The Darkest Hours In My Life
From today's perspective it is clear to me that our fatal mistake was that of not
taking Hitler seriously. During all those years he announced his plans to the
world, shouting so loudly that heaven and hell could shake, yet we did not
hear, or did not want to hear. When it did happen it seemed so unexpected,
like a whirlwind destroying everything in its way with violent blows. I cannot
remember exactly when Fritz was mobilized, but I remember that he was in
the army for a short time, stationed in his garrison in Zagreb, in army barracks
where I visited him daily. Among the Communists there was feverish activity,
in particular among the students who organized meetings and distributed
leaflets protesting against the government policy. I remember one incident
when I was asked to participate as a supporter at one such dissenting meeting
at the University, and I refused to come because visiting Fritz in the army
barracks seemed to me more important than the meeting. The Communists
had a different approach: the party's discipline ruled over private life which I
could not accept, even when I later became an active member of the
Communist youth organization.21 They
reproached me for my absence,but l remained firm in my decision as if I knew
that soon we would be separated for ever.
As much as we were enthusiastic after the putsch, a kind of uneasiness was
felt everywhere. What next? The future was obscure - too soon it became
clear. After the catastrophe in Belgrade we slept in shelters, scared to death
that a similar 'punishment' might befall Zagreb. Hitler was spared the effort.
Zagreb was ready to receive the German Army as the most welcomed guest,
with a hospitality rarely shown to an invader. We remained of course in our
homes but were told by eyewitnesses that the German soldiers were covered
with flowers, showered with fruit and sweets; Nazi flags fluttered at the
windows, jubilant crowds gathered in the streets to express their 'gratitude'.
The Germans began entering Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, on
April 10, 1941. Through the Zagreb streets echoed the
grinding sound of tanks. Long lines of men from the disarmed
Yugoslav forces passed through the city. In the Zagreb radio
station studios a record played over and over again saying,
"Croats, the hour of liberation from the Serbian yoke has
struck. Disarm the Serbian army and do everything to help the
liberation army of the Great German Reich which is bringing us
a new order and guaranteeing a better future.22
seemed to me the darkest day in my life, not because the German troops
marched into our town but because I was forced to destroy Fritzel's valuable
books collected with so much care. Krleza 23
, the Brichtas' neighbour and friend, was the first to tell us about the
approach of German troops and knowing our library, he urged us to burn the
books immediately. Fritz was still in the army, fighting the enemy as we
thought, and I was against such an 'absurd' idea. My mother in law was wiser
and convinced me that we must do what Krle a told us. Our big stove in the
dining-room was put into action; one book after the other disappeared in the
flames, burning to ashes. We burned only the compromising' books dealing
with Communist ideas, more than 200 books! I was lying on the sofa, crying
the whole afternoon. I still hear the kind voice of my mother in law trying to
console me: 'Mein Kind, es soll Dir nie was „rgeres im Leben passieren' ('My
child, may you never have a worse experience in your life'). The worst came
soon.
Yugoslavia paid dearly for its 'disobedience'. Operation 'Punishment' had
other consequences: the country was divided and its parts were annexed by
neighbouring countries who had recognized Hitler's power and had elected
puppet' governments as Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, while Italy occupied the
coast. Serbia was placed under the rule of the German military command.
Croatia and Bosnia were placed under the rule of the newly-created puppet
state, known as the 'lndependent State of Croatia' (NDH), with Ante Paveli as
leader (Poglavnik). The coast - Dalmatia and Primorje - as well as
Montenegro were occupied by the Italians. Slovenia was divided between the
Germans and Italians. Bulgarians occupied Macedonia, the southeastern part
of Yugoslavia and some districts of the northern part were taken by Hungary.
The Yugoslav Army capitulated after eleven days of 'fighting'. The word
fighting is perhaps not the correct expression - the army, deserted by its
leaders, surrendered en masse without fighting. The army was dispersed; the
majority was taken prisoner, but many soldiers escaped, throwing away their
uniforms and taking ordinary clothes from the peasants. Fritz was among the
latter.
Another option was to hide in the forests which was indeed practiced by the
volunteers (tes engag‚s), at the beginning mainly by the Communists. The
partisan movement actually started here, first as an underground group,
gradually joined by others, intellectuals as well as simple folk, growing into a
strong, regular army, supported by the Allies. The royalists - Chetniks - also
fought the Nazis in the forests, but they were less organized and were
overpowered by the Partisans. When Fritz returned home soon after the
German invasion we considered ourselves fortunate and deplored the fate of
those who were dragged to Germany as prisoners. The presumption was
wrong as were many others. In writing these lines I am constantly faced with
the aspect of time. Perhaps now more than ever before I realize the
importance of this essential issue, 'then' and 'now', the ignorance of the 'now'
experienced 'then' and the experience of the 'now' looking back at the 'then'.
In Croatia a puppet government was formed with Paveli as the head,
supported by Hitler. They called themselves 'Usta e' and were a band of
murderers and ruffians. As soon as they came to power they introduced
measures against the Jews. We had to wear yellow patches to mark us out
from the other citizens. We had to hand in our radios because we were not
permitted to hear news. All Jewish property was confiscated or nationalized,
which meant that every Jewish factory, store or business was controlled by a
commissar. The commissars were ignorant fools, they had to be loyal Usta e,
nothing else mattered, professionally they ruined the trade while real owners,
the Jews, were gradually eliminated. Jews had to leave their flats, with or
without furniture, immediately, within an interval of one hour or twenty-four
hours, depending upon the mood of the man who came with the order. Each
day new orders came, such as the imprisonment of prominent Jews or
compulsory collections of money and jewellery. In all cases death was the
punishment for disobedience. My father's commissar was a prominent
Usta a, Jedvaj, the editor of Hrvatska Gruda, a leading newspaper of Croatia,
excelling with lies and false accusations against Jews. He claimed to be my
father's protector' but when my father was in prison he did not help us. My
father was among the hostages when 100 million kunas 24 had to be collected in a short time.
I was running in a frenzy between people I thought could help me to get my
beloved father out of prison. I cannot describe with words the feelings of
horror and fear that increased from hour to hour and lasted through all the
years of war, at times more, at times less intensive, but always frightful.
When my father returned from prison he gave me and Fritz all the
information about our possessions abroad; we had to write down the
addresses of banks and people who held the money, including our grove in
Palestine. All this made no impression upon me: I was not aware of how
important it was for the future! He also agreed to give away some pictures,
carpets, books and other objects to friends - gentiles - who returned
everything to me after the war. Then I did not know that my father had
hidden ten boxes in his large store house in the factory on the outskirts of
Zagreb which were returned to me by the clerk, a faithful woman to whom my
father entrusted the boxes. They contained our most precious objects, silver,
porcelain, many beautiful dishes, various ormaments, innumerable sets of
bedclothes and tablecloths, Mirica's and my dowry; new, never opened boxes,
in one of them hidden a lot of gold, i.e. sovereigns. All these objects were of
little value to me who was bereaved of my beloved! However, they were
sweet recollections. When my father returned from prison Christian friends
wanted to provide him with false papers, as if we belonged to the Greek
Orthodox Church - many Jews practiced it - but my father refused it; he never
would have denied his Jewishness. He prepared his medals from World War I;
he was convinced that those would help him in trouble!
Meanwhile the drama continued; the climax was not yet reached! One
evening in May my parents had a phone call from Mr Barakovi the chief of
staff for Jewish Affairs in Zagreb. He asked my mother 'very politely' as she
told us, to leave our flat in twelve hours, which was a favour as, he said,
others had to leave immediately after the order had been given; he required the
flat for a 'personality'- a high officer or 'ambassador' which was of course a lie.
Was my mother indeed so innocent and naive as to believe him? I do believe
she was! Anyhow, she said that she understood his reasons and left beautiful
sets of glass and some porcelain for the family who 'inherited' our flat,
although we were permitted to take everything with us except furniture.
Until a new flat was found, it was decided to move to the Brichtas'
apartment. A frantic rush began hither and thither. Innumerable parcels,
boxes, trunks, suitcases were transported; in a short while the Brichtas' rooms
looked like a huge storehouse. The next morning when I came to my parents'
flat to help in moving the last remnants of our beautiful objects, I saw our
refrigerator being dragged out, the water running down the stairs. Later
people told us that they saw our furniture in various offices. Mr. Barakovi
was indeed a gentleman!
Now the frenzy continued to find a flat for my parents. Fritz, Mirica and
I were running around and finally procured one, much smaller than the former,
not spacious enough to store all the possessions. My mother had provided
our household with an immense store of food, carefully prepared for a long
war. We planned to leave Zagreb and stay in the mountains of Bosnia during
the war because it was safer than in the big cities where we were exposed to
bombardment. However, the precise date of this move was not yet fixed! We
failed to recognize that we were no longer masters of our time; dates were
directed by others. We did our best to keep up with our duties. Fritz worked
with my father, Mirica studied for her matric exams and I learned for mine.
How could I concentrate under such circumstances? Moreover, I managed to
pass two important tests! individual deportations of Jews from Zagreb had
already started. Some eminent Zionists were taken to Austria and returned
after a few weeks. The lawyers were imprisoned in Kerestinac, a village near
Zagreb; they also returned after three weeks. The next to be transported were
young boys, between seventeen and twenty-two, among them many friends
and also my second cousin, Mladen Weil, a first year medical student. In fact
they were transported to camp Danica, near a small town, Koprivnica. It was
an abandoned sulphuric acid factory - it was the first camp in the puppet state
of 'Independent Croatia'. They were told that they were going to a labor camp
and were allowed to take with them food and clothes. Instead they were
taken to an annihilation camp.
Since the day we had to give away our radios, I used to go every day to
Olgica to hear the eleven o'clock morning news from the BBC. They had an
excellent news commentator, Mr Frazer. Since Jews were not supposed to
hear the news and since no one was allowed to listen to foreign news, Olgica's
family left me alone in the room while they were watching outside in case
anybody came unexpectedly. Our nerves were already frayed and each ring at
the door made us shudder. Prison, deportation or death was the punishment
for the radio owner as well as the Jew who was contravening the rule. Thus
one morning - I remember the date exactly, 21 June, Saturday - when on the
BBC Frazer started his news comments, I had a call from my mother in law
calling me home. She said that two men had come to take us to the labor
camp. She had also called Fritz from the factory; his brother Hans and his
wife Seka were already there. They too had to get ready for the camp. The
broadcast was so exciting that I stayed to hear it till the end: from all
trustworthy sources it looked like a vast German onslaught on Russia was
imminent. German troops were deployed from Finland to Romania, at
Russia's borders, ready for invasion; the final arrival of air and armoured
forces was completed.25
While I was running home, our neighbor, a young fellow, shouted from the
window, 'Zdenka, quick, hurry, they are snatching girls and young women in
the streets.' I thought he was joking, but he was not! The hunt for Jews in the
streets had started. Arriving home I found the assembled Brichta family
and the two men who came with the orders. Some light meal was on the table
for us. We ate, took our knapsacks, and left with mixed feelings; in one way
more cheerful than sad because we thought that camp work could not be
harmful, in another, fearful of facing the unknown. Our first station was the
Zagreba ki Zbor. A young Usta a was sitting at the door rushing us with
threatening gestures into a big hall where a few young people were already
assembled. This certainly did not resemble the place I knew from earlier times
when it had been a beautifully paved area with pavilions used for international
fairs where my father also had a bazaar with paper products which he
exhibited every year. A soldier in Usta e uniform started giving orders to
sweep the floor, grumbling something against Jews. Gradually the big hall
became crowded; more young people arrived, among them many young
couples we knew. Everybody had brought a small knapsack, having been told
to get ready for camp work, but nobody knew where and when. Ironically,
the French pavilion with the inscription in big capital letters, Libert‚, Egalit‚,
Fraternit‚, faced the building in which we were concentrated. More Ustage
arrived, then a table was set with a few chairs for a sort of commission which
met to decide our fate; some could return home. There was more shouting
and ordering and the atmosphere grew tense; it was not clear who were the
selected. Names of those who could leave were called out - the mixed
marriages, the professional craftsmen and those who had a medical certificate.
Agitation and confusion increased with the arrival of Barakovi who set the
final trial for every single person. We all felt tense and uneasy. Suddenly I
perceived a familiar face among the Usta e; my father's commissar, Jedvaj,
was there to take me home. I was not one of the cases entitled to leave but
was very frail and slim, and Jedvaj had no difficulty in persuading Barakovi
that I was sick; besides he told him that my mother was crying bitterly when
she heard that I was here. Above all, the two were good friends. Barakovi
raised his hand with a benevolent 'Go, go quickly' and in no time I was out
with Jedvaj holding my arm, scarcely having time to take my knapsack and say
goodbye to Fritz. Jedvaj gave me his solemn promise to bring Fritz home the
next day. 'Promises are only for fools', my father used to say. This was the
last time I saw Fritz. On the way out Jedvaj muttered something about
'innocent people like you have to suffer for those who are guilty for this war'
and he alluded to Russia. (He was probably aware of the imminent German
invasion of Russia. The date was near indeed. On the morning of Sunday, 22
June, the invasion took place.) At the gate mother and mother in law
embraced me in tears. I hurried home with my mother to tell my parents
about my latest experience. Mirica was with us and my father's companion in
business, Mr pani . I told them that I felt as if I had come right out of hell.
Actually nothing terrifying had happened. Nobody was beaten, tortured or
killed, but I was not used to such rude behaviour; I had never been ordered to
do physical work and in such unclean, crowded places, not to mention the
almost unbearable feelings of fear and uncertainty. I beseeched my father to
let us leave immediately, to wherever possible, only to leave Zagreb; Mirica
started to cry bitterly, saying that if father had not yet decided for himself
where to go, let her choose to depart for Split or Dubrovnik as many others
had already done. Her boyfriend, who was prepared to marry her, urged her
to leave with him. My father promised to prepare our flight but first he
wanted to be sure that we had sufficient means to live for a long period away
from home. This promise appeased us, because our father's promises were
always kept and he was someone to be trusted. This time it was different!
That evening and next morning I tried frantically to find contacts to get Fritz,
his brother and wife out of Zbor. A young assistant at the University who had
influential connections with Usta e and was one of Seka's admirers succeeded
in bringing Seka home the next day. All efforts to save my husband and his
brother were in vain. They were deported with the whole group and we never
saw them again. The postcards they sent us a few days later from Pag, an
island in the northern Adriatic - sounded very optimistic. What happened
indeed became known many years after the war, but I never had the courage
to face the truth and read the documents. In fact we could have escaped much
earlier had we followed the advice of Seka's father. He was an extremely wise
man, kind, gentle and farsighted. Since the Nazis had entered Zagreb he
urged the Brichta family to leave Zagreb, inviting them to Su ak where life
was safer under Italian occupation. Moreover, he also called my parents and
of course me and Fritz; he provided for us the lascia passare, a permit for
crossing the border, and sent a confidant to help us during the journey. We
did not pay attention to Velimir's advice. Fritz and I thought that our duty
was to stay in Croatia and 'fight' the enemy, while my father was still
optimistic after all that had happened. However, Seka and Hans wanted to
leave, but father Brichta objected, saying something like: 'If my son stayed
with me in times of prosperity why should he not share with me the troubles?'
Hans worked in his father's business, the wood industry, and nobody could
convince him that he was wrong. To Seka he said: 'My son stays with me - if
he isn't here when they come to fetch him, they will take me. You may go, I
can't hold you.' At that time Seka remained, but now, after the Zbor
experience, she left Zagreb with a railway official. His name was Mr. Passi
and he was sent by her father. He took her to Su ak using his wife's identity
card.
The worst was still ahead - we had learned nothing from experience On 27
June, on a black Friday morning, two men came to tell my parents to get ready
for a labor camp; they allowed them a few hours' time. My father was
undecided as to what to do. He went to the Jewish Community for advice,
whether to hide or to obey, and after painful hesitation it was decided to pack
and get ready. The fear of disobedience and consequently the death penalty
prevailed and that afternoon my parents and Mira were taken to Zbor. It was
the first group of adults, all members of the B'nai B'rith organization. My
father had left the organization some years earlier, but the Usta e had a former
list with his name on it. Shelah sent me this list of Freemasons I quote from
his letter, 18May 1989:'...l am sending you... 1) a list of Freemasons (B'nai
B'rith) from Zagreb; the names were selected in the thirties by the consul in
Zagreb, Freund, and were sent to the Foreign Office in Berlin. According to
Nazi concept Jews and Freemasons planned an international conspiracy and
this list served them later as basis for imprisonment of the people.' I was sent
to the Brichtas; we supposed that the Usta e would not fetch me twice.
The next morning a young Usta a came to take me to Zbor to see my
parents. It was a short but heart-breaking meeting. Every time I remember it
after so many years my hands tremble, my eyes become dim and the thoughts
freeze my blood. We embraced, we kissed, we cried and in no time I was
pushed back by an Usta a who commanded:' uri, uri, ina e e I Ti ostat ovde'
('Hurry, hurry, or else you too may stay here'). (When I asked for Mirica, my
parents told me that she was upstairs with the other girls. I never saw her
again, nor my parents. Later, feelings of remorse tortured me often; had I
only stayed with them and shared their fate! Whom had I in this world but my
dearest, most beloved, kind, good family? Why had they become the victims
of the cruellest epoch in human history? With their honesty, their sense of
righteousness and moral obligations towards other human beings so deeply
impressed in the core of their being that they refused to believe that people
could be treated so inhumanly! Let their martyrdom be sacred for ever!
At that time I still had great expectations and lived with the illusion of
finding someone who could release my parents. Nobody helped and two days
later they were deported. From Zbor my father managed to send me a note
with some final instructions and an urgent appeal to leave immediately for Su
ak. I obeyed. The same railway official who accompanied my sister-in, law
came now to take me there. This man, now an Usta a had earlier worked for
my father-in-law who had done him some favours. To show his gratitude he
offered help, for a price of course. I travelled with him, pretending to be his
teenage daughter, Olgica, using her identity,card. We were all very nervous
and excited. My poor mother in law prepared the luggage, wrapped my
wedding ring in wool and I was off. Although I looked very young, not more
than fifteen, Passi was cautious. Several miles before the train was due at the
border he advised me to lie down and covered me with a blanket. At the
border station Plase, where Croatia ended and the territory of former
Yugoslavia, occupied by Italy, started, the controller entered: he happened to
be Olgica's former gym teacher. He wanted to see me but my father' said that
I was not feeling well and was sleeping. As much as I wanted to have a stout
heart it was in my mouth, but not for long. We passed the border without
trouble and headed towards Su ak where I began my exile.
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Exile in Susak