Hier klicken üm wat över'n Achtergrund vun dit Vertelln to lesen.

Click here to read about the background of this story.

Fro Professer Fraenkel

vun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal 
(Ut dat Book Ollanner Vertelln)

Wokeen wüür Fro Professer Fraenkel? Mien Besinn geiht wiet torüch in mien Schooltiet, jo, dor mütt mien Vertelln angohn.

Dormools wöörn de Froonslüüd noch mit den Titel vun jümehrn Mann anreedt. So wüür dat ok bi Fro Professer Fraenkel. Professer Fraenkel wüür een vun de groten Wetenschoplers an unse Hambörger Universitätsklinik. In de Hall vun de Pathologie in Hamborg-Eppendörp is een Büst vun em opstellt wodden. [1]

Mien öllste Süster Else wüür in Deenst bi Fro Professer as Lüttdiern. Se bruuk bloots fine Arbeit doon, dat wüür neihn, stoppen, stoffwischen, Sülver putzen un to de Mohltieden den Disch decken. Kott un good, se müß ümmer för Fro Professer proot ween.

In de Kirschbleuhtiet un ok in de Kirschentiet hett Fro Professer uns mit Süster Else besöcht. Uns Mudder hett denn ümmer wat Godes kookt. Ober nie keum Swiensfleesch op'n Disch. To'n Nodisch geev dat ,,Rode Grütt''. [2] Dat Krintenbroot to Kaffeetiet harr Mudder smoddens frisch backt. Dorto geev dat frische, gele Grasbodder. Wi Kinner hebbt uns ümmer düchtig freit, wenn Fro Professer keum. Se bröcht uns ümmer wat to'n Snopen mit.

Dat mütt so üm 1930 ween hebben, as Fro Professer vörsloon hett, datt ik een Week mit no Hamborg komen schull. Kloor datt ik glieks Füür un Flamm wüür. Gau wöörn een poor Klomotten för mi inpackt. In mien Kinnertiet wüür nich veel neudig för een Week.

Mudder harr Oof in de Spoonkörf trechtmookt. Nu kunn de Reis no Hamborg losgohn. Süster Else harr een groten Spoonkörf mit seute un sure Kirschen un ik een lütten mit Himbeern un Johannsbeern to dregen. De Kööksch schull ,,Rode Grütt'' [2] koken.

To Foot müssen wi vun Leeswig no'n Crans. Ungefiehr dree Kilometer wüürn dat. Vun dor güng dat mit de Borkaß öber de Elv no Blanknees. De ungefiehr 180 Treppen no den Bohnhoff ropp hebbt uns düchtig Puust köst. De Vöroortsbohn stünn al proot. Gau rin un de Körf afsetten wüür een Doon.

Dat Huus vun Fro Professer stünn in Hamborg an de Esplonood. Mien Süster wies mi ehr Stuuv, woneem ik op dat Sofo slopen schull. Wat wüür dat dor allns fien! Een scheune Week hebb ik in Hamborg hatt. Fro Professer neuhm mi mit to'n Inkeupen. Mit keeneen bruuk ik Schokerlood un Beuntschers to delen. Allns wüür för mi alleen. De Alster mit de smucken Seilscheep un Hagenbeck [3] mit de velen Deerten hett de gode Fro mi wiest. Disse scheune Tiet hebb ik mien Leevdag nich vergeten.

No 1933 hett sik in Düütschland dörch de Nazis veel verännert. Nich jüst to'n Goden, as wi weet. Mien Süster müß ehre gode Steed bi Fro Professer opgeben, wiel ,,Ariers'' nich bi Juden warken dröfen. Dat Huus an de Esplonood is ehr wegnohm wodden. In een Meethuus an'n Lattenkamp, wo alle poor Minuten de Hoochbohn vörbidönnert, hebbt se Fro Professer steken. Ober wi hebbt uns nicht ut de Ogen verloorn. In de Kirschentiet hett Fro Professer uns ümmer nochmool besöcht. Bang ümkeken hett se sik ober, wi wüssen jo ok worüm. Dat Judennostelln leup op Hoochtourn.

Een origen Tietsprung wieder. 1942! Mien Mann wüür in Frankriek. Wat schull ik mit mien lütten Diether alleen in Kiel mit de velen Flegeralarms un Bomben? Ok wüür ik warrer in Ümstänn. Bi mien Öllern harrn wi dat beter un sekerer.

Wüür warrer Kirschentiet. Mudder meen to mi: ,,Diern, plück man noch gau Arfen op de Wisch! Bring ok glieks Wuddeln un Petersill mit. Den Lütten loot man bi mi.'' ,,Och Mamma, de Lütt kann giern mit mi komen, ik paß al op, datt he nich an de Est löppt'', anter ik mien besorgte Mudder.

In de een Hand den Korf un op'n Arm mien lütten Diether güng ik de Treppen non Diek ropp. Hebb ik mi verfehrt! An den Butendiek seet Fro Professer mit ehr Enkeldöchder. ,,Aber Frau Professor, warum kommen Sie nicht rein? Mama wird sich freuen Sie zu sehen'', sä ik mit grote Freid in de Stimm. Ober Fro Professer schüttkopp mit Ogen, de den Utdruck vun een anschoten Deert harrn. Se anter bedröff: ,,Nein Clara, es ist gut gemeint, aber ich will Euch keineswegs in Gefahr bringen. Dankbar wäre ich Dir, wenn Du uns ein paar Kirschen bringen würdest'', beed se mi. ,,Das duldet Mama nicht, bitte kommen Sie mit mir'', geev ik to verstohn. Fro Professer klapp den Krogen vun ehrn Mantel trüch un wies op den gelen Dovidsstiern mit de swatte Opschrift ,,Jude'' un schüttkopp nochmool mit Troon in de Ogen. ,,Das ist uns doch bekannt! Else ist ungern von Ihnen gegangen. Wir sind Christen und wissen, daß vor Gott alle Menschen gleich sind. Wir achten Sie wie eh und je und haben schon oft an Sie gedacht. Wir leben hier auf dem Dorf, es kennt Sie niemand, und wer sollte Sie schon sehen?" versöch ik, ehr Moot to moken. Se wull ober nich. In'n Draff bün ik den Diek hindool neiht no Mudder in de Köök. ,,Mamma, Mamma, Fro Professer sitt achtern Diek mit ehre Enkeldöchder! Se will nich rinkomen! Mamma, du müß ehr tosnacken'', röter ik opgeregt op Mudder dool. ,,Mamma, se weent, se deit mi so leed. Mook doch to, goh gau hin. Fuurts will ik Kaffee koken'', dräng ik mien Mudder to Iel. ,,Jo, mien Diern, man ümmer suutje, ik loop jo al.'' Mudder reet sik den blauen Ploten rünner un leup, so gau as se man kunn, den Diek ropp. Worüm duur dat so lang? Worüm keumen se nich in de Kökendöör? De Kaffee wüür al lang farig un den Disch harr ik ok deckt. Ut de brune, stenern Kruuk harr ik Kaffeebroot un Tweeback in een smucke Schöddel doon. Endlich keum Mudder, ober alleen. Trurig, Troon stünnen ehr in de Ogen as se sä: ,,Nee, dat is nich miehr de Fro Professer de ik kinnt hebb. Oh, mien Diern, wat schall dat bloots noch afgeben mit dissen gräsigen Rassenhaß? Wat mütt disse gode, unschüllige Fro lieden. Komm, wi smeert Bodder op de Tweeback un bringt allns op den Diek. För de Kinner mook man een Putt vull Himbeersapp farig!'' Nu seten wi tosoom an den Butendiek. Uns steek wull alltohoop een Klüten in'n Hals. Fro Professer wüß freuher so good to vertelln, ober hüüt, nee, dor wull keen Ünnerhooln opkomen. De swore Last, de de Fro to dregen harr, drück ok op uns. Ehr Mann wüür storben, bevör de Nazis dat Regeern öbernohm' harrn. De eenzige Söhn, Dr. Max Fraenkel, harr sik, as he keen Utweg miehr wüß, dat Leben nohm.

Gau hebb ik een Kiep Kirschen plückt, een lütten Spoonkorf trechtmookt un een vulle Kumm hebb ik jüm to'n Eten hinsett. De beiden Dierns hebbt good tolangt, ober Fro Professor bleef wull allns in't Halslock steken. ,,Nun müssen wir uns aber auf den Heimweg machen. Es war so schön Sie einmal wiederzusehen. Auch Dein Kind durfte ich kennenlernen, Clara. Denkst Du auch noch einmal an die Tage an der Esplanade zurück? Für mich war es die schönste und später die schwerste Zeit meines Lebens'', besünn sik Fro Professor. ,,Diese schöne Zeit bei und mit Ihnen war für mich eine Bereicherung und bleibt mir unvergeßlich. Es ist die schönste Erinnerung aus meiner Kindheit'', anter ik mit een ruge Stimm, de mi nich horchen wull. Bi'n Adjüüsseggen leeg mi mien Hatt as een Bleeklump in de Boß. Harr so giern seggt, datt se doch bald warrerkomen müchen, ober Troon hebbt mi de Stimm stickt. Uns güng dat all dree liek. Wi hebbt uns ok nie nich warrersehn.

Een Koort hett Mudder mool kregen ut Theresienstadt. [4] Fro Professor schreef, datt se sik smoddens splitternookt buten in Ies un Snee mit koold Woter waschen müssen. De Küll wüür för ehr nich dat Slimmste, ober de Schoom. Op welk Oort un Wies se de Noricht ut dat Loger kregen hett, is uns hüüt noch een Rodel. Fro Professor wüür al öber 70 Johr oold, as de Nazis ehr no Theresienstadt versleept hebbt.

Mien Besinn an disse Fro is so lebennig, datt ik männigmool dink, se steiht blang mi. Lütt un smächtig mit slohwitte Hoor un warme, brune Ogen. Jo, ik feuhl ehre warme, weke Hand, mit de se mi, de lütte Diern vun Dörpen, seker dörch de Stroten vun Hamborg führt hett.

As ik no de Flucht ut Swinemünn, arm as een Karkenmuus, den 13. Oktober 1945 mit Mann un Kinner Toflucht bi mien Öllern söcht un funnen hebb, bün ik no Hamborg führt un hebb bi dat lnwohnermellamt rutfunnen woneem Fro Professor afbleben is. ,,Verstorben in Theresienstadt'' steiht dor in de Akten. ,,Ümbröcht'' schree mien Hatt.

Gleuvt mi alltohoop, de mi tohüürt or dat loter mool leest, grote Truur is in mien Hatt trocken in mien Besinn an disse eddel und gode Fro Professor Fraenkel.

Nodrach

Dat Schicksool geiht sien egen Weeg. Mien Vertelln ,,Fro Professor Fraenkel'' is in den Junimoond 1994 in dat Monoots-Magazin „Schleswig-Holstein" afdruckt wodden. Merden Juli kreeg ik een Anroop: ,,Sind Sie die Clara Kramer, die in dem Schleswig-Holstein", wieder keum se nich ,,Fro Professor Fraenkel geschrieben hat? Ja, die bin ich'', anter ik opgeregt. „Hier spricht Ilse Jochimsen, geborene Fraenkel, ich bin die Enkelin'', hüür ik een warme Stimm seggen. ,,Das ist die größte Freude , ein Geschenk Gottes zum Lebensabend'', wüür mien Anter.

Den 20. Juli, een geschichtsträchtig Dotum, hebbt wi uns dropen, vertellt un Biller ankeken. Nu seet ik mit de Enkeldochter vun Fro Professor in ehrn Goorn, mit de ik 1942 in de Kirschentiet bi uns in Leeswig an'n Butendiek seten harr.

Irrt hebb ik mi in de Stroot, denn nich an de Esplonood, sünnern an'n Alsterglacis hett Fro Professor wohnt. Ok hebb ik erfohrn, datt Fro Professor al 83 Johr old würr, as de Nazis ehr versleept hebbt. Worüm???

______
[1]  de Patholoog' un Bakterioloog' Eugen Fraenkel (1853-1925), de den ,,Gasbranderreger'' (Clostridium perfringens) wies worrn is un em an'n egenen Liev testt harr ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]
[2]  Hier klicken üm dat Rezept to lesen. ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]
[3]  de Noom vun'n Hamborger Zoo ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]
[4]  Theresienstadt was 'n Konzentraatschoonslager bie Proog in de Tschechoslowakei, to de Tied besett vun Düütschland. ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]

Frau Professor Fraenkel

by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal 
(From the book Ollanner Vertelln) 

Who was Frau Professor Fraenkel? My memories go far back to my school years. Yes, that's where my story must begin.

In those days, women used to still be addressed by the titles of their husbands. This is how it was with Frau Professor Fraenkel as well. Professor Fraenkel was one of the great scientists at our University of Hamburg Medical Center. They have placed a bust of him in the hall of the Department of Pathology in Hamburg-Eppendorf. [1]

My oldest sister Else was employed as a maid by Frau Professor. She only had to do delicate chores. That was sewing, darning, dusting, polishing silverware and at mealtimes setting the table. In a word, she had to be ready for Frau Professor at all times.

During cherry-blossom season and also during cherry-picking season, Frau Professor would visit us with Else. Our mother would then always cook something delicious. But pork would never be served. For dessert we'd have "red fruit pudding." [2] Already in the morning would Mother bake the currant bread we'd have at coffee time. It was served with fresh, yellow butter made from the milk from grass-fed cows. We children would be really excited whenever Frau Professor came. She always brought us treats.

It must have been around 1930 when Frau Professor suggested I go with them to Hamburg for a week. Of course, right away I was out of my mind with excitement. Quickly we had packed some clothes for me. You didn't need much for a week when I was a child.

Mother prepared the chip-baskets. Now our trip to Hamburg could begin. Sister Else had a large chip-basket full of sweet and sour cherries, and I got to carry a small one with raspberries and fresh currants in it. The cook was to make "red fruit pudding." [2]

We had to walk from Leeswig to Cranz. That was about three kilometers [ca. 1.8 miles]. From there we took the launch across the Elbe to Blankenese. The approximately 180 steps up to the station took a lot out of us. The suburban train was ready to leave. In no time we had boarded it and had put down our baskets.

Frau Professor Fraenkel's house was in Hamburg on the Esplanade. My sister showed me her room in which I was supposed to sleep on the sofa. How posh everything was there! I had a splendid week in Hamburg. Frau Professor took me along when she did her shopping. I didn't have to share chocolates and candies with anyone. It was all for me alone to enjoy. The kind woman showed me River Alster with its beautiful sailboats and Hagenbeck [3] with its many animals. Never in all of my life did I forget this lovely time.

After 1933, much changed in Germany because of the Nazis, and not just for the better, as we well know. My sister had to quit her good job at Frau Professor's because "Aryans" were not allowed to work for Jews. The house on the Esplanade was taken away from Frau Professor. They put her into a rental apartment on the Lattenkamp where every few minutes the elevated railway train thundered past. But we did keep in touch with each other. Frau Professor still visited us once in a while during the cherry-picking season. But she kept looking over her shoulders anxiously, and of course we knew why. Persecution of Jews was running at full steam.

A good leap forward in time. 1942! My husband was in France. Why stay alone in Kiel with my little Diether amid all the air-raid warnings and bombs? Besides, I was in the family way again. We had it better and safer at my parents'.

It was cherry-picking season again. Mother said to me, "Dear, there's still a bit of time for you to pick some peas out back. Also bring some carrots and parsley while you're at it. Leave the baby with me." "Agh, Mom, the little one can come with me. I'll make sure he doesn't run into the Este River," I answered my concerned mother.

The basket in one hand and my little Diether in my arm I climbed the stairs to the dike. Did I have a scare! Frau Professor and her granddaughters were sitting by the outer dike. "But, Frau Professor, why don't you come in? Mom will be happy to see you," I said [in German] with great delight in my voice. But Frau Professor shook her head with eyes that had the expression of a wounded animal. She answered sadly [in German], "No, Clara. I know you mean well, but I definitely don't want you to get into harm's way. But I would be grateful if you gave me a few cherries," she pleaded with me. "Mom would not stand for it. Please come with me," I argued [in German]. Frau Professor lifted the collar of her coat and pointed to the yellow Star of David with "Jude" ["Jew"] on it in black letters, and again she shook her head with tears in her eyes. "But we know about that! Else left you unwillingly. We are Christians and know that all mankind is equal before God. We respect you as we've always done and have been thinking about you a lot. We live in a village here. No one knows you here. And who should be seeing you here anyway?" I tried to encourage her [in German]. But she kept refusing. I raced down the dike to Mother in the kitchen. "Mom, Mom! Frau Professor is sitting behind the dike with her granddaughters! She won't come in! Mom, you've got to talk to her," I said to my mother excitedly. "Mom, she's crying. I feel so sorry for her. Hurry up now! Go to her quickly! I'll make some coffee right away," I urged her. "Yes, love, calm down! I'm on my way." Mother tore off her blue apron and ran as fast as she could up onto the dike. Why was it taking so long? Why weren't they walking into the kitchen door? The coffee was ready, and I had already set the table. I took some coffee bread and rusk from the stoneware crock and put it into a pretty bowl. At last Mother arrived, though by herself. Sad. There were tears in her eyes when she said, "No, that's no longer the Frau Professor I used to know. Oh, darling! Where will it end with all this horrible racial hatred? How this good, innocent woman has to suffer! Come, let's put butter on the rusk and take it up the dike. Prepare some raspberry juice for the children!" Then we sat together on the outer dike. All of us must have had frogs in our throats. Frau Professor used to be so good at telling stories. But that time? No, no conversation wanted to get started. The heavy burden the woman was carrying was crushing us too. Her husband had died before the Nazis took over the government. Their only son, Dr. Max Fraenkel, had committed suicide when he could think of no other way.

I rushed to pick a pannier full of cherries, prepared a small chip-basket, and I put a bowlful in front of them to eat right there. The two girls helped themselves liberally, but Frau Professor must have had difficulties swallowing. "We have to start on our trip back now. It was nice to see you again. And I had a chance to meet your child, Clara. Do you sometimes remember those days at the Esplanade? That was the loveliest time of my life, soon to be followed by the hardest," Frau Professor reminisced [in German]. "That lovely time made a real difference to me, and I'll never forget it. It's the nicest memory of my childhood," I answered [in German] with a hoarse voice that wouldn't obey. My heart was like a lump of lead in my chest when we said our good-byes. I would have loved to ask them to come back soon, but tears smothered my voice. It was the same for all three of us. And we never saw each other again.

Sometime later, Mother got a card from Theresienstadt. [4] Frau Professor wrote that they were forced to strip naked and wash themselves outside in ice and snow. The cold wasn't the worst for her; embarrassment was. It's still a riddle to us exactly how she managed to get this message out of the camp. Frau Professor was already 70 years old when the Nazis relocated her to Theresienstadt.

My memories of this woman are so vivid that at times I think she stands right beside me: short and petite, with snow-white hair and warm, brown eyes. Indeed, I can feel her warm, soft hand with which she had guided me, the little country girl, with assurance through the streets of Hamburg.

After having escaped from Swinemünde [Swinoujscie] poor as church mice and I and my children had found refuge at my parents' on October 13, 1945, I took a trip to Hamburg and at the residents registry office found out about Frau Professor's whereabouts. "Deceased in Theresienstadt" it says [in German] in the files. "Murdered" my heart screamed.

Believe you me, all of you who listen to me or read this at a later point in time, my heart and my mind have been overcome with tremendous mourning for this gracious and kind woman, Frau Professor Fraenkel.

Postscript

Fate makes up its own mind which way to travel. In June 1994 my story "Frau Professor Fraenkel" appeared in the monthly magazine Schleswig-Holstein. In the middle of July I got a call [in German]. "Are you Clara Kramer? The one who in Schleswig-Holstein ..." That's where she got stuck. "... wrote 'Frau Professor Fraenkel'? Yes, I am she," I replied exceitedly [in German]. "This is Ilse Jochimsen, née Fraenkel. I am the granddaughter," I heard a warm voice say [in German]. "That's the greatest joy you can imagine, a gift from God in my declining years," I answered [in German].

On July 20, a historic date, we met, exchanged news and looked at pictures. There I was sitting in the garden of Frau Professor's granddaughter with whom I had sat on the outer dike by our place in Leeswig during cherry-picking season in 1942.

I was wrong about the street. Frau Professor didn't live on the Esplanade but on the Alsterglacis. I also learned that Frau Professor had already been 83 when the Nazis took her. Why???

______
[1]  the pathologist and bacteriologist Eugen Fraenkel (1853-1925) who had discovered the gangrene bacillus Clostridium perfringens and had tested it on his own person [translator's note] [back to the story]
[2]  Please click here to read the recipe.  [translator's note] [back to the story]
[3]  the name of Hamburg's zoo [translator's note] [back to the story]
[4]  Theresienstadt was a concentration camp near Prague in Czechoslovakia, which was under German occupation at the time. [translator's note] [back to the story]

Hier klicken üm wat över'n Achtergrund vun dit Vertelln to lesen.

Click here to read about the background of this story.

Fro Professer Fraenkel

vun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal 
(Ut dat Book Ollanner Vertelln)

Wokeen wüür Fro Professer Fraenkel? Mien Besinn geiht wiet torüch in mien Schooltiet, jo, dor mütt mien Vertelln angohn.

Dormools wöörn de Froonslüüd noch mit den Titel vun jümehrn Mann anreedt. So wüür dat ok bi Fro Professer Fraenkel. Professer Fraenkel wüür een vun de groten Wetenschoplers an unse Hambörger Universitätsklinik. In de Hall vun de Pathologie in Hamborg-Eppendörp is een Büst vun em opstellt wodden. [1]

Mien öllste Süster Else wüür in Deenst bi Fro Professer as Lüttdiern. Se bruuk bloots fine Arbeit doon, dat wüür neihn, stoppen, stoffwischen, Sülver putzen un to de Mohltieden den Disch decken. Kott un good, se müß ümmer för Fro Professer proot ween.

In de Kirschbleuhtiet un ok in de Kirschentiet hett Fro Professer uns mit Süster Else besöcht. Uns Mudder hett denn ümmer wat Godes kookt. Ober nie keum Swiensfleesch op'n Disch. To'n Nodisch geev dat ,,Rode Grütt''. [2] Dat Krintenbroot to Kaffeetiet harr Mudder smoddens frisch backt. Dorto geev dat frische, gele Grasbodder. Wi Kinner hebbt uns ümmer düchtig freit, wenn Fro Professer keum. Se bröcht uns ümmer wat to'n Snopen mit.

Dat mütt so üm 1930 ween hebben, as Fro Professer vörsloon hett, datt ik een Week mit no Hamborg komen schull. Kloor datt ik glieks Füür un Flamm wüür. Gau wöörn een poor Klomotten för mi inpackt. In mien Kinnertiet wüür nich veel neudig för een Week.

Mudder harr Oof in de Spoonkörf trechtmookt. Nu kunn de Reis no Hamborg losgohn. Süster Else harr een groten Spoonkörf mit seute un sure Kirschen un ik een lütten mit Himbeern un Johannsbeern to dregen. De Kööksch schull ,,Rode Grütt'' [2] koken.

To Foot müssen wi vun Leeswig no'n Crans. Ungefiehr dree Kilometer wüürn dat. Vun dor güng dat mit de Borkaß öber de Elv no Blanknees. De ungefiehr 180 Treppen no den Bohnhoff ropp hebbt uns düchtig Puust köst. De Vöroortsbohn stünn al proot. Gau rin un de Körf afsetten wüür een Doon.

Dat Huus vun Fro Professer stünn in Hamborg an de Esplonood. Mien Süster wies mi ehr Stuuv, woneem ik op dat Sofo slopen schull. Wat wüür dat dor allns fien! Een scheune Week hebb ik in Hamborg hatt. Fro Professer neuhm mi mit to'n Inkeupen. Mit keeneen bruuk ik Schokerlood un Beuntschers to delen. Allns wüür för mi alleen. De Alster mit de smucken Seilscheep un Hagenbeck [3] mit de velen Deerten hett de gode Fro mi wiest. Disse scheune Tiet hebb ik mien Leevdag nich vergeten.

No 1933 hett sik in Düütschland dörch de Nazis veel verännert. Nich jüst to'n Goden, as wi weet. Mien Süster müß ehre gode Steed bi Fro Professer opgeben, wiel ,,Ariers'' nich bi Juden warken dröfen. Dat Huus an de Esplonood is ehr wegnohm wodden. In een Meethuus an'n Lattenkamp, wo alle poor Minuten de Hoochbohn vörbidönnert, hebbt se Fro Professer steken. Ober wi hebbt uns nicht ut de Ogen verloorn. In de Kirschentiet hett Fro Professer uns ümmer nochmool besöcht. Bang ümkeken hett se sik ober, wi wüssen jo ok worüm. Dat Judennostelln leup op Hoochtourn.

Een origen Tietsprung wieder. 1942! Mien Mann wüür in Frankriek. Wat schull ik mit mien lütten Diether alleen in Kiel mit de velen Flegeralarms un Bomben? Ok wüür ik warrer in Ümstänn. Bi mien Öllern harrn wi dat beter un sekerer.

Wüür warrer Kirschentiet. Mudder meen to mi: ,,Diern, plück man noch gau Arfen op de Wisch! Bring ok glieks Wuddeln un Petersill mit. Den Lütten loot man bi mi.'' ,,Och Mamma, de Lütt kann giern mit mi komen, ik paß al op, datt he nich an de Est löppt'', anter ik mien besorgte Mudder.

In de een Hand den Korf un op'n Arm mien lütten Diether güng ik de Treppen non Diek ropp. Hebb ik mi verfehrt! An den Butendiek seet Fro Professer mit ehr Enkeldöchder. ,,Aber Frau Professor, warum kommen Sie nicht rein? Mama wird sich freuen Sie zu sehen'', sä ik mit grote Freid in de Stimm. Ober Fro Professer schüttkopp mit Ogen, de den Utdruck vun een anschoten Deert harrn. Se anter bedröff: ,,Nein Clara, es ist gut gemeint, aber ich will Euch keineswegs in Gefahr bringen. Dankbar wäre ich Dir, wenn Du uns ein paar Kirschen bringen würdest'', beed se mi. ,,Das duldet Mama nicht, bitte kommen Sie mit mir'', geev ik to verstohn. Fro Professer klapp den Krogen vun ehrn Mantel trüch un wies op den gelen Dovidsstiern mit de swatte Opschrift ,,Jude'' un schüttkopp nochmool mit Troon in de Ogen. ,,Das ist uns doch bekannt! Else ist ungern von Ihnen gegangen. Wir sind Christen und wissen, daß vor Gott alle Menschen gleich sind. Wir achten Sie wie eh und je und haben schon oft an Sie gedacht. Wir leben hier auf dem Dorf, es kennt Sie niemand, und wer sollte Sie schon sehen?" versöch ik, ehr Moot to moken. Se wull ober nich. In'n Draff bün ik den Diek hindool neiht no Mudder in de Köök. ,,Mamma, Mamma, Fro Professer sitt achtern Diek mit ehre Enkeldöchder! Se will nich rinkomen! Mamma, du müß ehr tosnacken'', röter ik opgeregt op Mudder dool. ,,Mamma, se weent, se deit mi so leed. Mook doch to, goh gau hin. Fuurts will ik Kaffee koken'', dräng ik mien Mudder to Iel. ,,Jo, mien Diern, man ümmer suutje, ik loop jo al.'' Mudder reet sik den blauen Ploten rünner un leup, so gau as se man kunn, den Diek ropp. Worüm duur dat so lang? Worüm keumen se nich in de Kökendöör? De Kaffee wüür al lang farig un den Disch harr ik ok deckt. Ut de brune, stenern Kruuk harr ik Kaffeebroot un Tweeback in een smucke Schöddel doon. Endlich keum Mudder, ober alleen. Trurig, Troon stünnen ehr in de Ogen as se sä: ,,Nee, dat is nich miehr de Fro Professer de ik kinnt hebb. Oh, mien Diern, wat schall dat bloots noch afgeben mit dissen gräsigen Rassenhaß? Wat mütt disse gode, unschüllige Fro lieden. Komm, wi smeert Bodder op de Tweeback un bringt allns op den Diek. För de Kinner mook man een Putt vull Himbeersapp farig!'' Nu seten wi tosoom an den Butendiek. Uns steek wull alltohoop een Klüten in'n Hals. Fro Professer wüß freuher so good to vertelln, ober hüüt, nee, dor wull keen Ünnerhooln opkomen. De swore Last, de de Fro to dregen harr, drück ok op uns. Ehr Mann wüür storben, bevör de Nazis dat Regeern öbernohm' harrn. De eenzige Söhn, Dr. Max Fraenkel, harr sik, as he keen Utweg miehr wüß, dat Leben nohm.

Gau hebb ik een Kiep Kirschen plückt, een lütten Spoonkorf trechtmookt un een vulle Kumm hebb ik jüm to'n Eten hinsett. De beiden Dierns hebbt good tolangt, ober Fro Professor bleef wull allns in't Halslock steken. ,,Nun müssen wir uns aber auf den Heimweg machen. Es war so schön Sie einmal wiederzusehen. Auch Dein Kind durfte ich kennenlernen, Clara. Denkst Du auch noch einmal an die Tage an der Esplanade zurück? Für mich war es die schönste und später die schwerste Zeit meines Lebens'', besünn sik Fro Professor. ,,Diese schöne Zeit bei und mit Ihnen war für mich eine Bereicherung und bleibt mir unvergeßlich. Es ist die schönste Erinnerung aus meiner Kindheit'', anter ik mit een ruge Stimm, de mi nich horchen wull. Bi'n Adjüüsseggen leeg mi mien Hatt as een Bleeklump in de Boß. Harr so giern seggt, datt se doch bald warrerkomen müchen, ober Troon hebbt mi de Stimm stickt. Uns güng dat all dree liek. Wi hebbt uns ok nie nich warrersehn.

Een Koort hett Mudder mool kregen ut Theresienstadt. [4] Fro Professor schreef, datt se sik smoddens splitternookt buten in Ies un Snee mit koold Woter waschen müssen. De Küll wüür för ehr nich dat Slimmste, ober de Schoom. Op welk Oort un Wies se de Noricht ut dat Loger kregen hett, is uns hüüt noch een Rodel. Fro Professor wüür al öber 70 Johr oold, as de Nazis ehr no Theresienstadt versleept hebbt.

Mien Besinn an disse Fro is so lebennig, datt ik männigmool dink, se steiht blang mi. Lütt un smächtig mit slohwitte Hoor un warme, brune Ogen. Jo, ik feuhl ehre warme, weke Hand, mit de se mi, de lütte Diern vun Dörpen, seker dörch de Stroten vun Hamborg führt hett.

As ik no de Flucht ut Swinemünn, arm as een Karkenmuus, den 13. Oktober 1945 mit Mann un Kinner Toflucht bi mien Öllern söcht un funnen hebb, bün ik no Hamborg führt un hebb bi dat lnwohnermellamt rutfunnen woneem Fro Professor afbleben is. ,,Verstorben in Theresienstadt'' steiht dor in de Akten. ,,Ümbröcht'' schree mien Hatt.

Gleuvt mi alltohoop, de mi tohüürt or dat loter mool leest, grote Truur is in mien Hatt trocken in mien Besinn an disse eddel und gode Fro Professor Fraenkel.

Nodrach

Dat Schicksool geiht sien egen Weeg. Mien Vertelln ,,Fro Professor Fraenkel'' is in den Junimoond 1994 in dat Monoots-Magazin „Schleswig-Holstein" afdruckt wodden. Merden Juli kreeg ik een Anroop: ,,Sind Sie die Clara Kramer, die in dem Schleswig-Holstein", wieder keum se nich ,,Fro Professor Fraenkel geschrieben hat? Ja, die bin ich'', anter ik opgeregt. „Hier spricht Ilse Jochimsen, geborene Fraenkel, ich bin die Enkelin'', hüür ik een warme Stimm seggen. ,,Das ist die größte Freude , ein Geschenk Gottes zum Lebensabend'', wüür mien Anter.

Den 20. Juli, een geschichtsträchtig Dotum, hebbt wi uns dropen, vertellt un Biller ankeken. Nu seet ik mit de Enkeldochter vun Fro Professor in ehrn Goorn, mit de ik 1942 in de Kirschentiet bi uns in Leeswig an'n Butendiek seten harr.

Irrt hebb ik mi in de Stroot, denn nich an de Esplonood, sünnern an'n Alsterglacis hett Fro Professor wohnt. Ok hebb ik erfohrn, datt Fro Professor al 83 Johr old würr, as de Nazis ehr versleept hebbt. Worüm???

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[1]  de Patholoog' un Bakterioloog' Eugen Fraenkel (1853-1925), de den ,,Gasbranderreger'' (Clostridium perfringens) wies worrn is un em an'n egenen Liev testt harr ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]
[2]  Hier klicken üm dat Rezept to lesen. ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]
[3]  de Noom vun'n Hamborger Zoo ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]
[4]  Theresienstadt was 'n Konzentraatschoonslager bie Proog in de Tschechoslowakei, to de Tied besett vun Düütschland. ['n Noot vun'n Översetter] [trüch na't Vertelln]

Frau Professor Fraenkel

by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal 
(From the book Ollanner Vertelln) 

Who was Frau Professor Fraenkel? My memories go far back to my school years. Yes, that's where my story must begin.

In those days, women used to still be addressed by the titles of their husbands. This is how it was with Frau Professor Fraenkel as well. Professor Fraenkel was one of the great scientists at our University of Hamburg Medical Center. They have placed a bust of him in the hall of the Department of Pathology in Hamburg-Eppendorf. [1]

My oldest sister Else was employed as a maid by Frau Professor. She only had to do delicate chores. That was sewing, darning, dusting, polishing silverware and at mealtimes setting the table. In a word, she had to be ready for Frau Professor at all times.

During cherry-blossom season and also during cherry-picking season, Frau Professor would visit us with Else. Our mother would then always cook something delicious. But pork would never be served. For dessert we'd have "red fruit pudding." [2] Already in the morning would Mother bake the currant bread we'd have at coffee time. It was served with fresh, yellow butter made from the milk from grass-fed cows. We children would be really excited whenever Frau Professor came. She always brought us treats.

It must have been around 1930 when Frau Professor suggested I go with them to Hamburg for a week. Of course, right away I was out of my mind with excitement. Quickly we had packed some clothes for me. You didn't need much for a week when I was a child.

Mother prepared the chip-baskets. Now our trip to Hamburg could begin. Sister Else had a large chip-basket full of sweet and sour cherries, and I got to carry a small one with raspberries and fresh currants in it. The cook was to make "red fruit pudding." [2]

We had to walk from Leeswig to Cranz. That was about three kilometers [ca. 1.8 miles]. From there we took the launch across the Elbe to Blankenese. The approximately 180 steps up to the station took a lot out of us. The suburban train was ready to leave. In no time we had boarded it and had put down our baskets.

Frau Professor Fraenkel's house was in Hamburg on the Esplanade. My sister showed me her room in which I was supposed to sleep on the sofa. How posh everything was there! I had a splendid week in Hamburg. Frau Professor took me along when she did her shopping. I didn't have to share chocolates and candies with anyone. It was all for me alone to enjoy. The kind woman showed me River Alster with its beautiful sailboats and Hagenbeck [3] with its many animals. Never in all of my life did I forget this lovely time.

After 1933, much changed in Germany because of the Nazis, and not just for the better, as we well know. My sister had to quit her good job at Frau Professor's because "Aryans" were not allowed to work for Jews. The house on the Esplanade was taken away from Frau Professor. They put her into a rental apartment on the Lattenkamp where every few minutes the elevated railway train thundered past. But we did keep in touch with each other. Frau Professor still visited us once in a while during the cherry-picking season. But she kept looking over her shoulders anxiously, and of course we knew why. Persecution of Jews was running at full steam.

A good leap forward in time. 1942! My husband was in France. Why stay alone in Kiel with my little Diether amid all the air-raid warnings and bombs? Besides, I was in the family way again. We had it better and safer at my parents'.

It was cherry-picking season again. Mother said to me, "Dear, there's still a bit of time for you to pick some peas out back. Also bring some carrots and parsley while you're at it. Leave the baby with me." "Agh, Mom, the little one can come with me. I'll make sure he doesn't run into the Este River," I answered my concerned mother.

The basket in one hand and my little Diether in my arm I climbed the stairs to the dike. Did I have a scare! Frau Professor and her granddaughters were sitting by the outer dike. "But, Frau Professor, why don't you come in? Mom will be happy to see you," I said [in German] with great delight in my voice. But Frau Professor shook her head with eyes that had the expression of a wounded animal. She answered sadly [in German], "No, Clara. I know you mean well, but I definitely don't want you to get into harm's way. But I would be grateful if you gave me a few cherries," she pleaded with me. "Mom would not stand for it. Please come with me," I argued [in German]. Frau Professor lifted the collar of her coat and pointed to the yellow Star of David with "Jude" ["Jew"] on it in black letters, and again she shook her head with tears in her eyes. "But we know about that! Else left you unwillingly. We are Christians and know that all mankind is equal before God. We respect you as we've always done and have been thinking about you a lot. We live in a village here. No one knows you here. And who should be seeing you here anyway?" I tried to encourage her [in German]. But she kept refusing. I raced down the dike to Mother in the kitchen. "Mom, Mom! Frau Professor is sitting behind the dike with her granddaughters! She won't come in! Mom, you've got to talk to her," I said to my mother excitedly. "Mom, she's crying. I feel so sorry for her. Hurry up now! Go to her quickly! I'll make some coffee right away," I urged her. "Yes, love, calm down! I'm on my way." Mother tore off her blue apron and ran as fast as she could up onto the dike. Why was it taking so long? Why weren't they walking into the kitchen door? The coffee was ready, and I had already set the table. I took some coffee bread and rusk from the stoneware crock and put it into a pretty bowl. At last Mother arrived, though by herself. Sad. There were tears in her eyes when she said, "No, that's no longer the Frau Professor I used to know. Oh, darling! Where will it end with all this horrible racial hatred? How this good, innocent woman has to suffer! Come, let's put butter on the rusk and take it up the dike. Prepare some raspberry juice for the children!" Then we sat together on the outer dike. All of us must have had frogs in our throats. Frau Professor used to be so good at telling stories. But that time? No, no conversation wanted to get started. The heavy burden the woman was carrying was crushing us too. Her husband had died before the Nazis took over the government. Their only son, Dr. Max Fraenkel, had committed suicide when he could think of no other way.

I rushed to pick a pannier full of cherries, prepared a small chip-basket, and I put a bowlful in front of them to eat right there. The two girls helped themselves liberally, but Frau Professor must have had difficulties swallowing. "We have to start on our trip back now. It was nice to see you again. And I had a chance to meet your child, Clara. Do you sometimes remember those days at the Esplanade? That was the loveliest time of my life, soon to be followed by the hardest," Frau Professor reminisced [in German]. "That lovely time made a real difference to me, and I'll never forget it. It's the nicest memory of my childhood," I answered [in German] with a hoarse voice that wouldn't obey. My heart was like a lump of lead in my chest when we said our good-byes. I would have loved to ask them to come back soon, but tears smothered my voice. It was the same for all three of us. And we never saw each other again.

Sometime later, Mother got a card from Theresienstadt. [4] Frau Professor wrote that they were forced to strip naked and wash themselves outside in ice and snow. The cold wasn't the worst for her; embarrassment was. It's still a riddle to us exactly how she managed to get this message out of the camp. Frau Professor was already 70 years old when the Nazis relocated her to Theresienstadt.

My memories of this woman are so vivid that at times I think she stands right beside me: short and petite, with snow-white hair and warm, brown eyes. Indeed, I can feel her warm, soft hand with which she had guided me, the little country girl, with assurance through the streets of Hamburg.

After having escaped from Swinemünde [Swinoujscie] poor as church mice and I and my children had found refuge at my parents' on October 13, 1945, I took a trip to Hamburg and at the residents registry office found out about Frau Professor's whereabouts. "Deceased in Theresienstadt" it says [in German] in the files. "Murdered" my heart screamed.

Believe you me, all of you who listen to me or read this at a later point in time, my heart and my mind have been overcome with tremendous mourning for this gracious and kind woman, Frau Professor Fraenkel.

Postscript

Fate makes up its own mind which way to travel. In June 1994 my story "Frau Professor Fraenkel" appeared in the monthly magazine Schleswig-Holstein. In the middle of July I got a call [in German]. "Are you Clara Kramer? The one who in Schleswig-Holstein ..." That's where she got stuck. "... wrote 'Frau Professor Fraenkel'? Yes, I am she," I replied exceitedly [in German]. "This is Ilse Jochimsen, née Fraenkel. I am the granddaughter," I heard a warm voice say [in German]. "That's the greatest joy you can imagine, a gift from God in my declining years," I answered [in German].

On July 20, a historic date, we met, exchanged news and looked at pictures. There I was sitting in the garden of Frau Professor's granddaughter with whom I had sat on the outer dike by our place in Leeswig during cherry-picking season in 1942.

I was wrong about the street. Frau Professor didn't live on the Esplanade but on the Alsterglacis. I also learned that Frau Professor had already been 83 when the Nazis took her. Why???

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[1]  the pathologist and bacteriologist Eugen Fraenkel (1853-1925) who had discovered the gangrene bacillus Clostridium perfringens and had tested it on his own person [translator's note] [back to the story]
[2]  Please click here to read the recipe.  [translator's note] [back to the story]
[3]  the name of Hamburg's zoo [translator's note] [back to the story]
[4]  Theresienstadt was a concentration camp near Prague in Czechoslovakia, which was under German occupation at the time. [translator's note] [back to the story]