(Author: Michal Singer, Vol. 68, No. 3, Chanukah 2013)
In 2011 the Cape Town Holocaust Centre (CTHC) introduced its Heritage Project, with the aim of creating new channels for research and preserving the memory of the victims of the Third Reich, along with other victims of genocide, prejudice and xenophobia. The project seeks to bring the stories of the Holocaust out of the archive and into the present through connecting living memory of oral histories with the artifacts, letters and documents which serve as indelible fragments of the past. It further aims to bring the CTHC’s archive in line with proposed South African policy on the digitization of heritage resources.1
The project has culminated in the development of a permanent display on the deep sense of cultural attachment and patriotic fervor of German Jews serving in the armed forces, contrasted with their subsequent betrayal and dislocation during the rise of the Nazi Party in the early 1930s. In this way, this work seeks to engage with and contribute to discourse around the role of the museum in reflecting ‘ethical concerns over human rights abuses and political or ethnic violence.’
Curating Jewish fragments of German life
Since the project’s inception two years ago, the family history archival collection of the Schragenheim family from Berlin has emerged as one of the most striking and significant opportunities to implement this vision.
Work on the Schragenheim Collection began with regular and ongoing interviews and meetings with the donor, Julian Schragenheim, and continued with accession the vast and varied collection. This involved acknowledging that it would not be possible to use the familiar ways in which we have been taught to consider this material “without looking to the fragments themselves to help us construct a new frame.”2 The open-endedness of this oral history methodology took into account the influence of generation, gender and language in the way information was imparted and received.
The meetings culminated in the official launch of the Heritage Project in June 2012, with Schragenheim sharing with the Cape Jewish Seniors’ Friendship Forum the story of his father Bernhard and mother Rosie, with whom he departed from Berlin in 1934.
This was also the first time he was able to share publicly the fate of his aunt, Elsbeth (Hansi). She had remained behind to take care of her parents, in spite of unsuccessful efforts to secure exit visas for them by Bernhard and his two brothers, Erich and Arthur. After her parents’ deaths in 1940 and 1941 respectively, attributed largely to the privations of Jewish economic and cultural isolation and segregation, Elsbeth was left alone in Berlin. On hearing about the final roundups of Jews in the city, she committed suicide on 16 November 1942. This story, told through memories, photos and letters, brought to light the exceptional vulnerability of Jews in war-time Germany. On the eve of the war, 266 000 Germans classified as Jewish by Nazi legislation had fled, but the proportion of men who were able to flee into exile was greater than that of women. Above all, elderly and single women remained behind.3 In 1941, two-thirds of the aging Jewish community were past middle age.4
Unlike many victims of the Final Solution, whose bodies were burnt or buried in mass graves, Elsbeth and her parents are buried in a Jewish cemetery in Berlin. But the distance and dislocation make it difficult for the bereaved to mourn from across the seas. The nature of the deaths has resulted in “a total void filled with pain, and no mourning time.”5 There was little detail about her life, other than the news in letters she wrote to her brother. I was moved by her reference to the German folk song ‘Muss I’ den’ in a letter written from Hamburg in February 1939, after she had accompanied her sister-in-law’s parents to the vessel that would lead them to the distant shores of South Africa:
Last night I returned happily from Hamburg. Had really lovely days with parents R. We got along so very well, as never in the previous years. I was allowed to board the ship and was glad to see their lovely cabin and bathroom … as the boat started leaving and the band played Muss i’ den, muss I’ den, I had thick tears running down my face.6
Reference to the German folk song underlies Elsbeth’s moving efforts to remain positive in correspondence to her family. The song serves as
an emotional trigger for her close identification with the German cultural issues concerning separation, from which she had been largely excluded. This paper serves as a critical reflection on the process of curating this poignant story. It highlights the fragility of transcultural identity through reference not only to the experiences of German Jews seeking refuge in South Africa between 1933 and 1945, but also to the plight of those who remained behind.
Seeking refuge
The educational philosophy of the CTHC serves not to reduce the European Jewish narrative to one of victimhood, but rather places emphasis on the importance of individuality in historical remembrance. Accordingly, the story of the Schragenheim family reflects the unique and particular experiences of a single family affected by prejudice. The story of German Jewish refugees in South Africa was represented in 2003 in the travelling exhibition entitled ‘Seeking Refuge’, designed and compiled under the auspices of the CTHC. With the presentation of some 35 narratives of individuals and families who fled Nazi Germany and settled in the Cape, it sought to provide a very personal context”.7Some of these stories have been included in the new display. This reflects the impact of this exhibition over the past decade in raising awareness of the history of Jewish refugees in South Africa. These were particularly challenged after the promulgation of the Aliens Amendment Act of 1937, which stipulated that “no applicant … who is of Jewish parentage shall be deemed to be readily assimilable.”8 The exhibition also examined Germany’s own efforts to reconcile with the legacy of the Nazi regime.
The new permanent display thus served as an anchor around which to frame the fragmented story of the Schragenheim family and their experiences under the Nazi regime. In personalizing the experiences of individual family members, the deep sense of loss and betrayal experienced by the hundreds of thousands of Jews who fled during the 1930s is told through the display of artifacts and pictures. The ‘historical residue’ of the experience of German Jewish refugees becomes a means by which to memorialize those they left behind. It further serves to educate others about the sense of cultural alienation and emotional trauma experienced by refugees in this country. The new display thus is a useful counterpoint to the examination of the micro-historical record of the neglected realm of Jewish culture in German history.
The pertinence of portraying the lives of European Jewish refugees in South Africa is underscored by the ongoing existence of prejudice in the country – in particular, the ongoing stereotyping and scapegoating leveled against African and Asian refugees, where xenophobia remains a “ticking time bomb.”9 The permanent exhibition’s educational tour provides an historical framework for engaging with xenophobia as a vociferous and deadly form of prejudice, one that in May 2008 led to an explosion of violent xenophobic attacks in South Africa resulting in over sixty deaths.10 By removing the stigma of the ‘other’ as depicted by various South African manifestations of xenophobia, the panel seeks to contribute to cultural openness and respect for diversity, which form part of the broader ethos of the CTHC.
The panel is placed amid a series of framed original photographs reflecting the quotidian experiences of European Jewry before the Holocaust. It focuses on the nature of familial ties and national involvement in Germany before the Nazi disenfranchisement of Jews from public German life.
The collection’s donor, Julian Schragenheim, argues that by the late 19th Century, the particular cultural interweaving of Jewish and German cultural identity was seamless, particularly in Berlin. He refers to the role of 19th Century rabbinical leadership, including Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch and Azriel Hildesheimer, in adapting to the needs of post-Enlightenment Germany, These rabbis, he said, had “cleaned up German Jewish Orthodoxy, and what was left was a genuine combination without any psychological pressure at all, of a Jewish religious attitude on the one hand and German citizenship on the other hand. They succeeded in establishing a situation where there was no conflict.”11The racial persecution of German Jewry after 1933 presents a stark contrast to this former life of relative cultural integration and diversity.
This project involved a fusion of various research methods adapted from my academic and professional training as an historical researcher, as well as attention to the therapeutic narrative required within the framework of the painful process of remembering the past.
Fighting for the Fatherland
The original vision of the new display was to showcase the artifacts belonging to Bernhard Schragenheim – in particular, the military decorations he received in the First World War. This is an attempt to show how far German Jews identified with their German national identity before and during that war, and the extent to which they were ensconced in the social, cultural and military paradigms of German society.
The display explores the complexity of cultural and national identity through the telling of the Schragenheim family story and sharing the wealth of evidence of a fragmented narrative that is, ultimately, German. After all, Bernhard and his two brothers, Erich and Arthur, along with their cousins, Ernst and Iwan, had served in the German forces in WWI. Bernhard served in the Reserve Regiment No. 48, fighting in the trenches on the Russian and French fronts. Twice decorated for bravery, he made rapid progress through the ranks and by the war’s end was a Commander for one of the three Companies in the two Regiment 48 battalions.12 Julian was duly influenced by his father’s stories of serving in the Great War – surreal and distant in the context of his new life in South Africa:
He told me that day after day they made him crawl through the mud; that the first uniform they issued to him still had the bullet holes from the original battles in 1914. They had taken the uniform off a corpse – I presume they washed it. He said they pushed them through the mud for a couple of months and then they sent him to Russia.13
Bernhard Schragenheim’s stories about the Great War provide a valuable account of the Jews’ allegiance to Germany’s war effort. The two Iron Crosses which he was awarded, along with the field and dress epaulettes, and Jewish prayer book (in German and Hebrew) are displayed under a wall of field postcards portraying images of life in the trenches..
Other notable items in the collection pertaining to Bernhard Schragenheim’s military experience include button hole pins with Iron Crosses on them, over one hundred and fifty field postcards, a field diary (dated between 1914 and 1918, which has not yet been translated), and the following letter, written from the trenches to his family in the event of his death:
Today’s reason for my writing is a special one; the letter is to give my last thoughts and feelings in case that God has decided that I shall not see you all again. May the dear God hear our prayers so that this letter, which I will hand to our company scribe … to send on if necessary … But I must now be prepared … I beg you from my heart not give in too much to mourning. Just the thought of it puts a weight on my heart. I hope my diary will be handed to you.14
Julian discovered this letter in late 2012, when the content of the panel was being finalized. Excerpts have been included in the panel, revealing how far Jewish identity was integrated into German national identity.
Translating cultural fragments of history
Julian Schragenheim was born in Berlin in 1923. His testimony serves as a powerful articulation of the experience of a young Jewish boy born into a Germany in flux. The interviews with him provided the cohesive element required for curating the Schragenheim Collection. Over the past eighteen months, we met for lunch and discussion in the sun room of Highlands House, the Jewish Retirement Village. Facing the impossibly beautiful view of Table Mountain, the serene atmosphere provided the space for deepening engagement with the dark memories and silenced narratives of the Berlin of Julian’s childhood. The interviews involved handing over documents, letters, artifacts and photographs whose resonance cannot be reduced merely to academic terms. The methodological considerations emphasized the healing role of narrative therapy, allowing the interviewee some release from the burden of forced separation, departure and loss – and the sense of need to uphold the memory of family and the life that was left behind. According to Volkan, “there is no typical grief reaction, because the circumstances of a loss are varied, as are individual degrees of internal preparedness to face significant losses.”15 Julian was faced with the unique circumstance of safeguarding the family papers providing evidence of a former life in Germany, and those left behind.
Bernhard had “made desperate attempts in 1939 to get his parents and his sister out, which [sic] he did not succeed in doing.”16 For Julian, upholding the memory of his family no longer involved holding onto an exceptional form of mourning, but rather putting emphasis on, and making a special effort toward commemorating their lives.
According to curator Yehudit Inbar, “couplehood and family are the basis of human society,” reflecting “a psychological need.”17 For Julian, the process of handing over his family papers to the CTHC helped to satisfy this need. One volunteer was tasked with the translation of a set of letters sent between 1936 and 1940 from Berlin, a task she accomplished notwithstanding the difficulties of deciphering early 20th Century High German cursive. The translations of these letters were both moving and informative. They were sent from Julian’s paternal grandparents, Zerline and Moses, and his aunt, Elsbeth (Hansi). Julian later argued that “you are bringing not only some facts… back to life, but you are actually bringing our family history back to life.”18
During the mid-1930s, Julian was being schooled in English at Marist Brothers College in Johannesburg – he had a new life. For him, during the course of this project, the experience of rediscovering the content of otherwise encoded correspondence by the adults who hovered above him as a child provided some of the greatest moments of personal revelation. On one occasion, he described how for the first time he actually felt the warmth of his grandmother’s personality. On 9 November, 1936, Zerline had written to Julian to send him wishes for his bar mitzvah:
I don’t need to write many words and define my feelings about not being able to be present at Julian’s Honor Day, where he will be accepted into the community according to our laws ……it causes us pain and is bitter but the thought that you are all well and that you, thank God, can live as free people makes up for many things.19
For the Schragenheims in Berlin, leaving was not a possibility owing to their poor health. By March 1939, Elsbeth reported that her father’s condition had so worsened that he could “neither dress or undress himself, or walk on his own. A journey with him is quite unthinkable to me. As you may know, we are not allowed any longer to either use a sleeper in the train or in the dining room. So far I have not given notice in the office … lots of work is the best medicine against too much thinking… I hope you are all healthy and happy. Thousand greetings, Your Hansilein.”20
In April 1940, as the Schragenheims were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary, Zerline reported that “the state of dear Father’s mental and physical state is such that a large celebration would not be suitable.”21 Indeed, in adversity, the psychological need for family is reflected in her references to Elsbeth – who was their “only consolation” without whom she “would not want to live anymore.”22 As the years passed, the letters provided further insight into the devastating conditions of privation faced by those Jews trapped within the Third Reich after the outbreak of the Second World War. Moses Schragenheim died in his bed in Berlin in 1940, followed by his wife in 1941.
In conclusion, the universality of Bernhard’s experience, despite its historical specificity, provides a striking contribution to the use of the exhibition as an educational tool through clearly demonstrating how racial discrimination is an agent leading toward the loss of both personal and group identity. The panel removes the stigma of the ‘other’ as depicted by various South African manifestations of xenophobia through showing empirical evidence of its nefarious influence. In so doing, it seeks to contribute to cultural openness and respect for diversity, which in turn forms part of the broader ethos of the Cape Town Holocaust Centre.
Michal Singer is Heritage Coordinator, Cape Town Holocaust Centre, South African Holocaust and Genocide Foundation.
NOTES
- Duggan, J. ‘Update: National Policy on the Digitisation of Heritage Resources, News’ – Archival Platform, 14 February, 2011, www.archivalplatform.org/news/entry/update_ national_policy/, Accessed 20 February 2013.
- Zapruder, A. Salvaged Pages: Young Writers’ Diaries of the Holocaust, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2002, p10.
- Distel, Barbara, ‘The Persecution and Murder of German and German-Jewish Women between 1933 and 1945’, in Hertzog, E. Life, Death and Sacrifice: Women and Family in the Holocaust, Green Publishing House, Jerusalem, 2008, p126.
- Kaplan, M., ‘Jewish Daily Life in Wartime Germany’, in Bankier, D. Probing the Depths of German Antisemitism: German Society and the Persecution of the Jews, 1933-1941, Yad Vashem and the Leo Baeck Institute, Jerusalem, 2000, p395.
- Greenfied, H. Fragments of Memory: from Kolin to Jerusalem, Gefen Publishing House, Jerusalem, 1998.
- Letter from Elsbeth Schragenheim to Bernhard Schragenheim, Berlin, 17 February 1939.
- Osrin, M. Foreword, ‘Seeking Refuge: German Jewish Immigration to the Cape in the 1930s, including aspects of Germany confronting its past’, designed and compiled by Linda Coetzee, Myra Osrin and Millie Pimstone, Cape Town Holocaust Centre, May 2003.
- See Union of SA Aliens (Amendment) and Immigration Bill of 1937, CTHC Archival Collection, p2.
- Ramothwala, Peter, ‘Xenophobia might come back‘, The New Age (online), 14 February 2013, http://www.thenewage.co.za/83109-1009-53-Xenophobia_might_come_back, Accessed 26/2/2013.
- Ibid.
- Interview with Julian Schragenheim by Michal Singer, 22 September 2011, Cape Town
- Ibid.
- Interview with Julian Schragenheim, by the author, 22 September, 2011, Cape Town
- Letter from Bernhard Schragenheim, addressed to Moses and Zerline Schragenheim and his siblings, Arthur, Erich and Elsbeth, in the event of his death in combat, 17 June 1918
- Volkan, V.D. ‘The Next Chapter: Consequences of Societal Trauma’, Gobodo-Madikizela, P. & Van der Merwe, C. (eds.) Memory, Narrative and Forgiveness: Perspectives on the Unfinished Journeys of the Past, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, United Kingdom, 2009.
- Interview with Julian Schragenheim by the author, 18 December 2013, Cape Town.
- Inbar, Y, Spots of Light: To Be a Woman in the Holocaust, Yad Vashem, Jerusalem, 2007.
- Interview with Julian Schragenheim, by the author, 11 September, 2012, Cape Town.
- Letter from Zerline Schragenheim to Bernhard Schragenheim, Berlin, 9 November 1936.
- Letter from Elsbeth Schragenheim to Bernhard Schragenheim, Berlin, 1 March 1939
- Letter from Zerline Schragenheim to Bernhard Schragenheim, Berlin, 9 November 1936.
- Letter from Zerline Schragenheim to Bernhard Schragenheim, Berlin, 7 April 1940
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