Hello Martina
I am going to tell you the story of my friend Hanna, who I
still call Hannele, which is what she was called when we were kids.
Hannele’s mother was friends with my mom and you know that
when the moms are friends, the kids are generally also friends, or one could
even say they are like siblings or cousins, and that was how my, Bubi, and my
cousin Adi’s relationship with Hannele
were.
We played a lot, at my house or at the Rosenthatl house
(that was their last name). Hannele always had the nicest toys, which meant
that I loved playing there. I especially
remember her doll “rooms” that weren’t quite a house, and a kitchen for her
dolls that impressed me because of its modern appliances. Everything was little but looked like the
real ones. One time we played
hairdressers… it turned out to be a bit like that time that Maia cut her own
hair that Christmas, remember? And I can’t even tell you in how much trouble we
got. I think the one at fault was
actually Bubi and mom got really mad, not to mention how angry “aunt” Edith,
Hannele’s mom, got.
The Rosenthals lived on Gartenstrasse, that is where we went
to play and from where my mother pulled us on a sleigh through the snow in the
winter. Bubi and I stayed seated on the
sleigh, holding on tight, while my mother pulled. It was beautiful, the snow made the street
silence and in some lit windows one could already see a few Christmas trees, so
I guess it was close to Christmas. The
only bad part about traveling so comfortably was that since we weren’t moving,
our feet would get incredibly cold, and once we got home mom had to warm feet
and we had to put ours immediately in warm water because they were like 2
pieces of ice – or it seemed that way.
Later, the Rosenthals moved to Prenzlauer Strasse where
“uncle” Bernhard, who was a cook, opened a restaurant. In reality it only served food for lunch,
between noon and 3 pm. In their
apartment he arranged a dining room in one of the big rooms and placed many
tables. The menu was written by hand using
a really strance ink. I mean to say, one
wrote every item on a sheet of paper, then it was copied on to a special pad
where the ink would transform and look like gold, and then one would bring
white pieces of paper on to the pad and … a miracle, the menus would be
printed! An example would be placed in glass framed case on the door at the
entrance of the house (the restaurant was on the ground floor) so that the
possible clients could be aware of the yummy things that were being served that
day. The others were handed out to the
clients at the table, like at any other restaurant.
And there were always yummy things, starters, soups, a meat
plate (various) and a dessert to choose from.
My mom helped in the kitchen, since she was also a very good cook. She
was in charge of desserts. She made some
“budines” (qhich you guys don’t like and Marianne and your mom don’t either). A
budin made out of noodles or rice,
sometimes filled with poppy seeds and apple, something that everyone loved a
lot. Hannele wrote me that she
specifically remembers the “budin” made out of noodles, really golden and sweet
and wants to know how to make it. I know
that your mom will not accept eating
sweet noodles.
I went many times to pick up mom from there and they always
gave me some desserts. One time, I got
to spend the night at this house for a whole week, while Hannele was sent to my
house so that my mom could teach her to eat.
Apparently Hannele didn’t like to eat and I don’t know what my mom did
with her, I think she fed her creamy soups with corn starch, flour, and grits,
like people did back then so that kids would gain weight. I didn’t care, because I had the priviledge
of being able to pick a different dessert everyday. I think that must have been during a vacation
break.
A bit later the Rosenthals moved again to Klosterstrasse, a
neighborhood in the middle of offices.
My mom helped there too. And Bubi
and I would go there after school, because it was close by, and we would help
deliver lunches. We liked this because
we always got tips, 5 or 10 Pfennig, which you can imagine left us pretty
happy. For candy or whatever we liked at
the moment. On top of it, we got to eat
there. But the best was the time that we
had to wait between deliveries, because I could read. Hannele had a room like what would be an
attic here, with a staircase, small, and
with an angled roof. It only had a bed, a table, and shelves full of books. All of the kid’s books that one could
imagine, Hannele had them. So, I would
always make use of this time to read some, and then I could always take some
home to read. And that makes me think a lot of Maia. I could hardly wait to get home, finish my
homework for school, so that I could start reading. Her room was a library where one went, picked
out something, and when one had read it one would return it and pick out
another. Hannele had an aunt Olga that
didn’t have children, and she was the one that bought everything any child
could ever want, including clothes and toys.
At some point Gina was born, Hannele’s sister. In the picture that I am attaching you can
see her. It was a Sunday, and evidently
in the Spring, just judging by how we are dressed. They sent Bubi, Adi, and I to get “aunt”
Edith’s girls and go walk around. We
thought it was strange, but we were obedient and it was a nice morning, so the
three of us went to Klosterstrasse, where Hannele and Gina awaited our arrival.
Gina had a little stroller for her dolls.
We headed to Lustgarten, which was a park across from the cathedral
(your dad knows this place). All of a
sudden someone called us! We looked and it was my dad: what a surprise!! “Stand
together over there,” he said to us so seriously that we though we had done
something wrong. We acted immediately without knowing from where my dad had
appeared, or what we had done wrong, then he called over a photographer. Now I think that my dad was always near us
watching over us to make sure that nothing happened to us, but we never realized
it. We were very proud to be able to go
out on our own. I must have been 10
years old. Well, the photo is testimony
of that morning.
One summer, “aunt” Edith invited me for a few days to go to
Ahrensfelde, a place on the outskirts of Berlin, where at that time there were
lots of houses with gardens, fruit trees, etc.
(et cetera – et –and – cetera—what is missing in Latin, and it is used
to that one doesn’t have to list a lot of things of the same class). In this place, that at that time didn’t have
streets, just little tiny roads, the Rosenthals had a little tiny wooden house
with a terrace, 2 or 3 little bedrooms, a small kitchen, and then a huge yard,
which was a lot bigger than the one we had.
In the back there were strawberries and in the front apples… I loved
being there, listening to the birds singing in the early morning and hearing
the sound of the milkman’s tires that came down the gravel roads… you know,
it’s the feeling of being “outside” when you are so used to living in a huge
city where there aren’t gardens, like it was then (and now) in the case of
Berlin.
I spent a few days there with Hannele and Gina and “aunt”
Edith, of course. We got there by
train. The train kept going after our
stop and went by our back yard, so we would stand there and wave… On Sunday morning my mom came with Bubi. In the afternoon we climbed the apple trees
and took the apples (what else would we take?) and we filled many bags with
tiny apples that weren’t fully ripe yet.
After that we had to carry these
bags, and that was no easy task. We made a chain, always carrying two bags at a
time. And we walked like that on the
highway until we got to the bus stop.
The bus would leave us closer to home than the train. After we got home we put the apples one by
one on top of a closet, very far apart.
They ripened there until the winter and there were apples to last for a
while. That’s ho things were done
then.
These were just some life experiences that we lived together
on top of the normal gatherings between friends. When my family left Germany, they were still
there and after a while we stopped getting news from them, like it happened
with almost of the loved ones we left behind.
The war came and then finally ended. This happened in 1945. We got a weekly American magazine written in
German called (and I think it is still called) Der Aufbau. This was the only tie that we immigrants had
and the only way we had to find out about others like us. In this newspaper, one day, Edith Rosenthal’s
name appeared. You can imagine that I
immediately wrote her and I got a response.
I am not going to tell you every detail, because this is another story,
but I will tell you that found out that Hannele and Gine (who now is named
Rina) were sent to Palestine (what Israel was called back then). “Aunt” Edith went there after the war (she
had survived in Berlin illegally, which means in hiding). Hannele got married
and had one girl. Rina went to a Kibuts
and then Hannele returned to Berlin.
Now, how did I find Hannele again? There is a German magazine for Berliners
called Aktuell, and in it I read once an add from Hanna Schulze (born
Rosenthal) searching for ex-class mates.
Then, I wrote her a letter, telling her that I was not a class mate but
we were very close in our childhood and I sent her copies of the picture that I
had of her and us together, etc. I immediately
got a happy response. It was a huge
surprise for her and she was sooo happy… And well, since then we are still
writing each other… It must be now a year and a half.
Well my love, this is the story of how I found my childhood
friend. I hope you find it interesting and if you have questions, go ahead and
ask and I will reply!
I love you a lot and love to your parents and Maia.
Yours,
Oma
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