When the National Socialists came to power in Germany on 30 January 1933, Peter Muenz recalls that he was skating on Lake Krumme Lanke in Berlin: ‘One of my classmates amicably clapped me on the back and said, “You know, Hitler has become our Chancellor!” I went home and told my mother, who of course had already heard and was horrified. A cloud immediately descended on the home and on our friends as well – Jewish and non-Jewish. They were all left-wing. Then very quickly we decided to emigrate.’
The 12-year-old is deeply affected as he thinks of himself as a Communist. He has frequently been knocked around because of this – no one else has Communist leanings at his school, which is near the railway station at Wannsee, and this makes things difficult. The parents of his classmates tell their children that Communists are terrible people who want to ruin Germany and say that Peter deserves a hiding. Fortunately word has not yet spread that Peter is Jewish as well.
Peter’s family on his mother’s side came from Chemnitz, Germany. His Jewish grandfather, who was loyal to the Kaiser, owned a textile factory in the vicinity. His four children are a curious bunch. One uncle is a conductor, another is a Zionist who emigrated to Palestine in 1924. His aunt is a Communist and later mounts the barricades in the Spanish Civil War. Peter’s mother abandoned her study of national economics in Leipzig to marry Leo Muenz.
During World War I, Peter’s father was a doctor with the German forces and he continued to work in this capacity as a French prisoner of war. At the end of the war, he settled in Chemnitz and practised as an eye specialist. Leo Muenz was cultured and well read and came from a long-established Jewish family. He was a pacifist, Social Democrat and one of the founders of the Workers’ Samaritans Association. Peter clearly remembers, ‘I must have been three years old when he took me to a workers’ demonstration on the 1st of May with black, red and gold flags. It must have been in 1924. I was dwarfed by the tall men around me.’
Peter’s father died of an illness in 1928. His mother sold the practice and moved to Berlin with the children. She purchased a small house in a Bauhaus complex in the Berlin suburb of Zehlendorf. Peter spent the summer at an Italian school and the winter at a German one. This is now over. In March 1933 the Muenz family decide to emigrate, together with a friend of his mother’s and her daughter. They rent a house by Lake Maggiore in a small place near Ascona, in Switzerland.
Peter’s last schoolboy memory of Germany is of the Reichstag fire on 23 February. Many Berlin schools organise school trips to the city centre the following day. Peter’s class also goes to see the gutted Parliament building, which is supposed to serve as a warning to show what the Communists would do to the whole of Germany if they were to come to power. ‘Adolf Hitler has saved us,’ the teacher remarks. ‘Otherwise it would be like this all over Germany.’
The chill wind that has blown through the country since the regime change is also felt by 15-year-old Hans Jottkowitz. Hans belongs to the German-Jewish Youth League, a liberal group whose members value being Jews in Germany. They see themselves as Germans first of all and differentiate themselves from the Zionists in this respect. The Jewish community owns a house in Lehnitz not far from Berlin and Hans Jottkowitz is spending a beautiful spring weekend there with his youth group. The young Jewish girls and boys have not properly grasped the changed political climate in the country. This ceases when the young people are lying in bed late at night and doors are flung open – the Sturmabteilung (SA) is having a raid. Men in brown uniforms take possession of the building, yelling. Petrified and paralysed with fear, the young people watch this transpire.
What else could happen to them? Hans is in year 11 – the Obertertia – at the Hohenzollern-Gymnasium, a secondary school, and is intending to study law. However his parents urge him to leave school:
We spoke about it openly at home. My parents said, ‘It is better to have an occupation that is in demand throughout the world.’ So I left the Gymnasium in the summer. In the last weeks there I hardly had any interest in lessons and dropped behind a bit. When it came to report time, my Christian fellow students told the teacher to ‘Give Hans some higher grades!’ One of my classmates rang me and apologised for joining a Hitler Youth Group. Despite this we remained friends, even after I left school. I considered becoming a chef, however there were no apprenticeships open to me as a Jew.
Hans finally obtains an apprenticeship in a long-established Jewish textile dyeing factory.
The young New Zealander Reuel Lochore also remains in Germany in 1933. He has mastered the German language perfectly by now and his image of Germany has been shaped by the cultural outings and courses that were offered by the Institute for Foreigners when it embraced the spirit of the Weimar Republic. When he was in Berlin, he may have sat in the same theatre as Hans Jottkowitz, whose family had a concert and theatre subscription. In contrast to the young German Jew, who is now increasingly ostracised, the New Zealand guest gains his impressions in 1933 from an opposite perspective. He is warmly welcomed and is entertained by Nazis and so he does not perceive the increasing number of torch-lit processions and demonstrations as threatening.
It appears to escape his notice that all the Jewish lecturers are being dismissed from Bonn University, where Reuel Lochore is enrolled in Romance Languages and Literature. The descent of the Mainz Institute for Social Geography, where he is a guest, into national narrow-mindedness similarly eludes him. What is happening at a fast tempo at the Citadel of Mainz, where the Institute is located, will later threaten all Germany’s educational institutions. In place of an internationally oriented education, ‘Our Genetic Inheritance as Nordic Peoples’ suddenly appears as part of the curriculum; instead of the humanist tradition, there is a radical about-turn toward Volk themes such as ‘homeland and race’. The art of teaching is transformed into training, a love for peace into a readiness to take up arms in defence of the homeland. ‘Inferior genetic make-up’ is set against ‘Superior racial origins’ and there are many posters and family trees with photos of alcoholics, the ‘feeble-minded’ and criminal families on display, warning of the dire sins of the liberal Marxists, who had just been voted out. The Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth), its subdivision the Jungvolk, and Stormtroopers (SA) regularly parade in the grounds of the Mainz Citadel. A new spirit of popular nationalism is being created through song, dance and gymnastics.
Of course, there is singing, dancing and gymnastics in communities in New Zealand, too. However, it is the first time that Reuel Lochore witnesses such military-style parading. The taut, ardent facial expressions fascinate him.
The land is split into two different worlds, one for those who ‘belong’ and one for those who do not. With every previously accepted paradigm overturned, friendships and work relationships unravel ….
The circle that had gathered around the poet Stefan George, which at the turn of the century juxtaposed the individual and the few against the ‘mob’, the ‘crowd’ and the ‘riff-raff’, is not immune to this schism. The select and somewhat detached circle always saw itself as an élite group and a counterbalance to the commercialisation of culture and the shallow-minded majority.
The Jewish poet Karl Wolfskehl also belonged to this élite group. Son of an old, highly respected patrician family from Darmstadt, he had contributed to Blätter für die Kunst ( Journal for the Arts) from 1893 to 1919, and around the turn of the century jointly edited the three-volume poetry collection Deutsche Dichtung with Stefan George, whom he held in high esteem. Wolfskehl’s home in Schwabing was one of the centres of the ‘George Circle’. The Munich Cosmic Circle, which Wolfskehl founded along with Alfred Schuler and Ludwig Klages amongst others, also met there.
However, this was before 1933. With the introduction of the innocent-sounding ‘Act for the Restoration of the Civil Service’ in April, the chosen ones are hurtled into the mundane world, either to the ‘centre’ or to its ‘margins’ depending on their descent. Now race rather than genius counts. This law effectively provides for the dismissal of all Jewish professors and lecturers and a considerable number of the members of the George Circle are affected. The Circle does not live up to its claims when tested in reality. While some fall under the Teutonic spell, others lapse into silence and the Jewish members seek sanctuary abroad.
Karl Wolfskehl, who was living in Munich, belonged to the latter. In April 1933, he is no longer in Germany. In a distraught state, he took the midday express train to Basle the day after the Reichstag fire and a few weeks later moved on to Swiss Tessin (Ticino). From there the 64-year-old watches developments in Germany with concern. His wife, Hanna, who is Dutch by descent, and his two daughters, Judith and Renate, remain in Germany.
What about the country that Reuel Lochore left behind a few years before? While in Germany a strong leader promises a way out of the economic crisis, New Zealanders are less optimistic. The country is sunk in depression. The consequences of Black Friday on Wall Street are devastating for a nation that almost exclusively produces agricultural products and is highly dependent on overseas markets. Markets abroad destabilised during the 1929 worldwide economic depression. Wool prices fell so much that sales barely covered transport costs. Within three years New Zealand’s national revenues had plummeted from £150 million to £90 million; export returns had fallen by 40 per cent and the standard of living dropped.
The halcyon days of New Zealand history, when gold rushes and gum-diggers, scientific expeditions and missionaries, large-scale clearing of forests and construction of an impressive rail and road network stimulated the economy, are soon forgotten. As if economic depression were insufficient, nature too seemed to conspire against the people. In 1931 a devastating earthquake struck Hawkes Bay, one of New Zealand’s leading farming regions. More than 250 people lost their lives in Napier, Hastings and Wairoa and the cities of Napier and Hastings were devastated.
But the most pressing problem in 1930s New Zealand is increasing unemployment. Architects and teachers can be seen chipping weeds on the footpaths and war veterans can be seen begging in front of pubs. The very old are reminded of a time well before the turn of the century when ragged groups of men queued for the dole. For the first time, the government is confronted with rioting and looting.
New Zealand has 81,000 unemployed at this point. This is a high number for a total population of around one and a half million. Mass unemployment on this scale had been unimaginable previously. Feverishly the government, a liberal-conservative coalition, tries to find a solution. In 1933 an unemployment law is passed for the first time in the country’s history. It is linked to a special income tax to support the jobless. A year later, a rural mortgage relief act follows to prevent farmers who are unable to pay their instalments from being dispossessed of their farms. Assisted also by an upturn in prices, 4000 farmers are saved from having to walk off the land.
Additional measures are taken that do not enhance the government’s popularity. There are radical cut-backs to social security payments as well as to the health budget and pensions. To reduce education expenditure, the starting age for school pupils is raised and the leaving age lowered, and two training colleges are closed. A 5 per cent sales tax is introduced on foodstuffs, electricity, petrol and industrial machinery.
Will this suffice to turn the tide of unemployment? No. Prime Minister Forbes introduces work relief schemes and formulates the principle of ‘No pay without work’. The unemployed are now sent to drain swamps, construct roads and golf courses or plant trees in forestry projects. The pay is meagre and the conditions in many rural work camps are extremely primitive. While important public works projects are scrapped, thousands of men are working in schemes that require less capital.
Unemployed city dwellers are encouraged to remember their roots and move to the country. They are allotted a parcel of land of their own of about ten acres (approximately four hectares) and at the same time they can earn money as farm labourers. The well-intentioned plan does not meet with much success, however. Only a few hundred families settle on the land. Casual work is scarce and about half of the established farmers have declared bankruptcy. The economic outlook is bleak for ‘God’s Own Country’. The army is developing a contingency plan to provide food rations for hundreds of thousands in case of total economic collapse.
As is the case elsewhere in the world, the tendency towards political extremism increases with material need. In Wellington, six men are slapped with a six-month prison sentence: their crime – Communist propaganda. They brought out a book called Karl Marx and the Mass Struggle and called for revolutionary violence and a workers’ dictatorship. Is revolutionary violence likely? The Labour Party would not entertain the idea of a ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’ in New Zealand. However, the New Zealand Legion, an organisation with fascist tendencies, has a sizeable following. It propells itself into the limelight through a skilful propaganda campaign and seeks to topple the coalition government. Its organiser, a Wellington surgeon, succeeds in recruiting 20,000 members within a short time.
In difficult times people attempt to escape harsh reality at least for a while and so during 1933 people play rugby and cricket, follow the horses and the first Woman’s Weekly appears. On the radio, New Zealanders follow the fight of their best heavyweight boxer and the first trans-Tasman flight by a woman.
In their newspapers New Zealanders read about the raising of the marriage age from 12 to 16 as a result of the influence of the first woman doctor at the Ministry of Justice. They learn that the first woman MP has been elected in a by-election in 1933 and read that the last full-blooded Moriori has died in the Chatham Islands. Harry Holland, the beloved leader of the Labour opposition, dies. New Zealanders are mostly absorbed with their own issues. Occasionally brief reports about what is happening in Europe appear, mainly taken from the English press. New Zealanders read, for instance, that the newly appointed Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, a Dr Goebbels, has seen the German premiere of The Wind and the Rain, a comedy by a New Zealander, Merton Hodge.
The New Zealand chapter of the International League of Women for Peace and Freedom are among the few who are awake to what is happening beyond their borders. They send a resolution to ‘Mr Hitler, Berlin’ in April 1933. The women acknowledge that current conditions in Germany are partly a consequence of unjust treatment at the end of World War I but then sharply criticise the cruelty and terrorism meted out to political and religious opponents. They demand immediate restoration of freedom of speech and action. In far-away Germany, such calls go unheeded.
Appeals of a different nature to that of the women’s league are heard in Germany. On 31 March, Joseph Goebbels calls for the boycott of Jewish businesses starting at 10 a.m. the following day. Barely two months after Hitler seizes power the first stage of a systematic policy to eliminate Jews from public life is introduced. The Nazis use the boycott of German goods by the West, which was intended as a protest against anti-Jewish propaganda, as a pretext. Jewish businessmen are intimidated into quickly relinquishing their businesses through open terrorisation and an accompanying smear campaign.
Hildesheim in Lower Saxony, which is hailed as the ‘Nuremberg of the North’ because of its many half-timbered houses in narrow alleys and its medieval Rathaus and cathedral, does not display particular nationalistic fervour. The city is trying to combat high unemployment. Moreover, the Catholic Church here refuses any rapprochement with the new regime.
Yet on 1 April the situation instantly changes for the approximately 500 Jews in the city. As in the rest of Germany, ‘unidentified’ persons smash the windows of numerous Jewish shops. Just like everywhere else, men in SA uniforms station themselves sheepishly in front of their night’s work. They stand with their legs wide apart holding placards emblazoned with ‘Don’t buy from Jews!’, ‘Curses on anyone who buys in this Jewish temple!’ or ‘Jewish business – they are our downfall!’, confident of the effect. Additional SA men go though the business district of town and put up signs and notices to identify places to which Jews are henceforth to be denied entry.
One of the approximately thirty Hildesheim businesses whose display windows were shattered that night is the Magazin Rothschild, a general store which sells a range of home and kitchen merchandise. It is a successful business, run by the Rothschild siblings, Ruth Adler’s mother and uncle. Ruth lives directly above the store with her parents and her sister, who is six years older.
The attacks by the SA don’t fail in their effect – the first Jewish shop announces a closing-down sale shortly after the day of the boycott. The family, however, repairs the display windows and carries on, as do most Jewish businessmen. Ruth’s father, who came through World War I with an Iron Cross, acts on the premise that no further danger will befall him as a former frontline soldier. His brother-in-law, a furrier from Fürstenwalde, has fewer illusions. He emigrates two years later to New Zealand, where he purchases a farm.
At the close of 1933, the Adam family from Berlin is already in the process of preparing for exile. Fritz Adam and his brothers had previously taken over the firm S. Adam, which had been founded by their father Saul and which supplied the court during the Kaiser’s era. S. Adam had manufacturing, wholesale and retail outlets throughout Germany. Following the deaths of Fritz’s two older brothers and the retirement of another, a new business is formed called Sport Adam, of which Fritz is the sole owner. The business manufactures men’s, women’s and children’s clothing and sports gear.
The family wishes to emigrate as quickly as possible. The decision results from an experience in the summer holidays. The parents own a property with a comfortable house, fields and orchard in Vorpommern (Western Pomerania), near Ueckermünde. One night this idyllic rural haven is suddenly disturbed by a group of Schutzstaffel (SS) henchmen and their father is arrested. He is released a short time later, however, and the family is forewarned: Christian friends in government circles have informed them of leadership plans to remove legal protection for Jews and Gypsies. Thanks to the episode in Vorpommern, the youngest child, 10-year-old Dietrich Adam, Dieter for short, leaves Germany before it is too late.
One lasting memory Dieter has is of a scurrilous incident involving some charlatans in front of a booth, who were ‘examining’ visitors’ heads because they could ‘feel’ what race people were from. When his sister was passing through the Christmas market in Potsdam Square, one of them put his hand on her head and declared emphatically, ‘And this here, ladies and gentlemen, is a typical Aryan girl!’
And so 1933 draws to a close. The poet Stefan George dies in December in Minusio, near Locarno, Switzerland, not far from Karl Wolfskehl’s place of refuge. Having been denied the opportunity to see the ‘master’ one more time, Wolfskehl now stands at his graveside. A host of faithful admirers mourn with him, including Count Claus Schenk von Stauffenberg, who is later one of the assassins in the 20 July 1944 plot to kill Hitler.