Arier-Nowies

vun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal 
(Ut dat Book Ollanner Vertelln, Ss. 34-36)

Krieg! 1940! Wat is modden? So dachen veel Minschen an dat, wat uns Leben batts verännern kunn. Mien Brögam wüür bi de Morine in Kiel. Üm mien Tokunft to sekern meen he, wi schulln man heiroden. Mien Öllern harrn ok nix intowennen. Barg Popiern wüürn neudig. De harrn wi gau op'n Dutt. Ober nau so gau kreeg mien Brögam den gansen Kroom torüch mit de Oploog, datt ik mien'n Arier-Nowies veer Generotschoon'n torüch bibringen muß, wiel mien Fomiljennoom Freudenthal wüür. Tjer, wat wi alltohoop nich wüssen, Freudenthal is een Judennoom. Mien Verlobten wüür Beroopssuldoot un müß de arische Rass' rein-hool'n. Bi unsen Gemeenvörsteher un unsen Postuurn hebb ik allns in een kotte Tiet tosomenhoolt.

Egentlich schull uns Hochtiet nu nix miehr in'n Weg stohn. Heß di dacht! Een Ehetauglichkeitstüüchnis müß ik bibringen. Se wulln weten, op ik ok fruchtbor wüür. De Froonslüüd müssen bi Hitler Kinner kriegen. Mien Mudder harr acht sunne Kinner boorn un groottrocken, worüm schull ik keen Kinner kriegen? Wiel mien Verlobten in Kiel stotschoneert wüür, müß ik mi dor ünnerseuken loten. Dat Dotum harrn se em ok glieks opgeben. So meuk ik mi tiedig op'n Weg no Kiel. Vun'n Bohnhoff müß ik mit de Strotenbohn no de Wik führ'n, woneem dat Morinelazorett wüür. Mien Brögam teuf al op mi un bröch mi glieks hin.

Oh Gott, watt hebb ik bebert! Dor stünn ik nu, jüst twintig Johr oold, vör so'n groten Morineoffzier.
,,Stabsarzt - sowieso'' - den Noom hebb ik vergeten - stell he sik vör.
,,Freudenthal'', anter ik fründlich.
,,Freudenthal? Interessant! Ist der arische Nachweis erbracht? Ihr Name klingt nicht gerade arisch, und Ihr Aussehen verstärkt meine Zweifel'', sä he koold un vun boben raf to mi. 
,,Besagter Nachweis ist lückenlos erbracht bis ins vierte Glied, wie es von mir gefordert wurde. Wenn Sie bezüglich meines Aussehens auf mein dunkles Haar hinweisen, möchte ich nur sagen, selbiges von meiner Frau Mutter ererbt zu haben. Sie ist eine geborene Fuhlendorf. Dieser Name kommt häufig im Holsteinischen vor. Mein Vater hingegen, der mir den Namen Freudenthal gab, ist hellblond, hat blaue Augen und trägt einen rötlichen Bart. Diese äußeren Kennzeichen meines Herrn Vater sind doch wohl rein germanisch'', geef ik kottbössig torüch. Wo kunn ik bloß, ober Bammel un Leev hebbt mi disse Wüür wull op de Tung leggt.

Nu keum dat, wat Mudder mi verklomüstert harr. Nodem ik mi warrer antrocken harr, meen de Herr Oberstabsarzt: ,,Sie bekommen einen schriftlichen Bescheid, aber ich sage Ihnen heute schon, daß Sie keine Hoffnung auf eine positive Nachricht zu hegen brauchen.''

Bums wüür ik buten un seh wull temlich bedröfft ut. Mien Brögam wüür ok düchtig bestött, as ik em vertellt hebb, wat de Dokter to mi seggt harr. Öber sien Kumponiechef wöör em mitdeelt, datt he mi nich heiroden dröff, wiel ik ,,eheuntauglich'' wüür.

Nu wüür Holland in Noot! Mudder wüß mi ober to treusten, un schick mi glieks den annern Dag no unsen Dokter Alfred Behrens in Keunigriek. Door kunns wenigstens mit snacken. He vertell mi, datt een lütten Ingriff mookt warrn müß, un datt ik denn een ganse Schööf Kinner kriegen kunn. För de Morine in Kiel kreeg ik ok fuurts dat neudige Schrieben mit.

Nu schull jo wull allns in de Reeg ween. Ne, wüür nich so. No een kotte Tiet kreeg ik warrer Bescheed, datt ik mi in Kiel ünnerseuken loten müß. De Dokter wüür desülbige gräsige Keerl. Üm em rüm ober noch fief junge Fähnriche. 

,,So, meine Herren, dieses Fräulein Freudenthal - der Name sagt Ihnen sicher alles - hat meinen Eheuntauglichkeitsbefund verworfen, und versucht nun mit einem fingierten Attest die Ehe mit einem Arier zu erschleichen'', sä de Herr Stabsarzt to de jungen Snösels, de door rümstünn. Ober dat Ünnerseuken müch ik leber swiegen. Mit de Wüür: ,,Ich will Sie hier nicht wiedersehen, denn von meiner Diagnose weiche ich nicht ab'', scheuf he mi ut de Döör.

Glieks den annern Dag hebb ik unsen Dokter Behrend allns vertellt un ok düchtig dorbi weent. 
,,Ach Mädchen, nun weine nicht mehr, ich bin überzeugt, daß einer Schwangerschaft nichts im Wege steht. Du wirst Kinder haben! Was kann ich Dir nur raten? Werde schwanger! Dieses ist die einzige Möglichkeit, den Herrn in Kiel zu überzeugen'', meuk mien Dokter mi Moot.
,,Aber Herr Doktor, diese Schande kann ich doch meinen Eltern nicht antun! Als Schwangere darf ich in der Kirche keinen geschlossenen Myrtenkranz tragen'', hebb ik antert. 
,,Dir bleibt gar keine andere Wahl. In der heutigen Zeit ist eine Schwangerschaft ehrenvoll! Bedenke, was man Dir für Hürden aufgebaut hat'', versöch he, mi to öbertügen.

Mudder wüür dat ober gor nich so recht no de Mütz.

No twee Moond kunn mien Brögam dat vun dree Dokters ünnerschreben Attest, datt ik in Ümstänn wüür, in Kiel vörleggen. Endlich kregen wi nu ut Kiel greunes Licht to uns Heiroot.

To Huus harrn wi dat nu heel hill, denn dat schull, trotz Krieg, een scheune Hochtiet warrn. Wiel mien tokünftig Mann to See führ, müß he den Soom vun mien Bruutkleed vun Hand ümneihn. De Obergloben beseggt, datt Fohrenslüüd denn keen Molüür hebbt, un ümmer heel in Hoben lannen doot.

De 31. Mai 1940 wüür uns Hochtietsdag. Nu wöör dat so bilütten ok hooch Tiet. Bi Sünnschien hett Hans Ohlober (Ohlhaver) uns mit sien smucke Kutsch un sien striegelt Peerd no uns ole, smucke Estbrücker Kark führt, woneem ik al döfft un ok kunfermeert wodden wüür.

Fief Moond loter is uns Diether bi oplopen Woter boorn wodden. De Jung wüür sund, weug 8½ Pund un harr mien gnätern swatten Hoor. Tante Fey, uns Mudder Griepsch, harr smoddens bi Klock fief rüm to mi seggt: ,,Glieks löppt dat Woter af. Wenn dat lütt Minsch bet Klock süß nich dor is, müß du di noch süß Stünn plogen, bet de Floot insett. Bi Ebb warrt storben, bi Floot warrt boorn. Ik goh denn bet Klock twölf no Huus.''Se wüß Bescheed. So is dat denn ok komen, as se seggt hett. Uns Jung keum twintig Minuten no twölf to Welt.

All dat Opregen un Beuse harr ik vergeten, as ik mien lütten Diether in mien Arm harr un an de Boß leggen kunn. Een Broder un een Süster hett he ok noch kregen.

Nodrach

Ohn dissen Tosatt wüür mien lütt Vertelln nich vullstännig. Noforscht bet to Beginn vun dat 16. Johrhunnert hebb ik, bet ik wüß, woneem mien Urohnen herkeumen. De Jud' John Froyndahl is vun Leipzig as Koopmann no Hamborg koom un dor backen bleben. Nu steiht fast, een poor Druppen Judenbloot loopt dörch mien, mien Kinner un mien Grootkinner jümehr Odern.

Wat mi düchtig duurt, is, datt mien Stammboom in Swinemünde/Pommern bleben is. De Krieg harr uns leeg mitspeelt. Arm, un doch unbeschrieflik riek, stünn ik mit mien Fomilje den 13. Oktober 1945 bi Vadder un Mudder mit een Rucksack op mien Puckel vör de Huusdöör. Uns Riekdoom 1945? Wi harrn Öllern, de uns een Dack öbern Kopp geben hebbt, sunne Hannen to'n Arbein un een kloorn Kopp, de uns wies, woneem wi antopacken harrn.

Proof of Aryan Descent

by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal 
(From the book Ollanner Vertelln, pp. 34-36) 

War! 1940! What's going to happen tomorrow? This is how many people thought about those things that could change our lives in a flash. My fiancé was in the navy in Kiel. In order to secure my future he suggested we'd better get married. My parents had no objections either. A bunch of papers was needed. We had soon gathered them. But just as soon everything was returned to my fiancé with the notification that I must provide proof of Aryan descent four generations back because my last name was Freudenthal. Well, what none of us had known was that Freudenthal was a Jewish name. My fiancé was a lifer in the military and was supposed to keep the Aryan race pure. In no time I managed to get everything together from our municipal manager and our pastor.

Theoretically, nothing else should have stood in the way of our wedding. Yeah, sure! I was to provide certification that I was fit to get married. They wanted to know if I was fertile. Under Hitler, women were supposed to bear children. My mother had and raised eight healthy children. Why should I not be able to have children? Because my fiancé was stationed in Kiel, I was to be examined there. They gave me an appointment time via him. So I started early on my trip to Kiel. I had to take the streetcar from the station to the Bay at which the navy hospital was located. My fiancé was already waiting for me and right away took me there.

Oh, Lord! How I was shaking! There I was standing, just twenty years old, in front of one of those big-time navy officers.
"Staff Physician So-and-So" -- I've forgotten his name -- he introduced himself.
"Freudenthal," I answered cheerfully.
"Freudenthal? Interesting! Has proof of Aryan descent been submitted? Your name doesn't exactly sound Aryan, and your looks only strengthen my doubts," he said to me coldly and down his nose [in German].
"Complete proof of this nature has been submitted four generations back, as I had been ordered to do. If, regarding my looks, you should be alluding to my dark hair, I would only like to say that I have inherited it from my mother. Her maidenname is Fuhlendorf. This name occurs frequently in the area of Holstein. My father, on the other hand, the one who gave me the name Freudenthal, is light blond, has blue eyes and a reddish beard. I assume that these physical characteristics of my father's are purely Germanic," I snapped back [in German]. How could I? But fear and love must have put these words on my tongue.

What then followed was what my mother had explained to me. After I had put my clothes back on, the staff physician remarked [in German], "You'll be notified in writing. But I'm telling you already today that you needn't hold out any hope for positive news."

Suddenly I found myself outside, and I must have looked pretty upset. My fiancé, too, was very much aghast when I told him that the doctor had said to me. Through his chief of staff he was notified that he was not allowed to marry me because I was "unfit for marriage."

Now we were in a real pickle! But Mom knew how to comfort me and the very next day sent me to see our doctor Alfred Behrens in Königreich. At least he was someone you could actually talk with. He told me that a minor procedure was needed and that after that I'd be able to have a whole bunch of children. Also, he gave me the necessary correspondence for the navy in Kiel.

Now everything seemed in order. No. It wasn't. Not long after, I received yet another notification saying that I should get examined in Kiel. The doctor was the same awful guy, this time surrounded by five young officer candidates.

"Well, gentlemen, this Miss Freudenthal -- you'll agree that the name speaks for itself -- has rejected my findings that she is unfit for marriage, and she is now trying to use some sham verification in an attempt to finagle her way into marrying an Aryan," the staff physician addressed [in German] those young puppies standing around him. I'd better not mention what the examination was like. With the [German] words "I don't want to see you back here, for I won't deviate from my diagnosis," he pushed me out the door.

The very next day I told our Dr. Behrend the whole story in tears.
"Oh, child! Stop crying. I'm convinced that nothing stands in the way of pregnancy. You will have children! What advice can I give you? Get pregnant! It's the only way to convince the gentleman in Kiel," my doctor encouraged me [in German].
"But, Doctor, I can't bring this kind of shame onto my parents! If I got pregnant I wouldn't be able to wear a closed myrtle wreath in church," I answered [in German].
"You have no choice. Pregnancy is an honorable thing these days. Consider the obstacles they've put in your way," he tried to convince me [in German]. 

But Mom did not exactly embrace the idea.

Two months later my fiancé was able to present in Kiel verification of my pregnancy, signed by three doctors. At long last we got from Kiel the green light for us to get married.

Then we got very busy at home because it was supposed to be a beautiful wedding, despite the war. Because my future husband was a sailor he had to hem the seam of my dress by hand. According to superstition, this is the way for seamen to avoid disaster, for them to make sure that they safely reach port.

Our wedding day was on May 31, 1940. By then it was high time, too. On a sunny day, Hans Ohlhaver took us in his handsome coach with his horses all rubbed down and combed to the pretty church in Estbrügge where I had been baptized and confirmed.

Five months later our Diether was born during the incoming tide. The boy was healthy, weighed 8½ pounds and had my jet-black hair. Auntie Fey, our midwife, had said to me at around five o'clock in the morning, "The water will be ebbing soon. If the little one hasn't arrived by six o'clock, you'll have to suffer for another six hours, until the beginning of the high tide. Low tide is death tide; high tide is birth tide. I'll go home and will be back at twelve." She was in the know. It all happened just as she had said. Our son was born twenty minutes after twelve.

I had forgotten all the excitement and negativity once I was holding my little Diether in my arm and was able to nurse him. He ended up getting a brother and a sister.

Postscript

My little story would be incomplete without this postscript. I did some research all the way back to the beginning of the 16th century, until I knew from where my ancestors had come. The Jew John Freundahl had gone from Leipzig to Hamburg and ended up settling there. Now it's for sure: a few drops of Jewish blood run through my veins and through those of my children and grandchildren.

What I regret a lot is that my genealogical table remained in Swinemünde [Swinoujscie], Pommerania [Pomorze]. The war had played the devil with us. On October 13, 1945, poor and yet incredibly rich, with a pack on my back, I stood in front of my father and mother's door with my family by my side. Our wealth in 1945? We had parents who provided us with a roof over our heads, had hands able to work and a clear head that told us what needed to be done.