eat. I remember my father taking me there two or three times, years earlier, before he was deported by the Gestapo.
Aschingers was safer than other restaurants because people stayed there only a short time. There were always large numbers of people coming and going, which made it easy to blend in. And the fact that you never sat down made it easier to run, if this became necessary. It was cheap, too, and at this stage, any food that could go into the mouth and down the throat was good enough for me. I was too hungry to be picky about what I ate.
Beer was the beverage of choice at Aschingers. I wasn’t much of a drinker; it was bitter and I wasn’t used to it. But there were times during the war when even water wasn’t available, so beer it was. During the war, beer was often composed more of plain water than anything resembling malt liquor. But such was the case with the quality of many things. Beer, bread, they all went downhill in those days.
As I stood there with my beer, I pondered my options. I couldn’t return to the Kusitzkys so soon, I couldn’t go to the Lebrechts, and there was no way I would return to the bug-infested Dobriner house, no matter how kind they were. I sighed as I realized I might have to sleep in the ruins of buildings again.
I really didn’t want to do that. I wanted that strategy to be used only as a last resort, not as my primary residence. Not only was sleeping in bombed-out buildings uncomfortable, but there was also the possibility that an Allied bomb would drop near it, causing the already weakened walls to collapse. I did not care to be buried alive.
So I stood there, sipping slowly, always watching the door for Gestapo, and trying my best to think of another option. Perhaps Hirschfeld?, I thought. But no. I couldn’t go to him for lodging. Hirschfeld himself was in danger. Even though he had a Christian wife, he was Jewish and therefore could be picked up by the Gestapo. I couldn’t risk him having the ability to reveal my whereabouts. It was safer to appear at his apartment erratically. I didn’t want him to know anything else about me.
This made me sad. Sad because I couldn’t depend on adults who I’d known for so long. Sad because I saw someone like Hirschfeld—a friend of my father’s—as being as vulnerable as myself. Also sad because my prospects of finding decent shelter for the evening were dwindling by the minute.
“Heinrich!” I heard a man at the bar call out to another man at the entrance. I turned my head and saw the two greet each other and then walk out of the restaurant.
But watching their encounter gave me a great idea. Heinrich Schultz! Yes! My crippled friend from the gun factory, who had referred me to Herr Braun. Granted, living with a drunkard hadn’t been paradise, but it was always possible Heinrich would know of another soul who might take pity on me. Or at the very least, take money from me and give me a bed for the night.
I knew my presence at his apartment would make him and his wife, Hilde, uncomfortable. I could understand that it was frightening to have me—a Jew on the run—sitting at their kitchen table. But I’d give it a try anyway. All they could do was send me away. Actually, they could do much worse than that, but I didn’t dream that Heinrich or Hilde would ever turn me in.
So off I went to Neukölln, the working-class neighborhood where the Schultzes lived. I reached their apartment building, walked down the steps to their subterranean floor, and rang their doorbell.
Soon, Hilde opened the door, looking very surprised. “Herr Lewin! You’re here again!” she stated.
This was somewhat of an odd greeting. Not exactly a warm welcome. “Yes, Frau Schultz. Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if Heinrich is at home?”
“Well, ah, yes, he is,” she said.
I waited awkwardly for her to invite me in. But she made no move to do so. “Frau Schultz, may I speak to him? It will only take a moment.”
She paused. “Oh. So you want to see him?” she asked.
Strange! Wasn’t it obvious that I needed to see him, if I had taken the trouble to come to his apartment and ask to speak to him? I had to be polite, though. I’m sure she had her reasons for feeling nervous in my presence. Jews trying frantically to avoid capture by the Gestapo weren’t exactly A-list guest material. “Yes, if it is at all possible, I would very much like to see and speak to Heinrich. Is it terribly inconvenient? Should I come back another time?”
Hopefully, she would not say yes to this last little nicety. Coming back at an assigned time would make me very nervous.
She paused and sighed. Looking beyond me at a spot on the wall, she grimaced as she pondered the situation. Then she sighed again and said, “Well, all right. You may come in. But just for a moment.”
I relaxed slightly and smiled at her. “Thank you so much, Frau Schultz,” I said.
It was odd to have to beg to see an old acquaintance, but these were odd times. I walked in and Hilde guided me to the kitchen table. “Please sit down. I will get Heinrich.”
Heinrich soon limped into the kitchen, dragging his foot behind him. He looked more worried than pleased to see me. I obviously could not come here again after today, I told myself. These people are too nervous about my presence.
He walked into the kitchen and sat down. “Dagobert, what a surprise to see you again! How are you?” Heinrich asked. His welcome seemed forced.
“Good to see you too, Heinrich. I am all right. I wanted to thank you for referring me to Herr Braun a few months ago. We stayed with him for a while. I am so very grateful to you for your help.”
“So you did stay with him? Good. I have not seen or talked to him since I last saw you,” Heinrich mentioned. I thought to myself that Heinrich certainly wasn’t missing anything by Braun’s absence. Nothing at all.
“Heinrich, I have come here again in hopes that you might have someone else to recommend to me. I need a place to stay.”
“Have you come from Herr Braun’s?” Heinrich asked, seeming a bit perplexed. I tried to put myself in his shoes. Had he not already offered me one referral? And here I was, asking again.
“No, Heinrich,” I muttered. “I haven’t.” How much should I tell him?, I asked myself. “Uh, Herr Braun had a bit of trouble with the floor in his apartment and it became apparent that it would not be safe for us to remain. So we left there after about six weeks.”
Heinrich squinted his eyes and gave me a confused look. I suppose that did sound rather strange. But I didn’t want to tell him that his friend was such a filthy alcoholic that he urinated on his floor until the ceiling below was weakened, causing the neighbors to call the police. I didn’t think Heinrich would take too kindly to that description, true though it may be.
I decided it was best to just continue talking. “I found a place for my wife and her son, but I am not able to stay there myself. Therefore, I have come back to see if you have any ideas for me. I would be forever grateful if you could help me again. Do you know of anyone who would take me in temporarily? I’d be happy to pay them, just as I paid Herr Braun.”
He looked at me and sighed. “You have no one else who can help you, Dagobert?”
“Unfortunately, no, Heinrich. I have already exhausted all of my other leads. I have no one else to turn to.”
Hilde, who had walked into the room a few moments before, interjected. “Where have you been staying between the time you were with Herr Braun and now?”
“Well,” I began, “I have stayed at a few apartments of people who have been kind to me. But for various reasons, those apartments are no longer safe. For much of the time I have been sleeping in the rubble of bombed-out buildings.”
“What?” she asked, seeming horrified. “In bombed-out buildings?”
“Yes,” I nodded. I looked over at both of them. They seemed appalled. I’m sure it was hard for them to fathom that a Berliner could be roaming the streets with nowhere to go. Good, I thought to myself. Perhaps they’ll take pity on me.
Heinrich looked at me. “If I were to find someone for you, you would have money to pay them?” he asked.
“Yes, Heinrich. I would have money to pay them,” I said.
“Have you been working for this money?” Heinrich inquired. This was sticky. I did not want to reveal anything about the source of my funds.
“It is money that I have,” I told him and hoped that would suffice. Telling him more wouldn’t be good for either one of us.
A few moments of nervous silence followed. I looked at both of them, my eyes pleading. Hilde could not deal with the situation. She was quite uncomfortable and I knew that the stress of having a U-boat in her home was just too great. Heinrich seemed a bit more at ease but kept looking over at his wife, as if seeking direction.
After a little while, Heinrich finally spoke. “There may be someone, Dagobert. There is a man I have recently met. You see, in spite of how nervous Hilde and I appear to be, we are actually quite against the Nazis. Especially me. Adolf Hitler and his crowd, as you know, do not hold disabled people like myself in high esteem. There is little respect for those who have physical problems,” Heinrich began.
“Yes, I understand this,” I muttered, trying to show the great sympathy I really did feel.
“I have endured this as long as I can. I have finally decided to do something about it. I have begun attending some secret Communist Party meetings.”
“Heinrich!” Hilde whispered loudly, as though her husband had just publicly confessed to murder. I understood her. It was extremely dangerous to be a known Communist.
If the Gestapo got wind of Heinrich’s activities, that would have been the end of him. It was especially daring of him to attend the meetings when the rest of the time he worked for the Nazis in the gun factory. If he was discovered, the Nazis would probably accuse him of being a spy. The result would be torture and death.
“Well, Hilde, yes, I suppose it is dangerous for me to have mentioned that. But I can no longer hide my feelings. I am half the man I should be. Hilde, you and I should be hiding Dagobert ourselves. The Nazis are our enemies too.”
“Heinrich! We have been over this!” Hilde yelled under her breath, turning very red in the face.
“Yes, I know we have, dear,” he said gently, trying to calm her. He turned to me. “Dagobert, I know you will understand when I tell you that today must be the last time we see you. It is too dangerous and we are nervous about it. I will send you away, however, with the name of a man. A man who I think will help you as I wish I could, if I had the courage. His name is Paul Richter. I met him at party gatherings. He is like me in his personal hatred of the Nazis. Richter is blind and therefore also looked upon as being unworthy of life.”
I was amazed by what I had just heard. The Nazis had an intense determination to perfect the “master race” through their odd theories of genetic control. The seriousness of this determination was demonstrated in a campaign that took place between 1939 and 1941. It involved gassing to death approximately fifty thousand German citizens whose crime was to be retarded or mentally ill. By eliminating these “defectives,” eventually the German race would breed its way to perfection.
Although these “mercy killings” were initially limited to those with mental problems, it is likely that those with physical defects, such as Heinrich, would be added to the list. According to Heinrich’s sources, elimination of the Jews had priority. But once Germany had dealt with the Jews, Germans who did not meet the physical requirements of the Nazis would likewise be eliminated.
Heinrich continued, “Now that I think of it, the fact he is blind will be even more helpful to you. His disability makes him unable to work. He is at home much of the time, so I imagine you would have more freedom to walk around during the day. I don’t know his address, but I know he lives in the suburb of Steglitz. Hopefully, you will be able to look him up.”
I sat there, amazed. Heinrich looked at his wife, pleading for forgiveness. She had tears in her eyes and seemed really very frightened. I knew I had to leave.
“Heinrich, my friend,” I began, “may you be blessed for all that you have done for me. Never let yourself think that you have done nothing. You have saved my life, perhaps three times now. I will never be able to thank you enough for the great bravery you and Hilde have shown. I promise that I will never come back here again to bother you, and your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you, Dagobert,” Heinrich said humbly. “Good luck to you.”
Rising to get up, I said, “Thank you, thank you. Many, many thanks to both of you.” And I left. I knew this would be the last I saw of them.
It took two S-Bahn trains to get from Neukölln to Steglitz. Getting off at the Steglitz stop, I walked to Steglitzer Damm, a main road, and went in search of a post office. Hopefully, Paul Richter would be listed in the phone book there. I walked a few blocks and finally came across a post office.
The place was crowded and it took a moment to get access to the phone book. As chance would have it, there were two Paul Richters in Steglitz. I took down the addresses for both of them and proceeded to the first listed address. It was on a street not too far from the Steglitz cemetery. Luckily, this was the building that Heinrich had recommended to me, the building where Paul Richter, the blind Communist, lived.