A heartbreaking farewell at hands of Nazis

Friday, May 17, 2002 | by

JOSEPH P. WEBER

The knock on the door was loud and the voice outside even louder, "Aufmachen!" It was Nov. 10, 1938—Kristallnacht—and father, mother, sister and I were hiding out in Vienna, having just escaped from our native village in eastern Austria. We'd been ordered by the Gestapo to "leave the country in four days or you'll end up in a concentration camp."

Our old Jewish landlady opened the door and there stood two brown-shirted storm troopers. "All of you come with us!" they bellowed.

Father was taken to a prison and our mother, Helen, was now in charge of the family. The landlady's flat was locked up and sealed. We found refuge with friends and slept for several months on the hard floor. After spending many days standing in line before all the Viennese consulates—in vain—to obtain a visa, we finally seized the last chance to escape to Shanghai. Mother's mom, our Hungarian grandmother, came to say goodbye, along with two uncles, and I well remember the heartbreaking scene as mother and grandmother embraced one last time. Both knew they would not see each other again. In fact, all our other Hungarian relatives including mother's four younger siblings and their small children were massacred by the Nazis.

What pain sweet, gentle mother suffered the rest of her life no one can imagine.