A man named Dr. Jekelius
Contacted me.
He made it clear
That he agreed
With the Nazis' policies.
I realized then
That my son
Was going to die.
I begged Dr. Jekelius
To make his death
Quick and painless.
He promised me.
But later
When I saw his corpse
He had a pained look on his face.
Most people I knew
Disapproved
Of these actions
But they were
Too afraid to say so."
Father said
He'd never heard
Such a terrible thing
In his life.
He made a vow
To protect me
At the expense
Of his own life.
Father Josef said my father was noble
But that he couldn't protect me in my home.
In time,
The Nazis would look for me and find me there.
Father Josef told my parents
That he would take me with him and hide me
In a safe place
Until the end of the war.
My family was heartbroken,
But they agreed to let me go.
I packed
A few
Of my
Favorite things
In a shawl
Grandmother knitted:
A teddy bear named Emma,
A spool of brown thread and a needle,
An old fairy tale book with the story
Of Hansel and Gretel,
And my pocket-size pad and pencil.
We all exchanged hugs and kisses.
It was the hardest thing
I ever had to do,
But I tried not to look back.
I fell asleep next to Father Josef. He had a
Blanket over his lap. He tucked it around me
As he drove his car out of our secluded town.
The movement of the wheels under my seat
Soothed me like a lullaby.
I awoke in a barn
Covered with straw
And a woolen blanket.
The moon
Was still visible in the sky.
I felt a pit in my stomach.
I was hungry.
I cried when I remembered
I had left my family behind.
Soon, a lady appeared in the doorway
She waved for me to follow her into the big house.
I sat at the kitchen table and
She gave me bread and milk.
She made certain movements with her fingers
And took my hand to do the same thing.
She was trying to teach me
The official sign language alphabet of the Deaf.
I learned to make the letters on one hand;
It's called finger-spelling.
She also taught me word signs for the objects
I saw in the house and garden:
Chair, bed, book, tree, grass, rabbit.
Language is a key.
I felt so many doors were opening to me.
The lady in the doorway was Stephanie Holderlin.
Stephanie Holderlin
Was a retired schoolteacher.
She lived alone on a farm.
She knew Father Josef
And agreed to hide me.
She didn't agree with T4.
She kept books in her attic
That had been banned
And burned by the Nazis.
She had a Deaf pupil once.
She learned to use
German Sign Language
So she could teach him.
Not only did she teach me
To sign,
But I learned
To be brave
From her.
I put on Stephanie's lipstick
Staring into the oval mirror
On her vanity table.
It was a dark shade of red,
Sort of like the wing
Of a cardinal,
Or a fancy automobile.
I undid my hair.
It had a natural wave.
I noticed
I was getting
Little yellow hairs
In my armpits
And on my privates.
Another Knock on the Door
It was three in the morning and
The Gestapo was at the door!
By that time I had stopped
Sleeping in the barn.
On a pile of feather beds
In Stephanie's spare bedroom.
She sent me running
Out the back door to the barn.
She told me to sit in the dirty pigsty
In my white nightgown
And to be still, keep quiet.
I shivered from the cold
And the smell and fear.
After an hour of waiting,
Stephanie came to get me.
She was talking fast;
I read her lips.
"The monsters asked me
If I have a Jewish child
Living in my home.
One of our neighbors
Must have seen you,
Although you rarely go
Out of the house,
And reported us.
Why don't they mind
Their own business?"
She'd told them a former student
Had stopped by briefly.
The secret police listened to her
And left. But it wasn't safe
For me to be there anymore.
Two days later
Father Josef came to pick me up.
I was happy to see him,
But I was sad to be leaving Stephanie.
I hoped I'd see her again someday.
Father Josef
Told me
He had visited
My family.
He said
Mother had been ill
But she was feeling better.
Father was working hard
But he missed me.
Schatze
Still looked for me
In the woods.
Father Josef
Reached into his pocket
And pulled out
A watercolor
Painting of two flowers.
And underneath them
Clara had written
Both of our names.
We drove two hours
To a church with a homeless shelter.
A Lutheran priest,
Father Michael,
Looked after me
During the months
I spent there.
He was nearly bald
And his face was rosy.
He had been concerned
About the welfare
Of the sick and Disabled
Even before the war.
Like a growing number
Of clergymen,
He wasn't afraid to speak
Out against T4.
At the shelter,
I watched the people around me.
They were talking about the crimes
That were being committed.
I learned things I couldn't believe were true.
They said
Disabled children
Were being taken
Out of their homes
Against
Their parents' wishes.
They were put
In hospitals and
Nursing homes.
They said a majority of two
Among three or four
Attending physicians
Was enough to issue
A death warrant.
They said
The children were transferred
To six killing stations,
The village of Grafeneck
In the Black Forest,
The "old jail"
At Brandenberg,
Berberg, Hartheim,
Sonnenstein,
And Hadamar.
Nobody said
Why
The doctors
Agreed
To do it.
Because nobody knew.
Dr. Bouhler
Insisted the deaths
Should be
Painless.
He didn't want
The patients
To know what was
Going to happen.
But they died of
Lethal injection
And starvation.
I was the only young girl at the shelter
So I spent a lot of time by myself.
I worked for my supper,
Serving soup and cleaning up
The tables and dishes.
One man watched me
As I swept the large room
And made up the cots.
He didn't frighten me.
I found him strange
And a little charming.
Because his clothes
Were rags pieced together
And he sometimes smelled
Like a wet animal,
They called him Poor Kurt.
Poor Kurt
Wrapped his dreams
Around him
Like a patchwork quilt.
He slept
Almost every night
At the shelter.
He slept all day too.
His bushy beard
Appeared to be gray,
But he never washed,
So I couldn't tell.
He said birds
Sat on his shoulders
In the park
And nibbled
Bits of bread
Caught in his beard.
Once I saw
A fox walk
Straight through
The door.
It drank milk from
Poor Kurt's mug.
He always
Rubbed his nose
As if he smelled
Something bad.
I pointed to his nose
To ask what it was.
He made the shape of
A building in the air
And pointed to the top,
The chimneys.
That was how
The Nazis got rid of
The bodies:
They burned them
In fiery ovens.
The death certificates were fake
Father Michael told us
A woman whose sister
Had been taken away
Showed him the paper.
It said
The cause of death
Was pneumonia.
They wouldn't let
Her see the body.
She received an urn
Filled with ashes.
She didn't even know
If they belonged to
Her sister,
Who was epileptic.
I was at the shelter for five months
When Poor Kurt
Shook me awake
And said, "Let's go
To Berlin."
"Why?" I asked,
Shaking my head
With outstretched arms.
Poor Kurt did
A pantomime
To let me know
His feet were itchy
And he wanted
A change of scenery.
He took a bowl
I was drying
From my hands
And seemed
To show me
I could help people
In the big city.
The Fathers
Had inspired
A feeling
Of charity
In me.
But did I dare
To walk into
The lions' den?
Berlin was the main
Place for the Nazis to be.
Father Josef hadn't come
To see me in a while.
I wondered if he had
Forgotten me.
I decided to go
Rather than stay hidden.
I wanted to see more
Of what was going on
In my country.
We decided to walk
All the way
To the city.
Poor Kurt said he knew the way.
I wrapped
My chapped feet in old cloths
And put my boots over them.
I still had my grandmother's shawl
To wrap around my shoulders.
We were in the middle of a forest
That looked like it was made of glass.
I wondered where the butterflies went
When the world was frozen over.
My hands had turned red and sore
And sometimes I couldn't feel my nose.
My blue eyes were large and dark and
My blond hair was dirty.
I had shrunk to the size of a beanpole.
Poor Kurt had a whistle
He said kept the bears away.
But I was afraid
He was calling them to us.
A car driven by SS
Drove past us.
They didn't stop.
The SS were an elite
Group of Nazi military.
They were scary—
Scarier than bears.
Germany's churches continued
To attack T4.
From a sermon
Of Clemens August von Galen,
Catholic bishop of Munster
In 1941:
"Woe to humanity,
Woe to the German people
If God's Holy
Commandment,
'Thou shall not kill,'
Is not only transgressed
But if the transgression
Is both tolerated
And carried out
Without
Punishment."
We saw a light in the woods
And stopped for the night.
Poor Kurt knocked on the door
Once, twice, three times.
He put his ear to the door
And then looked at me and shook
His head, meaning he heard nothing.
The light went out
Inside the small cabin.
Who lived there?
An owl flew past me,
Or a bat.
I shook my hands
In front of my face.
I looked up.
Orion's belt was visible above us all.
I made a wish on the evening star.
We were too tired not to stop,
So we waited and Kurt called out: "Help!"
Finally, a woman with sad, dark eyes
And a worried expression
Cracked open the door.
She looked at Poor Kurt
Suspiciously.
But when she caught
Sight of me,
I smiled as wide as I could.
She reached out a wrinkled hand
And gently pulled me in.
Poor Kurt too.
Seven people
In a room not big enough for three.
Two old people, the woman with the dark eyes,
A man who looked like he could be her brother,
A ten-year-old boy, a six-year-old girl, and a baby.
They lay on top of each other to keep warm.
They lit a candle stub and prayed at sundown.
They ate bread that had turned black.
They put snow in a jug to make water.
Why did they live this way? They were Jews.
I shared my shawl and cloths
With the other children. I liked
Six-year-old Nelly. She
Reminded me of Clara.
We huddled together,
All nine of us,
And watched the door.
I darned my stocking
With the needle and thread
I brought along.
Nobody spoke.
We told stories
With our eyes
As we stared into
One another's faces.
I realized
I wasn't the only one
Who was hated.
Time passed
As slowly
As
An icicle
Melting
When
The sun
Shines.
I couldn't stay in that place
Any longer.
I told Poor Kurt, "We're going back
To the shelter."
I wanted our new friends
The Lindenbaums
To come along.
They were scared
To walk
Openly
Down the road.
I hoped Nelly
Would come with me, at least.
But the family didn't want to
Be separated.
I had just turned fourteen.
But I had a plan.