18 Years Ago: May 8th--Day before due date meets historical anniversary

Today, as we hear across the airwaves, is the 70th anniversary of the Victory in Europe during World War II, known as V-E Day. One place I get my news is a daily program called The Takeaway (Public Radio International). On today's show, John Hockenberry discusses the complexities of this date in the present European situation: World War II allies have stayed away from Russia's celebrations because of disagreements about the Ukraine.

This week in Germany, the most interesting discussion on this topic for me was an SWR2 Forum radio conversation on Tuesday called "Plötzlich wollten alle Deutsche nett sein" (Suddenly all the Germans wanted to be nice). Elisabeth Bronfen (professor of English and American studies at the University of Zurich and New York University) and others discuss the writings of three American women, including Margaret Bourke-White, who were in Germany at the time of the liberation and reported on what they saw and photographed. Excerpts from the texts (as quoted by SWR2) include:

"Niemand ist ein Nazi. Ich war nie in der Wehrmacht. Wir haben von nichts gewusst". US-Kriegsberichterstatter bekamen solche Sätze bei Kriegsende in Deutschland "so häufig zu hören, dass sie uns wie eine National-Hymne vorkamen"[.]

"No one is a Nazi. I was never in the army. We didn't know a thing." US reporters heard such comments at the end of the war in Germany "so often they began to sound like a national anthem"[.]

If you have an inclination to listen to intelligent discussion of some feisty reporting--in German--I recommend this broadcast. While you're on the SWR2 website, you might also appreciate their section on Stolpersteine. Photographs and texts accompany short radio segments about these memorials in the southwest German region.

I can be quite certain that on May 8, 1997 I gave no thought to V-E Day. It would have been the 62nd anniversary--not a round number to make headlines. May 8th was the day before my official due date. I had plenty of things on my mind, as evidenced in questions jotted down for a prenatal appointment: Beta strep result and current protocol; What happens in the birth room if Dad has a cold? Current size, weight and orientation of baby; Pressure on uterine floor/cervix. I didn't write down the answers, but I checked each item off.

On the same page, Markus' handwriting details what happens when the baby is "overdue." At one week past the due date, there would be a non-stress test and ultrasound. The amount of amniotic fluid would also be checked twice weekly in the Fetal Diagnostic Center. I'm glad to be reminded that Markus and I went to the appointment together.

May 8, 2015: Speaking of overdue, I enjoyed a long-delayed chance to meet with my friend and fellow writer Nicole (pickles-and-onions.blogspot.com) this morning. Nicole and I met in 2011 when she was pregnant with the first of her two children. We bonded over undertakings like breastfeeding as well as over writing. Among many other points of intellectual and emotional connection, our friendship has given me the chance to visit the days of pregnancy and little kids--vicariously.

For a little history, here's what the Simon candle looked like in 2005. We invited Simon's friends over for Simon's "8th birthday". We all lit candles and watched them melt down to puddles of color. The tall, faceted magenta candle is like the one we lit for Simon's memorial service in 2004. He loved lots of color, and magenta was his absolute favorite.

The Simon candle in May 2005, with candles lit by his friends
to remember his 8th birthday.

I thought to share this photo tonight because I used the same dish to make pasta for dinner. It's been a while since we had such a large dish of sand as a regular part of our living room. Every time I use the pasta bowl, I think of lighting candles--lots and lots of candles with lots of friends and family--for Simon.

Veggie Alfredo, 2015

18 Years Ago: May 5th--Doula

I'm enjoying the ritual of daily writing and daily candle lighting. This evening I'm typing from the sofa, next to the burning candles. Normally we keep our candle by the window with a pair of photos from the fall of 2003, when Simon entered first grade and Miriam was in a fine arts preschool. It's the last matching pair of school photos for the two of them. Especially since Miriam is so gorgeously posed in this photo, it feels right to hold the two of them in time together this way.

Simon candle, May 5th

I've been adding other photos in slow accrual. By May 17th I'll have a crowd. Today I added a flip album that I put together for Simon in the summer of 2004. It has photos of many highlights in his life--special people and events. I made it to give him a way of remembering. Tonight the photo shows Simon around seven months old with Bonnie Marquis. Markus and I met Bonnie one evening when we went out for dessert after a concert. She was our waitress, and she noticed my pregnancy. She overcame some shyness and a sense of propriety to tell us she was in training to be a doula and looking for births to attend to complete her training. Markus and I had heard of doulas (birth assistants), and we liked the idea. We exchanged numbers, had a few careful conversations, and accepted Bonnie's offer. What a difference that encounter made...but I'm getting a little ahead of myself. When I returned to work part-time a couple months after Simon was born, Bonnie was Simon's wonderful nanny.

May 5, 1997: Again, I have no documented activities for this particular day, only guesses. We saw Bonnie regularly in the weeks leading up to Simon's birth. She had read midwifery texts about good birth practices, and she was articulate about the spiral of escalation that can occur with interventions in the natural birth process. Together we solidified plans and wishes for a natural birth. She planned to provide massage for pain relief during labor. She also provided it during these pre-birth visits! Bonnie attended one birth (her first) at the end of April, and it had involved several difficulties. Ours would be her second.

May 5, 2015: Today was a fairly normal day for us. Markus, Miriam and I bumbled around in the morning to get out the door. Miriam has the earliest departure at 7:15 am to get to first period at 7:50. Markus is the only one of us who functions alertly in the early morning. I am, alas, the slowest. I left for a 9:00-4:15 teaching day at a business college (the DHBW in Heilbronn). I'm a guest lecturer there in Business English about 30 full days per year. I heard and evaluated 12 presentations on various topics by my international class. Tomorrow will be another round of presentations. It has not escaped my attention that many of my students--currently first-year undergrads--are about a year older than Simon would be. Next year's incoming class will be his age peers.

On my way home, I stopped by the Stolperstein memorials we take care of to shine them up again (a previous post describes these plaques). I took a photo to show the neighborhood.

Stolperstein memorial plaques

Street view with Stolperstein location near fence.
Presumably the building where the Kahns lived
was on the spot that is now a green lawn.

A little more on Stolpersteine

The February 16, 2015 issue of The New Yorker magazine includes a Letter from Berlin by Elizabeth Kolbert titled "The Last Trial: A great-grandmother, Auschwitz, and the arc of justice." She tells the story of a German man tried as an elderly person for his role in processing the money assets taken from prisoners at Auschwitz. One of those prisoners destined for extermination was Kolbert's great-grandmother.

The article blends the history of justice finding or not finding Nazi perpetrators with details of her family story. One of those details is the placement of a Stolperstein on the street where Kolbert's great-grandmother last lived in Berlin. Readers may recall my post about Stolpersteine in December 2014. Kolbert attended the placement and spent time with Gunter Demnig, the artist. I do recommend reading the article.

Recently in Karlsruhe, I made a photograph of a particularly thought-provoking installation of Stolpersteine. The plaque at the top states these men were all members of the state legislature in Baden. In other words, they were elected by their fellow citizens to serve in the government. Some died in concentration camps. Other causes of death: by execution, during interrogation, in prison, in exile, from the effects of imprisonment.

It's a glittering patch of sidewalk next to what's now the city library. The location once housed the former state government of Baden* in the Ständehaus.

Stolpersteine for eight members of the Baden state legislature
who died under Nazi oppression
Ständehausstr. 2, Karlsruhe

*After World War II, Baden and other localities went through numerous phases under the occupying Allied forces. In 1952, the current state of Baden-Würrttemberg was formed, and state government moved to Stuttgart. As I have mentioned before, a healthy tension remains between the Badisch and the Schwäbisch.

Stolpersteine

The world reels again today from news of great cruelty perpetrated by human beings on other human beings: mass killing of children in their school in Peshawar, Pakistan. We hear of such an event and must accept that it is true, even if we can't imagine the heartless brutality and can only dimly picture the devastation of families and the wider community.

Perhaps there is some larger context at work because today was the day my husband, Markus, and I became caretakers of two Stolpersteine in Heilbronn. The Stolpersteine are in memory of Karl and Rita Kahn, who lived at Wollhausstraße 40.

A Stolperstein is a brass plaque, about 10 x 10 cm, embedded in the sidewalk at the address of a victim of Nazi extermination. Name, date of birth, deportation, date and place of death are engraved into the metal surface. The verb stolpern means to trip, and pedestrians are meant to "trip" over the plaques, like uneven cobblestones, and take note.

The terse, non-euphemistic wording on the plaques can be a shock. "Murdered in Auschwitz" is the text on these two plaques. The sidewalk in front of my in-law's building in Stuttgart has a Stolperstein for a young man, Helle Hirsch, guillotined by the Nazis in 1937 for his role in the resistance. The plaque says "Decapitated."

Artist Gunter Demning began the Stolperstein project in the 1990's, and it has grown since then. Spend some time on the website to get an idea. Heilbronn joined the project in 2009. Yesterday, the Heilbronner Stimme printed a notice that the plaques in Heilbronn need caretakers. Markus responded, and we promptly received our assignment.

This morning we went to find the Stolpersteine and see what immediate care they needed. 

Karl Kahn and Rita Kahn, Stolpersteine at Wollhausstraße 40

We spent ten minutes rubbing metal polish across the surface with a soft rag. The "stones" cleaned up to be too shiny to photograph well with a smartphone. In reality, they look more textured with tarnish, and it's quite easy to read the text. We'll work on another photo.

At stolpersteine-heilbronn.de, you can read (in German) about the plaques in Heilbronn. A pdf gives biographical information about the Kahns. Here is a translation of that text. We hope to learn what became of the Kahn's son, Hans.

Wollhausstr. 40
Compiled by Dr. Gerhard Schneider (Freundeskreis Synagoge Heilbronn e.V.)
English translation by Mary Craig (Stolpersteinpatin, Flein).

Karl Kahn was born on December 26, 1890 in Hollerbach.* After completing state examinations to become certified as a teacher and a teacher of religion, Kahn worked in various locations in Württemberg before he came to Heilbronn in 1924. On March 28, 1929 he married Rita Meyer, born on April 23, 1906 in Bibra, Thuringia.

After 1933, as attendance of public school for Jewish children became increasingly difficult and ultimately forbidden, a private Jewish school was set up in Heilbronn—in the rooms of the Adlerkeller brewery restaurant in Klarastraße. Karl Kahn served as director of the school and its only teacher at times. His own son, Hans, born on February 11, 1930 also attended the school, which had the character of a Mittelschule (a standard, non-college prep school).

In 1939 Karl Kahn assumed the role of cantor at the synagogue after Cantor Isy Krämer and his wife emigrated. Kahn remained active within the steadily decreasing Jewish community, particularly in helping to arrange emigrations. “To save the small Jewish community, he gave his own life and the life of his wife” (wrote Hermine Rosenthal in a letter to Hans Franke).

Karl Kahn and his wife seem to have stayed in Germany to provide as much support as possible to members of their faith community. In 1939 they sent their then 9-year-old son to England on a Kindertransport, an effort to spare Jewish children from Germany the anticipated deportations. In the fall of 1941, the Kahns were forced to move to Stuttgart. From there they were deported by Sammeltransport (collective transport) to Theresienstadt on September 22, 1942. They were both murdered on October 6, 1944 in Auschwitz.

*In Rheinland-Pfalz, 175 km northeast of Heilbronn.