FÖHRENWALD DP CAMP
AMERICAN ZONE
DECEMBER 1946
Before leaving for Landsberg with Major Donnelly, Eli stopped by the sanitarium to visit Bernard. Eli was shocked to see how dramatically the disease had taken its toll in such a short time. Bernard had lost weight, his complexion had paled and his breathing was labored. He paused between phrases in order to swallow, clear his throat and moisten his lips. Eli stood patiently by his bedside talking to his good friend through a surgical mask.
“Moshe Pogrund is the director at Camp Landsberg,” Bernard whispered. “I know him to be a good man and a strong leader. He is usually counseled by Rabbi Hirsch. I made the introduction for you and Major Donnelly, and I scheduled a two o’clock meeting. Olga told me that her contact at Landsberg was a man named Shael Bruchstein. She and Mr. Bruchstein have acted together in a de facto partnership promoting the sale of Max’s visas. Bruchstein would attract interested prospects and then contact Olga. She was the pipeline to Max. Together, Bruchstein and Olga were supposed to split commissions. According to Olga, she and Bruchstein have brokered six visas for residents at Landsberg.”
“Were all of the six visas delivered?”
“No, only four. Max is due to deliver the remaining two visas sometime in the next two weeks, and that’s when we should arrest him.” He reached up and squeezed Eli’s wrist. “Eli, listen to me. We can’t let this opportunity slip away. Max must be stopped, and his U.S. supplier must be exposed. Be cautious; we don’t want any more stool pigeons tipping him off.”
“How sure are we of Bruchstein?”
“I don’t know him. I suggest we threaten Bruchstein with prosecution, like we did with Olga. Back him into a corner, Eli. Scare the hell out of him. Use Major Donnelly if you have to. He’ll cooperate or he’ll go to jail.” He clasped Eli’s hands. “Safe travels, my friend.”
Eli made a gesture of kissing the tips of his fingers and touching them to Bernard’s forehead. “Take your medicines, listen to the nurses and get back on your feet. We need you.”
Eli climbed into the passenger seat of Major Donnelly’s jeep and smiled. “Well, this is sure an improvement over the Camp Föhrenwald jalopy. You have a working heater. I’ll wager you have working windshield wipers as well.”
“I do indeed. Do you really think that Colonel Bivens wouldn’t have the latest equipment?” As he drove out of the camp and onto the throughway, he said, “Before we meet with Mr. Pogrund, tell me how you learned that Max was selling visas at the Landsberg camp.”
“Our director, Bernard Schwartz, learned about it at a camp committee meeting. It was Bernard who scheduled the meeting with Colonel Bivens, but sadly he took ill, and I became his less-than-qualified understudy.”
“What’s wrong with Bernard?”
“You may have heard; we have an epidemic in our camp.”
“Jesus, TB? He’s got TB?”
Eli nodded. “There are at least one hundred fifty patients here. We built a sanitarium.”
“There’s a sanitarium in Camp Gauting as well. Many believe that the epidemic originated in Dachau.”
“We’re all praying that Bernard recovers. Our camp doctor is a wonderful man, and he’s had some successes.”
Changing subjects, the major said, “Do you know the history of the Landsberg camp?”
Eli shook his head.
“It’s ugly. Before the war it was a German prison. Hitler himself was locked up there in 1924, and that’s where he wrote Mein Kampf. He dictated the whole thing to his buddy, Rudolph Hess. Hitler was sentenced to serve five years for treason, but he got out in nine months. He even ordered a new car while he was in prison.” Donnelly shook his head. “A gray Mercedes from a dealer in Munich.
“During the war Landsberg was converted to a concentration camp, part of the Kaufering subcamps of the Dachau concentration camp system. That place has a pretty gruesome history.”
“They were all pretty gruesome, Major. I was liberated from Buchenwald.”
Donnelly smiled. “Patton’s boys. Sixth Armored Division, as I recall. Super Sixth, they call them. Let me ask you, how well do you know Moshe Pogrund, the Landsberg camp director?”
“I don’t know him at all. Bernard set the meeting.”
Moshe Pogrund met them in Landsberg’s great dining hall. Rows of long wooden tables filled the cavernous room. A large American flag hung from the center of the peaked ceiling. The entryway was plastered with posters announcing concerts, social gatherings, educational activities and the weekly bulletin from the camp committee. A stack of camp newspapers, the Yidische Cajtung, lay on a table. The hall was empty but for two men who sat waiting for Eli and Donnelly.
As Bernard had predicted, Pogrund said, “I have asked Rabbi Hirsch to join us. He is our spiritual leader and my trusted advisor.” The rabbi smiled broadly beneath his gray beard. “How is my good friend Bernard?”
“I saw him this morning,” Eli answered. “He’s holding his own. He’s a tough old bird, and the angel of death is going to have a helluva fight on her hands.”
“Tell him we wish him all the best,” Pogrund said.
“I will, sir. I assume that Bernard told you all about Max, the black-market visa salesman?”
“Bernard’s revelations were a shock to us,” the rabbi said. “Like other DP camps, we are merely a waiting room, a temporary way station where our residents are reborn, rehabilitated, educated and trained in various occupations before moving on and rejoining the world, wherever they may settle.”
“Rabbi is right,” Pogrund added. “We are merely a platform, a staging area. Landsberg is not a permanent home. Everyone has his or her name on a list, waiting to emigrate. The fact that some dishonest person can buy his way around the list is an anathema to us. Who’s responsible, and how do we prevent such a practice?”
“The man who sells the visas goes by the name of Max. I believe him to be the same man I knew in Lublin whose name was Maximilian Poleski. He was a corrupt man who wormed his way into the Nazis’ favor soon after they occupied the city. He used his connections to enrich himself and cheat others. He sold promises.”
“What sort of promises?”
“Safety, security, survival. Protection from the harsh Nazi edicts. Sometimes, he delivered; sometimes, he made excuses. He had an office in our brickyard, and on many days there were lines of people waiting to purchase favors. More food, a place to live, mercy for a family member who had violated one of the many Nazi proscriptions.”
“He had that kind of power?”
“Sometimes.”
“And you believe that this man is now doing business in our camp?”
“According to our source in Föhrenwald, Max has the cooperation of a Landsberg resident that is quietly putting out the word, casting his lines in the water. If he gets a bite, he arranges a meeting with Max’s agent, Olga Helstein, a Föhrenwald resident. Sometimes, if Max is in the area, he will meet with the prospect and quote his price. Other times, he will communicate a price through Olga. Nevertheless, Max will always deliver the visa in person. He doesn’t trust anyone else to handle his money. We want to be there when Max comes to collect.”
“Who is it? Who is Max’s contact at Landsberg?”
“I was given the name of Shael Bruchstein.”
Pogrund immediately covered his mouth. “Oh no, of all people,” he said. “Shael Bruchstein? Can you be certain?”
“That’s the name Olga gave us.”
Pogrund glanced over at the rabbi and shook his head. “Bruchstein is the last man I’d expect to betray his people. He’s such an integral part of our community. An elected member of the committee.”
“Maybe that’s what makes him such an able facilitator.”
Rabbi Hirsch nodded sadly. “Bruchstein is a leader in this camp and in contact with thousands of our residents. They respect him. They honor him for his countless hours of service. He has helped to make Landsberg a vibrant and influential force among all the displaced persons camps. The organization we know as She’erit haPletah—the Surviving Remnant—was formed right here and maintains its Central European office here in Landsberg, and Bruchstein is on the board.”
“Shael helped bring in people like Jakob Oleski to set up occupational training courses through ORT, the Organization for Rehabilitation and Training, right here in our camp, and Landsberg is ORT’s field headquarters,” Pogrund added. “Shael stood side by side with David Ben-Gurion when he came to Landsberg last year. Why would a man like that engage in an illegal scheme to circumvent our emigration laws?”
“Frau Helstein was getting twenty-five percent,” Eli said. “At six thousand Swiss francs per visa, that’s a lot of reasons why.”
“Ach, it makes me sick to my stomach,” the rabbi said.
“We have to shut him down, but we have to do it discreetly,” Pogrund said. “If the residents learn that one of our most respected leaders is involved in a criminal enterprise, it’ll bring shame upon all the good work we do.”
“We have to do more than stop Bruchstein,” Eli said. “Our mission is twofold: first to catch Max in the act, arrest and prosecute him; and second to force him to reveal the identity of his source. He has a well-placed contact in the United States.”
“Well, you have our complete cooperation.”
“Does Bruchstein live alone?”
Pogrund shook his head. “He lives with a woman. If you want to arrest him, I can take you there.”
“No, I prefer it to be in private, not in a crowded neighborhood.”
“That’s very kind and considerate of you.”
Eli scoffed. “I’m afraid it has nothing to do with kindness. If we arrest him in a public place, in plain sight, the news will get to Max and he’ll never come back here. I’d like you to lure Bruchstein to the administration office. Tell him that you need to meet with him on urgent committee business.”
“He’ll want to know what it’s about,” Rabbi Hirsch said. “What will you tell him?”
Pogrund shook his head. “I don’t know; it’s not in my nature to be deceitful, but I’ll think of something.”