Chapter 4

WERNER ARRIVES AT GROSS BREESEN, 1936

Werner kissed his mother goodbye at the railroad platform in Berlin. It was the morning of May 9, 1936. As the train pulled out of the station, he waved dutifully. Once out of sight, he was a little surprised by his feeling of relief, not the wrenching sense of separation or pang of anxiety that one would expect. He realized that he was experiencing the same feeling he used to have when he left home for weekend camping trips with the Bund. His youth group activities had prepared him for this important change in his life. Now it was time for independence and adventure, but what did his mother mean when her last words were, “Let’s hope”? Was it her hope for her son, or was it that he should have hope? Hope is such a strange word. Behind its letters lurks another word: “Fear.”

The train to Breslau was modern and swift. Through the large window, the landscape blurred as it sped by. In his framed vision, the before-place and the after-place were blocked out. All that could be seen was the now-place, but it vanished just as soon as it appeared. Werner’s mind wandered in several directions at once. Before one thought was completed, another barged onto the scene and took over. Everything seemed a blur, just like the landscape flying by. The colors seen through the speeding train’s picture window washed together, as if brushed water had dissolved the images of an unfinished watercolor painting.

At Breslau, he transferred to an old, slow local train that clunked along noisily. The Gellendorf station, just twelve miles north of Breslau, with its clean wooden platform and varnished interior, looked so provincial: small, deserted, immaculate and yet welcoming. It was the gateway to a village that was sleepy and used to minding its own business. What a contrast to modern and noisy Berlin. To Werner’s surprise, no one from Gross Breesen was waiting to pick him up. A letter with the details of travel had been sent, but it must have been lost or overlooked.

Werner stored his bags with the friendly stationmaster and listened intently to his precise walking directions to Gross Breesen. He called it the Schloss, or “castle.” Werner began to walk the Gellendorf Road and noticed that it was lined with apple trees whose late spring blossoms still clung to the branches. The walk in the mild spring temperature felt good after sitting for so long, and the country air smelled clean. As he walked, his curiosity was piqued. What did the stationmaster mean when he called the farm a “castle”? It sounded so feudal. After an hour, Werner spotted the pointed high peaks of the castle’s roof rising above the tree line. The Gross Breesen compound was nestled in low, rolling hills, none more than a few hundred feet high, and dense forest bordered its open meadows. Winding paths through a park setting led to a tattered sign: “Gross Breesen.” Here he saw an ancient windmill and primitive stone and wooden farm buildings huddled in front of a gate that separated the working farm from the main house. There was a stable and a dairy barn, and above them were the homes of the resident tenant laborers. There was nothing glamorous about these disheveled dwellings. The families living in them had no electricity, no heat and no indoor plumbing. For the adults, there was a wooden outhouse, but the children relieved themselves on the dung pile of the dairy, as if they were no better than the cows.11 These were the signs of poverty and a way of life that stretched backward for hundreds of years. This shocked Werner, and he wondered if he would meet these Aryans and if they would welcome young Jews. What kind of wall would separate the two?

Behind a gate, a driveway opened to a view of the mansion. Werner could hardly believe his eyes. It was a castle! His boyish imagination exploded as he saw knights in armor and horses dressed in colorful saddle blankets clomping on the gravel driveway. This was, indeed, a nobleman’s estate. On the surface of an overgrown pond facing the entrance, breeze-swept ripples reflected the angles of the building like light shining off a piece of glass crystal. The manor house was huge, and even though it was rundown, it still was regal. Long strands of woven ivy hung down from outcroppings in the stucco exterior walls. A large, semicircular, enclosed veranda protruded onto the lawn. Instead of open sides, it was constructed out of glass panels that were held together with iron stanchions used in huge stained-glass windows. Werner saw a turret, and he wondered what it would be like to live in it. Finely constructed lampposts that looked like miniature Eiffel Towers illuminated the back lawns. It was easy to see that the Schloss, the castle, needed people to live in it once again, to care for it. It needed cleaning, and a new coat of paint would transform the faded and peeling woodwork around the windows and doors.

His fantasies and personal jubilation were suddenly interrupted by the jarring, stern voice of Dr. Bondy, who opened the front door and walked out onto the porch. He was not smiling. “How did you get here? Why didn’t you communicate that you were coming? Where are your bags?”

That first greeting at Gross Breesen was anything but welcoming. Bondy never received the letter that contained the details of Werner’s trip, but his abruptness did not upset Werner. It just didn’t matter. He was excited to join the small number of students who had already arrived, some of whom he had already met in Berlin at Bondy’s office or knew from the Bund. In fact, one old friend bounded down the stairs to welcome him. “Töpper!” he exclaimed. Bondy looked on quizzically. “What is this ‘Töpper’?” he asked. Werner laughed and explained. “Werner is my formal name. I used it in school, but everyone calls me Töpper.” He continued, “A Töpper is a klutz. A klutz in Yiddish means a very clumsy person. I fall over myself. I bump into walls and break things. That’s me. I got that name in the Bund. Even my parents call me Töpper, except when they are angry or very serious with me.” Bondy finally smiled. “I guess I will have to call you Töpper from now on.”