Part 2 (1/2)

After the play, the children put together what they called a ranice ranice-a ”blowout” banquet, although it was certainly a far cry from the feast customarily held on the holiday. There were no hamentashen-the traditional triangular Purim pastries filled with poppy seeds or prune b.u.t.ter. All they could bring to the table were a few slices of bread that had been saved for the occasion and a bit of margarine that was spread on the bread, which was then toasted on the hot stove until the margarine melted. Over this they sprinkled a pinch of sugar or paprika. Sometimes Ela could add something to such feasts-a tomato, a carrot, or a piece of red bell pepper that had been secretly taken, at considerable risk, by her mother, who worked in the fields. These colorful little extras were not much more than decorations, however. To ”organize” or ”clean up” fruits or vegetables while working in the fields was considered theft by the SS. A ”thief” could be severely punished, so great care had to be taken, and only tiny pieces of vegetables would end up on the girls' bread. ”But just to see it!” Helga recalls. ”I still remember how impressed I was by it. Even though everyone got just one or two little pieces. But for me it was a feast for the eyes-it was done with such love!”

This, too, was primarily the work of the imaginative Eva Weiss. She was constantly coming up with variations on the ranice ranice. Sometimes sugar and margarine were combined in a pan and set on the stove to make ”candy,” gooey little roasted bonbons that were pa.s.sed around as ”sweet nothings.” Or a potato was sliced, sprinkled with paprika, and roasted. Sometimes flour and yeast were formed into a dough that was filled with a piece of onion or a little mustard. Or a ”cake” would be magically created from painstakingly saved bits of buns, with an icing that looked like chocolate but was actually ersatz coffee powder. These buns-simple yeast pastries baked in the shape of rolls-were sometimes so doughy that, despite their rather bland taste, at least one could chew on them for quite a while.

A ranice ranice was always a great event for the girls; that Purim was no exception. As they usually did on such occasions, the girls joined hands and shouted their cheer made up of nonsense syllables: was always a great event for the girls; that Purim was no exception. As they usually did on such occasions, the girls joined hands and shouted their cheer made up of nonsense syllables: ”Aba cucka funde muka funde kave kave cuka, ab cuk, funde muk-funde kave kave cuk.” ”Aba cucka funde muka funde kave kave cuka, ab cuk, funde muk-funde kave kave cuk.” Then they dug in. ”We each had two slices of bread with curds and half a slice with mincemeat,” Helga recalls. ”After that came something sweet with coffee cream and sweetened sour milk. After the Then they dug in. ”We each had two slices of bread with curds and half a slice with mincemeat,” Helga recalls. ”After that came something sweet with coffee cream and sweetened sour milk. After the ranice ranice we exchanged presents. I got a little purse, a brooch, and a heart on a stickpin.” we exchanged presents. I got a little purse, a brooch, and a heart on a stickpin.”

Tuesday, March 23, 1943Put everything in order! We were finished by eleven. At three we went to the theater. The play was about Ahasver [sic], not the way it's taught in Jewish history, but rather as a comedy, because Purim is a happy, not a sad feast. Everyone laughed. But not me. I don't know why?!... taught in Jewish history, but rather as a comedy, because Purim is a happy, not a sad feast. Everyone laughed. But not me. I don't know why?!...I've become more serious here somehow. Yesterday Mimi gave me a necklace with a pendant as a belated Purim present. Lea was doing better, she hadn't had a fever for six days, but she's worse again. She's got a new infection, this time in the left lung. ...When I was still at home I never paid any attention to nature. But I do here in Theresienstadt. Our windows look to the west, and we cannot see the sun rise. But at six o'clock I always go to the toilet in the hall, which has windows facing east. What beautiful mornings! I've been watching now for several days: budding trees, blue sky, and a red, rising sun. I completely forgot that I've been here now for two months.In her diary, Helga described the layout of Theresienstadt:The town consists of eleven barracks. Only men are housed in the Sudeten Barracks, only women in the Hamburg Barracks. The Hohenelbe Barracks is a hospital. Instead of police we have the Ghetto Guard, which is quartered in what was once the German House on the other side of the barricades. You see Aryan people moving about there, too. The streets leading to it are closed to us by barricades. The street leading from the brewery to the Sudeten Barracks is marked with a Q; the one from the Hannover to the Aussig Barracks with an L. Papa lives at L 231 and I live at L 410. There's a health authority here, whose head is a young physician, Dr. Munk. There is supposed to be an infirmary in every building with over four hundred people, but only a very few have one. We have two infirmaries and an outpatient clinic. Children are well looked after here. We go once a month to be measured and weighed. For fresh air we go to the ramparts, which is not open to adults. It's open three days a week. There are public showers, and also a few stores where if you have a special pa.s.s you can buy things with ghetto money. There are two shoe stores, two for women's clothes, two for men's clothes, one children's store, one for luggage, one for fancy goods, two for linens, a drugstore, a gla.s.s shop, and a general store. You're given permission to buy a certain amount of linens, clothes, and shoes each year. You can get herbal tea and ground pepper, paprika and caraway at the general store. Barracks is a hospital. Instead of police we have the Ghetto Guard, which is quartered in what was once the German House on the other side of the barricades. You see Aryan people moving about there, too. The streets leading to it are closed to us by barricades. The street leading from the brewery to the Sudeten Barracks is marked with a Q; the one from the Hannover to the Aussig Barracks with an L. Papa lives at L 231 and I live at L 410. There's a health authority here, whose head is a young physician, Dr. Munk. There is supposed to be an infirmary in every building with over four hundred people, but only a very few have one. We have two infirmaries and an outpatient clinic. Children are well looked after here. We go once a month to be measured and weighed. For fresh air we go to the ramparts, which is not open to adults. It's open three days a week. There are public showers, and also a few stores where if you have a special pa.s.s you can buy things with ghetto money. There are two shoe stores, two for women's clothes, two for men's clothes, one children's store, one for luggage, one for fancy goods, two for linens, a drugstore, a gla.s.s shop, and a general store. You're given permission to buy a certain amount of linens, clothes, and shoes each year. You can get herbal tea and ground pepper, paprika and caraway at the general store.*

The layout of Theresienstadt, from Vera Nath's alb.u.m Almost without realizing it, Helga became caught up in the daily life of Room 28. She no longer felt like a stranger. Her shyness had gone, giving way to feelings of friends.h.i.+p and solidarity. Helga became increasingly aware that none of the girls had freely chosen to live in Room 28. Deep in their hearts all of them hoped for the day when they would once again be free. But Helga sometimes felt that some of her roommates had become more accustomed to this difficult situation than others, possibly because they realized that there was no alternative but to transform this forced community into some sort of congenial home until the war's end. Pavla Seiner, Lenka Lindt, Eva Landa, Handa Pollak, and Eva Winkler were among those girls. They tried hard to make a true community out of Room 28. Flaka did, too.

Helga admired the devoted way Flaka looked after the other girls and tried to console them when things got bad. She seemed to manage her daily ch.o.r.es with a light touch. In the morning, as the girls were making their beds, Flaka could often be heard calling to Ela, who shared a bed with her: ”Elinez, melinez, Rolinez, Malinez, Roliz”-it was one of her nonsense rhymes that always got the girls giggling.

Flaka, Lenka, Ela, Zajiek, Maria, Handa, and Fika-this was the group of girls to which Helga was becoming increasingly attracted with each pa.s.sing day. Vivacious Ela, Flaka with her lively imagination, and beautiful, dark-eyed Maria-Helga liked them all. Tella encouraged her wards' musical talent and was delighted when these three, her best singers, formed a trio. Sometimes they rehea.r.s.ed in L 410's cellar, where an old harmonium stood on rickety legs.

By this time the cellar in L 410 had become an all-purpose social hall. Sometimes it was used for little stage productions, like the one put on by Walter Freund with his puppet theater. Sometimes there were art exhibitions, lectures, or discussions. Once or twice it was used for a Pa.s.sover seder. But mostly it was a rehearsal s.p.a.ce, where the girls worked on their plays and Tella rehea.r.s.ed her girls' choir.

The choir, which was made up of sopranos, second sopranos, altos, and soloists, had a fine sound, and it was Tella's pride and joy. The repertoire ranged from Czech and German folk songs to cla.s.sical music and Hebrew melodies. Girls who didn't measure up to Tella's musical standards weren't allowed to partic.i.p.ate, much to the disappointment of some. One of them, Eva Landa, would sometimes just sit there and listen to the beautiful music that carried out into the street, where pa.s.sersby would stop for a moment to enjoy it.

”The best part,” Ela recalls, ”was when the room had turned dark and we would sing these wonderful Hebrew songs. Even when we didn't understand every word of what we were singing, our soloists, our choir, they just sounded so lovely! We really believed we were very good singers.”

In the spring of 1943 Kamilla Rosenbaum, a dancer and ch.o.r.eographer from Prague, began rehearsals in the bas.e.m.e.nt of L 410 with the younger children for Brouci (Firefly) Brouci (Firefly), a dance poem based on the children's book by Pastor Jan Karafiats. A collaboration with other committed artists, it soon became an ambitious theater project. Vlasta Schonova, a young actress who had studied directing in Prague, set to work adapting the story for the stage; the artist Friedl d.i.c.ker-Brandeis designed colorful, imaginative costumes together with the children; Adolf Aussenberg and Franta Pick created the set; and Karel Svenk, a cabaret artist from Prague, arranged the music based on Czech folk songs.

Eva Weiss, an enthusiastic dancer, a.s.sisted Kamilla and helped the children learn Slavic and Czech dances. She also had a role in the production. ”I still recall the first song exactly. I leaped onto the stage and we danced to a wonderful medley.”

A special attraction in the cellar were the puppet plays put on by Walter Freund, a lawyer from Moravia and the chief elder at the Girls' Home. In Theresienstadt he had thrown himself into his great pa.s.sion, puppet theater, devoting every free minute to it. His handmade marionettes were masterly works of art that enhanced the children's enjoyment of his productions. Among his best-known plays was A Girl Travels to the Promised Land A Girl Travels to the Promised Land, for which the renowned former designer made the sets and Friedl d.i.c.ker-Brandeis created the costumes. But other plays also remained in the girls' memories, such as A Camel Went Through the Eye of a Needle A Camel Went Through the Eye of a Needle by Frantiek Langer and by Frantiek Langer and The Enchanted Violin The Enchanted Violin.

Gideon Klein was a fascinating and strikingly handsome young man. He often accompanied Brundibar Brundibar rehearsals on the piano. ”He was a friend of Tella's,” Ela Stein recalls, ”and once he even composed a song for our choir, which we then rehea.r.s.ed with Tella. It went, 'Kus.h.i.+ba, Kus.h.i.+ba-a black man comes from Africa.'” rehearsals on the piano. ”He was a friend of Tella's,” Ela Stein recalls, ”and once he even composed a song for our choir, which we then rehea.r.s.ed with Tella. It went, 'Kus.h.i.+ba, Kus.h.i.+ba-a black man comes from Africa.'”

In these sorts of productions the old harmonium usually played a lead role. Although it was out of tune and several of its keys were always sticking, it was one of the most prized instruments in the Girls' Home. Sometimes it was even brought up to the top floor, to Room 28, as we learn from an essay Handa Pollak wrote in October 1943: Before the premiere of The Bartered Bride of The Bartered Bride, Tella, along with a few of the girls, brought the harmonium up to our room and played the opera for us. She explained everything, so that we would know the story and could concentrate on the music. The next day we went to the gym at L 417, which was full when we arrived. I found a spot close to the piano. I'd heard The Bartered Bride The Bartered Bride three times in Prague, but it was never as beautiful as it was there. What Rafael Schachter, the conductor, was able to accomplish was a real miracle. Back at the Home, the talk revolved around the food, the ”sluices,” pa.s.ses for getting in and out, and work in the fields. I felt like someone who is caught up in dreams of beautiful things and is suddenly torn out of her dreams and wakes up-and everything is as gray and ordinary as ever. I just kept thinking about three times in Prague, but it was never as beautiful as it was there. What Rafael Schachter, the conductor, was able to accomplish was a real miracle. Back at the Home, the talk revolved around the food, the ”sluices,” pa.s.ses for getting in and out, and work in the fields. I felt like someone who is caught up in dreams of beautiful things and is suddenly torn out of her dreams and wakes up-and everything is as gray and ordinary as ever. I just kept thinking about The Bartered Bride The Bartered Bride, and even as I dozed off I could hear ”Our True Love.”

Sometimes, toward evening, the Girls' Home became unusually quiet as lovely voices came from the old vaulted cellar. Everyone knew that Rafael Schachter, the celebrated and multifaceted musician-conductor, pianist, composer, and great inspiration to Czech musical life-was rehearsing with his choir and preparing for a new performance.

Schachter's legendary Theresienstadt productions-Bedich Smetana's The Bartered Bride The Bartered Bride and and The Kiss The Kiss, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro The Marriage of Figaro and and The Magic Flute- The Magic Flute-all had their genesis in the cellar of L 410. ”After work I often slipped down to the cellar,” Eva Weiss recalls. ”I would squeeze into a corner and stay very quiet, and so I was allowed to listen. There stood the old rickety harmonium that Tella often played. And it was there that I heard Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro The Marriage of Figaro for the first time, and for the first time, and The Bartered Bride The Bartered Bride, too. And of course the Requiem Requiem! I heard the Requiem Requiem so often that even today I can still sing most of it in Latin in my mind.” so often that even today I can still sing most of it in Latin in my mind.”

Verdi's Requiem- Requiem-a funeral ma.s.s about dying, redemption, consolation, and resurrection-performed in Theresienstadt by Jewish prisoners in death's waiting room! It was one of the ghetto's most stirring and unforgettable concerts. As the music critic Kurt Singer wrote at the time-despite his own objections to the choice of this work-it was ”the greatest artistic accomplishment born and presented thus far in Theresienstadt, an achievement that also demanded the most meticulous preparation ... a triumphant success for Rafael Schachter and his choir... a masterpiece.”12 And although it was meant for adults, it impressed a great many children as well. And although it was meant for adults, it impressed a great many children as well.

”I heard only the rehearsals. I don't think that I ever attended a performance,” Helga says. ”And yet-it made such a deep impression on me that years later in England, when I was asked what I wanted to see on my twenty-first birthday, I said Verdi's Requiem.” Requiem.”

Magically drawn by the music, many of the girls would slip down to gather outside the cellar door. If it wasn't Rafael Schachter or Gideon Klein sitting at the old harmonium, then it was Tella, who accompanied the rehearsals, with Handa sitting beside her.13 ”I was the one who turned pages of the score. Because of that I was allowed to be present at rehearsals,” Handa says. ”Those rehearsals-they left a very, very strong impression. Even today I can still hear the voices of the chorus: ”I was the one who turned pages of the score. Because of that I was allowed to be present at rehearsals,” Handa says. ”Those rehearsals-they left a very, very strong impression. Even today I can still hear the voices of the chorus: 'Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David c.u.m Sibylla ... Lacrymosa dies illa, qua resurget ex favilla judicandus h.o.m.o reus... Agnus Dei, qui tollis pecatta mundi, dona eis requiem.' 'Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David c.u.m Sibylla ... Lacrymosa dies illa, qua resurget ex favilla judicandus h.o.m.o reus... Agnus Dei, qui tollis pecatta mundi, dona eis requiem.' Or the final prayer: Or the final prayer: 'Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna, in die illa tremenda, quando coeli movendi sunt et terra.' 'Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna, in die illa tremenda, quando coeli movendi sunt et terra.' ('Free me, O Lord, from eternal death on that dreadful day when heaven and earth shall be moved.') For me, that work-and music in general in Theresienstadt-was an extraordinary experience. It was as if angels were singing in h.e.l.l.” ('Free me, O Lord, from eternal death on that dreadful day when heaven and earth shall be moved.') For me, that work-and music in general in Theresienstadt-was an extraordinary experience. It was as if angels were singing in h.e.l.l.”

Flaka also occasionally tiptoed down to the cellar to be closer to these musical events. Music was-and still is-the elixir of her life. Once she even had the chance to audition for the role of Bastienne, alongside Pit'a Muhlstein, who was to play Bastien, and his sister Maria, who had the role of Kolas the magician. ”But it wasn't easy for us,” Flaka recalls. ”It was hard to live up to Rafael Schachter's expectations. He set the highest standards. We rehea.r.s.ed the Mozart opera for maybe two weeks. Then he decided to present it in concert form with adult singers.”

Rafael Schachter (d. 1945) But this decision did not spell the end of Flaka's musical career. She continued to sing in the girls' choir. She especially loved singing in the trio, which had taken on an unusual a.s.signment. Flaka, Ela, and Maria would occasionally go to the quarters where the elderly people lived, to serenade them but also to offer them practical help. The girls did not do this for fun; it was hard work, a task given to them by an organization called Yad Tomechet (”Helping Hand” in Hebrew). Yad Tomechet was a youth organization founded in Theresienstadt in the late summer of 1942 by leading members of the Hechalutz movement and the Youth Welfare Office. They had agreed that something had to be done to try to alleviate the misery of the elderly inmates of Theresienstadt, however hopeless this seemed to be.

Beginning in the summer of 1942, elderly men and women arrived in Theresienstadt by the thousands, primarily from Germany and Austria. Many of them presented some piece of paper with the name of what they believed to be a hotel or a boardinghouse, claiming that they had reservations there. Some of the Jews from Germany had even signed a so-called Heimeinkaufsvertrag Heimeinkaufsvertrag (”home purchase agreement”), for which they had been induced to hand over their remaining a.s.sets. The Germans had a.s.sured them that in return they were going to be given fine homes ”in the spa town of Theresienstadt,” where they would spend their later years in peace. And now these people, some from once well-to-do families, found themselves locked up in a sealed ghetto. They were crammed into military barracks, often in wretched attics or cellars, amid dirt, noise, and foul odors, with nothing to sleep on but straw-filled mattresses or just the bare floor. Many of them could not get to the toilets and washrooms, because these were too far from where they slept and were impossible to reach without a.s.sistance. They never had enough water or food, and what food they could get was practically inedible. The elderly quickly lost hope and the will to live. The number of suicides rose rapidly. (”home purchase agreement”), for which they had been induced to hand over their remaining a.s.sets. The Germans had a.s.sured them that in return they were going to be given fine homes ”in the spa town of Theresienstadt,” where they would spend their later years in peace. And now these people, some from once well-to-do families, found themselves locked up in a sealed ghetto. They were crammed into military barracks, often in wretched attics or cellars, amid dirt, noise, and foul odors, with nothing to sleep on but straw-filled mattresses or just the bare floor. Many of them could not get to the toilets and washrooms, because these were too far from where they slept and were impossible to reach without a.s.sistance. They never had enough water or food, and what food they could get was practically inedible. The elderly quickly lost hope and the will to live. The number of suicides rose rapidly.

What could be done for these people? Perhaps the youngsters could be encouraged to help them. And so, at the suggestion of Hebrew teacher Ben-Zion Weiss, Yad Tomechet was founded. Over time, a large number of boys and girls joined in and helped to care for the elderly. The young people brought them their meager meals from the kitchen, accompanied them to the toilet, bathed them, cleaned their dismal sleeping quarters, and helped them pack when their names came up for transport to the East.

The girls in Room 28 also tried to think of ways to help. At first they set up a schedule of greeting new arrivals and helping the elderly with their heavy baggage. But that didn't work, because the new arrivals, thinking they were coming to a spa, were so horrified at their surrounding that they were initially incapable of comprehending their situation. Some did not trust the girls, especially those who did not speak German. Thinking that the girls were trying to steal their baggage, they brusquely waved aside those who sought to help them.

So the girls looked for other ways to be useful. Soon they were going straight to the quarters of the elderly. ”If someone had a birthday, for example,” recalls Flaka, ”we just went over, wished the person a happy birthday, and helped out a little-beating mattresses, cleaning up for them. And then those of us in the trio would sing a little something. We had practiced a lot of songs with Tella just for that purpose. And sometimes we sang our own words to the tune of Schumann's Traumerei.” Traumerei.”

”Once we even sang a Dutch song especially for people from Holland,” Ela recalls. ”It was called 'Wade blanke.' To this day I don't know what it means, but the melody still runs through my head.”

Sometimes the girls gave the elderly little gifts, usually handkerchiefs that the Youth Welfare Office had provided. The old people would then rummage helplessly through their paltry possessions, hoping to find something for the children. But there were no cookies, no chocolates, no bonbons. They had nothing to offer, and the children knew it, and at such moments they would quickly take their leave.

One of Flaka's outstanding qualities is her desire to help people. She may have inherited this from her mother, for whom the education of her children in the spirit of enlightened humanism was paramount. Elisabeth Flach even wrote a book t.i.tled The Most Important Question in Life The Most Important Question in Life. No less than Toma G. Masaryk, the revered president of Czechoslovakia, had a copy in his library, for which he had sent a thank-you letter to Elisabeth Flach. For many years this letter was among her most treasured possessions.

Her mother's influence only partly explains Flaka's compa.s.sionate nature. She had also been sensitized to suffering by the bitter experiences shared by this whole generation of Jewish children during the years leading up to their deportation. Some may have hoped that life in the Theresienstadt ghetto in the company of others in the same circ.u.mstances would be an improvement over the nightmare they had just left. They were sadly mistaken. But the miserable conditions in Theresienstadt did help forge a sense of community and solidarity-even for an eleven-year-old girl. When Flaka was finally released from a long stay in the hospital, where she had wound up shortly after her arrival, she hurried off to see her father and brother in the Hohenelbe Barracks. And she was determined not to arrive empty-handed. ”I was so happy I could bring them a gift, a piece of bread that I saved especially for them.”

A Yad Tomechet members.h.i.+p card That was what happiness looked like in Theresienstadt. Unhappiness bore a different face. In February 1942 Flaka's grandmother Ottilie died. The elderly had the poorest chance of survival. They suffered the torments of starvation or died of disease. Thousands of elderly people perished in Theresienstadt.

Thursday, March 25, 1943I'm getting along with the other girls now. We're holding meetings without the presence of counselors. We're trying to set up a connection with the ”Niners,” the boys of Home 9 at L 417. We'd like to see some changes in our Home. Things are very bad at the moment, not very friendly. We're working on a kind of uniform-white s.h.i.+rts with a badge, blue pleated skirts and blue or black Pullman caps. We go to the ramparts every day now, where we play dodgeball and have other compet.i.tions. We return home single-file, singing, one behind the other, the little ones in front.-Lea's health is unchanged. It's very serious. When I came to the Girls' Home I weighed 113 lbs. Now I weigh 101 lbs. Papa has lost over 15 lbs compet.i.tions. We return home single-file, singing, one behind the other, the little ones in front.-Lea's health is unchanged. It's very serious. When I came to the Girls' Home I weighed 113 lbs. Now I weigh 101 lbs. Papa has lost over 15 lbs.Monday, March 29, 1943Nothing out of the ordinary has happened over the last few days. The weather is very bad. We play the game of City, Country, River and sing. We have a new English teacher. She's very likeable. I have already managed to get a white s.h.i.+rt for our uniform.Tuesday, March 30, 1943It is the first day that the children's kitchen is open again. It was closed for about a month because of typhoid. The food is much better. For lunch today, there was potato soup with bread and noodles, and supper was a bun with half an ounce of margarine and black coffee. It was good, but too little of it. Papa had lentil soup and potatoes, and soup again in the evening. Am I ever stupid!!! I just keep on writing about the food.A little while ago we celebrated Maria Muhlstein's birthday. Her mother cooks porridge for sick children and gives the children in the Homes extra food when they need it.Now I'll describe the birthday party. For Theresienstadt it was very nice. Maria received a lot of presents, colored pencils from me. Frau Muhlstein had baked an oatmeal cake with coffee icing and marmalade filling. We drank cocoa with it. Imagine that-cocoa for forty people!Wednesday, March 31, 1943It's been four years since Mama left for England, and four and a half years since I saw her last. It will probably be a long time before we see each other again. For now we have only one hope that each day brings us closer to the end of the war.Besides pneumonia, Lea has now developed pleurisy. She gets drained every day. The doctors have given up hope. I believe and hope in G.o.d, who cannot let such a little innocent creature die.

The counselors in the Girls' Home had set themselves an almost impossible task. How does one go about easing the unhappiness that each girl bore within her? How should one react to their fears, answer their questions? How could one help them live a semblance of a normal life together-a community of twenty-five to thirty girls crammed into an area that should accommodate no more than one-third their number?

Very few of the girls managed to come to terms with such conditions. On top of their personal suffering, the girls had plenty of reason to be upset by the problems they faced every day-bad air, not enough room, not enough food, too much noise. The smallest thing could set a girl off-someone in an upper bunk putting a foot on her bed as she climbed down, for example. And the constant disorder, wherever one looked! But was it even possible to keep order with so many children in such close quarters? Tella, at any rate, demanded it. And at times there were severe punishments if the rules were broken.

”One day Tella discovered a comb full of hair, a pair of dirty panties, and a toothbrush in Lenka's food bowl,” Judith recalls. ”She was so angry that she punished the whole room. Our punishment was that we weren't allowed to leave the Home that evening and could not visit anyone, not even our parents.”

Such measures were not very effective. Nothing was going to hold Judith back from seeing her mother and father. She simply would not accept the idea of Tella punis.h.i.+ng everyone just because Lenka wasn't tidy. Lenka was even less inclined to be impressed by such punishment. She was an extremely intelligent girl with a stubborn, rebellious streak. She was determined to form her own opinions and to see things from all angles. As a result, she often stood firm when asked to toe the line regarding matters she considered outmoded and obsolete, such as Tella's implacable pa.s.sion for order. Lenka was by far the least tidy girl in Room 28. And yet Lenka was truly treasured by them all, even by Tella. ”She was very clever and mature for her age and had a lively imagination-what a personality, one of a kind,” her comrades said about her. ”We admired her, and we all liked her. She radiated energy.”

Lenka was not the only girl who had trouble with their strict counselor. Even today Marianne Deutsch has nightmares when she thinks of Tella. Marianne came from a prosperous family in Olomouc, in northern Moravia. For the first ten years of her life, her world had been a pleasant and agreeable one. ”I had everything I needed,” she would say later. Above all, she had ”Memme,” Emma Fischer, her governess, whom she adored, and who stayed with the family until their deportation in June 1942. ”Memme would have preferred to convert to Judaism and accompany us to Theresienstadt. She cursed Hitler something awful and almost got herself arrested because of it.” Saying goodbye to Memme was very hard on Marianne. ”It was worse than being separated from my parents. When I had to leave her, I shed the first truly bitter tears of my life.”

Marianne missed her governess. Despite her joy over every package that arrived from Memme-and Memme sent as many as she possibly could-each one rekindled Marianne's agonizing longing to see her. It was especially at such moments that Marianne railed against her fate. She simply wasn't able to adjust to the community of Room 28, and Tella's iron hand just exacerbated the problem.

”If there had been no Tella, I'm sure I would have liked it better,” Marianne comments. ”The other counselors were very nice. What wonderful evenings we had when they spent the night in our room. But Tella spoiled every minute for me. Either you take me as I am, or just leave me alone.” Tella evidently did the latter.

Things were different with Handa-even though she was a match for Lenka when it came to the matter of messiness. Her little portion of the shelving along one wall, the only place where a girl could put a few personal items, was usually such a mess that even Handa's neighbor, Eva Landa, fussed about it. But to no avail. Orderliness was not Handa's strong suit, and in her eyes Tella, at least in this matter, was more or less crazed. ”Our clothes had to be hung up neatly behind the curtain, and our shoes had to stand in dress ranks like soldiers. We had a place for shoes under the window, but it was always one big jumble. And every evening our slippers had to stand in pairs under our own bunks.”

And then one day it happened. A single, forlorn slipper was found under a bunk. The slipper was old and terribly tattered, and its partner was simply nowhere to be found, no matter how hard the girls searched and how thoroughly Tella interrogated them all. It remained lost-much to Tella's annoyance.

For Handa and her friend Fika, however, it became a great inspiration. They wrote a little play, Trikena Trikena, in which the main character was a single, tattered slipper: One day a single slipper showed up beneath a bunk-Trikena. And all the other shoes, the good shoes, made fun of Trikena because she was so alone and so shabby that no one could wear her anymore. Finally Trikena died-weary, old, and abandoned.Suddenly everyone felt sorry for her, and all the other shoes sorely regretted having treated Trikena so deplorably. They wondered: What can we do to bring her back to life? It was so mean of us to make fun of her, to humiliate her. They heaved many sighs of woe-and sounded like the chorus from an ancient Greek tragedy.

The girls laughed heartily at this little cabaret, which Handa and Fika performed for them with slipper puppets, and which can be read today in Handa's little notebook. Handa had been given this notebook by Pit'a Muhlstein on November 4, 1942, for her eleventh birthday, and she called it Vechno (Miscellany) Vechno (Miscellany). In it she jotted down all sorts of things: cla.s.sroom notes, mathematical formulas, poems, sketches for stories and plays, drawings, doodles.

Performances of dramas such as Trikena Trikena, or of a comedy about two old maids, Amalka and Posinka Amalka and Posinka, which Flaka and Lenka wrote and presented, were the sort of creations that even someone as strict as Tella appreciated. What better way could her girls be diverted, for a little while at least, from the gravity and misery of their imprisonment?

Counselors had to walk a fine line between strictness and sympathy, punishment and indulgence. Some counselors, such as Tella, were strict enforcers of the rules. Others-among them Eva Weiss, Laura imko, Lilly Gross, Rita Bohm, and Eva Eckstein-relied upon compa.s.sion and creativity. But they were all united in one goal. As Rosa Englander, the director of the Girls' Home, put it, they wanted ”to create a foundation of harmony and balance for each child. This foundation is the source of the energy that enables a child to meet the demands of the outside world, a world that is tough and volatile and will continue to be so for our Jewish children.”14 Eva Weiss contributed to the achievement of this goal in her own special way. She loved aphorisms and adages, and she used them to create art with a pedagogical bent. If she heard a clever saying or came across a wise adage, she would jot it down on a piece of paper, quickly paint a picture to accompany it, and then hang it on the wall. Eva's pictures already adorned the walls of Room 104 in the Hamburg Barracks, and now they enhanced Room 28 as well.