Yad Va Shem, Jerusalem, May 17, 1993. A simple, dignified memorial to the victims of Hitler’s Holocaust. As I entered, I was instantly transported back through time, to the 1930s, and I was that child. Germany, 1933. The adults around me were all clustered around any available radio. They had scant time for this inquisitive little five year old who tried so hard to grasp what was happening. At last a grandmotherly person (Frau Klinger, our neighbor and favorite baby sitter) explained that President Hindenburg had died and now Adolf Hitler was the Chancellor of Germany. All I comprehended was that something very important was happening. Whether good or bad, I had no idea. My life continued in its normal routine of kindergarten, playmates, good times with mother, visits with my paternal grandmother, and occasional times with both parents, whenever Dad was home between business trips. It was a good life. In October of 1933 my favorite (maternal) grandfather died. A few weeks later my baby brother was born prematurely, and I was put to bed with swollen glands, primary childhood TB, and pleurisy. My peaceful world was suddenly chaotic, full of change. A hired girl took care of me; a nurse friend lived-in to care for mother and the new baby (whom I didn’t get to see for three months) and Dad moved to his mother’s place in a nearby city because we had no room for him and there was nothing he could do for us anyway.

Five months later, in March 1934, there was a new round of upheaval. We packed to move and bid friends and neighbors farewell. Years later I learned that the Nazis had ordered us to move out of our apartment because we were Jewish. At the time all I knew was that we were going to live with friends in Bad Liebenzell in the Black Forest. Before I could start school we moved again. Dad had found an apartment in Duesseldorf, quite near his mother’s. Infact, once I started to school, grandma could watch me from her balcony when I was at recess in the schoolyard. Life settled into a new routine with many new playmates. From my perspective life was secure and comfortable. We had a nanny, a housekeeper, and a woman who came to do the laundry. Mother ran the in-home office of Dad’s publishing company, the Werner Plaut Verlag. We had lovely things, more toys than we could use, and season passes to the zoo two blocks from home. By the time I was 8 years old I was allowed to take my little brother, now 2 years old, to the zoo unsupervised. I knew all the zoo-keepers and animals by name. Sometimes I was allowed inside the enclosures to help feed baby animals. This had to be a child’s idea of bliss! It was not to last. In school we were indoctrinated into Nazi ideology. Here began my denial of being Jewish.

Still, mother had to make sure that I understood that none of us would go into any shops with a sign in the window saying, “Keine Juden” (No Jews). I obeyed, but without understanding. Hitler’s birthday was a cause for celebration and a national holiday. Our school books were full of his pictures, stories about the great things he was doing, and how much he loved children. (Later he would exterminate 1,500,000 of them!) Soon after I started school the country got a new flag, the swastika. Obediently I saluted it, not understanding its significance and the irony of a Jewish child paying homage to the very symbol of antisemitism. Years later, in the safe haven of America, I was to learn that around this time we were also denied our German citizenship and became unwilling wards of the State. In school we began scrap metal drives, blackouts, and air raid drills. The explanation given was that the British were planning to attack us and we must be prepared to help protect the Fatherland. On January 1, 1936 my father, who had recently published a best seller, was notified by the Nazis that he had 18 months to sell his business to a gentile and leave the country. Again I could not be told what was happening. What I was aware of was ever increasing disruption in family life. Twice in the ensuing 18 months my brother and I were sent to a Jewish children’s home for several months. The idea was to spare us the upheaval at home. As far as I was concerned the boarding home experience was a fate worse than death! My little brother was so terrified that he screamed every waking moment. He felt totally abandoned and I, at age 8, was overwhelmed with trying to comfort him.
Then one day it was time to say goodbye to Dad. He was going to America and promised we would eventually join him. Mother made me write to him and he send wonderful postcards of New York. Sometimes he wrote in English to make me learn the language. He sent great children’s books to my little brother who loved the pictures. We made up our own stories when I was not able to translate them. In late December, a month before my tenth birthday, mother withdrew me from school and took the two of us children from Duesseldorf, south to Stuttgart, to stay with her mother, brother, and his wife. What no one could risk telling me at the time was that I was in fact being hidden from the Gestapo. You see, at age 10 I theoretically had to join the Hitler Jugend (Youth). However, being a Jew I was ineligible and would have been subject t o all manner of abuse. Mother sought to protect me from this. So when she got letters from the school board inquiring why there was no record of my enrollment anywhere in the country, she took them to the kitchen sink, burned them, and flushed the ashes down the drain. If questioned, she could say she had no letters and a search would prove this to be true.

Early in March 1938, we were re-united with mother and travelled by train to Hamburg. Between sightseeing and last minute shopping, the time passed quickly. To add to my confusion, mother bought us both shoes and clothes several sizes too large (to grow into in America). Since we were still allowed to take out all our belongings, but only $100 per person, this was a wise investment - and I hated it all! The evening of March 8th we were finally permitted to board the SS Manhattan and were shown to our cabin which would be ‘home’ for the next ten days. We were assured by our cabin steward that we were perfectly safe on board because the ship was, technically, American soil. Mother began to relax and I had a great time exploring this floating city. A few days later we had cause to be extremely grateful to be on an American ship. We were barely heading out to sea when word came that the Nazis had occupied Austria. There was much anguish and anxiety among the passengers, including teenage children. They all knew that Jewish refugees on German ships would now be turned back and put into concentration camps. We, however, were safe. Little did I know some of the new challenges that awaited me!