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				<h1><a href="#">Memoirs</a></h1>
				
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						Aryeh El-Zur
				
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				<h2 id="Intro"><a href="#">Introduction</a></h2>
				
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<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Places, events, people I remember!</I
></P
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>In the foothills of the Beskid mountains, on the border between Galitzia and Lower Silesia, a small town--Andrychow--was located. To the east lay a bigger town, Wadowice, then the seat of county government and the military headquarters of the 12th Battalion of the Polish army. To the west was the city of Bielitz, known for its high-quality wool industry. The population of Wadowice was Polish, that of Bielitz, German. Wadowice was poor and modest; Bielitz, rich, modern, and bustling. </P
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>Andrychow was something in between, because of its geography, economic foundation, and mixed population. This small town of 3,000 people was divided by a small stream, the Wiepshowka, but the two parts of town were connected by a strong wooden bridge, essential to all the people for communicating and earning their livelihood. </P
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>On the north side of the bridge was the "town," i.e., the marketplace, the shops, the Catholic church, and the Jewish synagogue. There were some small restaurants and beer halls kept by Jews, frequented mainly on Tuesdays, the market day, when peasants came to town to sell their field produce and to spend their earnings in the local shops on clothes and agricultural tools, and in the open-air beer halls. </P
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>On the outskirts of Andrychow was the modest palace of Count Bobrowski. He was a Polish aristocrat--a member of the Austro-Hungarian Parliament and a loyal subject of the Habsburg monarchy; later, of course, a Polish patriot. His fields and possessions stretched wide to the north and south of the town and included a beautiful open park, the Panska Gora [lord's mountain]; they were interrupted only by the local railroad and a train station on a nearby hill. </P
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>On the south side of the bridge lay the great textile empire of the Czeczowiczka Brothers--Andrychow (A.B.C.), whose high-quality cotton fabrics were appreciated throughout Poland. </P
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>The balanced combination of people and economic activities was a strong base for the peaceful and tolerant interrelationships among the three major sectors of the population. The Polish peasants from nearby villages provided plenty of food as well as unskilled labor for the textile factory. The technicians and foremen, of German ancestry but born in Poland (<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Volksdeutsche</I
>), skilled and in great numbers, effectively ran the A.B.C. enterprise. They were appreciated in the factory and also in the town, for being excellent patrons of the local shops and contributors to cultural events--they provided two sizable orchestras for local dances and festivities. The third sector of the population was a mix of Jewish and Christian shopkeepers, and of the Polish-Jewish intelligentsia (professionals and officials). There was little politics in the town but a lot of sport competition--football and skiing in the Beskid mountains. Unlike other small towns in Poland, Andrychow had a balanced social combination of Poles, Germans, and Jews, which depended largely on the prosperity provided by the A.B.C. works. The harmonious atmosphere, mutual tolerance, and respect for religious and national diversity were regarded as great achievements in this small community. </P
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>In the last years of World War I (l916-1918), refugees from the east of the Austro-Hungarian empire, mainly Jews, fled west from the advancing armies of the last Russian offensive. Our family--our mother, Antoinette (Toni), and we five children (our father, Edward, was in the Kaiser's army)--stopped our flight for some unknown reason in Andrychow. For several months we lived the life of refugees in a crowded dwelling, with poor nourishment and difficulty in acquiring the basic necessities of life. We had come from an eastern Galitzian town, Kalush, where I was born Leonard Horowitz on July 14, 1912. </P
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>I remember very little of this period because I was the youngest and had no worries. However, thinking back and partly from hearsay, I believe my mother must have been a remarkably efficient woman to tackle such a situation. In contrast to other families in a similar situation, ours must have been well organized. My brothers attended a nearby <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>gymnasium</I
> [high school] in Wadowice; all of us were adequately dressed and fed; the house was clean; and a pleasant, disciplined atmosphere prevailed, a miracle in such a crowded dwelling. My father came back from the war from time to time with presents, clothes, and special foods, and he sent food parcels and money. </P
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>My mother, I was told, was helped greatly by my brother Siegfried (Guni), who roamed the countryside and villages buying or bartering for food. Money had little value, but barter goods like leather boots and wool clothes were accepted for food by the prosperous peasants. I cannot imagine what the barter goods were or where they came from, because as refugees we had left all our property behind and were living out of suitcases. </P
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>Eventually the war came to an end. The Austro-Hungarian monarchy was disbanded, and Poland became an independent state. My father rejoined the family. I was always proud of my father--of his uniform, his medals, his mustache, and his impressive appearance. I was happy to be embraced and kissed by him, and I remember his smooth well-shaved face and the scent of his eau-de-cologne (to this day, I use the same scent, K&#65533;ln 4711). However, now out of uniform, my father felt he had lost personal standing, and he lost his morale. Though by some legal arrangement he retained the right to a civilian post in the Polish administration, he refused to take it up, despite our precarious material situation. </P
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>I dimly remember his pacing back and forth at night in our small house like a lion in a cage. Without my mother's moral support and endless devotion, he would have fallen into deep depression. My mother, however, was a tower of strength. She kept the house and family together and cooked for my father his preferred foods, all without the smallest complaint. My father's position was not unique. The fall of the monarchy in which he had trusted so completely rocked the foundations of his life. He was unable to grasp reality and cope with it efficiently. Weeks passed; our situation became desperate. But as my mother said, "<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Wenn die Not am gr&#65533;ssten, ist uns Gott am n&#65533;chsten</I
>!" [When the need is greatest, God is nearest.] And she was right! God took care of us, it seemed by a miracle! </P
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>In the large textile empire of the Czeczowiczka Brothers, reorganization and expansion were necessary to cope with the changes in markets, the economy, and the administration. The markets to the east were lost; new markets in what was called Congress Poland opened to the north and west. The need for textiles, especially good textiles, was enormous, because of the lack of consumer goods during the war. Thus, qualified people in new, primarily administrative, positions were needed. </P
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>By some chance my father met the director-general of A.B.C., Mr. Frederich Zobel (a <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Volksdeutscher</I
>), and was hired on the spot. After a few weeks and an evaluation of his working qualifications, he was introduced to one of the owners of the textile enterprise, Mr. Fritz Czeczowiczka, who lived in Vienna but visited the Andrychow works often and, in fact, controlled them from his office in the Turkenstrasse in Vienna. Mr. Czeczowiczka was a small, insignificant-looking man with bad posture and heavy eyeglasses but apparently a very sharp brain and a good grasp of economics. After observing my father for some time at work, Mr. Czeczowiczka elevated him to a senior position, namely, a sort of secretary of foreign affairs of the firm; in modern terms, vice president of financial relations with the government. My father had great responsibility because of the complexity of the tax regulations for such a large enterprise vis-&#65533;-vis the new Polish government. </P
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>Thus, my mother's belief in God's help came true, and her prayers were realized. My father held a position that he would never have dreamed of achieving. The family was saved from a wretched refugee status and became an important member of the local community, enjoying the benefits of material plenty and a promising future. </P
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>The huge textile enterprise of A.B.C. spread widely on the south side of the Andrychow bridge. A small indigo dye works was near the bridge, but A.B.C. covered a lot of terrain with its industrial and social facilities. In this respect A.B.C. was unique. Its great modern working halls included everything needed to produce fine textiles. There were halls for spinning yarn and for weaving, separate buildings for dyeing and finishing. There was a large separate electric power plant, dominated by two very tall red brick chimneys that exhausted the black smoke of burned-up coal. There were repair shops and all accessory workshops--carpentry, electrical, mechanical construction, and others--to make the factory entirely independent of outside services. </P
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>Water came from the stream, and pumping stations provided additional water from several reservoirs. The whole industrial complex was carefully planned and located in modern buildings, the inside halls well lighted and the outside covered uniformly by a special material containing glass splinters, which pleasantly reflected the rays of the sun. Around the buildings spread a circle of shrubs and trees, giving a distinguished appearance to the whole complex. There were separate administration buildings with well-furnished offices, glass partitions, storerooms, office machinery, and typing rooms. Another special building included the technical offices, for production design and planning of streamlined fabrication and flow of materials. </P
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>There was a small hotel and restaurant for business visitors, a recreation room, a bar and beer rooms, and a lecture hall. The building was called the Casino; during the day it served the technical and administrative staff, and on festivals or dance evenings, the families. At the entrance of the industrial complex was an impressive lobby with an old, severe-looking mustachioed porter, who controlled the incoming and outgoing traffic. A.B.C. had its own uniformed fire brigade, two orchestras, and a sports club. In 1932, a year before I went to Palestine, I visited the town and the A.B.C. enterprise for the last time. By that time, I had a great deal of experience, having visited textile factories in Poland, Germany, Austria, and Moravia, and having studied and worked as an intern in several places. Of course, I had known before how unusual the A.B.C. enterprise was, but I was amazed again how in a competitive textile industry such a "jewel of technical beauty" could prosper and at the same time provide such attractive working conditions and so many social services. </P
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>A.B.C. employed some 2,000 people. The unskilled workers, mainly women, came from the surrounding villages. Some hundreds of low- or middle-level technical staff supervised the working process and carried out repairs on the spot or in the repair shop. These people lived with their families in apartments provided by A.B.C. A third group, comprising the elite--the highly qualified engineers, technicians, and designers--directed the flow of production and the quality of the product. They were housed in a special building, the <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Beamtenhaus</I
> [officials' house], in comfortable apartments. One could fairly call Andrychow a company town. I would say A.B.C. was a progressive though paternalistic company, unique for its time in the world of textiles in Poland and Central Europe. </P
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>Mr. Frederich Zobel, the director-general, was the sole executive responsible for all activities of the enterprise. The Czeczowiczka Brothers--in fact, cousins--presided in the head office in Vienna, where commercial policy and production planning were decided. </P
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>Daily, thick outsized envelopes containing financial and technical reports were posted to Vienna; and daily, directives were received in similar envelopes. Although telephone connection was available at that time, it was used mainly inside Poland, and only Mr. Zobel would use the telephone to Vienna. </P
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>Employment at A.B.C. was apportioned primarily according to skills, technical knowledge, and educational background, but certain ethnic distinctions also operated. Worker mobility in sociological terms hardly existed. The peasant girls of the weaving mills worked only a few years, until they got married or pregnant and returned to their villages. They were strictly from Polish ethnic stock and didn't mix with the other personnel. The middle-level technicians with practical skills were recruited from the Silesian German villages. For some reason, they were called <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Wasser-Polacken</I
> because they spoke a mixture of German and Polish. They were employed permanently and were housed nearby in modest quarters. The elite technical designers and specialists--mostly <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Volksdeutsche--</I
>were graduated from German technical schools and had previous experience in similar factories of Silesia, Moravia, and Sudeten. They were a distinguished class, spoke mainly German with few words of Polish; they were raised with a belief in German technical superiority, and they kept their "trade guild" closed. </P
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>Few Jews were employed at A.B.C., and only in administrative services--accountants, secretaries, clerks--never in technical positions. Mr. Zobel was a liberal person who, though a <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Volksdeutscher</I
> himself, would not dare to antagonize the privileged group of master designers and specialists by employing a Jewish high-skilled technician and thus breaking the ranks of the closed guild. And the owners? They were too reasonable to interfere in the established order. To be sure, that was years before Hitler, and relations between Jews and Germans were predominantly friendly, because the Jews in the east were the <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Deutsche Kulturtr&#65533;ger</I
> [carriers of German culture] all over the lands of the former monarchy. </P
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>Germans and Jews being legal minorities in the new Polish republic, they had the right to their own schools, press, clubs, and so on, but they cooperated in the fields of music and theater. In Bielitz, for instance, there was a beautiful Baroque theater building with a fine local ensemble and guest performances of the most famous theater groups from Vienna and Germany. </P
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>Besides paying good salaries, A.B.C. provided for its permanent staff comfortable housing according to family size as well as water, heating, and electricity, all free of charge. Food parcels and other gifts were distributed before holidays. Each family had a vegetable garden, a chicken coop for eggs and meat, an open garden for relaxing, and bathing facilities. A.B.C. provided paid vacations (four to six weeks) according to seniority, health services and insurance, and other social amenities. </P
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>Because of my father's position we lived in the <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Beamtenhaus</I
> and enjoyed all the facilities (only one other Jewish family--the Weissbergs from Vienna, whose head was the firm's chief accountant--had the same privilege). Next to our house was the <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>sanctum</I
>, a two-story villa with a fenced garden: the lower floor was Mr. Zobel's residence, the upper floor was used by the owners during their visits to the factory. </P
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>My father had an additional privilege: when traveling on company business, mainly by train, he could order the company carriage (a two-spanner) with a uniformed coachman to bring him to and from the railway station. I never missed the opportunity of going along because the coachman, named Bogunia, let me hold the reins of the horses from time to time. For prestigious or urgent trips out of town, my father used the company car, a Steyer machine with a uniformed driver named Jablonski. He was a German driver-mechanic. </P
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>At that time, to get a driving license, one had to graduate from a three-year mechanics school in order to be able to service and repair the car. He was a good and fast driver but was sometimes a little drunk and thus endangered the passenger and himself on the terrible unpaved roads. I remember that my mother didn't like my father to use the car, but sometimes it was essential. Jablonski sometimes took me for a drive along the main road of the town or around the "Ring," and I could proudly look down on people, especially my jealous friends, while enjoying this wonderful privilege. </P
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>During my childhood I had playmates from both sides of the Wiepshowka. Those from the A.B.C. apartment house were Germans; those from the other side were Jewish boys and girls and sometimes Poles. The wooden bridge brought both parts of the town together, but kept the children of both sides apart. In fact, they never met. They were different in language, behavior, outlook, and background. They acted, thought, and lived differently. </P
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>The standing and prestige of each child was first of all decided by the social position of the family, primarily of the father, and only then by one's own qualities. Your inherited or acquired standing was not something passing, something you grew out of; it became a permanent and integral part of your life. Here, in childhood, your character was formed. Your likes and dislikes, values and prejudices, goals and ambitions--your instinctive reactions to everything that happened later in life--all these became part of you then. </P
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>One important part of my character that I acquired in early youth was the ability to move freely in any kind of ethnic, racial, or religious group without losing my identity or being influenced by the prevailing atmosphere. Once my character had been formed, it remained essentially unchanged throughout my life. The same reactions followed each other, the same mistakes repeated themselves, the pattern of behavior was similar under different circumstances, even the ideological perspective remained the same despite fundamental changes in the outside world. </P
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>One of the reasons for writing these memoirs is to re-examine my actions and decisions in various periods of my life in the light of character features acquired in my youth. According to a Greek philosopher, "Everything moves, everything changes, and we change as well." This might be correct in biological terms but with regard to character, individuals, people, nations do not change. I may be wrong, and probably am, but that is what I believe. </P
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>The first crisis in my childhood occurred in 1923, when my mother died. Till then, we were a full-fledged family of seven. During the summer vacation of this tragic year, my brother Guni, who had spent his first university year in Vienna, came back, bringing Stella, our cousin and his future wife, and also Otto, her younger brother, to get acquainted with our family. </P
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>I didn't realize that with my mother's death my childhood had come to an end. In the house of my parents I had had a secure home; our housekeeper Jadzia spoiled me with her cooking. I had various friends and playmates, and of course I had my mother, who though always busy found enough time to carry out my wishes and listen to my stories. She was very good to me, and I loved her dearly. She let me have everything I wanted and do everything I wanted. In fact, I was the only "child" in the family, because my brothers and sister were on their way to maturity. </P
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>Now, with my mother gone, my father and family did not know what to do with me. I remember that various plans included one that appealed to me greatly, namely, to join a boys' boarding school in the style of English boarding schools, stories about which I read eagerly at that time. In the meantime, an invitation arrived from my uncle Joachim, my mother's brother, suggesting that I join his household in Vienna. Since Guni and Stella were all for it, I agreed, although reluctantly because something unknown was coming into my life. On a September morning in 1923, after a long and unpleasant journey, we arrived in Vienna, and I was brought to the house of my uncle and aunt in the 20th District, J&#65533;gerstrasse 24. </P
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>I remember I felt ambivalent. On the one hand, I was intrigued by the great change from a small town to a big city; on the other, I was quite disappointed by the poor, drab, overcrowded housing and the long treeless streets. I became discontented with everything. I missed my friends, my freedom, and the happy home climate. I hated my aunt, a small, fat, flat-footed woman, and I think our dislike was mutual. She was a self-important, slow-moving, slow-speaking person, older than her husband, who considered herself always righteous and who ruled the household with an iron fist. She kept all things under lock and key, bought exactly and sparsely for the household needs. I think she was a sick person, went for "the cure" each year to Hof Gastein. She had a hairdresser who came each morning, and she fought continually with her domestic help. My uncle was absent on sales trips for his textile business during the week and came home on weekends, primarily to fill the orders that he had collected. He was quite different from my aunt, warm-hearted and sentimental; we learned to know each other years later and became real friends. </P
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>One scene concerning my aunt's character and approach I remember vividly. She had sent me to a food shop to buy Emmentaler cheese--100 grams (3.5 ounces)! I brought it back but on the way I ate a small piece. My aunt looked at it and, without a word, put the cheese on a home balance and found that 10 grams were missing. She called me a cheat, a greedy swine, and other names. I didn't understand what it was I had done, because at home the larder was always open and I could freely take cheese or sausages or cold cuts at all times without asking for permission. Eventually I told her that, and what I thought of her, and was told, "<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Du must immer das letzte word haben!</I
>" [You must always have the last word.] I did not understand the meaning and heard only "the last word," so I replied, "Not the last word, the first word!" I left her to her rage, and avoided her as much as I could. Several years later she died, becoming senile in the last stage. </P
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>Another unpleasant thing: They put me in a <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>gymnasium</I
> whose pupils and teachers I disliked from the first moment. The place was crowded. The teachers had names like Kratky, Kucko, Swoboda; they were of Czech origin but German nationalists; they regarded me and my language deficiencies with scorn and derision. There was a picture on the wall (which I understood only much later) showing a strong German peasant, with his arm around a younger peasant boy, on a background of orderly fields and peasant villages; both figures looked proudly forward. Written below: "<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>H&#65533;nde weg von</I
> <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>deutscher Heimat Erde!</I
>" [Hands off the German homeland.] Symbolically it meant, Germany and Austria united...in the future. </P
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>Moreover, the school was difficult. I couldn't follow my lessons properly and needed help, in the afternoons from Stella and in the evenings from Guni. Unlike Stella, Guni was a rough and impatient tutor who didn't have the slightest understanding of my precarious prisonlike situation. In the evenings he asked me to come to his room in a nearby street, continue my studies under his supervision, and sleep over as well. This was a great ordeal for me because the bedding in his room was red-striped (sheets and covers as well), which reminded me of bedding in poor peasant dwellings in Poland. </P
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>Used to white sheets and white accessories, I couldn't sleep. Thus, I took care not to overstay in his room in the evenings so as not to be forced to sleep under hated conditions. </P
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>Stella, on the other hand, was an entirely different sort of person. She was something special, a safe haven in my distress. I loved her very much (and do still today). I remember her with great nostalgia and admiration. Frankly, if not for Stella, I would have rebelled and run all the way home, hundreds of miles across the borders of three countries. </P
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>Stella was a real Viennese girl, always nice, polite, and helpful. She was a graduate of a commercial academy and was well acquainted with the various facets of Vienna and the surrounding mountain region. On Saturday or Sunday afternoons, she took us out--me and her younger brother, Otto. We visited museums, went to the Prater, even to a ballet (<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Puppenfee</I
>). We went by streetcar to the Wiener Wald and Kobenzl, to the zoo in Sch&#65533;nbrunn, to the Kahlenberg, and many other interesting places. All those outings were festive events, a pleasure that compensated for the drab past and coming weeks and that provided something to wait for. Moreover, when we came back to the inner city, we concluded our tours by going to the famous konditorei "am Kreutz," where we eagerly devoured wonderful pastries, Indianer-Krapfen, with whipped cream. </P
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>Thus the winter passed slowly, and the spring, and I still hated school but had to conform in order to pass the exams. I still hated the house, my witch-aunt, and the tutoring of my brother, and was eager to have all this behind me. In the first week of July 1924, I went home, to Andrychow. I was again happy in the family circle, although my mother was not there any more. </P
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>Just at the beginning of my vacation I traveled with my father to Bielitz. On the train I screwed up all my courage and gave my father an ultimatum: "I am not going back to the house of my uncle and the pig-eyed flat-footed witch. Either, father, you find me a place in a boarding school or a pleasant place with nice people to continue my stay in Vienna, or I am staying here in the house where I belong." </P
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>I don't think any of his children had ever given my father such an ultimatum, certainly not to an old soldier and disciplinarian. But, oh wonder! he didn't say a word, because he understood what was happening inside me. The next day he gave Guni and Stella strict orders to find for me in Vienna another home. In this they succeeded beyond measure. Mr. and Mrs. Dauber-Sucher lived on the Obere-Donaustrasse, in a fine large apartment, and were happy to take me in. Both were former students, he in law, she in medicine, who had dropped their studies and gotten married. They were young, childless, and well-educated, and were happy to have somebody to take care of, to help with schoolwork and to talk. I think it was the first time grownups talked to me without giving me orders and were ready to listen and to let me do what I wanted. </P
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>Now, what were the things I really wanted? I had a large room for myself, excellent food, and plenty of books, which I started to read and appreciate. But the most important achievement was my new school: Das Akademische Gymnasium on Beethovenplatz, in the 1st District. It was a famous old school, located in a beautiful classic cloister building near the Stadtpark, at the entrance of which was a plaque engraved with the names of well-known musicians, literary figures, and statesmen who had graduated from the school. </P
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>I visited this school building again in 1984 and in 1989 and was still excited; it reminded me of a happy period of my youth. The school had an excellent teaching faculty and a mixed pupil community. Christians and Jews were recruited from the exclusive 1st District society. In due course, I adjusted, made friends and was invited to youth parties, organized a football team, and joined in the various activities of the school. The most important thing, as far as I was concerned, was to be rid of the brutal supervision of Guni's tutoring, of the house in the J&#65533;gerstrasse and its inhabitants. I forgot even the pleasures of my family home in Andrychow. I had limitless freedom and could shape my life as I wanted. Thus, I joined a Jewish scout movement, became a football fan of the Hakoah Club, and went on Sundays to its matches in the Prater. During holidays and vacations I went with the scout movement on various three-day tours to the neighboring high mountains of Rax and Schneeberg. </P
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>Early in this period of my new life my father visited Vienna after his health tour in Marienbad, and I could tell him about my satisfaction and happiness. I felt that these feelings were mutual, and as an expression of them, he bought me lots of clothes and gave me a substantial sum of pocket money, which I could use for all my private extravagances. I didn't know that it was the last time I would see and talk to him. Several months later he became ill, had a stroke, and died in a sanatorium in Zuckmantel, Czechoslovakia. He was brought back to Andrychow, and huge crowds of the population, Jewish and non-Jewish, including the A.B.C. fire brigade and marching orchestra, took part in the funeral. All this I was told much later, and my deep sorrow and suffering was overwhelmed by my pride at having such a remarkable father, who after only a short time had been able to arouse such positive feelings in a mixed population. (My parents' graves still exist there.)</P
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>When my father was still alive, he had sent my sister Lola to Vienna to further her education. She grew up like all such girls in a small provincial town, attending school, speaking a little French, playing the piano quite well, and falling in love with a friend of my brothers. She attended a free girls' lyceum in Vienna, studying German literature but primarily waiting for her future fianc&#65533; to join her. Since we shared a room at the Dauber-Suchers' house, I could see how nicely her fianc&#65533; courted her, taking her out almost every evening to the Opera (her greatest desire), sending flowers and for me boxes of chocolate. In the meantime, my father became ill; thus, Lola had to go back and devote herself to his care. The death of our father was for her a major misfortune because, being the only daughter among four sons, she had enjoyed his love and attention to the utmost. Unhappily, almost at the same time, she broke off her relationship with her fianc&#65533;. </P
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>She was in bad shape and needed a great deal of emotional support, which my two remaining brothers in Andrychow, Leopold (Poldi) and Oswald (Ozio), could not provide. In the tradition of the Old World, however, such problems were taken care of by family. A couple, Herman and Lola Schnurmacher (she the daughter of David Eidman and my mother's sister Clara), invited my unhappy sister to come and stay with them for as long as she wished. In fact, she spent many months with that wonderful couple in Borislav and was restored and brought back to an active life. On her return to Andrychow, she worked for A.B.C. as a secretary until she married. </P
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>I learned to know Lola Eidman and her husband, Herman, quite well. They had spent a vacation in Andrychow and had become very much interested in me. They later gave me meaningful advice at a time when I had to choose my future profession. My cousin Lola was an outstanding personality, independent and unique, whom I admired very much. </P
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>My mother had several sisters; the oldest, Clara, was married to David Eidman, a prosperous textile merchant in Stryy, Galitzia. Lola, their daughter, was something special in the family: clever, romantic, eloquent, of strong character and will power. Like all such girls at that time, she played the piano, studied languages, and prepared herself for the usual conventional marriage. But when World War I broke out, she joined the Austro-Hungarian army as a hospital nurse, ignoring the outcry of the whole family. This was an unusual step for a nice Jewish girl from a provincial Jewish family. Not content with such adventure, she committed another "horrible sin," namely, she eloped. I am not sure whether he was a married man or someone even worse; the scandal spread and involved all members of the family, and endless gossip went as far as Vienna. I, of course, knew about it only indirectly, since such shameful acts could not be discussed in the presence of a child. There was some talk of "complications" (pregnancy or abortion), but the fact remained that she couldn't have children. I remember that years later (the family gossip about Lola was still circulating) it was said that my father had been instrumental in bringing her back home alive and well. Eventually she married a nice, well-educated, good-looking man, Herman Schnurmacher. But he was from a poor tailor's family, which gave the family gossips new material and caused some old aunts to turn up their noses. </P
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>But what Lola wants, Lola gets! Now she decided to become an ideal, orderly, well-organized housewife, settled down with her husband in Borislav, a eastern town, where her husband held a well-paid senior position. But Lola remained Lola and regulated her life according to her desire. Thus, nine months in the year she stayed in town being an excellent housewife, but three months each year she took vacations: one month with her husband in Poland, one month alone in Franzensbad for the waters, and another month alone in Vienna for theater, music, opera. </P
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>Herman, her husband, was a quiet, solitary man, widely read in Polish and German literature, and a suitable partner for her in understanding her life style and respecting her wishes. Her life style couldn't be financed by an earned salary, however, and her father, David Eidman, came each year to the Stryy railroad station as Lola was passing through on her way to Franzensbad and gave her a fat envelope of hard currency to cover her expenses. </P
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>Surprisingly, there was a great deal of harmony in their life, probably because their mutual understanding was complete and their personalities complementary. They had no children but kept open house, and in emergencies, like my sister's love affair and nervous breakdown, they invited people to stay with them for months. </P
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>Once, on a short visit to Andrychow, they "rediscovered" us and decided to come and spend their common vacation with us. I was happy, fascinated, enthralled! For the first time, I met in our extended family a real lady! Lola was elegant, tastefully dressed, walking graciously, speaking quietly, detached though polite to everybody. She had poise, breeding, and manners besides being highly intelligent. Her fashionable appearance made the local ladies look like backward provincials. No wonder she was disliked by the local women but admired by the men. </P
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>During my summer vacation of 1928, Herman and Lola Schnurmacher spoke with me about the first important, I could say fateful, decision in my life: choosing my future profession. There were three possibilities for shaping my career and thus my future material independence. The first one, continuing high school studies, I discarded immediately. </P
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>The second possibility, the most natural and obvious, was to enter the textile industry. All my childhood I had been familiar with it. My father and brothers worked for the A.B.C. enterprise. All around me were textile towns and textile factories. People young and old worked in the various branches of textile manufacturing. Weaving, spinning, dyeing, printing, designing, organizing, setting up new plants, modernizing old ones ... that was the world I knew and that my local friends and colleagues knew. We believed firmly in its future, its ability to provide a good and solid livelihood. Textile production was Europe's main industry: its traditions, its high technical development, its qualified technicians (mainly Germans) trained all over Europe, and the great chemical factories in Germany, England, and Switzerland provided the means for its intensive development. </P
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>Moreover, some months earlier, my brother Guni, who already held an academic degree in chemistry, had taken up a good position in a middle-sized textile factory in Lodz, and he agreed somewhat reluctantly to take me on as a sort of intern, so that I could learn the basic chemical techniques of dyeing and printing of textiles and later study the field thoroughly in a professional school. </P
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>The third, the most unusual and fascinating possibility, came from Lola and Herman. They suggested simply that I live with them in Borislav (a petrol industry town) and enter the petrol exploration and production business. I would study in the local school for the petrol industry and then continue advanced studies in this specialized field at the famous mountain technological university in Austria. The whole package--living and studying--was to be at their expense. </P
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>I thought it over for several days but could not arrive at a clear-cut decision. The petrol industry at that time was a rather obscure unknown industry wrapped in mystery ("lamps for China"). My ignorance on that topic was total, as was that of my oldest brother, Poldi, my legal guardian, but he said he would accept whatever decision I made, primarily because Lola and Herman were responsible, enlightened people and would certainly take care of me and my future development. </P
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>Eventually, I decided to make my way in the well-established textile field. Simply, I was afraid of the unknown, imagined the petrol industry as something similar to coal mining, cold, full of dirt and smell. My imagination, like that of others' at the time, could not grasp that the world was on the threshold of exploiting the most important energy source of future years. </P
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>Lola and Herman gracefully accepted my refusal but, I felt, with deep disappointment. Today I think that, being childless, they had wanted someone they liked to be their son and heir. As I mentioned, my sister, Lola, stayed with the Eidmans in Borislav almost a year. But I, to my greatest regret, lost all contact with them. I remember them to this day as wonderful, warm-hearted people, ardent Zionists, dedicated to cultural pursuits and human progress. </P
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>The formation of a young person's character depends largely on factors like geography, the human environment, and genetics. In general, an individual grows up within a family circle, in a home town and country, and is educated in the prevailing school system. Thus, he or she more or less conforms to, or rebels against, accepted tradition. Other factors, like youth movements, religious influences, and political and social ideas, contribute to the young person's development and personality. </P
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>My growing-up period was somewhat different, more complex. The varying conditions of my physical and human surroundings produced a more independent and skeptical type of person, one who did not conform without question but appraised the surroundings and problems at hand with an objective eye. </P
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>As I have described, I spent my childhood in pleasant and homogeneous family surroundings in a small industrial town. When I lost my parents at an early age, the basic conditions of my growing up changed. The home of my parents was replaced by my uncle's indifferent housing in Vienna, hardly a home, and later by the warm, enlightened, caring home of my "foster parents." I changed schools, from bad and confined, to excellent and liberal. </P
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>During this period I was intellectually supported by my cousin Stella, by my foster parents, and to a small extent by my brother Guni. However, the greatest contribution to my mental development came not from school, which I generally disliked, but from my habit of reading widely and intensively, which prevails to this day. </P
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>In forming my professional future, the world of textiles, which was always around me, influenced me to the greatest extent. The possibilities for a different technical career at that time were extremely limited. Indeed, all my German friends and playmates entered one or another of the branches of the textile industry, the best and most promising field for successful and well-paid employment, and they felt lucky to have the chance. </P
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>When I had to choose my profession, another opportunity was available, as I have said, in the nascent petroleum industry. But I hesitated to commit myself to something that was entirely unfamiliar to me and to my brothers. All we knew was textiles. Since my father had opened for us the doors of A.B.C., we were favored for work with that company. My brother Poldi worked there as a senior accountant, my brother Ozio as an internal salesman and chief storekeeper, and my sister, Lola, as a secretary.  Guni, who studied chemistry in Vienna, was destined for the dyeing and printing branch. In fact, he got the recommendation for his first job, at the Guntramsdorfer Druckfabrik near Vienna, from Mr. Czeczowiczka, the co-owner of A.B.C.  </P
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>Thus, it seemed obvious to me that I should enter the textile industry and equip myself with a thorough knowledge of some particular branch. Today, of course, textiles is a dying industry, practiced in bulk in the Asian countries. Today young people all over the world, in Israel as well, have a whole palette of technical opportunities to choose from: communications, electronics, computers, optics, and so on. Even the army, navy, and air force have their own training centers. The only textile and fashion school in Israel, not very fashionable and not very much sought after, was founded in the 1950s by Mr. Rogozin, an American philanthropist. </P
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>An additional problem facing a young man during his growing-up years is his integration into a given society. Those who are born and raised in a particular country of settled parents and grandparents, in a Christian or national tradition--they have no problems of belonging. The are Germans, Frenchmen, Poles, and so on, and might be engaged (besides in their personal lives) in political or socioeconomic causes or in a national or international movement. They might be democrats, pacifists, conservatives, totalitarians, or apolitical. Being members by birth and tradition of a stable society, they might be ignorant of, or indifferent to, political or socioeconomic problems and devote their time to sports, art, studies, or outdoor recreation. </P
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>Jews, on the other hand, have carried throughout the ages, in addition to their personal concerns, the problems of belonging and integration into the societies in which they live. I do not intend to write here the history of European Jews. However, every one of us cannot avoid being informed of it, at least to some extent, in order to understand the difficulties for Jews of integrating into European societies. Essentially, in modern times, there were two distinct ways open for Jews: one, to assimilate--to become a patriot, a Socialist, a Communist; two, to avoid any sort of out-group association. In the United States, I was told [in the 1960s; it may be different now], "You don't discuss religion, you don't discuss nationality, all citizens are one nation, good Americans." </P
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>That might suit the United States and is perhaps true there because all the people except Native Americans have immigrant origins. But it does not work in Europe, because Europe is a continent of nations, and the Jews never were a national entity. </P
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>Emancipated by the French Revolution and Napoleon, and accepting Maimonides' idea of being a good subjects of King or kaiser, Jews could simultaneously retain allegiance to their countries of residence and to their religious traditions. These revolutionary changes in the status of Jews in the nineteenth century in western Europe (not in Russia under the Czars) freed tremendous energy for commercial, industrial, and scientific activities, in Bismarck's and Wilhelminic Germany, in the Habsburg monarchy, in Victorian England, and in republican France. The golden age of assimilation opened the doors of acceptance. Jews as bankers, industrialists, professors, and scientists brought to their countries of residence glory, prestige, and prosperity. On the other hand, they created a new school of political thought (Marx, Engels, Lasalle) that proclaimed the established orders corrupt, exploitive, feudal, and obsolete, and predicted a class struggle in which the proletariat would build a "free and just world." </P
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>Acting freely in the wider society, Jews were identified with many political and social causes, and when the golden age of their participation came to its end and was replaced by extreme xenophobia, nationalism, or religious fundamentalism, Jews were blamed for all the misery and wars, the revolutions and economic catastrophes. They were once again isolated as "the Jews," unwanted in politics, unwanted in the economy, unwanted in law, science, and academia, unwanted in Europe, fit only to perish in Hitler's concentration camps. </P
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>It would be futile to deny the tremendous creative energy and hopes that a free society released in Jews who left the ghetto's walls. For two generations, they arrived at unique and matchless achievements in the various human pursuits: in finance (Rothschild), industry (Rathenau), commerce (Tietz, D.K.W. Israel, textile giants), music and literature (Mendelsohn, Offenbach, Mahler, Heine, Boerne, Stefan and Arnold Zweig, Wassermann, Werfel, Feuchtwanger), science (Haber, Ehrlich, Einstein)--all these names come to mind while I write these lines, and they represent only a small portion of Jewish achievement in an integrated German society. </P
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>Even more important were the masses of intelligentsia, the simple men and women who were the <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Kulturtr&#65533;ger</I
> [carriers of German culture] to the East, who loved German <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Denker und Dichter</I
> [thinkers and writers], admired Goethe, Lessing, Nietsche, Kant, Hegel, and the great liberal Humboldt, a friend and admirer of the Jews. Those dynamic forces of emancipation, assimilation, and integration into the Germanic world were probably unique in history. </P
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>Even with the increase in nationalism and anti-Semitism in the period before and between the world wars, Jews continued to strive politically for human rights: Social-Democrats in Germany (Eisner, Rosa Luxembourg), Communism in Russia (Trotzky and almost the whole Politburo), Austria (Otto Bauer, Adler, Deutsch). But arbitrary oppression increased; the leaders and populations of nations like Germany, Austria, Poland reverted to excluding Jews from a share in the national identity, rights, and achievements. Jews were pushed out from economic positions, denied legal protection, finally robbed of their properties and lives. The events of this period of modern Jewish history, of which my brief description is only a reminder, reveal what should be evident to anyone who wants see and to admit: assimilation of any kind leads nowhere! </P
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>Despite all their efforts, haters were still unable to eradicate entirely the Jewish rights and freedoms acquired through half a century of societal integration. They had to find new and convincing means to isolate the European Jewish community. They found an effective formula: the purity of race as a differentiation between people! In its first stage, racial discrimination became the law of the German Reich, and after conquest, the law throughout Europe. People were divided into Aryans and non-Aryans. Biologically this was nonsense, but politically and socially it was a devious but effective barrier that not even an assimilated Jew or a half-, quarter-, or baptized Jew could pass. That was a prelude to a planned two-stage process: first, total isolation; second, physical destruction. </P
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>During my childhood and growing-up period, I was aware of being a Jew. This meant to me attending a synagogue instead of a church, having different holidays at different times, using a different prayer book written in ancient Hebrew. Unlike my brothers, who got some religious training in their youth and knew how to read the prayers, I was left entirely ignorant of fundamental knowledge, never attended even elementary bible studies, and was not prepared like others to become Bar Mitzvah (I had no ceremony, and to this day have never been called to the Torah). Frankly, I never missed it. I sometimes accompanied my friends to a synagogue but did not understand what was going on. In later years, I visited my uncle during prayers in his small shul. I read the Bible in German and Polish only as a storybook and liked some parts of it, especially the stories of battles and heroes like Samson, which I like to this day. (By the way, Jabotinski wrote a wonderful novel on the life of Samson, very readable and unsurpassed by present-day Israeli writers.) </P
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>Already during my childhood and growing-up period, I was aware that there are different kinds of Jews. Some, the Agudah, were orthodox, recognizable by their strange clothing, (in Vienna they lived in a ghetto-like community and called themselves "Ados Israel"), and considered themselves the true Jews. They did not recognize (though they later accepted) Israel, and they were waiting for the Messiah. Others, like my brothers, were entirely assimilated, dressed like other Europeans, spoke the language of their country of residence, and conformed with the prevailing political regime. During the period of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy, they were called "Israelites" or "citizens of the Mosaic persuasion"; after the First World War and the Wilsonian Declaration, they considered themselves a minority that had cultural, political, and national rights. For some, this arrangement was satisfactory (after all, the Germans in Poland and Czechoslovakia were also minorities), for others misguided. The assimilationists wanted to be Poles, Germans, Austrians, Czechs. They wanted to be patriots. </P
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>Personally, I felt uncomfortable with this situation, because it comprised a great deal of hypocrisy and falsehood. There was some oppression of Germans in Czechoslovakia and Poland, but there was no latent discrimination, no name calling, no humiliation, because they were a minority backed by a great nation, which could always defend their political rights. But no one, not even the League of Nations, was formally responsible for the status of the Jewish minority. </P
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>Influenced by the various ideas of home and street, and my contemporaries, I found at the age of 14 or 15, my Jewish identity, which remains with me to this day. At that time I concluded, "Being a Jew means belonging to a Jewish youth organization (not a mixed, ?progressive? or ?socialistic? one), belonging to the Maccabee Sports Club (not to Polish or Czech <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Sokol</I
> or German <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Turnverein</I
>), supporting the Hakoah football team (the only Jewish team in the first league)." I said, "You must always wear the emblems of one of these organizations in school or in public." </P
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>And I heard clearly the short simple message of Theodore Herzl, our visionary leader: "<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Wir sind ein Volk.</I
>" [We are a nation.] Not a religion, not a minority, not Germans, Poles, Austrians of Mosaic persuasion. We are a nation, and in order to be a nation equal to others we have to have a state. Not some state in some place. But a state in the ancient land of our ancestors, a free, independent, progressive state, open to all Jews to come, to work, to enjoy, and to defend. </P
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>The message was loud and clear, but the Jewish masses of Europe, although they found it a good topic for discussion and controversy, physically stayed where they were. Nevertheless, students and youth movements carried the call to all corners, townships, and cities where Jews lived. Some Jews organized themselves and established agricultural settlements of a private or public nature in Palestine. Others, mainly small merchants oppressed by heavy taxation, left Poland and built Tel Aviv (Grabski Immigration). But that was only a trickle compared to the masses who could come. At that time, the doors of Palestine were open. Dr. Weizmann, the leader of the World Zionist Organization, who was instrumental in achieving the Balfour Declaration, made an urgent and dramatic appeal to the Jewish masses of Europe: "<I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Ayekha</I
>?" [Where are you?] But without serious results. </P
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>My family held various opinions on Zionism, neither enthusiastic nor hostile. My oldest brother, Poldi, was entirely assimilated and, having volunteered in Marshal Pilsudski's legions during the Polish War of Independence, was officially considered a Polish patriot, honored and treated with privilege in all local government offices. In reality, he wanted to be a European. Admiring Europe's civilization, he traveled extensively throughout Europe, read German, French, and English newspapers and spoke all those languages well. To Zionism as a solution to the Jewish problem he was indifferent; he considered it a solution for idealists, although preferable by far to Communist ideas, whose effects he had experienced as a prisoner of war under the Bolsheviks. </P
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>My brother Ozio was indifferent as well, to Zionism and to other political ideas. He was a sportsman par excellence; skiing, swimming, mountaineering, and other sports were his way of life. Both Poldi and Ozio were bachelors by conviction, liking and liked by the ladies. </P
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>My sister, Lola, was in love with music, opera, and clothes--entirely uninterested in social and political affairs and in religion. My brother Guni, as in all his personal affairs, was ambivalent. He was, of course, an Austrian Jew by conviction and also a Zionist. He had a religious inclination without practicing religion. He studied much Jewish history, the Bible, and other Jewish writings. He was a member of a Jewish dueling society and followed the established procedure of having two honorable duels. He influenced our cousin Stella to become an ardent Zionist, not one who only preached Zionism but one who earnestly prepared herself for going to Palestine and joining a kibbutz. Then they married and had a child, and plans to emigrate were postponed and, after Stella's tragic death, quietly abandoned. </P
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>Once in life there comes an hour of truth, without people realizing it. Some are prepared and handle it well. When Hitler came to power, my brother Poldi and my sister, Lola, and her husband and child were not prepared and reacted only by instinct, joining the refugees in their flight to the East. Ozio was already living in Lemberg (Lvov) and probably did everything he could to help. But with the second assault of German forces in June 1941, Lemberg and all of the eastern part of previous Polish lands were overrun. From that time on, nothing was known. Thus, my brothers Poldi and Ozio and my sister, Lola, and her husband and child were lost in the whirlpools of war. (I later learned that her husband, Rosenthal, and son may have survived and gone to Israel.) </P
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>Guni with his child was well prepared. Living still under German occupation in Vienna, he left with his small daughter, Alice, for Switzerland at the critical time of the Munich summit, leaving behind his apartment and other possessions. Also, our uncle Joachim was left behind. He tried on his own to find a way of escape and reached in some way Brussels, where after several weeks of hiding he was picked up by the Gestapo and disappeared. His bitter end, his fate, could have been avoided. How? I speak of this later. Guni, however, being safely in Switzerland, had, it seems to me, several options for survival. He could have stayed in Switzerland, having some means and even temporarily a well-paid job. He could have come to Palestine, and indeed he established some contacts with a local firm. However, I later read a copy of his unrealistic demands to the company (five-year contract at a high salary, a large free flat, free electric service, and free heating!); to me, they were sufficient evidence of his unserious intentions. (I talked to the factory owner, who gave me a copy of Guni's letter, adding an unpleasant remark: "Your brother must be crazy!") </P
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>Guni's third option was to go to the United States, the land of the "fleshpots of Egypt" and golden opportunities. His thorny and adventurous passage and the following years he describes in his <I
CLASS="FOREIGNPHRASE"
>Life Story</I
>. Taking into account his high qualifications, his great previous professional experience, his obsession for working long hours, and his successes for the benefit of others, the financial results of thirty years of intense activity are rather modest. He undoubtedly would have done much better in Palestine and later in Israel, whose Ministry of Industry sought experts, providing them with free industrial buildings, plenty of investment money, generous long-term, interest-free credit to create work for new immigrants. In fact, in our present industrialists and millionaires I can discern "past experience and expert qualifications" from the poor miserable industry of Lodz and similar places.</P
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>I don't believe it was lack of information or incentives offered by Israel that prevented Guni from emigrating to Israel. At one time, while I was in New York, Israel offered him an expense-paid trip without commitment, only to look around, which he refused. The reasons for Guni's avoiding Palestine and later Israel, a natural objective for a life-long Zionist, are to me obscure and will probably remain so. </P
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>Even after long difficult working years and living conditions in New York City, Guni didn't consider a pleasant retirement in comfortable circumstances in some village, township, resort, or city in the land of the Bible, a book he studied intensively from afar. He left the New York ghetto for another, in Miami Beach, and after a short interval, returned to his old place. Once he visited Israel for several days and had a picture taken at the Western Wall, in full religious regalia and a prayerbook in his hand, as an evidence of his pilgrimage. For years, in long letters to me, he gave political advice to the Israeli people and the Israeli government on how to deal with their problems, until I stopped this offensive nonsense. From that time on, we stopped all communications between us. However, in all the years after the war till now, during my years of struggle in the United States and thereafter, during the years when our near and not-so-near family was reduced to the two of us, while the others lie buried or unburied in the lands of our childhood, I experienced--justified or not--my deepest disappointment, questioning the validity of family ties and the institution of family. </P
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>My brother Guni was fortunate in creating a wonderful family, three healthy, good-looking, bright children of great abilities and professional drive. He has a number of grandchildren; I met three of them and was much taken with their intelligence, good manners, and politeness. They will be successful in the fields of their choice, well off, financially secure. They will do a great deal for themselves and for the American-Jewish community to which they belong. They will do nothing for Israel. They will be unable to pass through the invisible but permanent glass walls of the new golden Jewish ghetto, though they consider themselves good Americans. The creation and the existence of Israel enhanced Jewish standing in the Diaspora, and thus Diaspora Jews pay lip service to the welfare of Israel. They are aware subconsciously, or perhaps consciously, that today and forever our doors are wide open! A great opportunity and good fortune, which we missed so badly in times past. </P
><P
></P><P>Guni is a fortunate man because he survived the Holocaust, created a family, and has arrived in good health to an advanced age. But something in his life is missing. He is not an American, because you cannot plant your roots on the rock of Manhattan. He is not a European, because his Europe is dead forever. So what is he? Once in Sydney, Australia, a well-known attorney, a Q.C., explained his position as follows: "You know, we cannot be Zionists because a Zionist has to live in Zion; we are not religious; so we are hardly Jews. So, what are we, and what do we want to be? We are and want to be friends of Israel." Or by devoting his time to the study of our holy books, is Guni truly expecting the coming of the Messiah? </P>
		
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