Checking out hurriedly the next morning, their route towards home soon took them past a military airfield at Gilze-Rijen, home to Dutch fighter squadrons. As they approached the airfield, to their dismay they were looking at a sky filled with descending German parachutists. World War II had suddenly come to Holland on May 10, 1940 and life for Anne, age 16, and her family, as for so many others, was never to be the same.

Seeing their way home barred by invading Germans, the Kaufmans and OK had turned their cars around and sped back to the hotel, remaining overnight, while news reports made clear that immediate departure south was their only choice. Obtaining blankets and temporary provisions from the hotel, the next morning the five of them, in their two cars, headed for the Belgian border. Crossing it, they reached Ghent, where they spent the night in the cars, bundled in the hotel blankets.

The second day they crossed into France and reached Rouen. The Germans, having protected their northern flank and ensured access to vital Swedish coal supplies by invading Norway and Denmark in April, next invaded Belgium and Holland in May, providing maneuver room for an envelopment to avoid the Maginot Line defending northern France. They were now in the process of unleashing their armor and mobile infantry divisions in blitzkrieg tactics against France. They began the invasion of France on May 14, 1940 and reached the English Channel on May 21. An unwise German decision was made to depend solely on the Luftwaffe and infantry to destroy the trapped Alliied forces, while their armored divisions refueled and made repairs. This had permitted the dramatic escape of much of the British and French armies, beginning May 26, across the beaches of Dunkirk.

When the Germans invaded France on May 14th, Anne’s family and OK had reached Bordeaux. The fortunes of war had favored them so far, thanks to their choice of holiday location close to the Belgian border. Similarly, by extraordinary good fortune, Max’s brother Fritz had been visiting London when the Germans invaded Holland. His pre-teenage son, Frank, was with him, an only child who had lost his mother in childhood. In Bordeaux, Max contacted a vineyard owner and wine merchant, one of his suppliers, who then provided shelter to the group in his own home while they made final plans to cross into Spain.

Thanks to their business relationships with Monsieur Eschenauer, their host, he was able to provide access to funds. He also telephoned the French border authorities and learned that no automobiles could leave the country without a special permit guaranteeing their return. Since delay, with the possibility of not obtaining such approval in the end, could not be risked, he arranged with the authorities to accept temporary custody of the two cars at the border, and hold them pending their owners’ return.  Herb recollects that they remained in Bordeaux the better part of a week. However, the military situation kept deteriorating, so the group next drove to St. Jean de Luz, in the southwestern corner of France, then on to the border, close by at Hendaye, where they delivered the cars into protective custody without disclosing their intent not to return.

Crossing into Spain on foot, they boarded a train west to San Sebastian on the Spanish coast, stopping overnight at a hotel. There is humor in even the direst situations and both Anne and Herb separately recounted an incident at dinner that night, a welcome feast. The weather had been hot, air conditioning did not exist, and the children watched, fascinated, as a bead of sweat slowly made its way down the waiter’s nose as he ladled out the soup, finally dropping into one of the bowls. Herb remarks, “All I know is that it wasn’t mine.”

Spain was under the rule of Franco, recovering from years of brutal civil war during which he had been supported by Hitler. Max and OK decided it was imperative to proceed by train to Bilbao, further west, then continue south to the safety of Portugal, a neutral country, starting out the next day to where better options awaited them.  That grim trip south from Holland was burned into all their memories, but one recollection in particular remained with Anne, when, tired and hungry after crossing into Spain, at one of the train stops they had purchased sandwiches from a station vendor and, in addition to their other problems, Anne became desperately ill from tainted meat.

Years afterward, Greta had marked their route to safety in a family atlas, tracing it in ink, adding the title “Our Flight (Escape) From Europe.” It showed a line from Holland south thru Antwerp – Ghent (overnight) – Lille – Amiens – Rouen (overnight) – Le Mans, then southeast to Blois (crossing the Loire), then southwest to Bordeaux (several nights) – St. Jean de Luiz – Hendaye (Spanish border) – San Sebastian (overnight) – Bilbao – Lisbon.

Lisbon then was full of diplomatic intrigue, competing intelligence activities, and persons and families displaced by the war, attempting to reestablish their lives. No accommodations were available in crowded Lisbon, but the authorities arranged for a hotel about 50 miles to the north, in the town of Caldas da Rainha. The town contained military barracks and a small garrison and their hotel overlooked the market square. While Max and OK commuted to Lisbon to arrange their affairs, Anne and Herb, not attending school, had time for relaxing, including visiting the beach at the coastal town of Figueira da Foz, about five miles to the west.

Fortunately for Max and OK, the trip they had planned to New York facilitated booking a flight on the Pan American Clipper from Lisbon instead, while their visas had already been arranged. Moreover, In New York they had business and financial contacts. Suddenly the fates turned against the family. Young Herb tragically contracted polio, often a death sentence in that pre-Salk vaccine era. Max somehow found a Doctor Diago Furtado in Lisbon, who had interned at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore and took Herb into his care. Herb recollects riding in the ambulance south to a Lisbon hospital, his body unable to move, accompanied by his mother, having to traverse seasonal wildfires raging on both sides of the road for about 15 miles.

Max had gone ahead to Lisbon with Anne, for he not only had to make preparations for admitting Herb, but also had arranged for Anne to live temporarily with a friendly family, in their spacious Lisbon apartment, where a daughter of the house would keep her company while the parents saw to Herb’s care. When Max flew to New York it was with a heavy burden, but he was able to arrange entry visas for his family. At length their prayers were answered. Herb slowly recovered under the doctor’s skilled care, until well enough to travel. It was almost a miracle.

Meanwhile, 16 year old Anne, in her father’s absence, had assumed some of his responsibilities, especially concerning their travel to the US. Later, as a grown woman, she still remained bitter about seemingly needless delays and bureaucratic obstacles imposed by the American consul in Lisbon, whom she considered an evil person. Eventually the three of them boarded ship, the “Siboney,” for the dangerous trip west to join Max. The voyage to America was to provide one more frightening moment when their ship, flying US colors, was stopped in mid-ocean by a German submarine. Fortunately a state of war did not yet exist with Germany (Germany would declare war on the US four days after Pearl Harbor) so, after checking its papers, the ship was permitted to proceed, and they gratefully disembarked in New York harbor on December 10, 1940.

Our exodus started.  To go to Paris at the station 1000's of people like us – the train did not have an end so long – we four, Gina and Max five more – to an unknown destination – 13, 14 of May – nobody could get out of the train on the floor in hallways – at each station soldiers with their guns over the shoulder – no Paris big detour.
 
The 15th at 5 o'clock in the morning, the sign Bordeaux. Heine gets out of the train and we don't know where he is. After hours he comes back with a doctor; my children are sick – so to examine them they have to get out. – Heine had made it up – saved his family. We four and Gina got out – but not Max and family… That was our luck – that was Heine Spett!!  We were free and our own master of destiny. This was a miracle…

We went to a small hotel for two days. On the main street walking there in a coffeehouse outside Heine recognizes the Krieger family – Mr. and Mrs. Uziel and their son Sam, friends from Hanover. They lived already for some time in Bordeaux. We were happy to see someone we knew.  They advised to leave Bordeaux and Sam had a car; he drove us to the outskirts of Bordeaux – Pessac – a little town.  Found a house the 17th of May.  Owner rented to us a few rooms, but the children should enter only through the back entrance, not to bring dirt with their shoes into her nicely kept home. Chez Mme Moulinil for five days.

The 22nd we moved to a real farmhouse chez Mme Sentout, 99 bis Chemin de Canejan in La Donne. We had empty rooms, a large kitchen with a big stove. We bought beds, kitchen table and chairs, pots and pans – and Sam Krieger transported the furniture to Pessac – until June 13, 1940.  Allez vous-en – get out of here – you are boches – bringing France to its downfall. She practically threw us out.

Through a printer Heine had found a little house in the woods at La Canneau on the ocean, Villa Premier Reve avenue Leon Dominique. Heine went every day to Bordeaux.  One night he did not come back – here I sit with my two little ones – the frogs quacked in the house. I feared the worst.  No telephone.  He had sent a telegram which was delivered two days later!  Well he had worked these days in the city – got the passports to go to Portugal-Spain. The French regime was transferred to the south of France from Paris to Bordeaux and all refugees had to leave the city.

Everybody wanted to get out – the Consulate was under military siege – nobody was allowed to enter.  Heine told one officer – I have my passport inside and I have to get it – he answered somebody tried this trick before – but Dad got in – his passport was in his side pocket.  After long waiting he was admitted to the office – the employee told him – here are passports, look for yours while he watched him – the telephone rings and the employee leaves his desk – the moment Dad could slip his passport into the pile.  After the employee found it, put his stamp on it – and after a few minutes Dad went out of the consulate with the registered passport!!
 
Hitler's soldiers and planes came closer to Bordeaux again and the flight – to Bordeaux train station.  Thousands of refugees stormed the trains – we lost a suitcase – got into the train, put M. & G. into a car – after we looked for a seat.  Heine and me separated.  When we found each other in which car were our children?  On the boardwalk of the train we called Michel, Gaby – we had lost our two children.  A woman on a window called us – here are two children alone in this car…  A miracle we had found them!!!

We got to Dax – out of the train and were led to a school – Ecole Supérieur – could stay there with 100 refugees – then at a small hotel Miramar – 21st [of June], 22nd, the 23rd left Dax.  We then hired a camion for a lot of money. It was pouring, will the driver come or are we trapped.  Later he came.  The children and I inside the camion – Dad dressed like a farmer with the driver.  We made it alongside the Gulf of Biscayne, where we saw the warships anchored, towards Irun, Spain.
 
The borders to Spain were closed – long miles of cars from Belgium and all Europe were stopped – among Erna [Ernestine] and Jos[eph] Akselrod we met – also waiting to get permission to Spain.  Heine went to the official to find out if and when we could go through.  The officer announces in this very moment, the borders are opened – a lucky moment – he runs to get us to the railroad station into the train – to Spain. The 24th June from Irun to Fuenta de Onoro, Spain.  (In margin –Pensiona Livoo –Imporio).  The Spanish girls in the train sang German songs they had learned from the revolution.  German soldiers – and our train speeds towards the Portuguese border to Vilar Formoso to Coimbra – a university city. Only later in the States we heard that a distant relative Hans Dreyfus as well as the Hiller family – later in Kew Gardens and also Dr. Schon were living there.

Since we were not allowed to bring pesos to Portugal we spent all our money at the train restaurant and Dad asked for us the best food and wines and desserts, as much as we could get into our stomachs – we had a real feast!  From Coimbra to Curia, Portugal a little pretty spa – and then to Oporto. In the Express train a very distinguished gentleman took interest of our plight, and took care of us until Oporto – Dr. Abel Portal – his father was the Consul in London.  He helped us finding a good hotel with clean beds.

Dad studied the telephone book to find Jewish names which he did.  The name of Gelerter, a dentist made our acquaintance with two lovely daughters Naomi and Fanny, 27 June. They had a good friend Flora Ehert – who had a large apartment.  We moved to her house – Tanta Flora – and for my housekeeping and cooking we had a lovely home.  She lived a long time in Oporto – an original German girl – had a sister – they both were lovely girls – both had boyfriends. Flora's friend was Abreo who had a travel agency and was an influential man.

We were in contact with Egon, who had stayed in France in Pessac to learn bakery and stayed with Mr. Chassanivral (?) and lived in his house till July 6 to join Max and Gina who were with other refugees in Montigue, close to Toulouse.  In Oporto lived the Levitans, he an employee of Belgian Sofina [Société Financière de Transports et d'Entreprises Industrielles, a large international holding company, headquartered in Brussels]. We had printed for them in Brussels and we got our money from them for old printing bills – that helped a lot.  Leon, Anni and Lillian were good friends during our time in Oporto.  There were big celebrations, the 800th Anniversary [of Portugal] and every evening fireworks.  My fear, the Germans are coming.  We are under steady fear – and Dad's occupation to alert friends, organizations, Jewish Community.  Alfons Wile from Shenley [large whisky company] – relative of mine – Heine travels back and forth to Lisbon, the American Consulate, letters to Nahum Goldmann, sicknesses with high fever the children, Heine, Liesel.
 
July 22 a first letter from Rolf and Otto [12 and 10 year-old nephews who escaped Germany with the Kindertransport in 1938 and were living on the Rothschild estate] from England.  Thank G-d they were safe.  Once in a while letters from Ilse and Mama.  Michael and Gaby learn Portuguese.  We go to the seashore not to be always with refugees, but to try to live a normal life… meet Dr. [Leon] Kubowitzky and family, Dr. Jeff Projansky and Clara.

August 15 Heine gets visa for Costa Rica in Lisbon – we visit the winery Gonzales-Byas through recommendation of Julius Wile.  8/23 telegram Nahum Goldmann hopeful obtain visa – will inform next week, also telegram from Alfons Wile. September 14 Visa approved.  9/28 appointment with Consulate. 10/3/1940 the first day of Rosh Hashanah get our Visa for U.S.A.  Oct. 27 move from Oporto to Lisbon Pensão Algarvo – war with Greece. 11/3 move to Rua do Pogo des Negros. Every morning fresh rolls we got with a basket on a cord – since there was a bakery on the first floor and we high up on the 4th.  Jef and Clara lived in the same house. How to get passage from Lisbon to the States, Abreo from Porto helps – booked with Nea Hellas – is not leaving because war with Greece – again wait – wait – wait.  11/23/1940 embark on the Nyassa to the U.S.A.  On boat till 12/4/1940 arrive in Hoboken.  Alfons Wile, Uncle Otto received us! Ellis Island to pass through. Arrive in Congress House 48 W 68 St. N.Y.

Of course much in the intervening 76 years has been forgotten, but I honestly don't think I remembered any more 50 years ago.  Or at least that's what my wife, Ruth, tells me.  It's always been the same story.

Lady Luck was on our side, May 10th, 1940, when it became obvious that we would have to leave our apartment at Avenue Plantain Moretus and flee with what we could carry before the German army arrived.  A neighbor in our building had ordered a taxi that morning but was unable to travel that day due to illness.  We were offered the taxi!   

The first night we spent in Kortrijk (Courtrai), and it was only when we arrived there that my father realized he'd left behind the bulk of the diamonds he'd been working on.  He had removed them from the safe, placed the bag on a table and then forgotten it in their haste to leave.  Although they'd traveled a relatively short distance, going back to the apartment was out of the question.  It must have been a devastating decision to have to make, but the blitzkrieg had begun and we only thought of heading south as fast as possible.

Next morning the same taxi took us to Veurne (?) on the coast, where we waited 3 days to cross into France.  There were throngs of refugees, the roads were clogged and the French were reluctant to let anyone through.  Amazingly we met up with my aunt and uncle, the Tarnaruders, who had their own car, already full with their two children, Sonia and Boris, and personal belongings.  Still, when our turn came, my mother, sister and baby brother managed to squeeze in too.  I walked through the barrier with my father and Boris and we got to France ahead of those in the car!  That night we all stayed in Boulogne.

The following day the Tarnaruders went their own way, and my father managed to find an empty 18-wheeler with a driver.  Room for several families and we all piled in.  That night was spent in Rouen.  So far progress had been pretty slow, but the next day we took a train to Bordeaux putting many more kilometers between us and the invading army.  Guess who shared our carriage … Madame Pétain!

Now we had a long wait to get the necessary visas to travel through Spain to Portugal.  We stayed in a hotel in Arcachon on the coast for 3 weeks, and each day my father would go into Bordeaux to visit the Portuguese consulate.  The Spanish would not open their borders to refugees unless they had visas to enter Portugal.  In other words, they didn't want anyone staying in Spain.  One has to wonder at the attitude of both the French and Spanish governments but, alas, we're seeing the same scenario played out today with the mass exodus of people from the Middle East.

The bravery of Aristides de Sousa Mendes cannot be overstated.  The Portuguese dictator, Salazar, had forbidden his consul in Bordeaux to issue any more visas to people fleeing Europe.  And in a telegram to this effect, he listed a dozen families by name who should under no circumstances be allowed into Portugal.  The Bacaleinics were on this list.  Mercifully, Sousa Mendes refused to obey these orders and continued to issue 3,000 visas before he was recalled to Portugal to face punishment by the regime.  Here was a man who saved more lives than Schindler being treated as a common criminal in his own country.  Once again Lady Luck was looking out for us and, thanks solely to him, we were all issued visas on June 18, 1940.

Mid June we set off for Bayonne and the Spanish border, and here we waited another week.  Finally we were all loaded into a cattle car marked “Quarante hommes ou huit chevaux” (“Forty men or eight horses”) to cross over from Hendaye.   Fortunately, this was not a very long journey and we soon found ourselves on a bus driving through the mountains.   Looking at a map of Spain, I can only guess at the route, but we probably drove through Burgos, Valladolid, Salamanca and Cuidad Rodrigo to the Portuguese border at Vilar Formoso.

Here we were greeted by the American Red Cross who served us coffee and donuts!  I shall never forget that.  From Vilar Formoso we continued on to Curia, a resort town where many refugees were housed waiting for their passage to America.  For us, it was a 3-month wait.  My father, missing his customary nightly shot of vodka, persuaded a local pharmacy to sell him pure alcohol which he flavored with lemon and who knows what else.  A semblance of normalcy in a very uncertain time.

Finally, the big day approached.  The SS Nea Hellas was due to sail from Lisbon on October 4, 1940.  The last leg of an incredible journey, for us children at least.  My parents were not able to come with us because they had trouble getting visas to enter the United States.  We were all born in Belgium which had a generous quota, but it was uncertain which country my parents had been born in at the time of their birth.  Romania or Russia?  Fortunately, my uncle, Jake Levine, was a lawyer in Chattanooga, TN, and knew of Cordell Hull who was Secretary of State at the time.  After much back and forth, my parents were issued visas and arrived in New York City on the SS Serpa Pinto March 30, 1941.  A six-month wait.  One can only imagine the mixed emotions when my parents said goodbye to their children, hoping we would arrive safely and not knowing if, or when, we'd all be reunited.  My father gave me his beret and a $5 bill as we embarked.  I still have the beret, but not the $5 bill!

In the meantime, my sister, Tamara, and my brother, Max (now Michael), and I arrived in New York City on October 13, 1940.  We were met by two bachelor uncles, Alec and Oscar Levine, who had found an apartment for us all at 87th and Riverside Drive.  I was put into PS87 and Tamara went to Julia Richmond High School.  I have no memory of who was looking after 5-year-old Michael.  I quickly discovered that the best way to learn English was at the movies and I'm sure my $5 bill went a long way in those days.  PS87 was not much fun so I told my teachers my family was moving to Tennessee and spent mornings in the pool in our building and afternoons at the cinema!

After 2 months of looking after us, my uncles had probably had enough.  One day they showed up in a car, as I recall a Buick, and drove the three of us down to live with relatives in Chattanooga.  I was promptly enrolled at the Baylor Military Academy which made me think longingly of PS87.  With very little English and wearing short pants, I was an easy target for teasing, but had to stay through the academic year even though my parents were now in NYC.

So there you have it.  We were certainly one of the lucky families.

Dix mai 1940 : « Partez vite, les allemands arrivent ! ». Cet appel téléphonique court et clair a donné le signal du départ à la famille Ermann, Henri le père ingénieur, Elisabeth la mère modiste et Renée la fille, alors âgée de 10 ans. La famille Ermann résidait Avenue Gaston Diderich à Belair, un quartier tranquille de la capitale du Grand-Duché. Etant conscient de la gravité de la situation Henri Ermann a immédiatement suivi le conseil émanant d’un cousin, a rempli son véhicule de ses affaires les plus précieuses et après y avoir installé sa famille, a pris la fuite en direction de la frontière française en direction … des Etats Unis ! Après de longues heures de voyage, la famille Ermann arrive à Bordeaux avec l’intention d’obtenir un visa pour le Portugal. En mai 1940 le Consul du Portugal à Bordeaux Aristides de Sousa Mendes était un diplomate discret aux ordres de Salazar. Comme son pays acceptait des réfugiés, le Consul accorda facilement un visa à la famille Ermann. Aristides de Sousa Mendes continua par la suite à aider de nombreuses familles juives à fuir les nazis en facilitant leur accès au Portugal. Muni du précieux sésame, Henri Ermann se dirige vers la frontière espagnole et rencontre le premier obstacle. Les autorités espagnoles ne laissent pas passer les véhicules. Seuls les occupants sont autorisés à passer la frontière. Il décide d’abandonner sa Peugeot et de poursuivre le voyage en train en direction de Lisbonne. Arrivé dans la capitale portugaise les réfugiés étaient dirigés vers des cités balnéaires susceptibles d’offrir des logements. C’est ainsi que la petite famille est arrivée à Caldas da Rainha, petite ville à 100 km au nord de Lisbonne.

Une vie heureuse et insouciante à Caldas

« A Caldas, nous étions installé dans une rue qui débouche sur le marché, au 1er  étage d’un magasin de tissus », raconte Renée qui poursuit : « Mon père avait les moyens de payer le loyer et les relations avec le propriétaire étaient cordiales ».

La jeune fille de 10 ans, ignorant d’avoir échappé au funeste destin des juifs restés au Luxembourg, se remémore avec émotion les moments heureux et insouciants passé dans cette charmante ville de Caldas . «  J’allais à l’école portugaise avec mes nouveaux amis, Maria Cristina Morais do Valle , fille de la directrice de cette école, et Rui Pinto Ferreira, fils d’un militaire du R15, une caserne située en plein cœur de la ville. En dehors des heures d’école, nous jouions dans la rue, nous faisions du vélo ou de longues balades au parc ou nous regardions les bateaux qui naviguaient sur le grand lac. Nous passions également devant les fenêtres de la caserne pour nous amuser des militaires qui apprenaient à lire et à écrire. Comme tous les enfants de la ville, je me sentais très bien et parfaitement intégrée dans mon nouvel environnement. Les gens étaient bienveillants à notre égard et j’étais traitée à l’égal de tous les enfants portugais. C’est ainsi que j’ai appris cette belle langue que je n’ai jamais oublié et que je parle encore », indique Renée Ermann quelques 75 ans plus tard ! « Dans la ville je me rappelle la boulangerie Gato Preto (Chat noir) et l’hôtel Rosa, une résidence chic pour personnes aisées, notamment originaires de Hollande. A cet égard je me souviens d’une anecdote : Il y a avait des enfants pauvres qui déambulaient pieds nus. Une famille hollandaise souhaitant les aider leur a offert des chaussures. Le lendemain les enfants allèrent à l’école … toujours pieds nus en arborant fièrement les chaussures à la main ! De temps en temps nous partions en autocar pour visiter les villes voisines comme Obidos, Bomberal ou Foz do Arelha », raconte-t-elle. Seul Henri Ermann allait quelques fois à Lisbonne, vraisemblablement pour aider d’autres réfugiés au sein d’une organisation juive.

La suite du voyage vers les Etats Unis
Avec la propagation de la guerre, la famille Ermann décide de quitter le Portugal. A Pâques 1942 Henri, Elisabeth et Renée reprennent la route et le bateau en direction de la Jamaïque, à l’époque territoire britannique, où ils résidèrent quasiment deux années. « Pendant cette période j’ai appris l’anglais chez les Sœurs à la High-School avec mes amies qui étaient pratiquement toutes métisses ! », raconte Renée. Après cela ils continuent vers Cuba, où la jeune fille, alors âgée de 15 ans, apprend la langue espagnole. Habitant La Havane, mère et fille trouvent un travail auprès de diamantaires. Renée explique : « Pendant la guerre les diamantaires étaient à Anvers, les grands diamants étaient taillés aux Etats-Unis alors que les petits diamants étaient travaillés à Cuba. J’ai aidé ma mère à faire ce travail pendant un an afin de mettre un peu d’argent de côté. »

Deux ans plus tard la famille reçoit enfin l’autorisation de s’installer aux Etats-Unis définitivement. A New-York, Elisabeth Ermann travaille dans une fabrique de cravates tenue par des allemands. Renée naturellement, l’aide ! Le père travaille dans une usine de peintures. Mais le rêve américain est de courte durée, car la famille ne s’y sent pas à l’aise et a le mal du pays. Après la libération, la famille décide de retourner au Luxembourg pour Pâques de l’année 1946.

Retour au Luxembourg
De retour à Luxembourg, la famille a retrouvé sa maison et a recommencé sa vie luxembourgeoise. Henri Ermann est devenu représentant, Renée a trouvé un emploi de vendeuse chez Meta Brahms, un magasin de chapeau appartenant à une de ses tantes. En 1951 elle rencontre André Karas qu’elle épouse en 1952 et avec qui elle crée un magasin de prêt à porter en France à Villerupt. De cette union sont nés deux enfants, Gérard et Paulette. Ils résidèrent à Villerupt une trentaine d’années. Après avoir habité à Thionville pendant une vingtaine d’années Renée et André sont revenus habiter au Grand-duché en 2007, toujours dans l’Avenue Gaston Diderich. Un retour aux sources !

Article écrit en portugais par Carlos Cipriano et paru le 24 juillet 2015 dans la Gazetta des Caldas et le 23 septembre 2015 dans le Contacto.  Traduction libre de Patricia Pererira et Gérard Karas

In the evening many members came to the synagogue.  One of them invited me to sleep at her house until we could find lodging.  It was her son who liked me.  He was very attentive towards me from the first moment he saw me. He was 20 years old and did everything for me.  I had only to point out what I wanted.  He said he would even "fall out" with his family for me.  Since I had nothing else to do, we met every day. He was, indeed, a very fine young man, and I understood him very well.  Because of this he took our relationship seriously.  He gave me a present: a lovely handkerchief, but this did not bring me any luck.

The Germans advanced closer and closer.  On one particular day we experienced two bombardments.  The day before we had gotten the visas for Portugal and we were so exhausted.  The deciding factor to leave came when my brother, whom we had not heard from in four weeks (since his conscription into the French army), arrived home quite suddenly.  I think of the handkerchief...  The luggage was packed...  Again, we had to start on our way, with the help of G-d.

It is 1:00 p.m. now.  Our turn has come.  All the formalities are done with.  We walk the few steps toward the French border barriers, show the official a white slip of paper; he takes it, says "Merci" one last time, and gives a signal with his hand.  The toll bar rises slowly...  One step and we're no longer in France.  Just a few more steps...  We look behind us.  Stand still here in no-man's-land for a moment, quietly.  We think back with melancholy:  Adieu, France...  Glorious, beautiful France!  Why did it have to come to this?  Why?  Slowly we walk toward the opposite end of the bridge.  And only a lively dispute abruptly rouses us from our dreamlike state.  What has happened? A few seconds later we catch sight of a man talking insistently to the Spanish officials and gesticulating energetically all the while.  The discussion grows louder and louder.  It is clear:  the Spaniards are unwilling to let the man pass through.  In vain, he shows his visas, his diplomatic passport.  Nothing helps:  Mr. [Nicolae] Titulescu, Romania's former foreign minister, is not allowed to pass.  He has to go back.  Back to France.

And 24 hours later, as we arrive at the Portuguese border, the swastika flag is already flying at the Hendaye bridge.

Lisbon is sold out. One can compare it to Salzburg during the few weeks of the old Salzburg Festival. The hotels are chock-a-block, and people rent out bathrooms and spread mattresses out in hallways. Cafés and restaurants are packed. Nothing like this has been seen here in many years.  The city is reviving.  Enormous sums of foreign currency have come into the country and are put into circulation by foreigners.  But the Portuguese know how to appreciate this, and treat foreigners with enchanting courtesy.

Officially, Portugal is strictly neutral.  This neutrality is even heeded at the newsstands.  The English and German press – daily newspapers and magazines – hang side by side, and always in parity: 10 daily newspapers from London must be accorded space next to 10 daily papers from Berlin, etc.

What should one say in reply?  That the mood among the refugees is not exactly rosy?  That only a relatively tiny fraction of them have a chance of getting a US visa?  That the news arriving from France is getting worse by the day?

He came to Paris - he went west, young man - from Russia when he was 14 - he didn't even speak French. And my mother came all the way down from the north to the south in order to leave Russia when the Bolshevik revolution came. So they both ended up in France, in Paris, and they fell in love around 1920.

They married when I was seven years old - I was born out of wedlock because my father's first wife didn't give him a divorce. We were a very affluent family - my father was an importer of precious stones and pearls - and a very well known family of what was called then, 'assimilated Jews.'

By the late 1930s, we were very much exposed to the worst that would happen through the [Nazi] Occupation.

My father didn't want to leave France - he thought it was traitorous to leave the place that had given him his fortune and his life and everything.

But at the last moment, in 1940, we had to go and we crossed the border into Spain. We had tried to get out with more members of our family. Every time we went to the frontier, it was blocked, it was closed, we couldn't all get out.

My father finally said, 'Let's try again, just the three of us.' And we went through like nothing was wrong.

We stayed in Spain for approximately three days, waiting in a small mountain border village, for a smuggler to bring out my mother's jewelry in a little box, over the frontier.

But that didn't work out. Because the Germans were all there, the army was already there, all over the border, waiting to come into France. And sure enough, we left and that afternoon the swastika was on our villa.

The jewelry never came, and then we went by train to Portugal with the idea that we would end up in Lisbon and get visas to go to the U.S.

Well, that didn't work out. At first, we couldn't get into Lisbon. Because it was so full of refugees and they refused people coming in from trains or anywhere else. They would reroute them to three choices of another city or town or village - and we ended up in a little spot called Luso. There was a beautiful, beautiful forest called Buçaco that was filled with hydrangeas.

We ended up there because my father asked the train conductor, 'If you had to choose between these three, where would you go?' and the conductor said, 'Oh, I'd go to Luso.'

So we ended up there. We spent three months trying to get exit visas. My father and several other refugees - also Jewish men with their families - rented a jalopy and every second night they would spend the whole night traveling to Lisbon. They would spend the day there going to all the consulates trying to get exit visas. Then they'd come back to Luso in order not to spend the night in Lisbon, which was not allowed.

I was thirteen years old and enjoying myself. This was the first time I'd lived in a place like that - a little village. It was quite wonderful.

Meanwhile, our visa for staying in Portugal was coming to an end. We were then supposed to be sent back into France - where we would probably end up in a concentration camp and be killed.

So my father is sitting in the Brazilian consulate's waiting room, waiting to talk to the consul to try to get our exits, and a guy passes by who happens to be the French ambassador to Portugal.

And he looks at my father and says, 'Leonard, what are you doing here'? My father knew all these people. And so through the ambassador we got our visas and were on the next boat to Brazil, called the Baje. We ended up in Rio de Janeiro. We stayed ten months.

We had no money left, because we didn't have the jewelry to make money and because my father was one of the few people who didn't have money in foreign banks, again because of his idea of patriotism - 'We don't take it out of France.'

My father began to know people because we had been written about in the papers - 'Leonard Rosenthal and his family are here, blah blah blah.' So my father got entry into all these political places and money places and all of that.

So we were continuing our lives, thinking we were settling in Brazil. And then one day, the American consul called my father.

Little by little, it turned out that the Jews who were coming to Brazil from Europe and wanting to establish themselves there were either sent to prison or disappeared. Unbeknownst to anybody in the world, the Nazis had taken over the government in an underground coup.

Our past overtures to come to the U.S. hadn't turned out because my mother's hometown in Riga had been taken over by the Bolsheviks who dissolved the consulate there so we couldn't access her records needed to emigrate.

But the U.S. consulate began to know what was going on in the Brazilian government. The consul called and said to my father, 'Just between you and me, off the record, leave the country. There is a boat going to the U.S. in four days. Be on that boat.'

We boarded that boat in Rio. We passed the equator one more time, stopping in Bahia, Trinidad, all these interesting Caribbean places, and one week later, we ended up in New York.

The American Consul in Oporto became interested in the case and on August 5, 1940 sent the Department of State a cablegram....  The answer, unhappily, said in an administrative way that children under 16 could only travel with their parents.  The American Consul under these circumstances regretted very much that he could not give a visa to the child.

Mr. and Mrs. Wolff consider themselves the parents of the child and if they have not adopted her it is only because Belgian laws put some conditions with regard to age which are not yet fulfilled.

In the very near future, Mrs. Tuteur, of whom I spoke with you will be leaving Portugal.  The child knows her and it would be especially desirable that she leave with her.  I would be deeply grateful if you could advise the Consul that the Department of State does not oppose this as the Consul himself seemed to be quite prepared to grant the visa.

I know the respect due regulations but the United States Government will show a large understanding of the exceptional times in which we live and as in many cases grant this visa due to the exceptional merits of the case and for the many humanitarian reasons which I do not have to put before you.

During April and May 1940 we had moved closer to Paris at friends’ house in the Loire valley.  The day that Nazi troops entered Paris, my father left.  He was driving.  He came to pick us up taking 14 hours for the 220 km. trip due to the “exode.” 

We left immediately for Bordeaux where my grandmother, two uncles and aunts plus their children were already located. After a tormentous family gathering, my father declared that we would be leaving for Spain and Portugal as soon as possible. My uncles were not as anxious but finally decided to follow.

The following day, my mother obtained our 17 passports and then went to the Portuguese consulate expecting to spend many hours or possibly a couple of days in the queue.  Much to her surprise, she was attended by the Consul and obtained our 17 visas in a couple of minutes.  During more than 50 years thereafter she still did not understand why this had happened…..

The next day we all left for the Spanish frontier where we waited on line during 3 days and 2 nights before crossing the bridge from Hendaye to Irún…..

In 1914, when the Germans occupied Belgium, my father fled to Holland. In Scheveningen he met my mother Rosa Hammel who was also from Antwerp, and they got married and obtained Dutch nationality. The parents of my mother came from Jaroslaw, Poland. My grandfather Jacob Hammel had a job in furs. In 1922 my parents came back to Belgium. We lived on Antoon van Dijckstraat, and also my two grandmothers lived on the same street. My grandmother was a Gutwirth, a rich family in the diamond business.

My father was a very sociable man. He got along with everybody. He spoke many languages and was a very good salesman. Selling was in his blood. The Gutwirth firm sent my father to Indonesia, which was called back then the Dutch East Indies, to sell diamonds. I was only 6-months old when my mother left to Batavia (Jakarta, Indonesia) to join my father. I was raised by my grandmother until the age of 4 when my parents returned from Indonesia.  My mother’s brothers had left at that time for Cologne in Germany to deal in furs.

In 1928 my father decided also to go to Cologne and became a textile merchant. Business was good. I attended the Jewish school in German, a language I knew because I had a German nanny (Fraulein).  I was in Cologne for four years. My older brother went already to the “Gymnasium” (high school).  

One day my father’s office was attacked by Nazi S.A. youth. Police brought him home while the Nazis followed them. We realized that the situation was really dangerous for us. We had at the time two Maybach (ultra-luxury German brand) cars with drivers and a good life. Shortly after that attack we collected our belongings and drove back to Antwerp where my father restarted his business. He had a replacement person in Cologne who took care of my father’s affairs and therefore was able to recover much of his money.  That money was invested in the Antwerp Minerva car factory owned by Sylvain Salomon de Jong (a Jew of Dutch origin) and eventually got lost when the company went bankrupt.

We were at home with five kids: Emile who now lives in Australia, Isidore and Sylvain, who passed away, and my sister Edith who also lives in Australia.  I went to a school at the Belgiëlei street. I had good tutors, very helpful. I learned Dutch very quickly. Later I went to the Royal Atheneum (high school) where we had a friendly gymnastics teacher whom we called “polar bear” and nicknamed him “horsehead”.  Rabbi Shapira taught us Judaism classes. I have, though, bad memories of our history teacher who was pro-Nazi. Our director Declerk was not a kind man, but he was a great Belgian patriot.

In general I have good memories of the Atheneum school and I still remember the names of a few friends like Harry Wachsberg who lives in the US, Henri Teichler who is also in the US, Silberberg who changed his name to Randolf, and other names like Roisen, Ferman, Laub.

To my regret I have to say that the relations with the non-Jewish boys were not so good. At school itself it was all right most of the time and I had several friends among my classmates. One, named Verboven, was a close friend. He became later a politician.  But on the streets things went badly.  We lived on Helenalei Street so I had a long walk to the Atheneum.

Along the city park and in the streets there were groups of youngsters shouting at me “dirty Jew.” I could not stand that and it often resulted in fights.  I was beaten and went to school with bruises and blood on my clothes.  I then bought a knuckleduster and fought back.  That went on for some time, but it was no solution. So we went in groups of five or six Jewish boys and then all was quiet, because most of the time we outnumbered them... But the memory of those “dirty Jew” shouts is still in my mind and left a very negative impression.

Another incident that is still on my mind happened when I was with my brothers at the beach, I think it was in Blankenberge. We dug a big hole in the sand when three boys came to destroy it all. They were bigger than us (I was about twelve at the time and my brothers were younger) but we defended ourselves. A man nearby separated us. Then one of the boys shouted “They are Jews!” and then the man returned immediately to his chair and gave a sign that he did not want to be involved. Now this was a “good man” who wanted peace between fighting children but because we were Jews it was “okay” to beat us. I also remember when one day I went to the cinema with my brothers and were beaten by children sitting behind us.

We lived for a while on Isabellalei Street in a house where the garden was bordering a building on Belgiëlei Street. In that building lived the Van Parys family, fruit merchants.  I still remember the “LVP” sign on the oranges and bananas. They were a very rich Catholic family.  With the Van Parys kids we were close friends.  They came to us through the garden wall and we went to visit them.  We played all kind of games including something about the Wall of Jerusalem. So I also had good experiences but nevertheless I can still hear those “dirty Jew” taunts.

We had a Jewish club called “Achduth.”  I still remember the names of a few members like Lou Steinfeld, who later left for Rio de Janeiro, Henri Grauer who I believe is in the US, Theo Lewkowicz, and the girls Dora Steiner, Betty Gans, Tamara (whose last name I forgot), Dora Werzberg, who is still active in the US, and a few more friendly girls.  Achduth was a Zionist organization with no affiliation to any political Zionist party.  It had a library of 300 books and collected money for the Jewish National Fund to purchase land for the Jewish pioneers.

I will always remember that Friday, May 10th, 1940.  I was preparing for my studies and school assignments and slept little that night. Suddenly I heard loud noises. I went to the window and saw aircrafts flying over town and a series of cigar-shaped bombs dropping down from the airplanes.  This was war, after the drôle de guerre that had been going on for the last six months. But now it was no game anymore. Banks and the diamond bourse with its safes were closed.  The family could not withdraw cash and left for the coast. After a few days, when civilians were not allowed to travel, my mother said it was time to leave.

We fled to France and arrived at Dunkirk, I think in fact behind the German tanks that had moved very fast ahead. Every time when German airplanes appeared over us, people ran to the fields and to the canals. The pilots aimed at the civilians, shooting all the time. I saw a pilot targeting a farmer and his two horses, shooting at him several times. It seemed the Germans wanted to create panic among the people. There were also soldiers in the crowds, including British, but because of the panic it was impossible for them to operate as an army.

We too were in that crowd and could hardly make any progress. There was no petrol, not even water. The French farmers behaved terribly.  I saw a farmer standing next to a well holding up a glass of water while his wife sold it for twenty francs. His son stood next to him with a loaded shotgun to protect his parents. Near the road others were selling petrol in metal cans for inflated prices.  My father thought to be clever and stuck his finger in to smell the can. After a few kilometers our car’s engine began to cough and it stopped.  In the can my father bought, under a layer of petrol there was only water... So we lost our car all of a sudden and had to walk with the thousands of refugees.  In the meantime the Germans continued to fly over us and shoot at the people.

We passed the village of Tréport. At one point we managed to steal somewhere a small carriage and put our old granny on top of it together with our luggage. We continued walking when suddenly nine aircrafts came towards us.  I think they were Junkers.  They dropped bombs that made a sharp whistling sound before exploding.  There was a great panic.  I jumped into a house whose glass windows were shattered.  It was terrible.  Women were praying along the roadside and there were casualties and dead people.

Finally we arrived at Rouen 123 km from Paris. The river Seine runs through the city and there is a bridge that stands on a central pillar.  There were hundreds of people there and you could not move ahead.  In a few minutes German planes came again, everybody ran in all directions.  At that moment the bridge closed up.  On the bridge there was a railway and some wagons.  I crawled under one of them.  Next to me was a French boy of about twenty.  I was seventeen.  He said to me caches-toi (“hide”). Two Stuka (Junkers) planes were aiming and shooting at the boats on the river.  The French boy took his rifle and put a bullet in the barrel.  It fell on the ground. He picked it up, cleaned it with his sleeve, took the gun again and shot at the airplanes. They repeated their attacks and fired at the wagons. I could see the pilot.  When they left one of the ships was burning with huge clouds of smoke.  The Frenchman and I embraced each other.  We survived!

I went looking for my family who had disappeared.  The bridge was blocked.  I was told that if I go back 10km I would find a pedestrian bridge and from there I could walk back along the other side of the river to get to Rouen train station.  There was no other way, so I started to walk.  After a few kilometers I found my family who followed the same route. We were happy to be together again.  After a long walk we arrived at the station where thousands tried to find a place on the train to Paris.  There was little chance to get on that train.  You couldn’t go with any luggage because there was room only for people who were trying to save their own lives.

There we were standing with our grandmother who was in her seventies (which was considered an old woman at that time), and a small child (my sister).  When the train arrived, we tried to push ourselves with the others into the train. Suddenly someone shouted laissez-passer la grandmère (“let the grandmother pass”) and all of a sudden people stepped aside and let us into the train. You wouldn’t expect such a reaction in a time of war.

We stood in the train which rode quickly to Paris. When we arrived it was like another world.  Everything was normal, no trace of war.  The weather was beautiful that month of May.  People walked the streets and went shopping.  We took a taxi to a little cheap hotel, because we had no money, only the clothes we were wearing.  Luckily there was a man in Paris who owed my father some money and he paid him.  Paris lived normally, pedestrians on the Champs Elysées and in the theaters and cafés.  Where was the war?  But we couldn’t get any food which was reserved only for the French.

The Germans were still approaching.  My mother took the initiative to continue to move on.  We went to Bordeaux by train. There were thousands of refugees amongst them many Jews.  The non-Jews had mostly returned to their homes as soon as they were captured by the Germans.  In Bordeaux we managed to get a visa to Haiti and a transit visa to Spain and Portugal.  We left the crowded city of Bordeaux to Arcachon, a small coastal town 40 km west of Bordeaux where we rented an apartment, and stayed there for two weeks.

The Germans occupied more and more of France but it was still quiet here.  We bought bathing suits and went to the beach. As the Germans were still approaching it was time for us to go.  We arrived by train to Hendaye on the border with Spain where the river Bidassoa forms the border. On the opposite side was the Spanish town of Irun. There were many people and we had to pass through the French customs first.  People were looted by the French border officials.  All your luggage had to be inspected and they decided which item was allowed in and which was not.  My mother gave them a few gold coins and finally we passed through.

We were in Spain and free!  We sat down in a little café opposite the station waiting for the train to take us through Spain to Portugal. Suddenly we heard roaring motorcycles on the French side of the bridge, just a hundred meters from us. German soldiers on motorcycles with side-cars were scaring people away, they pulled down the French flag off its pole and replaced it with a Swastika flag. Although we were safe, it made a horrifying impact on us. That was June 22nd, 1940.

In Portugal the family was sent to the university town of Coimbra.  We had to renew our visa every two weeks. Because we stayed there for some time, I went to the university library where I could read newspapers from around the world. For the Germans, Dunkirk was a victory where they captured 600,000 prisoners of war, while for the British press 200,000 soldiers were saved there... 

The Portuguese were not very happy with all the refugees, nevertheless the population was kind.  The family moved to Lisbon and rented a small house. In the US, Henri Stolz’s sister Laura was applying for an immigration visa for us but the American State Department put many obstacles. Time passed by and we ran out of money.

Evaluating the situation, my father remembered the time he spent in the Dutch East Indies and the good life he had there. Being Dutch citizens we could go there without much difficulty.  Father visited the Dutch consulate to secure the family’s voyage to the Dutch East Indies which was quickly arranged. But grandmother had only Polish nationality and was not allowed to go along. Therefore I stayed behind with her in Lisbon, while the family left by boat to Java.

Already speaking some Portuguese I obtained a job with a firm that used my language skills. After a few months, the Dutch consulate realized that the old Polish lady was no threat to anyone and so we were allowed to make that journey to join the family in Java. We left in a small freighter ship with twelve passengers from Lisbon around Africa to Java, sailing first to the island of Madeira, then to Boma in the Belgian Congo, then several harbors, and around the cape to Durban in South Africa. In Durban we visited the Gurwith family who were living here and we received some money from them. Via Lourenço Marques in Mozambique and the Seychelles islands we sailed in a sea where German boats were attacking unarmed allied freighters and sank them. No lights were allowed therefore on board the freighter. One night we had to stay awake on deck near the lifeboats. Finally we arrived at Batavia (which later became Jakarta) in Java where we were placed in a camp for a while.

In the meantime my father was back to work again trading in diamonds. He felt at home. We rented a big home in Bandung, a city in the hills. After a while we had no fewer than 22 servants. Everything was fine.

My brother and I were drafted to the Dutch army Reserve Officers Corps. My brother rose to the rank of the camp’s aide. In December 1941 the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor which meant war.  Dutch East Indies (Indonesia) was also attacked and eventually occupied by the Japanese. My family was placed in a camp and my brother was put in jail.  I was very lucky since because of my fluent English I was sent earlier in an army delegation to India to liaise between the Dutch and the British armies.

By now, the Japanese occupied all of Dutch East Indies so there was nothing for us to do in New Delhi, but I couldn’t go back. I asked the British to give me some military position and in 1942 I received a special permit to enlist in the British army and was transferred from the Dutch army to the British army. I was given the rank of Lieutenant in Force 136 with the mission to make contact with the Karen people, Christians who lived in the jungles of Burma behind the Japanese lines.  We had to supply them with arms in their struggle.

I was transferred from Rangoon to the Allied Forces Southeast Asia and was given several assignments in the War Crimes Commission which investigated the Japanese war crimes.  In the beginning I had some contacts with my family. Then we left Burma.  There were many internal problems in India with Hindustan and Pakistan and also in Malaya. I was in Singapore with the General Staff Office.  I learned from my aunt Laura in New York that my family had left for Australia and I renewed the contacts with them.  Meanwhile my father was back to work again and I met him in Singapore when he came for business.

At the time I signed up with the British army to serve in the “Emergency Commission” as long as there was an emergency. As war ended I asked for demobilization, but the British saw it differently:  Because of the situation in India I had to remain in the army since I was an officer in the British army in India.  So I was involved in the hostilities between Muslims and Hindus, between India and Pakistan, a conflict that inflicted tens of thousands of victims and where millions were shifted from one country to another.  I had to defend the British interests.  I was 24 years of age.

Life in the jungle was hard mostly because of the heat and the fighting.  In Singapore I had a very good life, but in India it was a permanent state of alert again.  We were being shot at and we fired at the Indian people who were fighting an anti-British struggle for their independence.  Finally in 1947 I got a notice that I was being released from army service.  I had to be in London in person for the demobilization process.  We arrived some 2000 men by boat to England.  I was given civilian clothes and a large sum of money because I had not gotten my full salary for years. There were also extras for jungle time, dangers, etc.  I was finally free.

Quite understandably, the Swiss were not giving visas to people unable to produce evidence that they could eventually travel further, and who might thus become public charges in Switzerland. Hence any person we assisted to bypass the French border police had to have a visa in his passport indicating that he could travel to some overseas country... Soon several of our agencies were engaged in forgery.

The Czech Aid office was a good example. We had a few specialists in consular signatures. One man could make a perfect imitation of the signature of the Mexican attaché responsible for issuing visas; another practiced for weeks to be able to forge the name of the Portuguese consul general...

An amusing incident occurred with regard to the Portuguese consul's signature. After my Czech friend had reproduced this autograph on some scores of passports, he was astounded one day to receive a letter from the gentleman in question himself, with his own bona fide signature. It turned out that a French friend of Czech Aid told the Portuguese consul about our farms, suggesting that he write and ask for help in feeding his family.

I remember there were lots of other cars with mattresses tied to the roofs and bikes tied to the backs. The mattresses were partly for sleeping but also a feeble protection against bullets because German planes were strafing the columns of refugees. For years, whenever I saw cars with mattresses tied to their roofs, it would give me the chills.

My father rejoined us from Paris at Hendaye, at the Spanish border. He abandoned his Citroen there. Maybe he gave it to a French friend, Nina, with whom I recall spending the night on the way south. She gave me a stuffed toy, a black plastic dog that I still have somewhere.  By then, I think Paris had fallen. He met my mother and me at the border and we went across Spain to Portugal. I recall an older Dutch refugee couple in their train compartment, where they gave me a hardboiled egg and a peach.

We stayed for two weeks in Lisbon, waiting for the boat [SS Manhattan]. My father told me it was the last boat taking American refugees from Europe. I remember my parents' friends, Miriam and Georges Blum, were also with us in Lisbon, waiting for that boat. Miriam was one of my mother's best friends, and I called her Aunt Miriam. She was American and Georges was Belgian, but must also have been a naturalized US citizen like my father.

At one point, I remember having a crying fit in Lisbon when my parents and the Blums tried to leave me for a time in a jardin d'enfants with lots of children's miniature pedal cars.

At sea, I remember the sailors hurriedly hauling up the American flag at the back of the boat. It was explained to me that it was so that German submarines wouldn't sink a US ship. 

More personally, I recall leaving the family cabin en route, when I was supposed to have been napping in my parents’ absence and putting my shoes on the wrong feet.  I also recall watching movies on board.

I recall the arrival in New York, a crowd on the dock, searching for our luggage, being greeted by mother’s family. Aunt Pearlie kept telling the story that when my mother's family met us at the boat in New York, someone gave me a banana, which I held up in one hand, with the other hand outstretched, and I said, "Encore," meaning that I wanted a banana for the other hand.

We stayed there in an apartment house in which the basement proved a valuable, often used bomb shelter. After approximately one week, my mother and grandparents and I went back to Lodz. Sometime thereafter, my father found out that the Bolivian Consul General in Hamburg, Germany was issuing visas to Bolivia to those who could pay for them. He finally managed, after some time, to contact this diplomat and secured the visas.

Getting permission from the Nazi officials in Lodz to leave proved more difficult, but it was finally granted. The date for my mother and me to leave was shortly after mid-November, but I came down with appendicitis. After surgery, and a long recuperative period, and some hard-fought extensions, we were allowed to leave on January 18, 1940.

Before boarding the train to Hamburg, my mother admonished me not to say a word on the whole trip. She, the beneficiary of a German school education in Lodz, spoke fluent German and made the ride much easier for me, a totally non-German speaker. The following day, accompanied by the Consul's wife and son, we rode by train to the Belgian border, where, after five months of separation, we were reunited with my father. Living in Brussels, learning to speak French, and eating was great fun....until... May 10, 1940, surely "a day that will live in infamy," when Hitler invaded Belgium and Holland.

So, now there were three Rozenfeld refugees "on the run." From Brussels to the Belgian coastal town of La Panne, into France by rail, and through France to near the English Channel the same way. My father failed in attempts to get visas to England, and we turned back, again by rail through Paris and into southern France winding up in Bordeaux.

That city is where a most important event occurred. My father heard that visas might be available at the Portuguese consulate for safe passage, through fascist Spain to Portugal, a neutral country. I don't know how many visits to that consulate he made, but on May 24 we received our Portuguese visas signed by the Consul General, Aristides de Sousa Mendes.  This wonderful human being, father of fourteen children, with his whole family and the consular staff in Bordeaux and a neighboring city Bayonne worked a miracle in June.... My father also got American visas for us in Bordeaux.

On to Portugal, and Lisbon, the capital and busy port. Alas, my father finally ran out of funds. A New York bank, where he had some money, blocked his access to them due to the European war. Then, another miracle occurred. My parents met a woman who was on vacation in Lisbon with her granddaughters. Her name was Marilla Cole, an old line American from Upper Montclair, New Jersey, whose family was in the American diplomatic foreign service. She lent my father money for passage, found us a ship, and guaranteed our journey to America. So, on July 12, 1940 we docked in Hoboken, New Jersey, and thus began the happiest part of my life.

Brief Background:

Henri Stakgold – born August 20, 1891, in Skersh (near Lodz), Poland. Married Rose Wishengrad in 1916 in Denmark. Father of Ruth and Ivar. Died July 4, 1966, in NYC. Buried in New Montefiore Cemetery, Farmingdale, Long Island, NY.

Rose Stakgold (nee Wishengrad) – born January 15, 1894, in Bialystok, Russia. Mother of Ruth and Ivar. Died September 21, 1976, in Queens, NY. Buried in New Montefiore Cemetery, Farmingdale, Long Island, NY.

Ruth Stakgold – born February 28, 1917, in Copenhagen, Denmark. Married Harry (Rabinowitz) Wennerholm on May 19, 1938, in Brussels, in Le Grande Synagogue de Bruxelles on 32 Rue de la Regence. Ruth and Harry had two children: Renee and Irene. Ruth and Harry were divorced in the USA in 1945. Ruth remarried to Farrel Wolfe from NY. Ruth and Farrel had one child: David. Ruth and Farrel were divorced on September 7, 1983, in NYC.  Ruth immigrated to Israel in 1990. Died in Kfar Saba, Israel, on May 29, 2006. Buried in Kfar Nachman Cemetery, Raanana, Israel.

Ivar Stakgold - born December 13, 1925, in Lysaker (near Oslo), Norway. Ivar became a world renowned mathematician and a champion bridge player. Married Alice. Ivar and Alice had one child: Alissa. Ivar currently lives in San Diego, CA.

Harry (Rabinowitz) Wennerholm – born on April 7, 1914 in Copenhagen, Denmark. Married Ruth on May 19, 1938, in Brussels. After reaching the USA in early 1941, returned to Europe to serve with the US Armed Forces based in London, England. His assignment involved psychological warfare and multi-language broadcasting (Danish, German and English). Died in October, 1970, in Colchester, UK. Father of: Renee and Irene.

Timeline:

• 1929 – The Stakgold family (Henri, Rose, Ruth and Ivar) move from Norway to Belgium. The reason was business. Henri’s business (Corneliussen & Stakgold), dedicated to the import of American automobile parts, had grown significantly. The company needed better port/shipping services, and it was decided to open offices in the port city of Antwerp (Anvers). The office was located on Rue Lamoriniere, Antwerp.
• 1929-1931 – The family lived in Brussels at an address that Ivar could not remember.
• 1931 - The family moved to a house on 423 Avenue Louise, in a very fashionable part of Brussels.
• May 19, 1938 – Ruth was married to Harry (Rabinowitz) Wennerholm from Copenhagen, Denmark. The marriage took place in Brussels at Le Grande Synagogue de Bruxelles on 32 Rue de la Regence. Ruth and Harry set up their home in Denmark.
• 1938 – After Ruth’s marriage, the family moved from the house on Avenue Louise to an apartment on Avenue Jeanne, where they lived until April 21, 1940.
• September 1, 1939 – WW2 begins with the German invasion of Poland.
• February/March, 1940 - Ruth and Harry leave Denmark for Belgium on the advice of Henri (was this a “hunch” or “well sourced intelligence”?). Ruth was approximately 6 months pregnant when they arrived in Brussels and moved in with the family.
• April 9, 1940 – Denmark surrenders to the Germans. Fortunately, Ruth and Harry escaped a few months earlier.
• April, 1940 – Henri is the US on business and instructs the family to leave Belgium immediately for France since a German invasion of Belgium seems imminent.
• April 21, 1940 – Rose (46), Harry (25), Ruth (23 and now 8 months pregnant) and Ivar (14) get into the family Buick and drive to Nice in the southeast of France. In Nice, the family lives in “Villa la Souleiado” on Chemin de la Serena. Distance from Brussels to Nice: 1200 km/750 miles.
• May 7, 1940 – Ruth gives birth to a baby girl in Clinique Ste. Marie, Nice. The baby is named Renée.
• May 10, 1940 – Germany invades Belgium, France, Luxembourg and the Netherlands.
• June 11, 1940 – Italy enters WW2, joining the Axis powers. The family is concerned that Italy may invade the southeast region of France (Nice) and therefore they quickly leave Nice and drive to the town of Arcachon (in 1940 pop. 15,000) on the southwestern coast of France, near Bordeaux. Distance from Nice to Arcachon: 860 km/535 miles. The place they finally settle down in is called Cap Ferret, opposite Arcachon, on the Bay of Arcachon. Here they believe they will be safe while making arrangements to sail to the Dominican Republic (DR).
• June 24, 1940 – The family (now numbering 5 members) receives a visa for travel to DR by the Dominican Consulate in Bordeaux.
• June 24, 1940 – The very same day, the family receives a visa to travel to Portugal (via Spain) from the Portuguese Consulate in Toulouse, under the authority of the Portuguese Consul Aristides de Sousa Mendes. It is due to the incredible bravery and morality of this Righteous Gentile, Aristides de Sousa Mendes, that our family was saved and that we are here today to recount the story. The members of our family that escaped Europe thanks to Aristides de Sousa Mendes, are:

1. Rose Stakgold – born January 15, 1894 in Bialystok, Russia. Mother of Ruth and Ivar. Died September 21, 1976, in Queens, NY. Buried in New Montefiore Cemetery, Farmingdale, Long Island, NY.
2. Ivar Stakgold - born December 13, 1925, in Lysaker (near Oslo), Norway. Ivar became a world-renowned mathematician and a champion bridge player. Married Alice. Ivar and Alice had one child: Alissa. Ivar currently lives in San Diego, CA.
3. Ruth Rabinowitz (later changed to Wennerholm when immigrating to the USA), née Stakgold, born February 28, 1917, in Copenhagen, Denmark. Married Harry (Rabinowitz) Wennerholm on May 19, 1938, in Brussels, in Le Grande Synagogue de Bruxelles on 32 Rue de la Regence. Ruth and Harry had two children: Renée and Irene. Ruth and Harry were divorced in the USA in 1945. Ruth remarried to Farrel Wolfe from NY. Ruth and Farrel had one child: David. Ruth and Farrel were divorced on September 7, 1983, in NYC. Ruth immigrated to Israel in 1990. Died in Kfar Saba, Israel, on May 29, 2006. Buried in Kfar Nachman Cemetery, Raanana, Israel.
4. Harry Rabinowitz (later changed to Wennerholm when immigrating to the USA) born on April 7, 1914 in Copenhagen, Denmark. Married Ruth on May 19, 1938, in Brussels. After reaching the USA in early 1941, returned to Europe to serve with the US Armed Forces based in London, England. His assignment involved psychological warfare and multi-language broadcasting (Danish, German and English). Died in October, 1970, in Colchester, UK. Father of: Renee and Irene.
5. Renée Rabinowitz (later changed to Wennerholm when immigrating to the USA), daughter of Ruth and Harry, born May 7, 1940 in Clinique Ste. Marie, Nice. She is married to Dr. Arnold Packer.

• July 2, 1940 – The family’s safety in Cap Ferret (Bay of Arcachon) is compromised. Harry has been monitoring the BBC radio broadcasts and is informed that as part of the “truce” between Germany and the Vichy Government of France, the Germans have also been granted a “corridor” on the southwestern coast of France, including Arcachon. The Bay of Arcachon eventually became an integral part of Hitler’s “Atlantic Wall,” an extensive system of coastal fortifications built by Nazi Germany between 1942 and 1945 along the western coast of Europe as a defense against an anticipated Allied invasion of the mainland continent from Great Britain.
• July 2, 1940 – The family leaves Cap Ferret and drives back inland to safety in Auch (Distance: 258 km/160 miles). Auch is a small town (in 1940 pop. 14,000) located in the region of Midi-Pyrénées (southwest France). Ivar recalls seeing a German motorcycle convoy driving in the opposite direction as they were fleeing from Cap Ferret to Auch. Roadblocks had not yet been set up; we assume it was a matter of days or perhaps only hours before that escape route was closed by the Germans. This was the “closest call” Ivar recalls during their flight to freedom.
• July 19, 1940 – The visa for travel to Portugal (via Spain) was extended for an additional month by the Portuguese Consulate in Toulouse. Distance from Auch to Toulouse: 85 km/53 miles.
• July 22, 1940 – Receive a visa to exit France at Perpignan. Distance from Toulouse to Perpignan: 240km/150miles.
• July 23, 1940 – As a matter of policy, Spain was not issuing visas to fleeing refugees. However, based on the Portuguese visa, the family was issued a visa by the Spanish Consulate in Perpignan to transit thru Spain en route to Portugal. In fact, the family had no intention to travel to Portugal since their ship was scheduled to sail from the port of Bilbao in Spain. Distance from Perpignan to Le Perthus border crossing: 35 km/22 miles.
• July 23, 1940 - The family enters Spain from France at the Le Perthus/Els Limits border crossing. Le Perthus and Els Limits (a small parish in the commune of La Jonquera, Catalonia, Spain) are contiguous twin towns. The frontier passes through part of the main street. In earlier times it was a convenient center of contraband.  Distance from Le Perthus to Bilbao: 730 km/453 miles.
• July 27, 1940 – Issued visa for travel to DR and back to Belgium within a period of 12 months. The family apparently wanted to leave themselves the option to return to Belgium in the event that everything “blew over” and the Germans were defeated within the next year. The visa was issued by the Belgian Consulate in Bilbao, Spain.
• July 29, 1940 – Issued a visa for transit thru the USA en route to DR. Visa issued by the American Consulate in Bilbao.
• July 29/30, 1940 – The family sails from Bilbao on the “Magallanes,” one of the last ships to sail from Europe to the Americas before darkness descended on the Continent. The ship sailed from Bilbao to Lisbon, to Cuba and, finally, to the USA.
• August 31, 1940 – The family is admitted, for transit only, in the USA. Port of entry NYC (Ellis Island). Ivar recalls staying a couple of nights in Ellis Island and then being allowed to transfer to a hotel in NYC where they waited until the sailing of the ship (name?) to DR.
• September 20, 1940 – The family is issued an Identity Card (Carta de Identidad) in DR.
• January 6, 1941 – The family is issued an Immigration Visa to the USA by the American Consulate in Cuidad Trujillo, DR. The visa is issued under the “quota category” for refugees from the Soviet Union (!).
• January, 1941 – Harry and Ivar qualify for earlier admission to the USA. Harry and Ivar travel together to NYC. Ivar enrolls in the Horace Mann School, NYC. Harry returns to DR to accompany Rose, Ruth and Renée.
• April 7, 1941 – Rose, Ruth, Harry and Renée arrive in New York Harbor by boat from DR.
• First residence in the USA: Hotel Alden, 226 Central Park West, NYC.
• Second residence in the USA: 969 Park Avenue, NYC.
• August 16, 1943 - Irene Wennerholm born in Kew Gardens General Hospital, Kew Gardens, NY.
• June 15, 1948 – Ruth is granted US Naturalization/Citizenship (Certificate #6721349). Renée (8 yrs old at the time) is included in the same certificate.

My father had foreseen the possibility of such a potential conflict, although he believed that the military action would be of short duration. With this in mind, he did not want to get too far from Antwerp and allowed himself to be around 10 kms. ahead of the German troops. That is how by end of May 1940 we reached Bordeaux.

My mother had worked at the British Consulate in Antwerp and Aristides de Sousa Mendes had been the Portuguese consul in Antwerp. That connection resulted in my mother spending several weeks helping the staff of Sousa Mendes to process thousands of passports of refugees.

Not only that, but she was a witness and told me as an adult many stories related to the incredible pressure and stress Sousa Mendes was under, with daily communications from Lisbon denying permits for Jewish families getting entry visas to Portugal. Some time around mid June we got the visas from Sousa Mendes and made it to Portugal, where we stayed for almost one year. We left by the ship "Cabo de Buena Esperanza" to Argentina.

In 1943 my parents and I emigrated to Brazil, whereas my grandparents and my uncle and his family remained in Buenos Aires. I finished my studies in Brazil and came to the US on a scholarship for graduate studies. My professional career took me back to Europe, where I married my wife, and eventually we moved to the US. We live in Florida and New York, and our two sons and their families are in California.

In this period of increased global bigotry, Sousa Mendes's personal sacrifice and moral values should stand out as an example and inspiration to our past, present and future generations.

En effet, je me trouvais à BAYONNE avec mes jumeaux âgés de 2 ans et une amie dévouée. Impossible d'obtenir les papiers nécessaires pour quitter la France afin de ne pas tomber dans les griffes des nazis. La menace se précisait, d'abord la Pologne, puis, les autres pays envahis brutalement.

Mon mari, officier de l'armée Française, blessé et prisonnier de guerre, avait réussi à e communiquer son désir de nous voir en sécurité chez sa soeur à LISBONNE. Mais, pour cela il fallait obtenir les visas espagnols, portugais et même français !

L'un n'était pas accordé sans les autres. On faisait la queue devant les consulats, sans réussir, et, l'angoisse montait devant la marche inexorable de l'ennemi !

Tout à coup une autorisation est parvenue : la Portugaise, et ce après des jours d'attente de peur et d'angoisse, subitement la route vers la liberté s'ouvrait. Le visa tant attendu nous semblait officiel. Nous ne savions pas le sacrifice qu'il représentait pour Dr. DE SOUSA MENDES, en effet les autorités salazaristes venaient d'interdire à ses consuls la permisson d'accorder des visas, exception faite à l'égard des diplomates.

Monsieur le Consul de SOUSA MENDES par ce geste pourtant si simple a sacrifié sa carrière pour sauver des inconnus, c'est ce qui a fait de lui un Homme : Juste, Bon et Héroïque. Je dois en même temps rendre hommage à votre famille qui a souffert également du brusque changement de situation dû à l'ostracisme d'un dictateur qui se révèlera proche des idées de l'Allemagne de l'époque. Nous ne remercierons jamais assez votre parent et votre famille pour les sacrifices consentis au nom de l'humanité.

Cet Homme a tout perdu en Juin 1940 SAUF L'HONNEUR.

The sea was often stormy, we were quite seasick.  All of us slept on reclining deck chairs in the hold. We sailed to Santander, Spain where the Dutch Consul, a Nazi, told us he would have us arrested if we disembarked.  The doctor in charge of the health of the harbor told us we should not stay on the boat as the sanitary conditions were so bad (I believe there was only one, perhaps two toilets).  We bought a little food from small boats and took off.  The trip altogether took eight days.  My brother and I being the youngest, were in charge of hauling buckets of sea water for washing.  We all slept in the hold, so there was little privacy.  My grandparents were also with us.  After eight days, the boat left us in Porto where we stayed for two and a half months, awaiting the U.S. immigration visa, then two weeks in Lisbon before boarding a Greek ship, the Nea Hellas, for Hoboken, New Jersey.  

If I remember correctly, the Spanish authorities had refused visas, which is the reason why we had to travel by sea.  

The Portuguese people were very hospitable to us.  [Sousa Mendes] saved our lives, and I only wish we could have been in touch ... with him when he was alive.

What did we do after being in the U.S.?  I joined the Women's Corps of the Free French of General de Gaulle in England at the age of 18, participated in the Normandy landing, met my husband after the war.  He had been in the French Resistance.

Ma petite chérie, en ce moment j'ai reçu ta carte du 16/5.  J'étais très nervös, j'avais depuis 4 jours pas de nouvelles de toi.  Aujourd'hui j'ai telegraphé à Georgette.  Je suis tranquille de savoir où tu te trouve.  Pourquoi tu m'a envoyé cette folle telegramm du 15/5?  Demain je t'enverrai un certificat de presence de moi.  As-tu besoin d'une convocation du consulat d'Equateur ou as-tu une telle du consulate U.S.A.  Je suis content, que tu va bien et que ton moral est si bon.  Quand sera-il possible pour Bi. de faire quelques choses pour toi?  As-tu reçu mon telegram du 15/5?  Je vais toujours bien, malgré le changement de la situation.  Je suis he[u]reux d'être à coté de toi mais je regrette, qu'il s'agit seulement de mon photo.  Je suis furieux, mais je t'aime quand même très fort.  Je te quitte pour aujourd'hui et je t'embrasse trentrement [sic] et avec tout mon coeur.  Ton Brob.  Bon courage et un bonjour.  Klaus.

LUDWIG TO VERA, Tuesday, 21 May 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Centre de Rassemblement des femmes, Velodrome d'Hiver, Paris 15e.

Ma petite Vera!  Aujourd'hui, j'ai une lettre de Georgette.  J'espère, tu es content.  C'est dommage, que tu es pas venu à Bordeaux quand je telegrapherais.  A partir de demain, à B. il y a les même affiches comme à Paris, mais je pense il est mieux, tu es à Bordeaux à cause de notre immigration.  Je voudrais bien écrire au Consul Weisenburg transmettre nos dossiers à Bordeaux, veut tu écrire a lui où moi où tu trouve mieux ton dossier reste à Paris?  Demain, je t'envoÿe mon certificat de présence du Centre ici par Exprèss, je crois, tu a besoin cette certificat.  Chérie, nous n'avons pas la veine en cette dure temps être ensemble, mais j'espère, tout va s'arranger.  Veralein, je t'aime beaucoup et avec tout mon coeur.  J'espère que la commission de criblage va vous visité [sic] bientôt et après tu sera ici très vite.  Pour aujourd'hui, mon amour mille baisers et iep iep ton Boby.

LUDWIG TO VERA, Thursday, 23 May 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Centre de Rassemblement des femmes, Velodrome d'Hiver, Paris 15e.

Ma chèr petite chérie!  Aujourd'hui j'ai reçu ta carte V du Dimanche et je suis heureux, que tu te porte bien.  C'est très bien, que tes camarades sont si agreables, que la n[o]uriture est très bonne et comme cela tu sera bientôt un bébé d'éléphant.  Chérie, je pense beaucoup à toi, non pas beaucoup, toujours et je desire nous serions déjà au U.S.A.  Oh-la-là, c'est dure de penser et d'écrire en français.  J'espère, que dans ta paille il ne se trouve pas tant de puis qu'ici.  Klaus fait la chasse chaque soir sur eux.  Je voudrais bien chasser les puis dans la paille (sur ta tête).  Quand tu trouve que tu es devenue trop grosse, je te donne le conseille de faire une "ronde" de six jours chaque matin avant le petit déjeuner, autrement mon petit souris sera bientôt un gros rat.  Ange, quand tu es libre, quand nous pouvons nous voir et aimer et baiser et bien parler.  Chérie, écris vite et bien.  Demain j'ai ecrirai à Bi.  Pour aujourd'hui mille baisers etc.  ton Broby.  Chérie Véra!  Comme j'ai un grand désir de vous, j'ai fait la demande auprès du directeur de la société des plus "belles filles du monde" de vous faire venir à Bordeaux bientôt. [...] Klaus  Ma chère Madame, J'espère que vous êtes en bonne santé, moi je me trouve ici par [...] et je crois de vous voir ici à bientôt.  Votre C. Lesser  Beaucoup saluts R. Ball

LUDWIG TO VERA, Sunday, 2 June 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées

Ma petite chérie Vera!  As tu reçu le petit coli?  Depuis 5 jours sans nouvelles de toi, tous les autre Boys ont presque chaque jour des lettres et cartes de leurs femmes!  Pourquoi tu n'écris pas?  J'espère, que tu [n']es pas malade, et les désagreables jours sont passé.  Hier j'ai une lettre de Bi., très aimable.  Je parle avec le Colonel, & J. quelque fois de toi, j'écris à Georgette et aujourd'hui à Weiserling.  J'espère, que tu peu être en quelques jours ici, chez moi, Bi. écrirai à que moi.  Si ça pas possible, j'ai la grande espérance sur J., qui es[t] très aimable, lui demande chaque jour à toi.  Chérie, tu es toujours chez moi et je regrette, tu as rien apprendre, autrement, tu étais venir à Bordeaux, le 15 Mai.  Cherie, Darling, petite souris, je t'aime beaucoup, mille baisers à bientôt toujours ton Boby.

LUDWIG TO VERA, Monday, 3 June 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées

Ma chère chérie Darling!  Cette après midi, je reçu 200 francs de toi.  Merci beaucoup.  Entre temps j'espère que tu as reçu le petit coli, expéditeur la mère de Klaus.  Je n'ai pas encore une réponse de Georgette sur le sujet de nos bagages.  Écris toi-même à elle, pour qu'elle envoie les bagages par petite vitesse à mon adresse.  Ne fait pas la demande de liberation seulement le transfère pour le centre d'embarquement des femmes, 35 cours du Médoc, à Bordeaux.  Demain, j'écrirai de nouveau à Bi. dans ce sens.  Je pense toujours à toi et je parle tout le temps de toi avec Klaus et sa soeur qui est aussi avec 15 autres dames chez nous.  Je suis très triste et très nervös.  J'ai toujours un cafard et je ne peu pas dormir.  Je fais tout mon possible pour toi, mais mes main[s] sont en chaines.  Depuis 3 semaines je n'ai pas sortie [du] camp.  J'ai comme chef beaucoup à faire.  J'espère avoir demain une lettre de toi.  Soyez tranquille, mon amour.  Mille baisers à bientôt ton Boby. Ma petite presque soeur je regrette beaucoup que vous n'avez pas encore réussie de venir ici.  J'espère de vous voir ici bientôt et d'être [gare?] avec vous et Bobby après ces événements.  Votre Klaus.

VERA TO LUDWIG, Thursday, 6 June 1940, sent from Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées, to 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux

Mon cher Ludwig, hier j'ai reçu ta carte No. 7 & 8 et aujourd'hui encore rien.  Mon petit, ne te fâche-pas, mais je t'écris presque chaque jour, et si tu n'entend rien de moi c'est pas ma faute.  G. m'a écrit hier d'une façon très chic comme toujours et, elle aussi elle a reçu toutes mes lettres avec le télégr. à la fois.  Les bonnes choses de ton coli existent toujours et je les regarde très souvent avec fierté.  Le saucisson est une merveille et la confiture, chéri, -- chaque matin j'en prends un peu avec Helga qui est une très bonne camarade à moi.  Elle s'amuse sur moi parce que je rêve chaque nuit -- et en anglais -- et elle me disait que je rêve dans un bon anglais.  La raison:  Helga parle cette langue parfaitement -- et j'en profite!  Mon chéri, G. m'a dit que Bi fait tout son possible et qu'elle va t'envoyer nos valises.  Est-ce-que le Consulat A. a des vacances et est-ce que nos dossiers sont à B[ordeaux]?  J'ai pas de nouvelles de Wei, -- je lui avais écrit le 29 à peu près.  Où est-ce que [tu] vas mettre nos valises??  N'oublie pas à [sic] dire au Commandant Jaïs un bonjour de moi et mes meilleurs remerciements pour son intérêt qu'il m'éprouve.  Pour le Sergeant Tabuteau mes meilleurs salutations -- est-ce qu'il va toujours bien?  Mon Chéri, dors bien.  Je suis toujours avec toi et tout s'arrangera.  Ta Vera.  La demande pour me transférer est faite -- mais c'est que Bique puisse le faire!

LUDWIG TO VERA, Friday, 7 June 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées

Ma petite chérie Vera ange!  Ce matin, j'ai reçu ta carte I.  Depuis ta carte 6 du 27 Mai je n'ai pas des nouvelles de toi.  Tous les autres camarades ont des carten [sic] des dames tout les 2 jours.  Je comprend rien du tout.  Pourquoi n'as tu pas une convocation de W., je pensais tu avais une, c'est terrible!  Hier j'écrivai encore une fois à Bi. J'espère, cette fois, avec succès. Georgette m'a pas répondu.  J'ai grand souci pour notre bagage.  J'ai beaucoup de frais à cause des Porte Linge etc. mais je n'ai pas besoin d'argent, parce que je gagne un petit peu.  As-tu reçu ma [sic] coli, était-il [...], as-tu besoin encore quelques choses?  Cable vite.  Ici nous avons 19 dames, la chefresse [sic] est Mme Weiss.  Elle est très gentille et moi toujours correct.  Pas de peur tu connais ton Brob, n'est-ce pas?  Chérie, le père de Mlle Joseph je connais bien, il est un camarade de Rudolf Nelson, brave type.  Dépêche-toi parler avec ton commandant ou la chefresse d'ilôt.  Hier est arrivé une dame de Gurs ici d'ilôt i, une vielle, Mme Mannheim, elle a le visa pour U.S.A.  Viens-vite chérie, je t'aime beaucoup, ma petite, courage et de[xxx] vous plus forte, fait tes demarches.  Toujours, ton Boby.

VERA TO LUDWIG, Saturday, 8 June 1940, sent from Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées, to 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux

Mon petit choux, Tu m'as envoyé hier un télégramme et je suis triste parce que tu as l'idée que je t'ai oublié.  Mais non mon petit Böbblein, je t'oublie pas -- au contraire je t'envoie mes nouvelles si souvent que possible et j'ai fait tout ce que tu m'as demandé.  Tout de suite après ton cable je t'ai envoyé une réponse par télégramme pour te calmer -- est-ce que cette carte arrive plus vite que mon cable de hier?  Chéri, je sais réellement pas ce que je te dois dire -- je compte avec Bi et avec Georgette qui va t'envoyer toutes les valises.  Mon petit, mets les bagages à un endroit où ils sont bien conservées parce que pour les fourrures les mites sont trop dangereuses -- même si nous avons quelque chose à payer.  Je voudrais bien payer. Alors cher Bob, c'est tout pour le moment.  J'attends toujours des nouvelles et la convocation de Wei.  Est-ce que notre dossier est à Bordeaux?  Avec mes baisers les plus forts et mes meilleurs salutations pour ton Commandant et ton Sergeant Tabuteau ta souris Vera.

LUDWIG TO VERA, Sunday, 9 June 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées

Ma chère chérie chienne!  Vera, aujourd'hui j'ai reçu carte du 28/5 et lettre de 30/5 avec la belle [...].  Si je suis aussi heureux, je lis entre les lignes, et je suis très très triste.  Je t'[...] que tu as une bonne moral et humor, mais je suis tranquille, si tu es ici.  Chérie, as-tu pas reçu mon coli et cable?  Bid. m'a répondu en m'informant qu'il a fait encore une démarche au Ministère de l'Intérieur et que le commandement sera avisé.  Je manque encore de nouvelles de Georgette. Je ne sais pas donc ce que sera avec nos bagages.  Je te prie d'écrire à Weis. par exprès car il ne ma pas encore répondu à ma lettre anglais, écris aussi à sa secrétaire pour la prier d'envoyer tout de suite nos dossier à Bordeaux.  Il n['est] pas necéssaire de faire renouveler nos Affidavits.  Rien de nouveau d'ici. Les temps sont terribles.  Chérie, je t'aime mieux que d'avance et je regrette beaucoup, que je ne peux pas t'aider.  Je fais tout mon possible.  J'ai parlé avec J. & T.  En ce moment, ils [ne] peuvent rien faire.  Mais aie confiance, je conte sur Bid. et un petit peu sur ta [sic] intelligence.  Parle avec ton commandant.  N'aie pas peur, il ne te mangera pas.  Courage, chérie, tu n'es pas bête.  J'espère toujours te voir ici bientôt.  J'embrasse toi [sic] mille fois, chérie, chérie, chérie, mon amour, mille baisers.  Vera ton Boby.  Klaus [...].

VERA TO LUDWIG, Tuesday, 11 June 1940, sent from Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées, to 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux

Mon petit choux, C'est maintenant à peu près la cent et unième fois que je t'écris la même chose dans toutes mes cartes. Premièrement merci pour carte 8 & 9 et après merci encore pour le [...] coli qui était mignon et qui existe encore.  Mon chéri, c'est impossible pour moi de faire mon transfert d'ici et j'ai fait toutes les démarches possibles!  J'ai télégrafié encore à Bi et à Wei et à Georg. -- et c'est seulement le Ministère de l'Int. qui peut donner l'ordre!  Alors tu vois que tout mon possible est fait et que c'est pas du tout moi qui est paresseuse -- tout dépend de Bi!!  Naturellement j'ai fait une demande au Commandant, mais, comme il y a ici des cas beaucoup plus urgents (les dames qui ont déjà leurs visas!) je pense que attendre la réponse sur ma demande et l'ordre du Min. de l'I. Petit Brob, on peut actuellement envoyer 2 cartes et une lettre par semaine.  Alors, ne sois pas triste si je t'écris des fois seulement 2 cartes parce que j'ai quelquefois aussi besoin d'écrire des lettes importantes.  Le dessin était jolie, hein, oui mon chéri je voulais te faire rappeler à moi -- et le numéro de cette carte est V(2).  J'ai alors déjà écrit 15 cartes depuis que je suis ici.  Georgette va t'envoyer toutes nos bagages.  Je te prie de les mettre chez quelqu'un qui est honnête -- parce que je ne veux pas perdre mes fourrures ni les autres choses!!  En ce moment j'ai fait de la mousse au chocolat et tout le monde en est très content.  Lore veut te dire encore un bonjour.  Alors, [...], sois pas triste -- autrement je ne ferais plus iep. iep.  Mes tendresses et mille baisers pour toi et Heraus ta chienne Vrera.  Chers Bobby et Paul, nous avons fait de notre coté tous pour venir à Bordeaux, mais cela semble assez difficile surtout comme il y a ici des cas bien plus urgents que nous.  Un bonjour de camp à camp votre Lore.

LUDWIG TO VERA, Sunday, 16 June 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées

Ma pauvre petite chérie!  Ce matin j'ai reçu ta carte V et je suis heureux avec tes nouvelles.  Les temps sont très très triste.  Tout est malheureux, et je peu rien faire.  Aujourd'hui je parlais avec Mister Butler, Attaché U.S.A. il me dit, il croit Missis [sic] Fuller est à Bordeaux Hôtel Splendide.  Veux tu écrire a-t-elle.  Gaumett est aussi à Bordeaux et Wei. pas encore.  As-tu des nouvelles de Georgette et Bid., moi, non.  Ecris seulement une carte à moi et utilise les autres pour tes relations. Quelque fois envoys-moi une cable.  Demain, je t'enverrais une petite [sic] coli-amour.  En cette [sic] temps, je suis heureux de te savoir à Gurs, à l'abri, mais tout [de] même je te préfér[er]ais ici avec moi. Nous avons maintenant 28 femmes ici et seulement 4 avec visa.  Rien à faire ici pour toi.  J'ai taché tout le possible et je ne peu[x] plus que compte[r] avec [sic] ta [sic] intelligence.  J'ai beaucoup les collère[s] et des cafards si je vois les bébés et [...] femmes ici.  Mme Stern et fille, Lesser, Bernfeld sont aussi ici.  Tu peu écrire toujours un bonjour à moi avec des cartes des dames Bernstein, Malher, Dr. Zingermann, Ostrotzki, Ball, Schwab, Blumenthal etc. tu comprends?  J'ai toujours des nouvelles et [tu] peu écrire des carte[s] à tes relations.  Les valises [ne] sont pas encore arrivé, très très triste.  Chérie, amour, je pense toujours à toi.  Je suis toujours chez toi et j'ai un seul [désir], de pouvoir bientôt partir avec ma Vera.  J'embrasse toi [sic] mille fois mille baisers mon amour ton Boby.

LUDWIG TO VERA, Tuesday, 18 June 1940, sent from 35 Cours du Médoc, Bordeaux to Camp de Gurs, Basses-Pyrenées

Ma petite Veralein!  Les temps sont très dure et triste. Depuis 3 semaines je ne suis pas sortie [sic].  On n'a pas le droit aller au consul etc. et pour ça on [ne] peu rien faire.  Si tu sait je voulais bien toujours visité [sic] Biarritz, Hendaye, c'est bien possible que je fais cette [sic] voyage avec des boys en quelques jours, et je crois, je te peu visiter.  J'ai déjà de la joie, en espérant d'avoir [sic] bientôt des beau[x] jours avec toi à San Sebastian.  Chérie, je rêve des beau[x] jours.  Mon Trésor, je t'aime beaucoup, je voudrais bien t'embrasser et aimer & baiser etc. Chérie-Vera, j'ai beaucoup [de] travaille ici, plus que avant et pour ça, je pense moins et les temps passes.  Heureusement.  Ecris tout de suit au Consulat U.S.A. à Bordeaux à Monsieur Gannett, il t'envoye une convocation.  Wei est encore à Paris, mais on attend lui aussi ici, quelqu'un m'a dit ça. As-tu des nouvelles de Georgette, où est-elle?  Chérie-amour, j'ai faim à toi.  Je suis toujours chez toi et j'ai un peu confiance à tout.  Notre temps au U.S.A. viendra, un peu courage, ma Vera.  ton Bröbbelein

"Where will we go?"

"Let's go to Bordeaux," he said.  "It's a harbor and we might get a visa there and a ship." ...

I don't remember much of the trip that we made on the crowded train.  The only thing that I know is the shock I experienced when I saw a gas mask for the first time.  It looked gloomier to me because a priest was carrying it around his neck.  In his black outfit and with that mask hanging on a chain around his neck, he seemed to be the impersonation of war and disaster.

I looked through the window.  There it was again.  The sign on the station: LIBOURNE. I had no premonition that in the future, I would often come to this town.

THE VISA FOR PORTUGAL

I knocked at the door of the Consul's office.  Hundreds of thoughts whirled around in my head.  Will he be as short tempered and unfriendly as most of the other consuls had been?  It is true that the others were not consuls, just employees.  I had never reached a consul personally.  And so far, I had always received the same answer: no visa on an Austrian passport.  Will I get this answer again?  Maybe not.  Maybe he has a heart for the misfortune of innocent people.  After all, he was willing to receive me.  Or maybe he makes a business out of our misfortune and will charge me an amount I could never pay.  What will I say then?  I felt a very heavy responsibility on my shoulders.  Wasn't Robert's destiny in my hands?  Weeks ago, I had found out that his lodgings were simply a dark, dirty wine cellar with moisture on the walls, humid and cold.  Robert had a serious illness, a throat infection, only two years ago.  How will he stand such treatment much longer?  I heard a voice saying "Entrez!" Oh my God, help me!  Let me obtain the visa, I prayed.

When I left the office half an ohour later, I was not walking, I was flying on a pink cloud.  I had visas for a stay in Portugal!  And they were unlimited, also.  We are saved!  Robert will not have to remain in the camp and we will be able to leave France instead of waiting for a bombing that may happen at any moment.

That evening as I lay in bed, looking as usual at my fluorescent flower, it suddenly became a round full moon.  I was in Portugal.  Couples were walking in winding streets, lovers were playing their mandolins under the balconies of their sweethearts.  There was laughing and singing in the air, and there was freedom and happiness.

The first thing that I did in the morning was to go to the police station and to ask for a permit to visit the camp of Libourne.  For the last two months, there were no visits permitted anymore without an authorization.

"You already had one this week," the police officer told me.  "We are not entitled to grant you a permit more often.  You people are lucky anyway.  My wife, for instance, had to stay in Paris and I am employed here.  I haven't seen her for three months."

"I am sorry for you," I answered, "but you have a job here, haven't you?  My husband is a prisoner, and it isn't his fault."

"Que voulez-vous?  C'est la guerre."

But he gave me the permit when he heard about the visa.

The twenty miles that I had to ride in the bus passed faster than ever before.  I was making plans.  Robert would come home with me this very evening, and tomorrow we would leave Bordeaux for Portugal.  It was very exciting!  How strange that without this war, I probably never would have seen Portugal.

I hurried from the bus stop to the camp.

"Robert!" I shouted as soon as  saw him approach.  "We've got the visa!"

Robert was excited as I.  "Quick, give me the passport!" he said.  "I will show it to the Captain!"  Then he ran away with it.

I mentally said goodbye to the river enveloped in its clouds of mist, to the huge vineyards now emptied of their precious load of grapes, to the cabins of the camp wardens and to the wardens themselves.  In my happy mood, I saw their real faces for the first time.  Most the them were unhappy.  They, too, wanted to return to their civil life, to their homes, to their jobs. Wasn't it awful to hang around, watching a bunch of other unhappy men, innocent and helpless, prisoners without a crime? ...

Robert came back very disappointed.  The Captain was out of town, and so, once more, I had to leave alone.  We will have to wait until tomorrow. Never before had I realized how long it can be until tomorrow.

The next morning I began to wait for Robert's homecoming....

Dora walked in my room four steps forward, four steps backward.  Suddenly she stopped as if she were touched by an idea.

"Say, what kind of a man is this consul of Portugal?"

"He's fat and round, middle-aged, with dark hair and eyes.  I guess that he looks like most of the people from there."

Dora stamped impatiently on the floor with her foot.  "I don't care how he looks.  Tell me, was he friendly when he gave you the visa?"

"He was the only consul to grant me a visa.  That's the most friendly action he could perform.  He was really kind.  He didn't ask me any questions as soon as he heard that my husband was in the camp.  And besides, he charged the normal price of the visa, not a cent more."

"That's perfect.  You go right away to him and tell him that they refused to release your husband."

Then she told me that she had heard from other refugees that the consul had helped many Jews leave France by according visas to them.  But those people had not been in a camp.  I don't know why we did not try to obtain a visa before Robert entered the camp.  We must have become discouraged by so many refusals.

Once more, I went to the Consul, and he listened sympathetically to my story.

"Yes, it is a 'drôle de guerre' we have now, and innocent people have to suffer."

"What do you advise me to do?"

He smiled.  "I will try to help you, Madame.  If you want me to talk to the Captain of the camp..."

"Yes, yes, of course," I exclaimed.  "Oh, I am so glad!  I am sure your intervention will free my husband."

"I'm not so sure of that but I will do my best."

I invited the Consul to come with me in Mr. Muss' car, and next morning we were on the way to Libourne.

I didn't ask for a permit because I thought the presence of a foreign Consul would be sufficient to enter the camp.  But we didn't have to visit the camp at all since we were told that all the prisoners were working in a vineyard.  And since I wanted of course to introduce my husband to the Consul, we drove over to the farm where the vineyard was located.

It was October [1939] and most of the fruit was gathered, but there were still a great number of unharvested vines where our prisoners worked....  I was amazed how pale and tired the men were.  Robert couldn't stand straight.  His back was stiff from bending over.  He looked ill.  I was very afraid that he might really get sick and I was saddened about all the other men who looked so pitiful.... It isn't a tragedy to pick grapes, but no one should be forced to do it.  And it was a waste of creative forces which could have been used in a better way.

At the end of our visit, the Consul went back to the camp and was received by the Captain.  When he left I knew that all our hope had been in vain.  There was nothing to do.  Only an overseas visa could free Robert.

Two months passed by....  It was the middle of December [1939] when I got the permit to go to Paris.  Robert had suggested a long time ago to give up our big apartment and store away all its contents....

By the next morning, I was in Bordeaux again.  Some weeks passed without incident, except some bad news from the front. The danger of France being invaded by the Germans came closer and closer, and our anxiety rose higher and higher.  I went to Libourne as before.  Both Robert and I became more and more pessimistic. As time continued to pass on, we hardly saw any possibility of getting out of this predicament....

The first of April [1940] arrived with all its splendor in this part of France.  I came home, exhausted and sad.  I had given up the hope of seeing Robert before long....  How startled I was when I noticed a telegram in the early morning hours.  It had been tossed on the chair.  The evening before, I had been absent minded totally preoccupied with my own problems.  I just didn't see it.  Now, I was very eager to learn the news that it brought me.  I quickly tore it open. And then I had to sit down because my knees were shaking and I almost cried...

The telegram came from Robert and it was very short.  It just said:  COMING HOME -- ROBERT.

My goodness, how much can you say in just two words!  He was coming back!  There it was, the fairy tale I had dreamed of and waited for so long!  I couldn't figure out how it was possible that he was freed.  But my heart was in jubilation.  He was coming, and he wouldn't have to wait to be captured by Hitler's hangmen, and we will be able to escape.  How?  Well, somehow....  Suddenly, I heard somebody enter the room.  I turned around... There he was, Robert, wearing his own suit instead of the old uniform.  He was FREE!

After calming down somewhat, we sat on the trunk-coffee table and there have never been two happier people than us....

It was five o'clock in the afternoon when we approached Hendaye, the village which is the last in France, at the Spanish frontier.

"Stop right here," said Robert to the driver.  And then he told me to wait for a moment in the car.  "I see the Spanish consulate where I must get the transit visa.  That is a formality which will just take a few minutes.  But after all, Hitler is not here yet.  There's no need to hurry."

He stepped out of the car, but after a second look at the little house, he turned around.

"It's too late," he said disappointedly.  "See, the janitor is closing the gate.  It's exactly five o'clock.  We will have to stay in this village until tomorrow."

I sighed.  "I wish we hadn't taken that cup of coffee in Oloron.  That's why we are late."

"Well, now it's done.  We'll just arrive in Portugal a day later."

"But where will we stay overnight?"

"We'll have to look for someplace."

That seemed simple at first.  But we soon found out that it was out of the question, because with every half hour that passed, thousands and thousands of refugees coming from the North flooded over this little town until it was drowned in the stream of despairing humanity.  All the inns were entirely full.  There wasn't even a chair free in any cafe, no private apartment had a free bed, no bench on the street had a space to sit on.

As we left the edge of the village and entered the center section, we discovered that this state of panic must have lasted for days already, for whole families were camping on the tracks close to the railroad station which was located in the middle of the main square.

"Look, isn't that our friend, the consul of Portugal?" I exclaimed.

"For sure it is he!"

The consul stood there, surrounded by a group of refugees, giving out visas to anyone who asked for them.

"He is a good man, he wants to save all these people."

"Yes, he is a nice person.  We'll pay him a visit when we are in his country." ...

The next morning, we woke up very early and dressed quickly and hurried to the consulate.  It was closed.

"It's after nine o'clock.  I can't understand," said Robert.

"Neither can I."

But soon we understood.  The bells of the old church in town started to ring the Mass.  It was Sunday [June 23, 1940]!  We had forgotten time in the emotion of the events that we had lived through....

There was the ocean beaming in the sunshine.  And right there at the horizon was Irun, the Spanish frontier town.  There it was lying, and since the air was clear, we could see it close enough to distinguish the old tower....

"Where will we turn our tired steps now?" I asked, trying to show some good humor despite all of the adversity.

"Let's go to the bridge."

"Yes, come on," I exclaimed, so excited, because we had been told that the bridge which connected Hendaye with Irun was the frontier, and I wanted to see right away the place where we would enter Spain, tomorrow!

"Isn't that a crowd!"  I marveled when we stood before the bridge where French and Spanish soldiers controlled the crossing of the people.  The Spanish guard looked as if they had come right out of an operetta with their colorful uniforms and their black lacquered helmets.  But the refugees looked like characters out of a tragedy.  And that's what we all were.

"What is going on in the little house over there?" I asked Robert.  I saw so many people going in and out, their identification papers in hand.  

"I'll inquire," said Robert and went into the cabin.  After awhile, he came back, radiant.  "I've got the visa!"

"The Spanish transit visa?"

"No, the exit from France."

"Isn't that the same visa that we couldn't get during all these past months?"

"Exactly.  And now we have it."

"Wonderful!"

"The [Spanish] transit visa is the only one missing, and we can leave behind the whole nightmare of war and start a new life.  It's a shame I didn't get the Spanish visa in Bordeaux at the consulate there.  We could have left today."

"Why didn't you?"

"There were too many people waiting in line.  I guess I just waited for you to leave the camp and wasn't interested in anything else."

"Well, it's a delay of only 24 hours.  It doesn't matter very much, does it?"

"I don't think so."

"But the Germans are coming closer.  When I was waiting for you, I heard people say that their troops have passed Bordeaux.  They are on their way here."

"I don't believe it is true.  But if it were so, they can't approach so quickly.  They are not riding comfortably in a pullman car."

"Let's hope so.  But anyway, I can hardly wait for tomorrow." ...

We did not sleep that night and woke up in the morning [June 24, 1940] as early as five o'clock.

"Let's go right away to the consulate.  There will be a crowd, and this time we must not be too late."

What was that odd little noise on our windows?  We looked out.  It was rain pouring down.

"Couldn't we go later?" I asked meekly.  "I am sure that they won't open before nine.  We will have to stay outside in the rain for hours."

"Never mind." ...

It was not easy to reach the bridge.  The crowd of refugees had swollen like a wild stream.  There were many private cars with mattresses on top, as a protection against bombs.  Other people came on bicycles.  We also saw a sick man in a wheelchair.  And then, there were the pedestrians, walking like us.  There were thousands of them....

We almost could not see the bridge because of the crowd.  Many people stood in front of a poster reading it attentively. 

"Let's see what it is!"

We approached close enough to read the announcement.  There it said, deadly clear, impossible to be misinterpreted:

ALL VISAS FOR PORTUGAL DELIVERED IN BORDEAUX ARE VOID.

"We got our visas in Bordeaux," we both exclaimed at the same time.

"But why?  But why?" I said, and real despair took hold of me.

"Don't you remember the consul standing yesterday here in the street, giving out visas to everyone?"

"Yes, I do."

"He probably gave out too many.  They noticed it in his country and these are the results."

"And he will lose his job, this poor man. He has fourteen children to raise.  He wanted to save people, that is why he did it."

"Yes, he was charitable to everyone.  But we got our visa properly, a month ago.  Why should it be void?"

"That is still to be found out.  Let's hurry to the [Spanish] consulate.  Maybe this order doesn't concern us, since our visa is much older." ...

We were completely soaked when we reached the consulate....  At nine, the door was opened and we entered, but of course, we had to wait for one more hour until our turn came.  But then, it was short.  In fact, it was too short, because we didn't even have a chance to show our passports.  They immediately refused us a transit visa since our visa to Portugal was issued in Bordeaux.

NEXT, PLEASE!

There we were in the street again, shivering in our wet clothes in the sunshine which at last had overcome the enemy rain....  We were starving, but there wasn't any food to be had.  It was the twenty-fifth of June and declared a national mourning day because of the defeat.

Idéologiquement, il était très conservateur, et totalement opposé à Jules Romains.  Mais c'était un gentleman; et, circonvenu par Max Fischer, il accepta de plaider notre cause auprès du consul d'Espagne. Celui-ci se laissa convaincre....

Quand, ayant traversé Hendaye, nos deux voitures se sont présentées au poste frontière qui commandait l'entrée du pont international, nous y avns trouvé une somptueuse limousine.  Les occupants en étaient un chauffeur en tenue et un monsieur d'un certain âge, qui s'est révélé être le patriarche de la famille Rothschild, le baron Edmond.  Ils n'avaient ni le triptyque ni le permis de conduire international.  Ils avaient engagé une discussion avec les représentants de la police, qui ne so sont pas laissé fléchir.  Après s'être concerté avec son chauffeur, lui donnant sans doute l'ordre de se procurer les papiers nécessaires et lui indiquant l'endroit où le rejoindre, le baron a saisi d'une main inexperte une petite valise et s'est engagé à pied sur le pont.  Peu après, ayant franchi la frontière sons problème, nous l'avons dépassé.  Il marchait lentement.  Il était pitoyable.  Nous lui aurions volontiers offert un "lift," mais notre banquette arrière était encombrées de bagages....

Just avant l'arrivée à Lisbonne, il fallait franchir le Tage.  Le fleuve est extrêmement large à cet endroit.  C'est déjà l'estuare.  En l'absence d'un pont, la traversée se faisait par un bac, qui chargeait les voitures et leurs passagers.  Nous étions descendus de voiture.  Et nous apercevions de loin le premier ministre de Belgique....  Mistinguett, le baron Edmond de Rothschild, le chef du gouvernement belge...  On rencontrait vraiment du beau monde sur les routes de l'exil!

13/VI/40 Parti pour le Pyla. Rencontré J. Errera à Bordeaux. Me suis concerté avec Diane au sujet du départ éventuel des enfants.

15/VI/40 Nouveau conseil des Ministres. C'est la crise: cabinet Pétain avec Weygand, d'autres généraux, Baudoin, Poenart, le premier aux Affaires, le second à l'Intérieur.  Prends mes visas espagnols.

16/VI/40 Arrive le matin à Bordeaux. Impression lugubre. C'est la défaite totale. Fais des démarches pour le visa américain. Pendant que j'attends au Consulat, Mowrer m'apprend la nouvelle de l'arrestation de Mandel. Cette fois, il faut partir.

17/VI/40 C'est la débâcle. Je fais partir Robert de Rothschild, Nelly et Cécile qui ont des places à bord d'un bateau anglais. J'arrive à Lafite pour leur dire un dernier "au-revoir". A proximité, je suis arrêté par une alerte. "Le commandant" me demande d'un air de compassion si je pars pour Biarritz. Sur ma réponse affirmative, il me dit: je connais la famille Rothschild, je vais vous faire passer. Ce brave homme est un curé.  Le soir, je file sur Biarritz où les Rajchman m'ont précédé.

18/VI/40 Vers midi, nous partons en caravane - 4 voitures - famille Rajchman, Mme Mowrer et nous pour la frontière espagnole. Vers 4 heures, les formalités sont finies. Nous couchons à Saint-Sébastien. C'est ainsi que commence notre vie de réfugiés. Anka et Tototte s'amusent et rigolent. Nathalie est triste. Elle comprend. Dieu sait ce que nous réserve l'avenir.

20/VI/40 Déjeuné chez le Ministre de Pologne: il est charmant et fait ce qu'il peut pour nous faciliter la situation. Il a obtenu un visa pour la nurse, ce qui tient du tour de force. Rencontré Edouard et sa famille devant le Palace, l'air lamentable.  Jacques Errera est parti ce soir, il sera demain à Lisbonne.  Les nouvelles de France sont confuses. On dit que le nouveau gouvernement est parti pour Pau et que le premier pogrom antijuif a eu lieu hier à Toulouse.  Demain matin, on partira.

21/VI/40 Sommes partis le matin, en caravane: les Rajchman, Lilian Mowrer et nous -- 4 voitures -- passé la nuit à Merida.  Le petit-fils de Rajchman, Michel, est malade.

22/VI/40 On se met en route à 9 heures. A 10 heures, on est à la frontière. Tout le monde est charmant avec nous: Espagnols et Portugais. Formalités réduites au minimum. On déjeune à Estremoz. Quelle différence avec l'Espagne! Pain blanc, viande à profusion. C'est l'abondance.  Vers 6 heures du soir, nous sommes à 6 kms de Lisbonne: ma Ford s'arrête. Très embêté. Un Portugais s'approche et me demande ce qui se passe. Il se met en quatre pour me rendre service. je veux lui donner un pourboire. Il refuse. Il finit par mettre la voiture en marche et me conduit à Lisbonne, à la Légation de la Pologne d'abord, puis à l'hôtel Francfort ensuite. C'est touchant. On trouve à se loger: deux chambres très primitives, mais pour nous, c'est le havre du salut.  Le Ministre de Pologne Dubicz me fait mauvaise impression. Il ne sait rien, ne peut rien. Ce n'est pas comme son collègue de Madrid.

23/VI/40 Première nuit à Lisbonne. Lits détestables, pas de salle de bain. Fini le confort, mais chose étrange, je n'en souffre pas. Je repousse de moi, non sans facilité, la vie ancienne.  Visite à la Légation de France, où je vois Panafieu. Nous courons pour trouver une place sur un bateau. On nous signale le "Nea Hellas" - nous réservons des cabines.  On voit défiler tant de gens: Français, Belges, Polonais. Chacun veut un visa et une place sur un bateau ou un Clipper. Mais le visa est aussi rare que la cabine. Les Américains ont reçu des instructions formelles: plus de visas.

24/VI/40 Déjeuné au Negresco: rencontré là-bas Van Zeeland, Van Cauvelaert, d'autres ministres belges, Jean Cattier. Toute l'Europe est là sur ce petit bout de terre qui achève l'Europe. Une seule poussée allemande et tout le monde est rejeté à la mer. C'est effrayant.  Marcel-Henry Jaspar était hier à une déclaration de la BBC. Aujourd'hui le gouvernement belge désavoue...  Des tas de Polonais sont ici: Wieniawa, Miedzinski. Je n'ai pas vu depuis longtemps cet Hitlérien à la manque. Aujourd'hui, dans le malheur, j'ai répondu à son salut!  On apprend tous les jours l'arrivée de nouveaux Français: j'ai vu Béranger, on dit que Reynaud est là. On me signale également André Meyer.  Le général de Gaulle fonde un Comité National Français à Londres: il est révoqué par le gouvernement français. On va tout droit à la constitution d'un nouveau gouvernement français à Londres. Il y aura deux France: la vieille enterrée par Pétain et Weygand et la jeune symbolisée par de Gaulle. Pauvre France! les capitulards croyaient sauver quelque chose en se rendant, ils ne sauveront rien du tout et, par dessus le marché, ils perdront l'honneur.  

25/VI/40 Ce matin - vaccination. Rencontré Jacques E. qui me parle de son projet d'envoyer Van Zeeland à Londres pour prendre la tête d'une sorte de gouvernement belge, Pierlot demeurant solidaire de la France de Pétain et voulant négocier avec les Allemands.

28/VI/40 Toujours pas de nouvelles au sujet des places. Vu André Meyer assez décontenancé par la politique de son ami Baudoin. C'est ce dernier qui lui a dit de partir.  Il fait des démarches pour avoir un visa américain. Ici, les gens n'ont qu'une seule préoccupation: visa, Clipper et bateaux.  Diane et les enfants sont allées s'installer à Cintra.  Ce soir, avec Rajchman, cinéma: mauvais film américain. Le Clipper réapparaît à l'horizon.

1/VII/40 Tout est arrangé ou presque: Rajchman et moi, nous avons promesse ferme de Clipper pour le 3, Diane et les enfants ont une bonne cabine sur le Nea Hellas qui part aussi le 3.

3/VII/40 Enfin, tout est arrangé: D. et les enfants se sont embarquées sur le Nea Hellas, beau bateau grec de 17 000 tonnes. Moi, je m'embarque demain matin sur le Clipper, si la météorologie le permet.  Hier, terrible émotion: les Américains ont annulé les visas antérieurs au 6. Les nôtres heureusement sont du 17.

4/VII/40 Ce matin, à 6 h.1/2 réveil: le Clipper part. Après un rapide petit déjeuner, on se dirige vers le port. A 10 h.35, le Clipper, monstre magnifique, tel un poisson énorme, s'ébranle, 11 minutes après, il décolle: en avant pour New York. Au port, rencontré pas mal de gens: Gibson, lady Michelham, Guy de Baillet qui m'annonce la triste nouvelle que la rue Laffitte n'a pas expédié les documents nécessaires pour débloquer les comptes.  Il est 1 heure maintenant. Le Clipper navigue au-dessus des nuages, calme, stable. On ne voit que le plancher cotonneux au-dessous de nous. Des stewards, élégants comme des officiers de marine, distribuent du whisky et des tasses de bouillon.  Un léger lunch est servi: poule au riz et compote de bonne qualité mais de quantité insuffisante.  L'après-midi s'écoule paisible. Lu quelques journaux américains. On a l'impression qu'ils commencent à comprendre.  Arrivé à Horta, après 7 heures de vol. On repart après 2 h. 1/2.

5/VII/40 Une nuit de vol - couchette comme dans un sleeping à peu près. Vers 5 heures du matin, heure Bermuda, à l'aube, arrivée à Bermuda. Ile charmante, blanches villas de tous côtés. On déjeune au port, et, après vérification des passeports, on repart.  A Bermuda, on nous dit qu'un engagement naval a eu lieu entre Français et Anglais: des bateaux français auraient été coulés. C'est affreux. Quel triomphe pour Hitler que cette bataille entre frères. Hélas, je prévois que les choses iront de plus en plus mal. Hitler ne se contentera pas de la défaite de la France. Il voudra encore l'avilir, en faire une esclave prête à tout.  Conversation avec Rajchman au-sujet du prochain travail du "Relief." Il est entendu - ce n'est que trop naturel - que sa primauté ne sera pas contestée par moi; et que, en outre, je m'occuperai spécialement des relations avec les organisations juives.  Arrivée à 12. Accueil à la douane fort aimable. Descendu au Waldorf-Astoria. Dans l'après-midi, visite chez Erich de Warburg: il se met à ma disposition, me conduit chez Morgan, m'offre de m'avancer de l'argent, ce que, heureusement, je suis en position de refuser. Ma carrière de réfugié commence dans des conditions favorables, mais, Dieu, que c'est amer de quitter la France.  Le soir, cinéma "Gone with the wind." Parti avant la fin, mangé un "hamburger" steak dans un restaurant populaire et rentré à l'hôtel à pied. J'ai envie de pleurer, tant je suis triste. 

On the day de Gaulle made his historic appeal from London, the "caravan of families," as Muhlstein referred to the group, had reached the Spanish border.  But there, Rajchman's sister-in-law, Lucja Liefeldt, was refused entry:  she had only a Polish passport and no diplomatic papers.  She turned round and made her way back to Chenu where she lived until 1942, when she was deported to Ravenbrück.

The Rajchmans went on to spend several days in Madrid, a city that was "calm for the moment," Rajchman remarked in his diary.... They then headed towards Lisbon, spending the night in Merida.  The next morning, Rajchman's six-year-old grandson woke up covered in red spots.  Panic stricken, Rajchman diagnosed his illness as smallpox.  How were they ever going to cross a border sealed from all infectious diseases?  The architect of the Polish cordon sanitaire decided to hide the boy under a blanket in the back seat of the car, and was forced to hold his breath while the border guards counted, one by one, the sheep in a flock that seemed unending.  The child was hospitalized in Lisbon where he was found to be suffering from nothing more than a particularly acute case of measles.

In the Portuguese capital, the atmosphere was tense.  "All of Europe is here, on this small tip of land where the continent ends," Muhlstein wrote.  "One shove from the Germans, and everybody is thrown into the sea."  Rajchman and Muhlstein spent all their time trying to reserve places on the Pan American Clipper leaving for New York.  Their families were to follow by boat....  On the eve of their departure, July 3, it was learned that the Americans had canceled all visas issued earlier than June 6. The distress among the new refugees was "terrible" but, happily for Rajchman and Muhlstein, theirs were dated June 17.

Nous arrivons à Biarritz après un voyage épuisant dans ma Delahaye.  Quelques aventuriers du Fouquet's sont là, ainsi que Jacques Constant à qui je vends une broche contre un peu d'argent liquide.  J'apprends que René Clair, Duvivier, Renoir, Lazareff, Kessel sont là, ou sont eux aussi passé par Biarritz avant de s'embarquer pour l'Amérique.

Constant me dit :

-- Il faut partir.  Ça va devenir très vite dangereux.  Pour le moment, il n'y a pas de bateau pour l'Amérique, mais tu vas aller au consulat du Chili et demander des visas.

Aucun problème avec le consul chilien, qui m'a connu à Paris.   Je n'hésite pas à lui annoncer que nous avons le projet de fonder un centre du cinéma à Santiago.

Les difficultés apparaissent avec les Français, car il nous faut aussi des visas de sortie.  L'employé commence par m'engueuler.  ("Vous êtes un mauvais Français," etc.).  Froidement, je lui réponds :

-- Je suis juif et réformé, j'ai parfaitement le droit de quitter la France. 

Cet argument a du poids, mais moins toutefois que celui-ci :

-- Ecoutez, je vous laisse ma Delahaye, vous en ferez ce que vous voudrez.  Je n'essaie pas de vous acheter, mais je ne peux plus m'en servir...

Les visas en poche, je me dis que ça vaut bien ce sacrifice.  Qu'est-ce que j'aurais fait d'une Delahaye à Auschwitz ?

And now people are standing in line before the bridge. Before the bridge that has often been mentioned in the world press, before the famous bridge at Hendaye. Just a few meters ahead of us, the tricolore still flies. The French officials are unusually friendly. And barely a hundred meters away lies Spain. We hear the radio: the German troops are advancing, the cease-fire was signed yesterday. Many people are growing impatient and believe that the border could be closed any minute. One man, who is sent back because his papers are not in order, has a crying fit.

It is 1 p.m. now, and our turn has come.  All the formalities are done.  We walk the few steps toward the French border barrier, show the official a white slip of paper; he takes it, says "merci" one last time, and gives a signal with his hand.  The barrier rises slowly....  One step and we are no longer in France.  Just a few more steps....  We look behind us, standing still here in no-man's-land for a moment, quietly.  We think back with melancholy:  Adieu, France....  Glorious, beautiful France!  Why did it have to come to this?  Why?  

Slowly we walk toward the opposite end of the bridge.  A lively dispute abruptly rouses us from our dreamlike state.  What has happened?  ...  A few seconds later we catch sight of a man talking insistently to the Spanish officials and gesticulating energetically.  The discussion grows louder and louder.  It is clear:  the Spaniards are unwilling to let the man pass through.  In vain, he shows his visas, his diplomatic passport... nothing helps.  Mr. Titulescu, the Romanian Foreign Minister, is not allowed to pass.  He has to go back.  Back to France.

And 24 hours later, as we arrive at the Portuguese border, the swastika flag is already flying at the Hendaye bridge.

What should one say in reply?  That the mood among the refugees is not exactly rosy?  That only a relatively tiny fraction of them have a chance of getting US visas?  That the news arriving from France is getting worse by the day?

It is important to give some advice to those who still have loved ones in Portugal and France:

Concerning food parcels that can be sent from Lisbon to France, I would suggest sending only small, 500-gram "sample without commercial value" parcels, because the others rarely reach their destination.  Any grocery store in Lisbon will arrange for the shipping.

Anyone wishing to send sums of money to loved ones living in the unoccupied zone should do this directly through a bank, ideally by wire, even if it costs a few dollars for the charges.  Avoid a more complicated payment transaction, because the French authorities require the German and Austrian emigrants, even the women, to provide detailed proof that they have money available or that they really are getting money from America.  But this proof, which in many cases can save a refugee from being re-interned in a camp, is valid only if one can produce a receipt from a French bank.

When we reached Bordeaux, disaster was already in the air.  Bordeaux was like a besieged city.  With a normal population of 250,000 inhabitants, it had suddenly absorbed a million.  The streets teemed with people; they filled the great squares, cafés overflowed, and waiters gave up attempting to fill orders.  Government officials were trying to find their new offices; broadcasting and telegraph agencies were trying to establish transmission; everyone was more or less thinking of trying to find a place to spend the night -- the back of a car, a park bench, or an armchair in a hotel lobby would be a luxury.  There was no place to work, no place to wait....  An atmosphere of disintegration was distinctly recognizable.  You could almost feel France going to pieces.  

Consulates were overwhelmed by visitors demanding admittance and asserting their right to a foreign visa.  The United States Ambassador to Poland, Anthony J. Drexel Biddle, Jr., and some of his staff from Angers arrived to help in the American Consulate General, where the biggest crowds of all collected....

But if the American visa was the best guarantee of safety, the Portuguese visa was almost as eagerly sought after.  The crowds that waited at the Portuguese Consulate stretched far into the street.  The door opened every half-hour or so to admit a single applicant, while the rest stormed impatiently at the delay.  The Spanish Consulate was busy, too.  There I ran into Archduke Otto of Hapsburg.  The last time I had seen him was at a tea party in Chicago.  "Going back to America?" I asked.  He nodded ruefully.  But even archdukes had to wait for visas....

Not long after we crossed the border, the Spaniards stopped recognizing Portuguese visas granted in Bordeaux, and no one could enter Spain without a visa.  Thousands of people begged to be let in and some offered huge sums for the precious visas that would open the road to Lisbon.  American Embassy officials finally collected all the American passports and had them visaed en masse at Bayonne, but American diplomats could not help the French and the others....

We could not stop to rest.  We sped past the grim Spanish landscape and finally into Portugal and over the winding Portuguese roads, through the giant cork forests, till the seven hills of Lisbon came into view....

Lisbon officials promptly made it clear to all refugees that they were intruders and told them they would not be permitted to stay around very long.  The refugees showed no inclination to stay any longer than necessary.

My parents then went to the Portuguese consulate in Bordeaux.  My late mother somehow was able to gain entry to it and witnessed the mob scene.  She watched Consul Mendes at work, stamping hundreds of passports with transit visas, answer phone calls, receiving visits from diplomats, etc.  After a while, she caught on to the work routine of Consul Mendes and began helping him by handing to him the appropriate stamps, etc., thus speeding up the process.  My mother did this for several hours and heard the statement which Consul Mendes made which I noted in my letter to his son.  The Consul finally asked my mother to give him our family's passports, which he promptly stamped.

The next day, my parents went to the Spanish consulate ahd again, were fortunate to obtain transit visas.

We again saw Consul Mendes in Bayonne a day or two later.  We had to go there in order to obtain a French exit visas.  Consul Mendes was sitting in his car and having been recognized, was being handed passports from frantic refugees.  He wrote out transit visas in long-hand and thus, even at this late hour, was able to save additional lives.

Our family eventually found its way to the United States via the Belgian Congo, Angola, Mozambique, South Africa and Cuba, arriving here in March of 1941.

Were it not for the courageous actions of Consul Mendes, we probably would have been extermintated by the Germans.

After loading as much luggage as possible into our car, and with my uncle standing on the running board of the De Soto, we joined an increasing stream of both civilian and French and British military vehicles headed in the direction of Dunkirk.  Progress was slow, due both to the volume of the traffic and the tendency of military vehicles to run civilian vehicles off the road if they hindered their progress.  An even more serious problem was the presence of German fighter planes that strafed vehicles, regardless of whether they were civilian or military, in order to clog the roads and hinder access of British and French military personnel to ships waiting in Dunkirk to transport them to British ports.  On several occasions, to avoid being strafed, my father, upon hearing the approach of the planes, left the main road and drove to a grassy patch, where he covered the car with a green tarpaulin to disguise its presence.  Nevertheless, at some point, the decision was made to abandon our attempt to reach Dunkirk and to drive instead to the south of France, because it seemed unlikely at the time that the German invasion would reach there....

Presumably, Bordeaux was chosen as an alternative destination because it had a substantial port that might have nautical traffic to England....  Accordingly, we rented rooms on a farm in the nearby town of Cognac.  My most vivid memory of the time we spent at the farm resulted from the task I was given, namely, to collect the eggs laid by chickens that wandered around the grounds.  My father and uncle traveled frequently to Bordeaux, for news of a ship destined to travel to England.  After some weeks, one materialized, but we were informed, to our dismay, that passage was limited to passengers with a British passport.  My uncle, together with other members of the family including my father, had left Belgium for England during World War I.  Toward the end of the war, Uncle Henry had joined the British army and had thereby received a British passport.  Because there seemed to be no possibility for the rest of us to obtain passage to England, we left Bordeaux and made our way to the French-Spanish border.

Dear Mrs. Laroche,

You are a poor fellow sufferer and I don’t need to tell you what my husband and I are going through. I am very happy about the news that your Bobby [Ludwig Rosenberg] will hopefully return to Cours du Medoc in Bordeaux. He let me know that I can appeal to you and that you would do me the favor to help me. I have sent the letter known to you dated 4.3. and I haven’t heard anything yet. Would it be too immodest if I ask you to inquire how things are going? And what did you reach for your husband?  I would like to stress the point that I have a sincere interest in the fate of your husband and that is why I am asking.

My husband is very desperate because he has nothing, in your case it seems and I hope things are going on. Stern is getting a new summons “convocation” to Uruguay, he is sad about that of course and I don’t know where to start working for him. I have got to know you well enough to be able to form a certain opinion about you and I know that if you can you will really help me especially because you have a feeling for my state of mind which makes that you can understand me so well.

What are you doing yourself? How did you take your stay here? More than enough excitement for such a short time – one can say that for sure.  But what can we do, we are homeless and have to endure it! I look forward to hearing from you soon, especially I would like to know how you are and I send you my regards.

Your Anni Lesser

PS: Do you know that the Weil family left on Thursday the same week to Le Havre? Everything went so fast!!

The Jewish Agency gave us boat tickets, and we boarded SS. Excambion (American Export Lines), in Lisbon, on December 12, 1941, going to Bermuda. We changed ships there, and sailed on the Lady Rodney to Halifax, arriving on December 24, 1941. I remember that we had a good trip, and I visited the large gun at the end of the ship. I had the run of the ship. It was quite cold when we arrived on Pier 21. It was also good to land in Canada after all the difficult times in Europe.

Our family’s visas were among the earliest issued by Aristides de Sousa Mendes in the very first days of the war to escape from Nazi-occupied Europe in 1939-40. That was on September 5th, 4 days after Hitler’s invasion of Poland. Actually, it came about thanks to my father Joseph Barbouth’s foresight and actions of several years earlier.

I’m taking the liberty of covering the subject with ample illustrations in this lengthy report, including the antisemitic evolution of Mussolini’s dictatorship, with the intention of providing a wide vision, from a historic perspective, of the environment and circumstances a young Jewish boy from Turkey experienced from the time he left his native country for Italy in the early 1920’s until he managed to leave Europe in 1940 with his family and arrive to his intended destination, escaping the perils he had foreseen. This is based on the documents, letters, memorabilia and complementary material I managed to obtain, keep, sort out but got to interpret only now, 80 years after the visas were issued and almost 50 years since my father’s death in Buenos Aires.

We knew about their getaway from France to Cuba and Argentina through Spain and Portugal after obtaining their Portuguese visas in Bordeaux, but our parents never mentioned the name of Consul Aristides de Sousa Mendes in particular. This was certainly because, for them, that person had been just one of the many diplomats and officials they dealt with, who were simply performing their protocolizing duties during the saga of escaping from Europe.

My parents weren’t familiar with his brave and remarkably effective actions defying dictator Salazar’s infamous restrictive orders, by supporting the many thousands of refugees needing to flee in late 1939 / early to mid-1940. His story only started to become relatively known in the 80’s, by which time both my parents had died. It was in fact through the Sousa Mendes Foundation website, and only recently, that we realized he too was part of the process that allowed our family to survive.  May his memory continue to be blessed, and let his name and heroic example be widely known and repeated by others if ever needed, without any type of discrimination, given the current uncertain times for all refugees.

Retrospective

My father's father Bohor Barbouth returned seriously ill from his forced role as a senior veterinarian officer in the Turkish army after the country’s 1918 surrender in World War I, and so my father Joseph at the age of seventeen in 1922, moved from his home in Haydarpasha-Istanbul to Milan to help support the family.  Joseph was sponsored by a maternal uncle named Elia Roditi, who had moved to Italy from Turkey some years before and had become a well-to-do textile businessman. Joseph's younger brother Selim Barbouth, sponsored by another uncle to go to Rumania,  joined the family in Milan a year later, and their mother Sara Barbouth and sisters Corinne and Vicky moved there after Bohor died in 1926.  

My father Joseph worked with his uncle Elia for many years, and in 1926, being twenty-one, he was able to obtain a Turkish passport and travelled all over the world as a textile exporter, including to Argentina, where he made arrangements that became vital during my family's European exodus in 1940.

New reality

Joseph gradually became prosperous on his own, establishing various enterprises. But the Italy he had arrived to was no longer the same with Mussolini’s fascism and his imperial pretensions, which he felt foreshadowed dire consequences for the country and its people.  Having married in 1933 to my mother Mathilde Sinai, two years later he decided to take protective action for himself and his wife. Being aware that France had been assigned the Mandate of Syria by the League of Nations, on May 7th 1935, he  arranged to obtain for himself and my mother the formal registration as “Protégés Syriens” in the French Consulate General in Milan (see “CERTIFICAT D’IMMATRICULATION” above). These certificates were valid for three years.                      

With the proclamation of an “Axis” binding Italy and Germany in 1936, and things getting ever cozier between the Italian dictator and Hitler in 1937, and perceiving the probable menace for the Jews in Italy, Joseph formed a company in Alexandria, Egypt, and his younger brother Selim left Italy and moved there. Mussolini’s visit to Berlin in September that year provided a critical signal of what was coming. But it was the Anschluss of Austria in March 1938, and Hitler’s momentous visit to Rome on May 3rd that sparked my father’s decision to obtain suitable documentation in case they had to leave, because it so happened that their French certificates were expiring that very week! So on May 6th, 1938, when he was scheduled to renew them, Joseph also filed for the corresponding French passports, which included my sister Laura, who had turned 1 the previous Sunday.

All that remains of the original passports thus obtained are the photos shown above, which my father wanted to have made for just in case, and for record purposes, because they later had to be handed over and replaced. It was those passports that had the Aristides de Sousa Mendes visas.

Just two months later, in mid-July 1938, under the guidance of Mussolini’s Ministry of Popular Culture, the Manifesto della Raza (Racial Manifesto), was published, and then reprinted by the biweekly newspaper La Difesa della Razza (The Defense of Race) on August 5th.                                  

At that point Joseph rearranged his business interests, and the family started preparing to emigrate, making whatever arrangements were possible, selling what they could and converting the proceeds into jewelry. Racist legislation intensified, but it was the subsequent Royal Law-Decrees, particularly the one of September 7th, 1938, #1381 denominated Provvedimenti nei confronti degli ebrei stranieri (Measures against foreign Jews) that made my father decide to leave Italy right away. Its article 4 stated: “Jewish foreigners who, at the date of publication of this decree-law, are in the Kingdom… and who began their stay there after 1 January 1919, must leave the territory of the Kingdom… within six months from the date of publication of this decree.”

The family rushed to finalize whatever still needed to be done, packed what they could, hid the jewelry by sewing it between the two small bottom-blankets of the fruit box on which my baby sister Laura was placed (no cribs available), and using their above-mentioned French passports, they boarded a train to France, settling in Nice.

Then came the “Munich Agreement” of late September 1938 giving Germany the Sudetenland, which some expected would maintain the peace in Europe. But that illusion ended with the German occupation of the rest of Czechoslovakia in March of 1939 and the signing by Hitler and Mussolini of the Pact of Steel at the end of May.  For my family, it was time to begin planning the escape from Europe should a war break out.

They decided that their initial destination of preference should be Cuba, where my mother’s brothers and sisters had already escaped to, and, when viable, ultimately to move to Argentina, where in 1930, during a prolonged business stay in Buenos Aires, my father decided to obtain an Argentine Permanent Resident Permit, just in case it could become useful some day.

But how would they get to Cuba? With Italy allied to Germany, the nearby Genoa port was out of the question, so the only reasonable way still possible would be through Portugal. Joseph's choice for obtention of the Portuguese visas was Bordeaux, because that’s where his uncle Elia Roditi and wife had moved to after Mussolini’s racial laws, and he could help out if needed, as he had done almost twenty years before when sponsoring his exit from Turkey.  

In the meantime my sister Lisette was born. Thus the family now included a French-born member as well. With the situation in Europe clearly worsening, they opted to gather the remaining family members from Italy willing to leave, because since November, the Italian government’s antisemitism was in full blast.   

In that context, they brought my maternal grandmother Eliza Sinai to live with them in Nice. My father obtained the Cuban immigration visas that would be required, and he arranged for his mother Sara Barbouth and his sister Corinne’s husband, Vitali Saban, to also obtain Cuban visas and be ready to cross over from Italy at short notice, to meet them in Bordeaux and get Portuguese visas as well, in case they ever needed them. Under Portuguese regulations (Circular #10 of October 28, 1938), the issuance of these 30-days visas required having an immigration visa for other countries.

Hence, when hearing of Hitler’s invasion of Poland on September 1st, 1939, my father Joseph was prepared. In less than two days they finalized whatever still needed to be done, packed up everything they could, much as they had done a year earlier in Milan, and were able to drive off from Nice on September 3rd.  That very afternoon, while on their 500-odd miles drive to Bordeaux, France declared war on Germany (Britain having done it in the morning). Two days later they were in Bordeaux seeking the Portuguese visas on their French passports. My paternal grandmother Sara Sinai and uncle Vitali Saban only arrived at night, but they obtained the visas the following day.  

Next came obtaining transit visas from the Consulate General of Spain, and the drive to Lisbon, crossing the Spanish and Portuguese borders without any particular incidents to mention. Once in Lisbon, my father was able to obtain tickets on the Moore-McCormack Lines’ S.S. Uruguay for their trip to Havana (as documented in the “By Ship” section of this website). Shortly after their arrival to Cuba in October, they had to go to the Légation de France in Havana to hand over their original passports and obtain new ones, as well as new French certificates, still as French “Protégés Syriens” but showing that they were now Cuban residents.

Just three days earlier, the government of the Portuguese dictator António Salazar had issued the infamous Circular #14, forbidding the issuance of Portuguese transit visas to Jews, among others, unless prior governmental approval, which in fact would not be forthcoming, had been requested and obtained in each case.

And there in Cuba my family stayed for months, during the so-called “phony war,” awaiting developments, which came with Hitler’s invasion and occupation of Denmark and Norway in April.  For my father, that represented a signal of what might eventually follow, and the mere idea of remaining a French subject under a potentially German-occupied France was unthinkable. So changing their status and moving to Argentina and in due course acquiring that nationality became a priority.

That required first the issuance of visas by the Argentine Consulate General, which was extremely restrictive when it involved Jews, as was the case in so many other countries. And then the issuance of Transit Certificates by the United States, so as to be able to embark on a ship from New York to Buenos Aires; but that required other prior steps.

So off Joseph went to the Argentine Consulate General with the request to obtain a general entry visa, stating that he was a returning resident and presenting as evidence the “Permanent Resident Permit” he had obtained in Buenos Aires back in 1930, when he was still using his Turkish passport and had not yet become a French subject. On May 6th, the visa was granted, with the written notation that this was being done because he was a former resident (Antiguo residente), indicating the number of his Argentine Identity Card and the date it had been issued (28/V/30). At the same time he also obtained the Argentine visa for my mother, which had the specific notation that it was for the wife and daughters of Joseph, now José, Barbouth.

Next came the need of getting, at the earliest possible, ship tickets from Havana to New York, and from there to Buenos Aires, with dates of arrival and departure compatible with the United States’ requirement that Transit Certificates, which were the only permissions Jews were entitled to, indicate the exact dates and ports of entry and departure, which could not be more than seven days apart. Without tickets evidencing this, the Transit Certificates would not be granted.

So he went to the office of Moore-McCormack Lines, for the sailing schedule of their ships from New York for Buenos Aires, and he found that May 31st, 1940 on the S.S. Brazil could be a viable option. Provided they could arrive in time sailing from Havana, which he then found out they could if they took the S.S. Oriente. That liner was to set sail on May 21st and arrive to New York on May 24th. So he made the corresponding reservations for both ships, purchased the tickets, and on May 17th obtained the Transit Certificates at the American Consulate General.      

In the meantime, with Germany having invaded the Low Countries on May 10th, 1940 and being on its devastating blitzkrieg towards France, moving on was ever more justified. Thus, once again, it was time to pack up and leave, this time by boarding the S.S. Oriente on May 21st (which they did, as documented in the “By Ship” section of this website).

So finally, on May 31st, they boarded the S.S. Brazil (as documented in the “By Ship” section of this website) for Buenos Aires. And it so happened that this particular trip turned out to be a historically significant one, because the immortal Maestro Arturo Toscanini, who was openly adversarial to Mussolini, also boarded the ship with the 100-piece NBC Symphony Orchestra for a concert tour of South America. They performed a concert aboard the ship, but while still aboard, it was announced that on June 10th Italy had attacked France, after Paris was declared an open city and Germany was already deep into the country. The Maestro became very upset and locked himself in his stateroom until the ship reached Rio, where he was headed. The story was widely reported in the media and became part of his biography.

After the flight of the French government from Paris and the collapse of the French army, German commanders met with French officials on June 18th, 1940 to negotiate an end to hostilities and formalize their occupation of France; and, incredibly enough, that very day my father and family disembarked in Buenos Aires. That date is shown in the seals of the Immigration authorities of Argentina on the passports’ visa pages above.

Buenos Aires, that’s where my brother Ricardo and I were born, respectively in 1943 and 1944.

Every year we were sent for a two months holiday in a Pension Mayer at the beach in Blankenberg and we loved it. We had very little opportunity to enjoy the outdoors except on the occasions when the professeur would take us to the Bois de la Cambre or La Forêt de Soigne and we really enjoyed it. So our days were full - but I hated school!

On the 10th May 1940 Germany invaded Belgium. Brussels had not yet been invaded. My father organized our escape from Belgium - not only for the direct family but for quite a number of relatives as well. In fact it is amazing how efficient, calm and resourceful my parents were on what must have been one of the most traumatic days of their lives.  My father called us all in the morning and said we had to leave in a few hours. He told us that each child had to take just one suitcase and pack into it what we wanted. At first I put in my toys, then my hobbies, then eventually I packed in what I felt was really necessary - the shirts, trousers, underpants.

While we were busy packing, one of the biggest textile manufacturers in Belgium who was a great friend of my father came to the flat and told my father, "Look, I have a big farm. You can go with your wife and children and live on the farm and I shall look after you and you do not have to pay a cent for the whole period of the war." My father always made good friends. People liked and trusted him. However he did not want to take such a chance.

My father then gave each of the three children a belt in which 12 gold sovereigns were concealed and he explained to us that we should never change more than one at a time if it were necessary and he gave us an idea of the value of those sovereigns. It was impossible to take any money out of the bank that morning so he could only take what there was in the tills of his business. He also contacted one of his customers in Argentina who owed him some money and instructed him to keep back payment. (That money was paid to us in the Belgian Congo the following year.) So certain was my father that the war would be over in a very short period that on the door of his business he hung a big sign - "Back in three weeks."

As for me, I was so happy that I did not have to go to school. It was marvelous. That was what I was thinking about - that I did not have to go to school - how I hated school!

Eventually we left by car for a "holiday." At Knokke on the border of France we spent one night and the next day we went to Paris to a beautiful hotel. Paris was in complete chaos and my father was arrested by mistake. After 3 or 4 days we went to a little town not far from the French border called Dax, a well-known spa, absolutely beautiful and calm. We were so sure about France being able to repulse the German army that I was even sent to school in Dax. I remember walking and seeing for the first time an aeroplane, a German plane, far above. Life was very peaceful and my parents seemed very happy. I made quite a few friends - there were lots of refugees there - obviously we did not feel the pressures of our parents.

When Paris fell on June 14th, it was a shock. No one had believed that the German army could conquer France so easily. We left Dax and went to the Spanish border to the town of Hendaye. There were thousands of refugees. In order to go to Portugal you had to obtain a visa but the Portuguese consul in Bordeaux, Aristides de Sousa Mendes, gave everyone visas without having the authority to do so. Afterwards he was severely punished although Israel subsequently gave him recognition in Yad Vashem among the Righteous Gentiles. 

I remember seeing those French soldiers ripping off the jewelry from poor ladies, wedding rings, all that they had with them - it was terrible. I  remember seeing people hiding their jewelry in tea and coffee tins.  All they had was what they had on themselves and in their suitcases. I remember seeing people selling their cars at the border for a few francs.

Spain at the time was under the dictatorship of Franco and when we went through it by train we could see the great poverty. Eventually we arrived in Portugal and went to a holiday resort, Curia. My parents organized the most complex problems without any difficulty. I don't know how they managed it and with very little money on them. The whole world was in complete chaos, and yet we were calm and at peace.

From Curia we went to Oporto and rented a room or two in a very small house. My mother was a top-flight businesswoman who had never done domestic work before - yet four weeks after leaving her smart Belgian apartment she was living in a few rented rooms, cooking and cleaning without complaint.

Refugees were not allowed to work. My father discovered that there was a small difference in the rate of exchange in Oporto and Lisbon, so on Mondays he would exchange his total amount of money in Oporto into escudos and on Thursdays he would go to Lisbon and would change them back into dollars. The small difference that he got enabled us to survive.

The Portuguese were very good people and went out of their way to be kind and nice. I would walk with my brother and they would invite us to lunch - we had never seen such kindness before - or after. There was great poverty. In Oporto we lived for about 6 months and we felt that the war would not last long - in fact some of the refugees went back to France and Belgium because they had heard reports that the Germans were behaving in an honourable manner in spite of the fact that my father and mother and other refugees tried to dissuade them from going back.

I went to school in Oporto. I learnt to speak Portuguese. It was a very interesting school because several standards were taught in one classroom all at the same time and I remember learning how to extract cubic roots. When you think about these poor people who were going to become shoemakers or tailors, having to learn to extract cubic roots - one realizes how impractical their whole school system was.

Despite the pressures my parents must have been under, they were very composed and efficient. This time in Portugal was probably one of the happiest periods that we as a family have experienced. I understood my parents much better at this time than previously, perhaps because they spent more time with me. My father used to tell beautiful stories in Yiddish. He had such a skill at telling stories that he used to go to coffee places and sit at the table with other refugees and me, the little boy next to him, to drink coffee for a few hours and tell stories and everyone would come to listen to him.

Twice a week we would go to a small grocery store and send pekelach - parcels - to my mother's large family in Poland. Each child could choose something that was needed or useful and we sent perhaps 12 parcels at a time not in our own name, but through a Portuguese firm. If we asked my mother what happened if the pekelach did not arrive she would say, "That is not our business. Our business is to send."

But the parcels did arrive intact and we found out after the war that these parcels made the difference between life and death, or between life and starvation.

Eventually we left Oporto and took a boat to the Belgian Congo, the Mouzinho, 8000 ton. It took 2-3 weeks and went through Madeira.

So in these six months I was in Belgium.

I was in France - where I attended school.

I passed through Spain.

I went to Portugal - where I attended school.

(I even wrote essays in Portuguese.)

And I went to the Belgian Congo.

My mother wrote in her published memoirs that father met a rabbi in the street, who informed him that the Portuguese consulate was issuing transit visas to all comers, papers that allowed crossing Spain into neutral Portugal provided one ultimately left for some overseas country, which is exactly what we intended to do.

I'll fast-forward the next few decades... Half a lifetime later, in 1980, my wife and I relocated to Salt Lake City where I joined the physics department at the University of Utah and where my wife established an active practice in clinical psychology.

In 1996 we opted, out of curiosity, to attend an event at the Salt Palace that had originated in the Wiesenthal Center of L.A. An audience of several thousand Utahns, including numerous Japanese-Americans and Jewish-Americans, sat side-by-side watching slide shows and movies concerning some unsung heroes of WW II.

Imagine my stupefaction when I learned that one of the heroes was the consul of Portugal in Bordeaux, whose name my mother had either forgotten or had never known: Aristides de Sousa Mendes, the man who had issued the visas that saved our lives. My wife nudged me and said, "Raise your hand and tell the presenter that you were one of those he rescued." Of course I wanted to do it but just at that moment I lost my voice, so great was my emotion at discovering the identity of this person.

I later tried to connect to surviving members of his family but it was all in vain until last year, when our daughter Olivia Mattis (a trained historian and historical detective) used social networks to identify and locate his descendants. Olivia also inaugurated a U.S. foundation to honor the memory of Aristides de Sousa Mendes.

Every year we were sent for a two months holiday in a Pension Mayer at the beach in Blankenberg and we loved it. We had very little opportunity to enjoy the outdoors except on the occasions when the professeur would take us to the Bois de la Cambre or La Forêt de Soigne and we really enjoyed it. So our days were full, but I hated school!

On the 10th May 1940 Germany invaded Belgium. Brussels had not yet been invaded. My father organized our escape from Belgium - not only for the direct family but for quite a number of relatives as well. In fact it is amazing how efficient, calm and resourceful my parents were on what must have been one of the most traumatic days of their lives.

My father called us all in the morning and said we had to leave in a few hours. He told us that each child had to take just one suitcase and pack into it what we wanted. At first I put in my toys, then my hobbies, then eventually I packed in what I felt was really necessary - the shirts, trousers, underpants. While we were busy packing, one of the biggest textile manufacturers in Belgium who was a great friend of my father came to the flat  and told my father, "Look, I have a big farm. You can go with your wife and children and live on the farm and I shall look after you and you do not have to pay a cent for the whole period of the war." My father always made good friends. People liked and trusted him. However he did not want to take such a chance.

My father then gave each of the three children a belt in which 12 gold sovereigns were concealed, and he explained to us that we should never change more than one at a time if it were necessary and he gave us an idea of the value of those sovereigns. It was impossible to take any money out of the bank that morning so he could only take what there was in the tills of his business. He also contacted one of his customers in Argentina who owed him some money and instructed him to keep back payment. (That money was paid to us in the Belgian Congo the following year.) So certain was my father that the war would be over in a very short period that on the door of his business he hung a big sign: "Back in three weeks."

As for me, I was so happy that I did not have to go to school. It was marvelous. That was what I was thinking about, that I did not have to go to school. How I hated school!

Eventually we left by car for a "holiday." At Knokke on the border of France we spent one night and the next day we went to Paris to a beautiful hotel. Paris was in complete chaos and my father was arrested by mistake. After 3 or 4 days we went to a little town not far from the French border called Dax, a well known spa, absolutely beautiful and calm. We were so sure about France being able to repulse the German army that I was even sent to school in Dax. I remember walking and seeing for the first time an aeroplane, a German plane, far above. Life was very peaceful and my parents seemed very happy. I made quite a few friends - there were lots of refugees there - obviously we did not feel the pressures of our parents.

When Paris fell on June 14th, it was a shock. No one had believed that the German army could conquer France so easily. We left Dax and went to the Spanish border to the town Hendaye. There were thousands of refugees. In order to  go to Portugal you had to obtain a visa but the Portuguese consul in Bordeaux, Aristides de Sousa Mendes, gave everyone visas without having the authority to do so. Afterwards he was severely punished although Israel subsequently gave him recognition in Yad Vashem among the Righteous Gentiles. 

I remember seeing those French soldiers ripping off the jewelry from poor ladies, wedding rings, all that they had with them - it  was terrible. I  remember seeing people hiding their jewelry in tea and coffee tins. All they had was what they had on themselves and in their suitcases. I remember seeing people selling their cars at the border for a few francs.

Spain at the time was under the dictatorship of Franco and when we went through it by train we could see the great poverty. Eventually we arrived in Portugal and went to a holiday resort, Curia. My parents organized the most complex problems without any difficulty. I don't know how they managed it and with very little money on them. The whole world was in complete chaos, and yet we were calm and at peace.

From Curia we went to Oporto and rented a room or two in a very small house. My mother was a top flight business woman who had never done domestic work before - yet four weeks after leaving her smart Belgian apartment she was living in a few rented rooms, cooking and cleaning without complaint.

Refugees were not allowed to work. My father discovered that there was a  small difference in the rate of exchange in Oporto and Lisbon, so on Mondays he would exchange his total amount of money in Oporto into escudos and on Thursdays he would go to Lisbon and would change them back into dollars. The small difference that he got enabled us to survive.

The Portuguese were very good people and went out of their way to be kind and nice. I would walk with my brother and they would invite us to lunch - we had never seen such kindness before - or after. There was great poverty. In Oporto we lived for about 6 months and we felt that the war would not last long. In fact some of the refugees went back to France and Belgium because they had heard reports that the Germans were behaving in an honorable manner in spite of the fact that my father and mother and other refugees tried to dissuade them from going back.

I went to school in Oporto. I learned to speak Portuguese. It was a very interesting school because several standards were taught in one classroom all at the same time and I remember learning how to extract cubic roots. When you think about these poor people who were going to become shoemakers or tailors, having to learn to extract cubic roots - one realizes how impractical their whole school system was.

Despite the pressures my parents must have been under, they were very composed and efficient. This time in Portugal was probably one of the happiest periods that we as a family have experienced. I understood my parents much better at this time than previously, perhaps because they spent more time with me. My father used to tell beautiful stories in Yiddish. He had such a skill at telling stories that he used to go to coffee places and sit at the table with other refugees and me, the little boy next to him, to drink coffee for a few hours and tell stories and everyone would come to listen to him.

Twice a week we would go to a small grocery store and send pekelach - parcels - to my mother's large family in Poland. Each child could choose something that was needed or useful and we sent perhaps 12 parcels at a time not in our own name, but through a Portuguese firm. If we asked my mother what happened if the pekelach did not arrive she would say, "That is not our business. Our business is to send."

But the parcels did arrive intact and we found out after the war that these parcels made the difference between life and death, or between life and starvation

Eventually we left Oporto and took a boat to the Belgian Congo, the Mouzinho, 8000 tons. It took 2-3 weeks and went through Madeira.

So in these six months I was in Belgium.

I was in France - where I attended school.

I passed through Spain.

I went to Portugal - where I attended school.

(I even wrote essays in Portuguese.)

And I went to the Belgian Congo.

We were certain we would be back soon; so certain that my mother left the family silver and all our other possessions unlocked in the house, simply telling the concierge to keep an eye on things. And I left my Teddy bear sitting on my bed. He was just exactly my own age, and he had slept with me all his life. It was for him that I wept when I thought of the Germans taking possession of our house.

After three almost unbearable days of crowding and confusion, of trains that stopped running and trains that changed destination, we all arrived at St. Jean de Luz, where the sun shone, and there was a beautiful beach, and there was the sea. The war seemed very far away.

On the twenty-fifth of June, 1940, I went with my mother to Biarritz, where there was a Portuguese consulate [sic: should be Bayonne]. We applied for visas for ourselves and my grandparents, and we were among the very last to receive them.

The next day we took the train to Hendaye. We got out and approached the customs station on our side of the international bridge. We could see the Spanish flag floating across the bridge, but on our side there was no flag; our tricolor had already been taken down. But at least there was no swastika. As the customs man stamped our passports, he said, "Les salauds, they won't remain here long."

We walked across the bridge, managing to lug all of our baggage. After the formalities on the other side, we took a taxi to the railway station at Irún. On the way the driver stopped at the check post, and while our papers were being examined, a carful of German soldiers drove up. Our driver gave the Hitler salute. I shuddered. But the Germans did not question us, and we drove on.

In the Bordeaux region three days ago I saw two fire engines that had come through from Brussels. Baby carriages, a sewing machine and bundles of every shape were piled on one. Ten or fifteen persons were packed into the other, the women with children and babies on their laps, their heads covered with pieces of oilcloth to keep off the rain.

Thousands are on bicycles with everything they have in the world strapped on the handlebars.  Many of them have now been on the road for twelve or fourteen days.

From Lille a woman reached Paris with a baby tied to the handlebars of a bicycle and a child of six years pedaling alongside on a tricycle.

A stunt bicyclist from a Belgian circus arrived with a family of four children disposed in various ways on his machine and on his shoulders.

Some arrive on farm horses, some afoot....  These wanderers number not fewer than five millions. That is to say, at least ten times as many refugees are now pushing down toward Southern France as pushed up from Spain a year ago. The difference is not only in numbers. The Spaniards received asylum in a country at peace and were looked after as well as possible in a sudden emergency. Many of them were sturdy young soldiers. The present refugees, ten times as numerous and largely older men and women and children, stream across a country locked in a death struggle....

Anyone who has heard first-hand accounts of the courage of these civilians under the ceaseless bombing and machine-gunning of the low-flying German planes, who has seen the stoicism of the survivors, haunted as they are by the fear that they may never see their menfolk again, must seize every means possible to tell at home how many lives there are to be saved by prompt American generosity and to vouch for the fact that never were there people more worth helping.

Our experience at the French/Spanish border was that we arrived one day and were told the border was closed. At that point the four men (one from each of the families traveling together) decided to go into Spain alone (without families) by climbing on foot over the Pyrenees Mountains. They would then somehow send for us from the Spanish side. When I heard this, I was terrified at the idea of being separated from my father. I have no idea how they intended to send for us since they would then be in Spain illegally and would most likely be put in jail or sent back to France, if not worse, if they tried to do anything officially. I thought I might never see my father again.

My mother vehemently objected to this "crazy" plan saying: "At times like these it's important that we all stick together rather than lose track of each other." She persuaded my father not to go with the other men who then decided not to go either.  So, we all went back to Hossegor for a few days, and then, tried again. This time we had to spend the night on the floor in a hotel lobby, but the next day were allowed to proceed through the "closed" border gates in our cars after bribing the border guards. As we left France through the customs gates, this was the only time in my life that I ever saw my father cry. I still remember being quite moved and scared at seeing this man, whom as an 11-year old child, I considered quite strong and bold silently crying like a child. It was the kind of moment you never forget.

While we were traveling through Spain in our 4-car caravan, day after day in the hot early summer sun, I was riding in the front passenger seat next to my mother who was driving one of our two cars. Suddenly, I noticed the car swerving out of our lane on a two-lane road toward the other side of the road. The car was heading directly for the ditch on the side of the road. I panicked, grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it toward my side yelling MOTHER! at the same time. My mother had apparently fallen asleep on the mostly straight, hot road. The car came back into our lane and my mother brought it to a stop. Fortunately (again, thank God) we were OK, although a bit shaken. The whole caravan stopped, and everybody took a nap on the side of the road before we continued. Apparently, the other drivers felt sleepy too. No one was getting enough sleep at night in those harrowing days.

We traveled about a week until we reached the Spanish/Portuguese border (I'm not sure where that was exactly).  My mother had packed a hand gun in her suitcase which my father had given her for protection when we lived in Boulogne in a rather deserted area next to the Hirschfeld Brothers factory for a few months before leaving France. She was concerned that if the border guards found the gun while searching our luggage, there might be a problem and we might be detained (or worse?). To distract the guards, my mother asked me to start playing my accordion which I had brought along. (I still have it, by the way, but have mostly forgotten how to play it.) I was very shy and hated to play in front of people, especially people I didn't know, and the custom office was very crowded. But I did play some waltzes and polkas I had learned, and people started dancing to my music. After a while, the guards joined in, and eventually, they let us through without searching anything. My accordion playing saved the day!

Since they told us there no hotel rooms available in Lisbon, we were diverted to Porto where we did find hotel rooms and spent about a month there. During that month, my parents and the other families were able to book passage to New York on the Nea Hellas, and we sailed from Lisbon on August 2, 1940, arriving in New York without incident on August 10th. I still remember huge Greek flags painted on both sides of the ship and brightly illuminated at night to signal German U-boats not to torpedo us. 

As we arrived in New York, the Statue of Liberty was a beautiful and welcome sight. We later heard that on the crossing after ours, the Nea Hellas was torpedoed but not sunk, and made it safely to New York harbor. Again, thank you God for getting us safely across a U-boat infested ocean.

Our visas to the U.S. were transit visas, and we were to leave for Cuba within a week. My mother-the only one of us who spoke English in our family--went to the immigration office every week, and then, every two weeks, and then, once a month until April 1941 to request extensions and they were granted until my father's quota number came up. Then, we all had to leave the U.S. overnight and re-enter on a permanent visa as legal aliens. We went by train from New York to the Canadian border and immediately came back on legal quota numbers. After the end of the war in 1945, my father and sister went back to France. My sister and her now large family still live in Strasbourg and my mother and I became naturalized in 1946.

I'm so grateful that we were able, with the help of so many people, including Aristides de Sousa Mendes, to escape the horrors that Hitler and the Nazis inflicted on so many who were less fortunate than we were. My gratitude will never end.

My grandfather moved to Antwerp in the 1880s from Hungary.  He had five sons, who were born in Belgium.  My father, Bernard, was the  youngest.  The main occupation of the Antwerp Jewish community was in diamonds, and my grandfather and his sons were active brokers and cutters.  My uncle Carol was also an artist; he had studied with Baron James Ensor, Belgium's foremost contemporary artist, and was part of the "Ostend School."

Ironically, Antwerp was also the city where Dr. Mendes was posted at the very time that I was growing up.  Nazi warplanes bombarded Antwerp on May 10th, and on May 12th, we joined the army of refugees.  We took an "early vacation" to Ostend, where my father met his brother Carol; together they visited Baron Ensor, who offered my father his visiting card.  On the 14th, my parents decided to move on to Paris -- via Dunkirk.  Paris was teeming with refugees.  There were constant bombing raids, so five days later we moved southward to a village near Bordeaux called Lacanau Ocean where we rented a villa and planned on staying for the duration of the war.  "We" included my immediate family and Uncle Paul and family.  In time, other families from Antwerp also found refuge in the village.  My brother and I attended a two-room schoolhouse; he was eleven and I was nine.  On Thursdays, the men took a train to Bordeaux to learn the latest war news and to buy Kosher food.  On Thursday, June 20th [sic: probably Wednesday, June 19], Uncle Paul returned home alone, and told my mother to pack and to meet my father in Bordeaux the next day.  Paris had fallen, northern France was occupied by the German army, thereby closing the Swiss and Italian borders, and British warships were patrolling the seacoast thereby preventing ships from going to Palestine -- the only country that would have welcomed Jews.  The sole escape was through Spain and Portugal.  

Unfortunately, the Portuguese consulate in Bordeaux was mobbed with thousands of refugees, so it was decided that Uncle Paul return to Lacaneau and prepare for our departure while my father remain in Bordeaux until he was issued visas to Portugal for both families.  After a long wait, my father fulfilled his mission.  He was able to rent a room for the night -- a night he was to remember for a bombing mission flew overhead destroying the house across the street from where he was staying.

We met my father the next day [June 20] and drove by cab to see the street where he narrowly escaped death.  We took a train to Dax, where we spent a week, awaiting our luggage which was lost.  Fortunately, the next Saturday we were reunited with our luggage and we were ready to leave France.  Trains were no longer available for civilians; they were reserved for army personnel.  My father met the Alexander Rebbe, a well-known rabbi acquaintance from Antwerp, who told him that it was permissible to travel on the Sabbath, as it was a matter of life or death.  By a stroke of luck, my father was able to engage a Belgian farmer who was carrying produce in his truck.  For a hefty sum, he agreed to take us to the border.  My father and Uncle Paul's family -- nine people -- piled in his truck -- hidden behind sacks of potatoes.  We were stopped occasionally by soldiers, but they let us through.  When we were a few kilometers from Irun -- the French-Spanish border -- the road was filled with refugees.  The driver let us out and we had to trudge along with the other refugees.  Evening came and we were next in line to be processed for crossing into Spain where the border closed for the night.

There was no place to go.  Behind us were thousands of refugees, ahead of us was a closed border.  We were the most fortunate of the lot, however, for the custom house -- a small building with a stucco bench, was between us and the border.  My mother, sister and I were able to spend the night on the bench, while a tremendous downpour of rain drenched the other refugees.  The space was so small, we didn't even have enough room for the few pieces of luggage -- which were ruined in the rain.  That night, my father and Uncle Paul met their cousin Maurice, who was also a recipient of one of the precious visas.  The next morning we were the first ones to cross the border.  I remember how my brother and I jumped over the border a hundred times, so we could say that we had been a hundred times in France and Spain!

Once in Spain, we went to a hotel to wash and rest.  We were able to buy railway tickets to Portugal -- standing room all the way.  All we had to eat was dry bread and hard cheese -- for years afterwards I refuged to eat hard cheese.  I remember the ruins from the civil war Spain had undergone.  It was past midnight when we reached the Spanish-Portuguese border.  Following an extensive search by customs officials, we were allowed to leave the train.  Townspeople, trying to cash in on the misfortune of the refugees, were announcing the availability of "rooms for the night."  We spent the night in a poor farmer's hovel -- the "beds" were wooden boards covered with sacks of straw.  I shared a bed with my father, but I couldn't sleep.  Some time during the night, a woman with a long white nightgown and flowing long hair, carrying a candle, entered the room.  She was going through our clothes.  I was so frightened that I fell off the "bed."  The noise frightened her and she disappeared.  Years later, when I read Macbeth, Lady Macbeth's sleepwalking scene brought back images of our "hostess."

We settled in Oporto.  As refugees were still a novelty in Portugal, we befriended a number of French-speaking young men.  They were extremely kind and gracious to us.  In time we rented a small apartment, as it was expensive to stay at a hotel and awkward if one observed the Jewish dietary laws.  In our new home, my mother cooked, baked, fried and marinated sardines, which became a staple in our diet.  The Portuguese government encouraged us to seek refuge elsewhere; my father was able to obtain visas to Haiti, but our dream was to go to the United States, where my mother had two sisters and a brother; Uncle Jacob was newly-arrived from Germany, where he had been a rabbi in Frankfurt-am-Main.  One day, when my father was denied permission to see the American Consul, he handed the secretary Baron Ensor's visiting card and was quickly ushered in to see the Consul.

My mother started to have severe headaches at this time, and her doctor thought that she was going to die.  She pulled through, but suffered headaches for the remaining thirty-five years of her life.

One of my American uncles -- Uncle Shimon -- was a traveling salesman and he applied for an affidavit on our behalf, but his request was denied.  He was asked how he could support another family of five.  My Uncle Jacob, who was now rabbi of Congregation Ohav Zedek in N.Y.C., had one of his congregants, a Mr. Margaretten, who owned a Kosher food company, put up $50,000 in stock in his company on our behalf.  When he went to see the American Consul in N.Y., the latter remarked, "This is the 116th cousin you've brought out."

We booked passage on the Nea Hellas, a Greek liner.  We spent the last few days in Lisbon, and many of our friends saw us off.  We arrived in N.Y. on September 12, exactly four months after we began our flight.  It was a memorable entrance into New York Harbor as our ship crashed into a steamer and the accident made the front page of the New York Times.

Uncle Paul spent a year in Portugal, awaiting a visa to the U.S. On the day they were set to sail for England, the American visa arrived, but they decided to go to England.  He had "inherited" some of our friends.  One young man in particular, Carlos Rademacker, had been especially close to us.  Carlos wrote to us in the States, signing his name Abraham Isaac Carlos Rademacker, with a star of David in the corner, requesting that we send him a Jewish woman to marry.  When I visited Uncle Paul in London in 1961, I learned that Carlos had converted to Judaism and married a Jewish poetess.  A possibility is that he came from Marrano background and his contact with us stirred up his "Jewish soul."  It is my great regret that we lost touch; I understand that he died a few years ago.

When I met my Aunt Zilly in Israel in 1987, we reminisced about our flight and she commented that the Belgian Government in Exile had helped support the Belgian citizens in Portugal during that trying period.

I had always known that we had survived thanks to the visas my father had obtained in Bordeaux, but I did not know the Consul's name or the fate that befell him due to his humanitarian deed until 1987, when my brother sent me the clipping of the article from the New York Times.  A s a Holocaust educator, I have taken it upon myself to tell the story of Dr. Mendes.  I contacted "The International Committee to Commemorate Dr. Aristides de Sousa Mendes" as soon as I discovered its existence.  I wrote a short play about Dr. Mendes for a workshop I presented at a conference on "Teaching the Holocaust Through Drama" and I hope to eventually write a full-length play about Dr. Mendes.  I will appear on a panel dealing the "Righteous Gentiles" at a conference in Los Angeles this August together with John Paul Abranches; I am excited about the prospect of meeting a son of the man who saved my life.

Dear mother and my dear child, 

Today, Sunday afternoon I finally find the peace and quiet to write to you properly. You, mother, I thank for your sweet letter of the 16th. Mädi’s letter – with the copy of Robert’s letter concerning the firm – unfortunately did not reach us. I am however very relieved to hear that the business does not require her to return to Frydek. (The Landsbergers had a textile firm in Czechoslovakia which was expropriated by the Germans.) I understand that Mädi is going to stay in Lausanne for the time being. Hopefully the situation will not change and for the two of you it will be safe to continue living in Switzerland. What about the ‘’Arbeitsdienst’’ (labor service) I hear about? Would Mädi have to do that if she went back to Frydek?

Life here in Lisbon is so good that all the dreadful things we recently saw in France and Spain now almost seem like a very bad dream. It is as if all the trouble, deprivation and exertions of the journey were literally washed away when we had our first bath. Nevertheless I want to tell you about our trip because I know you will be interested. So: 

Having obtained our documents in Pau, we managed to arrange a ‘’sauf conduit’’ (traveling permit) for Toulouse and Cerbère on the Spanish border. Also, with a lot of trouble, some petrol.  Then we heard that foreigners to the area were forbidden to travel and would be incarcerated if they did. We asked at the Préfecture (town hall) and the gendarmerie (police station) and were told: ‘Hurry and leave!’’ It is what we would hear time and time again, also later when we left Toulouse – the rumor being that Pau and the entire Pyrenees region would be occupied as a compensation for the liberation of Paris. So we packed our bags and drove off.

The first road check outside Pau was strange but it did make us feel a little better. There were hardly any cars and they simply let us through. During the weeks before we had grown accustomed to seeing really heavy traffic – all kinds of vehicles, buses full of soldiers from Paris, lorries with marines, refugees in cars with trailers, suitcases and mattresses tied to the roof, people on bicycles and on foot – so the contrast was enormous and really quite eerie. 

When we got to Toulouse the city turned out to be overfull. We looked for a hotel room for hours but did not find one, not even with the help of one of the very few taxis that still had some petrol and took us to places up to 12 km away. There was no depository at the railway station in Toulouse and we did not dare leave our luggage in the car. Fortunately the railway hotel allowed us to put our bags in the lounge. We ended up spending the night there together with 30 other people. It was really like a railway waiting room, with all those people and their luggage and crying babies. Towards midnight some drunken soldiers were removed with difficulty and that allowed us to grab hold of two empty lounge seats.  I took the pillows off and put them on the floor so that we could stretch out. A lot of people followed our example, and we relaxed a little. 

In the morning we washed in the railway lavatories, and in the pouring rain set off to the Portuguese Consulate. Standing outside we heard that a maximum of 5 people would be admitted in the morning. People who had been given illegal ["falsch"] visas at Bayonne had been refused at the border. For that reason all visas given out before July 1st were now declared invalid – so those poor people had to start the tiresome procedure all over again.  

Thanks to the letter we had brought from our ‘’législation’’ (local authorities in St. Jean de Luz) we were allowed to pull a number for the following day. The Consul told me over the phone we should come to his office at 9 a.m. The following day the whole comedy started all over again. We stood outside. People who had been given a number for that day just got another one for the next – and by afternoon everyone was sent away. 

At a certain stage I saw two men whom we had not noticed before leave the office building with passports and obviously visas. I wanted to follow them but I was so closed in by the crowds that I could not reach them. Finally Smo managed to give a policeman a warm handshake [a bribe]. That helped: we were admitted into the hallway and waited by the door of the office until 12 a.m. We were then told that the Consul would not see any more people that day. I asked the policeman to make an exception but of course he did not. 

That night, our second in the hotel lobby, we slept on our raincoats and got up a little more rested. Early in the morning we went to the Consulate again, stood outside, and Smo repeated the trick with the handshake. We were allowed into the building, waited in the hallway and by midday got our visas. A friendly looking gentleman followed our method and was also successful. As he was planning to continue to Perpignan like us we decided to join forces and share the little petrol we had. We left our car in a garage and continued our trip in his. A taxi driver sold us 10 more liters of petrol – for a lot of money and many good words.

So off we went and left Toulouse. It was not until then that the gentleman told us that his ‘’sauf conduit’’ travel permit for Marseille had expired. Fortunately we passed all checkpoints without problems and arrived in Perpignan at 9:30 p.m. Here too all hotels had signs stating they were fully booked. Nevertheless our new friend managed to talk us into a nice little hotel and obtained no less than two rooms. We took a bath and I noticed that my body was covered in bug bites. The clean bed and a good meal made up for a lot – it really was a delight to have that hotel room. The following morning we went to the Spanish Consulate. What a difference… No crowds and everything well organized. By the end of the morning we had our visas for Spain and by the end of the afternoon the necessary exit visas. There was even time for me to buy a dress, shoes and a pair of trousers. In the evening we sat underneath some palm trees in a nice little café – and the following morning we boarded the train to Cerbère.

In Portbou on the Spanish border the check was really thorough. There was even a body check. Changing money and registering our luggage took so long that we nearly missed our train. With the help of our new traveling companion however we got there in time and obtained seats. That was lucky because the next train would not leave until 10:00 p.m. – eight hours later. Many of our fellow passengers had to wait for it.

As for the train – it had no compartments and all windows were open on both sides. The people there are probably used to that but for us it was tough. All three of us had a sore throat and a runny nose for days. The trip to Barcelona took many hours. The landscape was barren and we saw many demolished bridges and houses. We arrived at 9:00 p.m. and found rooms – filthy and expensive.

The following morning at 8:00 we took the train to Madrid – a 14 hour journey. It was a depressing trip – horrible food, everything smelling rancid, the coffee undrinkable and cigarettes obtainable with distribution cards only. The scenery was even bleaker and more desolate than on the way to Barcelona. There were many tunnels, and it was extremely hot. The windows could not be closed so we were constantly inhaling fumes and coal smoke. In the restaurant car we spoke to an elderly elegant looking Frenchman who has been living in Madrid for the past 14 years. He told us many useful things. He agrees that the situation now is an atrocity, but he was anti-Republican of course and blames the revolution. Now he is politically undecided. He says the price of sugar is 40 pesetas per kilo, coffee costs 120 pesetas. He has 6 children and had just taken the whole family to a seaside resort on the east coast. 

The hotel rooms we found in Madrid were even more filthy and more expensive. As our next train did not leave until late in the evening we decided to have a look around the city. You can see that Madrid once was really beautiful. For the Prado we were too tired.  What struck us was the masses of very skinny children in the streets. We saw them picking up and licking out discarded sugar packs from the cafés. People generally look badly dressed in clothes with a lot of stains. There were a few big cars with swastikas – horrible!  Then in the cinema we saw a documentary on the Armistice of Compiègne. It made a big impression on us. 

In the evening we were quite happy to be leaving Madrid. On the train we ran into several people from the earlier trip who unlike us had missed their connection at the border. Smo, our friend and I shared a train compartment and travelled comfortably. It was early morning when we arrived at the Portuguese border. A clean station with pretty Fayence tiles in the same colors as many of the houses we saw en route. The authorities were polite, both the Portuguese and the Spanish. Nevertheless we could not leave the station until 2:00 p.m., arrived in Lisbon at 7:00 p.m. and found rooms in this pleasant hotel. (Grand Hotel Borges.) The Avenida Palace Hotel where we tried before had no rooms available, but on the doorstep we did happen to run into the secretary of the Législation in St. Jean de Luz who had just arrived. He is here to see friends but was willing to make an appointment with us.

Here in Lisbon we said goodbye to our traveling companion. He is Polish and after finishing his studies in Vienna worked for an export firm in Belgium for 10 years. He has now been assigned a job in the Congo and will travel there on the 30th [of July]. The only thing he fears is the climate which is supposed to be very unhealthy. His adventurous escape started with him joining the Polish army in Angers. He left them after 3 days, in time, but he lost his passport. He managed to replace it with one he bought in Lourdes and then tried to board a ship for Casablanca at Bayonne. The ship however was not allowed to leave the harbor – so he ended up taking the same route as us. It is remarkable how much easier everything went from the moment we met and started traveling together. He helped us and we helped him – e.g. with money matters. At the Spanish border one could change a maximum of 500 francs – obviously not enough for the trip so he would have had to wait for a money transfer. Smo and I were happy to help him out with US dollars which we could change into pesetas.

Here in Lisbon everyone is surprised that we have managed to reach the city, moreover with our passports. Up to now, most foreigners have had to hand over their documents at the border. The authorities send the people to small provincial towns some of which are on the coast. There they have to wait for further instructions.

Our first disappointment here was at the American Consulate. Transit visas are not given out until the Dominican Republic informs the USA that we have their permission to land. When they do, the USA needs to instruct the Consulate to issue the visa. We sent a telegram to Virgilio (Virgilio Trujillo, brother of the Dominican President Rafael Trujillo) and hope he can speed things up. If that does not work we still have some other ideas up our sleeve.

Today we had a visit from the former chef d’équipe of the Portuguese equestrian team. (Lali and Smo were international show jumpers who represented Austria on many occasions.) He is a Colonel in one of the best regiments and comes from an old Portuguese family. This afternoon he will take us to a Corrida bullfight and the day after tomorrow he wants to show us his military barracks and horses. Without being asked he also gave us a letter of recommendation for when we report to the police tomorrow.

The Colonel advises us to stay in Portugal. He thinks the war will end soon, but we really feel we have to finish our business with Virgilio. In any case the Colonel thinks there is no need to rush. We have reserved seats on a ship that leaves Lisbon on August 29th. There is no earlier possibility. The Colonel is planning to introduce us to a gentleman who during the [First] World War volunteered in the regiment of Smo’s father. Smo met him only briefly, but he knows the family of the gentleman’s wife very well. In any case it is nice to know such people, and we appreciate the care we are surrounded with probably double because these are such strange times. The day after tomorrow we might go to a beach 12 km away from here. 

I hope that Mädi enjoyed her excursion and that the rest of your holidays will be pleasant too. Please say hello to Leo N.

Yesterday we went to see that bullfight. I decided to go along because I was told that the bulls would not be killed and no horses were involved. It was indeed bloodless but I also thought it was quite boring and a bit like a comedy. Apparently the exhibition about the bullfights is worthwhile, but it was very hot and I do not really think that this is my kind of thing.

I am worried about Fred (Lali’s brother Alfred Landsberger) but I also believe there will soon be peace.

I kiss and embrace you both,

Your Lali

Lisbon, August 2nd, 1940

My dear, good child,

I was overjoyed with your long letter, so sweet and with such tenderness. I find it very hard to leave this continent, but at least I know that the two of you are, thank God, doing well. I’m also happy that you are now at last seeing people your own age, and that you are enjoying that. It’s a relief to me too that you and grandmother are together. I pray that things will stay this way.

We will manage somehow, I’m quite convinced about that. Thank God last winter Smo sorted out our financial situation. As well as he could, anyway…. There are still a few things not quite right. If Konrad had not been so stubborn it would all be OK now. (Dr Konrad was a Swiss lawyer and financial advisor.) It’s a good thing we left La Bagatelle because otherwise we would now be in the same situation as the Lonna’s who can not touch their money - their bank accounts are blocked. (People who decided to stay in occupied France, like Lali’s aunt and uncle the Lonna’s were now in severe money problems.) Our accounts are also blocked, but that should be rectified shortly.

As for our transit visas for the USA – Virgilio’s answer was unclear so we sent him another telegram. To that he replied that we should get on a Spanish ship to Cuba and travel to the Dominican Republic from there. For several reasons we do not want to do that, especially not while we hold these temporary (Dominican) passports which are only valid for the one trip over. It’s too much of a risk as we now find that Virgilio does not even succeed in getting us transit visas for the USA – so how can he be expected to arrange anything when we get stuck.  

A new development is that Hertha [Lorraine] and her friend arrived in Lisbon a couple of days ago. It appears to be our fate.  Yesterday she managed to get transit visas for Mexico for us, and seats on a ship that leaves on August 8th. The big advantage is that this ship is stopping at New York. We could arrange for a banker to come and see us on board. Hertha suggested that we ask Dr Konrad to help us sort out our business in Santo Domingo – no cure no pay. She wants to involve another of her Dominican contacts too.

In any case we now plan to stay in Mexico until we are absolutely sure that we can travel to the Dominican Republic safely. If in that respect all fails we can find something to do in Mexico – of that I am sure.

So, my dear child, I’ll write to you again the coming days. I was really excited about your account of the excursion to the Gornergrat. (Mountain near Zermatt in Switzerland.) I could almost smell the icy air and see the flowers. I’m really pleased that you are now getting to know these mountains – a world I used to so love and enjoy. Climbing in that area with icepicks is a wonderful memory to me.

Please give my regards to everyone at the Pensionnat, including Miss Lavandey. (Mädi was staying at the Pensionat Manoir, a boarding house for girls in Lausanne.) I’ll write again before we leave.

Love and kisses,

Your Mami

PS Two linen dresses are being made for me, one yellow and one pink. Also a summerdress with bolero jacket, a white dress with little blue flowers, four more summer outfits and a light white linen coat. Surprising huh? All hand made for less than $ 100.

Lisbon, August 8th, 1940

Dear mother and my dear child,

It was very sweet of you to phone. I considered calling you several times – but I have to admit that I was afraid to do it. You will probably understand. In any case you were right to take the initiative, thank you. It was so nice to feel you close, even if it was only for a few minutes, and to hear your voices. Mother I forgot to tell you the most important. That you should write to me or send me a telegram if anything changes. If Mädi decides to go and live with her father after all, you might want to come and be with us. I hope you would. We could in that case try and organise a visa for you – maybe through the consulate in Geneva. 

Should you need anything in the mean time, please contact Mr Santos at Cook’s. Say Hertha [Lorraine] told you to do so. He will do as asked. I also give you Colonel Albuquerque’s address: Rua Entre Campos 17, Lisbon. 

If all should turn for the better, than I hope we will be back soon. If not, maybe we can visit. And if even that is not possible I think you, mother, should come and live with us – and Mädi could visit. I expect Mädi and also Papi would be allowed to travel. (Mädi’s father, Lali’s ex husband Rolf Praxmarer was not Jewish.) If only this war does not last long. Well, I don't expect it to. 

I told you before to write to me at Vera Cruz. We now think we will continue to Mexico City straight away, so please write to us there instead: c/o Cook Company, Mexico City. Please give this address to Dr. Konrad too. The same address applies should he want to reach Hertha – she will be traveling with us. Don’t forget. 

I’m sending you the boots I promenaded with yesterday. People thought they were awesome. A local shoe repairer managed to adapt them, which was also why they now look brand new. Three pair of gloves are also coming your way. The two large ones are for you, mother, and the smaller pair plus a blouse are for Mädi. Attached to the gloves are 3 lucky beetles. One of them is for Papi (Rolf Praxmarer) – also the little charm in the shape of a ship. I would have loved to send you more but I’m afraid it would cause you problems.

We now have good recommendations for Mexico. Moreover the second secretary of our législation - the one who gave us the temporary permits for Pau and some other things – is also traveling with us to New York. He has very good connections in Mexico, should we want to stay there. He is not returning to France. I guess that about Santo Domingo we will get more information while on the ship. We know that one of our fellow passengers is a gentleman who is highly respected there and apparently he was already successful in officially organizing his own emigration.

About us you should not worry. I have ‘’Gena(?)tropfen’’ (a type of medicin for sea sickness) with me and we have been told this is the good season with quiet seas. So we should have a comfortable journey over. Even deckchairs on board are reserved for us. Mr and Mrs Popper who were in Versailles with the Lonna’s are also on our ship.

I ask you once more: please write to me often. May God protect you both. I embrace and kiss you,

your Lali

PS Mother I meant to ask you on the phone again but I didn’t because I was afraid I would start crying. I wanted to avoid that, because really I am confident that everything will be all right. Above all I believe we will see each other soon again.

About Fred (Lali’s brother Alfred Landsberger) I do worry. If Iza (Fred’s wife Iza Poznanska) cannot or will not travel with him to the USA he says he wants to stay in England. But who knows, maybe he will decide to follow and join us. 

The ship is not leaving until tomorrow. Mädi will you please write to grandmother Praxmarer and Lotte that I meant to write to them. I didn’t because I wanted to spare them unpleasant stories. Please tell them that in a diplomatic way. Many kisses!

Adresse du Capitaine du "Milena"

Antonio Francisco Coruja [Cereja?]

Ilhavo, Portugal

A bord du "Milena"

Cargo de Sardines   Portugal

Le Samedi 22 Juin '40 à 17 heures

Mon Cheri,

L'aventure a commencé, parfumée de l'odeur de la fumée du vapeur et de sardines Portugaises.

Nous devions partir hier, mais les sardines n'étaient pas déchargés encore. Des rumeurs: on part - on ne part pas - ce soir - demain. Dans deux jours, tout le monde a son mot a dire et on s'affole et on affole les autres. Je reste calme, pourquoi pas?  Je sais que nous partirons bientôt, voila l'essentiel. 

Un de notre groupe, Monsieur de Kadt, débrouillard par excellence, a arrangé toute l'affaire. 

C'est lui qui, il y a trois semaines, est allé trouver un courtier maritime et lui a demandé s'il pouvait lui procurer un bateau. Le type en question lui riait au nez. Pourquoi voulait-il partir? Ce serait de la folie, il n'y avait aucun danger.  C'était il y a trois semaines avant la trahison du roi des Belges ....... Néanmoins de Kadt  a gardé le contact avec le courtier en question et il a surement bien fait. 

Il y a quelques jours il est allé trouver le type qui lui a parlé de ce sardinier, qui arriverait le lendemain soir il y a deja deux ou trois jours. Le grand conseil de la famille a alors longuement délibéré et on se mettait d'accord  pour voir les possibilités de location ou d'achat meme du navire. Beaucoup de parlage, peu de decision....Et le temps pressait.

Pendant ces journées angoissées j'avais rationnellement préparé mes bagages, j'avais acheté un rucksack, pour le cas ou il faut marcher - j'avais un grand sac a moi, une petite valise dans une grande malle, tout ca dont je n'avais pas strictement besoin. Dans chaque valise se trouvaient des souliers, des vêtements et sous vêtements, pour que je puisse toujours avoir quelque chose a mettre, en cas ou je perdrais une de mes valises.  J'avais différé les petites choses que je pouvait porter  moi meme en cas ou ......Tout était soigneusement prévu. Le jour ou j'appris la possibilité d'aller avec ce bateau, sale, sans comfort, j'ai sorti mes vêtements de ski, des bas de laine, le sac a couchage, pour ne pas avoir froid a coucher dans la belle étoile.  J'ai acheté de tissus impermeable, pour emballer mon passeport et mes objets de valeur. J'ai cousu une piece d'identité et un peu d'argent dans mon corset pour toujours le porter avec moi et en cas de naufrage..... J'avais d'ailleurs expédié une partie de mes papiers en double - aux Etats Unis chez mon oncle. 

Je me suis procuré une lampe de poche inoxydable, des courroies en élastique pour faire des baluchons, des petits bassins d'eau pliables, toute sorte d'objets pratiques et indispensables que tout le monde m'envie aujourd'hui......

Je suis la seule a être habillée pratiquement dans mes pantalons de ski, veste impermeable, j'ai acheté des espadrilles de marin en corde, ainsi je peux m'asseoir et m'étendre parterre sans me salir. 

Ces derniers jours - depuis que j'ai su que le projet du bateau prenait des formes plus définis, j'ai retrouvé mon calme. Pendant la nuit je ne dormait souvent pas, et je notais sur un petit carnet tout ce que je devais faire encore .....

Santander   Mercredi le 26 juin '40 Espana 14h30     

Mein geliebter Amissimo!

Ich habe dir lange nicht geschrieben. Es ist nicht das selbe wenn ich dir einem Brief schicke, oder wenn ich gar nicht weiss wenn du alles was ich dir jetzt schreibe, lesen wirst. 

Ich habe in die letzte Tagen vieles mitgemacht.  Ich werd dir alles erzählen.  Zeit hab ich genug, nur fehlt mir es alleine sein mit dir, um ruhig meine Gedanken und Gefühle zu sammeln.  Ich liege am Deck in der Sonne, die momentan uns zulächelt. 

Ich denke so viel an dir und verlange so nach dir, mein Amissimo.  Warum bist du nicht bei mir auf diese historische Reise?

Soviel haben wir mitgemacht und müssen wir vielleicht noch durchstehen, wie werd ich dir doch alles erzählen können? Must du genau weissen wie es deiner Adichka vergangen ist? 

Am 19sten Juni Abends wurd endlich entschieden dass wir abfahren; am nächsten Tag sollte meine Grossmutter mit mir einkaufen gehen. Proviand fur 50 leute fur mindestens 4 Tage.  Fur jeder wollte Sie sogar eine "pot de chambre" kaufen!  Richtig luxus auf dem Sardinenschiff. Mit Mühe fanden wir ein Taxi um uns nach Bayonne zu bringen. Unser Chauffeur hatte nicht sein saufconduit.  In Bayonne war es entsetzlich!  Voll Autos mit Flüchtlinge, unmöglich durch zu fahren, alles ausverkauft, die meiste Geschäfte gesperrt. Das war eigentlich das erste Mal das ich persönlich was vom Krieg gesehen habe!

Keine Sache war mehr zu bekommen.  Das Ort ausverkauft und fast ausgeleert [?].  Sonst habe ich wahrend des ganzes Krieges, La Baule - Nice - Biarritz nie eine Alerte sogar mitgemacht, habe immer alles zu essen gehabt, und nur die Black-out erinnerte uns manchmal daran dass es Krieg war.  Auch damals war nur in Frankreich möglich,  wo die heutige Drama alle Arbeit sobald ------, die übrige und die Arbeit der Männer. 

Also proviand war privat nicht zu finden.  So suchte ich ein Schiffs---- in Anderungs Geschäft, und wo wir 4 Uhr fahren mussten gerieten wir ins fürchbarlichsten Gewitter, was ich jeh gesehen habe!  Die ganze Himmel wurde hell beleuchtend, alles war dunkel wie in der Nacht und das licht ging aus.  Der taxi war auch leider nicht wasserdicht! Alles kam binnen. 

Ich habe aber in den letzte Tagen soviel durchgemacht und soviel Angst ausgestanden dass die Boches naher kommen, dass das Gewitter mir absolut nicht mehr beeindruckte.  Als wir danach ein Cafe erreichten wo wir ruhig warten konnten, war alles OK. Inzwischen habe ich erfahren dass schon der Schiffsmann alles versorgt haben sollten und dass wir ruhig nach Hause gehen konnten. Das "ruhig" war ein bisschen zu viel gesagt.  Die Stadt war so voll, dass wir kaum durch kamen und es gewisse Zeit dauerte bevor wir im Biarritz zurück waren. Wir hofften noch die Möglichkeit zu haben Abends abzudampfen, aber leider es war nicht möglich.  Ein jeder musste 125$ und 5000 frs/person bezahlen, nicht teuer verhaltungsmassig unser Ziel. Noch warte uns allen, und besonders mir, eine sehr unangenehme Überraschung: mein Grossvater sagte uns er und die andere alte Leute, die Grossmutter, 2 Onkel und Frau, sein zu alt fur so eine Reise.  Er war in grossen ganzen sehr optimistisch: er käme uber Land, wurde ruhig auf sein Visum warten.  Die jungen Leute, Simon, Sonia, Tamara und Max & Netty van den Bergh, weil wir doch solchen Angst hätten, konnten gehen, die Anderen würden über Land gehen.  Wir baten den Grossvater er solle doch vernünftig sein: er könne sich doch nicht fur seine alte kranke Bruder opfern!  Märchen!  Er schimpfte fruchtbar, wir übertrieben, und er ginge nicht, schluss!!  Und jetzt, in welcher Angst sind wir jetzt um alle!  Die Deutsche haben ab heute die ganze Küste bis zur Spanischen Grenze besetzt.  Konnten sie zeitlich durch? Bis zum letzten Tag sind sie spazieren gegangen, ob nichts geschehen war!  Wir zitterten alle von Angst.

Der Grossvater war so ein wenig der moralischer Leiter unserer Gruppe, und deshalb waren die anderen nicht zufrieden dass er nicht mitkäme. Sogar verschiedene behaupteten, sie wolten jetzt nicht mehr mitgehen, weil die moralische Stütze fehlten. 

Wir haben keine Portugalische visum und der Grossvater hatte mit dem H. Gesandten in Lissabon abgemacht er wurd uns das verschaffen. Und jetzt ginge er nicht mit und vielleicht wurden wir Schwierigkeiten haben? Ein jeder war sehr aufgeregt, ich besonders traurig! Nach meine Eltern jetzt auch die Grosseltern verlieren, wo wir doch die ganze Kriegszeit zusammen verbracht haben und alle persönliche Sorge geteilt. Und dabei noch mein Verlobter, mein Amissimo, so weit von hier weg, und wann wurde ich ihn wieder sehen?  Ich war aber überzeugt dass ich ihn bald treffen wurde! Und die ganze Zeit habe ich das Gefühl: ein jeder habe ich verloren, meine eigene Familie in Holland, in Belgien, jetzt in Frankreich; Auch die Seps [?] ist vielleicht nie mehr zu finden, so wie ihre Söhne, aberdich werd ich wieder finden. Davon bin ich überzeugt! So wie dass Gluck mir jetzt bei Seite stand nun auf der "Milena" weg zu fahren, und trotz Sturm und Spanische  Beamten durch zukommen, genau so werd ich auch dich finden.  Vielleicht nach Wochen, Monaten, Jahren, aber jedenfalls ......

Donnerstagabend 20 hrs. 

Quelque part dans les eaux Espagnoles.

Nous voilà repartie. Il y a beaucoup de vent cette fois ci dans la bonne direction et nos 4 voiles font bien leur service. J'ai dit au Capitaine que s'il nous emmènerait a bon port, que ma fille porterait le nom de "Milena" et que je lui enverrais le faire-part. Alors il me demande ou est mon fiancé: au 7e ciel je lui dis. Alors nous ne pouvons pas avoir un enfant. Comme il est au courant ce Capitaine! Et mon fiancé? Au fait ou est il? En France, en Italie, en Allemagne ou encore ailleurs? 

C'est si beau ce soir!  Je voudrais que tu sois avec moi pour en jouir! Que le monde est merveilleux! La Cote Basque, la mer et pourtant, que de misere en ce monde. Que de gens malheureux partout!  J'ai lu dans un journal espagnol que tous les évacués en France devaient retourner chez eux, en laissant tout ce qu'ils avaient avec eux sur place! Voila, a quoi je m'attendais, également pour les autres;  soit la Hollande, soit la Pologne. Et comme je n'ai pas voulu vivre en Hollande sans Hitler, je le voulais encore moins avec Hitler, Je suis assise dans la cabine du Capitaine, mais je ne me sens pas bien et je sors a l'air; c'est la seule façon pourquoi je ne tombe pas malade. A tout a l'heure mon petit, oh a -----!

28 Juin  Vendredi soir 19h30 

Hier soir j'ai été tres malade, des vertiges etc. et je me suis couchée tot.  Ce matin je suis restée coucher jusquà midi presque. Mon "lit" est par terre sur le plancher.  Je dors dans mon sac de couchage et depuis 2 nuits je me réjouis dans le luxe d'un matelas pneumatique, c'est délicieux! Les autres gens couchent dans des chaises longues.  Moi j'aime mieux mon lit improvisé, un peu dur mais je dors tres bien. L'air me fatigue beaucoup et c'est un repos merveilleux quand on veut oublier les soucis un peu .... qui sont nombreux.  Les grandparents! Ou sont-ils? Mon Amissimo, quand les verrai-je? Mais je veux y penser avec une optimisme et une laisser aller et un dolce far niente, pendant que c'est encore possible. Les soucis - c'est pour demain. Alors jouissons pleinement d'aujourd'hui.

J'ai un compartiment toute seule pour dormir!  Ceci semble extraordinaire, sur ce bateau ou il y a tant de monde!  Mais avant d'y arriver il faut ramper par terre dans une espece de tunnel et personne ne semble avoir découvert cela. J'ai étalé tous mes vêtements et objets sur une planche et je jouis de ma solitude, je suis sure que personne ne touchera a mes affaires.  J'entends les autres ronfler de loin, mais cela ne me gene nullement. Je dors le sommeil des justes! Et je suis seule. C'est l'essentiel et je pense que nous sommes a deux, et ainsi je supporte mieux mon sort.  Pense donc, mon cheri: si j'ai perdu mes grandparents, je n'ai plus que toi au monde!

A part cela, je reste sans un sou, car mon grand-père était sur d'arriver a Lisbonne et il ne voulait rien me donner!  Je pense bien que je trouverai quelqu'un qui me payera le voyage en Amérique, et la je trouverai un travail. Je n'ai jamais eu peur que je n'arriverais pas. Je me suis préparée depuis bien longtemps a être un jour réfugiée. Je te l'ai souvent dit: mon grand-père peut perdre tout son argent. Mais ce que j'ai dans le cerveau, cela est a moi! Et toi, tu as ta voix!  Voila notre capital a nous deux, et cela suffit amplement!

Deux choses me font peur: que la Grèce entre en guerre (cela depend de la Russie) et qu'aussi tu devras marcher!  Tant que tu restes `neutre',  je suis sure de te revoir bientôt. Une autre chose que je crains, c'est que l'Angleterre soit battu, et qu'ils iront vers l'Amérique et aidée pas par la 5e colonne, on peut craindre le pire!  Si jamais Hitler ou ses gangsters me trouveront sur sa route je serai réexpédiée pour la Hollande ou la Pologne, et alors comment te retrouver?  Le jour ou nous aurons la meme nationalité, je n'aurai plus peur. Ce qui t'arrivera a toi, m'arrivera aussi et cela ne fait rien tant que nous sommes ensembles!

"Geteiltes Leid ist halbes Leid."  Mais j'espere que nous aurons "Geteilte Freud, ist doppelte Freud!"

Mon petit, j'ai tellement senti les obstacles qui sont entre nous ces derniers jours!  Des frontières infranchisables, des courriers qui n'arrivent pas!  Pourquoi tout cela?  D'un autre coté si je ne t'aurais pas eu je n'aurai jamais eu tant de courage a supporter ce que j'ai supporté ces derniers jours!  Weisst du, du mein Amissimo, wie du mir geholfen hast?  Ich habe mir immer gedacht, nein ich will leben, frei bleiben fur dich!  Ich will nicht zurück nach Holland, denn ich muss dich bald wiedersehen. Ich danke dich, mein Liebster, dass du gerade jetzt fur mich da bist, in meinem Leben gekommen bist, und wann ich dich nicht bei mir habe!  So habe ich immer etwas schönes um an zu denken und mir zu freuen.

Die goldene Zeit aus Nizza wird immer in dankbare Erinnerung bei mir bleiben! Schon war es und vielleicht wird es wieder so schon, werden wir alte Stadte zusammen durchkreuzen, weit von der Menschen und der slechte Welt. Vielleicht schon in Lisbonne!  Wenn ich beten konnte, wurde ich jeden Tag darum flehen, dass es möglich wird.  Ich gebe mir aber --- Rechenschaft von den Schwierigkeiten warin du jetzt bei deine Schwiegerfamilie warst.  

Je me rends si bien compte de tout cela.  Je comprends également fort bien que tu ne peux pas laisser Edith seule maintenant et peut-être même avant long temps. Je l'admets et j'attendrai ..... je ne suis pas pressée, pourvu que le sort nous soit favorable!  Je sais que nous ne nous perdrons pas, j'en suis sure!  C'est impossible mon Amissimo! Je le sais!  

Je suis toujours restée au milieu de mon histoire. Donc le jeudi 20 Juin, notre sort était décidé. Le lendemain matin à 10 heures, nous aurions rendez-vous tous ensembles avec le chef de l'expedition de Kadt et nous devions aller tous ensemble jusqu'au bateau. La veille au soir on nous faisait savoir qu'aucune voiture n'aurait plus le droit de circuler le lendemain! Débrouillez-vous. J'ai fait tout mon possible pour trouver soit un taxi, soit un camion et finalement mon cousin, qui habitait St. Jean de Luz, a réussi a trouver un camion, qui nous a pris au passage avec les bagages. 

La separation des grands-parents était dure pour moi; mais ma Grand-mère coupait court notre emotion:  c'est de la sentimentalité.  Mon Grand-père me disait: je te defends de faire quoi que ce soit avant que je sois a Lisbonne!  Il y croyait si surement. Pourvu qu'il avait raison! 

Aussi il n'avait pas donné d'argent. Chacun de nous avait 25.000 frs qu'on pouvait prendre avec soi. C'était tout, surtout que le franc ne vaudrait bientôt plus rien.  Par la grace de Dieu, j'avais pu obtenir encore 100$. Pour moi cette somme me paraissait enorme. Je n'avais jamais eu tant d'argent ensemble. Mais si c'est tout ce que nous reste pour vivre et qu'on veut aller aux E.U. c'est pas beaucoup. Mon grand-père avait payé deja notre visa, cert., l'affidavit, mais il refusait de me dire le nom et l'adresse de la personne responsable de ses affaires en Amérique. "Tu m'attendrai, je te dis". Il ne se rendait pas compte de la gravité de la situation. Et moi, je me disais.... je ne le verrai peut-être plus jamais!  J'ai obtenu un grand succes, car il a enfin consenti a m'écrire une petite attestation sur sa carte de visite, disant que je suis sa petite-fille et qu'il me recommend. C'est peut être peu de peine, mais combien utile, si je l'ai vraiment perdu. C'est la seule piece qui justifie de mon identité vis a vis de lui, et qui pourra peut-être me faciliter la demarche pour les E.U. Car j'y arriverai s'il le faut comme stewardess ou bien sur un cargo, mais j'irai!! Et toi tu y viendras. 

C'est vers 9h30 que nous avons quitté l'hotel, donc 6 personnes de notre mispoche. Marguerite devait aller avec nous. La maudite, quand elle croyait que nous étions "confortablement installés" sur nos valises sur le camion, nous dirait!  Elle n'irait pas!  Finalement, pour la calmer, on lui a offert la place de luxe a coté du chauffeur. Pendant notre voyage des avions survolaient constamment la region! Pour la premiere fois et mon coeur battait d'émotion. C'étaient heureusement des avions français, mais cela prouvait que la guerre s'approchait de nous! Bordeaux avait été bombardé a plusieurs reprises et ce n'était pas loin.  Biarritz, plein de Juifs riches et de diplomates et personnalités était un endroit ideal "objectif de choix pour des aeroboches" et Bayonne, ou tant de navires attendaient  pour emmener des réfugiés en Angleterre et pour embarquer des troupes Polonais et autres ...... 

En passant par des routes de campagne après avoir cherché nos compagnons de fortune, personne ne nous arrêtait ou nous demandait des papiers. C'était heureux. On craignait toujours d'être renvoyé. On nous emmenait d'abord a la douane. "Rien a declarer. Pas plus de 25,000 frs chacun?  Alors passez!" C'était tout.  On recevait un petit papier et on pouvait embarquer. On respirait. Tous les dollars que chacun avait sur le coeur, leur devenait chaud. Les douaniers étaient des anges! Plus tard dans la journée on devait apprendre qu'ils ne l'étaient pas tous! 

Ensuite on allait vers le bateau, qu'on était toujours en train de vider de ses sardines. Il n'y avait pas l'air d'être bientôt vide. 

Aussi, nous décidions alors d'aller manger quelque chose; c'était une heure. Impossible. La plupart des restaurants portaient la mention "complet". Aucun magasin n'était ouvert. Par hasard nous rencontrions un douanier du bateau, qui fort gentiment [?] nous menait a travers la ville, nous procurait clandestinement un peu de charcuterie (c'était un jour sans viande, vendredi!) et nous offrait le pain qui lui avait été réservé chez le boulanger!  Les scenes dans les rues: indescriptibles!  Des ruées de gens devant le Consulat de Portugal, d'Espagne pour les visas.  D'Angleterre pour des bateaux. De Belgique et d'Hollande pour ceux qui attendaient de mettre leurs papiers en règle.  Les Belges, qui avaient fui la Belgique, devaient pour la plupart se faire faire des passeports au prix de 50 frs. Cela leur faisait perdre beaucoup de temps et il y avait des milliers qui attendaient leur tour. Les gens s'étaient installés sur les bords des trottoirs, ils y mangeaient et cela ne m'aurait pas étonné s'ils y dormaient aussi. Les rues étaient barrées par des cords, des files de gens attendaient devant des magasins, fermés a clé, l'heure de leur ouverture peu probable. Voila la guerre ........

Ainsi nous avions donc pu obtenir un pain et de la charcuterie, et nous  réussissions a nous trouver quelques places vides dans un café; parterre c'était bondé.  Nous avons pris du café et mangé tranquillement tous. Je me suis presque endormie, j'étais si fatiguée, toute la nuit précédente je n'avais pu fermer l'oeil. 

Ainsi nous avons du attendre et attendre ...... a la fin de l'après-midi les douaniers sont venus nous dire que tous les bagages devaient être visités!  Et qu'ils ne pouvaient le faire que le lendemain matin.  On dirait qu'il y avait eu une erreur auparavant c'était pour ceux qui allaient en Angleterre que les bagages étaient tout de suite marque

My father, mother, two brothers, and I fled from Antwerp, Belgium on the thirteenth of May 1940, just ahead of the German armies that, three days before, had attacked Holland, Belgium, and Luxembourg without warning. We left our home rather suddenly, not knowing what would happen to us next, but sure that, as Jews, our lives depended on not falling into the clutches of the Germans.

After a series of adventures and misadventures, we found ourselves on June 22 in Bayonne, France in a large crowd of refugees in front of the Portuguese consulate. Pétain had surrendered to Hitler and the part of France in which we found ourselves was going to be occupied by the German army. I can still feel our fear and despair: the line ahead of us seemed impossibly long, did not seem to move, and the Germans were presumably on their way.

The details of what happened next are somewhat blurred in my mind, but at one point our passports were taken into the consulate, and a while later sacks full of passports were brought out to the little square near the consulate. Our passports, properly stamped with visas to Portugal were among them. That moment I do remember vividly! There had been no formalities, no interviews, no delays, no conditions.

With those visas we were able to get a permit to cross Spain, to then get out of France just ahead of the Germans, and to reach Portugal safely. From there we eventually sailed to the US. About five years later I went back to Europe as an American infantryman, and had a chance to judge with my own eyes the fate that might have befallen us had we not escaped...

My parents both died totally unaware of the drama and heroism behind those visas. Thus de Sousa Mendes never received our thanks nor that of hundreds of other people who were unaware of what he had sacrificed for them, and probably never even heard his name. I know that there must have been many Belgian Jews among them since we recognized many people from Antwerp in the crowd, mostly people of my parents' generation who are long gone.

A while ago John Paul Abranches asked me to describe how receiving a visa in 1940 affected my life. I was able to answer that question in very few words: I am now 75 years old, a professor emeritus at MIT, married to a wonderful wife for fifty years, father of two sons in whom I take great joy and pride. I have had a rich life. Had it not been for de Sousa Mendes's deed, I would probably have died horribly in a concentration camp before reaching the age of seventeen.

We had escaped from Brussels to France together with thousands of our brethren who had been expelled from France and Belgium that were already under the rule of the cursed Nazis. After many upheavals and troubles caused by bombings, we reached Bordeaux. We found thousands more of our brethren in the streets, camping on the square next to the synagogue. In the evening a big car driven by a chauffeur arrived and stopped next to us. The diplomat stepped out and talked to me. He invited me to come with my wife and five children ... to his home. When we got to his home he told me that he was the consul-general of Portugal in France and that he had 13 children. He offered us to use all the comforts of his home, but I realized that I couldn't do that because I couldn't part from all the people who were out in the streets, and also because the house was filled with [Christian] icons, which terrified our children who refused to eat. I thanked him for his kindness. In the morning we joined the people outside and then I returned to his place and explained that there was only one way to help us -- by giving us visas to Portugal.

As we were talking, the vice-consul heard what we had said in the French language, and warned him not to fall in the trap of granting visas. He said it in Portuguese, but to no avail. Mr. Mendes told me that he would give visas to my family and myself, but that he would have to seek his ministry's permission for the other refugees. I tried to influence him not to listen to his deputy, and then he said that I could announce to the refugees that anyone who wished to have a visa could receive one. I immediately announced it to the refugees. All the refugees got visas and he sat all day long and signed them. I helped him in putting the stamps in the passports and then he would sign. He didn't eat nor drink the entire day until late in the night, and within a short time gave thousands of visas until the perpetrators came closer and we had to escape through Spain. When we reached the Spanish border the Portuguese Foreign Ministry had already decreed that the visas the consul had issued were worthless. It was on the eve of the Sabbath [Friday evening]. We asked the border guards to let us cross the border in transit through Spain. While we were standing there, begging the border guards, the consul appeared and told us to wait while he would talk to them. An hour or two later it was he who opened the gate for us...

I went to Lisbon with my family, and there Mendes visited us. He told us that he had been fired because he had helped, but that he was content, and if thousands of Jews were suffering because of one Catholic, one Catholic could suffer for all the Jews. He said that he accepted it with love.

250 dollars pour aller à St. Jean de Luz demandait un officier Polonais, 1000 pour Hendaye.  Je suis assise sur un base à 9 heures du matin en attendant l'ouverture du magasin sport.  Les croissants sont rares. 10 heures en route pour Bayonne dans un camion assis sur des bagages. Drôle de taxi, ils ------- gros.  Mais on a oublié de passer à l'hôtel de Bretagne.  Le taxi --volte et on cherche [Simon] de Kadt, qui a un permis général d'embarquement. 

On va suivre l'auto du Kadt. On perd Simon deux fois. 11 heures assises sur les malles après une inspection sommaire. Pas plus de 25,000 francs.

Assise dans un café à Léopold de la Baule grande effervescence. Toutes les nationalités se rencontrent. Achats de couverture de voyage. Les Dames de France sont fermées.  On veut trop. On parle miracle et le ravitaillement est maigre. Nous partons en bateau P. Ecris à Roger. Le douanier me donne 20 ans. On telephone au consulats qui sont débordés. Il y a une mission anglaise avec des dames de l'armée du salut. Pleins de soldats fourbus. Notre bateau est un 4 mats. Je casse un verre. Je veux le payer. "Taisez-vous, Madame," me dit le garçon d'un air gracieux.

Acheté des cigarettes pour le douanier. On ne peut pas acheter plus d'un paquet; le douanier nous conduit à la charcuterie (jour défendu) et après avoir contemplé le consulat Espagnol, assiégé par une foule, il nous trouve un dernier livre de pain et un café Bon Basque.  Trois cafés et 3 morceaux de sucre avec une goutte de lait contribue à notre bien être corporel.  Le bateau apparait.  Il ne partira que vers 2 heures du matin.  Le mari de la charcutière est prisonnier. "J'ai navigué dans tous les coins du monde, je suis resté droit."  L'autre répond. "C'est là votre erreur." 

J'ai un baluchon, deux couvertures et dedans une boîte à bijoux vide et des couverts cuir; le tout tombe à chaque moment et le douanier refait le paquet. Comme l'on dit, "sans être malhonnête, on peut se laisser guider par les offres." "J'ai joué dans la comédie et dans le drame, et dans le drame vous y êtes!"

Je vois un bateau avec des soldats. Les soldats débarquent. Je vois Pighetti, Roger mort ou disparu, Bernheim, Regis, et les 3 filleuls de Roger.  Pighetti est blessé à la pate. Il est très sympa. Je donne des cigarettes à un soldat qui s'est sauvé à la nage. Les événements me dépassent. 

15 heures, le bateau ne part pas, les sardines sont toujours dans le bateau. La douane le fera demain à 10 heures.  8 heures nous sommes enlevés Ada [van den Bergh] et moi en auto par l'entrepreneur de l'affaire, un vieux couple gaga. Hospitalité charmante. Une maison basque, les enfants nous donnent leurs lits. La chambre des enfants est tapissée par le portrait des grands chefs militaires de cette guerre, aussi les portraits des rois exilés, le roi des Belges a été ôté. 

Ce matin rebateau. J'envoie du chocolat à la dame. Des bruits que le bateau ne part pas. On n'a pas de visa de sortie, mais nous avons chacun un visa d'entrée Portugaise, avant nous n'avions qu'un visa collectif. La question de dollars est agitée car on ne peut en emporter. Papa erre nerveux et demande des renseignements à l'inspecteur de police, ce qui fait que l'on mentionne de lui dire de ce tenir tranquille.  Enfin, permission d'embarquer. Des chaussures alpins font le bonheur.

J'ai rencontré un lieutenant. Je lui ai demandé d'envoyer P. sur le banc en face des 4 mats. On embarque. Tout est prêt.  12 1/2 j'ai faim.  2 heures. Toujours en garde.  J'ai comme voisin un Hollandais, golfeur universel et dilettante.  Les sardines sont sorties et nos bagages les remplacent.  Des curieux demandent des questions et des français cherchent à s'embarquer.

C'est très difficile d'obtenir un visa de sortie.  Le douanier de hier a dit à maman, "Elle est très gentille, si j'avais 20 ans de moins!" Je lui ai donné des cigarettes. Je suis vêtue d'un imperméable et d'un chapeau de paille, et comme dit mon voisin "s'est l'optimisme et le pessimisme."  4 1/2 le bateau part, le halètement du moteur. Le douanier me dit "Vous étiez plus gaie hier, vous avez l'air triste." Je suis triste de partir. Un tchèque: "Pas de cafard, les Anglais auront la victoire." Des soldats du haut d'un rempart nous contemplent. La foule est triste. Un jeune Belge nous envie.  Le bateau avance. Quelques bateaux de guerre plein de marins. Le bateau avance dans l'estuaire. Partir sur un bateau avec salle de bain moderne et douche américaine! On require de l'eau de cologne. La perspective de 4 jours de bateau et d'une torpille. Le Portugal, puis l'Amérique ou l'Angleterre. P. n'était pas là. J'ai quitté le chapeau de paille et mis le foulard autrichien. Mon voisin prend son 5 o'clock tea. Je vais l'appeler Burberry à cause de son imperméable.  

Le 22 [23?], 9 heures du matin. La pluie crépite sur le pont.  Le vent s'est levé et le bateau se soulève faisant corps avec la mer. Mais moi, réveillée, je fais corps avec le bateau et mon esprit fiévreux m'oblige à écrire.  A[da] disparue. Je pense à l'expédition de N., à son sac de couchage. Je suis dans la cale du navire.  Tout en bois et clos. Une vaste pièce au milieu une chaine en bois, de chaque côté une double haie de transatlantiques avec un appui pour les pieds suivant la choix de l'habitant. Des corps inertes, appésantis par des monceaux de couvertures et des manteaux. Tout le monde git inertes. Deux lampes à pétrole suspendues à des hauteurs diverses jettent une lumière blafarde sur un decor plus réaliste que Gaston Baby et Dublin. Je m'étais assise ou plutôt écroulée à droite du navire après avoir descendu l'escalier en bois tortueux espérant continuer à voir un coin du ciel et les cordages par la trappe. Mais tout est clos. Je pense à mon grand-père. Il a 86 ans et il a pu partir avec ses 2 frères 86 ou pas.

Visa, le mot est imprimé dans mes yeux en lettres électriques comme les devantures de cinéma. A 10 heures 1/2 nous discutions de notre situation. "Tu seras étendue au milieu des crachats et des rats sur les planches. Ces propos pessimistes me font jouir de la situation présente car jusqu'à présent seulement les crachats se sont réalisés. Je lutte contre un estomac capricieux et la pointe de mon stylo suit le mouvement du bateau qui s'accélère. Hier soir on nous a donné du jambon et B. m'a donné un morceau de pain de mais qu'il avait acheté au marché. Le tout augmenté d'un soupçon de pâté de foie gras et d'un bout de fromage a regagné les planches. 

Je fais comme les vaches, je rumine.

On a la manie de l'espionage. Une dame tchèque avec un foulard vert était soupçonnée.  Elle donnait des cigarettes au soldat. La nuit elle fouillerait des sacs et elle envoyait des télégrammes. J'arrête. Le bateau ne part pas. Puce puce, le chien, court partout. Un bébé issu d'une mère anglaise et d'un père hollandais sourit, seul innocent du bateau. Nous avançons mal contre le vent. B. mange son pain de mais et étale un panier ingénieusement compris, plus une bouteille de cognac qu'il avalera d'un trait si on rencontre un sous marin. La plupart des gens on l'air émigrant, cheveux à la dormi dessus.  L'espionne s'occupe de ses enfants et ses cheveux décolorés n'ont plus l'air dangereux. Je me suis lavé le visage et les mains, mais j'ai remis aussitôt ma main sur du cambouis, ainsi le résultat est relatif. 

8 heures 1/2. Arrêt à Santander. Le capitaine prétend qu'il va voir l'Espagne et il fait beau.

Apres dîner de soupe et de macaroni, j'ai dormi pendant le déjeuner. Le bateau est arrêté.  On reparle politique.  Le capitaine de mitrailleuse tchèque avait acheté un jambon et des conserves, qui font le bonheur de tous. 

9 heures. Un petit bateau avec 2 charmantes dames brunes, chapeaux à voilette, arrive à bord.  Un jeune homme, souliers beiges, Police. Tout le monde doit montrer son passeport. Le mot d'ordre est "protestant."  La femme à voilette est montée sur le bateau. Mme de Kadt lui offre son manteau. L'amie de la police descend presto avec ses hauts talons. Nuit calme, coupée par les ronflements sonores d'un monsieur, humidité grandissante.  Matin je me lave les dents. La Sanita nous fait une piqure contre la variole qui règne au Portugal. Hier soir on a débarqué bébé, maman, papa. 

La mère avait fui sous les bombardements en Hollande et -------- à nourrir son enfant à cause du manque de nourriture. Une nuit sur le bateau l'a achevée. Le capitaine espagnol descend avec amour portant le bébé dans ses bras. 

La police est revenue ce matin. Une partie était là depuis hier soir pour garder le bateau. Ils sont jeunes, gris, sous alimentés. Ils jouent avec le chien, ont une cape noire, un revolver, et un long poignard. L'arrivée d'un journal promis par le Sanita d'hier, l'armistice pas signée.  Il y a 8 1/2 d'eau pour le moteur.  Puce Puce a trouvé un chien blond, qui est devenu gris, avec qui il partage ses pièces. La jeune policière le prend comme taureau et fait des passes de toréador.  

12 1/2 Le Consul Portugais est venu. Madame de Kadt a bouffé la police de cigarettes, chocolat, et moi je jouais mon rôle en souriant. Le jeune policier infirmier devait si ravi qu'il nous a montré la photo de son amie. Déjeuner de biscuits avec pain rassis et grosses boules de fromage coupé en tranches. Nous faisions comme les dromadaires. On buvait toute l'eau au bord. Si demain on continue par bateau, nous serons assoiffées, vu que l'eau ici n'est pas potable.  Les plus gros ont toujours faim. Le vent siffle, c'est délicieux d'être amarré.  Je me demande si le Consul de Madrid me donnera la permission de continuer par train.

Les 2 Kadt ont un visa et peuvent descendre, mais nous on a le mal de mer, Amen. 5 heures, la police revient. Pluie torrentielle. On parle avec les policiers. Le Duc de Windsor et des Rothschilds sont à Madrid. On doit descendre dans le bas du bateau. On désinfecte le bateau et on parle de ne pas nous permettre de continuer le voyage: les conditions étant trop sommaires. L'odeur du désinfectant remplace. 3 heures. Je donne 50 francs à un policier pour qu'il m'achète des oranges, le sourire fait des miracles. Il veut moins d'argent. Je lui demande des biscuits, mais on ne peut en acheter en Espagne. Mon example est suivi, il achète du savon à laver. 

Il a 20 ans, mais il a fait 2 années dans la guerre civile. Il me montre du doigt où Santander a été bombardé.  Il y a une chance que nous pourrons partir.  La commission d'hygiène en discute. C'est l'odeur des sardines, si nous ne tombons pas tous malades. Le consul hollandais était un allemand. L'espoir renait. Peut-être pourra t'on partir.  Le médecin trouve les conditions sanitaires du bateau insuffisantes et la police dit qu'elle nous enfermera si nous débarquons sans visa. Maman veut demander un visa au médecin, mais le médecin a disparu.

A 7 heures arrive un papier. Les 2 Kadt, qui ont un permis, peuvent débarquer. Une grosse dame est verte de peur. On la corde et précédée d'un batelier on la descend .... des dangers de la graisse. Une femme nerveuse à haut talons nous fait apparaitre l'escalier un pic à descendre. Heureusement les jeunes filles et le consul Portugais font preuve d'agilité. Quand à Monsieur de Kadt, il descend comme s'il méditait un problème. Il a bien descendu, est un sujet à méditer.

Quatre heures, dîner dans la cuisine. La bande de Tcheques sont installés et [on] mange une excellente soupe fait avec des conserves données par les Hollandais dans des belles assiettes des H., avec les cuillères des H. Mme de K. vient leur faire une scène. Elle croit encore être dans une maison servie par 10 domestiques et que sa cuisinière a barboté du sucre et que le repas n'est pas servi à l'heure. 

Pendant ce temps je me suis mis dans un coin. J'ai pris de la soupe, je l'ai mangé, ce qui a fait que les marins disaient "Sapere vivere" et que le cuisinier m'a offert de la viande et j'ai eu du thé, pendant que les Hollandais étaient mal servis. Après la dame a continué à numéroter les biscuits et les linges personnels, qu'on a retrouvé.  Sourire et il faut se servir soi même est la devise sur ce bateau.

Le 25.  Les planches dégageaient une humidité à l'eau de javel qui imprégnait mon transatlantique et je risque d'être pleine de rhumatismes demain. Le bateau devient de plus en plus humide. Le matin on a droit à une tartine de fromage et une confiture.  La dame Hollandaise règne et veut que tout soit mesuré. Le capitaine s'est levé une heure plus tard. Il fait mauvais. Du vent. Le baromètre monte. Peut-être on partira demain. Ce matin je me suis bien lavée chez le capitaine alors que les dames en bas se faisaient apporter de l'eau et ne pouvaient que se débarbouiller le bout du nez.  

On ne donne rien aux tchèques. Mais ceux ci se nourrissent grassement à la cuisine. Hier j'ai parlé à une jeune tchèque, forte et saine. Elle me parle de son fiancé tchèque. Ils devaient se marier, mais depuis 15 jours elle n'a plus de nouvelles; il sera fusillé, si il est fait prisonnier. Elle m'a dit, j'ai toujours été si heureuse, j'aimais le sport, lui aussi. Nous partions dans la montagne ensemble et maintenant je suis sur ce bateau sans nouvelles. Je lui écris poste restante dans les Pyrénées et au Maroc, car j'ai appris que l'on envoyait l'armée tchèque la bas. Elle a 20 ans et nous rions ensemble de la mentalité des H[ollandais].

Quand au jeune Polonais, il est resté cette nuit sur le bateau.  Son amie est dans l'alimentation.  Elle est partie avec des réfugiés pendant la guerre Espagnole et elle est revenue maintenant. Il me dit: "Elle s'est réfugiée comme vous et votre ami Hollandais doit beaucoup pleurer. Chaque homme à son tour est le gardien du W.C. Il est obligé d'y veiller. Trois fois il s'est offert pour être soldat, mais il a été refusé, mais pour ce genre de service, on vous accepte.

11 heures. Un coup d'oeil du pont. Mes 50 francs se sont transformés en 4 kg d'oranges et des biscuits secs, bruns dans un sac et bon. J'ai dit "molto gracio" et offert un biscuit et pas demandé des comptes. Le savon à barbe est arrivé, mais il a l'air miserable. Des gens essaient d'acheter des bouteilles d'eau minérale. Ils demandent le prix d'avance. Rencontrée un mur d'ignorance et de méfiance. Ce matin un peu de soleil. Le pont est couvert de sciures de bois.  Le menuisier à la chemise à carreaux et au bon sourire scie des planches.  Le pont n'est jamais lavé.  Casquette blanche (le capitaine du W.C.) et sa femme française à manteau de léopard (elle ne voulait voyager qu'en 1re classe) ont l'aire rhumatisant et désemparé. Les Tchèques engraissent, comment? et font très désordre: bas de soie roulés et troués, barbe, et crasse, mais ils ont l'air heureux. Le majordome court de la cave a la cuisine, maigre mais avec un derrière.  Quelques têtes inconnues, un manteau à fourrure et au teint vert, errent mélancolique. C'est l'arrière garde hollandaise.

Un monsieur Hollandais, un banquier en costume bleu marin, foulard à pois d'un bleu roi ravissant, qui dort à la cuisine à un garde manger truffé [de] delicatessen (j'ai goûté hier à ses prunes) prend en fumant un cigare. Le scieur siffle impatient. L'espionne au foulard vert assortit à son teint et entourée de ses enfants non peignés et pieds nus.  Maman arrive. La majordome vient de lui reprocher que j'ai acheté des oranges. Maman m'a défendue en disant que nous n'avons aucune reserve (on nous avait dit que le capitaine se chargerait de la nourriture au bateau) et tout le monde à une cachette avec du lait et des fruits. Grand historia me dit que mon griffonnage nihilique "Pas de possibilité de départ par le train." Hourra pour les oranges. La surintendante de la majordome (ma cousine) met les linges à laver et à sécher sur une corde. Je lui conseille de se méfier de la fumée qui sort de la cheminée. Les linges risquent d'être assortis à puyence.  

Ada au foulard rouge arrive. Il parait que nous sommes célèbres.  Des capitalistes B[elges] H[ollandais] qui ont payé un million pour avoir le bateau. Nous sommes dans les journaux locaux et de Kadt a été interviewé. "Un coeur en noir" me dit "la traite des blanches" en regardant ma bourse rouge en cuir à peau de phoque. 

"Ha entrado en el puerto la galeta Milena de 773 tonelada, matriculada en Lisboa. Viajan en ella capitalis[tas] belges et hollandaises. Pagada par el viaje asciende a mas de "un million de francas." La Caceta  del Norte. (25 Juin 1940).   

7 heures.  Nous devenons un objet de curiosité pour le port. Deux nouveaux soldats sont venus nous voir. Un petit bateau avec 2 garçons tourne autour du bateau. La petite fille rousse est malade. Le médecin est venu. Il dit: "Aujourd'hui un peu de poisson, demain un peu de viande."

About a dozen other Jewish families had found refuge there, including my Uncle Paul and his family. On Thursdays, the men went to Bordeaux to learn the latest war news, as we had no radios, and to buy kosher food.

On June 20 [sic: should be June 19], Uncle Paul returned alone, and told my mother to pack, as we were to meet my father in Bordeaux the following morning. Apparently Paris had fallen and northern France was occupied, thereby closing the Swiss and Italian borders. The only means of escape from the grasp of the German army was by ship, but British warships were patrolling the seacoast to prevent ships from going to Palestine -- the one country willing to accept Jews -- or through Spain or Portugal.

Thousands of refugees had flocked to Bordeaux. It seemed as if they all had the same idea: apply for a visa to Spain or Portugal. Since only the Portuguese Consulate was issuing visas, it was decided that my father remain in Bordeaux until he received visas for both families and we were to join him in Bordeaux the following morning.

What had troubled my father was the fact that he had not taken his passport along. We had fled with just two suitcases with our summer clothes -- and whatever diamonds my father had in the Bourse. Like many of Antwerp's Jews, my father was a diamond broker. Possessing diamonds enabled us to flee and covered our traveling expenses for a few months. Apparently the lack of passports was not a problem, for my father obtained transit visas to Portugal, which also enabled us to travel through Spain.

Whenever my father recalled our flight, he mentioned the crowd in front of the Portuguese Consulate. It seemed as if everyone in the line was an authority on the war! Native people appeared out of nowhere selling sandwiches and bottled water. Occasionally a man or woman came on the balcony and calmed the crowd, which seemed to grow bigger with each passing hour.

By late afternoon it was my father's turn to enter the building housing the Consulate. Everyone seemed to have quieted down as they went up the stairs, step by step, each refugee praying that his request for a visa would be granted.

When they entered the Consulate they were welcomed by a reassuring voice, apparently the same Portuguese lady who had appeared on the balcony, who told them not to worry. They would all be granted visas to Portugal. She also told them to help themselves to something to drink as she pointed to a table set with pitchers and glasses. She then joined three men at the desk and table who asked a few questions and issued visas to everyone. What impressed my father most was that he never saw anyone pay for the visas.

As he left the Consulate, visas in his pocket, it was already dark outside. Out of nowhere a young man appeared, and asked if he was looking for a room for the night. With a mixture of relief and apprehension, my father followed the stranger, who led him to an old tenement. The price for a cot in the room shared with the young man was expensive, but it was better than walking the streets or staying in the waiting room at the railway station.

That night [June 19-20] there was a bombing raid over Bordeaux and the house across the street was hit. My father fell off the cot and muttered a prayer. The next morning [June 20] -- after we were reunited and heard his story -- he pointed out the demolished house only a few yards away from his refuge for the night.

After a harrowing journey we reached Portugal where we stayed until we were granted visas for the States. We settled in New York and it wasn't until 1987 that I learned from an article in The New York Times that our savior in Bordeaux was none other than Dr. Aristides de Sousa Mendes. Later I learned that the "reassuring Portuguese lady" was none other than his wife Angelina.

Je suis un survivant, parce qu'un préfet français ancien directeur du cabinet du préfet du Bas-Rhin (tous n'étaient pas des Papon, bien loin s'en faut), ce préfet à Albi nous a octroyé sans qu'il n'en ait le droit le visa de sortie nécessaire pour quitter le territoire français.

Je suis un survivant, parce que des douaniers espagnols à la Junqera et à Badajoz ont regardé de l'autre côté.

Je suis un survivant aussi parce qu'à Lisbonne, nous avons été pris en charge par une famille portugaise totalement inconnue, catholiques dévots, dont le mari -- capitaine dans l'armée portugaise -- a guidé, appuyé les démarches de mes parents, s'est porté garant de nous et je le suspecte ... a certainement aussi graissé quelques pattes administratives en notre faveur à notre insu pour nous permettre d'abord de rester à Lisbonne et ensuite de quitter l'Europe à bord d'un navire portugais avec les maigres biens que nous avions pu sauver.

Bref, je suis un survivant parce que toute une chaîne de femmes et d'hommes d'Europe ont eu le courage d'agir dans le même sens qu'Aristides de Sousa Mendes et Dimitar Peshev, qui à une époque où la vie de ceux qui étaient décrétés "Untermenschen" était sans valeur aux yeux de certains, ont appliqué avec le courage et en prenant les risques que l'on sait, la parole biblique qui veut que "qui a sauvé une vie, a sauvé l'humanité toute entière."

In Lisbon, on August 9th, 1940, Lali and Smo boarded the Quanza. It was a relatively small Portuguese cargo ship with around 300 passengers on board -- mostly Jews from Central Europe heading for a new future.  The trip to their first stop -- New York City -- lasted 13 days. Lali wrote a positive and really quite funny letter to her mother and daughter about the ship and the other passengers on board. It may well be that for the sake of her family she painted a rather more positive picture than was really called for, but there seems at least to have been enough food, and the passengers' company appears to have been pleasant.

Without a clear idea of where they were heading, Lali and Smo travelled on. There was still no definite answer from the Dominican Republic, and permits for Mexico, Cuba and Argentina were also pending. From New York City, the SS Quanza sailed to Vera Cruz. Lali and Smo, traveling on fake Dominican passports, were among the first 30 passengers who were allowed off the ship. Then, quite suddenly, the authorities stopped the disembarkation process. Among the passengers who were refused entry to Mexico was Lali's cousin Jirka Hitschmann. Lali writes about the way Smo and several other lawyers, both on the ship and in Mexico managed to convince the authorities that he and several others should be allowed to disembark. It was close -- Jirka was given entry only hours before the Quanza's departure. For the other passengers of the SS Quanza, with no place to go and confronted with the risk of having to return to Nazi Europe, the trip turned into a nightmare that was widely discussed in the international press. Eventually, thanks to the intervention of Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, the refugees were allowed to enter the US on an extra stop at Norfolk, Virginia. But that is another story... In Mexico, Lali and Smo were allowed to enter the country on temporary permits and had to spend nine frustrating months trying to arrange the paperwork. They rented a place in the Acapulco area, where they had friends. Lali, who otherwise in her letters is never negative or even outspoken, did not like the country. Although she speaks with warmth of the people she is in direct contact with, she hates the corruption, the guns and, at times, the heat and humidity.

On June 7th, 1941, just as Lali and Smo were resigning themselves to the idea of staying in Mexico and were making preparations to buy a small house in Acapulco, they were suddenly given the official go-ahead to move to the Dominican Republic. Preparing for the trip and saying goodbye to their friends and acquaintances all happened in a matter of days. On June 12th they left for Havana, Cuba, by ship. The journey lasted three days. After two days in Cuba the plan was to take a seven-hour flight to the Dominican Republic. An unexpected intermediate landing however resulted in an extra day in Port-au-Prince, Haïti.

Lali and Smo arrived in the Dominican Republic on June 20th, 1941. They were met at the airport by Don Virgilio Trujillo y Molina. He took Lali and Smo to his ranch outside Ciudad Trujillo and offered them lodgings in one of the buildings on his property. They stayed with him for several weeks. In the following years Lali would write repeatedly that Don Virgilio had been helpful in many ways and indispensable in getting them acquainted with their new surroundings.

This testimonial is excerpted from  https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Landsberger-5

Through his example, Portugal saved countless refugees fleeing from the terror and destruction of WWII. His lifelong saying to my late father Rabbi Chaim H. Kruger, "I would rather stand with G-d against man than with man against G-d," remains an inspiration for all of us.

It is to the eternal glory of our family that my father Rabbi Kruger was instrumental in inspiring the Hon. Sousa Mendes to use his good offices to save so many innocent people. Initially, Mr. Mendes offered to save my father and our immediate family by issuing us visas to Portugal. But when my father insisted that he would only accept the offer if it was also extended to other refugees, Mr. Mendes realized that the issue was much wider than simply helping a friend or one Jew.

To the eternal gratitude of untold numbers of people living today, descendants of those he saved, Sousa Mendes faced the challenge head on, without compromise and with all his strength. Sousa Mendes so truly deserves the belated honors now being bestowed on him. May the memory of his courage and self-sacrifice be an inspiration for the whole world to the end of time.

I remember the Spanish crossing because my father was taken away, and we thought he wouldn't be allowed back to join us. Luckily he was. At the Portuguese border, my uncle Samuel was waiting for us. During the nine months in Portugal, my brother went to an English boarding school. I went to a French day school for girls.

Portuguese law did not allow foreigners to work so my parents and their friends spent their days in street cafs. Their lives appeared idle on the surface, which led to some local hostility. The Portuguese authorities did not help the refugees; they depended entirely on funds from the American relief organizations, the HICEM and the Jewish Joint, distributed by the committee for refugees of the Lisbon Jewish Community. We were helped by our uncle.

We spent a lot of time on the beach at Estoril. My father tried to get a visa to the U.S. but was unsuccessful. He had a choice of South America or Canada. Canada had made an agreement with the Polish army in exile to accept a certain number of Polish engineers, so he chose Canada. We set sail on the Guiné for New York.

I knew both the Rabbi and the Consul personally. I was a witness to the mass scene described in ... a book of one of the sons of Mendes. Esther and I were also beneficiaries of those Portuguese visas which determined our future.