An immigrant’s tale

Immigration is a topic that has been dominating the news. It is also a topic that was an intricate part of my life.

On the 13th of March, 1938, Adolph Hitler’s troops marched into Austria and my life changed forever. There was no resistance. Only two days earlier, Chancellor Kurt Schuschnigg had given a great speech assuring us that Austria would remain independent. The whole world cheered. We considered ourselves to be safe.

The next day, elections were suddenly canceled. Schuschnigg gave a very short and moving speech of resignation. We were dumbfounded. We could already hear the joyful “Heil Hitler” echoing through the streets. Huge Nazi flags came out of nowhere and draped the buildings. No point to turn on the radio for the latest news. The radio station was in Nazi hands.

Airplanes with the swastika on their wings were flying overhead, and they dropped pamphlets announcing “Nazi Germany welcomes Nazi Austria.” Schuschnigg was put under arrest and that was the end of Austria as we knew it.

The streets turned into scenes of violence. Old Jews were ridiculed, kicked and punched and forced to scrub the streets. One of the neighbors leaned over her balcony and yelled “Kinder, das wird was, jetzt get es los” (People, now the fun really starts).

Later the world learned the details of what had transpired. On March 11, two days before Hitler occupied Austria, Hitler gave Kurt Schuschnigg an ultimatum. He was ordered to call off the planned plebiscite and to resign. He was given one hour to decide Austria’s fate. He appealed for help from England, Italy and France who were all guarantors of Austria’s independence. They all declined. He spent the last 10 minutes addressing the Austrian people. He informed them of what had happened, and that he was yielding to avoid bloodshed. He ended his speech with “God save Austria.”

The Viennese people were always known for their “Wiener Gemutlichkeit,” their good-natured qualities as reflected in their love for good food, wine and song. But

this good-natured quality disappeared overnight. Everyone seemed to be caught up in the hysteria of being liberated. The Jews were the scapegoats, but this time with unimaginable and deadly consequences.

My mother vaguely remembered that my father had a sister who had gone to America. In order to get a chance at a visa, we needed somebody in America who would guarantee that we would not be a financial burden to the state. American radio transmitted messages from Jews who were desperately trying to find relatives. It turned out that my father’s sister had died, but her grown children heard my mother’s plea and offered to be our guarantors. They need not have worried; Jews who escaped Nazi Europe were probably one of the most educated refugees to ever hit these shores.

Americans experienced a heightened distrust of foreigners after World War I. This fear was reflected in various Quota Acts in the 1920s, which severely limited the number of immigrants to be admitted. I had to wait for five years, which I was lucky enough to spend in England. For other Jews who were still in Vienna and had nowhere else to go, the wait was too long and most of them perished in concentration camps.

The Nazi Holocaust exterminated six million Jews. Due to the quota system, America only admitted 16,000 refugees. It is estimated that a more humanitarian policy by the West could have saved about one million Jews.

By the end of 1942, all of the world knew about the planned extermination of the Jews, including the Vatican and the International Red Cross. They all knew, but nobody responded. Originally there were 180,000 Jews living in Vienna. By the time the Nazi nightmare years were over, only 10,000 Jews were left.

But America and the rest of the world just looked on as millions of men, women and children were slaughtered in various concentration camps.

We left Vienna sometime in June of 1938, about three months after Hitler’s troops occupied Austria. The last thing I remember are those huge, red nightmarish Nazi flags with their black swastikas.

The Germans had closed most borders, but the Italian border was still open and that is where the three of us managed to cross into Italy. In Trieste, a committee supplied us with a tiny room, milk and a roll for breakfast, a thick soup or potatoes and salad for lunch, and milk and a roll for supper. There was a network of committees in most of Europe that tried to aid refugees. After some wait, which was getting riskier everyday because Mussolini started to round up refugees, my mother and brother were able to leave for Palestine. I continued my journey through Switzerland and France to England. Little did I know that I wouldn’t see my family for five years.

I traveled from committee to committee through Switzerland and France. They helped me maneuver through cities, often from one railway station to another. I spoke no French and very much appreciated their help.

I don’t remember how long this committee-to-committee trip took me, but I finally arrived in London where the Kolbs, who had sponsored me, were waiting.

My visa finally arrived in March 1943. The war was still on and so our lifebelts were never too far away, but we crossed the Atlantic Ocean without incident. As far as I remember, it took another seven years before I could apply for citizenship. It was the end of my years of waiting and the beginning of a new life.

Every wave of immigrants has a different story to tell. This is mine.