Source : Yad Vashem Archive 03/1806 [Rachel Becker was a teenager during the war, the daughter of a mixed marriage (her father was a Jew). As a Mischling (of mixed race) she was not deported, but in all other respects treated as a Jew. She worked in Weissensee - the large Jewish cemetery of Berlin. The testimony was written in English in the original in 1960]
The Great Action of March [should be February] 1943
On that certain morning, the Gestapo in one well-organised sudden move rounded up all the Jews still living in Berlin and brought them straight from their places of work, mostly munitions factories or the like, where they worked in closed teams, clearly marked with their yellow Starts of David, to a few concentration points scattered throughout the city [of Berlin]. Thus in a few hours of that fateful morning in March 1943 all those who until now did not even want to believe the strange rumours according to which the Jews, being ostensibly deported for "resettlement" somewhere in the east…were not put to work but to death, were suddenly shaken out of their complacency and faced, at last, with the whole and cruel truth… I myself, by one of these unexplainable strokes of luck…had not felt well on that morning and not gone out to work at the cemetery. My father, of course, had left at about 4:30 a.m., as usual, in order to reach his working place with a repair team at the German Reichsbahn (railway) by 6 a.m. My mother before leaving for her work, she had started to work as a bookkeeper since my father, a few years ago, had been taken to forced labour, earning about 32 Pfennig per hour, minus 15 % Jew tax, went down to the corner telephone booth in order to phone Weissensee Cemetery about me not being able to come to work. Having got the connection, her explanations had been cut short by the excited voice of the administrator, who warned her not to let me out of the house, not to phone herself anymore. Something terrible is going on', and the line went dead. At this very moment, still standing in the telephone booth, she saw the notorious Silberstein van stopping just in front of our house. (The Germans having disowned the country wide known moving firm of Silberstein & Co…were using the vans since the very beginning of the deportations for moving out the Jews). The "fetcher" got out – my mother looked on glued like Lot's wife to her observation place – went into the house next to ours, returned after a few minutes of eternity and got back into the van, which quickly drove off…
The Imprisoned Jews At The Various Concentration Points
Of course mother did not leave for work that day. And father did not return from his. However, by the next morning the " judischer Mundfunk" (Jewish mouth radio [the network spreading information and rumours by word of mouth] - the amazing means of communication kept up by the Jews who long ago had been cut off from their telephones, their radios being confiscated, scattered throughout the big city, forbidden to use any public conveyances apart from and to work, which recorded quickly, and mostly 100% accurately, whatever news there were) already by next morning had located most of the captured, who still had parts of their families outside, at the respective places where they were held – and informed the relatives, just where to look for them. By noon of the second day, the Germans passing by at certain places throughout Berlin saw, without understanding, clusters of weeping, frantic women (the non-Jewish wives of the Jewish men held inside) in front of these concentration points, trying desperately to see their husbands, or at least, smuggle to them food, a clean shirt or shaving material. Yes, mother too, after having warned me not to open the door on any account, had taken off with a parcel of food and few things. She returned, after hours of waiting outside the building of the Jewish community in Oranienburger Street, where father was said to be kept, where she and hundreds of other wives had tried in vain to make sure that her husband was inside…or at least to bribe the guards to take the parcels to their addressees. Many times police tried to disperse them – but the women always returned. However at the end of the week the Mundfunk reported the first releases of Jewish husbands of mixes marriages and one day my father returned home. The mixed marriages, the majority of which were Jewish men married to non-Jewish women…had been a headache to the people concerned with the Endloesung (the Final Solution)… After having spent these days, stuffed together with hundreds of others, with sanitary conveniences nearly nil, and food little more, father was…released…
The Jewish Community Institutions After the Action
Until March 1943 the activities of the Jewish community had even though on a much reduced scale, still gone on. Now, with one stroke, all the various buildings and institutions belonging to the Jewish Community were confiscated by the Gestapo, the staff deported, and apart from the Jewish Hospital (where sick Jews were nursed until they were strong enough for deportation – and which housed the Gestapo HQ) the cemetery in Weissensee and the big old building in the Oranienburger Strasse, all other belongings of the erstwhile famous and flourishing Berlin Jewish community were taken over by the Germans. However the Gestapo having more or less accomplished the final solution of the Jews in Berlin…decided to keep the records and archives of the Jewish community and having just deported all the clerks handling the archives until now, they picked a few of the men about to be released for sorting out, keeping and packing away of the communities archives.
…My father was one of the chosen and did not have to return to the railway team…And he even got the stamp: "place of work: Gestapo" on his yellow tramway permit, thus providing the utter paradox of a Jew employed by the Gestapo. Work in the Jewish Cemetery After the Action
This….brings me back to the point where I actually wanted to start this narrative: the day after.
Still partly dazed and numbed by the happenings of the last few days…I returned about a week later to Weissensee. And here, where, strange as it may sound, we youngsters who had been put to work at this sinister place after the Jewish schools had been closed in 1942, had found a kind of sanctuary, I experienced the second shock. When I had left a week earlier, this place had been teeming with workers, gardeners, employees and perhaps two hundred teenagers. Now there were about eight grown-ups and three teenagers – two boys and myself.
The Jewish cemetery in Weissensee…with its many old trees, shrubs, hedges, flowers and lawns, gave you always more the impression of a large quiet park or garden than a graveyard. In the years before the persecution, hundreds of workmen, gardeners, guards, in addition to the administrative, clerical, funeral and burial staffs, had been employed to maintain the many thousands of graves and the grounds. Yet even during the war, right until the day of the action, the modern nursery had still worked full speed, and a number of a few dozen gardeners tried, in vain of course, to maintain some resemblance to the former well-kept place, taking care of the graves which still were being visited. Funerals were still held in the quiet dignified manner the German Jews have adopted for the burial of their loved ones, and even one of the flower shops at the main entry was still busy.
Returning now, and finding the huge place suddenly gone "dead" brought the whole significance of last week's happenings perhaps for the first time right down to the depth of my 15 year old understanding of the world around me.
It was unbelievable and yet true. The vast grounds were empty of human life….the offices, the telephone exchange, the kind old Rabbi Levy's flat on the premises – all deserted.
And yet, life somehow went on. There even crystallised itself some kind of pattern in the new order. The administration was taken over by one of the former employees, the pitiful groupof workers now did all and even themselves: when there were dead, they prepared them, the dug the graves – one of them being a carpenter - …Jews in Berlin were still, and until the very end, decently buried in wooden coffins, blacked with tar-paint.
When there were no burials, they busied themselves with attempts to maintain some kind of order and cleanliness in the prayer-hall and all other buildings.
…And so it came about that in war-torn Germany, the Gestapo restless and relentless devising the means for the "final solution", a Jew and three Jewish teenagers sowed flowers, replanted the seedlings, grew them, and sold them (either to the few non-Jews who came to visit the graves of their husbands or using them for wreaths still ordered for the funerals).
The Flower Shop on the Cemetery Grounds
Yes, even the flower shop itself was reopened: the manager, sales-girl and producer of the wreaths and coffin decoration for the funerals being myself, and two boys, my assistants. Now it proved lucky that I had, since we youngsters were sent to work on the cemetery (in 1942), been trying to learn as much as possible from the professional staff of the nursery. For me this whole business meant not only being saved from work in a factory. Since my early childhood I had dreamed to become a gardener and to spend my life among growing and blooming things. So I had well-used this wonderful opportunity, had tried my hand at growing of the plants in the green houses, had learned the technique of winding of the wreaths and other decorations. In short, I was trying to learn all there was. And now, this had made me, the 15 year-old girl, the expert.
"My" flower shop did actually flourish nearly to the end of the war, that is about late autumn 1944. And as far as is known to me, was the only source of income in any of the Gestapo occupied institutions of the former Jewish community… Our trio usually was extremely busy. Wreaths and the green fir decorations placed on the coffin before the funeral ceremony, were done well in advance, and only decorated with flowers at the last moment…When work in the flower beds was done, the daily supply of flowers cut, etc., plants replanted, etc. etc., we still found time to care for a few graves, which still were visited. This huge old garden never held a scare for us – on the contrary, we were happy to escape there from all the fears and anxieties which accompanied our every moment "outside". Here, we could leave behind the drawn and tired faces of our parents – struggling each day with the question of barest existence here we forgot even that we were hungry. (Never before, and never after the "great action" did a Gestapo or SS-man enter the grounds of the cemetery). And even later, when the daily bombings started, we sometimes walked for hours, when the connections were broken down, but to work we would go.
Often you could see the two boys, the girl and a handcart accompanied by Rabbi Riesenburger, setting out to get material. The old fir trees, numerous hedges and shrubs were now our chief suppliers of the necessary raw material for the decorations. And many were the times when the Rabbi, who had come to Weissensee after the "big action", (having a wife who was born a non-Jew) was climbing up first in order to reach a specially fine branch…Yes, there was a wonderful fellowship between the four of us…
The Yom - Tovim (Jewish holidays) at the Cemetery
When the time from the holidays…came, celebrations were held to which Jews came under great danger, as Weissensee was way out north from the city, and Jews were not allowed to use public conveyances apart from to and from work. When Sukkot (the feast of the Tabernacles) approached, we decided to build a sukka, and so the Rabbi and the three youngsters set it up, hidden behind thick hedges and lovingly decorated. The Burials of Urns Oh, there would be still much to tell of the life in Weissensee during these years, for example about the urns, made of cardboard, and packed in wooden boxes, being sent from such places as Dachau, Sachsenhausen, etc. etc., containing (or did they?) the ashes of "inmate no. X". These had been prisoners of concentration camps, who had, being married to non-Jewish wives, either been deported simply by mistake, or caught violating one of the uncountable laws and restrictions to be kept by Jews. We had to inform the widow, and the urn was buried in a special field we had set aside for such urns. Or, I could tell about the day when we planted a whole field of zinnias – the seedlings we had grown ourselves – I do not remember the date, but it was during the time when the English bombers came in broad daylight to drop their explosive loads, and when we came out from the shelter, we found a large crater where we had been planting half an hour before…
Life Outside the Cemetery
While we on our little island felt somehow sheltered – if not from the bombings from above, so at least from the dangers of our immediate surroundings – life outside became more and more difficult. Since the autumn of 1943 the bombing attacks had grown more and more frequent…Often several times a day and during the night alarms would warn the population to go down to the shelters. One never became used to sleep through an uninterrupted night. We, the few "enemies from inside" found ourselves in a strange position of "theoretically" rejoicing over the ever increasing power and effect of the bombings, even if in reality we had to bear their dangers on top of our own special troubles. Nobody, leaving the house in the morning, knew whether he would still return by night or should he return, find the house. The war started to get worse and worse for the Germans – of course the Volk (nation) was still fed the never ending victory stories – with food beginning to get scarce. The rationing for the Germans, however, was still enough not to go hungry, but our ration cards (we used to say they had the measles: they were overprinted with red J's) provided only for a bare minimum, and as most were hard working, or like myself, in the growing years, hunger became a permanent bedfellow. Of course, mother did her best to hunt up eatables, but usually the turnips cooked in water and a few potatoes had to suffice for supper – the daily bread ration never lasted that long. Thus, coming home at night – I stayed as long as possible in Weissensee – there was a little help with the housework – the scrapping together of the meagre meal – and then one started to wait for the alarm. Should one stay up because tonight they may not come, or was it better to wake up from the first sleep? – Right up to sometime in 1944, we even kept some semblance of a "social life". There were a dozen or so teenagers scattered all over Berlin, and we used to meet at one or the other's. Later on my father forbade me these excursions which naturally meant danger if you were caught. Anyhow, towards the end of 1944, with the bombings and the Germans getting more and more apt to snatch any Jew and for no apparent reason whatsoever…there was never much time or thought for recreation.
The Aryan Neighbours.
Our flat – we were living in an apartment house of about 16 flats – had been marked with a yellow Star of David, the same as we had to wear on our outer clothes. But we were extremely lucky with all the neighbours: there was only one sworn member of the NS party, an older woman, and even she had apparently decided just to ignore us. All the others, many of whom knew my parents for more than 15 years, varied from embarrassed, turning away of the head when meeting one of us on the stairs, to more or less outspoken sympathy. Even the family of the caretaker – the official air raid warden and unofficially the spy of the party – never harmed us. I even recall the children, girls - one was a year older, the other two years younger – ringing our bell and then wordlessly holding out a piece of bread for us to take… And there was one woman who defied everything and everyone. Her husband was away in the army. He was of the many thousands who in the very beginning had become a member of the party He was working at the Reichsbahn (railway). This woman, about the age of my mother, never wavered in her friendship to us, and many were the hours I spent together with mother at her flat, playing with little Marion, then perhaps three years old, listening to the radio, always getting something to eat and always getting something to take home for father (who never left our flat, mostly going straight to bed, when not reading). After the husband was wounded and consequently discharged and returned home, they both continued to befriend us openly. Here was the one place, where mother could let go a little, drink countless cups of real coffee, pour out a little of her sorrows and even forget them for a short time. One day this woman of sharp tongue but warm heart was invited to the party centre and accused of befriending unwanted elements. She was warned that should she not stop this "treacherous" conduct, she would have to bear the results of her behaviour. I believe there were few people in Germany at that time who would not have thought of their little daughter and given in to the threats, but not she. Not only did she not stop to befriend us as before, but she said so straight to their faces. Mr. and Mrs. Von der Heydt were under disgrace, thrown out of the party, but strangely, nothing followed. I wish to add that both of them still live in the same house, Alt Moabit 84a in Berlin, their daughter having grown up to be a beautiful girl. To my regret they did not receive any acknowledgement of their extraordinary deeds. On the contrary, both are ill and have a scarce existence, whilst the many others, having had their fill during the war, are back to "rehabilitation" and fat years of the German Wirtschaftswunder (economic miracle after the war).
An Attack on Rachel in the Street
The heavier the German losses grew, the more damage the British and American bombers did, the greater became the lies and the horror stories fabricated in Minister Goebbels' Ministry of Propaganda. That the Jews had brought the war upon peace loving Hitler – was already a "historic" fact by that time. But every time the air attacks had laid to ashes another town or another quarter in Berlin, the 5 million city, had gone up in flames… it was the result of another Jewish-British sadistic attempt to win their lost war by killing innocent women and children'. So that whenever after a specially heavy attack the population could perhaps start to curse the never ending war…their thoughts were carefully guided to the eternal scapegoat – the Jew. Once on my way home from Weissensee after a very hard attack during the day…I had to pick my way through burning streets and blown up houses…Naturally traffic was paralysed. (It was amazing that they always managed after only a few hours to organise the buses and even the tramways, underground and the S-Bahn - the electric railway system of Berlin - over detours and makeshift rails, so that the town never once was paralysed for more than a few hours at a time). So I hurried homewards through the devastated town. Suddenly, apparently from nowhere, a group of furious people had gathered: there's one! Look at her! It's all because of them!'. And before I could grasp the meaning of it, stones began falling all around me. Somehow, I started to run, and until this day I do not know how I managed to escape or why nobody followed me further. However, having brought only a reasonable distance between this scene of hatred and my own frightened self, I tore off the yellow star of David, deciding then and there, never again to put it on, even though this meant increased danger. This was because if during one of the frequent patrols, a Jew was found not wearing the star, this meant immediate deportation. Nevertheless, as I told my parents later under tears and still shaking, I would sooner risk deportation then being stoned right in the street. And this time even my father, who always had adhered to all and every law or restriction faithfully as if expecting to be rewarded for being "a good boy", did not oppose. And since that day we only put a star in our pockets in case of raids, but never again put it on our clothes. Well, we were lucky. No patrol ever stopped us, and no Schnapper (special raid patrols, looking for deserters, spies and "underground" Jews – there were even two Jewish Schnappers , one man and a young woman, whose names I have forgotten, but I seem to remember that she was found after the capitulation and killed by the Russians) every recognised us.
Rachel Goes to a Movie-Theatre
But once this bravery brought me close to disaster. When you are living under danger of life day after day, you get careless you become to sure. I had already, on few occasions, been to the cinema after having discarded the Star. (This of course was strictly forbidden, as was any visit to any public place.) But when I dared to go, then never in surroundings where I was known. This time there was a special film running in a cinema not far from the cemetery, and I decided I must see Zarah Leander in her new role. The performance was nearly sold out, and I got a seat in one of the last rows. Sitting down I just heard a girl's voice: 'Look, there is the Jew-girl from the cemetery'. The answer I could not understand, but one thing was clear: two girls from the neighbourhood had recognised me. Well, thinking back now, I cannot but admire my own presence of mind ΓÇô I did not panic, and did not try to get up and out of the packed hall, rightly assuming, that this would surely incite the girls to hunt me down. I did not even move my head once, not letting on that I had heard or that they were meaning me. And it worked! I heard some more whispering, the quintessence of which was let's leave it until after the performance'. And if you think that I did not see anything of the film for fright and anxiety, I have to disappoint you: Right up to the word Ende (end) I enjoyed every minute of it. And only when the lights went on and behind me I heard the two girls, I suddenly was back in the not too comfortable present. But still, my only thought was not to draw general attention. Without any apparent hurry, I tried to edge myself forward through the crowd, but feeling the girls still behind me. Nevertheless, they apparently hadn't ever arrested a Jew before, and seemed to discuss how to do it. Anyhow, slowly having reached the entrance door, now shut as the crowd for the next performance was waiting there to get in, I suddenly dashed through this door, pushed my way through, plunged out into the street, jumped on a tram just leaving the stop, and was saved. The whole thing took probably no more than three minutes, but for me they were the longest I can remember. I did not see another film until after the war.
The Liberation
Well, the general facts about the last month of the war are known. The bombing attacks were ever increasing in number and power. When at the beginning there were 20 and 40 Kg. Bombs, in 1944 there were air mines whose air pressure alone pulled down houses in a radius of a few hundred meters. There were phosphor bombs setting fire to everything and spurting burning phosphor so that it was impossible to extinguish the fire. It is well known that the nearer their end came, the more fanatic and frantic the leaders of the German nation became. At the moment when the Russian army had already entered Berlin in several quarters, the SS started to go from house to house and drag the Jews they found to hang them right on the lamp posts in front of their houses. So a number of the few who had lived through everything found their end on the very eve of liberation. Luckily for us, the Russians came quicker to our quarter, and so our little family was able to remain alive and see the end of the Third Reich, which nobody of us had believed he would live to see.
