They'll Have to Catch Me First: An Artist's Coming of Age in the Third Reich

Seven

S e v e n IN THEYOUTH MOVEMENT we were trying to prepare ourselves for the rigors of pioneer life in Palestine. Groups of us marched many miles in the summer heat on country roads and through woods, most of the time with blisters on our feet. To drink water on those marches was considered a weakness, to be a sissy; to quit was out of the question . Though this discipline was surely not good for one’s kidneys, it toughened us and helped me stand more firmly.I was cautiously beginning to grow new roots — rather than singing the ancient Hebrew during Friday night prayers, I began learning Hebrew as an everyday language. When a popular Hebrew teacher was preparing to depart for Palestine, he was given the customary Jewish send-off, much tea and long speeches. I was given the honor of expressing the students’thanks, which was to be in Hebrew. Though I as yet had no understanding of the language, I memorized the short speech that was written for me. In parrot fashion I had learned it by heart so thoroughly that even if awakened in the night I could have recited it. Nevertheless, when I stood on the rostrum and looked into the multitude of eyes expectantly fixed on me, I could not bring more than two or three words from my lips. I stood there like a robot put together the wrong way, opening my mouth mechanically without a sound coming out. How did the free and easy film acting of my childhood suddenly disappear? Only half a year earlier in our living room, I had play-acted so effusively with Tutti Mahlow; but now, even with clearly audible prompting , I was paralyzed with stage fright and returned to my seat. Despite all the compassionate clapping, I was crushed. It was a disgrace I have never forgotten. In July we were able to take a breather. First the anti-Semitic streamers disappeared from the streets; then, insofar as I still wanted to, I could enter shops and restaurants where previously I was an “undesirable .” The radio and the newspapers calmed down and even Goebbels dribbled less of his poison. Suddenly I was once more able to go to the movies. With diligent dish washing I earned the money for tickets,and could feast my eyes on such darlings of the regime as Marika Rökk, Zara Leander and Anni Ondra. The reason for this temporary tolerance was the 1936 Olympic games. At that time the Third Reich was trying to project a positive impression on foreign powers and for a while we Jews were simmered on a lower flame. Though a beautiful city at anytime, Berlin was now dressed up. Great festivities were organized for the masses of visitors coming from all over the world. Hitler wanted to show off Germany’s new prosperity, the country’s well-nourished and well-dressed citizens, and its athletic youth. They were to serve as the ambassadors of goodwill towards foreigners. The proverbial wolf clad in sheep’s skin, he intended to lull his future victims, to appear as a father of his people who had turned gentler under the load of his responsibilities. All those newspaper articles about the persecution of the Jews were obviously exaggerated, empty talk not to be taken seriously. Was it Hitler’s fault that Mussolini had attacked Ethiopia? Why would Germany not meddle in Austrian politics and help the Spanish Fascists when half the world was meddling there? The foreign press was welcomed with great flourishes of trumpets, and it reciprocated by polishing the nice dictator ’s tarnished image. This year, with no money for vacation trips, my father was happy to still have his job. I spent the summer at the Krumme Lanke and with my friends in the Zionist youth movement. When the Olympic games began in August, I sat at home on pins and needles. What a pity I was not present when Jesse Owens, a member of a race as despised as the Jews, triumphed over the German athletes. My father was not much interested in sports and was traveling besides; Mrs. Lange’s tight house96 I r e n e Aw r e t hold money would not be spent, she said, for watching yellow, black and white people running and jumping. Meanwhile, nearly everyone I knew had been to at least one event...