Read Online Crossing the Borders of Time by Leslie Maitland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie Maitland
Tags: Non-Fiction, WWII
Ads: Link
present to a certain gentleman” in Mulhouse, a lifesaving bribe, to obtain the French visas he guiltily realized others might not have afforded.
By the time the family managed to leave, Sigmar was impoverished: he and his brother Heinrich were coerced into paying more for the privilege of fleeing than they received from the forced sale, at only a fraction of its true worth, of the prosperous firm they had founded in 1919. On April 7, based on an official ruling by the Freiburg Chamber of Commerce, two other brothers—Albin and Alfons Glatt, who had worked for competitors of the Günzburger brothers—took over what the chamber described as the “non-Aryan” firm, along with its buildings and vehicles, its warehouses full of supplies, and its ample customer lists.
Alice with Sigmar (L) and Heinrich, his brother and business partner, in Freiburg, mid-1930s (photo credit 4.1)
As to the house at Poststrasse 6, Sigmar sold it to his next-door neighbor, August Schöpperle. The hotel owner was confident that the political turmoil and migrations of war would bring even more travelers with money to Freiburg and was planning to use it to expand the Minerva. In haste to depart by the time their papers came through, Sigmar had been in no position to bargain and had sold Herr Schöpperle the house at a price that was also far below its actual value. But it hardly mattered, he grimly acknowledged, given the fact that he was barred from taking money out of the country.
The Poststrasse, with the Hotel Minerva at the corner. Beside it to the right is the Günzburger home at Poststrasse 6 . (photo credit 4.2)
Technically, it was arranged that “all things happened legally,” Dr. Hans Schadek, then Freiburg’s chief archivist, explained when he showed me the relevant records on one of my visits. He described how, seeking funds for armaments, the Nazis pillaged Jewish wealth by means of imposing taxes that conveniently managed to total the sum of every emigrant’s assets. Revenue from the sales of the family’s home and business was deposited into blocked accounts at the Oberrheinische Bank that were nominally in the Günzburgers’ names, but from which they could make no withdrawals without state approval. No such approvals were granted. Official taxes on “Jewish wealth,” flight taxes, bank fees on the taxpaying transactions, and punishing fines would eventually claim all that they owned through pretexts the Nazis wrote into law.
“ Ich bin Jude ” (I am a Jew), read the form Sigmar was obliged to fill out on June 30, 1938, before emigrating, declaring his remaining worth at that point. And for this purpose, it also described him as a member of the German state, no longer a citizen, yet still subject to the rules of the Reich. Having already signed away everything, however, there was nothing much left for him to declare. Almost every category of assets on the four-page form thus earned the same answer: Nichts (nothing). Money? Nichts . Real estate? Nichts . Other expected capital? Nichts . The only items of any value still in his possession besides their furnishings were three now-dubious life insurance policies, a gold watch, and the simple gold rings he and Alice had exchanged at their wedding.
All this brought them to the warm mid-August morning in 1938 when they were to leave. Hanna, now almost fifteen, awoke to the familiar cooing of doves on the rooftops and the buzz of the electric cart ferrying mail to the post office at the end of the street. From the Hotel Minerva next door came the familiar clatter of dishes and pans, the smells and the banter of the kitchen staff preparing guests’ breakfasts. It had always been a private pleasure for her to sit at the window and spy on the sophisticated foreign tourists who lingered on the hotel terrace, enjoying their food and their papers and quietly conversing. Now she, too, would be traveling, but the mysterious thrill she had always imagined as she studied those
By the time the family managed to leave, Sigmar was impoverished: he and his brother Heinrich were coerced into paying more for the privilege of fleeing than they received from the forced sale, at only a fraction of its true worth, of the prosperous firm they had founded in 1919. On April 7, based on an official ruling by the Freiburg Chamber of Commerce, two other brothers—Albin and Alfons Glatt, who had worked for competitors of the Günzburger brothers—took over what the chamber described as the “non-Aryan” firm, along with its buildings and vehicles, its warehouses full of supplies, and its ample customer lists.
Alice with Sigmar (L) and Heinrich, his brother and business partner, in Freiburg, mid-1930s (photo credit 4.1)
As to the house at Poststrasse 6, Sigmar sold it to his next-door neighbor, August Schöpperle. The hotel owner was confident that the political turmoil and migrations of war would bring even more travelers with money to Freiburg and was planning to use it to expand the Minerva. In haste to depart by the time their papers came through, Sigmar had been in no position to bargain and had sold Herr Schöpperle the house at a price that was also far below its actual value. But it hardly mattered, he grimly acknowledged, given the fact that he was barred from taking money out of the country.
The Poststrasse, with the Hotel Minerva at the corner. Beside it to the right is the Günzburger home at Poststrasse 6 . (photo credit 4.2)
Technically, it was arranged that “all things happened legally,” Dr. Hans Schadek, then Freiburg’s chief archivist, explained when he showed me the relevant records on one of my visits. He described how, seeking funds for armaments, the Nazis pillaged Jewish wealth by means of imposing taxes that conveniently managed to total the sum of every emigrant’s assets. Revenue from the sales of the family’s home and business was deposited into blocked accounts at the Oberrheinische Bank that were nominally in the Günzburgers’ names, but from which they could make no withdrawals without state approval. No such approvals were granted. Official taxes on “Jewish wealth,” flight taxes, bank fees on the taxpaying transactions, and punishing fines would eventually claim all that they owned through pretexts the Nazis wrote into law.
“ Ich bin Jude ” (I am a Jew), read the form Sigmar was obliged to fill out on June 30, 1938, before emigrating, declaring his remaining worth at that point. And for this purpose, it also described him as a member of the German state, no longer a citizen, yet still subject to the rules of the Reich. Having already signed away everything, however, there was nothing much left for him to declare. Almost every category of assets on the four-page form thus earned the same answer: Nichts (nothing). Money? Nichts . Real estate? Nichts . Other expected capital? Nichts . The only items of any value still in his possession besides their furnishings were three now-dubious life insurance policies, a gold watch, and the simple gold rings he and Alice had exchanged at their wedding.
All this brought them to the warm mid-August morning in 1938 when they were to leave. Hanna, now almost fifteen, awoke to the familiar cooing of doves on the rooftops and the buzz of the electric cart ferrying mail to the post office at the end of the street. From the Hotel Minerva next door came the familiar clatter of dishes and pans, the smells and the banter of the kitchen staff preparing guests’ breakfasts. It had always been a private pleasure for her to sit at the window and spy on the sophisticated foreign tourists who lingered on the hotel terrace, enjoying their food and their papers and quietly conversing. Now she, too, would be traveling, but the mysterious thrill she had always imagined as she studied those
Similar Books
