Sofie
Jürgen and Karl came home for a week’s vacation in June that year. I’d seen Jürgen for a few days around Adele’s funeral, but we were both so soaked in grief I’d barely looked at him then. This trip was different. In all those months we spent apart, Gisela learned to crawl and be terrified of strangers—she now cried whenever Jürgen tried to pick her up. And over those months apart, Jürgen changed too.
He was quiet, spending long hours alone in his study even though he was supposed to be taking a break. After a few days of this, I stood in front of his desk. He looked up from a blueprint and his gaze was hollow.
“We need to go for a walk and enjoy this beautiful summer day,” I said flatly, propping my hand on my hip. “I am going to put Gisela in the stroller. I’ll see you outside in a moment.”
He didn’t even try to argue. He heard in my tone that I would not be deterred. We began to walk toward the park, and when we reached it, I motioned toward a shaded bench beneath a large linden tree. There we sat side by side, and I turned Gisela around to face us. She eyed Jürgen warily.
“This last year has been very difficult, but the technology is more marvelous than even I dreamed it could be. The next prototype is the A4. This rocket will launch vertically, straight up like this.” Slowly, almost dreamily, he raised his hand. “It will ascend at an angle we’ve calculated with incredible precision—every movement stabilized and guided by a finely tuned gyroscope. After maybe a minute, the propulsion ends. Now this rocket is somewhere in the order of sixty miles straight up. Maybe it even comes near the edge of space. Isn’t that remarkable?”
“Sixty miles—”
“But this is just the culmination point,” he interrupted, his expression twisting until he looked disgusted. “Because now it starts its descent, and it travels just above the speed of sound. Do you know what that means?” I shook my head, but he didn’t seem to notice. He brought his hand down sharply into a fist on the other side of his lap, then snapped it open, exposing his palm. “The accuracy and range will be beyond anything the world has ever seen. And the missile travels faster than the sound it produces, so there is no warning at all—certainly no time for an air raid siren. Say we launch this from the border, as a family in France or Poland or Belgium or Switzerland sits in their kitchen eating their breakfast. That family is gone before they ever knew something was coming for them. The mother has no time to scream to the father that she’s going to get the baby. The father has no time to push his son into the cellar to save his life.”
Jürgen had always insisted he didn’t remember anything about the morning his family died. He had been lying to me, or at least avoiding a painful truth.
“You were eating breakfast when the bomb hit your house?” I asked gently.
Jürgen suddenly sat up, as if shaking off the memory.
“My point is that scenario I just described to you would seem like a fanciful nightmare to most people, but it’s almost within reach.”
“We just have to keep playing the game,” I said. “Remember? Listen for the music. Ignore the dissonant notes?”
“So I build these bombs and let someone else care about where they land?”
“That’s what you have to do.”
“When I’m refining the design of a booster or I’m tinkering with the engineers or I’m planning a test launch, I don’t think about that theoretical family eating their breakfast. Sometimes I even manage to forget that the sum of all the moving parts is a weapon. But as soon as the work stops, that family is all I can think about.”
I looked to Gisela. She was kicking her legs impatiently, craning her neck to look behind her, eager to continue the journey through the park.
“We both know you don’t have a choice. The cost of anything but perfect compliance would simply be too high.”
He slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, planting a gentle kiss above my ear.
“I’m just following orders. I’m doing what I have to do to stay alive. To keep my family safe,” he murmured.
“Exactly,” I said.
“That’s what I tell myself a hundred times a day, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if that theoretical family eating their breakfast would be satisfied by those excuses. Should we really prioritize the safety of our family over the safety of theirs, Sofie? And does the equation change if, one day in the not-too-distant future, we’re prioritizing the safety of our family over hundreds or thousands of families who might find themselves the target of one of my rockets?”
I turned to stare at him. Our faces were so close I could feel his shaky breath against my lips.
“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered, stricken.
“I don’t know what the answers are either,” he whispered back. “But we have a moral obligation to ask ourselves these questions.”
And it was clear, from the torment in his eyes, he’d been confronting that truth for some time.
Lydia and Karl invited us to join them for dinner the evening before Karl and Jürgen were to return to Peenemünde. While the staff prepared the meal, the nannies supervised the children as they played in a paddling pool in the gardens. Lydia, heavily pregnant with another set of twins, looked exhausted but smiled wearily as she handed us each a glass of champagne.
“I have some excellent news for you both,” Karl announced. “I know that Georg is not due to go until his birthday, but I was speaking with Hans’s supervising captain and he agreed to admit Georg to the Jungvolk early. Congratulations.”
The Jungvolk—the junior division of the Hitler Youth. I was always going to have to cross this bridge when Georg turned ten—I just thought I had a few more months to come to terms with it.
“The Führer needs young warriors like Georg,” Karl said. He looked between the three of us, a glint of determination in his eyes. Just as Jürgen had changed over those past few years, Karl had changed too—he’d become a much harder man, much less inclined to flash his charming smile. “The sooner we get him started, the better—and the early entry reflects just how much the Party values your work, Jürgen.”
“Thank you,” I heard my husband say. Watching the convincing job he was doing of expressing delight at this development, I understood why he was so tired all of the time.
“On that note,” Karl continued, “my friend, there is something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about...” His charming smile made a brief reappearance. “You’re the most senior staff member at Peenemünde who isn’t a member of the Party. I know that’s just an oversight, but don’t you think it’s time we rectified it?”
This was a test of loyalty, just like the special Jungvolk arrangement, and an explicit threat was no longer required. We all understood exactly what the stakes were.
By the time Jürgen returned to Peenemünde the next day, we were paid-up members of the Nazi party, just waiting for our membership numbers to arrive in the post.
Georg chatted excitedly the morning of his first overnight Jungvolk camp, more animated than I’d seen him since Adele’s death.
“There’s sports and adventure courses and we get to fire guns and we sleep in the tents and they will teach us how to do all kinds of amazing things—even how to serve the Führer better! I’ll be in Hans’s Jungenshaft.” This was a unit of ten children, led by a slightly older child. The Jungvolk was structured as a paramilitary organization. I was sending my nine-year-old son off to play combat games designed to shape him into a mindless Hitler acolyte.
Georg was already wearing his uniform—shiny black boots and dark shorts, a tie paired with a collared shirt, the Jungvolk logo on the sleeve. He’d emerged from his room in the uniform so early that morning, I had a feeling he slipped it on straight out of bed. But he couldn’t fix the final part of the uniform without help, and that was why he was standing before me now, chin raised, waiting impatiently for me to put his rolled kerchief around his neck.
“...and we will learn to expel the Untermensch and defeat all of the Führer’s enemies. It is going to be so much fun!”
It was all a game to Georg—a glorious, fun-filled lark. I slipped the kerchief around his neck, tucked the collar over it, and then reached for the woggle—the loop of woven leather that secured the kerchief in place at his collarbone. I stared down at him until tears filled my eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, suddenly alarmed as he stared back up at me, his blue eyes filled with concern. “Mama?”
I forced myself to smile.
“You’re just such a big boy, Georg. I’m so proud of you.”
He beamed at me, then straightened his shoulders as he stepped away to pick up the canvas bag containing his overnight things. The bag was almost bigger than he was. He swung it over his shoulder, then stepped toward the door, waving impatiently for me to follow.
At the camp, Laura hovered beside me, taking it all in with big, curious eyes—hundreds of young boys, assembling into perfect lines at the sharp sound of a whistle. I was holding a squirming Gisela on one hip, but Laura took my other hand and tugged it to get my attention.
“Mama, I can’t wait until it’s my turn.” As a young girl, she wouldn’t attend the Jungvolk—rather, the Jungmadelbund, the Young Girls’ League, focused on activities deemed suitable for German girls, preparing them for their future roles as mother, wife, and homemaker.
“Soon enough,” I replied, my heart sinking as I said it. She would likely start at ten—just a few short years away. I looked back to Georg, who was almost quaking with excitement as the leaders barked instructions at the children to prepare to recite the pledge.
Several hundred boys straightened their spines and echoed in unison the chant my son had already learned by heart.
“In the presence of this blood banner which represents our Führer, I swear to devote all of my energies and my strength to the savior of our country, Adolf Hitler.” My son looked right at me and beamed with pride as he chanted, “I am willing and ready to give up my life for him, so help me God.”
Adele’s apartment was still vacant and I couldn’t bring myself to rent it out. We didn’t need the money, and the thought of sorting through her belongings was still too much. Every morning, I went into her courtyard to tend to the animals and the plants that remained. On Wednesdays, I packed a basket of whatever was in season, and Gisela and I took a trip to drop it off to Martha.
There were still so many unknowns from the night Adele died. We never figured out how the Gestapo caught wind of the chain of women helping Mayim’s family for all of those years, nor did we know why some of those women, including Martha, escaped suspicion. But Martha could explain some things.
“Adele called and asked me to come by in the morning with my son’s car. She was trying to stay calm, but I heard her panic.” Martha arrived at sunrise—only to find Adele had passed. “I convinced the Bavarians to go to their room and freshen up, and while they were gone, I checked the apartment. I found Mayim hiding beneath the kitchen sink. She’d been there all night.” I swallowed a lump in my throat at the thought of that. The same hiding place she’d endured while her father was killed. What a torture it must have been to see history repeat itself twice in just a few days. “I snuck her out the back door and over the courtyard wall. By the time the couple came back downstairs, Mayim was hiding in my son’s car and I was sitting with Adele on the bed, calmly saying goodbye.”
“I see why you and Adele were friends.” I smiled tearfully.
“It was nothing,” Martha said dismissively. Then her face fell. “I wish I could have done more for her, Sofie. There were thousands of Poles camping out in the open at the border because the Reich wouldn’t let them stay but Poland wouldn’t let them in. I don’t know what happened after she left my car, but I think of her all the time.”
After that, Martha mentioned that her son knew of several other Jews in hiding. I could no longer help Mayim, but that didn’t mean I was powerless.
Not even Jürgen knew that every Wednesday I dropped some of Adele’s produce off to Martha—caring for an elderly Aryan German, just as the Reich wanted me to do. But in a layer of folded newspaper at the bottom of the basket of produce, there was always a stack of Reichsmark—as much as I could skim without arousing suspicion from Jürgen. I knew he wouldn’t protest if he knew what I was doing, but I wanted to protect him, just as Adele had tried to protect me.
I never met Martha’s son, but I knew he always visited her on Wednesday afternoons. While he was there, he’d collect the cash and pass it to Jewish friends who needed it most.
I never learned who the recipients were. It didn’t really matter. I desperately wanted to help—but I knew, deep down, that my gesture was so small as to be laughably insignificant.
Besides, the gesture was intended to do good, but in a way, it was also selfish. It was the quiet reminder I needed. It didn’t matter who I pretended to be. The Nazis could take my best friends and even my children from me—but they would not touch my heart.
“Oh, hello, dear,” Martha greeted me that Wednesday. “It’s good to see you. And hello, sweet Gisela.” Just as Adele might have done if she were alive, Martha bent into the stroller and gave my excited daughter some candy.
I set the basket on Martha’s kitchen table. She bustled around the kitchen, chatting about this and that as she made me tea.
“The strangest thing happened,” she said. “I got this letter and I don’t know what to do with it. I think it might have been incorrectly addressed. Could you take a look and tell me what I should do?”
I accepted the letter as she handed it to me—but almost dropped it when I saw the familiar handwriting.
Dear Frieda,
Do you remember me from those days as childhood neighbors in Potsdam, all of those years ago? You probably do not, so I will try to jog your memory.
There was that time when I fell and broke a bone in my wrist, and as I lay on the ground in such pain, you were so distressed that we forgot our roles somehow, and I wound up comforting you. And then one summer we wanted to swim in the creek but my brother was unwell, so my mother told him he couldn’t join us. He set fire to a cloth in her kitchen to distract her and followed us to the creek! Such a rascal back then, and he’s such a rascal today—even now that he is a husband and father.
It was his idea that I write you to let you know that I still think of you, even after all of these years. I imagine you will wish you could reply to me, but the timing of this letter is unfortunate, as I’m about to go traveling, so I won’t leave a return address for now. Life is too short—one never knows what lies around the corner, so I wanted to send you my well-wishes while I could.
If I settle someplace, I will write you again so you know where to find me. For now, just know that I am happy and well, and my life has worked out just fine. I will never forget you or your kindness to me.
Very best wishes,
Anna
Mayim! Frieda—my grandmother’s name; Anna—hers. So many references to our past together, not one of them subtle, but clever Mayim had found a way to hide her identity in such a way that no one in the world could possibly know who wrote that letter except me.
“What should I do with it?” Martha asked me innocently. I looked up at her, my vision blurred from tears, and she winked at me. “Yes, it’s clearly not intended for me. Since there’s no return address, I’ll throw it into the trash.”
But later, Martha followed me to the door, and as we embraced, I whispered in her ear, “She didn’t know where you lived. I remember she said that, the night Adele died. How did she find you? And how did you know the letter was for me?”
“I gave her my address as I drove her to the border, just in case there was anything else I could do for her. The envelope was addressed to me, but when I opened it, I was so confused to see the letter addressed to someone else. I almost threw it out, until I remembered her telling me she met you in Potsdam. Now at least we know she made it to her family. I hope that brings you some peace.”
I was at Adele’s apartment one morning in early September. Gisela, now eighteen months old, was stumbling clumsily around the courtyard, one of the young rabbits following her like a puppy. I had the wireless on for background noise, but I wasn’t really listening until a sudden flare of trumpets and drums sounded. The Reichstag had been assembled for an extraordinary session and Hitler was about to address the nation. There came a cacophony of noise—shouting and cheers from parliamentarians as the Führer arrived.
Hitler announced that Germany had invaded Poland but only as an act of self-defense. From now on, bombs will be met with bombs. He told the nation to brace itself. This will be a fight until the resolution of the situation.
When the children came home from school, they were abuzz with excitement, although it was clear they had little understanding of what had actually happened. Georg was convinced that Poland had dropped a bomb on Berlin. Laura thought Hitler was at the border, wielding a sword in defense of the Reich. When I went to tuck Georg in, I found him on his knees by the side of the bed, whispering what I thought was a prayer. As I waited by the door, surprised but determined to give him space to pray, I heard the words he was murmuring to a rhythm that suggested he’d said them many times before.
“Führer, my Führer, given me by God. Protect and preserve my life for long. You saved Germany in time of need. I thank you for my daily bread. Be with me for a long time, do not leave me, Führer, my Führer, my faith, my light, Hail to my Führer!”
“Where did you learn that?” I asked, forgetting my plan to give him privacy. Georg climbed up onto his bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin, flashing me a bright grin.
“At the Jungvolk,” he said easily. I kissed his forehead and turned his light out, and then walked briskly into the study to call Jürgen.
It was too much to bear alone—the “prayer” I’d overheard, the conflict with Poland—what it all meant, and what might happen next. I didn’t trust the media anymore, but I had no alternate way to find information. Everything felt completely out of control.
“Hello?” my husband answered gruffly.
The instant I heard his voice, I knew I was going to weep, and I couldn’t do that—he’d ask me why I was so upset, and I couldn’t tell him because we likely had an audience. I hung up the phone and went to bed, muffling the sound of my sobs by pressing my face into my pillow.