Читать книгу I Remember - Ich denke an ... - Tanya Josefowitz - Страница 11

In Germany I don’t recall ever having been allowed alone on the street or in a park, for fear of being spat at, or called “dirty Jew”. I remember a few such incidents, particularly once when our beloved nanny, Marianne, took us to her home, on an Easter weekend. Her family were farmers. They lived an hour away from Worms. My brother and I loved these visits. There were farm animals, plenty of fresh milk, butter, cakes and raw eggs that Vladimir liked to drink. This is unheard-of now, but at that time it was considered a delicacy. One simply put a pin prick in each end of the egg and sucked it out. I hated it without ever trying it.

On Easter Sunday, Marianne took us to her church for a beautiful ceremony. I loved going to church and I often went with Nanny. I was fascinated by the beauty of the stained glass windows and the smell of incense. It was all so solemn, silent, overwhelming: the voices of the choir and the pastor, the prayers, the kneeling and standing up, the sunshine outside on the soft green grass. After the ceremony we children all ran into the church yard to hunt for beautifully wrapped Easter eggs hidden among the flowers and bushes, and play games organized for us. We were told to form a large circle and to hold hands when out of the blue sky a blond little girl pushed me aside and said: “I won’t hold hands with you! You’re a dirty little Jew child!” Appalled and choked by tears, I ran away sobbing, never to return.

The worst, however, happened a year later: probably in 1936, when Marianne’s brother, a lovely young man who worked on their farm, was found drowned in the river near the town. Like every youth in Germany he had to join the Hitler Jugend¹⁹, the official Nazi youth organization, which he hated. One day he spoke up against Hitler in the local pub and pulled down the Swastika flag in the town square. So they killed him. This tragedy hit us all like a nightmare. It was beyond words and I shall never forget it.