Kindertransport (2 page)
Authors: Olga Levy Drucker
TRAINS AND SCHOOL
O
nly a year later, when I was nearly six, Hitler became Germany's
Führer,
or Leader. At first my life did not seem to change very much.
nly a year later, when I was nearly six, Hitler became Germany's
Führer,
or Leader. At first my life did not seem to change very much.
In March 1933, Frieda took me on a train to her village, Ochsenbach, to her family's farm. Her mother and father and two brothers lived in two rooms built over the cow barn. Their windows looked directly into the barnyard, which was dominated by a great huge dung heap. Hens and geese scratched happily around it all day. On its peak stood the rooster, tall and proud in his iridescent greens and blues, his red comb reaching as far as the sky itself as he crowed to his heart's delight.
When Frieda's mother first saw me, she said: “Skinny little thing. We'll have to fatten her up, won't we?”
At home I had always been a fussy eater. I also knew very well what happened to Hansel and Gretel in the fairy tale when the witch fattened them up! Despite all that, I began to stuff myself. I drank fresh milk, still warm
from the cow that I had watched Frieda's brother tend. I ate home-churned butter, which I had helped churn. And I gobbled up the eggs, which I had helped collect from wherever the hens had decided to lay them. I was never happier, and I considered the smell of the dung heap more wonderful than Mama's perfume. My thin face began to fill out, my cheeks grew rosy, and I shot up several inches.
from the cow that I had watched Frieda's brother tend. I ate home-churned butter, which I had helped churn. And I gobbled up the eggs, which I had helped collect from wherever the hens had decided to lay them. I was never happier, and I considered the smell of the dung heap more wonderful than Mama's perfume. My thin face began to fill out, my cheeks grew rosy, and I shot up several inches.
But only a few weeks later, I came down with whooping cough. The doctor said a few days in the Black Forest would cure me. Off we went, Mama and I, on yet another train. I loved train rides. Every day, Mama and I sat under the sweet-smelling pine trees on the soft needles that had dropped off their branches. She showed me how to make little baskets out of the grasses that grew nearby.
Then I collected pine cones, into which we wedged chocolate candy called nonpareils, and placed them into the baskets. These became coming-home presents for Papa, Hans, Frieda and Cook.
My cough quickly got better. Mama and I looked forward to our trip back to Stuttgart. But our coming home was not as joyous as we had expected. On our return, our family and friends were talking about nothing but the boycott.
This boycott, we learned, was organized as a nationwide action by the Nazis to prevent German non-Jews from buying or selling goods in Jewish owned stores. Hitler's storm-troopers, called S.A. for
Sturm Abteilung
, went so far as to beat up would-be shoppers who tried to defy
his orders. At about that time, signs began to appear in windows of non-Jewish stores which read “Jews are not wanted as customers here.” Some German shop owners omitted the signs at the risk of also being beaten up by the S.A. But most took heed. Either they were afraid, or they disliked Jews themselves. It was at about that time, it seemed to me, that Papa started to become preoccupied. He didn't always hear what I said to him, and he seemed to get annoyed with me more quickly. But he still went to his office every day and came home for lunch as before.
Sturm Abteilung
, went so far as to beat up would-be shoppers who tried to defy
his orders. At about that time, signs began to appear in windows of non-Jewish stores which read “Jews are not wanted as customers here.” Some German shop owners omitted the signs at the risk of also being beaten up by the S.A. But most took heed. Either they were afraid, or they disliked Jews themselves. It was at about that time, it seemed to me, that Papa started to become preoccupied. He didn't always hear what I said to him, and he seemed to get annoyed with me more quickly. But he still went to his office every day and came home for lunch as before.
That summer I traveled with my family to Switzerland. This time the train took us into long tunnels dug straight through the mountains. When we came out at the other end, we saw that many of the mountains had snow on top, even though it was the middle of July. While Papa and Hans hiked up mountain trails, Mama, Frieda, and I took walks about town or had picnics in the meadow. I learned to make daisy chains, which I wore on my head like a crown. In our hotel I slept in a brass bed. I called it my “golden bed.”
No sooner were we home in Stuttgart again than Hans and I were packed off to summer camp. For me it was the first time.
“But I'd rather stay home!” I wailed. “Why do I have to go to summer camp?”
“You'll like it there,” Mama promised me.
Hans said, “It's just so Mama and Papa can be without us for a bit.” This did nothing to calm me. But, I thought, he must have understood such things better. He was fourteen now.
“Why do they want to be alone without us? It's much more fun when we're all together,” I insisted.
Nothing helped. Our bags, so recently unpacked, were packed again, this time with new camp clothes. All had our names sewn into them.
The day before we were supposed to leave, I sat my dolls around my toy table and held one last tea party for them.
“Now don't you cry when I'm away,” I told them. “I'll be back before you know it.” I hugged each one in turn and dried my tears.
Summer camp turned out better than I had expected. In fact, it got to be fun after a while. But one night I woke up screaming with pain. I had a middle-ear infection. I was rushed to the hospital for an operation. Penicillin, which would have cured me, was still unknown at that time. I was very sick, and everybody thought I was going to die. After a long time, I got better, and the day came when Mama and Papa brought me home again. But Mama said she was not going to let me start school for another year. I didn't feel too good about that. By then I
would be almost seven. Wouldn't the other children laugh at me?
would be almost seven. Wouldn't the other children laugh at me?
But not going to school did not mean I could stay home and play with my dolls all day. I was introduced to gymnastics and, in winter, to skating lessons. Mama took me downtown for swimming classes in a public indoor pool. She wouldn't let me go there alone, because it meant going on the trolley. She said I was too young.
One day, on our weekly trip to downtown Stuttgart and the swimming pool, I saw several shops and office buildings draped with red, black, and white swastika flags. The swastika was the symbol of the Nazi party. The flags were nothing new to me. I had seen them before, on “special” occasions.
“Why are the flags flying today, Mama?” I asked.
“I suppose there's going to be another parade,” she answered, and she started walking faster. I had to run to keep up with her. When we got to the pool, we found the other mamas and their daughters milling about outside.
“What is happening?” Mama asked one of the ladies.
In answer, her friend pointed to a sign stuck to the door with thumbtacks. Even though I wasn't going to school yet, I had no trouble spelling out the words:
JUDEN SIND UNERWUNSCHT!
“Jews are not wanted,” I read aloud, in case Mama and her friend hadn't read it correctly. “What does it mean?”
Mama's face was white. Her full, pink lips, which I always had thought so beautiful, all but disappeared. “It means ⦠it means, Ollie, that we can't come here any more.”
“No more swimming lessons?”
“No more swimming lessons for Jews.”
A month after my seventh birthday I entered first grade at a private girls' school. It was one of a few that still allowed Jewish children. In Germany, at that time, when a child's first school day arrived, she was given a large cone-shaped container made of brightly colored paper, which was filled with candies, chocolates, and cookies. I proudly carried mine to school, though it was almost as big as I was. All the other little girls had theirs.
My teacher's name was Fräulein Böhme. I loved her at once. Although I was older than most, I was still quite short for my age. I found this to be an advantage. At least no one was laughing at me. And soon I made new friends in my class. Brigitte had long, blond pigtails, and Hannele's hair was short and coal black. She and Marianne became my best friends. We walked together to school and back, and slept over at one another's houses. We moved from first to second to third grade together, and Fräulein Böhme remained our teacher throughout.
But one morning, when I was ten, a man in a dark suit came into our classroom and told us he was now our
teacher. He wore a small red, white, and black badge in his lapel. In its center I saw a swastika.
teacher. He wore a small red, white, and black badge in his lapel. In its center I saw a swastika.
“But where is Fraulein Böhme?” one girl asked.
“I am your teacher now,” Herr Schüler repeated. “You will stand up when I speak to you and also when you speak to me. I expect you to raise your right arm in the Hitler salute. We will practice it now.”
He raised his right arm straight ahead, his hand flat out, palm down, and loudly announced: “Heil Hitler!”
The other girls followed his example. “Heil Hitler!” they cried as loudly as they could. But not all of us saluted. Hannele and I, the only two Jewish children in the class, stiffly kept our arms to our sides. Only the day before Papa had told me that I didn't have to say it. I had been sitting on his lap in his favorite armchair while a voice on the radio next to us was screaming terrible things about Jews. Everything was the Jews' fault. “The Jews,” claimed the voice, “are our undoing!” The voice, Papa told me, was Hitler's. He said the Nazis were holding a rally. The screaming voice went on and on, while thousands cheered. I felt like hiding somewhere. Even Piepsi, the canary, let out a shrill whistle. I think he was as scared as I. It was then that Papa said: “You don't ever have to say âHeil Hitler.'”
But now I saw Herr Schüler's eyes on Hannele and me. If looks could kill, I thought. The next minute he thundered: “You two. Yes, you with the black hair. And you with the pink bow. Have you lost your tongues?”
I stood stock still and glared at my shoes, not daring to look up. Someone in back of the room snickered.
“I shall expect the Hitler salute from
every
girl in this room.” He was still glowering at Hannele and me. “Is that understood? Now, once more. Heil Hitler!”
every
girl in this room.” He was still glowering at Hannele and me. “Is that understood? Now, once more. Heil Hitler!”
Without moving my head, I glanced to my side. To my surprise I saw Hannele's arm shoot straight out, palm down. Had she forgotten that she, too, was Jewish? My own arm felt like lead. I willed it to go halfway up, elbow bent. “Heil Hitler,” I breathed through all but closed lips. Let him punish me, I thought, shaking with fear. He can't make me. Papa said I didn't have to.
But luckily, Herr Schüler grew tired of me. Perhaps he thought me too small or too stupid to bother with. We went on with our other lessons. At recess, in the school playyard, I found myself ignored by just about everybody, even Hannele. Even Marianne. Suddenly, I no longer had anyone to play with.
I told no one at home, though I think Frieda suspected that something was wrong.
“Don't dawdle so, Ollie,” she said the next morning. “Finish your breakfast. You've hardly touched it. What's the matter? Don't you feel well? You'll be late for school if you don'tâ”
“I'm not hungry,” I said. But she showed me no mercy. “Oh, all right.” I forced another bite of bread and jam. But I couldn't swallow it. Pushing it into my cheek, I asked: “Please, can I go now?”
Instead of bouncing out of the house as usual, I dragged my feet and kept my hands in my pockets. My books and pencil box were inside my satchel strapped to my back. Today it felt heavy.
School was no longer fun, but it got no worse either. None of the girls wanted to play with me. Though Herr Schüler did not single me out again, he now ignored me all the time. I wasn't sure which was worse. If only Fräulein Böhme were back!
Then, in the middle of a night in November 1938, something happened that changed the course of history in the entire world. It also changed my life, forever.
KRISTALLNACHT
N
ovember 9, 1938. Mama tucked me into my bed as usual and gave me a kiss. I wiped it off my cheek and tried to smile. But I couldn't help thinking about Frieda, as I had night and day since she had left. Was she back on her farm in Ochsenbach now? Did she miss me?
ovember 9, 1938. Mama tucked me into my bed as usual and gave me a kiss. I wiped it off my cheek and tried to smile. But I couldn't help thinking about Frieda, as I had night and day since she had left. Was she back on her farm in Ochsenbach now? Did she miss me?
I missed her terribly. I had been told that her boyfriend had come to visit her in our house. There was nothing wrong with that, Mama said, but he was wearing his Nazi uniform. Naturally, my parents got upset about that. No one could be trusted anymore these days, Papa said, especially someone in uniform. In our house. And if he was Frieda's boyfriend, then maybe she couldn't be trusted either. Even though I found that last part really hard to believe, I could understand why they were afraid.
I never even had a chance to say good-bye to her. I'd cried myself to sleep every night since she left. I tried not to cry tonight, but it was no use. My tears started to roll down my cheeks, and I felt my pillow getting wet. Cook
was gone, too. It seemed she didn't want to work for Jews anymore. Now Mama was doing all the cooking and house cleaning alone. I tried to help by dusting things and sweeping up the crumbs with a carpet cleaner after we'd eaten. I don't think I did too good a job, because I saw Mama going over everything again later.
was gone, too. It seemed she didn't want to work for Jews anymore. Now Mama was doing all the cooking and house cleaning alone. I tried to help by dusting things and sweeping up the crumbs with a carpet cleaner after we'd eaten. I don't think I did too good a job, because I saw Mama going over everything again later.
Next I thought about Hans. He had been sent to school in England, so he wasn't here anymore either. When Papa was at work it was really quiet in our house. Mama must have felt so lonely with everybody gone, especially when I was in school. I tried looking at the bright side, the way Frieda would have. At least, I thought, in the evenings Mama and Papa and I still had each other. Even though I still felt as safe as a fairy princess in her castle, I knew I was really just an ordinary ten-year-old girl, going on eleven, to whom anything could happen. The castle walls didn't seem quite as strong anymore as I had imagined. I blew my nose and wiped my eyes. After a while I fell asleep.
A loud bang woke me. It must have been the middle of the night. I slid under my feather quilt to hide. Then I heard noisy footsteps stomping up the stairs. Right away I thought of the marching boots of Hitler's S.A. men, marching along the beautiful streets of downtown Stuttgart. Now I heard strange, gruff voices. Who was in our house? Why were they shouting? They seemed to be giving orders to someone. Doors banged. I thought I heard Mama crying softly. That scared me more than anything.
Was I dreaming? Another door banged. I stuffed the corner of my sheet into my mouth and didn't dare move. I barely breathed. I prayed the strange men in our house wouldn't find me. What was going on?
Was I dreaming? Another door banged. I stuffed the corner of my sheet into my mouth and didn't dare move. I barely breathed. I prayed the strange men in our house wouldn't find me. What was going on?
Suddenly everything was quiet once more. With just my eyes above the feather quilt, I watched as my door opened slowly. I held my breath. But no, it was not a strange man. It was only Mama tiptoeing into my room. I closed my eyes and started breathing again. I felt her cool hand on my head, but I pretended to be asleep. She sighed and left. A chink of light seeped through under my door. I listened a long time, but all remained quiet. I must have drifted off to sleep again.
The first thing I noticed when I came downstairs for breakfast the next morning was that Mama's eyes were red, as if she had been crying. She looked as if she hadn't slept all night.
“Where is Papa?” I asked, expecting to see him at his usual place. His chair was empty.
“He ⦠he's had to go away for a while.” Mama's voice sounded strained, as if she'd been rehearsing a difficult line from a play. This whole time, since Hans and Frieda and Cook left, seemed unreal to me. Perhaps I
was
just having a bad dream, and any minute now I would wake up. Then I remembered the commotion in our house during the night. Had that been part of the dream, too?
Well, I thought, if she wants to play games, I'll play with her. I tried to act as if everything were perfectly normal. I stuffed my mouth with a large chunk of bread.
was
just having a bad dream, and any minute now I would wake up. Then I remembered the commotion in our house during the night. Had that been part of the dream, too?
Well, I thought, if she wants to play games, I'll play with her. I tried to act as if everything were perfectly normal. I stuffed my mouth with a large chunk of bread.
“When will he be back?” I knew I shouldn't talk with my mouth full. But Mama only shrugged and bent over her coffee cup. I frowned. Now I was certain that something terrible had happened. My hands grew cold. But I still tried to sound as if everything were normal.
“What shall I wear to school, Mama? I'll be late if I don'tâ”
Mama lifted her tired face: “You can't go to school today.” Was I hearing her right? Or was this still part of my bad dream?
“Why not?”
“Because ⦠you just can't.”
“But if I don't go, Herr Schüler willâ”
“You can't go there anymore. Soon you'll go to a new school. In a few days.”
“What's wrong with the old one?” I cried in alarm. This was really becoming too much! But Mama had stopped listening. I watched her go to the telephone. She dialed and started yelling into the receiver. I heard her say Papa's name. Who was she talking to?
I tried to read, but all I did was turn pages without seeing them. I thought about how there were just the two of us, Mama and I. How crazy could it get? I wished that I would wake up
now
. That everything would be the way
it was last year or even a month ago ⦠. But it wasn't a dream, and I couldn't turn the clock back.
now
. That everything would be the way
it was last year or even a month ago ⦠. But it wasn't a dream, and I couldn't turn the clock back.
When, some days later, Mama and I dared to take the trolley downtown, we couldn't believe our eyes. The Nazis had burned down the synagogue, leaving only a charred shell. All the other buildings on the same street were left unharmed. The windows of all the Jewish-owned shops had been smashed and the broken glass had been left all over the sidewalks. The next day everything had to be cleaned up, on Nazi orders. Who was made to do it? The Jewish store owners, we were told.
But they were no longer around. Papa was not the only one arrested that night. We learned that all men, from sixteen to sixty, were dragged out of their beds and taken away. Then who was left to clean up? Their wives and children, and the elderly. Or any Jew who was unlucky enough to be standing around at that place at that time.
Hitler came to Stuttgart not too long after that nightâthe night Papa disappeared. I wondered if the Führer wanted to see for himself what a good job his gangster storm troopers had done. On the day he came to town, Stuttgart was decked out with red, white, and black bunting and swastika flags, as if nothing had ever happened here.
Of course, we didn't have a flag. In fact, we Jews were not allowed to fly flags. Also, we were ordered not to
come out of our houses during Hitler's parade. But I slipped out and went to see Frau Gumpel, next door. Frau Gumpel and her husband, Herr Gumpel, were our elderly neighbors. They had no children of their own, but they kept a toy chest in their house just for me.
come out of our houses during Hitler's parade. But I slipped out and went to see Frau Gumpel, next door. Frau Gumpel and her husband, Herr Gumpel, were our elderly neighbors. They had no children of their own, but they kept a toy chest in their house just for me.
I had forgotten to tell Mama where I was going. She went crazy looking for me. She was afraid the Nazis would do something to us if they found out I wasn't home. So she, too, disobeyed the order to stay in the house. She climbed over the fence, because she didn't want to be seen in the street, and found me at the Gumpels'. I could see on her face that she had trouble deciding whether to spank me or hug me. She hugged me!
Since Papa was taken away Mama was on the phone morning, noon, and night. In her conversation, the name of a place kept coming up:
Dachau.
It was where Papa was. There was a concentration camp in this place. I had heard of concentration camps. They were prison camps where people who disagreed with Hitler were taken: communists, Gypsies, Roman Catholics, Jews, and others whom the Nazis didn't like. Stories were going around that prisoners there were being beaten up and tortured. I couldn't believe that anyone would want to beat up my Papa. Mama cried a lot, though she tried to hide it from me. I couldn't bear seeing her cry. It made me want to cry too.
Dachau.
It was where Papa was. There was a concentration camp in this place. I had heard of concentration camps. They were prison camps where people who disagreed with Hitler were taken: communists, Gypsies, Roman Catholics, Jews, and others whom the Nazis didn't like. Stories were going around that prisoners there were being beaten up and tortured. I couldn't believe that anyone would want to beat up my Papa. Mama cried a lot, though she tried to hide it from me. I couldn't bear seeing her cry. It made me want to cry too.
Up until that time I had no idea what being Jewish meant. We had never celebrated any of the Jewish holidays. Instead, we always had a Christmas tree, with real candles, and an egg hunt in our garden at Easter time. I was never inside the synagogue that had been burned the night the Nazis took Papa away. But about two weeks after that, I started going to a Jewish school.
The teacher told us that soon it would be Chanukah. Chanukah, she said, always comes near Christmastime. She said Jews shouldn't have Christmas trees. I told Mama about it and asked her if we could light Chanukah candles instead. I wanted to celebrate the festival of lights and freedom, as I had just learned. She took my hand without saying anything and lead me up to the third floor. In the storeroom, next to what used to be Frieda's room, were a lot of boxes filled with old letters, photographs, and Papa's medal from the Great War. Why had Mama brought me up here? I soon found out.
In a corner, behind all these boxes, we found a Chanukah
menorah,
a nine-branched candle holder. It was made of brass, quite small, and needed polishing. Mama let me carry it downstairs and we took turns rubbing it while I told her what I had learned about this holiday at my new school. The teacher had told us that Chanukah was about freedom, because Judah the Maccabee won his fight against the tyrant, Antiochus. To give thanks to God
for his victory, he lit an oil lamp, and even though there was very little oil in it, it kept on burning for eight days. This night, when it started getting dark out, Mama and I lit the first candle and sang the songs that I had been given at school. They were all new to us, but we both loved them. I looked forward to the next seven nights, when another candle would be added to the first, until all eight would be blazing. I explained to her that the ninth branch, in the middle, was for the servant candle, the one used to light the others. We did not need a Christmas tree that year. But something was wrong.
menorah,
a nine-branched candle holder. It was made of brass, quite small, and needed polishing. Mama let me carry it downstairs and we took turns rubbing it while I told her what I had learned about this holiday at my new school. The teacher had told us that Chanukah was about freedom, because Judah the Maccabee won his fight against the tyrant, Antiochus. To give thanks to God
for his victory, he lit an oil lamp, and even though there was very little oil in it, it kept on burning for eight days. This night, when it started getting dark out, Mama and I lit the first candle and sang the songs that I had been given at school. They were all new to us, but we both loved them. I looked forward to the next seven nights, when another candle would be added to the first, until all eight would be blazing. I explained to her that the ninth branch, in the middle, was for the servant candle, the one used to light the others. We did not need a Christmas tree that year. But something was wrong.
“I wish Papa was here,” I said, hugging Mama as hard as I could.
But Papa was still in the Dachau concentration camp. At least Hans was safe in England by now, or he would have been taken there too. The Stuttgart synagogue was not the only one burned down. As we learned later, almost all synagogues, in all Germany, were burnt to the ground. There was so much broken glass lying in the streets that it was hard to walk about. That is why that night was later called
Kristallnacht,
Crystal Night. The Night of Broken Glass.
Kristallnacht,
Crystal Night. The Night of Broken Glass.
One day, as I was walking home from my new Jewish school, I saw Marianne come toward me. My best friend. I was so glad to see her. I wanted to ask her if anybody missed me and if Herr Schüler ever said anything about
my absence. But before I could wave to her, she crossed the street. I couldn't believe it! I knew she had seen me, because she had started to wave to me. Then, suddenly, her hand still only halfway up, she crossed the street. She just kept on walking, without even turning her head, as if she never knew me at all.
my absence. But before I could wave to her, she crossed the street. I couldn't believe it! I knew she had seen me, because she had started to wave to me. Then, suddenly, her hand still only halfway up, she crossed the street. She just kept on walking, without even turning her head, as if she never knew me at all.
I felt angry and confused. I ran the rest of the way home, crying all the way.
“She was afraid,” Mama tried to explain to me.
“Of me? I'm her best friend!”
“Her parents must have told her not to speak to you anymore.”
“But, why?”
“Because Aryans are not allowed to talk to Jews now.”
“What's Aryan?”
“That is what Hitler calls anyone who is German.”
“But we are German!”
“Yes, I know.” I knew Mama was trying to sound patient. “But we are also Jewish.”
“That doesn't make any sense!” I yelled. “I wish Papa would come home!”
On December 28, my birthday, Papa came back. He came home in the middle of the night, while I was sleeping. It had been the middle of night when the Nazis had come for him, six long weeks ago. This time, Mama woke me. I hugged Papa and never wanted to let him go. But
I saw how he had changed. He was too thin, and he didn't have much hair left. He didn't smile. I wondered if his eyes were looking at the terrible things that must have happened in that ghastly place, Dachau. I wanted to ask him: Did they really beat you up? But before I could, he said he couldn't talk about anything. They told him they'd come and get him again if he did. I wondered, though, if he ever told Mama.
I saw how he had changed. He was too thin, and he didn't have much hair left. He didn't smile. I wondered if his eyes were looking at the terrible things that must have happened in that ghastly place, Dachau. I wanted to ask him: Did they really beat you up? But before I could, he said he couldn't talk about anything. They told him they'd come and get him again if he did. I wondered, though, if he ever told Mama.
Papa never went back to his office again. The Nazis “bought” the publishing company, which in reality meant they stole it. Papa brought his rolltop desk and a few other items home and set up an office in the playroom on the third floor. From there he did some work every day, though I never really understood what it was he did. I loved having him home all the time. I also loved the smell of his cigar, which now permeated the playroomâI mean, office. Poor Mama. She couldn't stand the smell.
This year was the first that I didn't have a birthday party. I remembered another birthday, a long time ago, when our neighbor, Herr Kopfer, came over and did some magic tricks for me and my friends. And three years ago, on my eighth, Cook baked a special cake for me in the shape of the number 8. For this birthday, my eleventh, there was no party. But I did get my usual four-leaf clover pot. As always, it had a little red wooden mushroom hidden in it, for good luck. I thought we could all use some good luck right now.
While Papa was still in Dachau, Mama decided that it would be best that I go to England for a while. She had heard about something called
Kindertransport,
Children's Transport. This was a system planned by the Jewish Refugee Committee to transport Jewish children to England, away from the growing danger in Germany. In England they would live in safety with English families. Already, trains filled with children were leaving every day. Mama had my name put on the list, and now we were waiting for my turn to come up. It could happen any day. In the meantime, Mama started packing things. Other preparations for my leaving began, that made me realize the seriousness of it all.
Kindertransport,
Children's Transport. This was a system planned by the Jewish Refugee Committee to transport Jewish children to England, away from the growing danger in Germany. In England they would live in safety with English families. Already, trains filled with children were leaving every day. Mama had my name put on the list, and now we were waiting for my turn to come up. It could happen any day. In the meantime, Mama started packing things. Other preparations for my leaving began, that made me realize the seriousness of it all.
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