Fani Weingarten

24 Pell Place

Bronx N Y 10464

LITTLE JEWISH GIRL IN NAZI HELL

I

My playroom in Brno, Czechoslovakia, (before Czechoslovakia was invaded by the Germans), was always sunny, having a large window with a view to the beautiful garden surrounding our house. From it, I could always see who was coming from the porch down the stairways to the garden.

My playroom was full of beautiful toys, which I kept in perfect order. Each toy was always in its proper place, and I never broke any of them, as I thought they had feelings, and I never wanted to hurt them. My mother interpreted this differently; she thought that there was something wrong with me psychologically. My playtime was from 2:00 to 3:00 p.m. exactly, without exceptions.

The set program at home never changed. Breakfast lunch and dinner were always at the same time and no

one was ever late, since it was simply inexcusable to be so.

One day I realized that something serious was going

on because the grownups were packing frantically, and I too was urged to select a few things that were most precious to me, since we were going to the Ghetto.

The Ghetto was created by enclosing a section of Brno, which used to be a poor Jewish neighborhood

at the outskirts of town. That area was vacated when the Germans deported all the occupants of the area to a concentration camp.

I immediately took my doll Betty, which I received at the age of two, two of her and my favorite dresses-- one of which was her "Sokol" outfit-- my favorite book, "The Seven Mischiefs of Cilike," my sunglasses that I received from my aunt at the age of three, and I was all set to go.

Sokol was the national sports club and the organization that also trained talented kids for the Olympics. Since I was very flexible and started to exercise at the age of four, I was also included in this group.

One of the soldiers ordered us to be ready in half an hour and to take with us whatever we could carry. I asked him to come out with me to the patio. I showed him how well I rode my kolobeska (scooter), and I asked him if I could take it with me. He answered no, so I told him that he could have it because it was a good kolobeska and it rode very well. The soldier lifted his nightstick and I waved him back with my hand and little fingers. From his expression I realized that it wasn’t a friendly gesture.

It was a shocking experience to see how my father

was ordered around by these common soldiers. He was

a Rabbi and commanded nothing but the highest respect from everyone around, from strangers and family alike, but all that changed now. He suddenly

appeared to be smaller, less important, and just as frightened as everyone else.

A German soldier in Nazi uniform came in and urged

the common soldiers not to waste so much time and “loss” he said. We were given one-half hour to gather all our belongings and get out.

We left our home, our life, our hopes and aspirations. All that we could take with us were those unforgettable memories that we could not be deprived of.

There was no arguing. We went, and as we got to the

end of the street, my father remembered that he had

forgotten an important book and went back to get it.

To his amazement, he found our best next-door neighbor taking my father's favorite Ruben painting that he so much loved out of our house. But at this point nothing mattered.

It seemed like an endless walk to the Ghetto. When we finally arrived, nine families including our family were assigned to stay in a one-family house. There was a lot of chaos and confusion. People were trying to place themselves somewhere in these crowded quarters, and there was no room in the house for all those packages brought by all of us. The house had only one kitchen and one bathroom and nobody knew how to cope with the situation. Understandably, everyone was frightened, unhappy and discontented, and that was just the beginning.

I found a stump of a tree in a corner of a room that everyone seemed to have overlooked. I sat down on it, I placed my doll on my lap, I put on my sunglasses, put my favorite book under my arm, and I was quite comfortable as I watched how all these people were aimlessly running around.

I must admit this was quite a change. Our home that I took for granted all these years was well organized, beautifully furnished, and everyone had to abide by its rules and schedules. Breakfast was at 7:30am sharp, when everyone without exception had to be present, well dressed, brushed and combed, and sporting an official smile.

I must have been a rebel at heart because I hated these set rules. Every morning I would slide down from the second floor on the balustrade instead of walking down the stairs like a lady, and quite often I was punished for that.

My bedroom and furniture were pale pink; the curtains and all decorations matched that shade. It was a real girl's room. It was my responsibility to keep all the drawers in order. They were inspected every day, and I always passed those inspections. This was not difficult, as I liked neatness myself.

My play room with all its toys, and I had many of them, were kept like little soldiers, everything in its

place. I never broke a toy, since I did not want my toys to get hurt.

My little dog Muki was my dearest companion, the brother and sister that I never had. He was allowed to share my room (I had to fight for this), and after I got permission to have him in my room, I was never lonely any more. I used to wash him and his paws, as I took him occasionally into my bed, and I washed his teeth twice a day, since I fed him with my spoon. He most likely was not unhappy, as he would willingly expose his teeth for me to wash them.

By the time we had to go to the Ghetto, I no longer had him. That was another episode in my life.

My mother had a beautiful garden that she was very fond of; it was sort of her masterpiece. She kept the garden neat and full of rare flowers. One day my Muki must have been sick, because he ate every flower in the garden. That day when I came home from school and Muki was not waiting for me at the end of the street, as usually, I knew that something was utterly wrong. When I arrived home, I saw the bare garden and that my Muki was gone. My mother explained that he ate the flowers and that she got rid of him. I cried and begged all night to no avail. I never got Muki back. I went to plead with my grandfather, who was also my best friend, but even he could not help me this time.

Here in the Ghetto I sat on that tree stump in the corner of the room for almost two days, and no one noticed that I did not eat or sleep. No one ordered me around to keep breakfast, lunch or dinner schedules, to be on time, properly dressed and combed, and to use the right tools in a proper manner. No one urged me to finish my food, say my prayers, and go to bed on time. No one seemed to care about all these things that seemed to have been of utmost importance before, but now they did not matter.

As for me, I had my favorite doll Betty on my lap. I had my sunglasses and my favorite book. I did not have to eat or sleep, and I felt free and happy. I just could not understand why all these people were so desperate. But as I was further trying to analyze the situation, I realized that something unusual was going on, something serious enough to make me miss school.

I tried to think hard but could not remember an occasion when I did not attend school, except for two instances when I was sick. Once, they took out my tonsils and the other time I had a very bad influenza. Otherwise, I always attended school, and now that I was healthy, I could not see any reason why I would stay out of school. I approached a soldier and asked him if I would be excused from school, since I had missed it for two days already. He gave me a very peculiar look and made a gesture with his hand, meaning I should just go away, but he did not answer.

I did not attend school for the next two and a half years.

Finally, it seemed that people in the apartment started to settle down. It was decided that instead of trying to keep the families together, all the women would sleep in one room of the house, the men in another, and all the children in yet a third room. The woman organizing this whole set-up told me that I was not allowed to take my doll with me, as there was no room for her.

At first I told her that I would not go without my doll, but from her expression I saw that I would not win and immediately suggested my compromise. I told her that I would give my bed to my doll and I would remain outside the room. She replied that I was not only bad but also stupid. At the end, she relented and let me take my doll with me. She looked at me sadly and with a gesture of resignation said, "If that is all you want, go ahead."

When I came to the so-called bedroom, I realized why

the woman objected to my taking the doll with me.

The room was very tight and full of children. I had to squeeze into the bed and keep my doll on top of my body, as there was really not enough room for me, let alone for my doll.

In the morning, as we got up, there was chaos, big confusion, and everything was disorganized.

The same energetic woman with whom I had an argument previously took matters in hand and assigned a job to everyone. I told her that what I would be best at is to teach math (I was good at it in school, and I already gave math lessons at the age of six), or I could play piano. She looked at me with that special disapproving expression and assigned me to peel potatoes instead.

She took me to the kitchen, and that was quite an experience, since in my house the kitchen was off limits to me. The first thing I did was to wash the potatoes very thoroughly. She watched me and remarked that if I were going to wash them that well, I would not have to peel them. Then I asked if the potatoes would get hurt when I cut them. She replied that, “You have to be careful not to cut yourself, and you will not get hurt."

I told her that I was not talking about myself; I was talking about the potatoes not getting hurt when I cut them. She looked at me again with that disapproving expression and replied, "Go, go and play the piano." There was, of course, no piano in that house, and no one would have been in the mood for music. I felt bad and discouraged that I could not help.

I was worried that I did not bring my schoolbooks. The same woman told me that where I was going I would not need any schoolbooks. Then I complained that I did not even have a pencil. Again she assured me that where I was going, I would not need any pencils either. I could not imagine what kind of a place that would be.

When my turn came to have a bath, I started to clean

the bathtub since it was rather dirty, and I was not going to use it in that condition. It took a lot of effort and time to clean it, and I was not even half way through when I was told that my time was up and it was the next person's turn. This happened to me several nights in a row. I just never managed to clean the bathtub all the way, and I could not understand why no one else had that problem but me. So I did not have a real bath for a whole week.

There was a well in the backyard where I washed myself, but I could not do a thorough job. These conditions in the ghetto seemed bad at the time,

but what followed made it look like heaven in comparison.

Early one morning, a few weeks after we arrived in the ghetto, a German soldier came in and urged us to get our things together, since we had to march with our belongings to the railroad station for an unknown destination. We had hardly settled in these temporary

quarters, in the so-called ghetto, when once again we

were on the move.

I was looking for my parents since I wanted to make sure that we went together. When I found them they looked so pale, sad and frightened. My father was holding two passports; one was a joint passport for

husband and wife and the other was a separate passport for me. Both passports had valid visas to Switzerland.

I surmise now that all this time that I did not see them, they were trying to find a way to arrange our escape to Switzerland.

Approximately two and a half years before the Jewish question (Juden Frage) became evident, and as time passed, life for the Jews became step by step more and more difficult. If one's grandparents were of Polish origin, they had to register and personally report to a government office. However, if one's parents were Polish, the whole family was deported to Poland, and we heard that they were sent to a concentration camp.

Not much later, even those that only had to register because of their grandparent’s origin were also sent to Poland.

We Czech Jews were proud of being Czechs and felt very secure and thought that something like this could never happen to us. But my father, who was in politics and was selected to be in the "Judenrat" (Jewish representatives to the government), recognized signs of danger; therefore, he applied for and obtained passports for the whole family. As the situation turned more and more grave, he also obtained valid visas to Switzerland for all of us, so that we should be able to escape when the time arrived, but now it was already too late.

Having visas gave him false security and he stayed longer home to arrange, with his connections, the escape of many Polish families to safe countries. Unfortunately, he waited too long, and that is why we ended up in Auschwitz.