"They must learn to obey so that they, having themselves learned to obey, can believe in and trust their own leadership and can grow to be leaders themselves."
The Educational Principles of the New Germany,” Nazi magazine for women (1936/37)
Aryan Test
The resort that would serve as our new camp consisted of a main building with dining and meeting rooms, connected by paths to our living quarters: several four and five-room, cement-block houses. It was not as large and grand as the hotel in Luhacovice. But it was by the sea, and we were allowed to be roommates again. That made it beautiful.
As the weeks went by, our lives returned to what they had been in Luhacovice. Classroom hours were filled with math and language studies, followed by readings of Hitler’s inspiring speeches. Food was again plentiful. But knowing my family was hungry, I felt guilty eating it. Although we slept without fear of being bombed, we were afraid for our parents. We were constantly reminded by the leaders and teachers of how lucky we were to be Hitler’s chosen.
But the atmosphere had changed. The buildings were as cold as the stares from our Jugend leaders, who watched our every move with eyes narrowed and arms crossed. They were everywhere, looking nervous and pale. No chattering or giggling was tolerated. We were afraid the slightest smile would be reported. We were not permitted to close our bedroom doors, and this time we had no squeak on the stairs to warn us they were nearby. It was nearly impossible to share secrets. And we had new secrets. We had become women.
Our Mutters had given us little or no education in that department. In fact my Mutter had never mentioned it. My only knowledge of how babies came into the world was what our friend Gretchen told us. And that had been more of a giggle fest than an information session.
One afternoon, during class, Nurse Koppel announced, “If any of you see blood on your sheets, you should report to me. I will tell you what to do.”
Agatha jabbed my rib, flashing me her cross-eyed “This is weird!” look.
“It is nothing to worry about. It only means you will be mothers some day. Good German mothers. Clean and pure German mothers to give birth to strong sons. You must stay clean and pure. The Fuhrer will be proud of you.”
Listening to her, I remembered my Mutter telling Grossmutter about prizes being awarded to German women who had many children, how Mutter and Grossmutter had laughed, and how Grossmutter had stomped on that bug.
I wanted the Fuhrer to love me, but I was becoming bewildered. After seeing Berlin in shambles, and my family suffering, I knew I didn’t like war. But the Fuhrer was brave and wanted me to be brave, too. He was good to me. He kept me safe. And the leaders spoke for him. I would obey. But we didn’t trust anyone, surely not Nurse Koppel. We promised to help each other, keeping any information about becoming women among the three of us. We were certain Hitler would understand.
Sports were resumed, together with my pride of being one of the fastest runners. Winning was all-important, especially beating my rival Bruna. It felt wonderful, and I let her know it by walking off the field without giving her a second glance.
It was a relief to escape into our sports and studies. They took our minds off what might be happening to our families. We worried about our homes being bombed. “Do you ever think about how Gretchen died?” I asked Agatha one night after lights out.
“Yes, but I try not to. It scares me,” She whispered.
“Do you think dying hurts?” Emma asked.
“Of course it hurts,” Agatha answered.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t think bullets or swords tickle,” Agatha said in a superior voice.
“I don’t mean that. I mean the dying part,” Emma was crying.
“Are you thinking about your brother, Eugene?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“He’ll be all right. You’ll see,” I said.
A few days later a letter arrived from Emma’s Mutter. After looking at it and swallowing hard, Emma handed it to me. “I don’t want to read it,” she said, her eyes filling. I read it aloud. Eugene was missing in action.
“I’ll never see him again,” She screamed. “I’ll never see Eugene again!”
A Jugend leader appeared at the door, asking what the rumpus was about. We told her. In a gentle voice she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I lost my cousin, too. You should get Emma a glass of water.” For a moment I felt warmth from the girl who'd been our jailor. But those feelings passed when she reminded us to, “Study hard for the math exams, or you’ll be sorry.” She hailed Hitler and marched off. I wondered briefly what consequences there could be that would really matter.
We three sat together for another hour. Agatha and I wept as Emma sobbed and said his name over and over. The war and death were coming closer.
We were encouraged to listen to the news by the older Jugends, who were convinced the war was going well. After seeing the horrible damage to my city, I did not believe it was going well at all. My Vater had called news broadcasts “just propaganda.” When I asked him what he meant, he said, “They tell us what they want us to believe. Most of it is lies.”
Emma listened to the news every day. She refused to believe Germany was not winning the war. And, I think, she clung to the hope she would hear about the missing soldiers being found. Agatha and I chose not to listen to the radio. We tried to convince Emma it was a waste of time. But she sat for hours, her ear close to the box, hoping.
In the afternoons, the leaders stood in front of us still spouting the same words, with their total allegiance to the war effort and Hitler. I began to think they were stupid to continue to believe. At first our teachers, who were older and not members of the Nazi Party, tried to intervene. They pleaded that we had too much homework to spend the afternoons with the Jugend leaders. But when the leaders reported them to the principal for not furthering Nazi ideas, the teachers backed off.
When we heard the teachers tried to help us, we began seeing them in a more sympathetic light. Maybe I misjudged them. I began to observe Fraulein Zimmerman more closely. Her clothes hung loose from weight loss. Her face had turned sallow. Most of the time her darting eyes looked alarmed. If Fraulein Zimmerman, who had always seemed emotionless, could be frightened, there had to be reasons for all of us to be afraid.
One afternoon, during our usual Hitler information hour, the leaders announced a new game.
“One at a time," Leader Else announced," you will stand in front of the class while the rest of the class appraises how Aryan you look.”
My insides froze. With my mousy brown hair and hazel eyes I looked less like an Aryan than anyone else in class. I prayed there would not be enough time to judge us all. Since I sat near the back, maybe I had a chance to avoid the humiliation.
“Today we’ll start in the back of the room.” Else declared, “Come forward Hulde.” Hulde nervously made her way to the front of the room.
“Now, Hulde, turn around three times, slowly, and give the class a good look at you.”
As if we hadn’t seen her every day for four years.
As Hulde turned three times, stopped and faced the class, I was struck by her attractiveness that I had not noticed before. Her light blue eyes, pale skin, and blond curly hair. A wave of jealously surged over me.
“Now, show your hands if you think Hulde looks Aryan.”
As twenty hands were raised into the air, I felt a knot tighten in the pit of my stomach. Emma was next. She turned three times. All hands were raised. Then Trusle, Agatha and Emma followed. All agreed they all looked Aryan.
When my name was called I heard buzzing in my ears. I hoped it meant I was about to faint. It did not. So I sat still for a second, holding my breath to made myself faint. That didn’t work, so I decided to get it over with fast. I hurried to the front of the room and did my three turns. Stopping and facing the class, I suddenly realized I hadn’t remembered to pocket my wooden good luck bird that morning.
“How many think Helga looks Aryan?”
Out of twenty, only my two best friends raised their hands. Now I was not only in disgrace I was humiliated. I looked to Hitler's poster on the wall and shuddered. He was sure to find out about this. But my torture was not over. The leader smiled and asked, “Why don’t you think Helga is perfect Aryan?”
Now it was time for Bruna to repay me for the way I’d treated her after our races. She raised her hand, stood, and gave me a victorious sneer. “First, Helga does not hold her head up properly. Second, her hair is thin and brown. Third, her eyes are green, not blue. And fourth, I know her Mutter is Danish, so she is only half German. If that! She does not look like a proud German.”
“Thank you, Gretchen. You may sit down.”
She sat and continued to give me a satisfied smile. I wanted to slap her Aryan face.
With plenty of food and daily exercise, our bodies became strong again. But this time we exercised for ourselves. We were becoming more disenchanted with Hitler, the school, and our leaders every day. While we were being cared for, our families were left to starve. Our city was being destroyed. At fourteen we were no longer children who would follow blindly. We were young women beginning to see things clearly.