During the ‘August Days’ of 1914, the German society and its military presented a monolithic picture of devotion to its cause. Each opportunity for display of troops and armament was seized as if esprit de corps by itself would bring victory. While the Kaiser reviewed legions of troops at the Brandenburg Gate, the German High Command was drawing battle plans designed to use lightening troop movements. Properly executed, the German Volk would be rewarded with a stunning opening victory, but the victory never came, only a bitter defeat. The rapid victory became a war of attrition. Scarcely four years had passed, and the carnage had reached staggering proportions…8 million dead, including 1.9 million Germans, with 4 million wounded.
Mistakes and miscalculations are part of war. America was not directly involved in the war, but her ships were supplying the Allies. The German decision to begin naval attacks on American ships supplying England turned out to be a grave miscalculation. The United States was far removed from the problems in Europe, and the American economic machine was growing into a monster. A few years earlier, two brothers in the bicycle business had dazzled the world by flying a gasoline powered glider-like machine. It traveled 120 feet across a North Carolina beach – spawning the birth of the aviation era. Because of this and other accomplishments, American industry began to boom on every front, from automobiles to railroads to manufacturing.
The news that the German Navy was attacking U.S. ships was a shock to Americans. The common feeling in the country was that the Germans had awakened, what the Japanese would later call “a sleeping giant.” Within weeks, tens of thousands of men joined the military. Within months, two million green but fresh American soldiers were injected into the fray in France. The American people had mostly passing interest in the European war, but attacks on U.S. shipping would not stand.
Early in 1918, Field Marshal Hindenburg had promised the Kaiser, “I will be in Paris by April 1st’.” The conflict had long since degenerated into a war the Germans would not lose but could not win. Field Commander General Ludendorff was determined to change that. His spring offensive pushed through five French defense lines some 60 kilometers from Paris. It appeared the Hindenburg promise would hold until the advance was halted at the small village of Chateau-Thierry, where two regiments of U. S. Marines battled the Germans to a standstill. Using fresh American units, the Allies began a major counter offensive. Within days the Kaiser was urgently summoned to military headquarters where a despondent Hindenburg confronted him.
“The war is lost,” he said. “Our forces are defeated and prolonging the conflict will be a monumental waste of life.”
He insisted that an armistice be sought immediately. Although a man of enormous pride, the Kaiser could not and would not disagree. The defeat was bitter for the German High Command. Hindenburg and his staff would not view themselves as culpable. As the war dragged on there were, according to the High Command, “forces of defeatism and sabotage” in the homeland that could not be overcome. The German superior training and military skill not-with-standing, the loss of the war was beyond the control of the generals, at least in their view. But to many Germans the loss was not only shattering, but inexplicable.
The hardships of the following few years were predictable. A British Naval blockade in the North Sea and Baltic was especially devastating and caused serious food shortages. The principle home grown crop was turnips. Previously, many other types of vegetables had been available. Now instead of cabbage, spinach, potatoes, carrots, and beans, there were only turnips. The steady turnip diet was only part of the joyless German nadir. Berlin remained generally gray and overcast in winter, and a worldwide influenza epidemic was spreading to central Europe. This was a highly contagious viral illness that all too often was complicated by bacterial pneumonia, usually pneumococcal. As the patients were overwhelmed with fluid build-up in their lungs, they became weaker and more short of breath until the process would mercifully end their lives. At that time, there was no available treatment. On one particularly mournful day, the defeated city suffered 1,700 deaths. The German Volk, starving and dying by the thousands, was reeling between blatant despair and revolution.
The events of 1918 brought the people to their lowest point since Chancellor Bismarck had forged the German Empire in 1871. This was, however, not the case in the scientific community. Amid the chaos of the times, the scientists at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute were working to develop an algorithm to prove the paradigms of Einstein’s theories. Theoretical mathematics had been developed to demonstrate the principle that the speed of light is the same for all observers and that nothing can travel faster. If an object could be accelerated to that magical speed, its dimension would go to zero, its mass to infinity, and time would stop. His theory of general relativity was difficult to comprehend and even more difficult to prove.
Hanz Eichenwald and his colleague, Max Plank, spent endless hours contemplating the depth of relativity. Previously, they had thought that light traveled in a straight line. But Einstein’s general relativity theory predicted that light should be “bent” by the force of gravity. Even with a war going on, Hanz had been in contact with Sir Frank Dyson of the British Royal Astronomical Society; the subject - proof of the effect of gravity on light. Sir Frank had suggested, “we have a chance to prove your colleague correct, or not, using the up-coming solar eclipse on March 29.” On that day the moon would pass between the sun and the earth, and for a time, would block 99 percent of the sun’s light. The darkened sun would be in line, simultaneously, with an exceptionally bright group of stars known as the Hyades. At that precise moment the light from the stars, passing close to the sun, could be observed and measured. An opportunity like this would not present itself for another 200 years.
As a physicist, Hanz had a unique understanding of the sun, a medium sized star in the Milky Way galaxy, one of a hundred million other galaxies. It is the principle source of energy for the earth. The publications of Einstein in 1905 established the understanding of the enormous energy production of the sun according to the formula E = mc2. In theory, this energy could be produced using the two most common elements in the universe - hydrogen and helium. Under certain circumstances, two hydrogen atoms might fuse, producing a different element - helium. The resulting helium would have less mass than the two hydrogen atoms, and the ‘lost’ mass would appear as energy in the form of both heat and light. It was now evident that a small amount of mass would produce an enormous amount of energy.
It was now becoming more apparent to Eichenwald, Plank and their colleagues that hydrogen fusion was not only the source of the sun’s energy, but the source of light from all stars in all of the galaxies of the universe. General relativity predicted that light should be bent by gravity. Dyson, Eichenwald, Plank, and Einstein hoped to use the upcoming eclipse to prove it. The implications of relativity were so profound that they began to be viewed as spiritual in nature. Now, time was not seen as absolute, but dynamic. The assumption that the universe had always looked the same was also being called into question.
“The universe is changing,” noted Plank. “This observation leads to the rather profound implication that it is finite…that it must have had a beginning!”
He and his colleagues simultaneously had the incredulous thought. A beginning of the universe also implies an ending.
Hanz’s fascination with the sun had its genesis in childhood when he attended the Yeshiva Jewish boy’s school. The ancient Egyptians, slave masters of the Hebrew nation for over 400 years, worshiped the sun as part of their polytheism. The sun was for them, the greatest wonder and thus, the most esteemed in their worship. The Hebrew Torah had been handed down over the millennia from ancient manuscripts. Tradition held that its author was the patriarch Moses. The question for Hanz was one of truth. Could he trust the accounts set forth in the Torah? The first phrase in the text is bereshith, which literally means ‘in the beginning.’
This concept of beginning had always been abstract for Hanz. He was a scientist and always looking for concepts that could be proved. The Torah next mentioned Elohim, which means ‘God,’ who in a peremptory act, created all things. Though the universe could be observed as dynamic, the concept that it was ‘willed’ into existence by God was difficult to believe. Hanz clearly believed in God. But he remained skeptical that this God of the Hebrews was responsible for everything in the universe. The narratives in the Torah seemed to be just that - stories.
An atheistic view of the universe was based on the unavoidable element of unpredictability or randomness. But as Hanz had discussed with Einstein, “the observed universe is one of perfect order; there is nothing random about it.” To this Einstein quipped, “and God does not play dice”, meaning God is not arbitrary.
His theory of general relativity was, if true, clearly pointing to an event…a beginning. Hanz continued to ponder that first phrase of the Hebrew text, bereshith.
The planned expedition to view the solar eclipse in cooperation with his colleague Sir Frank Dyson, had implications far beyond his interest in physics. He was becoming convinced that God could have created the universe – but did he?
* * *
In 1918, Dr. Emil Leimdorfer was managing editor of Berlin’s largest tabloid paper, The Berliner Zeitung am Mittag. On the morning of November 9th he received an urgent telephone call placed from the office of Imperial Chancellor Prince Max of Baden. The caller was frantic.
“His Majesty the Kaiser has abdicated!”
Within an hour the street vendors were shouting as they displayed the bold type tabloid, “KAISER ABDICATES! EBERT MADE CHANCELLOR!”
Two weeks previously, the Kaiser had left Berlin to join his military commanders in the Belgian resort of Spa. The news was devastating. The army could not hold out more than two more weeks. It was the opinion of his generals as well, that the government itself would not survive unless he abdicated the throne. The war was lost, and soon his country would be lost. His head was spinning as he attempted to absorb what he was hearing. After all, he was the King. His position was his birthright. Now his generals sought the power of the throne. Why would he abandon what was rightly his; why should he? A general strike had been called for the morning of November 9th to force the issue. The two largest political parties, the Independent Socialists and the Social Democrats, both supported the strike. Even as the Kaiser was refusing to abandon the throne, tens of thousands of striking workers were gathering outside the chancellor’s office. The chancellery building was a massive structure with thick gray stone walls and two enormous lion statues on either side of the main entrance. This entrance was actually a driveway entering a large inner courtyard. A massive iron gate sealed the drive and a 24-hour guard occupied a small guardhouse to the right of the gate. The police had tried to seal off the entrance but were overpowered by the crowd. Even with the heavy draperies drawn on each of the twenty foot tall windows, their shouts were reaching the inner offices…a reflection of the violence of their mood.
Chancellor Prince Max, isolated and desperate, believed the strikers could and would execute him in a frenzy of mob violence. Fearing for his life, he decided to announce the Kaiser’s abdication on his own authority. In this life-death struggle, he prayed the announcement would bring calm to the explosive situation.
Even as this drama was being played out, the Kaiser was formulating a plan to take back the country using the army. When Field Marshal Hindenburg and his Chief of Staff General Groner were informed of the plan, Groner announced, “Sire, you no longer have an army.” After further argument, the Kaiser reluctantly agreed to seek exile in Holland. Later that day he boarded a train for that country. Sitting alone in the special opulent railcar prepared for a king, his thoughts drifted back to the summer of 1914 when he proudly reviewed the military at the Brandenburg Gate. Now with no army, no country and no throne, the monarchy of the German people had come to an end.
By nightfall, there was great uncertainty about who was actually running the government. It seemed clear there was no desire to replace the monarchy. But the vacuum of leadership was unsettling. For the first time in more than 1,000 years the Germanic people had no king. After the rule of Charlemagne in 800 AD, Otto 1st had emerged in 962 to unite the eastern and middle kingdoms of Europe. But a stormy relationship existed between the Pope and the new German monarchy. The church/monarchy conflicts resulted in the spread of feudalism, a system in which landowners maintained a dominant stranglehold on the people. This dominance was ended by the Thirty Years War of 1618, a conflict that killed 30 percent of the population. The modern day succession of kings was begun by Friederich the Great and ended with the Kaiser. After more than 1,000 years, the people no longer had the will for a monarchy.
Revolution was in the air. The potential for violence was apparent, especially in the cities. People were angry and bewildered. Youth groups were seen almost daily in the streets. The leadership vacuum desperately needed to be filled. Two men emerged into the spotlight.
Karl Liebknecht was the son of one of the founders of German Socialism. He had started an anti-war movement in December 1914, being the first Reichstag deputy to abstain from voting for war credits. He was an outspoken critic of the war from the beginning. A rather short, austere man, he sported a black mustache which gave him a military presence. An isolated dissenter during the war years, his views had been vindicated by the German defeat.. Liebknecht had the full support of Lenin’s new communist regime in Russia which had designs on spreading their doctrines to central Europe and even beyond.
A second man, Fredrich Ebert was the leader of the more centrist Social Democratic Party. Ebert had supported both the Kaiser and the war effort. He and the deputy director of the Social Democrats, Philipp Scheidemann, had encouraged Prince Max von Baden to succeed to the throne. Prince Max was the son of Wilhelm, brother of Grand Duke Frederick 1st and the former Chancellor, but Max had no stomach for injecting himself further into the conflagration of German political life.
In 1918 the country had seemed on the brink of civil war. But hostilities were narrowly averted by the abdication of the Kiser. In a bold move to advance the socialist agenda, Karl Liebknecht began driving around Berlin to rally the support of the thousands of striking workers out on the streets. At the same time, Philipp Scheidemann was in the Reichstag lunchroom when about 50 soldiers and workers stormed into the room. Word of Liebknecht’s activities had reached the Reichstag and started a panic. The right wing supporters realized that there was significant danger of a Communist coup that could sweep them in to power and that they must be stopped at any cost.
“Philipp, you must come out and speak to the crowd,” he was told. “Liebknecht is pushing for a Soviet style republic.”
Thousands were waiting for some word, any word, unaware of the drama being played out. Scheidemann did not know what to say. Finally, he blurted out, “Workers and soldiers…the cursed war is over…the Emperor has abdicated. Long live the new Germany!”
A deafening roar went up from the crowd. In the state of excitement and confusion, his declaration was taken by the hopeful citizens as the beginning of a new government. A wild celebration ensued.
About 4:00 p.m., snow began to fall. As the winter chill of the evening set in, Liebknecht finally reached the palace with a small band of his rebel supporters. The tall palace rooms were mostly deserted. When he stepped out onto the main balcony, only about 200 people remained.
“The day of liberty has dawned…” he began.
But, in fact, he had missed the dawning of liberty, which had occurred a few hours earlier that day.
* * *
At this time, Anna Eichenwald was approaching her eighteenth birthday. She had passed quickly from her awkward teen years into a sophisticated young woman. She remained an excellent student, especially in math and science. She now stood at just under six feet in height. Her dark, auburn hair and blue-green eyes gave her a striking appearance and lured the frequent glances of admirers. Her mother had done an exceptional job of keeping Anna’s values strong and her academic pursuits equally focused. Anna’s interest in boys had been, for the most part, limited to flirting. With her looks and brains, she intimidated most of the boys she knew.
One of her father’s friends was a medical doctor with a surgical practice at the Charite Hospital across the Spree River. Marvin Katz was in his early 50’s. A robust man of some 200 pounds, he stood about six feet with a focused and intense decorum, and large brown eyes that penetrated whoever held his attention. He was a widower, having lost his wife in childbirth along with their only child. Now married to his work, his one hobby was as an amateur astronomer. He had become acquainted with the Eichenwald family after attending a lecture on solar eclipse. Marlene had been especially happy to have him for evening meals, hoping to fill the void of his lost family. Marvin was grateful for these gatherings, as he was especially fond of Anna and liked to think of her as the daughter he never had.
On an occasional weekend, Anna would arrange to go with him to the hospital emergency ward. It was on one such an occasion that Anna accompanied him for an urgent consult involving a 19-year old boy who had been brought to emergency unconscious following a car accident. The boy had been walking along Leipziger Strasse when a car jumped the curb and struck him. After arriving at the hospital, he regained consciousness but was pale and complaining of abdominal pain. His blood pressure was 90/60, pulse 120, lungs clear, and his abdomen was tense. Dr. Katz finished his evaluation and reviewed the lab work.
“He will need to go to surgery,” Katz said in an urgent voice. “Call the blood bank and ask for four units of cross-matched and two unmatched units available. I’m going out to speak to his family.”
Anna, who had never seen a major surgery, followed Dr. Katz to the waiting room where they found the boy’s older brother. “Where are your parents,” asked Katz, never glancing up from the chart.
“I have sent for them,” the young man replied. “But we live ten kilometers from town.”
“Good. Your brother has a serious abdominal injury and is bleeding. He is being moved to surgery.”
The young man looked into Katz’ large brown eyes and noted their concern. “Will he be alright?”
“He is a young, healthy boy. He will need blood, so I want you to go to the lab and see if you have his blood type. The nurse will show you the way.”
Anna’s heart was racing as she contemplated what was about to happen. As they walked to the surgical suite, her mentor seemed deep in thought and she was reluctant to speak. Finally, she broke the silence. “What do you think is wrong?”
“It’s called a differential,” Dr. Katz replied.
“Meaning, what are the possibilities?” she questioned.
“He has blunt abdominal trauma. The force of the injury seems to have been severe. My worst fear is a fractured liver or an aortic injury. It could be his spleen or torn vessels to the intestine. His urine is clear so I don’t expect a kidney or bladder injury. He’s shocky, so he has probably lost about half his blood volume.”
Anna did not understand the term ‘shocky’ but did not ask. She was fascinated with the doctor’s ability to evaluate the problem. She found herself feeling envy for his knowledge and skill.
“Surgeons are problem solvers by nature,” said Dr. Katz as they parted for the changing rooms.“Solving this problem…. the challenge. Saving his life… the reward.”
Anna, in her scrubs, cap and mask, stood on a short stool in the corner of the OR trying to absorb the drama. The boy was being put to sleep with ether. Dr. Katz and his surgical assistant entered, gloved and gowned.
“His pressure is 60!” the anesthetist called out as he turned both IVs to run as fast as possible.
“He has uncross-matched blood. Give it!”
One of the nurses had already prepped the abdomen with alcohol. Dr. Katz quickly draped off the field, and then in one quick movement with the scalpel, opened the abdomen through the midline. Immediately a large amount of dark blood gushed out of the incision and covered both surgeon and assistant. A large suction was placed into the wound and simultaneously Katz’s right arm disappeared into the gaping wound. The liver felt intact. The bleeding was coming from the left upper quadrant. He quickly glanced up to see the blood running wide open, his right hand now blindly searching the left upper quadrant of the boy’s abdominal cavity.
“The spleen is shattered,” he said, keeping the others in the OR appraised of this life and death struggle.
With his left hand, he grasped what was left of the spleen. Using a long surgical clamp, with his right hand he placed the clamp on the vessels to the spleen and blindly divided the attachments holding the spleen to the surrounding structures, then delivered it into the wound still attached to the vessels
“Bleeding is controlled!”
“Pressure is up to 70…pulse is 120!” “Are you giving the matched blood?” “Second unit is running!
Katz placed a zero silk suture ligature on the vascular pedicle which had supplied the spleen to permanently seal it off, and divided the vascular supply to the spleen. He handed what was left of the spleen to the scrub nurse, then used saline solution to wash out the abdominal cavity and remove as much of the old blood as possible. Carefully, he inspected the liver again as well as the stomach, pancreas, and intestine. He could find no other injury.
“Pressure is up to 90. He’s starting to make some urine,” observed the anesthetist. “I’ll use zero silk to close.”
Dr. Katz glanced at Anna. He had been too busy to notice how she was dealing with the rather bloody scene. The look on her face did not betray her fascination.
He motioned for her to follow him and they entered a small lounge area. As they sat down he removed his sweat drenched cap.
“The boy’s age probably saved him,” he told Anna. “An older person would not have survived that much bleeding.”
Katz relaxed for a moment and looked at Anna.
“Nothing like a little excitement on a Saturday evening, yes? So what do you think?”
“Pretty amazing,” she replied. “Have you done similar cases?”
“Once in my training and another time about five years ago. A nine year old boy fell off his bicycle.” Dr. Katz stood up. “I’m going to check on our young boy and speak with his parents. I’ll meet you back here in 20 minutes.”
Anna’s eyes followed him out the door. She wondered if there was a place for a woman in this very male oriented world of surgery.
* * *
Fredrich Ebert was alone in the Chancellor’s office. The building on Wilhelmstrasse was now abandoned. The events of the past 72 hours had made him the highest official in Germany. They had also shaken him to the core.
Ebert was a stout man with a raffish appearance, inconsistent with one born into poverty. The son of a tailor in Heidelberg, he spent his early years as a saddle-maker. Using inherent communication skills and fortunate circumstances, he had become a political party functionary in Berlin. Now at forty-eight years of age, he had been told by the departing Chancellor, “Herr Ebert, I now commit the German people into your care.”
Sitting in the office in solitude, his thoughts turned sad as he considered his two sons, both of whom had been killed on the battlefields of France. They had been the joy of his life and he was still unable to get over their loss. He commonly experienced days of depression and bitterness. The loss of the war only compounded his feelings. Ebert was surprised and startled back to reality by the ringing of one of the office phones. The caller was General Groner, the deputy commander for Field Marshal Hindenburg. Ebert had spent little time in the office and was unaware the phone was a secret private line to military headquarters in Spa. He identified himself and warily asked how the army planned to deal with the crisis, and more specifically, how the Field Marshal would deal with it. Now that the Kaiser was gone, Hindenburg was in complete command. The answer was reassuring. The front line troops would be brought back to Germany and would support the Ebert-led government.
The following day, November 10th, a decree was released by a group of Social Democratic and Independent commissioners. It proclaimed amnesty for all political prisoners. This was being done in an effort to unify the government. There would also be freedom of speech, press, and assembly. All public officials would be elected by secret ballot. And the new government was committed to providing jobs, housing and food.
The majority of Germans were still very conservative. They remained orderly and compliant. Once, when a fire broke out around the royal Palace, the crowds running to escape did so paths observing the “keep off the grass” signs. In a few short years this sense of order in their lives would be obliterated. In its place would be chaos.