Gertruda's Oath: A Child, a Promise, and a Heroic Escape During World War II (14 page)

“The war turns men into monsters,” he said. “How will you get along?”

“I have no idea.”

“If there’s anything I can do for you?”

“At the moment, no. Thank you, anyway.”

He said that he and his family had come to Vilna a week before.

“The city is flooded with refugees,” he said. “People take whatever work they can find for pennies.”

“How long will this last?” asked Gertruda anxiously.

“God knows. How is Michael?”

“He’s fine, just a little scared.”

“We live on the second floor of number 8. My wife and I will be glad if you all come to dinner. It won’t be a royal feast, but you won’t go away hungry, I promise.”

For the first time since he had joined the Nazi Party, Karl Rink wasn’t so sure, wasn’t devoted so blindly to the party, or to the belief that only Hitler could lead Germany on the right path. Although he was proud to serve the party with all his might and didn’t hesitate to carry out the orders of his superiors in the destruction of Communists and members of other opposition groups, he had private reservations about SS methods, which seemed too extreme for him. Every single day he tried to find Mira, asked everybody he knew for whatever information they might have. In his heart he suspected that the SS had had a major role in his wife’s disappearance, but his companions and commanders kept lying as he struggled to find out what had happened to her. He asked to see lists of detainees and victims to be sure his wife’s name didn’t appear. Those who made the lists claimed they were forbidden to show them to anyone.

Helpless, Karl Rink returned to his empty house every evening and had a hard time deciding what to do. If he resigned from the
SS, he knew he would be sent to the front immediately and his life would be in great danger. If he didn’t resign, he would have to carry out orders that went against his grain. From any angle, he seemed to be at a dead end.

In his long sleepless nights in the empty apartment, he missed his wife and daughter and was sorry he hadn’t taken Helga’s advice to leave Germany with their small family before it was too late. With a heavy heart, he returned to SS headquarters every morning and reluctantly carried out orders he was given, wanting to believe the war would end soon, along with the nightmare that haunted him.

One evening, Karl Rink was summoned to a special meeting in Reinhard Schreider’s apartment in eastern Berlin. The commander lived alone in a luxury apartment on the ground floor in the quarter populated by many Nazi supporters. Karl Rink attended the meeting along with a group of officers about to join the German forces in Poland. All those present knew that the missions in Poland were only the beginning. If they carried them out well, they would be promoted to functions in the European countries conquered by the Nazis.

The meeting in Schreider’s apartment seemed like a social event. Expensive wines and rare delicacies were served and the guests chatted animatedly until they were joined by a balding man of about forty with a swarthy face, in an SS officer’s uniform.

“Gentlemen, I am honored to introduce you to Hans Frank,” said Schreider.

The guest’s name was familiar to everyone in the room. Frank had served in the German army in World War I, was one of the
founders of the Nazi Party, served as minister without portfolio in Hitler’s government, and was known as a die-hard anti-Semite.

“Today,” added Schreider, “Hans Frank was appointed General-gouverneur in Poland. You will all soon serve under his command.”

Frank spoke briefly. He said that he intended to impose law and order in Poland and mainly to take care of the Jews.

At those words, Karl Rink’s mind wondered painfully why he hadn’t resisted getting involved with the occupation force of Poland while there was still time. He looked at Hans Frank and knew he would support any and all kinds of torture of the Jews of Poland, and like all his colleagues, Karl would have to carry out the General-gouverneur’s orders. He could have found some pretext to stay in Berlin and devote his free time to searching for Mira. He wondered what had moved him to be silent when he was told of his impending departure for Poland: Was he afraid of being an exception again, as on Kristallnacht? Was he trying to demonstrate his devotion to the SS?

Frank thanked the guests for their attention, made a toast, and wished them luck. Six years later, the war crimes court in Nuremberg would condemn Frank to death by hanging after he was found guilty of sending tens of thousands of Jews to the death camps.

A few days passed and before they set out, Schreider said good-bye to his officers who were assigned to Poland. He shook Karl’s hand and wished him luck.

“Can I make a personal request?” asked Karl.

“As long as it’s brief,” said Schreider. “I’m very busy.”

“I want to know the truth about my wife.”

“Listen, Rink. You’re wasting your valuable time. Your Jewess
must have run away from you. I always claimed that you can’t rely on the Jews. Say thank you that she’s not there.”

“I loved her, sir,” said Karl.

“The SS is your only love, all of ours,” Schreider replied, scolding him.

The conversation was over.

When he left Schreider’s office, Karl Rink met his friend, Kurt Baumer, the commander’s third in command. Baumer gave Karl passes for the train to Poland and to appear at German headquarters.

“I’ve got the impression,” said Karl sadly, “that the truth about my wife’s fate is being hidden from me.”

Baumer gave him a long look.

“Let me give you some advice,” he said. “Forget the whole thing. Nothing good will come of your attempts to find out where your wife is.”

Karl sensed that Baumer knew a lot more than he was willing to reveal. Nevertheless, he understood that he couldn’t get any real information from his friend about Mira’s fate.

They parted from each other with a sad handshake.

At dawn, Gertruda opened her eyes. The wooden logs she had bought with a portion of her last pennies had turned into gray ashes. The fire had gone out and she was shivering with cold. Lydia and Michael were sleeping on the bed, wrapped in their coats. Gertruda quietly went into the small kitchen, which contained a few pots, dishes, and an old aluminum kettle. The pantry was empty. She filled the kettle with tap water and put it on the electric
hot plate in hopes that the steam would dissipate the chill in the apartment, if only a little bit.

She counted the few coins she had left and headed for the grocery store.

A heavyset man blocked her way in the staircase.

“You’re the new tenant?” he asked.

“Who are you?”

“The landlady’s brother.”

He moved closer to Gertruda and she could smell alcohol on his breath.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked. With a shudder of horror, she saw that his eyes were scanning her body.

“Not at the moment.”

“You need money? I can give you some.”

“No need,” she said. “I plan to start working. I’ll have money.”

He smiled. “I’m always around,” he said. “I’ll drop in to visit you from time to time to see if you’re all right.”

“Thank you, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I’m sure it will be,” he laughed. “Wait and see.”

He moved aside and let her pass.

A convoy of refugees was going down the main street on horse-drawn wooden carts. Wrapped in blankets, the newcomers sat among their belongings. The face of a sad child emerged from a colorful blanket. Gertruda averted her eyes and went into the grocery store. The selection was small and the prices were dreadfully high. She bought tea and sugar, a loaf of bread, and a little butter, and calculated that, at those prices, her money would run out sooner than she had thought.

By the time she got back to the apartment, Lydia and Michael
were awake. She made them tea and a slice of bread and butter. Lydia thanked her, and Michael asked if he could have another slice.

“What will happen?” Lydia asked anxiously.

“Don’t worry,” Gertruda said, trying to calm her. “We’ve got a place to sleep and a little bit more money for food. Many refugees don’t have even that.”

Lydia sighed. “But the money will run out, and what will happen then?”

“I promise you we’ll find a solution.”

She didn’t know how she could say such a thing. But she firmly intended to make every effort to ease Lydia and Michael’s suffering.

Refugees she met suggested to Gertruda that she ask for help from the Jewish aid institutions in the city. She stood in line for hours and received a coat and a jacket for Michael and a pass for the soup kitchen. Lydia refused to go there, but hunger got the better of her. She had no choice and joined Gertruda and Michael for lunch at the soup kitchen. The room was packed with hungry refugees and there was barely room for the three of them. On the simple wooden table, they were served turbid soup and steamed vegetables. Michael ate eagerly, but Lydia couldn’t put a thing in her mouth. The sharp transition from life in the mansion to the despondent atmosphere of the soup kitchen was hard for her. She looked at her neighbors at the table. Most of them wore tattered clothes, their hair was disheveled, and they were noisy. She dropped her eyes and murmured, “I can’t stay here, I feel terrible.”

They returned home and Lydia collapsed on her bed, weeping and desperate.

“Find me Jacob,” she asked Gertruda. “Make every effort to locate him. Only he can get us out of here.”

Getruda didn’t know what to do. In Lydia’s purse, stolen by Emil, were all her personal documents and the phone numbers to contact Jacob Stolowitzky. Gertruda didn’t know where to turn, but she tried to comfort Lydia.

“I promise to try,” she said.

In the evening, Lydia’s condition grew worse. She felt like she was choking and she had chest pains. Gertruda called Dr. Berman, and he suggested taking her to the hospital immediately.

“Your heart is in bad shape,” he said. “You need medical care day and night.”

She refused firmly.

“I want to be with my child,” she said. “Without him, my life isn’t a life.”

The next morning, after nursing Lydia all night, Gertruda went to look for work. She went in and out of stores, restaurants, workshops, but even if there was a job, no one wanted to hire an inexperienced worker. Only in the hot and crowded railroad station buffet did they finally agree to hire her as a dishwasher.

“We can’t pay you any money,” said the owner. “But we will give you food you can take home.”

It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but it would help. She rolled up her sleeves and washed dishes until nightfall. In a pot she borrowed from the buffet owner, she carried a hot meal to the rented apartment. She filled the plates and ate with Lydia and Michael. Her thoughts returned to the house on Ujazdowska Avenue, where recently feasts had been served, but it seemed so long ago …

Only uniformed men were in the special train from Berlin to Warsaw. Karl Rink sat in the car reserved for SS officers. His companions were excited about their expected sojourn in Warsaw, with Polish girls and the opportunities to steal money from the Jews. He refrained from joining the conversations.

At the Warsaw railroad station, they were picked up by an SS car and driven through the streets of the city, which had been heavily damaged by the German attack. Many houses had collapsed and smoke was still rising from the ruins. In the streets, mostly German soldiers were to be seen.

They drove to SS headquarters, where they were given their assignments. Karl Rink was appointed staff officer responsible for distributing orders limiting the Jews’ freedom. A young officer, who introduced himself as his deputy, led Karl to his office. On his desk, he found a first draft of edicts that Hans Frank was about to impose on the Jews of Poland, ordering every Jew to wear a band with a yellow star of David on his right arm, every Jewish shop or business to show a Star of David. Kosher slaughtering was forbidden, and every Jew had to submit a detailed report of his property.

After settling into the new office, Karl Rink was taken to the apartment he was assigned. It was next to a large house abandoned in panic by its inhabitants when the Germans entered Warsaw. Most of the furniture was left in the three-room apartment. Family pictures hung on the walls: men in tailored clothes, some of them with well-tended beards, women in elegant dresses, and children in suits. There were also wedding pictures of a couple, a group picture
in front of a synagogue, and framed academic degrees. Some of them were documents of the Jewish teachers’ college. Rink also surveyed the library, which included a few books in Polish, but mostly holy books and books in Hebrew.

“I’ll send somebody to get rid of those Jewish things,” said Karl’s escort.

“No need. Leave everything for the time being. It doesn’t bother me.”

He wanted the apartment to have a Jewish character, to remind him of his wife and daughter.

The telephone froze in the hands of attorney Joachim Turner. “That’s awful,” he exclaimed.

At the other end of the line, Jacob Stolowitzky’s voice from Paris was shaking. Turner was his loyal friend and confidante. He took care of transferring money to banks in Switzerland, and was authorized to withdraw any sum his friend instructed. In the unexpected phone call he received in his office in Zurich, Turner heard for the first time about Stolowitzky’s wife and son stranded in occupied Poland.

“Help me,” pleaded Jacob Stolowitzky. “Promise the Germans any sum they want to let Lydia and Michael leave there and join me.”

“Any sum?”

“Any sum you find proper.”

Turner was the attorney for several well-known businessmen in Zurich. Even before the war, he had negotiated on their behalf with German firms that supplied large quantities of coal to the Swiss. He was sure the Germans now needed every penny to move their war
machinery and would be likely to accept Stolowitzky’s millions in exchange for getting his wife and son out of Warsaw.