A Past Without Shadow (Children's Literature and Culture)

A PAST WITHOUT SHADOW Children’s Literature and Culture Jack Zipes, Series Editor Children’s Literature Comes of Age Toward a New Aesthetic by Maria Nikolajeva Rediscoveries in Children’s Literature by Suzanne Rahn Regendering the School Story Sassy Sissies and Tattling Tomboys by Beverly Lyon Clark White Supremacy in Children’s Literature Chamcterizations of African Americans, 1830– 1900 by Donnarae MacCann Retelling Stories, Framing Culture Traditional Story and Metanarmtives in Children’s Literature by John Stephens and Robyn McCallum Little Women and the Feminist Imagination Criticism, Controversy, Personal Essays edited by Janice M.Alberghene and Beverly Lyon Clark The Case of Peter Rabbit Changing Conditions of Literature for Children by Margaret Mackey Ideologies of Identity in Adolescent Fiction by Robyn McCallum Narrating Africa George Henty and the Fiction of Empire by Mawuena Kossi Logan Voices of the Other Children’s Literature and the Postcolonial Context edited by Roderick McGillis Translating for Children by Riitta Oittinen Children’s Films History, Ideology, Pedagogy, Theory by lan Wojcik-Andrews Transcending Boundaries Writing for a Dual Audience of Children andAdults edited by Sandra L.Beckett How Picturebooks Work by Maria Nikolajeva and Carole Scott Russell Hoban/Forty Years Essays on His Writingfor Children by Alida Allison

Apartheid and Racism in South African Children’s Literature by Donnarae MacCann and Amadu Maddy Empire’s Children Empire and Imperialism in Classic British Children’s Books by M.Daphne Kutzer Sparing the Child Grief and the Unspeakable in Youth Literature About Nazism and the Holocaust by Hamida Bosmajian Inventing the Child Culture, Ideology, and the Story of Childhood by Joseph L.Zornado A Necessary Fantasy? The Heroic Figure in Children’s Popular Culture edited by Dudley Jones and Tony Watkins Ways of Being Male Representing Masculinities in Children’s Literature and Film by John Stephens Pinocchio Goes Postmodern Perils of a Puppet in the United States by Richard Wunderlich and Thomas J.Morrissey The Presence of the Past Memory, Heritage, and Childhood in Postwar Britain by Valerie Krips The Feminine Subject in Children’s Literature by Christine Wilkie-Stibbs Recycling Red Riding Hood by Sandra Beckett The Poetics of Childhood by Roni Natov Reimagining Shakespeare for Children and Young Adults edited by Naomi J.Miller Representing the Holocaust in Youth Literature by Lydia Kokkola Beatrix Potter Writing in Code by M.Daphne Kutzer Utopian and Dystopian Writing for Children and Young Adults edited by Carrie Hintz and Elaine Ostry The Making of the Modern Child Children’s Literature and Childhood in the Late Eighteenth Century by Andrew O’Malley Brown Gold Milestones of African American Children’s Picture Books, 1845–2002 by Michelle H.Martin Constructing the Canon of Children’s Literature Beyond Library Walls and Ivory Towers by Anne Lundin

A Past Without Shadow Constructing the Past in German Books for Children by Zohar Shavit

A PAST WITHOUT SHADOW Constructing the Past in German Books for Children

ZOHAR SHAVIT

Routledge New York • London

Translated from the Hebrew by Aaron and Atarah Jaffe First English edition published in 2005 by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue NewYork, NY 10016 Published in Great Britain by Routledge 2 Park Square Milton Park, Abingdon Oxon OX14 4RN http://www.routledgefalmer.com/ Copyright © 2005 by Taylor & Francis Group, a Division of T&F Informa. Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group. This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to http://www.ebookstore.tandf.co.uk/.” Originally published in Hebrew as ’Avar be-lo tsel: beniyat temunat he-’avar ba-“sipur” haGermani li-yeladim [Past without shadow: construction of the past image in the German “story” for children] © Ofakim, ’Am ’oved: Tel Aviv, 1999. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Shavit, Zohar. [‘Avar be-lo tsel. English] A past without shadow: constructing the past in German books for children / Zohar Shavit; translated from the Hebrew by Aaron Jaffe and Atarah Jaffe.-- 1st English ed. p. cm.—(Children’s literature and culture ; v. 32) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-415-96924-7 (hardcover: alk. paper) 1. Children’s literature, German—History and criticism. 2. Young adult literature, Ger- man—History and criticism. 3. Holocaust, Jewish (1939–1945), in literature. 4. Children’s literature, German—Political aspects. 5. Children—Books andreading—Germany. 6. National socialism in literature. I. Title. II. Series. PT1021.S5313 2004 830.9'358—dc22 2004016254 ISBN 0-203-33455-8 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-415-96924-7 (Print Edition)

A person without a shadow should keep out of the sun. (Wer keinen Schatten hat, gehe nicht in die Sonne.) —Adelbert von Chamisso, Peter Schlemihl

In memory of my beloved mother-in-law, Pnina Shavit— who was like a mother and a friend to me

Contents

Series Editor’s Foreword

xi

Acknowledgments

xiii

Note on Citations

xv

Introduction to the English Edition

xvii

Introduction to the Hebrew Edition

xx

Part I The “Story” of the German Past and the Construction of Its Past Image

1

Chapter 1 The Development of German Children’s Literature on the Subject of the Third Reich and World War II Chapter 2 The Keys to Germany’s Past Image

22

Chapter 3 Constructing an Image of the Past

52

Part II Strategies in the Construction of the “Story”

2

66

Chapter 4 “Present, But Not in Place”

67

Chapter 5 “The Dream of the Thousand-Year Reich”—The Borders of the Reich and the Boundaries of Time Chapter 6 “Some of My Best Friends”—Philo-Semitic |and Anti-Semitic Descriptions of the Jews Chapter 7 “Not as It Seems”—Nazis and Pseudo-Nazis

98 117

Chapter 8 “If He Only Could”—The Analogy Between Jews and Nazis

155

137

Part III Whose War Was It?

174

Chapter 9 “The Whole People…”—The Scope of the Resistance Movement

175

Chapter10 “Actually, I Myself Was a Victim”—The Germans as Victims

189

Chapter11 “I’m Not Guilty”—The Germans and Guilt

205

Part IV The Construction of an Alternative Discourse

223

Chapter12 “Seeing It Differently”—The Alternative Narrative

224

Conclusion The Image of the Past in German Public Discourse and Texts for Children

247

Notes

256

Primary Sources

261

Secondary Sources

279

Index

288

Series Editor’s Foreword

Dedicated to furthering original research in children’s literature and culture, the Children’s Literature and Culture series includes monographs on individual authors and illustrators, historical examinations of different periods, literary analyses of genres, and comparative studies on literature and the mass media. The series is international in scope and is intended to encourage innovative research in children’s literature with a focus on interdisciplinary methodology. Children’s literature and culture are understood in the broadest sense of the term children to encompass the period of childhood up through adolescence. Owing to the fact that the notion of childhood has changed so much since the origination of children’s literature, this Routledge series is particularly concerned with transformations in children’s culture and how they have affected the representation and socialization of children. While the emphasis of the series is on children’s literature, all types of studies that deal with children’s radio, film, television, and art are included in an endeavor to grasp the aesthetics and values of children’s culture. Not only have there been momentous changes in children’s culture in the last fifty years, but there have been radical shifts in the scholarship that deals with these changes. In this regard, the goal of the Children’s Literature and Culture series is to enhance research in this field and, at the same time, point to new directions that bring together the best scholarly work throughout the world. Jack Zipes

Acknowledgments

I am deeply obliged to all those who assisted with the research underlying this book and with writing the book itself. I thank Bertelsmann Stiftung for its generous support, which made the research possible. I am grateful to my research assistants who undertook the reading and analysis of a large volume of material: Katharine Hacker, Orly Selinger, Yuval Amit, Sigrid Korff, and, most of all, Yael Darr. Their contributions were crucial to the research, and their significance cannot be overstated. My special thanks go to Yuval Amit, Orly Selinger, and Irit Halavy for their help in preparing the manuscript for publication. I thank my research colleagues who provided help and good counsel: Professor Itamar Even-Zohar, Professor Nurith Gertz, Professor Israel Gershoni, Professor Gideon Toury, and Professor Nadav Naaman. I acknowledge my colleagues in Germany for their help and support; we engaged in much debate, which was often heated and incisive, but always beneficial: Professor HansHeino Ewers, Professor Winfred Kaminski, Professor Malte Dahrendorf, Professor Hartmut von Hentig, Professor Lothar Krappman, and Professor Rüdiger Steinlein. I thank Dan Diner, former Chairman of the Institute for German History at Tel Aviv University, who helped me perceive the link between German-language children’s literature and the historical discourse of the general public in Germany. I am profoundly grateful to Professor Eli Shaltiel for his help with the editing of the Hebrew edition of the book, and to Aaron and Atarah Jaffe who spared no effort in preparing this English translation. They were much more than mere translators, and I am most grateful for their commitment and devotion to this ungratifying task. This Englishlanguage edition would not have seen the light of day without Mr. Dan Tocatly’s generous contribution. I am deeply grateful that he found the book worthy of translation and provided the necessary support to make this a reality. I thank Professor David Shavit for his vital and indispensable help with the preparation of the English edition of this book. I am grateful to the Routledge team, Sally Scott and Christine Andreasen, for their professionalism and attention to detail. I also thank Matthew Byrnie and Jack Zipes for their support and encouragement. I am indebted to the former president of Tel Aviv University, Yoram Dinstein, who recognized the potential hidden in the research, encouraged and helped me to undertake the project, and in times of crisis demanded uncompromisingly that I continue. He lent an

attentive ear throughout and followed our progress intensively. His valuable advice, constructive criticism, and insight contributed much to the research and the book. It is doubtful that the research would have been carried out, and even less likely that it would have culminated in this book, without Professor Dinstein’s significant involvement. And last, but not least, I extend my affectionate gratitude to my beloved children, Noga, Uriya, and Avner, with whom I have benefited from discussion of the subject matter at length, and above all to my husband, Professor Yaacov Shavit, for knowing how to overcome difficulties, for encouraging my research, and for providing muchneeded help with the organization of the vast amount of material. Although this research often required that I travel a painful and tortuous path, he also knew how to show me the light at the edge of the gloom.

Note on Citations

In the first citation of each book or story originally published in German, the title is parenthetically translated into English. For books and stories that have been translated into English, the English title of the translated work is used; the title is italicized (for books) or appears in quotation marks (for stories). English titles of untranslated works appear in a normal typeface. For books and stories that were first published in other languages and subsequently translated into German, the title is italicized (for books).

Introduction to the English Edition

Nearly twenty years ago, I began to study the story the Germans tell their children about the Third Reich, World War II, and the Nazi Holocaust. My initial results were shocking. It became clear that there had been a systematic effort by West German society to portray the Holocaust as if it had nothing to do with the Germans themselves, to place the blame on the Jews and the Allies, and to depict the Germans as the real victims of World War II. After I had published my initial findings, there was an outcry in the German press. My study was attacked from various angles, including the claim that my study was not based on the full body of texts. The much-larger study, presented in this book, was still to come; it ultimately produced results that were even more shocking—they told a story of the unmaking of the Holocaust in Germany. My research findings were rejected on the grounds that they misjudge the manner in which the Federal Republic of Germany had chosen to deal with its past. I often heard arguments that “we continuously deal with our past,” “we do not hesitate to tell our children about the Third Reich and the Holocaust,” “see for yourself how many books we have published for children and for adults; how many films we show, how much time we devote to it in our curriculum.” Indeed, many books for children tell the story of the Third Reich; programs on the Third Reich are ubiquitous on German television; and endless studies and articles are devoted to this twelve-year period of German history. Hence, there is some statistical truth to these arguments, but statistics, as we know all too well, can be misleading. The issue at stake is not how often the German narrative mentions the Holocaust and the Third Reich; the issue concerns the question of “how,” not “how many.” What is the nature of this narrative? What is being told? And how it is told and transmitted to future generations? Today, with a perspective gained over the years, there is no doubt in my mind that various forces in West Germany joined hands in an effort to stabilize the prevalent consensual narrative, while intensifying features that more conveniently suit German needs and interests, national and societal alike. I am also more confident than ever that the Germans have their “Sonderweg” (unique way) not only in their history, but also in their historical narrative: a unique way of telling their past, different from that of other nations not only in its very manipulation of the narrative but also in its uniformity and similitude. As I maintain in the chapters that follow, the German narrative does not deny the past but manipulates it—with the result of creating an inverted and deceitful story.

This is a narrative that highlights German suffering and presents the Germans as the main, if not sole, victims of the Third Reich. This made-up narrative, whether or not intentional, leads me to doubt its value—to the extent of asking which is worse: overt denial of the Holocaust or covert denial through the creation of a deceptive story about it? Having observed the results of the prevalent narrative in Germany and being frustratingly confronted with the difficulties of changing it, I contend that it is easier to address Holocaust denial than a manipulated story in which the hidden message undermines the overt one, as will be demonstrated in the following chapters. The narrative prevalent before Germany’s reunification, which is at the heart of this study, was even reinforced after 1990. It became so widespread after reunification that the narrative’s basic assumptions were taken for granted, especially in the late 1990s, precluding the introduction of a different narrative. Especially dominant was the German tendency to deny guilt and responsibility, and the desire to stress the Allies’ purported war crimes. Such sentiments were intensified by the mass publication of works of fiction and studies about the bombing of German cities and the deportation of German populations as part of the relativization of war crimes. The results of a survey done by Bielefeld University took many by surprise. According to this survey, 69.9 percent of Germans were irritated at still being held responsible for crimes against Jews (The Guardian [UK], December 13, 2003). Endorsing this survey, German parliamentary president Wolfgang Thierse said he understood why so many people wanted to shed guilt for what happened before they were born. To my mind, both the survey and the elicited response are no more than further evidence of the successful inculcation of the narrative just described. The results should have been anticipated, particularly in light of the reactions to a famous (notorious?) speech by writer Martin Walser. In his acceptance speech, entitled “The Writing of a Sunday Speech” (“Verfassen einer Sonntagsrede”) on October 11, 1998, Walser, the annual peace prize laureate of the Frankfurt Book Fair, said that Auschwitz should not become “a routine threat, a tool of intimidation, a moral cudgel, or just a compulsory exercise.” “Auschwitz eignet sich nicht, dafür Drohroutine zu werden, jederzeit einsetzbares Einschuchterungsmittel oder Moralkeule oder auch nur Pflichtübung. (cited by Schirrmacher 1999, p. 13) Walser’s speech was either shockingly received or vehemently endorsed. I must admit that I was not a party to the shock it brought forth. To my mind, Walser’s speech was a natural (though regretful) consequence of the German public narrative. Though I do not support application of the Third Commandment—For I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the childrenfor the sin of thefathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me—believing that a jealous god should not punish children for the sins of their fathers, I do believe that the children born after World War II (Nachgeborenen) should be taught the truth about their fathers and grandfathers. They should be taught that their forebears were responsible for terrible atrocities and should accept their responsibility for it. Herein lies the difference between myself and most Germans, liberal and conscientious as they may be. Not only do they refuse to accept the burden of remembering the guilt and accountability of the deeds of their fathers and grandfathers, they even deny the very existence of such guilt. In an interview with Newsweek magazine (December 21, 1998), when Martin Walser was asked whether his words could be

interpreted as “enough of this endless talk about the Holocaust,” he replied that “this chapter of history can never be closed; it’s crazy to think so. But you cannot prescribe how Germans should deal with this country’s shame.” I believe that we—the direct victims of the German wartime atrocities, or the Allies who saved the world from them—have fully earned the right to prescribe to the Germans how they should deal not only with their shame, to quote Walser, but also with their guilt and accountability. What Walser calls a Dauerpräsentation (permanent presentation) of the Holocaust is no more than a fraudulent presentation of the past, aiming to liberate generations of Germans from knowing the truth about their history and accepting responsibility for it. In the mid-1980s in Bonn, I heard a speech by the late Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai. While referring to the larger picture of world history, Amichai said that, a thousand years from now, the history of the Holocaust will be reduced to merely one link in a long chain of historical catastrophes in which millions of people were murdered. I am afraid he was right. I am also afraid there is nothing we can do about it. But we can at least limit our perspective to the present and hope that with the death of the perpetrators, collective guilt, collective shame, and collective responsibility for the Holocaust will not disappear. And if we strive for that goal, we can demand that Germany carefully and honestly investigate the manner of its telling of the past, and that this be modified, not on the basis of Walser’s speech but on the basis of the memory of its victims. Indeed, this book is a quest for a different and a more truthful memory of the past in Germany. I believe that even in this age of postmodernism, memory can treat history with varying degrees of truth, justice, and accuracy. If postwar liberal Germany is not required to do more justice to the past memory of its victims, if Germany does not maintain a more truthful memory of its past, this memory will soon fade away, sentencing even the memory of the dead to a final death. My decision to engage in this anguishing history has caused me many sleepless nights and taxing emotional confrontations, and I have often regretted it. However, I hope that the publication of this book in the United States, a country sensitive to the memory of the Holocaust, will make at least a small contribution toward a more truthful memory of the past. Zohar Shavit The Unitfor Culture Research Tel Aviv University January 2005

Introduction to the Hebrew Edition

This study was the most difficult and agonizing I have undertaken to date. Not only does the subject raise questions and evoke sorrow and pain, but also, by tackling it, I broke an iron-clad rule I had established for myself at the outset of my academic career—never become emotionally involved in the material under study or take an emotional stand. Had I known at the beginning of this endeavor just how much emotional involvement would be demanded of me, and how trying a project it would be, in all likelihood I would not have begun. The origins of this research, as with so many other things, were coincidental. In 1986 I traveled with my family to the University of Cologne, on a fellowship from the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation. My intention was to spend a year of sabbatical researching the development of books for Jewish children during the Jewish Enlightenment (Haskalah) in Germany, which resulted from the contacts between Jewish and German culture. I went to Germany as an Israeli whose mother tongue is Hebrew and who had been raised in a home where Hebrew culture was literally worshiped. In my father’s house, the creation of a native Jewish society and a Hebrew culture in the Land of Israel was seen as the basis for forging a new identity divorced from all that had been “there”—meaning the Diaspora. Perhaps by virtue of this upbringing, I never regarded myself as a child of the Nazi Holocaust or attributed to it any role in my biography. I did not express much interest in the history of the Holocaust, and I truly believed that I had come to a “different Germany,” one that had broken with its past. Shortly after my arrival in Cologne, I attended a conference on Israeli-German relations sponsored by the Naumann Foundation, which was held in Maria Hohe, across the Rhine. My good friend Yosef (Tommy) Lapid (currently Israel’s Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Justice) delivered a lecture there, telling the Germans, “The Holocaust will always stand between us.” I pondered his words and reflected on how alien they were to me. Perhaps, I thought, here lies the source of the great difference between him, a Holocaust survivor, and me, a native Israeli. At the time I did not ascribe any importance to childhood memories; in fact, I chose not to acknowledge them. Throughout my childhood, I had seen my father listen anxiously, though futilely, to the radio program through which Israelis sought missing relatives, but he rarely spoke about the annihilation of his family in the Holocaust. From his silence, it was possible to understand that, as a Zionist, he was the black sheep of his

family. All the rest of its members, affluent merchants, remained in Yalta, on the Crimean Peninsula, and were hanged immediately after the city’s capture by the Nazis. My mother likewise spoke little of her family, although here and there a story leaked out about her brother, who had been shot while escaping a train en route to the camps. In any case, I believed these people were not part of my “story.” I internalized the silence my family maintained on the Holocaust and believed that it relieved me of the need to consider that tragedy as part of my background. While in Germany, I served as children’s literature editor for an Israeli publishing house. In such capacity, I argued in favor of a return to translating German children’s books into Hebrew, because some of these books were among the best in contemporary children’s literature. I therefore established an editorial policy that gave preference to translations from German and was responsible for the Hebrew translation of works by authors such as James Krüss, Christine Nöstlinger, Peter Härtling, Renate Welsh, Kirsten Boie, and Willi Fährmann, which I regarded as classics of children’s literature. During that period I read dozens, perhaps hundreds, of children’s books, and I became increasingly familiar with the story that Germany was telling its children about its recent past. Reading these books made me feel uneasy, because their “story” of the past was very different from the one I had read in Israeli children’s books during my own childhood. But I had not yet grasped the source or even the precise nature of this difference. The turning point for me came during a guided tour of Berlin in 1987, conducted for a group of scholars who were participating in a conference of the European Association for Jewish Studies (EAJS). The tour guide—who may not have been aware that this group was well versed in Jewish history—did not say a single word about Jewish life in Berlin before and during the Third Reich. But he spoke volumes about the suffering of the city’s residents during and after the war. He made reference to the Third Reich when talking about the large stadium where the Olympic Games were held, but he failed to mention that the Nazi Party held mass rallies there. The climax of the tour was at Plötzensee Prison, where we stood before a massive plaque covering a wall, engraved with the names of the members of the German underground. It was also there that we encountered Jewish history for the first time on the tour. Diagonally across from the large memorial wall stood a small, almost self-effacing urn, symbolically containing the ashes of Jews who, according to the inscription, “died” (not “were murdered”) in the “concentration camps” (not “extermination camps”). This visual representation of the German (and Jewish) past made me realize that the “story” I had been reading that year in German children’s books had not emerged in a vacuum, by chance or by mistake, but was part of a broad public discourse on the German past image. After returning to Cologne from Berlin I met Professor Hans-Heino Ewers, one of the leading scholars of children’s culture in Germany, and asked him— only half in jest—where one could find the three Germans who had voted for Hitler and whether there had been more than five “genuine” Nazis in the Third Reich. Even then, based merely on the perusal of a few books, I had the impression that the books presented a homogeneous picture that concealed the past horrors, which a majority of the authors accepted rather than try to shed light on the country’s past. Professor Ewers proposed an academic discussion of the questions I had raised, and in September 1987 he organized a conference at the Katholische Akademie in Schwerte,

where I first presented the main hypotheses of this study. At that time, these were based only on a small number of books; I did not imagine the huge scope of the work. This presentation was later published as a preliminary article in a collection I edited together with Professor Malte Dahrendorf (Dahrendorf and Shavit 1988). After returning to Israel, I became absorbed in my research of books for Jewish children in German-speaking countries, cognizant that my examination of the construction of a past image in German children’s literature was not only far from complete but had in fact barely begun. I returned to this topic in 1994, at the behest of the president of Tel Aviv University at the time, Professor Yoram Dinstein, who recognized its potential, encouraged me to pursue it extensively, and helped me secure a grant from the Bertelsmann Foundation. The initial report on the project’s findings—first presented at a conference at Humboldt Universität in Berlin in May 1995 and later at a conference of the Institute for German History in Tel Aviv in December of that year—set off a firestorm and prompted a hail of responses in Germany, both in the media and in academic circles. Some of the respondents sharply attacked these findings; others agreed with them, at least in part. Echoes of this trenchant debate may be found in the German periodical Neue Sammlung (New Collection), which dedicated a good part of issue 36:3 in 1996 to the subject. In addition to my own article, the journal included pieces and responses by Professor Malte Dahrendorf, one of the leading scholars of children’s literature on the Third Reich, and Professor Harmut von Hentig, a founder of the journal and one of the leaders of the educational revolution of the 1960s. Both of them vigorously challenged my findings and proposed an entirely different analysis of the texts. When I presented my research in 1995, its conclusions were based on a thorough analysis of only fourteen titles. Some of the criticism was related to the small size of the study, alleging that the applicability of the results was limited. Thereafter, the size of the study was greatly enlarged, and subsequently included each of the hundreds of books about the Third Reich and the Holocaust written in West Germany between 1945 and 1990. Nevertheless, the initial basic findings were not altered by the expanded research. Nearly every one of this multitude of books was read for this study, but it was mainly the seventy-four recipients of literary prizes (see the list of primary sources at the end of this book) that were subjected to systematic analysis, on the assumption that they best reflect the elites’ understanding of what is “desirable” and “right” in the public historical discourse. Among these accolades were the prestigious Der Deutsche Jugendliteraturpreis (German Award for Youth Literature), Preis der Leseratten des ZDF (Bookworm Prize of Germany’s National Public Television Broadcaster), Buch des Monats der JuBuCrew (Book of the Month), and the Buxtehuder Bulle (Buxtehude’s Bull). Also analyzed were the works appearing on the short list (Auswahlliste) of the German Award for Children’s Literature, especially those published after 1980, when only five books were listed in each category. Finally, my work included books that had been translated into German because of the great importance ascribed to translated children’s literature in Germany and their contribution to the construction of an image of the past. Some of the translated books received the most prestigious awards, and it can be assumed that they were chosen for translation and awarded prizes because they accommodated the German historical discourse.

To gauge the degree to which the award-winning books were in fact representative, ten books that had not received prizes were chosen for control purposes. However, we found that the story they told was no different from the story told by the award-winning books. We also analyzed picture books (Bilderbücher) published in recent years, which enabled us to examine the structure of the discourse in terms of the relationship between text and illustration. The research aimed at reconstructing the “story” underlying the various texts. With the exception of Chapter 2, which discusses the keys of memory relating to the story of the German past, and contains a full analysis of one book, Die Lisa (Lisa), the chapters summarize the analysis of all the books, presenting the patterns of the story as a puzzle pieced together from the many books under consideration, in order to avoid an arcane and tiresome discussion of the patterns. Naturally, the research entailed a full analysis of each book, although only individual examples from each text are quoted in this work. The choice of examples was guided by both their interest value and a desire to represent the dozens of books that were analyzed. Each example quoted in this study is just one of many that may be cited from other books. Naturally, each of the examples is examined in its own context and accompanied by an attempt to briefly describe that context. This book has been written from an Israeli and Jewish perspective. The two elements have undoubtedly played a role in the reading and understanding of the texts; the reading and understanding of any text are always the result of a specific cultural discourse that participates in the organization of the world as well as its interpretation. The Jewish and the Israeli cultural repertoire offers a long list of models that shape the discourse on the Third Reich and the Holocaust—models that differ from those of the German discourse. Admittedly, Israeli culture is not free of manipulative and infiiriating exploitation of the Holocaust narrative. In the present discussion, however, the difference between the Israeli and German models facilitates a more incisive examination of the model on which German children’s literature is based. An outsider is often sensitive to even the most minor details that go unnoticed by those steeped in the discourse. Such a perspective may lead one to suspect a biased reading of the texts by the “outsider” researcher. An outsider’s reading also offers considerable advantages, however. Rather than resulting in a narrow, limited, or distorted view, it can pose new questions that a particular culture is unwilling or unable to ask itself (Bakhtin 1986). It is precisely to ensure a rounded observation of a specific culture that the scholar must place himself outside the object of his study, as only this sort of vantage point may enable full examination of a culture that is not subject, a priori, to the culture’s view of itself. At the same time, the findings of this study cannot be solely attributed to its Israeli orientation. While acknowledging the need for open discussion of the constraints of cultural discourse, we must not confuse the latter with the issue of methodology. Methodology played an equally vital role in this study. In order to maintain a controlled approach and avoid biased readings or prior assumptions about what should be sought out, both Israeli and German research assistants participated in the analysis of the texts. The fact that they all reached similar findings speaks for itself. Moreover, the premise that the study’s findings stem primarily from its methodology and hypotheses, rather than an inherent bias, has been confirmed by other studies of German children’s literature. These studies, which were conducted contemporaneously with, yet isolated from, the

ongoing project in Tel Aviv, fully support our findings (see Bosmajian 1988; Bosmajian 1991; Gebhardt-Herzberg 1994; Kammler 1997; Short 1997). Because this study addresses the construction of a past image in West German children’s literature, it does not extend to children’s books published in the former East Germany, which constructed quite a different image. Similarly, the study does not relate to the construction of an image of the past in Germany after reunification—that is, since 1990—although due to the inevitable interval between the writing of any book and its publication, we have included analyses of several books that were published in the years following reunification on the assumption that they had been written within the framework of West Germany’s historical discourse. Another important question has not been addressed, namely, how the readers of these books actually come to perceive the German past. This question has not, to the best of my knowledge, been tackled by research, with the possible exception of Dieter Boßmann’s 1977 study Was ich über Adolf Hitler gehört habe…(What I Heard about Hitler), which describes the distorted past image instilled in German children and youth at that time. This issue unquestionably requires a separate, thorough study. Given the broad dissemination of the past image within the public historical discourse in Germany, there can be little disagreement today over the cardinal role played by the hundreds of children’s books in constructing this image. The scholarly debate may perhaps revolve around the nature of the role played by these books and the degree of its legitimacy. It is my hope that this study will contribute to the academic and public debate on the construction of the past image in German books for children, and that it will help to place these issues on the public agenda. Zohar Shavit The Unitfor Culture Research Tel Aviv University June 1998

Part I The “Story” of the German Past and the Construction of Its Past Image

Chapter One The Development of German Children’s Literature on the Subject of the Third Reich and World War II Before the guns fell silent in Europe, German authors were already writing children’s novels that dealt with the Third Reich and World War II.1 Naturally, these books were not published in Nazi Germany, but in Switzerland, Sweden, and Holland. A trickle of books for children set in the Third Reich began to appear in West Germany starting in 1947, gradually swelling to a strong current by the 1980s. The numbers increased from the sixteen titles published between 1940 and 1945 to several dozen in the 1950s and then surged to hundreds in the subsequent two decades. Thus, German children’s literature never shunned discussion of the Third Reich and World War II. There was no prolonged period of silence and certainly no attempt at denial. Nonetheless, the “story” that this literature sought to tell is quite another matter and is addressed at length in Part II of this book. The present chapter outlines the development of Third Reich-related children’s literature published in West Germany, analyzing its thematics, scope, and reception by the public. This outline is based principally on the studies of Beisbart and Krejci (1992), Cloer (1983), Dahrendorf (1995), Doderer (1988), Doderer and Reidl (1988), Jäschke and Kaminski (1985), Kaminski (1981), Kaminski (1987a), Otto (1981), Otto (1983), Promies (1979), SannesMüller (1988), Steinlein (1995), and Weber (1984). Most scholars who have investigated German children’s literature on the Third Reich identify three stages of development: 1945–1959, 1960–1970, and 1970 to the present.

The First Period, 1945–1959 Most researchers view the first period, 1945–1959, as one characterized by continuity. Writers who had been active during the Nazi era continued to publish after the war, even though the publishers needed an official permit for publication and were subject to the watchful eye of the Allied occupation. As early as the summer of 1945, authorities granted publishers formal permission to continue, after ensuring that their books did not constitute a threat to security and contained no Nazi propaganda or criticism of the military occupation (Doderer 1988, p. 217). The American Zone issued its first permits in July 1945, followed in September 1945 by the British and in October by the French. The American, British, and French authorities preferred to grant permits to private individuals rather than publishing houses, believing that such a policy would make it easier to maintain control over the licensees and monitor the denazification process. Prisoners

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liberated from concentration camps and returning exiles were among the first to be issued permits, but gradually more and more permits were granted, based primarily on professional considerations. Nonetheless, it was a simple matter to circumvent the permit procedure by applying in the name of a third party, although it is unclear to what extent this loophole was exploited (Doderer 1988, pp. 228–229). Regarding literature for adult readership, it is difficult to ascertain accurately whether publishers acknowledged the rupture created by the war and the need for a new beginning. The picture is clearer in the sphere of children’s books, however. Efforts to create a new literature for younger readers were exceedingly rare. Most researchers, including Promies (1979), Dahrendorf (1980), and Kaminski (1987a), stress the continuity prevalent in publishing at the time. Very few chose to institute changes and embark on an entirely new direction. The tension between traditional and new publishing after the war was not unequivocally linked to the relative policies adopted by publishers under Nazism. In both traditionalist and reformist groups, some publishers were new to the trade and others were more established, having been active during the Third Reich. Established publishing houses, such as Herder, which printed the books of Herbert Kranz after the war, coexisted with institutions such as Otto Maier, which had tried to maintain political neutrality during the war, intentionally shifting focus to professional and technical literature and printing books on topics such as construction and civil engineering. New publishers also appeared, such as Arena, which concentrated mainly on religious literature, and Hoch, which specialized in children’s classics, areas that held the promise of commercial success and the convenience of publishing within a framework of conventional considerations. Nonetheless, several new prominent houses emerged from among a small group of publishers seeking new literary (rather than political) paths, including Felguth, Georg Lentz, and Oetinger. From 1938 to 1946, Friedrich Oetinger had served as head of the children’s literature division at Ellermann, established in 1934. After the war, he gained fame as a publisher of new voices, new authors who had begun to write in the postwar period. The conservative policy employed when publishing for a younger readership was striking, especially in light of the virtual absence of restrictions on children’s literature and the fact that little official attention was paid to new releases, apparently because such texts were regarded as “innocent” and harmless. Another important factor was the influence of the American policy of reeducation. Geared primarily toward restructuring the German educational system, it regarded children’s reading material as unimportant (Doderer 1988, p. 218). On the other hand, by favoring classical texts, legends, and fairy tales, publishers sought to offer young readers an alternative world of fantasy, the “wondrous world of childhood” (Wunderwelt der Kindheit), as if to compensate them for the horror and hardship they had suffered during the war. Such nonpolitical narratives were not expected to address the past in any way. Special publishing permits were no longer required after the Federal Republic was established in 1949. Within a very short time, most publishers that had been active during the Third Reich in the field of children’s literature now resumed operations (Doderer 1988, p. 222). Eminent among them were Ensslin and Laiblin, Loewes, Union, Voggenreiter, and Franz Schneider. Yet even during that period, publishers generally did not seek out new voices, nor did they look for new titles. Their primary interest was the

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reissuing of books published before and during the Third Reich, understandably excluding texts with patently propagandistic content. During the postwar years and early 1950s, a number of books were published by authors who had written prolifically during the Third Reich period. Most had only tacitly approved of National Socialism, but several had openly identified with the regime, such as Alfred Weidenmann, Hans Baumann, Joseph S.Viera, Will Vesper, Herbert Kranz, Karl Aloys Schenzinger, and Fritz Steuben; the last was the pseudonym of Erhard Wittek, who published fiction for adult readers under his real name (see Kaminski 1987a, p. 19). In practice, as Kaminski (1987a) argues, most writers who had been active during the Third Reich encountered no particular difficulties publishing after 1945: A substantial number of Nazi authors for children were able to continue writing after 1945, publishing new books and reissuing old titles. (my translation)2 Eine große Gruppe der nationalsozialistischen Kinderbuchautoren könnte nach 1945 weiterschreiben und neue Bücher veröffentlichen oder alte wieder auflegen. (p. 20) Thus, the authors of Third Reich juvenile bestsellers continued publishing in the Federal Republic, despite the fact that their previous works were tainted by National Socialist values. One striking example is Karl Aloys Schenzinger. His Der Hitlerjunge Quex (Quex, A Hitler Youth), first published in 1932, was quickly made into a successful film in 1933. The book was heavily infused with the Nazi value system and blind obedience to, and veneration of, the Führer. Indeed, these ideological elements helped it to achieve bestseller status—Der Hitlerjunge Quex had sold some 325,500 copies by 1942. Moreover, Schenzinger’s book served as a model for numerous other children’s books during the Third Reich. After the war, Quex was not reprinted and Schenzinger stopped writing for younger readers. Nonetheless, several of his adult novels with a more covert expression of Nazi values were republished in the Federal Republic—Anilin (1936) was reissued in 1949 with total sales of some 500,000 copies, and Metall (1939) became a huge bestseller, being repeatedly reprinted up to 1951 and selling some one million copies. Although Schenzinger ceased writing for juveniles after 1945, Alfred Weidenmann continued to ply his trade. During the Third Reich, his trilogy Jungen im Dienst (Young Men in Service) had been awarded the prestigious Hans Schemm Prize for German Literature for Youth (Hans-Schemm-Preis für das deutsche Jugendschrifttum)3 for the year 1937–1938. One of the volumes in the trilogy, Jungzug 2 (Youth Platoon 2), enjoyed unprecedented success at the time, selling 32,000 copies in the first two years after publication; it was also made into a film (Brunken 1995, p. 496). Weidenmann later gained acclaim in the Federal Republic as a director of films and TV series, such as the popular Derrick. In 1955, he was honored with the coveted German Film Prize (Der Deutsche Filmpreis), the most prestigious national award in the motion picture industry. No great difference existed between the books Weidenmann wrote during the Third Reich and after, with respect to themes, plots, and, most important, the values embodied and presented therein. Thus, according to Brunken (1995, p. 479), Weidenmann’s 1960 novel Die fünfzig vom Abendblatt (The Fifty from the Evening Paper) and his 1953

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whodunit Gepäckschein 666 (Baggage Check 666) are among the best-known crime stories for children and enjoyed many years of reprints (in 1991, Loewes issued the twenty-fifth edition of Gepäckschein 666). Though these works seem, prima facie, to be devoid of ideology, analysis shows that they surreptitiously draw upon the same values for which Weidenmann was commended during the Nazi era. Ideals such as honor (Ehre), toughness (Härte), and comradeship (Kameradschaft) played a central role in National Socialist fiction. The seemingly innocent works Weidenmann wrote after the war were imbued with a similar moral code, although this was now supplemented with the value of accomplishment (Kaminski 1987a,p. 26). Such a continuation of ideas also marked Fritz Steuben’s writings. He gained renown largely due to his fiction for adults, particularly his war novels Durchbruch anno’ 18. Ein Fronterlebnis (Breakthrough in 1918. Experience at the Front) and Männer. Ein Buch des Stolzes (Men. A Book of Pride). He also compiled the documentary volume Die soldatische Tat. Berichte von Mitkämpfern des Heeres. Der Kampf im Osten 1941/42 (The Soldierly Deed. Reports by Combatants. The Battle in the East 1941/42). Steuben’s books enjoyed great popularity during the Third Reich and he received numerous awards, including the Hans Schemm Prize for 1938–1939. His juvenile works published during the Nazi era continued to be reissued in large printings after the war. Thus, for example, his Native American book Tecumseh, first published between 1930 and 1939, was reprinted in Germany beginning in 1949 and became immensely popular. To quote some statistics, his novel Der fliegende Pfeil (The Flying Arrow) had sold 191,000 copies, and Der strahlende Stern (The Shining Star) 107,000 copies, by 1964. Der rote Sturm (The Red Storm) had achieved sales of 117,000 copies by 1957 (Kaminski 1987a, p. 89). After the war, the books were slightly revised and reedited, apparently by an editor at the press (Franckh, Stuttgart) and not by the author himself. His propagandistic foreword and epilogue were toned down, along with loaded expressions such as “Germanic blood” (“das germanische Blut”), “blood of the master race” (“das Herrenblut”), and “the call of blood” (“der Ruf des Blutes”) (Kaminski 1987a, p. 140). Yet, as Kaminski maintains, the books’ covert or hidden ideology remained basically unaltered. These works were still what they had originally been—books about war based on racial ideology, glorification of battle, worship of the Führer, obedience to supreme authority, the myth of the Volk, and the primacy of the Fatherland (Kaminski 1987a, p. 296). Among German authors of children’s books, there was no evident reflection on their own past or any attempt to grapple with it (Kaminski 1987a, pp. 306–307), with the possible exception of Hans Baumann. Beginning in 1933, Baumann wrote books for children and adults, as well as plays and poems. One of his works, “Es zittern die morschen Knochen” (The Rotten Bones are Trembling), made him famous after being adopted as a popular marching song by the Hitler Youth. Even though Baumann was unable to overcome the Führer syndrome, Kaminski regards him as the only Third Reich writer whose postwar works show substantial change, as manifested in his attempt to confront the past, acknowledge guilt, and articulate honest remorse. This is pointedly reflected in his historical novels for children—Der Sohn des Kolumbus (Son of Columbus), Die Barke der Bruder (The Barque of the Brothers), and Steppensöhne (Sons of the Steppe)—in which he probes the question of blind adherence to custom and convention (Kaminski 1988, p. 115).

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Thus, a bond of continuity existed between juvenile literature written during the Third Reich and after the war—not only because authors who published during the Nazi era enjoyed continued recognition and popularity in West Germany, but also because their books retained the same code of values. Of course, the most obvious elements of Third Reich ideology were duly omitted, but the fundamental values remained, at times in an altered guise. The books translated the codes of the Nazi era into a set of seemingly general values such as national pride and national solidarity. Yet this very abstraction made it possible to make the books a focal point for renewed national identification. Most publishers did not hesitate to resume publishing books by authors who had openly identified with the Nazi regime and expressed its values in their writings. Yet the question of a writer’s personal biography and role in the Third Reich was not broached at all in public discussion. This was true even regarding authors who had been loyal Nazis. Aside from commercial interests, the publishers’ main objective was to maintain continuity. They preferred books that promoted the code of conservative ideals; in Germany, that ethos was linked, inter alia, to the virtues of service to the state. Because deference to state authority was still part of civil consciousness, this sentiment was exploitable in the 1950s for the purpose of German reconstruction. As early as the 1950s, German children’s literature achieved what revisionist historiography would seek thirty years later—a basis for continuity with the German past. It was possible to deal with the recent past by means of a present that looked toward the future, without reflecting on that past or attempting to confront it and grapple with it. Expatriate writers were viewed quite differently. Even after war’s end, a number of German juvenile works published abroad remained beyond the pale, some for several years, others for decades. For example, two of Irmgard Keun’s works, Das Mädchen, mit dem die Kinder nicht verkehren durften (Grown-ups Dont Understand…) and Kind aller Länder (Child of All Lands), had been published in Amsterdam in 1936 and 1938, the first by A. de Lange and the second by Querido, the latter specializing in books by German expatriates. Das Mädchen was republished in Germany in an abridged edition in 1949 (Düsseldorf: Komet) and subsequently released in other editions.4 Kind aller Länder was published in 1950 by Droste (Düsseldorf) and then reissued several times.5 Zehn Millionen Kinder (Ten Million Children) by Erika Mann was published in New York in 1938, titled Schoolfor Barbarians. That same year, Querido in Amsterdam printed that book in German as Die Schule der Barbaren. In Germany itself, this work was not published until 1986, by Ellermann in Munich. Other famous writers who had gone into exile also encountered problems. Kurt Kläber, who wrote under the pen name Kurt Held, and his wife Lisa Tetzner, were unpopular in Germany. Indeed, most scholars regard Tetzner’s nine-volume series Die Kinder aus Nr. 67 (The Children from No. 67) as a pioneering achievement. Some even consider it the most important contribution to literature on the Third Reich (Steinlein 1995, p. 7). Nonetheless, much time would pass before it finally achieved recognition in Germany. The first book in the series, Der Fuβball (The Football), was initially released by Müller and Kiepenheuer in Potsdam in 1932. The second, Erwin und Paul (Erwin and Paul), was published a year later in Stuttgart. Later, exiled in Switzerland, Tetzner encountered difficulties publishing her books. She then decided to combine these two books into the first volume of the series, Erwin und Paul, yet it was not published until

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after the war, by Sauerländer in 1947; the second volume, Das Mädchen aus dem Vorderhaus (The Girl from the Front House), did not appear until 1948. Publication of the remaining volumes in the series ran up against numerous obstacles in neutral Switzerland. In 1943, H.R.Sauerländer rejected the first two volumes; they were not published in Switzerland. In a letter to Tetzner dated June 2,1943, Sauerländer formally justified this decision by stating that there was no interest in Switzerland for a story set in Berlin. It seems, however, that he was also worried about Swiss censorship. The first two stories cannot be published first. They would not be bearable in Switzerland now, because there is no sympathy for Berlin here at the moment. (my translation) Die ersten beiden Erzählungen können nicht zuerst veröffentlicht werden. In der heutigen Zeit wären sie in der Schweiz nicht tragbar, weil die Sympathien für Berlin nicht vorhanden sind. (cited by Bolius 1995, p. 216) Tetzner was likewise unable to publish the third volume, Erwin kommt nach Schweden (Erwin Comes to Sweden), in Switzerland, as the Swiss feared it would prove damaging to their neutrality. Instead, the book was brought out in Stockholm in 1941. The first five volumes of the series were in the publisher’s hands as early as 1943. As mentioned, volumes one and two were published in Switzerland after war’s end. Publication of the remaining volumes was delayed until 1944, after the Swiss censors had given their stamp of approval. The Swiss authorities created difficulties for Tetzner, demanding that she revise the books. The publications department of the Swiss military, which had the authority to censure and approve publication, was eager to avoid any political clash with the Germans. Hence, the department demanded of Tetzner that she moderate all political and contemporary references. Tetzner was forced to eliminate all references to Hitler and descriptions of locations in Germany, and to substitute neutral terms for “National Socialism” and “Communism.” Only after she had included these revisions were the third, fourth, and fifth volumes released for publication in 1944. Yet their appearance evoked little response (Bolius 1995, p. 217). The publisher Stuffer signed a contract with Sauerländer and published several of Tetzner’s books in Germany in late 1945, after it had been granted a publishing permit by the French on November 8, 1945. Nonetheless, Stuffer issued only three books from the series—Erwin kommt nach Schweden, Die Kinder auf der Insel (The Children on the Island), and Mirjam in Amerika (Miryam in America). The plots of these three books were all set outside Germany, conducive to their being considered more “universal” in content. The tendency to transform the books’ political and critical message into a universal message on international compassion was also stressed in advertising by the publisher; the children were cast in the role of bearers of hope for the future—“Join hands and make the future better” (“Reicht euch die Hände und macht die Zukunft besser”). In 1950, in any event, Stuffer revoked the contract it had already signed with Sauerländer, citing political caution (Bolius 1995, pp. 258–259). Aside from the three published by Stuffer, no other volumes were available in Germany until 1949. Until then, they had only been published by Sauerländer in Switzerland. In 1949, cooperation was resumed with the Sauerländer publishing house in

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Frankfurt am Main. Albrecht Gruber, serving as director of the publishing house at the time, issued in Germany those volumes that had previously appeared in Switzerland, including Tetzner’s works (according to a private letter dated July 8, 1997, from Tobias Greuter, Sauerländer archivist). The situation in the Soviet Zone was somewhat different. The publisher Sachsen in Dresden published the first five volumes in 1949; despite their immense success, the books were not reprinted because Tetzner refused to rewrite and revise volume six, Mirjam in Amerika. Because only part of the series was published, Tetzner’s original conception of a complete chronicle of the Third Reich was never fully realized (Weinkauff 1995a, p. 46). Notwithstanding their relatively early publication, Tetzner’s books merited only scant attention in postwar Germany. Critics ignored them, and for many years there was little public interest in the series as a whole (Otto 1981, p. 149; Weinkauff 1995a, p. 47). Tetzner died in 1963; the lack of critical interest in her work continued into the late 1970s. Aside from one or two isolated instances, there were virtually no reviews of the series, nor was it included in lists of recommended reading. Bolius believes the children’s literature establishment intentionally condemned the book to a muted reception (1995, p. 262). Tetzner’s husband, Kurt Kläber, was also convinced that the muted response to her work was intentional. In a letter to Sauerländer (June 9,1959), he contended that the series had been spurned because Tetzner was viewed as a renegade, a “Nestbekleckerung” who had denigrated her own country (cited in Bolius 1995, p. 260). Sales abroad were brisk, exceeding 500,000 copies (Bolius 1995, p. 258), but interest in Germany remained thin. Tobias Greuter’s aforementioned letter relates that the books did not sell well, and that in 1968 Sauerländer’s sales agents stopped recommending the work to booksellers. According to Greuter, no one wished to deal with such topics. Not until 1979, following the successful airing of the American series Holocaust on German television, was there any demand in Germany for Tetzner’s books (Weinkauff 1995a, p. 46). Most researchers surmise that, when the books first appeared, they clashed with the mechanisms of repression then dominant in German public discourse, and they were at odds with the prevailing political climate that still shied away from confronting the past (Jäschke and Kaminski 1985, p. 16; Liebs 1995, p. 190). Yet in the case of Tetzner, public hostility did not derive solely from the themes she had highlighted; it was also a result of her political views. Tetzner was guilty of the sin of deserting Germany and choosing exile, and of having been the very first children’s author to dare write about the Third Reich; and, yes, she was also suspected of communist leanings. First and foremost, however, reluctance to accept her work sprang from a total unwillingness to address any political questions bound up with the Third Reich, even in the form of a description of everyday life in Nazi Germany, a problematic portrayal in its own right (see the analysis of the series in Part II). Even those who recognized Tetzner’s gifts as a writer preferred to avoid her books on the Third Reich. Her admirers tried to redirect her back to the world of fantasy, for which she had first gained acclaim in the 1920s. Even the Jewish journalist Jella Lepman, for example, who immigrated to London and who returned to Germany in the fall of 1945 as an adviser to the American military command on matters of women and children, did not endorse Tetzner’s political writings. Moreover, when a large international exhibition of books for children was organized in Munich on July 3,1946, one of the very first cultural events in Germany after the war,

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Lepman did not exhibit Tetzner’s books, even though no other juvenile series dealing with the Third Reich was available in Germany at the time. Lepman, who had just returned to Germany in an American uniform, did not hesitate to suggest to Tetzner, in a personal letter dated November 7,1949, that she abandon political writing and return to the world of fantasy: I’m sorry I can’t give you a positive answer regarding your children’s odyssey, not even the last volume which I have just read. I really can’t. It’s impossible to discuss this with you in a letter. Naturally Fd be very pleased were you to return to the world of fairy tales, a realm truly your own, and one with which your name is so closely associated. (my translation) Es tut mir leid, daß ich Ihre Kinder-Odyssee—auch den letzten Band, den ich gerade gelesen habe—nicht bejahen kann. Ich kann es wirklich nicht. Es ist unmöglich, mich darüber im Brief mit Ihnen auseinanderzusetzen, und natürlich würde ich mich sehr freuen, wenn Sie nun wieder in ihre eigentliche Märchenwelt zurückzukehren, mit der Ihr Name ja so stark verbunden ist.” (cited in Koppe 1994)6 More than anything else, Lepman’s comments attest to the preferences of German children’s literature during that period—particularly to what was viewed as permissible and what was forbidden. Politicians, writers, teachers, and parents all sought to bury the Nazi past. On the one hand, they were wary of raising questions about the past (Liebs 1995, p. 188). On the other hand, they wanted to transport the children to a better world. They all sought to create a literary climate oriented around the “good book”—a tale with a happy ending, devoid of conflict, describing in fine German a world that was entirely good. Preference for the so-called good book was accompanied by arguments about the welfare of the child—the wish to shield children from suffering and pain, especially after the harsh war years and in light of the need to rebuild West Germany (Jäschke and Kaminski 1985, p. 9). Yet books published during that period, especially narratives about expulsion and refugees, clearly confirmed that the writers had no wish to spare children from descriptions of suffering and pain—just those accounts of atrocities involving suffering, pain, and terror for which the Germans bore responsibility. When the texts presented the anguish and affliction of the German population, the children were not spared a thing. On the contrary—like the entire German public discourse at the time, many books for juveniles focused on the great suffering endured by the Germans during the war and in the immediate postwar period. Needless to say, none of the texts dealt in any way with the circumstances leading to this suffering and of course did not address the question of accountability. Stories of expulsion, with descriptions of great suffering, were regarded as “appropriate for young readers,” unlike works describing the Third Reich that were deemed “unsuitable for children” because they adopted an undesirable perspective. The former cultivated a climate of German victimization, emphasizing the collective German suffering caused by the war (Steinlein 1995, p. 9). Thus, the first phase of publishing for children after the war was characterized by the relatively small number of books dealing with the Third Reich. Toward the end of the

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1950s, more books depicting fleeing Germans and expulsion began to appear. All researchers agree on this point: the 1945–1959 period has been dubbed the “era of flight and expulsion” (“Flucht und Vertreibung”) (see Cloer 1983, p. 15; Dahrendorf 1995, pp. 2, 10; Dahrendorf and Shavit 1988, p. 72; Otto 1983, pp. 93–94; Sannes-Müller 1988, p. 47; Steinlein 1995, pp. 8–9,13). Each researcher relies on the statistical data presented by Bernd Otto (1981). Otto notes that between 1945 and 1980, 162 novels for children and youth dealing with the Third Reich and the Nazi Holocaust were published in Germany. In the period between 1945 and 1949, fifteen were published, twenty-two between 1950 and 1954, twenty-five between 1955 and 1959, twenty-eight between 1960 and 1964, twenty-one between 1965 and 1969, twenty-four between 1970 and 1974, and forty-one between 1974 and 1980 (Otto 1981, p. 51). The actual total is 176, because Otto’s categories occasionally overlap, assigning certain books to two or more categories. As yet, there is no statistical summary relating to later years. Dahrendorf states that 109 titles were published in West Germany during the 1980s (1996, p. 335). Based on data gathered for this study, sixty-six books were published between 1971 and 1980, and 159 between 1981 and 1990. Thus, in the period between 1945 and 1993, 347 German books for children addressing the Third Reich and the Holocaust were published. Otto classifies the books according to their main topics. By his analysis, ten books (5.18 percent) deal with pre-Third Reich history; nineteen (9.84 percent) with the persecution of the Jews; fourteen (7.25 percent) with resistance against the regime; twenty-two books (11.40 percent) with youth in the Third Reich; thirteen (6.74 percent) with emigration and expulsion; twenty-five (12.95 percent) with the irrationality of war; and ninety books (46.63 percent) with refugees and the postwar period (Otto 1983, p. 45). The following reservations should be raised in connection with Otto’s data: 1.Titles may be included in more than one category. 2.The data are incomplete. Otto himself cites fifty titles not included in his analysis, justifying this on the basis that they are nonfiction for adolescents, novels for youth, and diaries written by youngsters. In addition, his lists exclude a considerable number of books mentioned later by other researchers. 3.Otto’s statistical data contain no reference to the commercial success of the book, such as the number of editions and copies printed; nor any reference to the books’ degree of success among trendsetters, such as members of prize committees, or with respect to recommendations by educators determining the curriculum, and favorable reviews. Despite these reservations, even Otto’s partial findings indicate a salient fact—most of the books published in the 1950s and 1960s preferred to focus intensively on the expulsion of Germans and German refugees, while only a few featured Jewish persecution (on the intentional and established public cultivation of stories on expulsion and refugees, see Moeller 1996). As a consequence, an entire generation grew up in Germany reading mainly literature on German refugees and their expulsion (Steinlein 1995, p. 7). In addition, two other books enjoyed enormous popularity, Das Tagebuch der Anne Frank (The Diary of Anne Frank) and Die weiße Rose (Six against Tyranny)—the personal memoirs of Inge Scholl discussing her brother and sister who were active in the Weiße Rose (“the White Rose”) underground organization (see Chapter 9).

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The huge success of Scholl’s memoirs is readily understood in light of its contribution to cultivating the myth of the resistance movement during the Third Reich. But what lies behind the immense popularity of Anne Frank’s diary? The diary was first published in Germany in 1950, after having enjoyed considerable success in Holland, selling six editions in the span of four years. The Lambert Schneider publishing house in Heidelberg made an initial printing of 4,500 copies, but the book did not sell well. Not until 1955 did the Fischer paperback edition meet with overwhelming success (see the critical edition of the translation from the Dutch—Fischer 1988, Rijksinstituut voor Oorlogs-documentatie, 1988, pp. 84–85). The figures for the subsequent period are startling. Until 1985 the paperback edition appeared in twenty-one reprints, selling some 686,000 copies (Sannes-Müller 1988, p. 64). The book continued to sell, becoming an unparalleled best-seller. According to Rosenfeld (1991, p. 262) the Fischer paperback edition had gone through 67 printings by 1989, selling a total of 2,355,000 copies. The book’s popularity resulted from the success of the American stage play Anne Frank, which premiered in West German theaters on October 1, 1956, and was performed in Hamburg, West Berlin, Aachen, Düsseldorf, Konstanz, and Karlsruhe, as well as in Dresden in East Germany (see Loewy 1997). The play was enormously popular with audiences in the 1950s; in the subsequent two decades, interest only slightly flagged. In the autumn of 1979, the remarkable success of the Holocaust series on West German television stimulated renewed interest in the stage production, and numerous performances were held at Düsseldorf, Oldenburg, Bielefeld, Wilhelmshaven, and other cities. At several locations, a photo exhibition on Anne Frank and her family accompanied the stage production. Yet the staging of a play cannot solely account for the colossal success of the book. The book’s popularity should be credited primarily to the way it presented its story and dealt with the material, and the manner in which it was translated. In his essay “The Meaning of Working Through the Past” (Was bedeutet: Aufarbeitung der Vergangenheit), Theodor Adorno (1988) referred to one of the members of the theater audience as follows: I was told the story of a woman who, upset after seeing a dramatization of The Diary of Anne Frank, said: Yes, but that girl at least should have been allowed to live. (1998, p. 101) Man hat mir die Geschichte einer Frau erzählt, die einer Aufführung des dramatisierten Tagebuchs der Anne Frank beiwohnte und danach erschiittert sagte: ja, aber das Mädchen hatte man doch wenigstens leben lassen sollen. (1977, p. 570) The incident described by Adorno may provide a key to the circumstances surrounding the reception of the diary. The figure of Anne Frank was presented as part of the human family, not the collective tragedy of the Jews. By means of these theatrical adaptations, the diary became a testimony to hope. The story’s ending is cast in a dim light, and its “positive” aspects are stressed. Anne Frank herself becomes a symbol of the universal victim. Her Jewishness, already quite blurred in the original version (Gilman 1986, pp. 349–350), becomes even less distinct, leading Meyer Levin (1973) to wage a prolonged

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struggle against the stage version of the diary, claiming that it distorted Anne’s Jewish character (Graver 1995). By means of the theatrical, television, and cinema versions, the diary was divested of its historical dimensions, and a particular story set in a specific historical time became a universal tale of human suffering, enabling its reception as the vehicle for a universal message and a supreme expression of humanism (Brenner 1996, p. 106; Doneson 1987, p. 150). The conscious attempt to transform the tale of Anne Frank into a universal narrative was also given expression in an interview granted by the play’s first stage director, Garson Kanin, to the New York Times (October 2, 1955). Kanin noted that he sought to address the universal aspect of the story, reducing to the greatest possible extent any reference to murder (cited in Rosenfeld 1991, p. 252). Anne Frank became a public icon of the rhetoric of piéta, reduced to a general expression of the power of faith and the loftiness of human suffering. The story was received as a profoundly sad but not entirely tragic tale, because it abounds with blessing and intimacy, courage and compassion, wisdom and humor, religious sentiment and romantic idealism. All these extracted the tale from the realm of history and catastrophe. Even the death of Anne Frank was infused with a universal moral, as noted by Kanin. Anne Frank’s death doesn’t seem to me a wasteful death, because she left us a legacy that has meaning and value to us as you look at the whole story (Herald Tribune, October 2,1955, cited in Rosenfeld 1991, p. 253) The tendency to transform the story of Anne Frank into one with a universal moral is also reflected in its German translation. The epigraph beneath the title Das Tagebuch der Anne Frank reads,“…I still believe that people are really good at heart” (…will ich noch an das Gute im Menschen glauben), Anne’s famous quotation. The conclusion of that specific passage, as it appears in the diary itself (entry dated July 15,1944), so full of desperation and anxiety, is not cited on the cover, apparently to maintain Anne Frank’s bond to innocence, to vivacity, to a life lived to its fullest—and especially to the spirit of optimism that preserves hope in humanity. In the first German translation, the translator Anneliese Schütz systematically omitted any words or passages that related to two main issues: Anne Frank’s (maternal) German background was obscured by eliminating all hints to her use of the German language, and the German identity of the persecutors was similarly omitted. For example, the Germans and Jews described as “eternal enemies” in the Dutch become “they” in the German translation. The Germans are replaced in translation by “the occupying force” (“die besetzende Macht”) (entry of May 18, 1943) or “the oppression” (“die Unterdrückung”) (entry of January 28, 1944). The sentence “We assume that most of the people are being murdered” (entry of October 9, 1942) is missing from the translation, although the gas chambers are mentioned (ibid.; see Loewy 1997, p. 31). Mirjam Pressler’s full translation of the diary was not published in Germany until 1992. The omissions in the first translation were reinforced by the foreword to the 1955 edition by Albrecht Goes, a Protestant minister who became a widely read writer and preacher after the war. His foreword emphasizes the universal moral of the diary, relativizing German guilt by comparing it to “other crimes.” Goes believes the book has

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special significance because persecution and concentration camps have not yet disappeared from the world: Already a decade and more has passed, and on Prinsengracht in Amsterdam as elsewhere, life, so prone to forget, continues along its vital course. In the world of 1955, which has not ceased to be a world of concentration camps and persecution, it is crucial to make this voice be heard. (my translation) Mehr als ein Jahrzehnt ist inzwischen vergangen, und das Leben in der Prinsengracht von Amsterdam geht seinen Gang, wie allerorten, weiter— seinen lebendigen und seinen vergeßlichen Gang. Es ist notwendig, in der Welt von 1955, die nicht aufhört, eine Welt der Konzentrations-lager und der Verfolgungen zu sein, dieser Stimme Gehor zu verschaffen. (Goes 1955, pp. 6–7) The two books that enjoyed such tremendous success in the 1950s—the memoirs of Inge Scholl and the diary of Anne Frank—were presented in the nonpolitical and nonideological context of the Third Reich. The victims of the past are represented here as heroes with whom it is easy to identify because of the bitterness of their fate, without necessarily associating them with a concrete political past (Loewy 1997; Sannes-Müller 1988, p. 49). The interest awakened by these books did not lead to any attempt to grapple with the recent German past, nor was there any attempt to conjure any change in the way that the past was represented in books for children. Only in the early 1960s was there any change in the subject matter of children’s literature, evincing a much greater degree of readiness to address topics of a political nature.

The Second Period, 1960–1970 The early 1960s were marked by profound changes in the political climate in Germany. The 1958 Ulm trials on the one hand and the 1959 anti-Semitic incidents on the other (including the attack on a Cologne synagogue in January 1960 and the smearing of swastikas on walls across Germany), as well as the Eichmann trial in Jerusalem in 1961– 1962 and the Auschwitz trial in Frankfurt in 1963–1965, all served to remove the shroud covering Germany’s recent past, which the public historical discourse in Germany had sought to conceal and bury. Shifts in the political climate in Germany in the 1960s also sparked changes in children’s culture and the priorities of the German educational agenda. A process began that Dahrendorf has called the “partial politicization of West German children’s literature,” the basic principle of which was to view texts for children as a key instrument in political education as well as education toward civil consciousness (Dahrendorf and Shavit 1988, p. 7). This conception of children’s texts legitimized an entire series of topics previously considered taboo, which included the horrors of the Third Reich, conforming naturally with prevailing notions of what was permissible and desirable. The first manifestation of this shift was the attempt, by German children’s literature, to confront the persecution of the Jews, coupled with an influx of autobiographical books.

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At this stage, in Dahrendorf ‘s view, the first fissure appeared in the wall of silence in German literature for children and its exclusive fixation on German suffering (Dahrendorf and Shavit 1988, p. 69). Steinlein (1995) also considers this a turning point, in which the first cracks in the discourse of German children’s literature were created. The theme, which has now served to pry open the door to this problem, at least a crack, was, in the (former) Federal Republic [of Germany], mainly the persecution of Jews. (my translation) Das Thema, womit nunmehr die Tür zu dieser Problematik zumindest einen Spalt breit geöffnet wurde, war in der (alten) Bundesrepublik hauptsächlich die Judenverfolgung. (p. 18) Even if the thematic change was not sweeping, the very fact that people now began to address the issue directly was innovative. Otto, Steinlein, and Dahrendorf disagree about the number of titles, because they differ in their view of the books’ main topics. Otto contends that nineteen novels feature the persecution of Jews, that is, 9.84 percent of the total (Otto 1983, pp. 45, 52), whereas Dahrendorf and Steinlein believe that the figure is far greater. According to Dahrendorf, fifty books published by 1986 dealt with Jewish persecution, in addition to nine stories in anthologies. Thirty-six of these were original German texts; the others were translations. Two books appeared in the 1950s and fourteen in the 1960s (a total of six in 1961 alone). In the 1970s, fourteen books were published; in the 1980s, prior to the completion of his research, another twenty-nine had appeared (Dahren-dorf and Shavit 1988, pp. 72–73). Relying on the statistical data, Dahrendorf indicates a “positive development” in German children’s literature. Indeed, it cannot be ignored that German children’s literature underwent genuine change, particularly with respect to topics formerly deemed taboo. Yet it seems that the extent of this change was much smaller than Dahrendorf maintains. Clearly, the entirety of German children’s literature did not begin addressing patently new issues; rather, as Steinlein argues, this was just the beginning of an aperture. As a consequence, the question of Jewish persecution was indeed introduced into the agenda of juvenile literature, even if, as Part II will show, it functioned as a standard to relate to and gauge German suffering. In addition, these books awakened great public interest, as attested by numerous reprints (see also Sannes-Müller 1988, p. 49). All scholars agree that translated literature played a pivotal role in the introduction of the theme of Jewish persecution into German children’s literature. Original German texts began to undergo change only later, during the third stage. According to Otto, half of the books dealing with Jewish persecution were translations. Two of these translated books were awarded the literary establishment’s most prestigious prize, the German Prize for Children’s Literature. Bestowal of the prize expressed recognition by the cultural elite of the topic’s legitimacy, as well as a desire to support and promote this thematic focus. In the 1960s, however, such recognition was limited. Recall that the prize had been established in 1955 to encourage “good literature” for children and to counter the wave of trivial publications—“Schmutz und Schund” (dirt and trash). Books on the German past, particularly those that adopted a critical perspective, were not included in this category at the time. As mentioned, the rubric of “good literature” mainly incorporated books

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promoting ethical and universal values, and prizes were awarded to books representing consensual values. Nonetheless, the granting of the prize was significant, if only because of its longstanding status as the only state prize in West Germany for excellence in children’s literature. Today, as in the past, winning the prize virtually guarantees commercial success and public recognition, because the selected books are almost inevitably recommended to parents and educators. In addition, books awarded the coveted prize are published in paperback editions and translated into other languages, in order to present the best of German children’s literature to an international readership (Doderer and Riedel 1988, p. 107). The prize carries considerable weight, notably among teachers, educators, librarians, and booksellers. According to a study conducted in 1986 by the Institut für Jugendbuchforschung (Institute for Research of Literature for Youth) in Frankfurt, which examined the degree of familiarity with the prize among a respondent sample of 817 librarians and booksellers, the prize is indeed very well known within this professional community; all the librarians and 94.8 percent of the book dealers surveyed were acquainted with it. Some 59.6 percent of educators and 40.5 percent of teachers maintained that the prize had an impact on their educational work and school syllabi. More than 80 percent of all respondents viewed the prize as the most significant one for German children’s literature. Many (some 80 percent) regarded the prize and the list of recommended books associated with it as their primary source for their evaluation of this type of book (Doderer and Riedel 1988, p. 149). The short list that accompanies the prize also commands a certain influence, especially since 1980 (prior to which there was no restriction on the number of books nominated). Thus, for example, the list contained 70 books in 1956, a figure that had risen to 102 in the 1979 list. It was decided in 1980 that the list of nominations should contain no more than five short-listed titles in each category. Over the last two decades the prize has lost some of its prestige, since no less than thirteen other prizes have been established, joined by another nine in the early 1980s. These new prizes, some of which sought to compete with the vaunted German Prize for Children’s Literature, include the Bookworm Prize of Germany’s National Public Television Broadcaster, the Gustav-Heinemann-Preis für Friedenserziehung (The Gustav Heinemann Prize for Peace Education), and local prizes such as the Göttingen Book of the Month and the Buxtehude’s Bull. Each time one of these prizes was bestowed on a book about the Third Reich, it helped in one way or another to introduce books on this subject into the children’s literature scene in Germany. Between 1956 and 1973, four books dealing with the Third Reich were awarded prizes. Three won the German Prize for Children’s Literature: Clara Asscher-Pinkhof s Sternkinder (Star Childreri), discussed in detail in Chapter 12, was translated into German in 1961 and awarded the prize in 1962; Peter Berger’s Im roten Hinterhaus (In the Red Backhouse) won the prize in 1967 (the book is analyzed throughout Parts II and III); and Jan Prochazka’s Es lebe die Republik (Long Live the Republic) won in 1969. Michel del Castillo’s Elegie der Nacht (Nocturnal Elegy), translated from Spanish in 1959, won a special award called Der junge Mensch in seiner Umwelt (The Young Man in His Environment). This one-time prize was bestowed by Family Affairs Minister Dr. Franz Josef Wuermeling in a bid to encourage the confrontation with the recent German

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past. The introduction of a special prize on the topic was an attempt to augment the sparse attention paid to Germany’s past within German children’s literature. The award granted to Sternkinder in 1962 represented a departure from policy. Over the entire decade, preference was given to books based on consensual universal values, as opposed to texts critically addressing social and political problems. Doderer and Riedel contend that the juvenile titles awarded distinctions prior to 1970 were mainly works with nonpolitical, nonsocial themes (1988, p. 30). The number of prize-winning books dealing thematically with the Third Reich gradually surpassed their relative share within the total number of books for children published in Germany. This certainly indicates a desire among the cultural elite to stimulate public discussion on the topic and to support and promote such texts. Yet winning a prize did not always guarantee successful distribution. Conversely, books that enjoyed huge success and had a major impact within the discourse on children’s literature did not always garner prestigious prizes. For example, Hans Peter Richter’s Damals war es Friedrich (Friedrich), published in 1961, failed to win any prizes (although it was short-listed). This book reinforced one of the principal models for children’s literature in the 1960s, that of the tale of friendship between a Jewish and a German child, ending with the decline of the Jew. Up to the mid-1980s, this book was considered a jewel in the crown of children’s books dealing with the Third Reich, and it was the one most widely read. In light of its recognition and unparalleled scope of readership, the text presumably served as a prime means for acquainting children with the history of the Third Reich. Sales in Germany totaled more than one million copies. In 1989, it was awarded the “Goldene Taschenbuch” (Golden Paperback) award. In 1996, dtv (Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag) released the book’s thirty-sixth printing. Worldwide sales have totaled more than two million copies. The book was honored with the “Mildred Batchelder Award” of the American Library Association for the best foreign book for children; it also won the “Woodward School Book Award.” By contrast, the prize-winning Sternkinder had no real impact on the children’s literature discourse in Germany, despite the high regard in which it is held by critics and scholars. Initial sales were moderate, and commercial success was achieved only gradually, although its success paled in comparison with the huge popularity of Damals war es Friedrich. According to a private communication from the publisher, dated August 16,1996, the first edition of Sternkinder published by Dressler sold 55,787 copies between 1961 and 1986. From 1986 to 1995, the Oetinger edition sold 62,135 copies. By comparison, other books awarded the prestigious German Prize for Children’s Literature proved far more popular with the public. By 1996, Renate Welsh’s Johanna had sold some 106,000 copies in a Rowohlt paperback edition; by 1995 Willi Fährmann’s Das Jahr der Wölfe. Die Geschichte einer Flucht (The Year of the Wolves: The Story of an Exodus) had total sales of 275,000 copies; as of 1996, Horst Burger’s Warum warst du in der Hitler-Jugend? Vier Fragen an meinen Vater (Why Were You in the Hitler Youth? Four Questions for My Father) had sold 199,000 copies. Critics disagree about Richter’s highly influential and widely read Damals war es Friedrich. In the introduction to the catalog produced for the 1995 Berlin exhibition on German children’s literature on the Third Reich and the Holocaust, Ehe alles Legende wird (Before All Becomes Legend), Rüdiger Steinlein observed that there is no general agreement today on the merits of Richter’s book (Steinlein 1995, p. 15). Dahrendorf

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believes its historical contribution has been significant, despite what he regards as its problematic aesthetic quality (Dahrendorf 1995, p. 9). Elke Liebs, in contrast, lauds the book (1995, pp. 193–194). In her view, the book presents, in stark and unadorned terms, the fear and sense of impotence experienced by the average person, and the willingness to conform to the totalitarian system; the individual is the victim of the totalitarian regime and can realize his or her potential only within a liberal, democratic system. Liebs notes that the book succeeds in showing how even pleasant people can be brought to the point at which they betray their peers or allow them to be murdered, and how ideological incitement of young people to commit inhuman acts is no less despicable than incitement to murder. The dispute raging today in Germany over Richter’s book springs from the debate surrounding the nature of the “correct story.” In Damals war es Friedrich, Richter constructs a tale of a victim of totalitarianism, a despotic system able to take control over almost every individual and do as it pleases, thus reducing that person to a victim. During the second stage of development of German children’s literature, this view characterized the great majority of original titles published in Germany, enabling the construction of a story in which the individual, without exception, was victimized by the state. Alongside attempts to alter this narrative of totalitarianism, Richter’s book continued to enjoy popularity as late as the 1970s.

The Third Period, 1970 to the Present The 1970s saw a new stage in the development of German children’s literature. Books increasingly dealt with the theme of the Third Reich, many of which were awarded prizes. By 1987, prizes had been awarded to Judith Kerr’s When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, translated into German as Als Hitler das rosa Kaninchen stahl (1974, juvenile category); Ursula Fuchs’s Emma oder Die unruhige Zeit (Emma or Stormy Times) (1980, juvenile category); Renate Welsh’s Johanna (1980, juvenile category); Myron Levoy’s Alan and Naomi, translated into German as Der gelbe Vogel (1982, juvenile category); and Hermann Vinke’s Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl (The Short Life of Sophie Scholl) (1981, nonfiction category). All of these books lie at the core of consensus in the historical discourse, in terms of the story told and the past image related therein (see the analysis of these books in the Parts II and III). Doderer and Riedel characterize this period as an era of new emotionality (Neue Emotionalitat), observing that, although these books sought to present themselves as works about the Third Reich, they were basically personal stories set in wartime and books centered around an anti-hero (Doderer and Riedel 1988, pp. 32,168). Treatment of the Nazi period was limited to the plane of individual psychology and interpersonal relations. Cloer points out that, from the beginning of the 1960s into the mid-1970s, in a society astir with greater political consciousness and demanding that political education be instituted, fewer children’s books on the Third Reich were published (Cloer 1983, p. 15). Perhaps it was precisely this heightened awareness of the need for political education that served to facilitate channels for its realization—not through children’s literature but in workshops, lectures, seminars, and conferences. It is also likely that children’s literature

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preferred to focus on the pressing political problems of the day, such as the economic miracle, the source of authority, emancipation, the CDU (Christian Democratic Union) crisis, the students’ uprising, and similar themes (Otto 1981, p. 66; Otto 1983, p. 46). According to Otto, the number of books in this category dropped from twenty-eight titles in 1960–1964 to twelve in the 1965–1969 period, rising once again to twenty-four during 1970–1974 (Otto 1981, p. 66). Scholars agree that the beginning of the great wave of books on the Third Reich can be traced to the mid-1970s. During the subsequent twenty-year period, more children’s books on the Third Reich were published than in the preceding thirty years. Whether we base our conclusions on Otto’s statistics, the Das Vergangene ist nicht tot (The Past Is Not Dead) catalog, or the data compiled during the research for this study, it is evident that the majority of German children’s books on the Third Reich appeared in the mid1970s and later. Moreover, positive reviews notwithstanding, a number of books published earlier and virtually forgotten were reissued during this period. Lisa Tetzner’s series was republished in 1980. Leonie Ossowski’s Stern ohne Himmel (Star Without a Sky), which had appeared in East Germany in 1958 and adapted for stage in 1959, was published in a West German edition in 1978. Damals war es Friedrich came out in a paperback edition in 1974. In this context, Sannes-Müller (1988, p. 50) cites works by Clara Asscher-Pinkhof, Leonie Ossowski, and Lisa Tetzner, which were reissued and enjoyed numerous large printings. Yet, aside from Asscher-Pinkhof s book, it is not surprising that the texts mentioned by Sannes-Müller enjoyed immense success. As is elaborated in Parts II and III, these books were central to, and manifested, the German public discourse. Various scholars link this development primarily with the fact that children’s literature turned anti-authoritarian, concurrently undergoing a process of generational transition that served to facilitate the great thematic and poetic shift. All this, of course, was bound up with political changes in Germany at the time, in particular the students’ uprising of 1968, subsequent social reforms, and the election of Willi Brandt as German chancellor. Without embarking upon a lengthy analysis, it is noteworthy that by the end of the 1970s a new interest in the Nazi past had emerged in the German public historical discourse, shaping the foundations of later discourse. A particular “scenario” (see Chapter 2, “The Keys to Germany’s Past Image”) and certain specific heroes came into vogue for dealing with the Third Reich. This period saw the so-called Hitler wave (Hitlerwelle), a number of Hitler biographies, and various films on his life. The airing of the Holocaust television series also piqued interest in the recent past. All these indicate not only renewed interest in the Third Reich but also a new fascination with the human and biographical stories of both perpetrator and victim. Researchers concur that the early 1970s saw a new phase in the development of German children’s literature, but disagree on the interpretation and scope of the change. The dispute revolves principally around the question of the centrality or marginality of these new topics. Even if most scholars agree that German children’s literature was opened up to topics previously regarded as taboo, particularly the persecution and extermination of the Jews, some see this topic as secondary to other themes. Thus, for example, the persecution of the Jews received only marginal attention in books centering on childhood in the Third Reich. By contrast, Malte Dahrendorf contends that the topic of

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Jewish persecution and extermination became a dominant theme in German children’s literature during this period and has continued to be so. In Dahrendorf’s interpretation, the number of juvenile works addressing the subject has gradually risen, a trend that continued into the 1990s. The theme of Jewish persecution and their murder becomes a central theme in children’s and young adult literature in West Germany, and this trend has further intensified since. Of course, this has no bearing on the quality of these books. (my translation) Die Verfolgung und Ermordung der Juden wird zum dominierenden Thema der westdeutschen Kinder- und Jugendliteratur—und der Trend hat sich seitdem noch verstarkt. Über die Qualität ist damit natürlich noch nichts gesagt. (Dahrendorf 1996, p. 341) In the 1970s, the autobiographical model also became more commonplace, a trend that had begun a decade earlier. Some researchers view this phenomenon as a consequence of the fact that, quite unlike the perpetrators’ generation, the generation that was now to determine the character of children’s literature and the public historical discourse had experienced the Third Reich as children and youngsters. The personal nature of the description of childhood under the Third Reich is evident in books by Kerr, Kohn, Marder, Nöstlinger, Reiss, and Schönfeldt. Writers related the Third Reich to the context of their own childhood and selfperception. This generation was compelled to begin discovering the past and the story of their parents’ generation, and autobiographical writing offered a model that served their needs well. The theme of National Socialism and the Third Reich confronts them with the biographical task of examining their childhood and youth. The historical self-examination is conceived as a vital means of discovering one’s own self. (my translation) Ihnen stellt sich das Thema Nationalsozialismus und Drittes Reich als lebensgeschichtliche Aufgabe der Erforschung von eigener Kindheit und Jugend. Die zeitgeschichtliche Selbsterforschung wird als eine Aufgabe aufgefaßt, die zur eigenen Selbstfindung nötig ist. (Sannes-Müller 1988, p. 51) Nonetheless, it is difficult to accept the “authenticity” of the autobiographical model as self-evidential. One may wonder whether these stories, which are characterized by a great degree of stereotype and indeed recount a “personal” experience. Not every person had personally experienced the expulsion, but all were familiar with the “story” of the expulsion and the Third Reich refugees as the one and only story. Consequently, when setting out to write about their own experiences under the Third Reich, it is not surprising that the authors presented them through the filter of that familiar narrative. Books read by the younger generation as the literature on the Third Reich served to internalize the model of expulsion and refugee literature, and literature describing German suffering at war’s end. In this way, the authors translated their personal biography into a ready-made story.

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If this is not the case, why then did virtually all the authors of autobiographical narratives choose to depict the end of the war and not what occurred during the course of the war, the collapse of the Reich rather than its inception, the victimization of the Germans and not the persecution of the Jews? Moreover, one may challenge the extent to which the wave of autobiographical and biographical stories induced genuine change. Some researchers, such as Dahrendorf, believe that the paradigmatic change pertained not to poetics but to thematics; that is, the taboo was lifted from an entire range of topics, but the “imperfect” world was presented to readers through the matrices of old literary models. Dahrendorf is vehement in his attack on the critics of this phenomenon, arguing that its merits should be emphasized, since in this manner it succeeded in ingratiating itself with the young readership. In his view, had the narratives been based on a new model of poetics, the excessive innovation would most likely have deterred young readers (Dahrendorf 1996, pp. 346–347). In any event, even Dahrendorf, who maintains that a profound change occurred, acknowledges its extensive stereotypes. He believes that this is related to its didactic intentions, which project a black-and-white world of clear and unambiguous values (Dahrendorf 1995, p. 12; Dahrendorf 1996, p. 346). DahrendorFs view seems oddly naïve; he thinks that the link between poetics and thematics is so inconsequential that a new thematic system may be presented that employs an old model of poetics, without the latter imposing itself on the former. For such reason I am inclined to agree with the scholars who propose a different interpretation for this development. They argue that the change is manifest in the very fact that addressing the Third Reich became a fashionable trend, with numerous books written on the topic. But the basic story related in the books remained unchanged (Sannes-Müller 1988, pp. 51–52). The change that began in the 1970s may be summarized as follows: 1. German children’s literature became receptive to subject matter that had previously been completely proscribed. 2. The number of books evidencing such change was relatively small. 3. The predominant topic in the overwhelming majority of juvenile titles remained unchanged, namely the suffering of the Germans, or the Germans as victims. 4. The persecution of the Jews was depicted, if at all, from the perspective of the German victim. Germans were portrayed as the principal victims, at times even as the indirect victims of persecution against Jews. By the late 1980s, not only did it become permissible to address the era of the Third Reich, but this period became a favored theme. In Steinlein’s opinion, the importance of this change was in the shattering of the conventional necessity to depict an “ordered” world in children’s texts about the Third Reich. Children’s literature now began to present a more complex, at times even contradictory, picture of Third Reich events (Steinlein 1995, p. 19). Steinlein refers to the attempt, quite minor at this stage, to pierce the literary model fashioned by Richter. In most books, the dominant paradigm centered around a bond of friendship between a German and a Jew, the narrative of German suffering, the use of embedded speech7 or a child narrator in order to place limitations on knowledge and the narration itself, or a combination of these elements. Simultaneously, a trickle of books countering this model began to appear, such as Gudrun Pausewang’s 1992 work, Reise im August (The Final Journey).

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At this stage of research, the meandering stream has not yet become a raging river. But the number of books on the Third Reich and the Holocaust published in Germany in recent years, both in original German and in translation, has risen steadily. Most are still dominated by Richter’s model or the paradigm of victimhood literature. Yet a very small number are constructed along the lines of a different model, perhaps signaling the possibility of another development. Time will tell. Time will also tell whether new interest in the Third Reich will flag or reawaken in the wake of neo-Nazi outrages or revived public uproar over some new book, film, or study.

Chapter Two The Keys to Germany’s Past Image The “Story” The historical novels and stories for children encompass a wide variety of texts: illustrated texts for the very young, texts for young children, and texts for teenagers. These were written in different periods of postwar German history, spanning a period of some thirty years. A number of the award-winning books are artistically unique, comprising poetics that give expression to the author’s distinguishing style. Several authors, such as Christine Nöstlinger and Peter Härtling, rank among the most prominent and celebrated children’s writers in the German-speaking countries, while others are less widely known. Some have written only a single work, others many; there are male and female authors, authors from different social classes and different generations. Their biographies span wide personal differences. Some experienced World War II as children; others were born after the war. Several authors, or their fathers or other relatives, served in the armed forces during the war. Nonetheless, the differences among this highly diverse collection of authors notwithstanding, an analysis of their writings reveals a common historical foundation, upon which the following story is constructed: There was a terrible war in Germany. Hitler and a small group of Nazis under his command managed to take over the country and force it into a state of belligerence and war. The Germans didnt want this war at all; it was only this small group of Nazis, a band of divergent “Others” who were not “really” Germans, that was responsible, under Hitler’s leadership, for bringing this terrible war upon Germany. The war was indeed terrible, causing dreadful suffering to the people, exposing them to hunger, homelessness, deportation, and death. True, the Jews in Germany suffered as well and were persecuted by the Nazis. Sometimes they were sent to prison and on occasion to concentration camps, where at times they even died; yet only in the most isolated cases were they murdered. The real victims of Hitler’s crimes were the German people. The Germans themselves had no hand in the suffering inflicted on the Jews. The Jews fell prey to the unexpected Nazi takeover of Germany. Indeed, the Germans loved the Jews and very often helped to save them from the wicked, villainous Hitler, a non-German who successfully carried out his devious designs by deceiving the entire German nation. After wreaking havoc upon the Germans, Hitler’s disappearance enabled

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the German nation to return to its “true” state, to resume its pre-1933, German “sense of self” As punishment for Hitler’s crimes, the Allies subjected the Germans to much suffering. The Allies were cruel; at times their actions were senselessly brutal—they bombed German citiesfor three consecutive years without rhyme or reason, destroying for the sake of destruction itself. Later they divided Germany, separating families and causing poverty and anguish. The very existence of this story is not surprising. This story characterizes a large number of other texts, including documentaries (Moeller 1996), film literature (Kaes 1989), and literature for adults (Angress 1986; Briegleb and Weigel 1992; Müller 1984; Schmelzkopf 1983; Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, 1995). Still, when presented to the non-German reader, whether American, British, or Israeli, the story is disconcerting and perplexing. The German reader, on the other hand, senses nothing untoward and takes for granted that the writers are describing “their story, their own personal story” just as they recall it. Prior to analyzing the basic story narrated by the texts in the following chapters, I will explore the patterns and construction of the German story, while scrutinizing the concrete strategies of processing the historical material. It is important to stress that the way German children’s literature processes the historical material is by no means a part of the revisionist efforts to repudiate the reality of the Third Reich and its horrors. On the contrary—most of the texts for children include the important historical events and key players. People and events—such as Hitler, the Nazis, Jewish persecution, the war, the reign of terror in the occupied countries, death, physical and mental maltreatment, destruction, hunger, and even the concentration camps—all appear in the text stage, imbuing the historical panorama with a sense of authenticity. This “story” is not a bid to deny the past but rather an attempt to offer a story best suited to the general historical discourse in Germany. As in every other case of the construction of an historical discourse, the material is processed in our case according to a preexisting model. The central issue relating to such processing is not whether certain events and figures are presented, but rather the manner of their presentation, particularly in terms of their proportion, the elements’ relative standing and their arrangement within a matrix of analogies and oppositions, the contexts in which they appear, and the interplay between events, particularly by means of status manipulation—the accentuation or marginalization of various events. The preexisting model may be described by a series of principles metaphorically termed “keys of memory.” These keys are analogous to musical keys—they similarly determine the diatonic scales on which the “story” is played. The keys need not be collectively employed in the ordering of each and every one of the texts. They appear in different variations, do not necessarily complement one another, and may even be mutually incongruous. Nonetheless, a majority of the keys structure the dozens of texts analyzed in this study. Stated differently, when a certain period, event, or figure is described in the texts, the portrayal is nearly certain to conform to the fundamental keys presented here.

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The Keys Time The story of the Third Reich takes place within fixed temporal boundaries. It begins with World War I or the subsequent period of inflation and unemployment, describes Hitler’s rise to power, generally shuns the years of the Final Solution, and resumes during the final years of the war. If the 1942–1945 period appears at all, the text emphasizes German suffering caused by Allied bombing raids. The boundaries subsequently become flexible, ranging from the end of the war and the immediate period to the postwar years. Certain texts, especially those published in the 1980s, may even extend until German reunification. Location The story of the Third Reich takes place within firm geographical boundaries. It describes the villages and large cities in Germany, as well as some areas in the east, mainly the Sudetenland from which German inhabitants were expelled. Some of the stories mention the Russian steppe as a backdrop to the German soldiers who were killed. The great bulk of the territories conquered and occupied by the Germans in World War II do not feature in the books’ geographical repertoire. Most of the books make no mention of concentration camps. Jews’ Exceptional Abilities Jews enjoy exceptional abilities in all spheres, both material and intellectual, giving them an a priori advantage over Germans. The Others: Jews and Nazis as Aliens The Jews are Others. So are the Nazis. The Jews are a foreign element in German society. The Nazis rose to power in Germany as a foreign force, imposing their rule upon the country. They are not a creation of German society, nor a result of its deeds. The Nazis are not Germans, nor are the Germans Nazis. This key of the Other produces an analogy between Jews and Nazis. The two groups exhibit physical similarities and share many other features, such as their ceremonies, their control over Germans, and their economic superiority. German Powerlessness History has repeatedly oppressed the Germans, who are left helpless against its onslaught. They were left similarly powerless in the face of the Nazi monster, which did as it pleased with the Germans, manipulating them like puppets.

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German Resistance The overwhelming majority of German citizens abhorred Nazi rule; they participated in the resistance movement, sometimes actively but for the most part passively. Guilt The Nazis are responsible for the fate of the Jews. Germans, even if they lived near a concentration camp, did not have the faintest idea of what was being perpetrated against the Jews. Alternatively, the Germans were powerless to assist the Jews. The vast majority, however, did come to the aid of those Jews who were persecuted by the Nazis. The Jews did not know how to make use of this assistance and failed to save themselves in time. The Jews, therefore, are ultimately responsible for their own fate. Moreover, a considerable number of Jews managed to survive, whereas many Germans did not. Generations Only the parents’ generation, brutal and tyrannical, played a part in the Nazi atrocities, if anyone was involved at all. The younger generation is irreproachable. The Allies Although the Allies were supposed to end the nightmare, they brought great suffering upon the Germans. Unlike the British and Americans, who are simultaneously depicted as both good and bad, as both liberators and menaces, the Russians are generally presented as negative. The German (and Jewish) Victim Germany is a victim of the Nazis; the Germans are the main, by some accounts sole, victims of the Third Reich. The German population was subject to Nazi persecution, decrees, and legislation. Opponents of the regime were sent to concentration camps. In the midst of all this, Jewish suffering is occasionally recounted as well. The Moral History must be studied in order to draw conclusions that are universal and humanistic, not personal or rooted in the immediate reality. As noted, this brief description of the keys of memory is based on an analysis of dozens of novels and short stories for children. The results of this analysis are presented in Parts II and III of this book. In order to illustrate the manner in which the keys are constructed and organized, this chapter will analyze two types of texts, which exhibit commonly shared keys despite major differences between the models respectively underlying them: Klaus Kordon’s illustrated children’s book Die Lisa, and the introductions (or forewords) to the books.

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Die Lisa Klaus Kordon is one of the most prominent writers on the Third Reich. His nine books on the topic have won numerous awards. Die Lisa (1991), which simultaneously presents verbal and illustrated text, is a preschool-level historical tale. The German past as portrayed in the book is centered around the figure of a young heroine named Lisa. Like the city of Berlin, the protagonist becomes an illustration of the history Kordon wishes to relate. The author is less interested in the figure herself and more in her ability to serve as a peg on which to hang history. Lisa’s primary role is to give color to historical events, imbuing them with life and vividness. Lisa thus becomes an almost allegorical figure. Her personal feelings, opinions, and human desires do not exist in the world constructed in the story. A similar allegorical function is fulfilled by the house at No. 10 where Lisa was born. The house was built during the great construction boom under Kaiser Wilhelm II and survived the war, later serving as part of the arena in which the reconstruction of postwar Germany takes place. The social cross-section in the house is clear: Lisa, a good German, whose long life will be replete with suffering; Hans, a good German, who dies as a victim of the Kaiser’s aggressive policies; Else, a Jewess whose parents left Germany in a timely fashion while she remained in Germany and died there; and Karl Jäger, a future Nazi. After the war, the house at No. 10 is witness to an attempt at German rehabilitation. Lisa begins living with Paul, former boyfriend of the Jewess Else, after Lisa’s husband, Werner, is killed in the war. Lisa and Paul are tailors, and an illustration depicts them leading a fairly happy life. Abruptly, the hour of “retribution” arrives. Because of the acts of its leaders, Germany is to be divided among the “victors.” The street where Lisa and Paul live is arbitrarily bifurcated by the Allies. The border between East and West Berlin runs straight through the street, just adjacent to the house at No. 10. East Germany, colorless and gloomy, is depicted as the real punishment for the war. The gloom of East Berlin is compounded by another dark cloud eclipsing Lisa’s life—her son Wolfgang chooses to live in East Germany for ideological reasons. The high price he pays for this choice becomes clear later in the book. Ideology drives a wedge between Wolfgang and Klaus, Lisa’s other son, and their differences intensify after the construction of Berlin Wall and the prohibition of visits to East Berlin. Whereas Kordon describes the eve of World War II as a time untainted by ideology, the family is split on ideological positions when Germany is divided. This is also the only time in the story when ideological disputes and political involvement by Germans are featured. As the story progresses, the house and its occupants undergo changes. At first, the building becomes dilapidated. Tenants come and go. Young people and Turks move in. Like the Jews, the Turks fill the role of strangers, outsiders who interfere in the life of the German people. They take away jobs and leave many Germans unemployed. The foreigners encounter hatred; Karl Jäger, the former Nazi, sets his dog upon them. Notwithstanding, it is only the former Nazi who hates the foreigners, not the Germans. Just as the Jews “disappeared” earlier, the Turks now disappear from the street, and the street reverts once more to German control. The “story” of Die Lisa is based on the following keys.

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Time and Location The story’s temporal boundaries approximate Lisa’s lifetime. She is born several years before World War I and is approaching her death after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Thus, the earliest point in the story’s time line is several years prior to the outbreak of the World War I, while its conclusion coincides with the fall of the Berlin Wall. But when the Wall between East and West Berlin was torn down and the two German states had become one again, a real vitality beat within her once more. (my translation) Aber als die Mauer zwischen Ost-und West-Berlin abgerissen wurde und aus den beiden Deutschlands wieder ein Land geworden war, wurde sie noch einmal richtig munter. (Die Lisa, p. 38) The same applies to spatial boundaries. Like the city of Berlin, Lisa survives the two world wars and the anguish of Germany’s partition, suffering air raids, hunger, and neglect. Because Lisa’s life has a symbolic dimension, Kordon chose to run the border right down the middle of her street. The street’s partition is a metaphor for the gaping wound left by partition, affecting Lisa, Berlin, and all of Germany. The border ran down the middle of Lisa’s street. From that moment on she lived in West Berlin. (my translation) Die Grenze ging mitten durch Lisas Straße. Von nun an wohnte sie in West-Berlin. (Die Lisa, p. 23) The partition of Germany is also emphasized through the color palette used in the illustrations. Prewar Berlin is depicted in an array of vivid hues. After the war, the eastern part of the city is painted in dull tones that give East Germany an air of darkness and gloom (p. 25). By contrast, illustrations of the western sector are full of dazzling colors (pp. 26, 27). At a house on the western side of the Wall, a brightly colored sign advertises a business, evidence of the resumption of normal life, while a sign on the first house on the eastern side is painted in dark colors. Only half of the dazzling city that existed prior to Hitler regained its former brilliance. The choice of Berlin as the book’s venue allows the author to depict Germany’s partition and the resultant suffering as punishment for its wartime crimes. Setting the book’s time frame relatively early allows Kordon to interweave the era of the Third Reich into the continuum of German history as just one among many different periods (Diner 1990). According to this historical sequencing, the story of the Third Reich began during and after World War I, with its grave economic aftermath; continued through World War II; and ended after the war. Setting the book’s ending fifty years later allows the fall of the Berlin Wall to be presented as the conclusion of Germany’s punishment and its transformation into a “normal” country. Thus, the event heralds a happy ending to what was otherwise a sad tale, underscoring the story’s unbroken continuity.

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German Powerlessness Lisa, born before World War I, was already an adult when the Nazis came to power. Nonetheless, the rise of Nazism is described as a process in which Lisa played no part. Like many others, Lisa kept a low profile, hoping the nightmare would soon be over. Lisa was terrified. She hoped the new government would not stay in power very long. Many had the same hope. By the time they realized their mistake, it was too late. (my translation) Lisa sah das mit Erschrecken. Sie hoffte, die neue Regierung wiirde nicht lange an der Macht bleiben. Viele Menschen hofften das. Als sie merkten, daß sie sich geirrt hatten, war es schon zu spät. (Die Lisa, p. 15) After the building of the Berlin Wall, another “awful thing” happens to Lisa: Lisa was more than sixty years old when she had another terrible experience. Too many people had escaped from the other German state…. In order to prevent anyone from running away, the GDR government ordered the construction of a wall. (my translation) Lisa war schon über sechzig Jahre alt, da erlebte sie wieder etwas Schlimmes: Dem anderen deutschen Staat waren zu viele Menschen weggelaufen…. Damit niemand mehr weglaufen könnte, liefi die DDRRegierung eine Mauer bauen. (Die Lisa, p. 28) Lisa is a passive individual. She does not shape her own existence. The course of history decides whom she marries, where her children will live, what friends she will have, and how happy she will be. In the personal sphere, her passivity is manifested by the meaninglessness of her feelings. The story of Lisa finding love is typical. A German soldier returns from the war slightly injured, she falls in love with him, and they marry. We see the soldier courting Lisa. Other details generally characteristic of love stories go unmentioned—hardly anything is said about how they spend their time together and whether Lisa falls in love with him. This bolsters the impression that Lisa is insignificant as a person—history alone is important. Thus, her sole task is to marry and have children so that, from this point on, history’s determinant course will also be embodied in the lives of her offspring. Throughout the tale, passive verbs and phrases are employed when picturing Lisa, while the regime is presented by the use of an active vocabulary. This generates the impression that Lisa is bobbing on the wave of the events, forced to adapt to her surroundings. Her passivity is manifest both publicly and privately. Both as a young girl and as an adult, it is unclear what she actually thinks and where she stands politically. Between the lines looms the message that such personal concerns are trivial. Political, military, and economic processes determine her fate and that of every other German. Like Lisa, the other characters also stand powerless before the events of history, playing a subordinate role throughout its course. The message is that the little power that people had was embodied at most in their passivity. Even the “little Nazis” are described in passive terms. Ten years after the war, the shop once owned by Jews passes to Karl Jäger, the Nazi, with no account offered of how he gained possession of the shop. Thus, even in the case of this minor Nazi, events are

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described as occurring to him; the text does not describe events that he initiates or for which he is responsible. By contrast, the leaders are depicted as wielding enormous, almost demonic, power. Lisa’s life is first bound up with Kaiser Wilhelm II, who “sought to make Germany strong” (“wollte Deutschland stark machen” p. 4), and determines every detail of Lisa’s life. The Kaiser was aggressive, and Germany as a whole came to resemble him. World War I broke out because the Kaiser willed it; he and his generals prolonged the war for as long as they desired. Victims among the passive citizenry were legion. World War II likewise descended on the Germans due to the belligerence of an aggressive leader. The tale tells how the “little people” were dragged into war against their will, having no other recourse. The leadership is again described as filling an active role. Hitler decided to go to war, and the nation was compelled to implement his plans: Hitler’s government prepared a new war. (my translation) Die Hitler-Regierung bereitete einen neuen Krieg vor. (Die Lisa, p. 17) When the war entered its third year, Werner, too,—for the second time in his life—was forced to leave once again for the battlefield. (my translation) Als der Krieg ins dritte Jahr ging, mußte auch Werner wieder ins Feld—zum zweitenmal in seinem Leben. (Die Lz’sa, p. 17) Portrayal of the jews Lisa’s close friend is Else Köhn, whose family owns a grocery in the corner house adjacent to No. 10. Aside from the fact that they provide food to Germans, the text offers no further information about the Kohn family. In order to ensure Else’s identification as a Jew, Kordon chose the name Köhn, the most Jewish of surnames. Kordon gives Lisa a Jewish girlfriend only because his book needs a Jewish character. Aside from her Jewishness, the reader learns almost nothing about her, except for several stereotypical, physiognomic features. The illustrator gave her and her father a stereotypical “Jewish” appearance: both are dark in complexion, her father is heavyset and grins (p. 4). Else’s hair is black, while Lisa is a redhead. In addition to the contrast with Lisa’s red hair, Else’s dark features are stressed by juxtaposing her against two male peers—Hans and Karl Jäger. Hans is blond, a fact repeated again and again, such as when he is called the “blond Hans” (p. 5) or in the illustration that highlights his blond hair (p. 5). Even when describing his death, the text notes that he was “blond.” The text creates a kind of internal color lexicon or code, which contrasts Hans’ fairness with the dark-complexioned nonGermans, enabling him to play the role of the prototypical German. Karl Jäger, the second boy, is quiet and has a dark complexion (p. 5). On the basis of the internal color code, he cannot be regarded as German; in fact, he is later shown to be a Nazi. In this manner, the color lexicon reinforces the contrast between Germans and Nazis. On the other hand, the similarity between Jews and Nazis is clearly evident—both are different, both are consequently alien. Neither is integral to German society. Later in the story, Else falls in love with Paul Krüger. Like Else, Paul is dark, a feature stressed by the dark color of his clothing. He is always illustrated dressed in black.

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Moreover, Paul is never shown in uniform, the only male figure in the story who is always dressed in civilian clothing. One can conclude that Else chose a Jewish boyfriend. Only later, when racial laws preclude marriage, does it become clear that he is a German (p. 16), but his dark appearance in the illustrations suggests Paul is “different” from the “Germans.” In terms of the text’s color lexicon, he is presented as being akin to the Jews. The illustrations’ latent message is that physical association between Germans and Jews—prohibited by Nazi anti-Semitic propaganda in the name of racial purity—involves physiognomic affinity. The color-oriented resemblance between Jews and Nazis facilitates interchangeability. After the war, Karl Jäger—the Nazi who has since become an adult—supplants Else Kohn’s father in the corner store by the house at No. 10. This transition is emphasized by an illustration showing Karl in the doorway of the store (p. 26), in the very same position in which Mr. Köhn, Else’s father, had been drawn previously (pp. 4, 14). Both have dark complexions and are heavyset. One element, however, distinguishes Nazis from Jews—a large menacing dog, baring its teeth.

Guilt The events prior and subsequent to the Nazis’ seizure of power are described by the use of passive verbs that describe the acts but omit the actors. The Germans are passive heroes in a fata morgana for which they bear no responsibility. For example, it is not stated that the Germans brought Hitler to power by means of democratic elections or a legal electoral process. All that is noted is that “A new regime had come to power” (“Eine neue Regierung war an die Macht gelangt,” p. 14). It is not stated that this resulted in the Jews being relegated to second-class status, but: Jews were now considered subhuman. (my translation) Juden galten von nun an als Untermenschen. (Die Lisa, p. 14) Nor is it stated that the Germans “murdered” or “exterminated” the Jews, but simply that the Jews were taken away, arrested, and killed: And also the Jews who had remained in Germany were taken away and arrested, and most of them were killed. (my translation) Und auch die Juden, die in Deutschland geblieben waren, wurden abgeholt und eingesperrt—und die meisten von ihnen umgebracht. (Die Lisa, p. 18) The preference for the passive voice is particularly conspicuous in the description of Kristallnacht One night the windows of the Jewish-owned businesses were smashed and the shops were looted. Many Jews were beaten, others were killed. Almost all the synagogues were torched. (my translation)

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Eines Nachts wurden den jüdischen Ladenbesitzern die Schaufensterscheiben eingeschlagen und die Läden ausgeplündert. Viele Juden wurden geschlagen, andere umgebracht. Fast alle jüdischen Gotteshauser wurden angezimdet. (Die Lisa, p. 16) The events of this pogrom are not described in the text, nor is any further information apparent in the illustrations. These fail to depict the perpetrators or the actual pogrom, and only the aftermath is shown. Lisa and her son are pictured in a bewildered state, inspecting the damage the Kohns’ store sustained—smashed windows and lights, broken objects scattered over the tables and shelves. And so the mystery remains. Those responsible for the pogrom, its perpetrators, and the actual events remain unknown. By contrast, the text describes Else’s parents’ decision to flee Germany after Kristallnacht, and Else’s resolve to maintain her forbidden relationship with Paul. Her parents did the only correct thing, and apparently escaped as a result, whereas Else remained and suffered a bitter fate. No information is provided about the lives of Else’s parents after they emigrate. There is no account of their escape, it is not clear what ultimately happened to them, and we are not told just how their grocery store passed into the hands of another proprietor. The book accepts as self-evident the “disappearance” of the Jews and the fact that the shop is no longer theirs. Allusions to the parents’ escape make it possible to stress the options of salvation that were open to the Jews—and thus the responsibility they shared for their own fate. The resulting message is that Jews who understood the ample indications provided by the November 1938 pogrom and who took their fate into their own hands were saved. These descriptions relieve the Germans of all responsibility and downplay their guilt. The Germans were at most passive participants in Kristallnacht, which occurred long before the annihilation of the Jews and is recounted in the historical discourse as having caused mainly material damage rather than physical injury. Shifting the emphasis from Kristallnacht to the question of ultimate Jewish responsibility allows the convenient inclusion of the pogrom in the text. As Domansky notes (1992), it is no accident that the public historical discourse in Germany favored descriptions of Kristallnacht. These descriptions allowed recollections of the fate of the Jews at a time they were still living within German society, and attributed the Kristallnacht crimes to organized Nazi groups. The Germans could be described as innocent bystanders, guilty of “indifference” at most. Kristallnacht allowed the Germans to erect a new barrier between their desire to remember and their refusal to know, while recalling a Holocaust purged of nightmares. By contrast, the text clearly points an accusing finger at the Allies, shown as being directly responsible for more destruction and suffering than that caused by the Germans. Even when it is stated that the Germans bombed civilian populations and entire cities, the depiction of the damage and ensuing havoc differs. Germany “bombarded” (bombardierte) London, Coventry, and Leningrad, while the Allies “destroyed” (zerstörten) Munich, Berlin, and Dresden. The Allied soldiers appear to be in good condition, particularly when compared with their German counterparts. In a two-page illustration, two American GIs are shown in the ruins of Berlin. One African-American soldier is wearing a large watch and holds

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chewing gum in his hand. In the background, between the shattered buildings, we see a German amputee (a former refugee or soldier) limping homeward. Manifestations of Resistance The fact that Lisa was not among the regime’s opponents is explained by describing open resistance as futile. Lisa was unable to help her Jewish girlfriend. Had she tried, she might have endangered her own children. Thus, those who failed to take an active part in the resistance should not be criticized, and one should try not only to understand, but also to justify, their conduct. Lisa thought of her children and did not dare stand by her girlfriend. People who helped the Jews put themselves at risk. They risked their own lives. (my translation) Lisa dachte an ihre Kinder und wagte nicht, ihrer Freundin beizustehen. Wer Juden half, brachte sich selbst in Gefahr. In Lebensgefahr. (Die Lisa, p. 18) Even after the end of the war, Lisa does almost nothing. She is upset when Karl Jäger the Nazi returns to her street, but she limits her protest to refusing to greet him when they meet. Karl Jäger also returned. No one knew where he had been. Some said he had been in jail for what he had done during the Hitler regime; others told that he had been in hiding. Lisa only wanted to know whether he was ashamed of his crimes. When she saw he was opening a business in the premises of the former Kohn store, of all places, she didn’t ask him about it. And when she met him on the street, she didn’t say hello. (my translation) Auch der Karl Jäger kam zurück. Wo er gewesen war, wufite niemand. Manche sagten, er hätte für das, was er unter Hitler getan hätte, im Gefängnis gesessen. Andere erzahlten, er hätte sich versteckt gehalten. Lisa wollte nur wissen, ob er sich für seine Verbrechen schamte. Als sie sah, daß er ausgerechnet in Kohns Lebensmittelladen ein eigenes Geschäft aufmachte, fragte sie ihn nicht danach. Und traf sie ihn auf der Straße, grüßte sie nicht. (Die Lisa, p. 26) When addressing World War I and, later, East Germany, however, the text underscores the necessity of rising up against the regime. The book relates that the Germans rebelled against the government after four years of suffering during World War I, and that this uprising helped bring an end to the war (p. 9). Later it is described how Lisa’s son Wolfgang denounced the East German government (p. 31) and was subsequently punished for his dissidence. While resistance to Nazi rule is depicted as pointless and impossible, resistance first to Wilhelm II and then to the East German regime is shown to be feasible, desirable, and effective.

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The German as Victim Having lost her father in World War I, Lisa was a born victim. In the illustration accompanying the text (pp. 6–7), Lisa and her mother bid farewell to the uniformed father. In the same picture, Else’s father is seen departing as well. Else’s father returns from the war, while Lisa’s father is killed in action. The illustration on page 8 shows the father’s body above a framed picture of the bereaved family. The vividly colored illustration on page 9 depicts the uniformed men and the injured, wrapped in bandages, all victims of Wilhelm II. By contrast, there is no mention of what happened to the Köhn family during the war. Did they suffer? Were they hurt? The text does not ask and thus does not answer. In this way, the Germans are presented as the sole victims of that war (pp. 8–9). The tenants of No. 10 are not spared either. The blond youth Hans dies of hunger in Berlin: And at home people were dying because they had too little to eat and no fuel to heat their houses. When blond Hans died of starvation, his father wondered how the people could bring an end to the war. (my translation) Und in der Heimat starben die Menschen, weil sie zu wenig zu essen bekamen und nichts zu heizen hatten. Als der blonde Hans an der Hungergrippe starb, überlegte sein Vater, wie die Menschen mit dem Krieg Schluß machen konnten. (Die Lisa, p. 8) The Germans continued to suffer between the two wars, due to inflation, unemployment, and hunger. And although Werner earned more and more every day, he and Lisa often went hungry. (my translation) Und obwohl Werner jeden Tag mehr verdiente, mußten Lisa und er oft hungern. (Die Lz’sa, p. 11) While depicting the terrible suffering unemployment caused, Kordon mentions the six million unemployed Germans. This iconic figure emphasizes the victimization of Germans by equating it with that of the Jews. Although it is true that this statistic is accurate with respect to a certain period (early 1932), Kordon’s choice of this number is rooted in its symbolic value. A higher or lower statistic, accurate for another period, could have been quoted with comparable precision, but only the six million figure could have allowed Kordon, surreptitiously, to link German misery with later Jewish suffering, making the two analogous. All over the world, there was less and less work. In Germany alone six million people were unemployed. Among them was Werner. (my translation) In der ganzen Welt gab es immer weniger Arbeit. Allein in Deutschland wurden sechs Millionen Menschen arbeitslos. Darunter auch Werner. (Die Lisa, p. 13)

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This analogy between German and Jewish victims is strengthened later, when the book mentions Jews in the same breath with opponents of the regime who were arrested and imprisoned. The illustrations, on their part, contribute to the creation of an equivalence between Jewish and German victims. On page 18 we find an illustration showing Else standing before a truck full of human beings packed into a baggage compartment reminiscent of a dark cellar. Else, wearing the yellow star, is surrounded by dark-visaged soldiers. By contrast, the opposite page shows a number of Germans (compare this to the illustration of Else standing alone) crouching in a cellar (an air-raid shelter). The cellar is dark, similar to the closed baggage compartment of the truck. Above them we can see the city burning, set ablaze by the Allies. After describing the Berlin victims, the text proceeds to describe others. Werner is killed in action, and Wolfgang is taken prisoner. Only Paul, Else’s boyfriend, returns to the house at No. 10. On the following page, we learn that Else has also died, but her death is mentioned tersely, together with the second reference to Werner’s death. The need to create more victims does not abate even after the war. Lisa’s son Wolfgang is arrested by the Russians, and it later seems as if he has been overpowered mentally as well—he chooses to remain in East Germany under the yoke of communism, which made Germany the ultimate victim. The Moral Kordon comes full circle at the end of the book with the dismantling of the Berlin Wall. His purpose is not to reconcile with the past but to draw a firm line between past and present. The past serves to teach a universal message, as opposed to a particular one, and to serve as a moral for the future, in case the specter of war should loom again. According to Kordon, a third world war is possible because unemployment and xenophobia remain prevalent, as the Turks have taken the Jews’ place in contemporary Germany. The transition from a particular moral to a universal one allows the author to present the image of the German past in a universal context. Germany’s story must be addressed in general, economic, and political terms. Such a narrative does not enjoin moral questioning or inquiry into the individual’s role. It does allow Kordon to shift the focus from past to future and to contend that the past must be studied solely for the prevention of any possibility of recurrence.

Forewords and Introductions Introduction Introductions and afterwords are written after a book is completed. These provide reading guidelines, indicate the book’s important features, and focus the reader’s attention as well as deflect it away from irrelevancies. Quite a few books begin with introductions penned by writers who enjoy public or literary status, particularly in connection with the Nazi period. Renowned statesman Willy Brandt, for example, wrote the introduction to Gerda Luft’s book, Heimkehr ins Unbekannte (Homecoming to the Unknown), and the author Erich Kästner did so for Asscher-Pinkhof’s Sternkinder. The forewords are the only

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environment in which ideological positions are addressed from an authoritative perspective rather than the limited one favored by the books. Nearly all the books relate the story from the vantage point of the juvenile protagonist, strictly within the limited confines of the cognitive capacity and knowledge of the hero’s pure and untainted soul. The foreword may compensate for these limitations, offering a reflective and insightful view of the story. Still, one may wonder what illustrated texts for small children and highly respected forewords have in common. Die Lisa, written for kindergartners, occupies a peripheral position in the German cultural system. What bearing does the analysis of such a peripheral text have on the German past image? In this regard, can we not assume that such a minor book bears no more than commensurate significance? Several indications prove the contrary, particularly because the book presents a specific image of the past to very young children and as such contributes to the inculcation of this image at a very early stage of life. Moreover, analysis of Die Lisa and the forewords to the books reveals that despite the book’s relatively narrow scope and the fact that it is illustrated, it employs strategies typical of the historical discourse crystallized in German children’s literature, and shares the same keys with categorically different texts such as forewords. Evidently Die Lisa differs fundamentally from the forewords, which often address adults and set forth the author’s credo in a rational, organized and reasoned text. A number of forewords describe the circumstances prompting the author to write; often these involve semi-cathartic events serving to release repressed memories. Authors recount their view of Germany’s history and determine their place within the German political system, both during the Third Reich era and in the contemporary political spectrum. The author may provide an account of himself, as well as opinions on the subject matter and sometimes the period described in the book. Also common in forewords and afterwords are indications of the author’s emotional involvement in the story, as one who took part in the events themselves or at least heard firsthand accounts. Writers of Introductions and Forewords Willy Brandt joined the Social Democrats in 1930 and escaped to Norway in 1933 as an opponent of the Nazi regime. It was there that he disposed of his given name, Karl Herbert Frahm. In 1940, he moved to Sweden and worked as a journalist, trying to enlist support for opposition movements in Germany and Norway. When Brandt returned to Germany in 1945 he became a member of the Bundestag (1949–1957) and leader of the Social Democrats. Between 1957 and 1966 he was mayor of Berlin, and he served as German chancellor between 1969 and 1974. Brandt was the Nobel Peace Prize laureate in 1971. The title page of Gerda Luft’s Heimkehr ins Unbekannte prominently notes the book’s introduction by Willy Brandt, just below the title itself. The back cover also announces the introduction’s authorship, seemingly to ensure that anyone handling the book will be made aware of this endorsement. Willy Brandt was chosen primarily due to his past as an opponent of the Nazi regime, as well as his stature as a premier statesman, which determines the suitable perspective for reading the book and comprehending its message. Why was Brandt willing to write the introduction? Was it not because Luft’s biography corresponds to the story Brandt wished to see told?

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Gerda Luft immigrated to Palestine in 1924 as a journalist for the Jüdische Rundschau. She later worked as parliamentary and financial correspondent for the Palestine Post and also wrote for the Neue Zürcher Zeitung, the Economist, and later the Rheinische Zeitung. Luft arrived in Palestine prior to Nazi rule in Germany, and she wrote for the European—and German—press even after the war. The Third Reich had no effect on her personal and professional life apart from a brief hiatus in her journalistic career. Luft’s life story is that of a Jewish woman inextricably linked to German culture, and it allows the reader to focus on the prewar and postwar periods, neglecting the period of the Third Reich itself. It is not insignificant that Luft and Brandt, as Social Democrats, share a common value system. Luft’s book and personal experiences were consistent with Willy Brandt’s political understanding of German history, as well as his future relations with Jews and Israel. Brandt writes of his willingness to recognize Germany’s crimes, yet with the sole purpose of consigning them to the past. Like Kordon in Die Lisa, Brandt prefers to describe the (common) future rather than the (common) past. Any discussion of the past is meant only to facilitate discussion of a future based upon the age-old ties between Jews and Germans. Unlike others, I do not wish to forgo consideration of the murder of millions, but I certainly do welcome the fact that both sides have meanwhile gathered the courage to rediscover their common legacy, embrace it unhesitatingly, and regard new ideas attentively, often even appreciatively… Especially in recent years, Israel has become a close neighbor despite its geographical distance. Economic and technological exchange has intensified. Cultural ties have strengthened. Tourism has allowed many young people to form personal relationships and embark on a new beginning. (my translation) Ich gehöre nicht zü denen, die über millionenfachen Mord hinwegreden möchten, aber ich begrüße es sehr, daß man auf beiden Seiten inzwischen den Mut gefunden hat, gemeinsames Erbe wiederzuentdecken, es vorbehaltloser anzunehmen und das Neue mit Aufmerksamkeit und vielfach sogar mit Sympathie zu prüfen ... Israel ist—trotz der geographischen Entfernung—gerade in den letzten Jahren in unsere enge Nachbarschaft gerückt. Der wirtschaftliche und technologische Austausch wurde intensiver. Die kulturellen Beziehungen haben sich verdichtet. Der Tourismus hat es vielen jungen Menschen erlaubt, persönliche Kontakte zu knüpfen und einen neuen Anfang zu machen. (Heimkehr ins Unbekannte, p. 8) Erich Kästner’s books were boycotted in 1933 and he was forced to witness their burning in public. He was twice arrested and questioned by the Gestapo (in 1934 and 1937) but was not expelled. In 1942, he was ordered to stop writing. This made him a symbol of the resistance to Nazism, even though he never harshly criticized the regime. In postwar Germany he enjoyed the special status of a person who had suffered along with the German people, supported them, and refused to abandon them in hard times, unlike

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Thomas Mann, for example, who has been disparaged for doing just that. His elevated moral and historical status made Erich Kästner a prime candidate to write introductions for books about the Third Reich. Unlike Willy Brandt, Kästner decided to address the past. In his introduction to the first German edition of Sternkinder, Kästner acknowledges the atrocities described in Asscher-PinkhoFs book as true and not a fabrication. What this truth actually represents, however, is far from clear. Kästner’s attempt at portraying a vague and elusive past is particularly evident when comparing this introduction to those written later for the Hebrew translation and the later Dutch editions. The first two sections of Sternkinder were written during the war, between 1941 and 1943, and left unprinted at the publishing house. The book saw light only in 1946, in Holland, and was apparently intended for a readership consisting of Jewish survivors and the Dutch public. Seemingly, the author assumed that the details of the war and the Nazi regime were common knowledge, and as a result the book contains no concrete information with regard to places, numbers, the genocide, or names of concentration camps. Publishers of the later Dutch and Hebrew editions were conscious of the book’s increasing ambiguity and resolved to supplement information about the Third Reich and the Final Solution. A new general introduction was added, as well as short introductions to each chapter. The introduction written by Pika Langer-Asscher, the author’s daughter, was first published in the 1995 edition (according to a letter dated April 16, 1996, from Albert de Vos of the Dutch publishing house Kok). It is similar to the introduction in the Hebrew edition, which may have served as a reference. Langer-Asscher’s introduction traces the route taken by the star children and specifies places, dates, and the prohibitions imposed upon them, such as the curfew and the ban from entering theaters, sports facilities, and swimming pools. The chapter titles are explained; “Star House” (Chapter 2) refers to the former Dutch theater, and “Star Desert” (Chapter 3) to the Westerbrook transit camp. We are told that “Star Hell,” the title of Chapter 4, means Bergen-Belsen, and that “Chosen Stars,”1 the subsequent chapter, alludes to the 222 prisoners who were exchanged. Incidentally, the Dutch and German editions contain four chapters, whereas the Hebrew edition splits the last chapter into two parts, perhaps as a means of emphasizing the liberation and the subsequent journey to Palestine. The introductions’ description of this fifth phase was apparently written for the Hebrew edition and later used in the Dutch edition, without realizing that the chapters were arranged differently. Unlike the introduction to the Hebrew edition, the Dutch introduction does not specify the exact number of victims, and this information is provided in a short epilogue instead. New editions were published in Germany as well, but the publishers and Kästner did not see fit to make any changes in the introduction. German youngsters no longer possessed firsthand knowledge of the Third Reich even during the period prior to Kästner’s death in 1974. Nevertheless, the German publisher neglected to add introductions to the individual chapters, as was done in the Hebrew and Dutch editions following Asscher-Pinkhof s death. Such introductions would apparently not have had any negative impact on Kästner’s historically important introduction. The publisher also did not see fit to provide any explanatory notes to Kästner’s introduction. The Intended Audience

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Analysis of the introductions shows that the audience’s particular historical discourse is taken into account, and this becomes evident when comparing introductions written for different audiences reading the same book, such as the respective introductions to the German and Israeli editions of Wendelgard von Staden’s Nacht über dem Tal (Darkness over the Valley). Von Staden2 was the niece of Constantin Freiherr von Neurath.3 The introduction to the German edition, written by Marion Gräfin Dönhoff,4 was not translated into Hebrew or into English. Instead, as stated in the introduction to the Israeli edition (1986), written by von Staden, the book endeavors to explain “the history of the German people to foreigners.” Why does von Staden feel that the Israeli reader warrants a different introduction? This may result from the emphasis in the German introduction to the fact that she was not a Nazi supporter, despite her family ties. The German introduction distinguishes between von Staden’s family and the “bad Nazis” who confiscated the family home. Ultimately she returns home, but it is no longer the home she once knew. The forces of evil violate the stillness of the valley with barbed wire, watchtowers, and police dogs. The land and earth are being confiscated, barracks built, and the valley closed to the citizenry. (my translation)5 Schließlich Rückkehr nach Hause—aber es ist nicht mehr das alte Zuhause. Die Mächte der Finsternis brechen in das stille Tal ein—mit Stacheldraht, Wachtürmen und Polizeihunden. Grund und Boden werden enteignet, Baracken gebaut, das Tal für Zivilisten gesperrt. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 8) By contrast, von Staden’s introduction to the Hebrew edition stressed both the guilt of the parents’ generation and the innocence of the subsequent generation, as well as the latter’s efforts at rehabilitation. Whereas the German introduction tries to prove to the reader that von Staden comes from a “clean” family, the Hebrew one is more concerned about the presentation of the younger German generation as worthy of a fresh start in international relations. As she herself acknowledges, this is also a way to allow Germany to rejoin the family of Western nations. The significance of such a statement is augmented in light of her husband’s position as German ambassador to the United States. We wanted to become a member of the family of Western nations. We wanted freedom, and we did embrace the democratic way of life. We wanted to travel and to study abroad, to learn about other countries, other people. (Darkness over the Valley, Preface to the English language edition, p. ix; Introduction to the Hebrew edition, pp. 6–7)

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The Keys Despite fundamental differences, the introductions are constructed upon the same keys as the narrative in Die Lisa, particularly with regard to the following issues: German victimization, the foregrounding of the resistance movement, German guilt, and the lessons to be learned from history. The Victims. The introductions present the Germans as the central or even exclusive victims of the Third Reich. Various techniques are employed for this purpose, including Kordon’s factual-quantitative technique in his afterword to Ein Trümmersommer (Summer of Rubble); the inclusion of all victims under the same roof, as done by Peter Härtling in Krücke (Crutches), or the creation of empathy for a tragic personality, as in Vinke’s Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl. Vinke’s book describes the lives of two siblings, Hans and Sophie Scholl, members of the Weiße Rose underground, whose story became a symbol of the German resistance. The victims in their family are painstakingly enumerated; one dies in battle, while Hans and Sophie’s courage and convictions usher their demise. Nor are the survivors spared misery, suffering, and pain. Hans and Sophie Scholl are the first victims, followed by their younger brother Werner who “died at the Russian front during World War II” (“Der jüngste Bruder Werner kehrte im Zweiten Weltkrieg nicht von der Ostfront in Rußland zurück,” p. 2 [p. 8]). The parents and their two remaining children are left alive in torment (p. 7). The increasing number of victims in the Scholl family links them to the larger family of the victims of nazism, and anyone associated with them shares their aura of victimhood and the cross they bear. Thus the Scholl family becomes the manifestation of the tragic victims of the Third Reich, and a symbol of the Germans killed at the hands of Nazis. The introduction to Annelies Schwarz’s book Wir werden uns wiederfinden (We Will Find Each Other Again) tells of three million Germans exiled from the Sudetenland after the war. They are portrayed as an ethnic group bearing no affinity whatsoever with Hitler’s Germany, instead falling prey to his misdeeds. In the summer of 1945, after World War II had ended, the Czechs expelled all the Germans from the country. After a shared history lasting over six hundred years, the Germans had to leave the country…. Altogether, more than fourteen million people were rendered homeless, including almost three million Germans from Czechoslovakia who paid with the loss of their possessions and their homeland for the war perpetrated by Hitler’s Germany. (my translation) Im Sommer 1945, nach dem Ende des Zweiten Weltkrieges, vertrieben die Tschechen alle Deutschen aus dem Land. Nach über sechshundert Jahren gemeinsamer Geschichte mußten die Deutschen das Land verlassen…. Insgesamt wurden mehr als 14 Millionen Menschen heimatlos, davon waren es fast 3 Millionen Deutsche aus der Tschechoslowakei, die mit dem Verlust ihres Eigentums und ihrer Heimat für die Kriegsschuld des Hitler Deutschland bezahlen mußten. (Wir werden uns wiederfinden, p. 6)

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In his introduction to Krücke, Peter Härtling elaborates at some length on the issue of victims. Instead of naming Hitler’s victims, Härtling offers a general account of the situation in Europe, Germany included. This inclusive list of victims makes no specific references to Jews, gypsies, or to any other ethnic groups murdered by the Germans. Many European cities lay in ruins. Countless numbers of people had lost their lives, and many others had been forced out of their homes. Under Adolf Hitler, there had been persecution and murder…. (Crutches, “A Few Words Beforehand ,” p. vii) Viele Städte lagen in Trümmern. Ungezählte Menschen hatten ihr Leben lassen miissen. Es war gefoltert und gemordet worden. (Krücke, “Ein paar Sätze zuvor,” n.p.) In his afterword to Der erste Fruhling (The First Spring), Kordon provides a tally of the victims of the Third Reich. Suffering is described by means of statistical data, which rhetorically links credibility to sheer numbers and “facts.” While this technique might seem indisputable, Kordon uses the statistics to create an equation between Jews and Germans by specifying an identical number of German and Jewish victims—50,000. The German victims are described as follows: Police files indicate approximately 50,000 dead as a result of the bombing—men, women and children. (my translation) Polizeiakten weisen etwa 50000 Bombentote aus—Manner, Frauen und Kinder. (Der erste Fruhling, p. 502) Compare that with the account of Jewish victims in the same work: 50,000 missed the date and were deported—only 1,900 would return to their homes. 4,700 remained alive due to their “added entitlement” (members of mixed Jewish-Aryan marriages) and 5,000 went underground and hid in cellars, summerhouses, and back rooms. Of the latter, about 1,400 survived bombardment, betrayal, and with the help of the populace—people willing to risk their own lives for the sake of another. (my translation) 50000 schafften das nicht mehr rechtzeitig und wurden deportiert—nur etwa 1900 von ihnen kehrten heim. 4700 überlebten den Krieg als “Privilegierte” (also als Mitglieder von “Mischehen” zwischen Juden und “Ariern”), 5000 waren untergetaucht. Von den 5000 in Kellern, Lauben und Hinterzimmern Versteckten überlebten etwa 1400 Bomben-krieg, Verrat und Entdeckungen, weil sie in der Bevölkerung Hilfe fanden; Menschen, die ihr eigenes Leben riskierten, um ein anderes zu schiitzen. (Der erste Frühling, pp. 502–503) At first glance, Kordon seems to relate to all the victims, whether German or Jewish, yet in actuality he employs the Jewish victim merely to glorify and gauge the scope of German victimization. This association implies that all of us, Germans and Jews, were victims of Nazism, and additionally that Jews at times were able to improve their lot

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thanks to the help offered by Germans. In any event, the Jews had it better than their fellow victims, such as the gypsies, among many others: But the Jews did not remain the sole victims. Many Sinti and Roma—still “Gypsies” in German usage—were also killed in the Nazis’ concentration camps, and countless prisoners of war from many nations and members of the underground from Germany and elsewhere. (my translation) Doch die Juden blieben nicht die einzigen Opfer, auch sehr viele Sinti und Roma—im deutschen Sprachgebrauch noch immer Zigeuner genannt—wurden in den Nazi-KZ ermordet, dazu unzahlige Kriegsgefangene vieler Nationen, ausländische und deutsche Widerstandskämpfer. (Der erste Frühling, p. 503) Kordon continues to sketch the intertwined fates of the Germans and the Jews. Three paragraphs after an account of the Jews being “exiled,” he explains how the Germans were exiled by the Russians and sent to camps: During the years 1945–1950, about 120,000 Germans were held prisoner in internment camps maintained by the Soviet military authorities in Germany. 30,000 of them were transported from there to the Soviet Union. (my translation) Zwischen 1945 und 1950 wurden etwa 120000 Deutsche in den Internierungslagern der sowjetischen Militärbehörden Deutschlands gefangengehalten. 30000 von ihnen wurden weitertransportiert in die Sowjetunion. (Der erste Frühling, p. 504) Kordon’s use of the term “exile” with respect to Jews is not merely a latent comparison of exile and ordered genocide, but rather the correlation of German and Jewish victims— both having been exiled and imprisoned in concentration camps. Signs of Resistance. No fewer than five arguments, at times contradictory, are employed in these introductions to portray the resistance movement, resulting in ambivalent attitudes toward the resistance. 1. All Germans resisted Hitler. 2. Part of the resistance was passive. 3. The Germans were ignorant of what Hitler perpetrated, and therefore they did not oppose his actions. 4. Immediately upon learning of what Hitler was doing, the Germans began to resist. 5. There was no point in resisting, as the regime was overwhelmingly powerful. Those who did resist achieved nothing, and their sacrifice was in vain. The first two arguments are central to Marion Dönhoff’s German-language introduction to von Staden’s Nacht über dem Tal, stressing the potency of the resistance to Hitler, as manifested in the help von Staden’s family offered to Jews. […] that mother and daughter managed to contact the commander in order to try to implement their adventurous plans, without giving much thought

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to the danger that the plans might easily cost them their lives during these final months of the war. (my translation) […] daß es Mutter und Tochter gelang, mit dem Kommandanten in Verbindung zu treten, um zu versuchen, ihre abenteuerlichen Pläne in die Tat umzusetzen, wobei sie sich wenig Gedanken darüber machten, daß diese sie in jenen letzten Monaten des Krieges leicht den Kopf hätten kosten können. (Nacht über dem Tal, pp. 6–7) Even the uncle Constantin von Neurath, Hitler’s foreign minister, is described as contributing to the effort to rescue Jews. A lengthy paragraph describing von Neurath’s military and political career is followed by the revelation that, even after his resignation from political life in 1941, it was still possible to use his name for the sake of assisting camp inmates (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 6). Thus, even the uncle is granted the status of a member of the passive resistance movement. According to Dönhoff, nearly all of the German establishment was involved in the resistant movement; even the leaders of the Nazi party harbored a trace of resistance, which needed only to be exploited correctly. Unlike Dönhoff, Kordon is unwilling to suggest that the resistance movement encompassed the entire German society. Instead, he maintains that the movement was composed mainly of communists, who also filled the prisons. Only later in the book does Kordon moderate his position, stating that the communists who led the movement were also emulated by others. However, this should not create the impression that most of the German people were “Gebhardts.” People like Hans and Helmut and Jutta Gebhardt are a minority in any system. But like-minded people can always be found, and during the years 1933–1945 Nazi Germany’s prisons and concentration camps were filled with them. (my translation) Damit soll nicht der Eindruck erweckt werden, der überwiegende Teil der deutschen Bevölkerung seien “Gebhardts” gewesen. Menschen wie Hans und Helmut und Jutta Gebhardt sind in jedem System in der Minderheit. Doch es gibt sie immer wieder, und in den Jahren zwischen 1933 und 1945 waren die Gefängnisse und Konzentrationslager NaziDeutschlands voll von ihnen. (Der erste Frühling, p. 499) Käthe Recheis’s afterword to her book Lena. Unser Dorf und der Krieg (Lena. Our Village and the War) is based on the third argument, in which the lack of opposition is rooted in plain ignorance. Although Recheis initially states that opposition to the Hitler regime was widespread (p. 334), she introduces the issue of ignorance in the subsequent paragraph. She, like many other young people, was seduced by Hitler and learned the truth only after 1945 (pp. 334–335). The fourth and fifth arguments are seen in the biographical account of Sophie and Hans Scholl, who are portrayed as being different from ordinary mortals. In this account, Sophie and Hans possess mystical, superhuman powers that allow them to see into the future and the dangers held therein. Thus, they are able to see things that are obscured from the view of common people.

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They sensed that they were starting a gust of wind where all had been becalmed. They sensed it more strongly than we do now. (The Short Life of Sophie Scholl, p. 214) Sie haben gespürt, daß da etwas in die Luft kommt, was vorher nicht drin war. Das haben sie starker gespiirt als wir jetzt. (Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl, p.188) Ilse Aichinger’s introduction to Die Weiße Rose, authored by Hans and Sophie’s sister Inge Scholl, also discusses the near-prophetic vision that gave the Scholl siblings their supernatural powers.6 Fifty years have passed since the Scholl siblings and their companions, like other people in several areas of Germany and Austria, turned their prophetic and far-reaching thoughts about the beginning of the period of terror and fear and the indications that many were hardly able to discern, all the way to the regime’s zenith of power, into action… (my translation) Es sind jetzt fünfzig Jahre her, seit die Geschwister Scholl und ihre Gefährten wie auch andere in manchen Teilen Deutschlands und Österreichs ihre friihen, hellsichtigen Gedanken über den Beginn von Schrecken und Terror, seine für viele noch kaum merkbaren Anzeichen bis zum Höhepunkt der Gewalt in eine Tat umsetzten…(Die Weiße Rose, p. 7) “Ordinary” Germans, however, were not blessed with these exceptional powers, as demonstrated by the example of Inge, Hans and Sophie’s sister. Her rational and responsible behavior is just what might be expected from an “ordinary” German. The book likens her to all the “good” Germans who opposed Hitler discreetly, yet, lacking prophetic or mystical foresight and fearing for their families, did nothing. Thus is conveyed the tacit message that failure to take an active part in the resistance movement must not be criticized. Guilt. Certain forewords evade the issue of guilt by ignoring it completely, others by skimming over the subject so lightly that barely a ripple is produced. Guilt is assigned to Hitler, the older generation, the communists, or even general historical trends, yet never to the German people. The grounds for this guilt usually remain unstated, and references to the genocide perpetrated against European Jewry are shrouded and downplayed. The most extreme position dictates that one should not judge another person unless he is subject to the same circumstances. Consequently, the Germans living under the Third Reich must not be judged by those who did not experience that period firsthand. For example, Hans-Georg Noack suggests in the foreword to Die Webers (The Webers) that the discussion of guilt be altogether discarded: History should make us think rather than pass judgment. All too often, we hurl accusations at others for errors we ourselves had no opportunity to commit. (my translation)

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Die Geschichte soll uns zum Nachdenken veranlassen, nicht zum Verurteilen. Allzu häufig werfen wir anderen die Fehler vor, die zu begehen wir selbst keine Gelegenheit hatten (Die Webers, foreword, n.p.). Käthe Recheis takes the same view, although her position is less stringent. In the afterword to Lena, she asks readers not to be too harsh in their judgment: If we are to judge people who experienced that period, we must be aware that this was not a free country where information could be circulated unchecked, but it was also a reign of terror that was also employed against the members of its own people. (my translation) Urteilt man über die Menschen, die jene Zeit erlebten, so sollte man sich bewußt sein, daß es kein freier Staat mit freier Information war, sondern auch ein Regime des Terrors, auch gegen die Angehörigen des eigenen Volkes. (Lena, p. 335) On the other hand, Willy Brandt’s introduction to Heimkehr ins Unbekannte seems to address the issue of guilt without hesitation. Brandt portrays himself courageously confronting the slaughter of millions rather than ignoring it. Alas, careful analysis shows that this is not the case. Brandt’s approach to the genocide is not only indirect and circumlocutory; it is also marginalized by the focus on Jews who fled Germany and emigrated to Palestine. Brandt refers to the escape of 50,000 Jews, and almost entirely ignores the fate awaiting the Jews who stayed in Germany. Even when he hints at genocide, Brandt allows no more than half a sentence, to be concluded by a reference to the “regretful” damage sustained by German-Jewish symbiosis. The allusion to genocide is co-opted into an analysis of future relations between Israel and Germany. The “regretful” rift must be mended by “both parties.” Awareness of the responsibility for the mass murder transcends all other considerations and emotions, of course, and yet—I think—a German may regret the destruction by Nazi tyranny of one of the most valuable assets of our not overly blessed history, namely the symbiosis between Jewish and German culture, which had proven to be so amazingly productive in the spirit of the Age of Enlightenment. We are left with the hope that one day, under fundamentally different conditions, parts of this might be rendered fertile and be continued once again. (my translation) Natürlich beherrscht das Bewußtsein der Verantwortung für den Massenmord andere Überlegungen und Gefühle, dennoch—so denke ich—ist einem Deutschen das Bedauern darüber erlaubt, daß mit der nazistischen Tyrannei auch etwas zerstört wurde, was zu den kostbarsten Gütern unserer nicht gerade glücklichen Geschichte gehört hätte: die Symbiose jüdischer und deutscher Kultur, die unter dem Geist der Aufklärung eine so erstaunliche Produktivität bewies. Bleibt die Hoffhung, daß unter völlig veränderten Bedingungen einiges davon

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wieder fruchtbar gemacht und weitergeführt werden könnte. (Heimkehr ins Unbekannte, p. 8) Christine Nöstlinger, on the other hand, does not ignore the issue of guilt, but casts it in abstract, general, and casual terms. In her short introduction to Maikäfer flieg! (Fly Away Home), Nöstlinger explicitly asks who is responsible for scorching the country:

…twenty-five years ago small children in Vienna sang the nonsense rhyme that goes: Maybug, maybug, fly away home! Father to the war has gone…. Today Viennese children still sing: Maybug, maybug, fly away home! Father to the war has gone…. But in those days the children knew exactly what they were singing. Father really had gone to the war. Mother is living in Gunpowdertown… Mother really did live in Gunpowdertown, and we lived there along with her. Gunpowdertown is all burnt down. Though it was not the maybugs’ fault if Gunpowdertown was all burnt down twenty-five years ago, any more than it is now. The story I am going to tell is true. It happened to me. It is a tale of Gunpowdertown. (Fly Away Home, Foreword, n.p.) Sicher, vor fünfundzwanzig Jahren sangen die kleinen Kinder auch in Wien: Maikäfer, flieg! der Vater ist im Krieg….

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Heute singen die kleinen Kinder immer noch: Maikäfer, flieg! der Vater ist im Krieg Nur—die kleinen Kinder damals wußten genau, was sie da sangen. Der Vater war im Krieg. die Mutter ist im Pulverland Die Mutter war wirklich im Pulverland. Und wir mit ihr. Pulverland ist abgebrannt Doch die Maikäfer waren nie schuld, wenn Pulverland abbrannte; auch vor fünfundzwanzig Jahren nicht. Die Geschichte, die ich erzahle, ist eine Pulverlandgeschichte. (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 5) Although the issue of guilt appears to be addressed directly, the guilt is not assigned to any tangible object, nor is any recipient for it to be found. If Maybugs are not responsible for burning the land, neither now nor twenty-five years ago, then who is? Nöstlinger does not say. And what exactly was burned? This country—Austria—was also burned by the Allies. Thus, the option of placing blame on the Allies is not ruled out in the introduction, which alludes to the burning of the land rather than the burning of people. This tacit assignment of blame to the Allies is apparent in Härtling’s introduction to Krücke as well. The Germans’ guilt, however, is borne solely by Hitler. The story takes place in the years 1945–1946, at the time the war instigated by Adolf Hitler had just come to an end. (Crutches, “A Few Words Beforehand,” p. vii) Diese Geschichte spielt in den Jahren 1945 und 1946. In einer Zeit, als der von Adolf Hitler angezettelte Krieg zu Ende ging. (Krücke, “Ein paar Sätze zuvor,” n.p.) Hitler’s representation as the sole guilty party recurs in many other introductions. An example may be found in Vinke’s book on Sophie Scholl and in Erich Kästner’s introduction to Sternkinder, where Hitler becomes abstract and is referred to by the notion of “Hitler’s dictatorship”—which alone perpetrated the catastrophe. Kästner neutralizes Hitler’s tangibility by eschewing the specific temporal aspect and transforming Hitler into a universal phenomenon, comparable to King Herod. For

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Kästner, Hitler is yet another link in universal history’s long chain of murderers. The acts of murder thus undergo a process of relativization—Herod’s murder of the children in Bethlehem is equated with Hitler’s extermination of Jewish children. Hitler is set apart from his ancient counterpart only by technological superiority. If not for this distinction, Hitler and Herod would have shared the same historical notoriety. He [Herod] had to make do without modern implements of murder and transportation, or the blessings of the telephone and of bureaucracy. (my translation)7 Er mußte ohne moderne Mord- und Transportmittel auskommen und ohne die Segnungen des Telefons und der Bürokratie. (Sternkinder, p. 9) This relativization of murder is a ubiquitous feature in the books’ introductions. It is present in each of the periods discussed in this study, from Lisa Tetzner’s Die Kinder aus Nr. 67, the first edition of which she completed before the war’s end, through Antoinette Becker’s 1988 afterword8 to Judith und Lisa (published in English as Best Friends) and Käthe Recheis’s afterword to Lena, written in 1990. Lisa Tetzner adopts a location-based relativization. In the introduction to her book, she concludes that the story related therein could also have taken place in cities such as New York, London, or Paris, although she later states that the events did not take place in Berlin coincidentally. The possibility that they may occur elsewhere is not precluded. Maybe these stories could also occur in New York, London or Paris, any densely populated large city with crowded streets and tall, sunless buildings. Even so, they belong to Berlin. (my translation) Vielleicht konnten die Geschichten auch in New York, in London oder Paris geschehen, in jeder größeren Stadt, wo viele Menchen in dichten Straßen und hohen, sonnenlosen Häusern eng zusammen wohnen. Aber sie gehören doch nach Berlin. (Die Kinder aus Nr. 67, I, p. 5) Käthe Recheis, Antoinette Becker, and Klaus Kordon effect a relativization of historical events, each claiming that the events that transpired under the Third Reich had happened before and will happen again. In her epilogue to Lena, Recheis writes that genocide has been committed in many other places: But the study of history and the decades since [the war] have taught me that inhumanity has become and continues to be legally mandated, elsewhere as well. Several instances of genocide, some of which took place only a few decades ago, have in many cases already been forgotten…. Genocide continues! (my translation) Das Studium der Geschichte und die nachfolgenden Jahrzehnte haben mich aber gelehrt, daß Unmenschlichkeit auch anderswo leicht legalisiert wurde und wird. So mancher Völkermord, oft nur wenige Jahrzehnte zurückliegend, ist vielfach schon wieder vergessen…. Der Völkermord geht weiter! (Lena, p. 336)

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Jesus’s crucifixion provides the starting point for the historical survey in Antoinette Becker’s afterword to Judith und Lisa. The Jews are forgiven for the crucifixion itself but not for the cooperation and tacit approval they gave the Romans. Becker binds together anti-Semitism, the death of Jesus, and Hitler’s ascent to power, and she views the murder of Jews during the Third Reich as a heavily precedented and direct result of historical anti-Semitism. Thus is responsibility for killing Jews assigned chiefly to the long tradition of world anti-Semitism and consequently to Germans who collaborated with Hitler, just as the Jews were in league with the Romans. A man named Adolf Hitler appeared after the war [World War I] and promised the Germans improvement, order, work, comfort and more land. He incited the Germans, saying that the Jews were responsible for the chaos prevalent in Germany at the time, that they should be exterminated forever like vermin, to allow the Germans better lives…. Most of the Germans believed Hitler and thought that the Jews were responsible for everything. They began taunting the Jews, abusing them, ultimately killing millions of Jews, women, men, and children in the cruelest ways. (my translation) Nach dem Krieg erschien ein Mann, Adolf Hitler, der versprach den Deutschen Besserung, Ordnung, Arbeit, Wohlstand und mehr Land. Er hetzte die Deutschen auf. Die Juden seien an dieser Unordnung schuld. Man miisse sie auf die Dauer wie Ungeziefer vernichten, damit die Deutschen besser leben konnten…. Die meisten Deutschen glaubten Hitler, die Juden waren an allem schuld. Sie fingen an, sie zu verspotten, zu mißihandeln und schließlich Millionen Juden, Frauen, Männer und Kinder, auf die grausamste Art zu töten. (Judith und Lisa, afterword) Kordon relativizes the Nazis’ crimes by equating Hitler with Stalin. In the afterword to his epic trilogy Wendepunkte (Turning Points), written in 1993, Kordon attempts to view Nazi war crimes within the context of communist crimes. The historical proximity echoes the famous historians’ debate (Historikerstreit). It is also true that a cruel system oppressing and persecuting those who expressed different ideas was in place in the Soviet Union for many years, similar to that which existed in the former Nazi Germany. (my translation) Wahr ist auch, daß in der Sowjetunion jahrzehntelang ein ähnlich grausames System der Unterdrückung und Verfolgung Andersdenkender existierte wie im ehemaligen NaziDeutschland. (Der erste Fruhling, p. 500) The introductions do not evade the issue of guilt but instead deflect it to others, resulting in a guilt that is barren and unseen. The introductions fail to clearly indicate a culpable party. Evasion of guilt is upheld even by reputable authors such as Erich Kästner, although they declare it immoral. Kästner’s harsh words in his introduction to Sternkinder seem rhetorical:

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To conceal the abyss of the past is to endanger the path to the future. Anyone attempting to embezzle the guilt of those years is no patriot, but a defrauder. Whoever tries to turn innocent youth into clueless youth is only adding new guilt to that already existing. (my translation) Den Abgrund der Vergangenheit zu verdecken, hieße den Weg in die Zukunft gefährden. Wer die Schuld aus jenen Jahren unterschliige, wäre kein Patriot, sondern ein Defraudant. Wer aus der schuldlosen Jugend eine ahnungslose Jugend zu machen versuchte, der fügte neue Schuld zur alten. (Sternkinder, p. 10) Kästner’s introduction includes an attempt to teach children the truth about the Third Reich. Yet this truth is not described, and instead Kästner directs the children to demand it from their parents and teachers. How exactly they will know what to ask is left untold. Wendelgard von Staden is the only author who places some blame upon the Germans in an introduction. Notably, the accusations are included solely in the introduction to the English and Hebrew editions: We had worked to repair some of the damage done by the generation of our parents…. When we reached adulthood we were left with little to believe in, least of all the greatness of our country. Rather, we were confronted with a sea of destruction, of terror, of millions of people murdered in our name. (Darkness over the Valley, Preface to the English language edition, p. ix; Introduction to the Hebrew edition, p. 6) The Moral. Without exception, the introductions seek to draw a moral from the stories. As in Die Lisa, however, no attempt is made to employ the lessons for settling accounts with Germany’s past. The objective is to eschew substantive morals concerning the German people in favor of universal morals pertaining to all of humanity, the book’s subject matter notwithstanding. Whether the story is about resistance groups, concentration camps, or the destruction at the war’s end, its moral is invariably oriented toward the future and the entire world, not only Germany. Vinke’s interview with Ilse Aichinger at the end of the last chapter of Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl, a book about the German resistance movement, is used to select the moral that youngsters should draw from the story. However, no attempt is made to cope with the fact that the Scholl siblings constituted a small minority, and most certainly not to promote self-castigation as the moral. Vinke might have discussed the obligation to oppose tyrannical regimes and dictatorships, or asked why most young people chose not to fight the Nazi regime. He might have wondered why there weren’t more opposition groups or why other students didn’t join this group to fight Hitler during the war. Yet Vinke failed to ask these questions, because he sought a universal moral and not one pertaining specifically to the German people. Vinke does not expect young people to learn anything from their own history pertaining to their present, apart from the need to be aware of racism or violence. Peter Härtling similarly seeks to transform the German story of World War II into a universal narrative and to learn lessons of friendship, joint survival, and love for one’s

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fellow man. The introduction to Krücke presents a universal message about human nature: not all were monsters; homo homini lupus is not necessarily true. I have written this book to counter this adage. It is about the struggle to begin again when all seems to be lost. It is dedicated to Crutches and to Thomas, who have bequeathed to us the message that the human being is also the friend of humankind. (Crutches, “A Few Words Beforehand,” p. vii) Ich habe mein Buch gegen dieses Sprichwort geschrieben. Es ist Krücke und Thomas gewidmet, die uns die Botschaft hinterließen, daß der Mensch auch des Menschen Freund ist. (Krücke, “Ein paar Sätze zuvor,” n.p.) Antoinette Becker, in her afterword to Elisabeth Reuter’s Judith und Lisa, also tries to draw a conclusion regarding human qualities, without distinctions of race or gender. There are no better or worse people, whether Jewish, Muslim or Christian, black, yellow or white. There are only people amongst people, and all have equal rights. The world belongs to everyone. (my translation) Es gibt keine besseren oder schlechteren Menschen, ob sie Juden, Moslems oder Christen sind, schwarze, gelbe oder weiße Menschen. Es gibt nur Menschen unter Menschen, die alle gleiche Rechte haben. Die Welt gehört allen. (Judith und Lisa, afterword) Käthe Recheis suggests in her afterword to Lena that a universal moral might prevent the recurrence of the Nazis’ crimes. What can we do to ensure the fulfillment of “Never Again!” as we promised ourselves in 1945? (my translation) Was können wir tun, um das Versprechen “Nie wieder!,” das wir uns 1945 gegeben haben, zu halten? (Lena, p. 336) Richter begins his best-selling Damals war es Friedrich with a motto (omitted from the English and Hebrew editions) in which he equates Jews, blacks, and students among many others. All may fall victim to foreign forces, which he does not identify.

Then, it was the Jews…. Today it’s the blacks there, the students here…. Tomorrow it might be the whites, the Christians or the civil servants…. (my translation)9 Damals waren es die Juden…. Heute sind es dort die Schwarzen,

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hier die Studenten…. Morgen werden es vielleicht die Weißen, die Christen oder die Beamten sein…. (Damals war es Friedrich, n.p.) This is the heart of the matter. Through its ostensibly innocent orientation toward the future, the German historic discourse finds its refuge from the past. This is the moral sought in all the introductions. Whether Ilse Aichinger in Die Weiße Rose (p. 7 [7]) or Kordon warning of future apocalypse in Die Lisa and his own trilogy, the message is always the same: what happened in Germany might happen anywhere. Similar circumstances in the future will bring another catastrophe (Ein Trümmersommer, p. 503). As we have seen, one of the few books that neither evades nor circumvents the question of guilt is Wendelgard von Staden’s Nacht über dem Tal. The book’s introduction contends that familiarity with recent German history is necessary in order to grasp the precept of remembrance. This generation, untainted by the Hitlerism of the previous generation, must accordingly convey the knowledge to future generations. To what kind of knowledge does she refer? Does von Staden fear that the younger generation will forget the past, or is she concerned that their past image will be distorted? What, in her opinion, is the correct image of the past? In fact, her keys of memory are no different than “other stories.” No less important, von Staden’s comments about the lessons of the past appear exclusively in the introduction to her book’s English and Hebrew translations and are absent from the German edition. Is this not a clear indication that, although she may not be aware of it, the story told by von Staden to German readers differs from the one told to non-German readers? Surely this evidences the intention of German children’s novelists to create a convenient past image that is easy to accept and coexist with, yet patently different from the image intended for non-German audiences. Many children’s books take part in the construction of the image of Germany’s past, yet the mirror they hold up to Germany is similar to the mirror on the wall kept by Snow White’s stepmother. The prevailing narrative for children fails to acknowledge the existence of a Snow White alive and well beyond the hills. It is not the past itself they wish to see, but its wishful representation, which dominates the public discourse of German society, a past with which the German people can live comfortably, and that they can, without question, pass on to their children.

Chapter Three Constructing an Image of the Past Introduction The historical novels analyzed in this study purport to be authentic texts that should be accepted as historical “truth.”l Many were written as the life story of an amateur author— the outpouring of his or her heart. Other authors assert their reliance on personal memories and describe experiences firsthand—even if the author did not experience them personally but only read about them in various sources or heard about them from others. In this manner, the text is presented as a primary expression of the author’s historical experiences and recollections. Inasmuch as the story is told from a personal perspective, “good faith” is one of the defense mechanisms—perhaps the principal one—employed to counter the claim that novels offer an incomplete, distorted, and false story. Many writers might honestly believe that their story is personal and distinctive, flowing from their own wellsprings of memory and their knowledge, and fashioned with no ulterior motive. Yet this is not the case. This study postulates that the rendering of personal memories and “historical material” into a particular past image embodied in a novel is a deliberate and systematic process, unrelated to the author’s individual memory. Though probably unaware of it, the author functions within a preexisting framework of the composition of historical discourse. Even if the writer believes that he or she is recounting a story “truly” as it transpired, the processing of historical narrative does not allow raw, unprocessed memory to be transferred to writing “as is.” Thus, the rendering of an historical account does not necessarily result from individual memory or personal experiences and knowledge. Historical novels, whether presented as the writer’s recollections or as founded on “historical sources,” are, like any other historical discourse, invariably a product of the past image whose construction they help to establish; they depend on the models2 prevalent in the culture that spawned them and the interests they are expected to serve. Discussions of the innovation, creation, re-creation, and rewriting of a national or group past image have been central to many debates in the varying disciplines of philosophy, meta-history, historiography, sociology, psychology, and semiotics. (See Bond & Gilliam 1994; Hobsbawm 1983; Hutton 1991; Katriel 1993; Lewis 1975a; Lewis 1975b; Lotman 1990; Morgan 1983.) The understanding that the past image is a product of manipulative (although not in any pejorative sense) processing of “historical material” and is meant to serve national, political, social, and individual interests is now accepted by most scholars, to the point that this has become a virtually banal postulation. Already by the late nineteenth century, mechanisms of memory and forgetting were subject to academic scrutiny. In his 1882 study into questions of memory and nation

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building, Ernest Renan listed the mechanisms of recollection and forgetting as central regulators in the creation of nations and nationality. He ascribed much importance to historiography—to the extent that he feared its potential to threaten the existence of the nation. Forgetting, I would even go so far as to say historical error, is a crucial factor in the creation of a nation, which is why progress in historical studies often constitutes a danger for [the principle of] nationality. Indeed, historical enquiry brings to light deeds of violence which took place at the origin of all political formations, even of those whose consequences have been altogether beneficial. Unity is always effected by means of brutality; the union of northern France with the Midi was the result of massacres and terror lasting for the best part of a century. Though the King of France was, if I may make so bold as to say, almost the perfect instance of an agent that crystallized [a nation] over a long period; though he established the most perfect national unity that there has ever been, too searching a scrutiny had destroyed his prestige. The nation which he had formed has cursed him, and, nowadays, it is only men of culture who know something of his former value and of his achievements. Yet the essence of a nation is that all individuals have many things in common, and also that they have forgotten many things. (Renan [1882] 1996, p. 45) More than a century has passed, but echoes of Renan’s lecture, indicating the danger posed by historiographical writing to the construction of national identity, still linger. In 1986, several years before the so-called German reunification, historian Michael Stürmer, a personal advisor to Chancellor Helmut Kohl, voiced his fears of the historical debate then prevalent in Germany. His words were written in the intellectual climate of the West, which, in addition to discussing theoretical and meta-historical issues, questioned the nature of Germany’s historical discourse. According to Stürmer, the prevalent historical debate exemplified the problem of Germany’s fragile and precarious national identity and its lack of historical awareness. Stürmer categorically asserted that the production of different historiographical writing might facilitate the rehabilitation of German identity. In an article published in Das Parlament, Germany’s parliamentary journal, Stürmer argued that Germany’s future would be primarily determined by whoever would bestow content upon memory, constitute the historical notions, and employ them to interpret the past. Accordingly, in Stürmer’s opinion, writing history should not be left to those who are not willing to infuse it with an interpretation benefiting the German nation. How will the Germans of tomorrow see their land, the West, themselves? One may assume that the continuity will be maintained. But, this is not certain…. in a land without history, those who will fill memory, who will build the concepts and interpret the past, will [win] the future. In a land without memory, everything is possible. (my translation)

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Wie werden die Deutschen morgen ihr Land, den Westen, sich selbst sehen? Es bleibt anzunehmen, daß die Kontinuitat überwiegt. Aber sicher ist nichts…. in geschichtslosem Land [gewinnt] die Zukunft [.], wer die Erinnerung füllt, die Begriffe prägt und die Vergangenheit deutet. In einem Land ohne Erinnerung ist alles moglich. (Stürmer 1986)

The Premise The construction of a past image is by nature teleological. This has been observed by many scholars. Thus, I do not intend to prove or corroborate issues that are broadly advocated in the field, nor do I intend to cite the established arguments. It goes without saying that they form the basic premise of this study. The past image of a certain group does not emerge erratically or without reason. Invariably, a certain past image is produced through the organization of available “historical material,” and its construction is subjected to active, planned, and controlled intervention aiming to serve a variety of the group’s interests. The material becomes available just because a certain group desires its availability, for which purpose it activates various conduits and employs different agents of culture. This study also presumes that any culture is composed of a variety of repertoires,3 constructed on a series of models that organize the culture and determine the manner in which it forms its communication (see Even-Zohar 1997). The cultural repertoire is commonly based on a reservoir of models capable of functioning interchangeably. That is, each culture contains alternative models that enable the creation of different texts within a certain discourse. These presumptions are based on a set of theoretical notions, the most important of which are (1) the manipulative construction of the past image, (2) the manner in which texts are produced within a culture, and (3) the interface of reader and text. Manipulative Construction of the Past Image Our description of the manipulative construction of the past image assumes that it takes place within a regular and normative procedure and does not consider it a “conspiracy” fomented by writers joining forces to cast Germany’s past image in a certain light. Evidently, such a construction does not characterize the German discourse exclusively. Quite the contrary, such construction is most characteristic of the creation of any national past image. As in other cases, the authors’ modus operandi in the construction of the German past image involves an a priori link between the construction of the past image and its creators’ political and cultural needs. This link is behind the manipulative processing of the historical material; manipulative not in a pejorative sense, but rather as a routine feature of any creation of historical discourse. Producing Texts Within a Culture It is assumed that all texts result from a certain model. Consequently, even a text that features personal experiences is based on a certain model. The most personal experiences

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must pass through the filter of a given repertoire of cultural models and are fashioned by it. This argument runs contrary to the presumption, once held by literary researchers, that a direct and personal liaison exists between the author and the personal experiences reenacted. I therefore maintain that even when the novelists addressed in this book present their stories unquestionably as autobiographies that tell “their own truth,” they are not necessarily giving expression to their personal experiences and deep-seated emotions. Even stories presented as autobiographies are told from a predefined point of view and arrange memory in accordance with certain interests and patterns. Hence, the argument that an author describes events “as they were” in his eyes and “as he really experienced them himself” is often rhetorical and of an apologetic nature, designed to lend credibility to the narrative. The Reader-Text Dynamic The term “reader” refers not to an actual reader but to a construct that may be reconstituted. Unlike studies that assume the passive reading of a text, whereby each paragraph is treated separately, the reading process in this study is perceived as an active one. In this active reading process, the reader’s task is to reconstitute and construct the text, inter alia by defining the correlation between the text and prevalent models, and that between the text at hand and other texts in the system. The meaning of the various patterns is determined by the functions assigned to them. Therefore, the very appearance of certain elements in the text is, by itself, almost meaningless. The meaning of the textual elements is determined by their place and function, which also determine their interpretation during the reading process. In addition, the reading patterns enjoy a cumulative effect. When numerous books are read, certain repetitive patterns become dominant, which would not have been the case if the number of books had been far smaller.

The Past Image The term “past image” is used by different scholars in different ways, and it remains general and obscure because it refers to a structure derived from a bank of naturally amorphous reserves, seen by the group and its members as their “history.” For the purpose of this study, I wish to suggest the following description for the notion of “past image.” The comprehensive set of historical memories of a certain social group and each of its members, including individual, crude memory and the collective memory, as well as ihe sum total of the views of the past held by the individual, group, and nation, relating to the dimensions of space, time, and place, incorporating recent and remote time, limited and extensive dimensions, and complete and incomplete spaces. All of the foregoing are systematically patterned by processes of selection and organization of the “historical material” in accordance with continuously redefined hierarchic principles. It is their selection and their patterning

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within space, place, and time that constitute the “historical story” and grant it meaning. The past image thus gives rise to the story that the society and the individual wish to tell about themselves and about the “Other” who is intertwined with them and their fate. The past few decades have seen countless studies written about the construction of the past image. These are occupied primarily with questions of “individual” and “collective” memory, remembering and forgetting, patterns of memory organization, and the parties responsible for designing the past image and the patterns in which it is fashioned. “Individual” Memory versus “Collective” Memory The debate concerning the linkage between individual and collective memory was preceded by deliberation over the very possibility of collective memory. At first glance, the existence of “individual memory” seems to preclude “collective memory,” inasmuch as memory entails a personal, individual act of recollection. Hegel ([1807] 1909, pp. 140–141; [1837] 1928, pp. 95–99) first addressed this question, holding that personal memory is a key factor in the formation of self-awareness, a self-awareness that is fashioned within a given social environment with which it maintains firm reciprocity. In this manner, the act of personal recollection is perceived as a process that enables the connection between the individual’s worldview and memory, and also between the consensual worldview and society. Thus, the notions of “collective memory” and “individual memory” are not contradictory and even serve to balance one another. The assumption that there is an immanent bond between “collective” and “individual” memory served as a background for the development of modern, post-Hegelian discussion. These discussions focused on the complicated interaction between both types of memory, as well as that between these and the group’s past image. Most scholars regarded memory as a social institution encompassing both personal recollection and the social mechanism of collective memory. The most important breakthrough occurred when Maurice Halbwachs argued that personal memory does not derive exclusively from the personal, private memories of the recollector, but is also the product of a systematic and structured processing of the social memory by the individual, through a process of dialogue, a form of inner negotiation, with his culture’s models of recollection. Halbwachs doubted the very existence of private recollection and believed that the individual assimilates the group’s memory and can remember only within the context of his or her social group. Every crossroad of recollection adjusts itself to a certain social group, be it a family, religion, political faction, status, or nationality. Group memory responds to contemporary needs, which dictate policies of forgetting, remembering, and transgenerational transmission. Consequently, memory changes as the needs of the group change. Ever since Halbwachs launched his theory on memory, it has been perceived as a dynamic social entity playing a part in the activation and perpetuation of the past. This certainly does not mean that all members of a community share the same memory. It means, however, that in addition to the existence of different memories, a common nucleus is shared by various groups. This common nucleus results from the specific interests of the group. Furthermore, all members of a certain community share similar

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patterns of organizing memory, because these are designed to serve their vested interests (Funkenstein 1989, p. 8; Halbwachs [1925] 1992, p. 52). Remembering and Forgetting The process of forgetting exists alongside memory. Halbwachs attached primary importance to the social context of remembering and forgetting. He believed that “knowledge,” including knowledge of the past, is socially institutionalized. Changes in our knowledge of the past are adapted to changes in social needs and in the organization of society. Changes in societal organization may lead to changes in the individual or the group, concurrently designing individual memory. A society’s memory is to be found in its capacity to experience, comprehend, and take action. “Remembrance” is no more than the activation of a preexisting dynamic, whereby a picture from the past may “suit” the needs of the society, that is, become incorporated in the meaning that the society wishes to instill in it. Is forgetting the opposite of memory and of the act of remembrance, as Halbwachs argued, or are these two sides of the same coin? Halbwachs was probably correct in assigning significance to forgetting, but the two do not stand in polar opposition. Forgetting is not just a receptacle for what memory casts off. Remembering and forgetting should, rather, be seen as two sides of the same coin, one inherently determining the other (Valensi 1996, p. 9). Any recollection invariably involves forgetting and intentional repression, whereas forgetting stimulates the recollection of whatever remains. Memory and forgetting sustain each other and are codependent. Furthermore, it is often the overabundance of memory that serves as a regulator, causing the forgetting of part of the past by creating surpluses. Forgetting, like remembering, is dynamic, because society both remembers and forgets in a controlled manner. Neither is permanent. Long-forgotten events have been known to burst into the sphere of memory. Some scholars believe that repression of the past characterizes “traumatic” events, facilitating an extended period of obscurity during which accountability for the acute experiences is avoided (Valensi 1996). The consequences of repressing the past give rise to a kind of “void” that prevents the emergence of a “posttraumatic identity,” which otherwise would have the capacity to overcome the difficult episode, process it as much as possible, integrate it into the general past image, fashion its identity from it, and so on. Areas of repression invite lies and denial, as well as ad hoc imaginary adaptations with the sole objective of repressing the “trauma” (Friedlander 1992). Contrary to Valensi and Friedlander, who hold that forgetting and repression characterize mostly traumatic events, I believe that these should be seen as a common procedure of memory creation. Any process of recollection necessarily embodies forgetting, while the recollection and repression of the past are necessary phases in the general intellectual activity that organizes and processes the past while forming the historical discourse. Patterns of Memory Organization Memory is an ever-changing reservoir, reconfiguring itself in response to the needs and uses of the historical discourse, and subject to repetitive adaptations in each and every

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time period. Memory is a dynamic entity whose formative mechanism lends itself to analysis and explication—a mechanism that formulates itself out of the present and adapts itself to its current needs by forging a past image that serves those needs. The memory of past events becomes part of contemporary, shared identity and shared knowledge, and it is built as a story within the story of the event itself. Memories are set within a formative system of ideas and images that includes the views (and memories) of larger groups or collectives. Memory depends primarily on its place of creation, or, as Halbwachs puts it, on the “social frameworks” that determine its nature. Memory is a product of social construction and forms a common nucleus— termed “social memory” by Halbwachs—for relating to the group. The social frameworks of memory (les cadres sociaux de la mémoire), as in the title for Halbwachs’s book, also design the most private memories and connect these with other people. Individual memory is a component or aspect of collective memory inasmuch as the impressions and facts arising within individual memory originate in its surroundings. Although a writer may be convinced that his or her writing is based on that writer’s own individual memory, such writing is nothing more than an adaptation of the author’s reserve of individual memory to the preexisting patterns of the past image, which provides the group with its annals and specific traits. As is always the case with an historical discourse, and in spite of the fact that many authors believe that their story recounts history “as it was,” their story is ultimately the result of the interplay between the processors of raw “historical material” and the reservoir of preexisting models in the cultural repertoire, which can be described as the culture’s repertoire of “pasts.” Our perception of the past is a consequence of contemporary circumstances and does not necessarily emanate from the events themselves. The story of the past is never based on a foundation of “objective facts,” and it cannot appear “as is” without relating to the concrete and unique conditions of the present. If, as we believe, collective memory is essentially a reconstruction of the past, if it adapts the image of ancient facts to the beliefs and spiritual needs of the present, then a knowledge of the origin of these facts must be secondary, if not altogether useless, for the reality of the past is no longer in the past. (Halbwachs, cited by Schwartz 1982, p. 376) The meanings attributed by an individual are organized in accordance with structures provided by the cultural repertoire. This is a translation mechanism, of unprocessed personal experiences into a concrete discourse. This process involves pouring experiences into the preexisting patterns of the cultural repertoire, much like concrete is poured into molds when laying the foundation for a building. This is not a “free” process but a charted one in which the materials of memory are processed in accordance with the models of the culture’s recollective repertoire, which, on their part, determine the form to be assumed by the materials. Every culture possesses a reservoir of such models that are available to the individual (Even-Zohar 1990). The individual fashions his or her “personal” story by patterning it according to one of the models in the repertoire, the choice being circumscribed to a restricted number of models. Even within intimate family circles, a person’s memory is intertwined with the variety of personalities, patterns, and general concepts present in the

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collective memory of that particular family (Halbwachs [1925] 1992, p. 54). It thus follows that unprocessed private memory, even when borne in the heart of an individual, is neither the definite nor the exclusive source of a story told by an individual about the past. This story is dictated primarily by translating the story embodied by individual memory into a preexisting story that already exists in the cultural repertoire. During this process, the chaotic material undergoes organization and patterning and acquires content and characteristics, already present in the mold, to which the material is transmitted. This happens whether or not the materials were already present in the story or were annexed to it in order to meet the needs of the model, just as other materials, which might have originally been part of the “story,” were omitted for the very same reason (Lotman 1990, pp. 221–222). Unlike Halbwachs, who saw “memory” and “history” as two separate, autonomous entities, subsequent discussion acknowledged the constant interaction between the two, each defining the other. In fact, these entities are integrated and intertwined, because memory itself is “ineluctably engulfed by history” (Nora 1989, p. 18). Although Pierre Nora noted the vast differences between memory and history—“memory is absolute, while history can only conceive the relative” (1989, p. 9)—other scholars reinforced the interdependence argument, namely that history draws its material from memory, in accordance with its momentary needs, while memory seeks to find in history “the facts” of the past that occupy us in the present, form a part of our consciousness, and actively form our identity, both on the individual and the collective levels. We are both the readers and the composers of the past; words from the past fashion our narrative-based identity, telling us who we are. The telling and retelling of the events of the past make us an historical community. (Ricoeur, cited by Valensi 1996, p. 10) Who Creates the Past Image? Who creates the past image, and what is the manner in which the past image is produced and propagated? Those questions have been repeatedly discussed in the extensive research on this matter, which has pointed out that a distinction must be drawn primarily between those who are given an official mandate to formulate the historical discourse and those who participate in its creation without having acquired a mandate. Modern societies, like previous social organizations, have formally given the historian the duty of writing historiography. The historian is granted authority to interpret, process, and disseminate history; administer society’s memory; and serve as a collective “memory doctor” (Rosenstock-Huessy [1938] 1993, p. 696) or perhaps as a pathologist rather than a general practitioner (Yerushalmi 1982, p. 120). Whatever the role of the historian, it is now evident that a group’s past image is constructed not only by official historiographic texts—“history books”—but by a broad selection of texts, verbal or otherwise, that have some linkage to “history” (Lewis 1976). In addition to those who enjoy an official mandate, many others also take part in the creation of the historical discourse, including writers of newspaper articles and textbooks, producers of films and television programming, designators of street names, and curators of museums and memorial sites. Texts for children occupy a significant place in this

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regard. In every modern culture, texts for children fulfill a central role in the formation of the past image and give it expression as well. Their importance lies both in their social mandate and in their relatively simplistic poetics. The repertoire of texts for children is relatively convenient to analyze, because their educational and pedagogical objectives are more apparent and more transparent. In addition, children’s texts often function as a central, sometimes exclusive, agent between the public and what it considers “history.” Furthermore, it is precisely the unofficial texts participating in the “historical discourse” that often propagate it, more effectively and efficiently and to a wider public than the official historiographic texts (Smith 1991, p. 92). For example, the complicated sign systems displayed in museum exhibits have created a repetitive single message by the use of different types of media. In such manner, the museums become active participants in the formation of the prevalent past image. Because verbal and visual images in museums have considerable ability to create information, they often serve to establish the past image more effectively than official historiography. Various memorial efforts also play a major role in the shaping of the past image; with the ability to present the past in monument form, these efforts often wield greater power than that of the images offered in official historiography (Young 1989). Noteworthy, too, are museums of national history and ethnic history, which participate in the extensive industry of memory (Maier 1993). Through this medium, the group seeks to compose its past by the use of its own unique terminology and to gain recognition of the singularity of its history. This endeavor entails internal and external dialogue, because the group concurrently defines its active past and uses this definition to distinguish itself from other groups and societies. Furthermore, although daily discourse couples “history” with professional historians, historians have never enjoyed exclusivity as creators of the historical discourse. Official historiography (official in the sense of its institutional status) is but one of many narratives forming the past image. For example, of all the heroes mentioned in school textbooks, those who are best remembered are mainly the ones documented in other texts, literary and otherwise. The Saint Bartholomew’s Day Massacre is widely known in France thanks to Alexander Dumas’s novel La Reine Margot and the subsequent movie (Valensi 1996, p. 10). The popular entertainment industry also plays a central role in the formation of the past image (Kaes 1990). Movies about historic events shape the past image no less, and perhaps more, than official historiography. By creating a rich reservoir of visual images, movies shape viewers’ conceptions of the past. Past events are patterned and molded into structured patterns, and thus they interpret national and global history for the audience. The movies almost always produce, organize, and create the past image by a process of homogenization and harmonization that eases its reception. Their repertoire of images also feeds the historical discourse and often perpetuates its central models. This is a circular process: the movies are based on the bank of images already created by cinema, and while referring to it they reconstitute the stock of visual images. Creators of the historical discourse never provide “cold” or “neutral” knowledge of the past but actively take part in the processing and reprocessing of the “historical material.” They give expression to certain types of knowledge about the past, thereby contributing to the transmission of the past image throughout the community. Their “story of history” is not a testimony to the past but a simulation of it, and its task is to provide the society’s contemporary needs and interests. The past becomes active—a continually replenishing

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accumulation of readily available images in the continual present. During the process of activating the past, the repertoires comprising the past models, as well as the construction of its story, undergo change, but the complex relations with the past remain consistent.

The Social Role of the Past Image Although modern research tends to attribute the enlistment of the historical discourse to modern social and political interests influencing the rise of nationalism in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Europe, it is evident that the historical discourse has been instrumental for much longer. The inaccurate presentation of the enlisted discourse as a modern phenomenon may result from the fact that nowadays the control over the historical discourse has become acknowledged and has been the focus of sociopolitical power struggles between the hegemonic group attempting to impose its own image of the past, often as being exclusive, and other groups wishing to assert their own discourse. Groups struggling for identity always try to procure a past and a history of their own (Lewis 1975a, pp. 8,12–13). Viewing the processing of memory by means of the historical discourse as one of a nation’s dynamic assets, and understanding that questions of history and memory do not pertain to historians alone but to the public and the political discourse as a whole, have formed the basis of many public discussions in every society struggling for its identity. The intensive reprocessing of the past has characterized mainly national movements. These were occupied with the search for the past, its rediscovery and reinterpretation, and the enlistment of the historical discourse for the reshaping of public feelings concerning the past, for reasons rooted in the present (Smith 1991). Even if the past, by definition, is deemed to be an unchanging constant, our perception of the past is not only variable but inherently dynamic and in a perpetual state of flux. As historian Marc Bloch stated, “the past is, by definition, a datum which nothing in the future will change. But the knowledge of the past is something progressive which is constantly transforming and perfecting itself” (Bloch 1953, p. 58). In other words, current research presumes that the nature of the past is active and variable and that, instead of only one past, we sustain several active “pasts.” The past is seen as a “useable past,” a variegated stockpile whose stock is repeatedly displayed for sale and as such serves the capacity of an historical repertoire (Shavit 1990, pp. 57–58; Shavit 1992, p. 425). This repertoire is active and dynamic, and its use makes possible the historical discourse, the writing of historiography, and the construction of the group’s image of the past. The various societal groups are able to reconstruct their past at any moment. The past is not a fixed and given entity but is processed and reconstructed time and again. While reconstructing the past, the human mind is influenced by its current social environment. The contemplative memory (i.e., dreamlike memory forming what was seen by Halbwachs as the mold least contaminated by social involvement, consisting of “images” that are inherently different from “memories”) ostensibly offers an escape from society— recollection involves early memories that belong to the recollector alone. However, distancing oneself from society is impossible except by relocating to another human

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environment, inasmuch as the recollector’s memory is populated by familiar personages. Society may indeed be evaded, but only at the price of relocating to another society. Modern research is rife with examples of how new European nations were engaged in the creation of their own past images. The historical knowledge, in terms of nineteenthcentury positivistic thinking, played a central role in the process of shaping national identity. In various processes of the emergence of nationalism, a nation’s past image became the central means by which the nation understood itself and gave meaning to the present and future. The knowledge produced by various historiographic narratives of early national development in Europe was associated with the nations’ self-images and the manner in which they wished to view themselves. Past events were written and rewritten and were made to yield heroes and heroic events, communal traditions and social cohesion, democratic legacies, socialism, and liberalism—all in accordance with the society’s contemporary needs. This deliberate and premeditated process characterized various groups that were seeking to create their own histories, or their own “traditions,” either partially or by inventing them entirely. This is often achieved by creating an image of “continuity” (Hobsbawm 1983a, p. 2), but in many other instances it involves an attempt to shatter or suppress the “continuity” or doom it to oblivion. Various components are called on to contribute to the creation of the images of the past—the invention of ceremonies, various rituals, and history of language; construction of historical mythologies by mythologizing historical figures; and the immortalization of constitutive “historical” events. Here is not the place to name even a few of the examples provided by many different scholars, but it is worth noting that a number of studies have focused on various aspects involved in the formation of the historical discourse: reciprocity between remembering and forgetting (on the “Battle of Alcazar,” see Valensi 1996); invention of a history for the sake of the creation of a national language (on the Welsh language, see Morgan 1983); formation of events and personalities as cultural heroes (on the attempts at inventing tradition in the French Third Republic and in the German Empire during the thirty-year period preceding World War I, see Hobsbawm 1983b). All of these studies indicate the existence of planned activity directed at the formation of the past image. In other words, these studies demonstrate the central role played by the historical discourse in the general everyday conversation of a modern society. The historical discourse has a hand both in daily, trivial conversation and in the exchange of ideas that is at the heart of the questions on the public agenda. It has spread far beyond the defined boundaries of historiography, providing the notions that organize the present and often set the tone of public opinion and shape both public and private policy.

Strategies and Techniques for Constructing the Image of the Past A number of theories and analyses have been proposed regarding methods of constructing the image of the past. Often, too often to my mind, attempts have been made to explain these methods by means of a single, inclusive principle. Instead of clinging to one such principle, I propose to briefly address several notions that recur in the theoretical and methodological studies, particularly those relating to the question of

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language and its representational capacity, the question of memory and its correlation to the activization of history, and the question of perspective and “plot construction.” Language Tempting as it may be to attribute memory processing to the structure of human language, careful analysis shows that any such attempt is futile. Even Peter Haidu’s proposal to consider the character of a language as the basis for relating certain meanings to specific memories, whereby language serves to create the impression of an experience, bears the mark of past experiences. The meaning of past experiences is necessarily instilled in the records of the present, and accordingly every verbal expression, even the naming of an event, may embody theological, historical, political, rhetorical, and philosophical meaning (Haidu 1992). Consider, for example, the debate over names for the events of the Third Reich: “Final Solution” indicates that the Jews represented a social, political, and ethical problem that had to be solved; “Holocaust” rings of disaster and catastrophe, and it presents the Jews as willing victims. In light of this, Haidu himself prefers to use the term “the Event.” Even this attempt does not make it possible to portray the Holocaust by a nonaligned term, however, because the term chosen by Haidu, like any other term that could be chosen for this purpose, would immediately be associated with various charged meanings. In fact, it is Haidu himself who rules out the possibility of selecting nonaligned terminology, except perhaps by means of neologisms—clearly an impractical solution—and even then the terms may quickly become charged with meaning. Haidu’s work demonstrates the futility of the attempt to “cleanse” language of its previous load. Nevertheless, he calls our attention to the need to recognize the linguistic load as a component necessarily participating in the formation of any discourse, including historiography writing and the historical discourse. Memory The question of the social role of memory seems more promising. This question became particularly productive with the proposal of French sociologist Maurice Halbwachs that memory be seen as a fluid entity fulfilling social functions. However, Halbwachs’s breakthrough did not suffice to make recognition of the instrumental nature of memory into a term of art. Fruitful theoretical development was unattainable, so long as the various conceptions of memory presumed that past events were “absolute” and “real.” It was the sociological discussion that posed questions concerning the relationship between the choice and rendition of the described events, on the one hand, and contemporary matters responsible for such processes, on the other hand, which extricated the field from this naïve conception. Sociological study focused on the reasons for the affiliation of various phases of social development with certain historical periods, and it sought to explain how the desired meanings for these specific phases were found. Scholars have maintained that, within the processes of memory processing, time is seen no longer as a linear continuum but as a process in which the recollected events are elevated above the regular historical continuum, imbued with meaning originating in the present and granted a special place in the portrayal of the past (Cottle 1976; Gurvitch

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[1963] 1967). Although such an event, associated with the fundamental values of the remembering society, is rooted in the past, its meaning is derived not only from a succession of events, but also from the link to contemporary events. Discourse Structure and the Past Image Awareness of the manner whereby the notion of time serves to construct the past image contributed to the growing recognition of the discourse structure’s significance. As a result, and by incorporating theoretical concepts of the study of texts, various scholars began to emphasize certain aspects of the discourse structure. Particular attention was paid to the perspective from which the discourse was written and on its emplotment (White 1992). The narrator’s perspective was perceived as the factor that most determines the treatment of the situation (LaCapra 1992, p. 110), principally in the case of a traumatic event followed by delayed historical comprehension (Caruth 1991, p. 187). For example, the point of view of the cinematic narrator has been attributed to a specific national affiliation; the character of the German television series Heimat has been attributed to the point of view of German memory, and Claude Lanzmann’s film Shoah to the Jewish point of view (Bartov 1993, pp. 95–96). Despite the importance of perspective, it seems worthwhile to remember that this is but one component in a series of patterns that organize the historical discourse, as is evident in a variety of theoretical studies, including Hayden White’s groundbreaking study that showed that different types of historical stories led historians to seek different types of “facts” and different emplotments. As an illustration for his argument concerning the various methods of emplotment of an historical event, White analyzes the writings of Jules Michelet and Alexis de Tocqueville on the French Revolution (White 1974). Although White apparently refers directly to the component of emplotment only, he is in fact describing how the historical discourse results from preexisting models and depends a priori on a series of patterns that organize “reality” (which he calls “tropes”). In fact, by so doing, White describes a conglomerate of components on which the model or models of the historical discourse are built. Among these components White counts the structure of expression, textual continuum, protagonists and their characterization, the kind of language used in their portrayal, the introduction of events to the foreground or the background, and so on (see also Vidal-Naquet 1992, pp. 110–111). White’s work, as well as other semiotic studies such as those of Even-Zohar (1990) and Lotman (1990), indicate that the modes of constructing an historical discourse (as in the construction of any other discourse) involve the translation of a specific experience into a preexisting cultural repertoire. In fact, the more institutionalized the culture is, the more inflexible and fixed its models are, to the extent of being almost totally detached from the “real” world. In other words, although a certain relationship exists between what the writer observes and what he or she chooses to present, the two do not necessarily overlap. All texts produced within a certain culture fail to report certain phenomena to which their writers were exposed; conversely, they do present phenomena that did not exist in the reality being portrayed. Although it may run contrary to our perceptions and emotions about the individual and one’s self-expression, we must recognize that, when determining the world to be presented, the choice depends less on the world selected for presentation and more on the models that were chosen for this specific presentation.

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Conclusion This chapter analyzes the fact that all parties to the construction of the historical discourse function within their immediate community as well as within the wider community and in the context of the latter’s political-intellectual-social objectives. Also evident is that the shaping of the past has become one of the most important assets of the group engaged in remembering (Hobsbawm 1983a, p. 13). Thus, the past is not simply constructed once and forever. Society chooses to remember certain events, to be reminded of others, and to exclude yet others, because it finds in certain events specific meanings that best suit its purposes. Such events are selected from among countless others, documented, studied, and put into writing, then instituted, disseminated, and popularized. Historians and other agents of the historical discourse observe the past from a safe distance. Their study of the past does not only produce knowledge, however; it also contributes toward the construction and transmission of memory. To Dan Diner’s contention that the historian’s choice of a methodology or perspective for writing is not a “scientific” decision, but a duplication of the attributes of memory (Diner 1990, pp. 84– 86), I wish to add that this is not solely a scientific choice. Those involved in the construction of the historical discourse on the Third Reich and National Socialism, like the historians of any other period, are necessarily obligated to a certain position regarding the events they portray and the kinds of memory active in the discourse, and they are linked to certain communities bearing these collective memories. It is under these circumstances that the historians form the historical discourse. Even if this question comprises a moral dimension, I do not believe this is the place to address it. The question of whether genocidal politics may serve as a case study for identifying the means for defining the social responsibility of the humanities, as a discipline that produces certain “knowledge” (White 1982, pp. 131–133), warrants a separate study. The present study is limited to the question of the strategies employed in historical novels for children and young adults published in West Germany for the purpose of constructing the German past image. Despite the massive interest in the theoretical questions of constructing the image of the past, there has been little detailed analysis of the “story” chosen to be told, and particularly the strategies used for its composition. This question—that of the strategies constructing the past image and the type of historical story they make possible—is the focal point of the rest of this book. This is addressed by analyzing the manner of the construction of the German past image in dozens of children’s historical novels, both original and translated works.

Part II Strategies in the Construction of the “Story”

Thus far, we have seen that the past image portrayed in German-language historical novels and stories is based on a series of keys used in the formation of the “story” of the past. In Part II of this book, I discuss the main strategies that formulate the story of the past in these novels, such as misplacement of elements; contraction of the boundaries of the Third Reich; applications of fictive, temporal, and geographical boundaries; opposition between lews and Germans, between Germans and Nazis, and between Nazis and pseudo-Nazis; and the analogy between lews and Nazis.

Chapter Four “Present, But Not in Place” Misplacement of Elements The story of the Third Reich comprises predictable elements that are expected to appear in a certain sequence and in preexisting clusters that are almost automatic. Such automation means that the appearance of elements in a given story singles it out as a “story of the Third Reich and the Holocaust.” Concentration camps, terror, persecution of minorities, torture and molestation of innocent human beings, executions, transports by freight trains and trucks—all are perceived as being part of this story. The historical novels and short stories analyzed for our project indeed included these elements and can therefore be seen as texts dealing with the Third Reich and the Holocaust. However, when scrutinizing them and when studying the contexts in which these elements appear, as well as when studying the clusters in which they are organized, the impression fades; the elements are dissociated from their immediate and evident historical context and are introduced into other contexts instead. The elements are also detached from their immediate and evident sequences and are placed in different ones. Only a few of the elements are placed in their original groups; several groups are disassembled and dispersed throughout the text, thereby shattering their original pattern. The elements are then arranged in new clusters and are portrayed by features that are less characteristic of the Third Reich, not by the features that inherently characterize them in the original context. Consequently, elements typical of the immediate discourse on the Third Reich and the Holocaust do appear in the texts, but they are hardly ever placed where they belong. The different contexts, the incompleteness of the series, and the detachment of the chain of elements and of the association with other clusters all serve to assign the elements a different meaning than the one they originally had in their immediate historical discourse. Nevertheless, the “story” persists in maintaining the “historical” veneer imparted to it. Consider the following elements, for example: trains, trucks, transports, and deportations; concentration camps; executions and extermination, rape, forbidden love, stories of refuge, and abuse and persecution.

Trains, Trucks, Transports, and Deportations Trains and trucks mentioned in these novels and short stories, in the context of the Third Reich, recall primarily transports to extermination camps; military trains may also appear but are usually secondary to the death trains. Depictions of trains would be expected to

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feature the deportations of whole populations, the rigors of travel and deportees being robbed of their humanity, as well as a description of the destinations—concentration and extermination camps. The texts are in fact replete with descriptions of transports—the movement of people under subhuman conditions in freight trains, cattle cars, and trucks. Such portrayals of the transports could have appeared verbatim in any story about the journey to the extermination camps, where the passengers would have been Jews or members of another oppressed minority. And yet, in most of the descriptions in these stories, the suffering masses are not Jews being shipped to extermination camps, but Germans. Wendelgard von Staden’s Nacht über dem Tal, for example, describes a train carrying the prisoners toward the camp in the valley where they are put to forced labor. This is not the reason that the train was nicknamed “the devil train,” however; the name derived from the locals’ aversion to technological innovation at the time it was built. The railroad tracks are described within the context of a pastoral representation of the valley (“Tal”) and the violation of the peaceful lives of its inhabitants, not within the context of the labor camp. The book fails to relate how Jewish prisoners were brought to the labor camp over the same tracks, only how the local people arrived. This small line, which ran by our village on its way between Vaihingen and the main railway station, was built because the people of Vaihingen were afraid of the big black “devil train,” as they called it. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 11) Es war der Zubringerzug von der Stadt Vaihingen an der Enz zum Reichsbahnhof….den die Bürger—als die Eisenbahnlinie gebaut wurde— weit vom Ort entfernt errichteten, um moglichst wenig mit der “Teufelsbahn” zu tun zu haben. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 10) Other stories describe the Germans’ appalling journeys, sometimes during the war but usually in the postwar period. Nöstlinger’s “Zuckerschlecker” (“Candy Cane”) in the Damals war ich vierzehn (When I Was Fourteen) collection relates the perils of a journey undertaken by the narrator’s mother when she returns to Vienna after visiting her injured father in Warsaw. The story describes railcars overflowing with injured soldiers and an exhausting journey lasting four days (p. 66). Wolf Harranth’s story in the same collection, “Ich weiß noch, wie das war” (“I Still Remember How It Was”), features a four-year-old boy who is certain that his parents have been killed and that he is alone in the world. The story tells of the terrible overcrowding in the train he boards and the biting cold in the windowless railcars (p. 87). Nie wieder ein Wort davon? (Dont Say a Word) describes the great distress pervading the train platform at war’s end—penniless refugees waiting for trains, confusion and confused people, children crying, shouting, and commotion (p. 166 [156]). Mensch, Karnickel (Goodness, Rabbit) offers an account of young Karnickel’s survival, as he learns to live behind walls and barbed-wire fences in an indifferent state of mind at best, and in hatred at worst, and as he sufffers from hunger and learns to subsist on grass, leaves, and the flesh of birds (p. 23). Krücke begins with a description of a train platform in Germany following the end of the war, where Thomas loses his mother in the horrible commotion and is nearly trampled by the pressing crowds.

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My mother disappeared suddenly. I lost her. We had to leave Brünn. We were trying to come here. To Vienna. To Aunt Wanda. We had been waiting for the train in Kolin for a long time. When it came, the people began shoving something terrible, and someone held onto me. They just about trampled me to the ground. Suddenly Mother was gone…. someone dragged me into the car. (Crutches, p. 3) Meine Mutter war plötzlich verschwunden. Ich hab sie verloren. Wir haben in Kolin lange auf den Zug gewartet. Als er dann kam, drängelten die Leute gemein, und jemand hielt mich fest. Die hätten mich beinahe umgetrampelt. Plötzlich war Mutter weg…. mich [riß] jemand in den Wagen. (Krücke, p. 9 p. 9) All of the evident elements of transport portrayal are featured here: displacement, commotion, crowds, confusion, shouting and loss, as well as people being shoved aboard trains against their will. This description of a transport does not relate to the Jews, however, but is appropriated for the purpose of depicting German suffering. After their stay in Vienna, Krücke wishes to take Thomas back home. (Krücke is a soldier hobbling along on crutches, whose real name is not given throughout the book. He adopts the boy who has lost his mother and helps him survive the last days of the war.) Krücke describes the horrors of the freight train they rode from Vienna to Germany, with hundreds of people crowded into the cars like animals. Thomas cannot believe that so many people can be loaded into one railcar; women, children, and babies are forced to travel in subhuman conditions for many days; passengers suffer from terrible cold, diarrhea, stench, and the sound of crying babies; the adults’ unceasing complaints fall on deaf ears of those responsible for the journey, who pay no attention. The trip was to have ended within a few days, but instead it lasts many weeks. The overcrowding and poor conditions cause Thomas and Krücke to fight like animals for a bit of breathing room, and other passengers are deprived of their humanity. The stench in the car becomes unbearable. The passengers look after themselves and think of others less. Each one seeks to defend the small area he is allocated. Bitter fights are commonplace. The author, Peter Härtling, describes how the situation aboard the train becomes worse and worse. He emphasizes the confusion, the stench, the hunger, and the disease. The discomfort of the first few days is subsequently replaced by disease, severe depression, and deterioration of the passengers’ condition almost to the point of death; no assistance is offered, and the passengers are ignorant of the purpose of the journey. The platform was packed with a limitless sea of people. Thomas couldn’t imagine that they could all fit into one train…. The train came in. An endless line of freight cars, on which large numbers had been written in chalk…. “They’ll call us, Tom, together with the number of the car we’re assigned to. Then you grab both our things, run there as fast as you can, get into the boxcar, and spread out the quilts. In a corner, if you get there in time.” (Crutches, pp. 84, 85) Auf der Plattform drängte sich eine unüberschaubare Menschenmenge. Thomas könnte es sich nicht vorstellen, daß sie alle in einen Zug paßten…. Der Zug fuhr ein. Eine endlose Reihe von Güterwagen, auf die

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mit Kreide große Zahlen geschrieben standen…. Sie werden uns aufrufen, Tom, samt der Nummer des Waggons, dem wir zugeteilt sind. Dann packst du unsere beide Decken, spritzt los, so schnell du kannst, enterst den Wagen und breitest die Decke aus. Wenn du gut dran bist, in einer Ecke. (Krücke, pp. 81, 82) It grew colder from day to day. Many were shivering and kept breaking into complaints about the terrible circumstances; the small children howled, when they weren’t asleep from exhaustion. The big sliding door stayed closed, although it stankhorribly in the car…. People got diarrhea. Since the train command took no notice of the needs of individuals and the train couldn’t keep stopping all the time, those who were hard pressed had to use a coal bucket for a latrine. (Crutches, pp. 88–89) Von Tag zu Tag wurde es kälter. Viele froren, brachen immer wieder in Klagen über die üblen Zustände aus; die kleinen Kinder heulten, wenn sie nicht vor Erschöpfung schliefen. Die große Schiebetür blieb geschlossen, obwohl es im Wagen entsetzlich stank…. Die Leute bekamen Durchfall. Da die Zugleitung auf die Bedärfnisse einzelner keine Rücksicht nehmen und der Zug nicht standig anhalten könnte, mußten sich die Bedrängten eines Klo-Eimers bedienen. (Krücke, pp. 86–87) The cramped space led to quarrels, the stink led to quarrels. Everyone got on everyone else’s nerves…The mood in Car 7 sank to zero—like the temperature outside. Nearly all the children had fevers, and were wrapped like mummies in coats and blankets. One of the old men, Grandpa Bednarz, lay dying. Nobody knew, not even the transport command, when or where the train would arrive. (Crutches, pp. 89, 96) Die Enge führte zu Krach, der Gestank führte zu Krach. Jeder reagierte überempfindlich gegen jeden…Die Stimmung im Wagen sieben sank auf Null—wie die Temperatur draußen. Beinahe alle Kinder fieberten, eingemummt in Mäntel und Decken. Einer der alten Männer, Opa Bednarz, lag im Sterben. Keiner wufite, auch die Transportleitung nicht, wann und wo der Zug je ankommen werde. (Krücke, pp. 87, 93) In Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten (The Time of the Young Soldiers), the soldiers and civilians fleeing the Eastern front in a Denmark-bound ferry lose all semblance of humanity and are forced to relieve themselves in public (pp. 125–126 [141–142]). The book Wir werden uns wiederfinden describes a transport of Germans expelled from the Sudetenland at the end of the war. The refugees are first loaded onto trucks and later reach an abandoned, dusty factory in which they are to spend the night. The armed guards at the entrance instruct them to leave their baggage in one room, and in the morning they find that all of their belongings have been stolen. They must spend the remainder of the journey in cattle cars, into which soldiers rudely push them. That the narrator chooses to adhere to the perspective of the passengers, who are unable to believe what is happening, accentuates the horror they experience:

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When a train arrived, we thought: this one can’t be it; it was a freight train with cars that usually carried cattle. But the train stopped, the soldiers flung the cars’ heavy doors aside and urged us to enter. (my translation) Als ein Zug einfuhr, dachten wir, dieser kann es nicht sein; es war ein Güterzug mit Waggons, in denen sonst das Vieh transportiert wurde. Aber er hielt, die Soldaten schoben die schweren Waggontüren zur Seite und trieben uns zum Einsteigen an. (Wir werden uns wiederfinden, p. 75) Das Jahr der Wölfe describes the escape of the Bienmann family from the East. The family arrives at the Polish administration zone and is expelled along with other refugees. The text tells how the family is loaded onto a cattle car and depicts the refugees’ great suffering during the journey. Apart from not being told of their destination, they also suffer terribly from the overcrowding and thirst. They are forced to part with valuable objects such as a gold watch in return for a pitcher of water. The first of the cattle trucks was already crammed with people. The sliding doors hadbeen left open a mere crack…. Presently it seemed as if there were no more room. “It’s full in here,” said Hubert to the soldiers. “Full? Rubbish! Everyone’s got to get in, everyone.”… Before Hubert could do anything, [the churn with the water] was empty, and then, there was another burst of fire from the machine-gun. Wearily, the disappointed people returned to their places. A few were crying tears of despair. Hubert went up to the Polish soldier, “Please allow us to fetch another churnful.” “No,” said the Pole in his usual quiet, courteous voice. (The Year of the Wolves, pp. 187,192) Die ersten Viehwagen waren vollgestopft mit Menschen. Die Schiebetüren standen nur einen Handbreit auf…. Schließlich schien ihnen der Platzzu eng zu werden. “Hier ist besetzt,” sagte Hubertus zu den Soldaten. “Besetzt? Alle miissen hinein, alle.”… Ehe Hubertus [die Kanne] greifen könnte, war sie leergelaufen. Zugleich ratterte das Maschinengewehr. Ermattet setzten sich die Leute wieder. Einige weinten verzweifelt. Hubertus bat den Polen: “Bitte lassen Sie uns noch eine Kanne Wasser holen.” Der Pole antwortete kurz: “Nein.” (Dasjahr der Wölfe, pp. 206–207, 213) Sybil Gräfin Schönfeldt’s Sonderappell. 1945—ein Mädchen berichtet (Special Roll Call. 1945—A Girl Reports) describes Charlotte’s journey to the Reichsarbeitsdienst (RAD; Reich Labor Service), where young girls were sent. The book focuses on the difficult traveling conditions in chilly weather and the long trip in special railcars. During Charlotte’s second trip, while escaping from the Russians, the book details the rigors undergone by the girls in cattle cars, in which they had to sleep on fetid hay and dung. Crying and cursing are constantly heard in the darkened cars. Special train. Collective transport. Unheated…. They traveled throughout night and day.

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…the person in charge of the rail transport…moved from car to car until, finally, he opened a cattle car for them, which still had straw and hay on its floor. They climbed into the car and the door was locked behind them…. Curses and cries, and constantly just a faint light like in a cellar, which came in through ventilation shafts, up there below the roof. (my translation) Sonderzug. Sammeltransport. Ungeheizt…Sie rollten durch Nacht und durch Tag. (Sonderappell, pp. 12,15) …der Zugbegleiter…ging Wagen für Wagen ab, bis er ihnen endlich einen Viehwagen aufsperrte, auf dem Boden noch Stroh und Mist, sie stiegen ein, und die Tür wurde hinter ihnen verriegelt…. Flüche und Gejammer, und immer nur ein Licht wie im Keller, das durch die Luftklappen hoch oben unter dem Dach drang. (Sonderappell, pp. 144) Ilse Koehn’s book, first published in English as Mischling Second Degree. My Childhood in Nazi Germany, then translated into German under the title Mischling zweiten Grades. Kindheit in der Nazizeit, describes the horrific journey that Ilse endured en route to a girls’ evacuation camp. All elements of the transport to the concentration camps are present—separation from family, the difficult journey to the camps, hunger and thirst and the starvation of the travelers, deception about the journey’s destination, the rigors of the trip, and even the explicit use of such words as “trapped” and “transport.” Im roten Hinterhaus depicts future soldiers being taken to their camp and employs the words “Sonderzug” (“special train”), “Leidensgenosse” (“partners in suffering”), and “verfrachtete” (“transported”) (p. 130). Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten describes troop shipments by train, using the name “Transport” (p. 12 [14]). The soldiers themselves are shown as indifferent and terribly fatigued. The narrator later gives an account of the horrific trainride following his enlistment, describing the severe cold and acute exhaustion (p. 48 [49]). The German retreat from the Eastern front is narrated nearly in death-march terms. The soldiers fall victim to hunger and suffer arduous marches; they are refused again and again in their request for a bit of food, receiving at best only horsemeat sausages (pp. 114–115 [128–129]). In his letter to his mother and sister in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, Hans describes the suffering of soldiers riding in woefully overcrowded trains. The journey is never-ending due to the frequent stopping, and the tired soldiers know no rest in the cramped quarters. Das Jahr der Wölfe depicts a transport of fourteen-year-old boys being drafted into the army, knowing that death awaits the end of their journey. That was some trip! A fast train from Berlin to Posen (250 km) takes 4½ hours. And we? We stopped more than we went. After a good twelve hours of traveling, we finally got to Posen. Naturally we didn’t get much sleep on that superovercrowded train. (Dont Say a Word, p. 133) Das war vielleicht eine Reise! Ein D-Zug braucht von Berlin bis Posen (250 km) 41/2 Stunden. Und wir? Wir hielten mehr, als daß wir fuhren.Nach gut zwölf Stunden Fahrt kamen wir endlich in Posen an. Geschlafen haben wir in dem viel zu vollen Zug natürlich überhaupt nicht. (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, p. 126)

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A convoy of lorries had halted by the roadside. Here and there, the tired eyes of children peered through gaps in the awnings…. Georg [Warczak in the original] leaned out and beckoned to Konrad. “Please,” he begged, “give this to my brother Bruno. I shan’t be needing it much longer.” He pressed his wrist-watch into Konrad’s hand and smiled. (The Year of the Wolves, pp. 21–22) Eine Lastwagenkolonne stand am Rande der Straße. Hier und da schauten miide Kinderaugen durch die Spalte des Verdecks…Warczak beugte sich weit heraus und winkte Konrad heran. “Gib die meinem Bruder, Bruno, bitte, ich werde sie wohl nicht mehr lange brauchen.” Er drückte Konrad seine Armbanduhr in die Hand. (Das Jahr der Wölfe, pp. 28,29) Er hieß Jan (A Night in Distant Motion) by Irina Korschunow tells of the arrest of a hiding army deserter, and of his subsequent bitter fate. The description uses familiar elements from stories about Jews who hid and were thencaptured and sent to the camps. The prisoner marches towards a waiting car, his head low, between soldiers standing with weapons at the ready. The jeep stopped…. The soldiers jumped out. Two ran into Krusehof, two remained at the gate, guns ready in their hands…. I saw the young man who was walking between the two soldiers. They held him fast, he had lowered his head…. The soldiers shoved him into the jeep. (A Night in Distant Motiony p. 131) Der Wagen hielt…Die Soldaten sprangen heraus. Zwei liefen in den Krusehof, zwei blieben vor dem Tor stehen, die Gewehre schufibereit in den Händen…ich sah den jungen Mann, der zwischen den beiden Soldaten ging. Sie hielten ihn fest, er hätte den Kopf gesenkt…Die Soldaten schoben ihn in den Kübelwagen…. (Er hieß Jan, pp. 101,102) The popular theme of refugees and expulsion is often associated with stories of the transports and meticulous descriptions of the crude treatment of refugees. Peter Härtling describes in Krücke how the refugees were removed from the rail cars at the border, inspected, disinfected, and interrogated. In Stern ohne Himmel Leonie Ossowski describes the disinfecting of a dormitory immediately after a large contingent of German refugees had departed—not Jewish prisoners, but German refugees. After the last refugees had left their quarters, the classrooms and halls had to be cleaned for the coming night. Trash and garbage were collected in a bucket, Jähde even demanded that they wash everything down with disinfectant. (Star Without a Sky, p. 159) Nachdem die letzten Flüchtlinge ihr Nachtquartier verlassen hatten, mußten Klassen und Gänge für die nachste Nacht gesäbert werden. Papier und Abfall wurden in Eimer gesammelt, Jähde verlangte sogar, daß mit einem Desinfektionsmittel gewischt werden sollte. (Stern ohne Himmel, pp. 126–127)

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The border people had had plenty of practice. The people were dispatched with a speed that took their breath away. Their names were called over a loudspeaker. Then they hurried through a slalom in which they were disinfected, examined, interrogated, and validated. (Crutches, p. 103) Die Grenzer hatten Übung. Sie wurden in einer Geschwindigkeit abgefertigt, die ihnen den Atem verschlug. Über den Lautsprecher wurden ihre Namen aufgerufen. Dann hetzten sie auch schon durch einen Slalom, in dem gereinigt, ausgefragt, gepriift und bestätigt wurde. (Krücke, pp. 98–99) Expulsion of the refugees in these texts replaces the expulsion of the Jews. The analogy between Jews and Germans begins in Wir werden uns wiederfinden with the relinquishment of their property. The plight of the expelled refugee is depicted in full, yet he is not a Jew, nor is any other refugee Jewish. The narrator’s mother must undergo an awful journey to Trautenau in order to hand over her husband’s office (p. 54). The text contains all the elements characteristic of stories of Jewish refugees—relinquishment of property; fear; attempts to deceive the soldiers; the confrontation at a guest house, apparently owned by Germans, which burns down; the fear of nighttime travel, which was prohibited to Germans; and rejection of the request to stay the night. Later, a description of the fate of the refugees is proffered—the suddenness of expulsion, theft from citizens who remain penniless, and labor camps. It was said that in some places the Germans had already been expelled. It was said that the Germans would go to labor camps. It was said that the Germans were not allowed to take anything with them, only the bundle they could carry. It was said that Beneš, the Czech president, had ordered the expulsion of all Germans from Czechoslovakia, and that their houses, gardens, fields, animals, and everything else would be taken from them. (my translation) Es hieß, in manchen Gegenden seien die Deutschen bereits ausgewiesen worden. Es hieß, die Deutschen kommen in Arbeitslager. Es hieß, die Deutschen diirfen nichts mitnehmen, nur das Bündel, das sie tragen können. Es hieß, Benesch, der tschechische Staatspräsident, habe befohlen, alle Deutschen aus der Tschechoslowakei auszuweisen, ihnen die Häuser, Gärten, Felder, Tiere und alle Sachen wegzunehmen. (Wir werden uns wiederfinden, p. 55) Concurrently, the story of Jewish refugees rebuffed when trying to flee from Germany is substituted by the story of German refugees unable to find a place for themselves. Germany didn’t welcome the prospect of absorbing numerous refugees, and therefore the train carrying Krücke and Thomas, for example, continued traveling for many months. It was traveling in a circle, it was said; no place in Germany wanted to take in the refugees. (Crutches, p. 96)

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Er fahre im Kreis, hieß es, kein Ort in Deutschland wolle die Flüchtlinge aufnehmen. (Krücke, p. 93) Stories of Jewish transports are hardly ever introduced (excluding a fundamentally different presentation of trains in the alternative discourse, in the books written by Gudrun Pausewang and Clara Asscher-Pinkhof; see Part IV of this book). The few depictions of trains carrying Jews are sparse and are presented from an external point of view. In Stern ohne Himmel, eight-year-old Willi encounters a freight train carrying prisoners (evidently they are Jews, but this is not expressly indicated) and innocently opens the door to allow them a little air. The book provides a lengthy description of Willi standing before the closed rail cars, listening to the people’s pleas for him to open the doors. Nothing is described but the stench emanating from the car when Willi releases the bolt a little. The story then focuses on what happened to Willi after he grants the prisoners’ request, and the terrible beating he suffers at the hands of his father (pp. 138– 139 [108–109]). In Käthe Recheis’s Geh heim und vergiß alles (Go Home and Forget Everything), originally published under the title Das Schattenhetz (The Net of Shadows) the description of the Jews’ journey to death is replaced by that of a train to salvation and life. Although the book depicts Jews being transported in cattle cars, they are not being transported by Germans to their slaughter. Instead, the Austrians are taking them on a journey aimed at saving them as the war came to an end. The rail car was not loaded with hay or straw or fresh grass. Its cargo belonged here, in the barracks. These were sick Jews who had been found somewhere, in the fields, on the streets, in the barns. (my translation) Der Wagen war nicht mit Heu oder Stroh oder frischem Gras beladen. Seine Last gehörte hierher in die Baracken. Es waren kranke Juden, die man irgendwo gefunden hätte, in den Feldern, auf den Straßen, in den Scheunen. (Geh heim und vergiß alles, p. 16) The freight trains are usually mentioned in the context of German soldiers and German refugees, as well as in contexts that transpose the trains to other venues, thus assigning them a different meaning and role. In The Devil in Vienna by Doris Orgel (translated into German as Der Teufel in Wien), the Nazi father threatens to send his daughter “on the next train back to Munich” if she disobeys his orders (p. 145). Trains are mentioned twice in Hans Peter Richter’s Damals war es Friedrich. At first, the children play with the German boy’s train; later, a toy train is described in the context of the Jews’ a priori advantage over the Germans. The children visit a Jewish department store where Friedrich’s father is now the director of the toy department, after having been dismissed from his previous job as a government clerk. During their visit they are allowed to play with a sophisticated electric train. I…got the train out of the toy cupboard. Friedrich handed me the rails and I fitted them together. Then we set up the cars…e platform was one enormous train set. Rails led over mountains and through valleys. Several

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trains could run at the same time and stop one after the other at the toy station. (Friedrich, pp. 4, 57) Ich…holte die Eisenbahn aus dem Spielzeugschrank. Friedrich reichte mir die Schienen an, und ich setzte sie zusammen. Dann stellten wir die Wagen auf…Auf dieser Platte war eine Eisenbahn aufgebaut. Die Schienen liefen durch Berge und Täler. Mehrere Züge konnten gleichzeitig fahren und hintereinander beim Spielzeugbahnhof halten. (Damals war es Friedrich, pp. 11–12, 52) Krücke’s secondary plot presents trains in the context of smuggling cattle when Krücke and Thomas smuggle pigs into town after exchanging fake Persian carpets for pigs. They make their return journey in a closed, crowded rail car together with the pigs. The horrors of the death journey in cattle cars are changed into a story of smuggling with its likely profit. Furthermore, the depiction is accompanied by a humorous view of the situation, thereby reducing the horrors to comic relief. They crept into the trailer. Redlich closed the tail gate behind them. There was enough light coming through the cracks between the boards to see by…“Oh Lord, this is going to be some journey,” groaned Crutches. It was. They slid around the trailer, held tight to the crates, were pressed and pushed by them. (Crutches, pp. 61–62) Sie krochen in den Anhänger. Redlich drückte hinter ihnen die Klappe zu. Durch die Fugen zwischen den Brettern fiel genügend Licht…Lieber Himmel, das kann eine Reise werden, stöhnte Krücke. Es wurde eine. Sie rutschten, flogen in dem Anhänger herum, klammerten sich an den Kisten fest, wurden von ihnen gedriickt und gedrängt. (Krücke, pp. 62,63) Thus the description of the transports and freight trains is transposed to that of soldiers and German refugees. Trains are mentioned in nearly every context other than that of the transport of Jews and their extermination. The elements of the “story” are indeed preserved, and the protagonists and the events that form a part of its immediate discourse are replaced by other protagonists and events preferred by the German discourse.

Concentration Camps Concentration camps are barely mentioned in the texts; extermination camps even less so. Some of the books create the impression that these are labor camps, others that these are camps for opponents of the Nazi regime or postwar German refugees. Descriptions of the concentration camps leave obscure the events occurring therein. Mischling Second Degree mentions several camps, but they all are labor or concentration camps rather than extermination camps. The camps in Maikäfer flieg! are designated for black-marketeers. This was a dangerous profession; if the police caught you at it, you were arrested and taken off to a concentration camp. (Fly Away Home, p. 8)

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Schleichhändler war ein gefährlicher Beruf. Man wurde eingesperrt und kam ins Konzentrationslager. (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 17) In Sonderappell, a camp or “Lager,” is primarily a work camp for girls serving in the Reich Labor Service. When the text refers to concentration camps, their description is not particularly horrifying because the text chooses to describe the camps as presented in Nazi propaganda and proposes no further reflection. In the pictures one had seen how the inmates were practicing sports, reading newspapers, arguing politics, lining up at mealtimes and doing some kind of work in large, illuminated halls. What would become of Grandfather if he were sent to such a camp? (my translation) Man hatte auf den Fotos gesehen, wie die Insassen Sport trieben, Zeitung lasen, politische Diskussionen abhielten, zum Essenfassen anstanden und in großen lichten Hallen irgend eine Arbeit verrichteten. Was sollte aus ihm werden, wenn der Großvater in so ein Lager käme? (Sonderappellp. 180) Er hieß Jans portrayal of concentration camps derives from Nazi propaganda. The mother describes how the concentration camp serves as a place for lazy Jews and communists who were sent to be taught to work and to contribute to society. Regina, the book’s heroine, doubts her mother’s account, although she fails to offer any other information. Furthermore, Regina believes that her mother should have objected to concentration camp detention, even for the purpose of “reeducation.” She, like the story, partially accepts her mother’s description of the camp. In the absence of additional information, the impression remains that the terrible events occurring in the concentration camps were limited to detention and work-related reeducation. In Stern ohne Himmel, when young Willi attempts to help the Jews in the transport, his father is furious that he tried to aid Jews being sent to labor camps. The text offers no other information. Take your uniform off. You’re not worthy to wear it. You showed sympathy for that rabble, those traitors of the German people, who were being transported to a labor camp. (Star Without a Sky, pp. 138–139) Zieh deine Uniform aus. Du bist es nicht wert sie zu tragen. Du hast diesem Gesindel von Volksverrätern, die in Arbeitslager kommen, Mitleid gezeigt. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 109) Many of the books feature concentration camps as a place for German opponents of the regime. The recurrent depictions of dissidents suffering in concentration camps, and the lack of parallel descriptions of Jews in similar situations, leave the impression that the concentration camps were primarily, or even exclusively, the place where German who opposed the Nazi regime suffered and were tortured. Wie war das eigentlich? Kindheit und Jugend im Dritten Reich (Howl Like the Wolves: Growing up in Nazi Germany) by Max von der Grün, provides an account of the mass arrests following the Reichstag fire and lists each of the German detainees and the concentration camps to which they were sent (p. 61 [47–48]). Later the book tallies the thousands of Germans sent off to

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concentration camps by the Nazis (p. 83 [68]), the extermination of the mentally ill in Germany (p. 175 [156]), and the brutal torture undergone by socialists in the concentration camps (pp. 176–177 [157]). The uncle in Lena, who is responsible for the bread supply in Mauthausen camp, is at risk of being sent to a concentration camp after hinting to Lena’s family that terrible things take place in the camp (p. 147), but the text does not offer any concrete depiction of the events themselves. In The Upstairs Room (translated into German as Und im Fenster der Himmel), Jews are taken to a concentration camp, apparently Mauthausen. According to the description, soldiers at the camp are authorized to beat the Jews at will, and this is the worst thing that can happen to them (p. 17; p. 16 in the German translation). In Sonderappell the camps are a place where Charlotte’s grandfather might be sent after expressing discontent with the rioting on Kristallnacht. Because the story does not relate anything more about detainees in concentration camps, it creates the impression that the concentration camps are for dissidents alone; Auschwitz concentration camp is mentioned in reference to Germans liable to be sent to a concentration camp (p. 101). Er hieß Jan recounts how Regina becomes an opponent of the regime after falling in forbidden love with Jan, a Polish slave laborer. At school she writes a composition doubting the imperative nature of the war, fearing she will be sent to a concentration camp as a result. Her fears increase after Mr. Steffens, who afforded her and Jan a place to hide, tells them that Social-Democrat friends of his, opponents of the regime, have been sent to a concentration camp. I went sick with fear. What did they call what I was doing with my essay? Sapping morale? Propagandizing for the enemy? And what was the punishment? Jail? Concentration camp? By then I was listening to Radio London and knew how enemies of the state were being treated…A couple of my comrades…[are now] in a concentration camp or long since buried. (A Night in Distant Motion, pp. 35, 62) Mir wurde schlecht vor Angst. Wie nannte man das, was in meinem Aufsatz stand? Wehrkraftzersetzung? Propaganda für den Feind? Und was bekam man dafür? Zuchthaus? KZ? Ich hörte damals schon London und wufite, wie man mit Staatsfeinden verfuhr…Ein paar von meinen Genossen, die…sitzen jetzt im KZ oder sind längst krepiert. (Er hieß Jan, pp. 29, 50) The dissident student in Sonderappell, who serves in a Reich Labor Service work camp, may be sent to Auschwitz for daring to speak out against the regime. In When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, the heroine Anna asks herself what a concentration camp is and goes on to describes it as a place where regime opponents are sent, without making any further comment. Mischling Second Degree tells how Erwin Gersten is sent to the Börgermoor concentration camp as a dissident, not as a Jew. In Hans Peter Richter’s Wir waren dabei (I Was There), a concentration camp is a place for dissidents. The father forbids his children from singing the Internationale for fear of informers who would cause them to be sent to a concentration camp. It can still be much worse for you! You can also end up in a concentration camp. (my translation)

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Aber es kann dir noch viel dreckiger gehen! Du kannst auch im KZ landen. (Sonderappell.p. 101) A famous professor had been arrested and sent to a concentration camp. (Concentration camp? Then Anna remembered that it was a special prison for people who were against Hitler.) (When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, p. 81; p. 73 in the German translation) In the end someone denounces you because of a stupid song like this, and well all be put into one of those camps. (I Was There, p. 13) Am Ende zeigt uns noch jemand an wegen solch einem dummen Lied und wir werden in eines von diesen Lagern gesteckt. (Wir waren dabei, p. 18) Lena depicts the great suffering endured by Buchegger, the former chief of police, who was sent to Dachau for opposing the government. The policeman who succeeded him describes his severe condition, although Buchegger himself is unwilling to discuss what happened, fearing he will be sent back again. It is evident that he suffered terribly in the concentration camp, since he seems to have grown old and is covered in scars from being bitten by dogs (p. 176). In Die Webers, in the summer of 1944 Karl-Heinz is at a military base near the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. He meets another soldier and is told that his own brother has been sent to a concentration camp (p. 117). Karl-Heinz had previously seen prisoners being taken to the camp and describes their fatigue and helplessness. The description does not refer to the identity of the people brought to the camp, and mentions that these were hundreds, thousands, of faceless men and women. Men, women, all ageless, without faces of their own; hundreds, thousands. (my translation) Männer, Frauen, alle ohne Alter, ohne eigenes Gesicht; Hunderte, Tausende. (Die Webers, p. 116) The mention of Karl-Heinz’s brother and the generalization about the other prisoners leaves the impression that members of all nationalities, particularly Germans, were kept in concentration camps. As a result, the depiction of camp inmates is universalized. The oft-concealed comparison among concentration camps, forced labor camps, and postwar refugee camps serves to reinforce this impression. Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum?1 (When Does the Sugar Bag Tree Bloom?) by Monika Hartig describes the nighttime stop during Sanne’s train trip to the village. Sanne expressly compares the building in which she spent the night to barracks occupied by slave laborers, which greatly resemble a concentration camp barracks. In his depiction of the transit camp housing the German refugees in Krücke, Härtling substitutes concentration camp inmates with the people lying beside one another on sparse bunk beds in the severely overcrowded room. The sight of gaunt, sickly, and unshaven concentration camp inmates is replaced by that of the ill and feverish Krücke. Prisoners waiting in concentration camps for a bowl of soup are replaced, in Mischling Second Degree, by refugees clustered in a school, a mass of people holding out their bowls in the hope of receiving a bit of soup; terrible

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pandemonium erupts in the closed room, which Ilse fears could become a common grave if bombed. This was exactly how it had looked in the barrack, except that this room was much bigger and it had neither tables nor chairs…. The narrow passages between the beds were crammed with pieces of luggage. The air in the room was musty and suffocating. Everywhere people were lying and loitering on the beds. Some were already sleeping. (my translation) Genauso hatte es in der Baracke ausgesehen. Nur war dieser Raum hier viel größer und hätte weder Tische noch Stühle…Die langen schmalen Gänge zwischen den Pritschen waren mit Gepäckstucken vollgestopft. Die Luft im Raum war dumpf und stickig. Überall auf den Pritschen lagen und hockten Menschen. Einige schliefen schon. (Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum?, p. 110) Instructed ahead of time by Crutches, Thomas won them a doubledecker bed at the end of a long row of beds in one of the barracks. Each building had places for about eighty people…. The noise in the long room was often very loud. The people bellowed, scolded, and complained; there were always children crying somewhere…The daily allotment of firewood for the cast-iron stove was never enough. It was difficult to get hold of enough wood. The fruit orchards in the vicinity of the camp were watched by the farmers…. His forehead was covered with beads of sweat, his eyes were sunk in deep hollows, and his beard stubble was so dark that it looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days. He seemed to have a weight on his chest. He spoke with effort and haltingly. (Crutches, pp. 113,114,115) Thomas eroberte, von Krücke vorbereitet und angewiesen, in einer der Baracken ein Stockbett ganz am Ende der langen Reihe von Betten. Jede Baracke bot ungefähr achtzig Leuten Platz…Das Getöse in dem langgestreckten Raum war oft gewaltig. Die Leute brüllten, keiften, klagten; Kinder steckten sich gegenseitig mit ihrem Geheul an…s täglich zugeteilte Brennholz für den Eisenofen reichte nie aus. Es war schwierig, zusätzlich Holz zu ergattern. Die Obstwiesen in der Nähe des Lagers wurden von Bauern bewacht… Auf seiner Stirn perlte Schweifi, die Augen lagen tief in den Höhlen, und die Bartstoppeln sprossen so dicht, als habe sich Krücke seit Tagen nicht mehr rasiert. Ein Gewicht schien auf seiner Brust zu lasten. Er sprach nur mühsam und abgehackt. (Krücke, pp. 109,110) Wir werden uns wiederfinden describes the diseases that spread among the refugees at the camp. The mother worries about contracting typhus. The demise of the sick inmates is recounted in detail. The next day, Mother wanted to leave with us. She had seen how the severely ill were taken away; she had seen how an old woman lay on a wooden bench and died without anyone caring for her. Already dead, she

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still lay there, covered in flies, alone, far away from home. (my translation) Am nächsten Tag wollte Mutter mit uns fort. Sie hätte gesehen, wie man Leute weggetragen hätte, die schwer krank waren; sie hatten gesehen, wie eine alte Frau auf einer Holzbank lag und starb, ohne daß sich jemand um sie kümmerte. Schon tot, lag sie immer noch da, von Fliegen bedeckt, allein, weit weg von ihrer Heimat.” (Wir werden uns wiederfinden, p. 99) Accounts of the camps where Germans were held during and after the war, in various circumstances, replace depictions of concentration camps. The greater part of Mischling Second Degree meticulously describes the subhuman conditions prevalent in the evacuation camps for German girls, in which Ilse, the main protagonist, spent the war. The first evacuation camp she reached is depicted in terms of a concentration camp. The camp’s physical landscape is reminiscent of the descriptions of concentration camps—a desolate location without any sign of civilization (p. 46; p. 49 in the German translation); no possibility of escape or returning home, since escapes elicit severe penalties (p. 49; p. 53 in the German translation); the camp routine includes numerous inspections, punishments, and tiring disciplinary drills at odd hours (p. 50; p. 54 in the German translation); the “imprisoned” girls are treated derisively and inhumanely. The description of the camp does not even spare the fictitious letter the girls are forced to write to their parents. As the girls’ correspondence is screened, it must be cheerful and optimistic (p. 48; p. 52 in the German translation). The second evacuation camp is also depicted in every detail as a concentration camp, a prison surrounded by fences (p. 85; p. 91 in the German translation). The uniformed children in the camp are tormented during inspections conducted under the command of Nazis who administer corporeal punishment (p. 86; p. 92 in the German translation). At Ilse’s third evacuation camp, the girls are forced into menial work that is described in terms of slave labor (p. 146; p. 154 in the German translation). Mensch, Karnickel describes various camps that housed protagonist Clemens Graber, first a children’s evacuation camp and later a transit camp. His bottom line is that all camps are alike—“Lager ist Lager!” in his words (p. 25). In some of the camps the children are kept behind barbed wire fences, starve for bread and fear the guard dogs outside. They are sprayed with disinfectant powder, and some die of typhus (pp. 16, 19, 23–24, 25, 56–60). The story pays particular attention to the account of the night Karnickel spends in a transit camp. He is frightened, even though the doors are not locked, since he is reminded of the guard dogs, sentries, and searchlights of the past (p. 25). With regard to the Jews, rarely do the books mention that they were sent to concentration camps. Often, the reference will incorporate both Jews and Germans. In Geh heim und vergiß alles it is stated that opponents of the regime, as well as Jews, were tortured and murdered in the concentration camps. The suffering and extermination of Jews in concentration camps is included in Wie war das eigentlich? only within an extensive list of the Nazis’ victims—writers, poets, journalists, communists, leftists, other regime opponents, and members of other nationalities—all of whom were oppressed and murdered in the extermination camps. In a different context, the book mentions that members of all nationalities were murdered and executed by gas in concentration camps.

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The deportation of Jews to the concentration camps, and the torture they underwent there, are described in relation to the imprisonment of the narrator’s (German) father who was sent to Buchenwald (p. 154 [135]). Er hieß Jan mentions twice, but only offhand, that the Jews were sent to camps, while the reader’s attention is drawn mainly to the Germans sent there. According to Ilse Burfeind’s Das Kind im Koffer (The Child in the Suitcase), Buchenwald is inhabited mainly by Germans and Poles, as depicted in the illustration of one of the inmates, Pippig, which calls attention to his upturned nose. In light of the stereotyped physiognomic depiction of Jews in the texts, Pippig’s pug nose rules out the possibility that he may be a Jew. Only the child smuggled into the camp, and thereby saved, is unequivocally Jewish. Although the yellow star appearing in some illustrations indicates that some inmates are Jewish, the stars are not clearly drawn and lack textual corroboration. People were tortured and murdered there [in Mauthausen], only because they opposed Hitler’s dictatorship or because they were Jews. (my translation) Menschen wurden dort gequält und ermordet [in Mauthausen], nur weil sie Gegner der Hitlerdiktatur waren, oder weil sie Juden waren. (Geh heim und vergiß alles, p. 5) People of all nationalities continued to be murdered and gassed in the concentration camps. In 1944, the camps—not counting the extermination camps—contained a total of 524,277 prisoners. On July 24, the extermination camp of Majdanek was freed by Soviet troops—the first of the camps to be liberated by the Allies…Theresienstadt Concentration Camp in Czechoslovakia was partially “liquidated”; in other words, 18,404 Jews were transported from there to Auschwitz to be gassed. This happened on September 28. (Howl Like the Wolves, p. 257) In den Konzentrationslagern wurden weiterhin Menchen verschiedenster Nationalität ermordet und vegast. In den KZ’s, die Vernichtungslager nicht gerechnet, befanden sich 1944 insgesamt 524 277 Häftlinge. Das Vernichtungslager Maidanek wurde am 24. Juli als erstes Lager von den Sowjettruppen befreit…In der Tschechoslowakei wurde das Lager Theresienstadt teilweise “liquidiert,” das heißt, 18 404 Juden wurden nach Auschwitz deportiert, um dort vegast zu werden. Das war am 28. September. (Wie war das eigentlich?, p. 228) On July 22, the death camp of Treblinka in Poland was completed. In the course of the next few years millions of people died in the gas chambers there. The dead were not all Jews, but represented virtually every group that did not conform to the racial delusions of the German rulers, such as Gypsies, religious minorities, Jehovah’s Witnesses, resistance fighters, Communists and Socialists. (Howl Like the Wolves, p. 217) Am 22. Juli wurde das Vernichtungslager Treblinka in Polen errichtet. Millionen Menschen wurden in den nächsten Jahren in diesem Lager vegast. Es waren nicht nur Juden, sondern praktisch alle Menschen, die dem Rassenwahn der deutschen Herrscher nicht entsprachen, wie

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Zigeuner, religiöse Minderheiten, Bibelforscher, Widerstandskämpfer, Kommunisten und Sozialisten. (Wie war das eigentlich?, pp. 194–195) Nevertheless, the descriptions of the ruthless concentration camps for the Germans become vague when they appear in Jewish contexts. The very existence of a concentration camp called Dachau is somehow doubted in The Devil in Vienna, let alone any reference to what happens there. The narrator suggests that Dachau was a vague rumor. She makes no attempt to clarify the picture, and even what she says is doubted inasmuch as her own credibility is uncertain. Initially she claims to be unaware of the prisoners’ destination; later she qualifies her statement and then says that no one returns from there. And yet, the men in her family who are arrested ultimately return home, not having been sent to Dachau at all but detained within the boundaries of Vienna and “merely” suffering humiliation at the hands of the Nazis. In fact, apart from Max Plattau’s brother, none of the story’s main characters is sent to Dachau. Although Max Plattau commits suicide after his brother is deported there, the motivation for the suicide is not made clear in the text. In this manner, the text does not support the information that the narrator provides about Dachau, and leaves it ambiguous. Ilse’s Jewish grandmother in Mischling Second Degree dies in Theresienstadt, yet the text does not elaborate, and the cause of death remains unclear. There is even some indication that she simply died of old age. Ich bin David (translated into English as North to Freedom) by Anne Holm repeatedly describes the camp in which the protagonist, David, spent some time. Although the first chapter contains accounts from within the camp, it is unclear which camp it is (although it is close to Saloniki) and who the prisoners and guards are. The various passages do not amount to a picture of the camp, apart from its gray and brown hues and ugly appearance. Emma oder Die unruhige Zeit raises the question of who is sent to the concentration camps and for how long. Johannes asks Grandmother Ehrenfeld what is going to happen to her in the camp and she answers simply, “I don’t know”—“Ich weiß es nicht” (p. 93). Later, Johannes asks his father how long Grandmother Ehrenfeld is going to be in the camp and he answers, “Not for long”—“Nicht lange” (p. 94). The story adds nothing to the foregoing and refrains from specifying what could have befallen the grandmother at the concentration camp. Die Webers, on the other hand, offers an account of the Bergen-Belsen camp. Karl-Heinz realizes that many people are brought into the camp, yet no one leaves. Nevertheless, the text’s description of the events within the camp is not explicit, but suggests euphemistically what transpires there. Newcomers arrived constantly, but there were no queues [of people] leaving the camp. It was not hard to understand what was going on there. (my translation) Immer neue kamen an—aber es gab keine Kolonnen, die das Lager verließen. Es war nicht schwer sich einen Reim darauf zu machen. (Die Webers, p. 117) Sonderappell is one of the few books that acknowledge the existence of Auschwitz, which is described primarily as being adjacent to the camp of the girls serving in the Reich Labor Service in Upper Silesia. The account is given in an embedded speech with

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Charlotte, the story’s leading figure. This justifies restricting the descriptions of events in Auschwitz to the boundaries of her own knowledge and awareness; no attempt is made to traverse these limits. Because Auschwitz is mentioned so rarely in the children’s books, it is worthwhile to carefully consider the three different contexts in which Auschwitz is described in Sonderappell Auschwitz is mentioned for the first time towards the end of the first half of the book, in which the Germans’ suffering is meticulously delineated. In this case, Auschwitz is cited as the location of the pharmacy in which Mrs. Michalski’s daughter works, Mrs. Michalski being Charlotte’s employer. She (the daughter) mentions the camp’s existence extemporaneously, in an indifferent tone, while attending to a pimple on her face. She describes Auschwitz as a place anyone in the area can visit and see the Jews standing behind barbed wire fences. Starvation of the Jews is reported secondhand (“my friend says,” p. 98), and nothing is said at this stage about their extermination. The starvation is justified in light of their being inferior human beings—a claim substantiated later in the book by her mother, Mrs. Michalski. Charlotte does not agree, however, maintaining that “these are people just like us” (“Es sind wohl Menschen wie wir,” p. 98), but the beloved, generous, and good-hearted mother has the final word. By the way, now I have also been there once, where they imprison the Jews. They stand behind barbed-wire fences, and my friend says that they have nothing to eat, but they aren’t people like us, as you can see immediately. “Our Führer says they are subhuman.”…“But I know Jews,” Charlotte objected. “I don’t know what kind of camp this is, but my best friend is Jewish. She is…she is a girl just like me. Surely!” The older girl spread cream over a reddish cheek and said, “If I were in your place I don’t know if I would say I have a Jewish friend, but Mother says that you are a good cleaner and nice to the little children. Lord, this cream is just great, look, you can barely see my pimples!” Mrs. Michalski caressed Charlotte’s hand and said, “You have nothing to worry about, auntie of the camps, we won’t say anything. But our Führer does not make mistakes, he cannot make mistakes, and this you must believe.” (my translation) Übrigens, ich bin jetzt auch einmal da gewesen, wo sie die Juden einsperren. Sie stehen hinter dem Stacheldrahtzaun, und mein Freund sagt, sie hätten nichts zu essen, aber es sind ja auch keine Menschen wie wir, das sieht man gleich. “Unser Führer sagt, es sind Untermenschen....” “Aber ich kenne Juden,” widersprach Charlotte, “ich weiß nicht, was das für ein Lager ist, aber meine beste Freundin ist eine Jüdin. Sie ist…. sie ist ein Mädchen wie ich. Bestimmt!” Das ältere Mädchen strich sich Creme auf die gerötete Backe und sagte: “Ich weiß nicht, ob ich an Ihrer Stelle sagen wiirde, daß ich eine Jüdin als Freundin habe, aber Mutter sagt ja, daß Sie gut putzen können und nett zu den Kleinen sind. Also, diese Creme ist wirklich fabelhaft. Seht doch nur, meine Pickel sind kaum mehr zu sehen!” Frau Michalski strich Charlotte über die Hand und sagte: “Du brauchst keine Angst zu haben, wir sagen nichts. Aber unser Führer irrt

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sich nicht, er kann sich gar nicht irren, das mufit du wirklich glauben.” (Sonderappell, p. 98) The mother’s adherence to the Führer’s words redirects attention from the events at Auschwitz to the successes of Hitler’s propaganda machine. Charlotte, ignorant of the camp, who until now has not even heard of it, is countered by the indifference of Mrs. Michalski’s daughter, who works there. Mrs. Michalski and her daughter, whose characters exude nothing but goodness, are presented as victims of propaganda. They are not acquainted with Jews, and the girl’s equanimity does not indicate insensitivity because her treatment of her younger siblings shows that she is a warm human being. Furthermore, by not reporting Charlotte she is shown to lack any evil. Her indifference and attention to her complexion indicate that her routine, or “Alltag,” is more important than matters not directly affecting her. Her positive presentation in the story remains valid, also, when she expresses her anti-Semitic views, regarded by the text as another proof of her being a naïve victim of misinformation. Unlike mother and daughter, Charlotte does not believe the propaganda machine and tries to find out what is happening at Auschwitz. At this stage Auschwitz is depicted as an extermination camp, yet as such it is doubted by the text and consequently never unequivocally resolved, which leads to a contention that is never unequivocally resolved. The claim that Jews are being executed in Auschwitz is presented as dubious; it is voiced by a female student who does not always know what she is talking about, and it is contradicted by Icke, a supporter of the regime who is presented in the book as one who usually has access to reliable information. Despite its topographical proximity to the girls’ camp, no further information is offered about Auschwitz in the text, except for mentioning that its existence might endanger one of the girls in the camp. During the sumptuous meal, Charlotte mused about what was said by Michalski’s older daughter—my friend says that they have nothing to eat—and she asked, “Do you actually know what type of camp Auschwitz is, where Jews are imprisoned?” The other girls stared at her. The student said, “They’re killing them there.” “That’s a lie,” Icke snapped at her. “This is sabotage! Maybe that is what they are saying in the enemy’s radio broadcasts!”…“They are murdering them?” asked Charlotte. “Yes, what, you didn’t know? Where have you been living in the last few years?” retorted the student. (my translation) Mitten im Schmausen mußte Charlotte an den Satz der älteren Michalski-Tochter denken: Mein Freund sagt, sie hätten nichts zu essen, und sie fragte: “Wißt ihr eigentlich, was das für ein Lager in Auschwitz ist, in dem Juden eingesperrt sind?” Die anderen Mädchen starrten sie an. Die Studentin sagte: “Sie bringen sie dort um.” “Das ist eine Lüge!” fuhr Icke sie an. “Das ist Sabotage! Das sagen sie vielleicht im Feindsender”…“Sie bringen sie um?” fragte Charlotte. “Ja, hast du das denn nicht gewußt? Wo hast du denn gelebt in den letzten Jahren?” fragte die Studentin dagegen. (Sonderappell, pp. 100–101)

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The few books that do describe concentration camps, such as Rose Blanche (translated into German under the title Rosa Weiss), favor doing so from an external point of view. Nacht über dem Tal describes life alongside a labor camp on the outskirts of town. The extermination camps are also explicitly mentioned, including Dachau (by mentioning an article published in the French military newspaper, pp. 125–127 [91–92]), Auschwitz (p. 107 [77]), and Majdanek (pp. 86–87 [63]). Yet, despite the mention of the camps and the physical proximity to the Wiesengrund concentration camp, the contacts the narrator and her mother maintained with the inmates are almost always confined to the familiar world of the family’s own domain. Just as there is no unmediated description of the events in Auschwitz or Majdanek, there is also no digression from the description of everyday life in Wiesengrund and that of its inmates, only an external description of it. The camp is described as a dangerous and impenetrable place; any access is prohibited. The premises are tightly guarded, and entry by common Germans is forbidden and punishable by death. The account of the camp tour taken by mother and daughter (pp. 81–84 [59–61]) reveals little of the horrors occurring there. The two are described as trying to offer assistance for the Jewish inmates and at the same time find more workers. Even when they are inside the camp, the text describes only what transpires in the commandant’s office: his appearance, rank, Russian mistress, the food brought before him. The narrator describes how she and her mother did not actually see the camp itself, but averted their gaze towards the imposing watchtowers. The guards let us in through the gates, and after glancing nervously towards the watchtowers, we knocked at the commandant’s door. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 82)2 Nachdem uns die Wachen durch die Sperre gelassen und wir unsere Hälse nach den Wachttürmen verdreht hatten, klopften wir an der Tür des Kommandanten. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 59) One of the only books to describe the incidents in the concentration camp from an internal point of view is Das Kind im Koffer, which aspires to alternative literature. Yet, the book describes the Buchenwald concentration camp almost in terms of a summer camp, or at most a boot camp. The horrors that transpired in the concentration camp are not even hinted at. Inmates who suffer lacerations or feel ill are immediately sent to the infirmary, and the worst thing that happens to them is having to line up without being allowed to move, even in a pouring rain. The camp routine is similar to that of boot camp or a tough boarding school—inspections and work—and in the evening they sit in their barracks and enjoy Marian’s poetry. At the end of the day the inmates are sent to sleep. The work is hard but not unbearable. We are told that the inmates starve, but nevertheless they easily find warm milk and glucose for a child. Their various juvenile games create a dormitory atmosphere. The dormitory environment is substantiated by the fact that prisoners blacken their faces when leaving the barracks after dark on a dangerous mission to save the child. Their efforts are described in terms of a nighttime adventure. Inmates’ relationships with guards resemble those they might have had with a strict teacher. The guard nicknamed Krummnagel (Crooked Nail) is arrogant and enjoys tossing off orders, but the prisoners know how to comply selectively and deceive him. An experiment with a loudspeaker is reminiscent of children playing a joke on their teacher, and just as in

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school the prisoners evade the guards by feigning illness. Two scenes in Das Kind im Koffer describe the guards harming prisoners. The scenes are certainly unpleasant but in no way excessively brutal. Pippig, a prisoner full of optimism and confidence about the forthcoming liberation, is the victim of both. Even when he is hurt his injuries are not severe. He is first beaten with a stick, causing a large bruise, when he deliberately runs into the guard and knocks him to the ground. Later, the guards beat him severely while grilling him for information. His injuries do not seem harsh when he buoys the spirits of his fellow inmates immediately after liberation and reminds them that he was correct in foreseeing the near salvation. Most important, nobody sustains irreversible damage. The fatigue, hunger, and cold are all temporary. The entire plot leads up to the revolt and the camp’s liberation, both of which meet with unparalleled success. Even the beaten prisoner Pippig is able to chuckle behind the guard’s back and poke fun at him. The boy in the suitcase recovers as well. He was orphaned and hidden in a trash can, but it seems as if he suffered no harm whatsoever. And above all of the rejoicing people, high up on Marian’s shoulders, the boy sits and celebrates along. (my translation) Und über all den jubelnden Menschen, hoch oben auf Marians Schultern sitzt das Kind und jubelt mit. (Das Kind im Koffer [n.p.]) In Bayer Ingeborg’s Zeit für die Hora (Time for the Hora), the description of the concentration camps is counterpoised against the illegal immigration ships and the detention camps in which the Jewish refugees were held by the British. The comparison implies that the immigrants’ state of affairs was worse than in the concentration camps, where, according to a refugee named Abigail, they could at least see the sky and feel the rain. In all its aspects, the detention camp reminds them of the concentration camp, and one of the refugees expresses surprise at the fact that the barbed-wire fence is not electrified, for during interrogation of the immigrants no difference between the British and the Germans was evident (p. 188). Neither was the rest significantly different from a concentration camp. At least we had enough toilets, said someone, even if we were forced to sit down on them together in a row, but there were enough of them and we didn’t have to wait on line all the time. There was also water, enough for washing at least, even if it was only a quick rinse. In our camp they were mortally afraid of diseases and vermin, said a third, and they would have sent us for disinfections, if they only could, every few days. But these British, they weren’t very concerned, or so it seemed, with vermin or diseases. They supplied kerosene, made sure there were lice combs, and were even rather polite. (my translation) Auch sonst alles nicht viel anders als in einem KZ. Bei uns gab’s wenigstens genug Klos, sagte jemand, auch wenn wir uns alle zusammen in einer Reihe draufsetzen mußten, aber sie reichten, und man mußte nicht standig Schlange stehen.

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Und Wasser gab’s auch, zum Waschen zumindest reichte es, auch wenn’s nur Katzenwäsche war. Vor Krankheit und Ungeziefer hatten sie einen Mordsrespekt bei uns im Lager, sagte ein Dritter, zur Entlausung hätten sie uns am liebsten alle paar Tage geschickt. Aber diese Engländer, sie schienen nicht unbedingt große Angst zu haben, zumindest nicht vor Ungeziefer und Krankheiten. Sie stellten Petroleum zur Verfügung, sorgten für Läusekämme, waren auch einigermafien hoflich. (Zeit für die Hora, p. 189) Thus, the books do not deny the very existence of the concentration camps, but they position them differently—Auschwitz becomes the place where one of the young German women from the Reich Labor Service work camp has a job in the pharmacy (Sonderappell); Dachau and Buchenwald housed only, or primarily, German dissidents (Lena). And above all, German refugees were sent to the camps after the war, and the concentration camps held German prisoners of war. The horrors of the camps do not disappear, but the wretched inmates are replaced; the Germans sent to the camps are joined by German refugees trying to find a place for themselves in a world ravaged by war. As in Härtling’s Krücke, other books describing the events of the war’s conclusion project images of camps in which Germans are subjected to hunger, stench, disease, and death.We see that although the pain and suffering are not refuted, the victims are replaced by others. The tragic plot remains, yet different players are introduced.

Executions and Extermination, Rape and Forbidden Love, Stories of Refuge, and Abuse and Persecution The references to concentration camps barely touch on the systematic abuse of the Jews and and their extermination. Extermination is mentioned in various contexts, not necessarily with regard to Jews. Lena and Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum? even discuss the killing of invalids and the mentally ill without relating to the Jews’ similar fate. Lena mentions a group of Russian prisoners inadvertently gassed to death after being forced into a room that was disinfected but not ventilated, but there is not even the slightest hint that Jews were systematically, not inadvertently, exterminated by gassing. Geh heim und vergiß alles and Nacht über dem Tal create the impression that in most cases the Jewish kapo,3 rather than SS officers, was responsible for the abuse of the Jews. Geh heim und vergiß alles does not mention the Nazi regime at all, other than in the prologue, nor is any explanation given for the Jews’ arrival at the confinement camp. The concentration camps are mentioned in one case only, without any explanation except for the association with the Jewish kapo. He was a Jew himself, but he had tormented the people who were imprisoned with him. (my translation) Er war selber Jude, aber er hätte seine Mitgefangenen gequält. (Geh heim und vergiß alles, p. 12)

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Wendelgard von Staden’s Nacht über dem Tal also provides a copiously detailed account of the kapo tormenting his fellow Jewish prisoners. I also learned what a capo was. Although they wore the same striped uniforms as everyone else, these prisoners could take a piece of bread away from the others without being punished. They earned special privileges by informing on their fellow inmates. If a capo were anywhere nearby, the others would clam up quickly. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 87) Ich lernte auch, was ein Kapo ist. Das waren Häftlinge, zwar in derselben Kleidung wie alle, aber sie konnten den anderen das Stück Brot wegnehmen, ohne daß sie sich wehrten. Sie verrieten alles an die Lagerleitung. Sie verschafften sich Vorteile auf Kosten der übrigen. Wenn ein Kapo in der Nähe war, verstummten die anderen. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 63) A very small number of books mention the Jews’ extermination, and even then they relate it from a second-hand source of dubious authority. In Christine Nöstlinger’s Maikäfer flieg!, Mr. Wawra hears about the extermination of Jews in concentration camps from a girl named Christel; he does not believe her and promises that the Jews will return. Despite his absurd portrayal in the text, he is nevertheless older and exudes greater authority than the girl, and, most important, he has the last word. “…they’re being killed, every single one!…I’ve got an uncle in the SS, a real big shot. He’s at the Fiihrer’s headquarters. He had a quarrel with my mother once about the Jews, and he said the Jews were all going up through the concentration camp chimneys. And when he said that he went ‘Ffft!…”’ “Herr Goldmann will be coming back, all the same,” he said. “You wait and see, child, you wait and see!” (Fly Away Home, p. 27) “Die werden all umgebracht! Alle!…weil ich einen Onkel habe, der ist bei der SS ein ganz hoher, im Führerhauptquartier. Einmal hat er mit meiner Mutti über die Juden gestritten, und da hat er gesagt, die Juden, die gehen im Konzentrationslager alle durch den Rauchfang! Pfffftttt, hat er gemacht, als er das gesagt hat!…” “Der Herr Goldmann kommt trotzdem zurück! Wirst schon sehn, Kind, wirst schon sehn!” (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 42) Stern ohne Himmel, considered an audacious book, is one of the few in which an authoritative adult discusses the extermination of Jews in concentration camps. However, the description is softened and relativized by being juxtaposed against the description of Kimmich’s suffering in the concentration camp. Kimmich tells Antek that 8,000 Jews were exterminated at the concentration camp in which he was held. “I am telling the truth,” Kimmich said, “I can’t give you the exact numbers, but this might serve as an example. While I was in prison, eight

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thousand Jews were gassed just because they were Jews. There was nothing else against them.” (Star Without a Sky, p. 96) “Es ist die Wahrheit,” sagte Kimmich, “ich kann dir die Zahl nicht sagen, aber als Beispiel mag es dir geniigen: Während meiner Haftzeit waren etwa achttausend Juden, die vergast wurden, nur weil sie Juden waren. Sonst hätte man ihnen nichts vorzuwerfen.” (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 76) No additional information concerning the extermination of Jews is provided, except for a general statement a few paragraphs earlier about Hitler being responsible for the starvation, gassing, expulsion, and torture of millions (pp. 96 [75]). On the other hand, Kimmich’s suffering as a political prisoner in a concentration camp is described at length and in detail. The description of Kimmich’s tribulations is particularly effective because he relives the horrors of the camp and gives it the validity of a present-day account. The portrayal of Abiram’s suffering in the camp, on the other hand, is detached, for it is recounted through his dream and presented indirectly and in fragments, thus obscuring the distinction between imagination and reality. A gigantic SS group leader hit him on the head with a whip. That was to encourage him to make a good, complete report. He didn’t understand. A second blow landed on his throat. (Star Without a Sky, p. 73) Ein hünenhafter SS-Scharführer schlug ihn mit einer Peitsche auf den Kopf. Das sollte für Kimmich die Aufforderung sein, eine ordnungsgemäße Meldung zu machen. Er begriff es nicht. Ein zweiter Schlag traf ihn an der Kehle. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 57) Above him, sausages and slabs of ham hung on the wall. The sight of them made him feel nauseated. The smell of the smoked meats became a stench. The rows of stewed fruit and jam were tightly packed. Abiram squeezed his eyes to look at them. The stewed fruit jars became people, the little raspberry juice bottles became guards, the shelves became a gymnasium. That’s how they had stood, men, old people, women, children. Day and night, dead people along with the living. He saw the guards swinging their clubs. The dripping in the cellar turned into shots in the gymnasium. The scratching became blows from the sticks. The mice’s squeaking became the cries of children. (Star Without a Sky, pp. 49–50) Über ihm an der Wand hingen Würste und Speckseiten. Bei ihrem Anblick stieg in ihm Übelkeit hoch. Die Reihen mit Kompott und Marmeladen standen dicht. Abiram kniff die Augen zusammen. Aus den Kompottgläsern wurden Menschen, aus den schmalen Himbeerflaschen Aufseher, aus dem Regal eine Turnhalle. So hatten sie dagestanden, Männer, Greise, Frauen, Kinder, Tag und Nacht, Tote wie Lebendige. Er sah die Aufseher ihre Knüppel schwingen. Aus dem Tropfen im Keller wurden Schüsse in der Turnhalle. Aus dem Kratzen das Schlagen der Stöcke. Aus dem Fiepen der Mäuse Geschrei der Kinder. (Stern ohne Himmely pp. 37–38)

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Another method of moderating the extermination is transformaing the story into one of revenge. In Maikäfer flieg! the extermination culminates not in death but in vengeance. Wawra, the butler of Goldman the Jew, describes to Christel how, following the flight of the Nazis, his master will return to exact revenge. Although the story ends without Mr. Goldman returning, and it is evident he never will, the Jewish revenge story is presented as the conclusion of the extermination story, shifting the focus from the Jewish victim to the Jewish avenger. “So they see their fine friend Hitler is losing the war, and they’re scared stiff of the Jews coming back to knock their Nazi heads together!” (Fly Away Home, pp. 26–27) “Und jetzt, wo sie merken, daß ihr Hitler den Krieg verliert, jetzt haben sie eine Scheißangst, daß die Juden zurückkommen und ihnen den verdammten Nazischädel einschlagen!” (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 42) This transformation is developed in Gentlehands (translated into German under the title Sanfthand), by M.E.Kerr (Marijane Meaker’s pseudonym), which portrays the cruelty of the Jewish avengers. The grandfather of Buddy, the book’s protagonist, is a former Nazi, though it is unclear whether he is a Nazi or a pseudo-Nazi (see Chapter 7). The description of the Jews’ revenge—they burn the old man’s Cuban sweetheart—relates every element of the horror: arbitrariness (the murder of an innocent person) and cruelty (a person is burned alive). And yet, the perpetrators are Jews, members of the “Jewish Action League” seeking revenge, and the victim is the innocent girlfriend of the German. Other texts also prefer describing the execution of Germans to that of Jews. Der erste Frühling offerüs a detailed description of the final days in the life of Hans—uncle of the book’s heroine Anne—prior to his execution. Wir werden uns wiederfinden tells of Josef the spinning-mill owner, an innocent German victim who was executed by the Czechs after being commanded to dig his own grave. It is mentioned that “very often Germans were executed by the Czechs” (p. 34). Josef, the spinning-mill owner, was dragged off to the forest by Czechs, where they shot him, and before that he had to dig his own grave. (my translation) Josef, der Besitzer von der Spinnerei, ist von Tschechen in den Wald verschleppt worden, dort haben sie ihn erschossen, und vorher mußte er sich sein eigenes Grab schaufeln. (Wir werden uns wiederfinden, p. 34) The misplacement of the victim is featured both in the context of executions as well as in that of persecution by the regime. Numerous books document the pursuit by SS men of their victim, or arrests made by the Gestapo, but only rarely is the victim a Jew. The Gestapo men, dressed in hats and civilian clothing, come to arrest Jan in Er hieß Jan, while a black car awaits them outside. Policemen in Wir waren dabei chase a German communist fighting the Nazis who finally gets caught by the SA4 (p. 11–15 [4–9]). In Stern ohne Himmel it is the communist Dressler, hiding from the Nazis, who is being hunted. Naomi’s father in Alan and Naomi is condemned to death by the Nazis, due to his membership in the French underground, not because he is Jewish. Heute nacht ist viel

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passiert (Much Happened Tonight) by Margaret Klare describes a woman taken from her home at night to an unknown destination. The woman, a long-suffering German, lost one son in the war and has grown insane awaiting her other son’s return. Even when it is clear that the Jews were persecuted by the Nazis, the story does not recount their fate, but rather that of the Germans. Four men. Not policemen. Men in civilian clothes. Four dark figures. Four dark coats. Four dark hats…Two black cars in front of the garden gate. Next to them, the people from our building. Maybe the Gestapo rang at our apartment first, pounded on the door. (A Night in Distant Motion, p. 141) Vier Männer. Keine Polizisten. Manner in Zivil. Vier dunkle Gestalten. Vier dunkle Männer. Vier dunkle Hüte…Zwei schwarze Autos vor dem Tor zur Gärtnerei. Daneben die Leute aus unserem Haus. Vielleicht hatten die Gestapomanner zuerst in unserer Wohnung geklingelt, an der Tür geschlagen. (Er hieß Jan, pp. 109–110) Today the man at the house said that the woman had been taken away at night. It was better for her this way. It was surely better for her this way. (my translation) Heute hat der Mann im Haus gesagt, die Frau war abgeholt worden, in der Nacht. Es wär besser für sie. Bestimmt wär es besser für sie. (Heute nacht ist viel passiert, p. 80) Meticulously depicted are fear of the regime’s brutality, the imperative to hide and escape, and life in constant dread of the conqueror. Emma offers a comprehensive and detailed description of the perpetually fleeing German family. Thomas, the German boy in Krücke, whose parents are among Hitler’s ardent supporters until the father is killed at the front, finds himself at war’s end hiding in the intimidating city of Vienna, trying to survive. Although the story conveys feelings of dread, it is unclear who exactly is posing a threat to Thomas and causing him to hide. In terms of the reality it creates, the text succeeds in conveying the effect of a menacing regime, life in the shadow of terror and fear, and perpetual flight. Nacht über dem Tal mentions the sudden disappearance of people in the prewar period, referring to political prisoners, that is, Germans who opposed Hitler’s regime. Mensch, Karnickel describes the period following the war. When the young Clemens Graber goes to register at the population bureau, he feels threatened and fears that the clerk is about to revoke his freedom. After Hitler came to power, mother considered going abroad. Some of her friends who did not, later mysteriously vanished. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 33) Nach der Machtübernahme hätte meine Mutter daran gedacht, ins Ausland zu gehen. Mancher ihrer Freunde, die das nicht taten, waren verschwunden. (Nacht über dem Tal, pp. 26–27) The ground floor windows were barred and the heavy oak door was reinforced with nails…Everywhere they had to wait to be called in by a clerk who lurked behind his writing desk and did not even look up as they

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entered the room…Clemens trembled. He had seen the bars on the windows, and the long hallways with the many doors seemed to him like a prison. (my translation) Im Parterre waren die Fenster vergittert, und die schwere, eichene Eingangstur war mit Nägeln beschlagen…ein Beamter, …er hinter seinem Schreibtisch lauerte [rief sie herein]…Clemens zitterte. Er hätte die Gitter vor den Fenstern gesehen, und die langen Gänge mit den vielen Türen kamen ihm vor wie ein Gefängnis. (Mensch, Karnickel, P. 91) In addition to the diversion of many major elements of the discourse on the Third Reich, many elements of secondary importance, such as racist attitudes, stories of rape and sexual exploitation, stories of hiding or stories of forbidden love, are misplaced. Although these do not form the backbone of the story, they do contribute an added value which indicates that this is a story about the Third Reich and the Holocaust. In Maikäfer flieg! Russian soldiers are hostile toward all fair-haired people, whom they suspect as too Aryan. In this reversal, the Germans play the role of Jews being persecuted for their complexion. In Wir werden uns wiederfinden the Germans are forced to wear a badge (“Deutschebinde”) identifying them as Germans. The Germans’ possessions are stolen, and the kindhearted Czechs are afraid to hide them, even for one night (p. 51). The commandant of the American internment camp in Geh heim und vergiß alles, who sexually exploits young girls, turns out to be a Jew. A night with the innocent seventeenyear-old Austrian girl is the price he demands for providing the camp’s Jewish residents with food and medicine. I’il give you everything. Tomorrow already. But come to me tonight, do you understand? No one will see you. (my translation) Ich werde euch alles geben, morgen schon. Aber komm zu mir, heute abend, verstehst du? Niemand wird dich sehen. (Geh heim und vergiß alles, p. 76) Detailed descriptions of rape by soldiers and brutal treatment of the civilian population are provided in the books, yet they are almost completely limited to the context of the Allies. Nacht über dem Tal describes rape committed by French occupational forces (p. 133 [98]) and the Red Army (p. 160 [116]); Ernst Nöstlinger’s “Lasberger Kriege” (“Lasberg Wars”) in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection relates the rape of women by Russian soldiers (p. 59); in Wir werden uns wiederfinden the narrator’s mother hears from a German farm woman that Czech soldiers had stolen all the food and raped her daughter (pp. 38–39). Unlike Wir werden uns wiederfinden, which only alludes to rape by Czech soldiers and avoids detailing it within the scope of the story, the description in Der erste Frühling is much more verbose. A neighbor slits her wrists after being raped (p. 254), and Anne, the story’s main protagonist, listens while a rape is being committed in the adjacent apartment. “We couldn’t stop the Czechs—one threatened us with a gun, and Lena, they dragged her into the room, and there…” Hilde, the farm woman, did not continue speaking. Her eyes filled with tears. Lena also wept. I really

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would have liked to know what they did with Lena in there, but I dared not ask, both of them were crying and sobbing so hard. (my translation) “Wir haben die Tschechen nicht hindern können—der eine hat uns mit dem Gewehr bedroht, und die Lena, die haben sie in die Kammer gezerrt und dort…” Hilde, die Bäuerin, sprach nicht weiter. Tränen traten ihr in die Augen, Lena weinte auch. Ich hätte zu gern gewußt, was sie dort mit Lena gemacht haben, aber ich getraute mich nicht zu fragen, die beiden weinten und schluchzten so. (Wir werden uns wiederfinden, p. 39) Now noise only comes from Lisa Paulig’s apartment and reaches her: Groaning, weeping, moaning, and words in Russian throughout. Anne feels her heart begin to race. What’s going on in the apartment below right now? What happens in a rape? (my translation) Nur aus Lisa Pauligs Wohnung dringen nun Geräusche zu ihr hoch: Stöhnen, Weinen, Ächzen und dazwischen immer wieder russische Worte. Anne spürt, wie ihr Herz zu rasen beginnt. Was geschieht jetzt in der Wohnung unter ihr? Was gehört alles zu einer Vergewaltigung? (Der erste Frühling, p. 251) The story of Anne Frank is transplanted into stories about German girls, either as the main axis of the storyline or as a secondary one. In The Devil in Vienna Anne Frank’s secret hiding place is interwoven as a secondary plot. Lieselotte, one of the book’s heroines, hides “from the Nazis” when she is too afraid to return home and be punished by her Nazi father. She imagines her hiding place as dark, damp, and infested with rats, alluding to a typical story in which a victim hides from the Nazis (p. 169). In Er hieß Jan the story of hiding forms the main axis of the plot. The book tells of a seventeen-year-old German girl forced to hide from the Gestapo after her love affair with a Polish forced laborer became known. The depiction of her attic hiding place, her feeling of imprisonment, and her predicament are constructed as an allusion to Anne Frank’s hiding place. In addition to the predicament and fear of discovery, the forbidden love affair and its consequences for Regina are recounted in great detail. All the elements of racial laws leading to a prohibited love story are featured in this book—the stocks, scarlet letter, and shorn hair. Eight square meters, no more. Four white walls, a window, a bed, a table, a chair, a stove…. At first I thought I wouldn’t make it. To be shut in, unable to leave, to be afraid that the door would open, that they’d come for me, seize me, drag me off. When it got dark and I sat there without light, I wanted to jump up, scream, bang my head against the wall. Since then I’ve learned there’s only one thing: waiting. (A Night in Distant Motion, pp. 3, 4) Acht Quadratmeter, mehr nicht. Vier weiße Wande, ein Fenster, ein Bett, ein Tisch, ein Stuhl, ein Ofen…Zuerst habe ich gedacht, ich halte es nicht aus. Eingeschlossen sein, nicht wegkonnen, Angst haben, daß die Tür aufgeht, daß sie mich holen, nach mir greifen, mich fortschleppen. Wenn es dunkel wurde und ich dasaß ohne Licht, wollte ich aufspringen,

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schreien, mit dem Kopf gegen die Wand rennen. Inzwischen weiß ich, daß es nur eins gibt: warten.” (Er hieß Jan, p. 5) In the cellar they had spoken of a farmer’s daughter from Rodigen who was caught with a Pole. “They cut off her hair,” said Mrs. Lieberecht, whose sister lives in Rodigen. “Off with her hair and into the stocks with her for a whole day. And then the Gestapo took her away.” (A Night in Distant Motion,p. 125) Im Keller hatten sie von einer Bauerntochter aus Rodingen gesprochen, die mit einem Polen erwischt worden war. “Die Haare haben sie ihr abgeschnitten,” erzählte Frau Lieberecht, deren Schwester in Rodingen wohnt. “Haare ab und den ganzen Tag an den Pranger gestellt. Und dann hat die Gestapo sie mitgenommen.” (Er hieß Jan, pp. 97–98)

Conclusion The misplacement of elements lends the texts an identity card from which they derive their authenticity and their classification as texts addressing the Third Reich. This strategy characterizes nearly all historical novels and stories we examined. The most instructive example is Christophe Gallaz and Roberto Innocenti’s Rosa Weiss (Rose Blanche), an illustrated text laced with pictures that have assumed iconic status in the discourse on the Third Reich. Innocenti, who has been awarded the most prestigious prize for children’s literature, incorporated the name of the German resistance group, Weiße Rose, into the title of his book, with the intention of conferring the group’s reputation on the story and upon its protagonist, and of presenting the latter as an opponent to the regime and as its victim. Against the backdrop of the resistance movement, Innocenti embedded the well-known photograph of the young Jewish boy of the Warsaw Ghetto with hands upraised into one of the text’s illustrations. While Innocenti endeavored to lend a documentary façade to the story, the result is a complete falsification of the meaning of the original photograph. The photograph originally bore the caption “forcibly dragged from the bunkers,” and it was taken from the album of Jürgen Stroop,5 the SS commander who put down the Warsaw Ghetto revolt and destroyed the ghetto. The album was discovered in Stroop’s home following the war (Encydopedia of the Holocaust, vol. 2, p. 480). The original photograph, which relates to the liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto, has come to symbolize the story of the ghetto and the struggle to survive, which culminated in the destruction of the ghetto down to its last Jewish inhabitant. The frightened boy, whose fate has been sealed by the remorseless German military beast, is a symbol of the horror of the Holocaust. The original photograph shows women and children in the background, hands raised, surrounded by several Wehrmacht troops armed with rifles. The picture conveys fear and approaching death. The fate that awaits the boy and the women facing the camera is clear. This is a tragic picture that tells the story of the innocents just before their deaths at the hands of the evil perpetrators. The photographer’s original point of view was that of

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The illustration (bottom), taken from the German edition of Rosa Weiss, alludes to the famous photograph of the boy from the Warsaw ghetto (top), taken by Jürgen Stroop, SS and police chief who destroyed the Warsaw

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Ghetto; however, the illustration totally distorts the sense of the photo. (Bottom): Roberto Innocenti (illustration and concept) and Christophe Gallaz. Rosa Weiss. Frankfurt-am-Main: Alibaba, 1986. lllustration by Roberto Innocenti. (Top): Photograph courtesy of Yad Vashem, Jerusalem. With permission. menacing murderer, that of a merciless victor preparing to execute the photographed object staring back in fear. In Innocenti’s illustration, he completely alters the point of view of the photographer. The illustration shows the boy raising his hands and staring forward fearfully. It is not clear whom he is looking at, and whose is the photographer’s eye. Because the entire text is narrated in embedded speech with Rosa Weiss, it may be assumed that the boy is standing in front of this innocent girl, who is untainted by evil and from whose viewpoint the picture is “photographed.” The Nazi mayor and the SS men stand at the boy’s side, not facing him, making it clear that they cannot be taking the photograph. In addition to altering the point of view, Innocenti replaced the Wehrmacht troops standing at the rear, rifles at the ready, with SS men whose uniform insignia is plainly visible, and erased the women and children standing in the background with arms raised. Only the boy remains in the illustration; facing him, unseen, is the girl watching the scene. Thus, the point of view of the boy’s surrender is shifted from that of the Nazi photographer in the original photograph to that of the young, helpless opponent of the regime in Innocenti’s story. In the next illustration, Rosa Weiss watches the boy after he has been taken to a truck, which already holds several people whose capture is not shown. The boy does not look her in the eyes; she is not the executioner, as in the original photograph. The story fails to disclose the boy’s fate; the text does not make any further inquiry and does not even clarify that this is a Jewish boy being taken to his death. His Jewishness and fate are implied but not explicit. The text continues to focus on Rosa Weiss’s fate. Ultimately, the scene witnessed by innocent Rosa Weiss will kill her, not the boy. The story continues its chronicle of her life until she is shot to death (it is unclear whether she is killed by the Germans or by the Allies, as suggested by the chain of events). As in the case of Rosa Weiss, misplacement of a long line of elements that form the nucleus of the discourse on the Third Reich and the Holocaust lends the story a personal air and the façade of “the real story.” All of these elements undoubtedly appear in the German-language historical novels and children’s stories. It is not the elements’ mere appearance that facilitates the construction of the German “story,” however, but rather their positioning within the texts and the resultant meaning thus assumed.

Chapter Five “The Dream of the Thousand-Year Reich”—The Borders of the Reich and the Boundaries of Time Severance of Time and Place As demonstrated in the previous chapters, the overwhelming majority of the texts are set in Third Reich Germany. Yet the borders of the Reich expand and contract in accordance with the texts’ immediate needs. The books draw a disjointed and topsy-turvy map of the Third Reich with no territorial continuity. Some books reduce the border to include only certain regions of Germany, while in others the frontier takes in areas occupied by Germany during the war. In both cases this geographical selectivity serves to accentuate German suffering. Texts presenting diminished borders emphasize the great suffering of city dwellers under Allied bombardment, while cartographically generous texts depict areas from which German citizens were expelled, or areas of the Soviet Union that claimed the lives of many German soldiers. The books often describe the large cities that were bombarded and severely damaged—such as Berlin in Mischling Second Degree’, Mensch, Karnickely and Die Webers (in which the name of the city serving as the book’s venue is mentioned only in the afterword)—or Vienna in Krücke and Maikäfer fliegl. Villages accommodating evacuated children are also highlighted. Examples include the heroine in Emma, the children evacuated from Berlin to villages in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, Günther’s friend and the youth counselors at a camp in the village, who are the protagonists in Wir waren dabei, and villages nearly bereft of male inhabitants on the brink of starvation as in Er hieß Jan or Nacht über dem Tal. As shown in the preceding chapter, concentration camps—even those located within the boundaries of the Third Reich such as Dachau and Buchenwald—are not part of the texts’ geography, and are mentioned only to accentuate the suffering of German prisoners. Most of the authors choose to confine themselves to a single geographical setting— mainly the narrator’s home and immediate surroundings. Consequently, the concentration camps and events occurring therein remain outside the books’ purview. Im roten Hinterhaus, for example, limits itself to the street where Peter lives. Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett oder: Die zweite Flucht (Like a Rusty Nail in the Board or: The Second Escape) by Hanna Lehnert ostensibly spans the entire Third Reich era, ending in 1945, and describes an anonymous mountain village while focusing on the life of one of the farmers. The war is nevertheless barely mentioned until Allied forces enter the area. Neither Jews nor concentration camps exist in their world. Just one person, a Polish

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forced laborer, faces some danger, but he is treated kindly by his employers for whom this is a violation of the rules and therefore a personal risk (p. 65). Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld (Barefoot across the Field of Stubble) by Ingeburg Kanstein describes a village or town located about one hour away from the large city of Essen. Susanne, the heroine, lives in a nameless locale, and her world is almost entirely confined to Kieselbachstrafie, where she lives. The narrow sphere of the dormitory where the children of Stern ohne Himmel live and a few surrounding streets represents the extent of their knowledge about the world. The children learn of the extermination of Jews after meeting Abiram, who invades their world. Willi encounters a transport of Jews much earlier, but for him they are only human beings (not necessarily Jews) taken by train to an unknown destination. Wendepunkte, Klaus Kordon’s trilogy of more than one thousand pages, is almost exclusively concerned with the lives of Berlin’s working class, never departing from the narrow geographical setting of the Gebhardt family. Several things indicate that Lena takes place during the war: the book’s subtitle “Our Village and the War” and the titles of some chapters that grant the story a sense of history—“The Invasion, March 12,1938” (“Der Einmarsch, 12. März 1938"), “Der Führer,” “The Hundred Percent Vote” (“Die hundertprozentige Wahl”), and “Die Gestapo.” Ostensibly, the breadth of the book is not restricted to a narrow perimeter but spans an extended time period and ranges beyond the village. Yet by focusing on the inner workings of a village, the book is able to exclusively contemplate the events taking place there and avoid relating almost anything not associated with the village’s microcosm. Wir werden uns wiederfinden is limited to the town from which the family was expelled—even when referring to the deceased; the grandmother takes the children to the cemetery just prior to their expulsion to bid farewell to longdeparted relations (p. 56), but the book makes no reference to the actual hellish conditions then prevalent. The fact that only a few weeks earlier the Germans had completed the cremation of millions of people and were responsible for the deaths of several million more is not mentioned, nor even insinuated. Given the area’s relevance, the book’s deliberate restriction to village limits is especially noticeable as the book tells of events occurring in the Sudetenland. No historical background is provided regarding the war, and descriptions are removed from any historical context and limited to the injustices endured by Sudeten Germans. The village comes to be regarded as the solitary gauge of history. Wir waren dabei confines itself to Germany, except for a description of the defeat at Leningrad. Mensch, Karnickel focuses on cities located within Germany, primarily Berlin and a small town named Himmelsbach, briefly mentioning the flight from the advancing Red Army in the Gulf of Danzig and children who were sent to evacuation camps in East Prussia. Even books based on tales of a journey, such as Krücke, When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, Er hieß Jan, and Wir waren dabei, limit themselves to a narrowly circumscribed geographical domain. The books ignore regions in which non-Germans were subject to suffering and death, concentration camps in which nonGermans were incarcerated, as well as the non-German front. In short, the books’ cartography acknowledges only the “geographical suffering” of the Germans. Deviation from such geographical constraints takes place when a book describes the expulsion from Bohemia and Slovakia (Wir werden uns wiederfinden), refugees returning

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to Germany (Krücke), or a family expelled from Pomerania (Bruder wie Freunde [Brothers Like Friends]). Nacht über dem Tal, Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, and Wir waren dabei cast their gaze eastward, and emphasize the peculiarity of the area in which German soldiers are forced to spend years, often until they are killed (Wir waren dabei). Concrete geographical spaces amplify the horrors described. Stern ohne Himmel Himmel sketches a chaotic world, in which barely a few islands of sanity remain. The first pages of the book describe the growing number of refugees who come to stay and eat at the boarding school (p. 16 [10]). Swarms of people drift from one place to another amid the chaos. Children move about the city in the same manner, making their way from one point to another, from the food cache to the house where Kimmich and Ruth live, and from there to the tower at the city gates. This segmentation evinces a universe drawn into the chaos of war and is further supported by scenes of irrationality, hysteria, hallucinations, and madness (pp. 10,13, 23 [6, 8,16]). At the end of the book, one of the people who had joined the prayers at a church exclaims that their prayers are in vain because God has no time for them. Thus the chaotic image is completed, one in which there is no place even for God (p. 213 [172]). Nor are temporal boundaries continuous; instead, they are drawn between disjointed and staggered points in time. World War I is a preferred starting point, followed by Hitler’s rise to power and the early years of the Reich. The books will often bypass the years 1941–1945 or simply skim over them. Many books prefer to focus on a third period—the postwar years. Nacht über dem Tal and the first volume of Kordon’s Wendepunkte trilogy begin during the days preceding World War I, thereby designating the story of the Third Reich as a mere link in a lengthy historical chain of events. Other books prefer to commence with the subsequent years of inflation and unemployment, in order to accentuate the dire circumstances in which the Germans found themselves prior to the war, or their tribulations during the war and thereafter. Wir waren dabei, Im roten Hinterhaus, and Damals war es Friedrich all open with a description of the difftcult economic conditions during the inflationary years. Although Wir waren dabei begins with Hitler’s 1933 rise to power, the characters later redirect the story to the inflation years and describe the difficulties prevalent at that time. Im roten Hinterhaus relates the history of young Manfred’s family during the prewar years, 1925 to 1933, providing, as a backdrop to the advent of Nazism, an extensive account of Germans who continuously suffer from unemployment, poverty, and hunger. When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit begins in the same year that marks the end of Im roten Hinterhaus. The story spans a period of only three years, 1933 through 1935. The hardships endured in Germany and the deterioration persisting for years is related in a random conversation between a sales clerk in a stationery shop and Frau Lambeck. The nature of this hardship remains unclear—is it economic, social, or both? Nacht über dem Tal starts with a description of World War I and proceeds to describe how the protagonist’s father lost of all his capital due to inflation. When her parents married in 1922, their financial existence hung by a thread. It is told that a plate that broke in the hospital where her brother was born was priced at 23 million marks (p. 8 [12]). Even when the 1941–1945 period is referred to, it is portrayed in a disjointed fashion. Nacht über dem Tal extends to 1942—when the boys received their matriculation

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certificates earlier than usual due to their impending draft—and then skips to 1944 to describe the attempt on Hitler’s life and the Normandy invasion (p. 58 [44]). Suffering caused by Allied bombing occupies a central place in most of the books, among them Krücke, Damals war es Friedrich, Nacht über dem Tal, Wir waren dabei, Stern ohne Himmel, Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, and Brüder wie Freunde. Even when books do reach 1944, they ignore the Final Solution. The persecution of Jews often serves as a mere setting for events taking place within a German family. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon? the father’s heroism and personal sacrifice are highlighted against this backdrop. Er hieß Jan begins in September 1944. It describes the changes undergone by seventeenyear-old Regina, formerly a Nazi, who becomes a dissident as a result of her love for a Polish forced laborer. Their romance continues for six weeks before they are discovered, during which time Regina learns about the horrors of the war. Although it is repeated time and again that Regina listens to enemy radio broadcasts and remembers Jews who had once lived in her city, nothing is told of their fate. The book focuses solely on the suffering of the German populace and its attitude toward foreign laborers. The book suggests that the Jews disappeared at a certain point in time; the manner of their disappearance does not seem to trouble the Germans, nor does the book reflect upon it in hindsight. Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld takes place during the Third Reich, yet it mentions neither Jews nor Nazis. Freundschaft für immer und ewig? (Friendship Forever and Ever?,) by Tilde Michels commences in 1932 and ends shortly after Hitler’s accession to power. The fate awaiting the Jews who remained in Germany lies outside the book’s time frame; what happened to them later is laconically recounted in the afterword. Many Jews fled and went abroad back then. For those who remained in Germany, cruel persecution and destruction began. (my translation) Viele Juden sind damals ins Ausland gefliichtet. Für diejenigen, die in Deutschland blieben, begann eine grausame Verfolgung und Vernichtung. (Freundschaft für immer und ewig?, p. 138) Maikäfer flieg! begins with the last few months of the war, like Stern ohne Himmel, Er hieß Jan, Krücke, Geh heim und vergiß alles, and Mensch, Karnickel. This point of time facilitates the books’ preoccupation with the suffering of the German population. At that time, Germany was indeed breathing its last. Military and civilian casualties were enormous. Cities lay in ruins. Relatives were separated and unable to find one another. All hope was lost. Scarcity, loss, separation, destruction, and death serve as the backdrop to descriptions of the events. As German suffering at this stage is all encompassing, no physical or thematic space is left to address the suffering of others. In fact, this is the safest strategy for presenting the Germans as the main, often sole, victims of the war. Stern ohne Himmel begins with a description of the anarchy prevailing as the war draws to an end, just before the fall of the city to Soviet forces. Because the book’s heroes are a group of children living in a boarding school, the feeling of abandonment and loss is strongly accentuated. Masses of people leave the city and groups of refugees arrive, but the children are trapped in the city, which enables the author to focus on their suffering. Maikäfer flieg! begins nearly at the same time, March 1944, with the Austrians counting the days and hours before the end of the war, with mixed feelings of fear and hope. Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld describes a nine-year period of Susanne’s life, with

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special attention given to her adolescence. The ongoing war during 1944–1945 remains somewhat behind the scenes, and it might have been exchanged for almost any other backdrop to the story of Susanne’s coming of age. Geh heim und vergiß alles opens in 1945 and describes Jews hospitalized in a quarantine camp, barely referring to the hardships they had endured. Bruder wie Freunde also begins in 1945. The preceding years feature only within the context of the contemporary difftculties faced by the family. Mensch, Karnickel opens in the winter of early 1945, just before the war ends. The book then skips to 1948. Most of the narrative takes place in 1950 and portrays the grueling lives led by Germans following the war. Of the war years, only 1944 and 1945 are mentioned, and even then the description is limited to the context of German suffering, particularly the bombardment of German cities and the flight before the rapidly advancing Red Army. The end of one story—the story of the war—is where Krücke begins. It is set amid the ruins of the city where penniless people are casting about, each man for himself, where complete anarchy reigns. Although soldiers are expected to maintain order, and organizations such as the Red Cross are supposed to provide assistance, no one is capable of bringing together the suffering people, nor to grant them a meaningful existence within their chaotic world. Chaos has obliterated everything. Most of the books conclude near war’s end or immediately thereafter. Nie wieder ein Wort davon? ends in 1943. Er hieß Jan begins in September 1944 and ends just a few days before the end of the war. The same is true for Krücke, Stern ohne Himmel, Maikäfer flieg!, Bruder wie Freunde, and the concluding section of Nacht über dem Tal. At times the stories venture far into the postwar years, and in some cases, as in Die Lisa, even reach German reunification. Many of the books choose to avoid depictions of wartime horror by ending prior to the outbreak of war or soon thereafter. Others end at the war’s conclusion and focus on the approaching Russians, military deserters, refugees, orphaned children, or those who had lost track of their parents. Im roten Hinterhaus interweaves the story of Jewish persecution with the story of young Manfred’s prewar family life. The book’s 1933 ending allows for a mild portrayal of the maltreatment of Jews; the Nazis prevent shoppers from entering Jewish-owned shops, and smear the display windows with graffiti. When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit comes to a close in 1935, allowing for a softened depiction of the family’s fate and evading the need to address the fate of German Jewry. The family in question is ultimately successful and comparably lucky; all its immediate relatives stay together and are saved. Despite the chaotic circumstances and its losses, the family is still able to look to the future. The story’s time frame allows it to safeguard almost all the members of the family and its close friends, even the grandmother who had escaped earlier with her possessions and traveled to the south of France, where she lived completely detached from reality. Even Herr Rosenfeld, who comes to inform Anna’s father of Onkel Julius’s suicide, manages to survive. Other relatives are mentioned in the book as living in safety, either in Paris like Aunt Sarah (p. 128) or in England like Cousin Otto (p. 189). Onkel Julius, who does not even consider himself a Jew, is the only Jew to be described at relative length who dies during the story. His suicide is recounted at the end of the book (p. 181) and constitutes one of its tragic points, the only instance in which the Holocaust is referenced in the book. However, the story of Onkel Julius’s

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suicide is shunted aside when the family receives wonderful news from England—the father’s screenplay has been purchased for a large amount of money (p. 183). Thus, the war is over for Anna and her family even before the first shot is fired. The Devil in Vienna ends in 1938, immediately after the Annexation (Anschluss)1 with Austria. Concluding the book at this point enables the story to follow the institutional discrimination against Jews in Austria while refraining from a description of the culmination of this policy—extermination of the Jews. In contrast, Damals war es Friedrich ends in 1942. Friedrich, a Jew, dies as a result of Allied bombing (see Chapter 10). The fate of his father, and the rabbi who was taken from their home, remains unclear. This time frame makes it possible for the story to describe a reality in which the lives of Jews were imperiled and made difficult, yet to ignore the systeinatic extermination of Jews, which had only begun. Wir waren dabei ends in 1943, with the noble deaths of the underage soldiers at the Battle of Stalingrad. As in Damals war es Friedrich, the book’s main protagonists are killed by the Allies: in both cases their deaths result from an error. Accidental instead of intentional deaths allow the book to point an accusing and criticizing finger toward “the war” as the prime cause of these tragedies. The brief chronological chart at the end of Wir waren dabei, an historical summary of the Third Reich’s main events, ends in 1943. Hans Peter Richter designates the Battle of Stalingrad as a precursor of the defeat two years later (p. 204 [156]). Yet when it comes to the Final Solution, he mentions only the Wannsee Conference (p. 203 [156]) without referring to its consequences. Nie wieder ein Wort davon? ends in late 1943, after the home of Hanna and her mother is demolished in a bombing raid, and they flee, destitute, to a quiet village on the Baltic Sea. In their new home, the echoes of war are audible only from a far, and in many respects the war has come to an end for them. Er hieß Jan concludes a few days before the end of the war, as American, Russian, and British troops advance through Germany. Stern ohne Himmel ends with the entrance of Russian troops into the city. At this moment, Nagold’s wife asks “Do we have peace now?” and the teacher answers “Yes, peace,” as if all had suddenly changed and the forces of light entering the city had driven away the forces of darkness (p. 214 [172]). Maikäfer flieg! and Nacht über dem Tal end their stories following the Allied invasion. In Maikäfer flieg! the Germans take flight and the Austrians regain sovereignty, thus creating the impression that the Austrians had defeated the Germans. In the last few pages of the book, the Allied spearhead leaves in favor of rear echelon forces, and the civil administration of Austria is restored to local authorities. In this way the book’s conclusion comes full circle, nearly returning to prewar conditions. Nacht über dem Tal depicts the arrival of the army of occupation and continues through the dismantling of the Wiesengrund camp, the clearing of the narrator’s mother’s name, and the trial of the concentration camp commandants, up to the narrator’s separation from her Jewish sweetheart. Thus, all the questions concerning the concentration camp are resolved. Poor Germany is now left with the suffering of German refugees coming from the East; German citizens are persecuted by the American military command; and, on top of all this, several organizations seek to purify Germany of Nazism, causing much harm to innocent Germans according to the narrator’s account. Both Krücke and Brüder wie Freunde focus on the postwar period. Krücke describes refugees in a chaotic world gradually returning to their routine, to their families in

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Germany. The story lasts about two years. The book’s elaboration on the slow return to normalcy embellishes the suffering of the “good” refugees, while detracting from the wartime suffering caused by the Germans. Brüder wie Freunde draws a picture of East Berlin in the year 1950, presenting the difficult lives of the protagonists as an inevitable result of the war. The book describes the beginning of new life under the shadow of the brutal past. According to the book, its characters are engaged in a battle of survival, after having experienced a terrible war caused by unknown factors. It is this terrible war that is blamed for the hardship the mother faces while trying to support her family, and for the misery prevailing in a Berlin shattered and split into sectors. The choice of such disjointed borders of time and space enables the narrator to assume a perspective from which one can focus on what is desirable, and, no less easily, avoid seeing what is not. The focus on the years 1910–1920 enables the books to form a long historical sequence, in which the Third Reich is but a flash in the pan. The emphasis on the 1920s links the history of the Third Reich to the German economic recession and unemployment, and it provides for a smooth transition to the early years of the Third Reich. The choice to describe this period, characterized by the revocation of civil rights, the beginning of the Nazification of Germany, and imprisonment of many German dissidents, makes it natural to avoid recounting the more severe persecution of the Jews and, obviously, the genocide. The focus on 1945 and subsequent years removes the fate of the Jews from the books’ frame of reference, because during this period no Jews officially remained in Germany, as stated in Stern ohne Himmel: None of them had actually ever seen a star of David, since Jews didn’t exist but were just something people complained about. (Star Without a Sky, p. 35) Richtig hatten sie alle noch keinen Davidstern gesehen, denn Juden gaben es nicht, auf die schimpfte man nur. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 26) And finally, the focus on the early postwar years is conducive to depiction of the expulsion, hunger, destruction, and the refugee problem within Germany, as in Krücke or Bruder wie Freunde. In certain cases the spotlight is directed at the partition of Germany in 1949, which is cast as the apex of the German tragedy, as in Bruder wie Freunde or Die Lisa. Most books do not attempt to unfold a long saga or detailed odyssey, and are content with a reduced, limited time frame. Even in Klaus Kordon’s comprehensive trilogy, which seemingly encompasses a period of forty-five years, the story itself is limited to only a few years. The first book in the trilogy, Die roten Matrosen oder Ein vergessener Winter (The Red Sailors or A Forgotten Winter), is set in the years 1918–1919; the second book, Mit dem Rücken zur Wand (With the Back to the Wall), in 1932–1933; and Der erste Frühling, the third book in the trilogy, describes the fall of the Third Reich in 1945. The texts colossal events taking place between 1934 and 1944. contain no reference to the events occurring in the interim, not even the

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The Length of Highlighted Periods of Time Stern ohne Himmel portrays the brief period of the last days of the war in a large German city—a time of crisis, fear, hunger, and confusion. Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld begins in 1944 and ends in early 1945. Maikäfer flieg! focuses on the final months of the war, replete with chaos, scarcity of information, and uncertainty. When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit depicts pre-Nazification German society, comprising many opponents to Nazism. The Nazification of Germany may be construed from the fractional rumors that Anna hears. The partial description of the events taking place in Germany during 1933 to 1935 allows the text to overlook a wide range of events, and, no less important, the text does not even hint at the ultimate evil impending—the story ends before it can take place. Hitler’s treatment of the Jews is represented in the past tense, as if this were a closed chapter. Already in 1935 the French concierge is shown discussing Hitler’s deeds in the past tense: “Hitler knew what he was doing when he got rid of people like you!” (When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, p. 177) Wir werden uns wiederfinden depicts the years 1944–1945. The book is composed of three sections, which describe wartime village life, the first postwar period, and the family’s expulsion from Bohemia. The story focuses on the expulsion, not its causes. Er hieß Jan limits itself to the last few months of the war, thereby concentrating on the suffering caused by the war, not on the events leading to it. Das Jahr der Wölfe describes the short interval between the summer of 1944 and the autumn of 1945. A short epilogue relates to the period ending in February 1946. The book recounts the flight from the advancing Russians in East Prussia and the lives of the refugees, first under Russian occupation and later under Polish rule. The book details the Germans’ suffering during the journey, their expulsion, and how they were victims of continuous bombardment, but it does not devote even a single word to the underlying causes. References to Nazism are made only to indicate its utter irrelevance to the protagonists. Only the manner in which their lives worsened as a result of the war is described (p. 109 [118]). The years 1944– 1945 are simply described as “When things are bad” (p. 69 [“Zeiten der Not”—p. 76]) and hard times (“harte Zeiten”—p. 155 in the German original, these are the last words of chapter 24 in the German version—chapter 25 in the English version—and appear only in the German original; in the English translation the last four sentences of this chapter have been left out, see p. 144 in the English translation). The focus on the final months of the war, when all efforts are aimed at survival, makes it possible to present the Germans as circumstantial victims. In addition to the dangers looming beyond the frontier, the people are also in jeopardy from within—children and the elderly are being drafted by the military. Freundschaft für immer und ewig? is set in the brief period between 1932 and Hitler’s accession to power. Alan and Naomi takes place in New York City during World War II after the United States joined the Allies. Johanna Reiss’s The Journey Back (translated

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into German as Wie wird es morgen sein?) describes the Jews’ resumption of their lives after the war. The Jews return to normalcy, while German suffering continues. Even books that seemingly cover an extended period of time, such as Zeit für die Hora, Damals war es Friedrich, Nacht Über dem Tal, and Wir waren dabeiy systematically bypass a substantial part of the relevant period. Zeit für die Hora ostensibly covers a long period, from the Templars’ settlement in Palestine (1868) until the heroine Mirjam’s return to Palestine on an illegal immigration ship and her subsequent deportation to an internment camp for deported immigrants. The story later portrays the Israeli War of Independence and the founding of the State of Israel. Despite the length of the period depicted, the description barely refers to either persecution of Jews in Germany or to the transports and concentration camps. Damals war es Friedrich covers a period of more than twenty years but skips many of the more significant and severe events and omits many segments of the history of the Reich. In the book’s table of contents, each chapter is marked with the year in which it is set, but the chapters themselves usually describe events of secondary importance, even incidents that are inconsistent with the main sequence of events. In 1933, for example (March 24), when the Reichstag granted Hitler legislation rights, Richter concentrates on the lawsuit brought by Schneider, the Jew, against Herr Resch, the landlord who is trying to evict him. The story relates how German law supported Herr Schneider’s position, and the case was decided on its merits. In 1934 (August 2), when Hitler appointed himself Führer and leader of the Reich following the death of President Hindenburg, Richter describes Friedrich’s schoolteacher, who gives a seemingly philo-Semitic2 speech in support of Friedrich, who is forced to leave the school (for an analysis of the speech, see Chapter 6). Richter recounts Friedrich’s bar mitzvah ceremony in 1938, although rituals and ceremonies had been outlawed since 1933. Although Dr. Askenase, the physician, appears in several chapters, Richter fails to acknowledge the luly 25,1938 order relegating Jewish physicians to a status below that of nurses. Nor is it mentioned that some 15,000 Jews were then expelled to Poland. The laws promulgated following Kristallnacht in November-December 1938 (i.e., the removal of Jews from schools, closure of Jewish factories, and restrictions on Jewish travel to certain places at certain times) are not mentioned anywhere in the book. The book recounts that in 1940 Jews were forbidden from sitting on park benches not specially designated for them and from attending the cinema, but there is no reference to the first expulsion of German Jews (which occurred on February 12, 1940). Richter notes that in 1941 Jews were forced to wear the yellow star (September 1, 1941) but neglects to mention the beginning of the Final Solution (July 13, 1941), even though he describes the rabbi hiding in Friedrich’s home who was discovered due to a tip to the police and led away in handcuffs; where exactly he was taken and what fate befell him remain unclear. Such questions can be left conveniently unanswered, since they exceed the time frame of the events described in the book. With regard to 1942, Richter chooses to describe a German family helping Friedrich obtain food, a bath, and clean clothes. Because Friedrich is killed in a 1942 Allied bombing raid, everything that happens to the Jews in Germany and elsewhere after 1942 is beyond the book’s time frame: such as the exclusion of Jews from public transportation (April 24, 1942), closure of all Jewish schools (June 20, 1942), and, of course, the deportation of Jews from the German concentration camps to Auschwitz (October 4,1942).

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Wir waren dabei proceeds chronologically from 1933 to 1943. In its last section, the book reaches the war and the front lines, to show innocent German youths meeting brutal deaths through personal sacrifice for their friends’ sake. The fate of the Jews is mentioned in only two instances—when Hitler Youth members harass Friedrich and on Kristallnacht—and in each instance events are depicted as random and not as a part of any systematic stratagem; each time the emphasis is on the innocence and frenzied excitability of German youth. A comparison between the story that is unfolding and the chronological tables appended to both Damals war es Friedrich and Wir waren dabei illustrates the manipulative choice from the general stock of events that were certainly at the author’s disposal. Both books were written by the same author, Hans Peter Richter, and feature the same protagonist. However, even when they list the same date, each book refers to a different event, according to its specific needs. July 14, 1933 is specified in Damals war es Friedrich as the date on which it became possible to strip “undesirables” of German citizenship, whereas according to Wir waren dabei it was on this date that legislation was enacted installing the National Socialist party as Germany’s sole political party. The chronology in Wir waren dabei does not occupy itself with anti-Semitic legislation and decrees, but, oddly enough, it does indicate September 23, 1941, as the day on which experiments on Jews were commenced at Auschwitz, a date that does not appear in Damals war es Friedrich. In one case the same event is assigned a different date in each of the chronologies—the decision to implement the “Final Solution” is taken on July 31, 1941, in Damals war es Friedrichy and on January 20,1942, in Wir waren dabei. Die Webers relates the story of the Third Reich from 1933 until its downfall in 1945. The chapters progress chronologically, and each is preceded by a brief historical synopsis of the significant events of the relevant period. The synopses repeatedly emphasize German suffering, particularly that resulting from unemployment and hunger. Responsibility for Hitler’s rise to power is assigned to the unemployment crisis, and attention is paid mainly to the severe hunger afflicting Germany throughout the entire period of the Third Reich and thereafter. Almost every chapter describes the lack of food, distribution of ration cards, the rationing of food, and the black market. In addition, the synopses underscore the losses in battle and the great number of German military casualties, as well as the bombardment of the civilian population. The allied air fleets continue attacking German cities almost without pause. Dresden is destroyed. Due to the total air war, human losses amongst civilians reach the hundreds of thousands. (my translation) Die alliierten Luftflotten greifen fast unablässig deutsche Städte an. Dresden wird vernichtet. Durch den totalen Luftkrieg gehen die Verluste an Menschenleben aus der Zivilbevölkerung in die Hunderttausende. (Die Webers, p. 120) In contrast, the fate of the Jews is scarcely reported. Apart from the detailed description of Kristallnacht, the book mentions Anne Frank’s arrest and subsequent death in BergenBelsen (on the popularity of Kristallnacht depictions, see Domansky 1992; on the popularity of the debate over Anne Frank, see Chapter 1 of this book). No other references to the Jews’ fate under the Third Reich are made.

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The temporal boundaries in Nacht über dem Tal are relatively broad, if somewhat vague. They range from an indeterminate point in time during World War I until the first few months after the end of World War II. The broad scope of the work is used both to create a linkage between the interwar inflation and World War II, and to clear the narrator’s mother who was accused of being a collaborator and using the prisoners for forced labor. The story begins with the period of unemployment and Hitler’s rise to power (against the family’s wishes) and ends when the family is conclusively vindicated. The book barely depicts the years 1933–1938, during which Hitler took power and established his authority, the German people adapted to his rule, and the war broke out; and the years 1942–1944 are entirely missing. Many books employ the strategy of Nacht über dem Tal, skirting long expanses of time, which allows them to distinguish between more and less “important” periods and to create their own chronological prioritization.

Globalization and Universalization In addition to the possibility of viewing the events through a peephole, the disjointed boundaries of time and space help to develop a globalization of the war. By skipping among different neighborhoods, cities, and countries, between Europe and the rest of the world (the United States and North Africa), and from one battlefield to the next, the war appears to be everywhere and hence universal, a state of affairs prevalent throughout the world. The war is depicted as a monster grasping the entire planet. The whole world, not just Germany, is at war, and this message—the world at war—allows the texts to easily avoid asking just who led the world to war. The story told of Anna’s family in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit incorporates not only Germany but also Czechoslovakia, Switzerland, France, and England. The family encounters anti-Semitism in Switzerland (pp. 70–72; pp. 62–65 in the German translation), and in Paris the concierge in their building makes anti-Semitic remarks (p. 177; p. 163 in the German translation). Anna’s parents encounter difficulties everywhere, which indicates that no country helped Jews, The resultant impression is that all of Europe, with Germany at its heart, is swept up in the storm. The narrator in Maikäfer flieg! describes the war as taking place “far, far away, near Kalvarienberggasse” (“Nur weit oben, bei der Kalvarienberggasse, lief die Hannitante,” p. 3 [10]), which is probably just a few blocks from her home. The stories told by the father, who served as a German soldier in Russia for many years, reinforce the depiction of extensive boundaries of war (pp. 127–128 [188–189]). The events of Nacht über dem Tal take place in the village where the narrator’s family lives. At different junctures, however, the text ranges far afield and affords a view of events in the world at large. Among these events are the bombardment of major German cities (pp. 48, 60, 101–103 [36, 45–46, 75] and the bombing of the military airfield adjacent to the farm on which the protagonist worked while in school (p. 55 [42]), as well as attacks on cities outside Germany, such as London (pp. 103–104 [75]). On occasion, the narrator recounts how more and more countries and nations are becoming embroiled in war—Russia, Poland, France, Great Britain, and the United States. The wartime experiences of young people sustain the impression that the war is everywhere (pp. 38, 44,47,48–49 [29, 33, 35–36, 37]).

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Nie wieder ein Wort davon? focuses on Anna’s neighborhood, but the book creates the impression that the entire world is going up in flames. Hannes and Anna study the atlas and trace the front lines outlined in Hitler’s speech—the Arctic Ocean, Finland, East Prussia, the Carpathians, the banks of the River Prut, and the Lower Danube flowing into the Black Sea. This also holds true regarding the sequence of events—when did the war begin, when did it end? The chronological leaps create the feeling that the war started “a long time ago.” The narrator in Maikäfer flieg! cannot even remember the days before the war— ”…the war had been on for a long time now, and I could not even remember a time when the war had not been on” (p. 1 [7]). According to Krücke and Brüder wie Freunde, the war continues long after the battles had ended. The story of Anna’s family in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit apparently commences in 1933, but the book depicts a world that had long been exposed to tensions, chaos, and shortages. From the reader’s perspective, the dates become confused; when the family flees Germany, its past becomes distant and the physical remnants of the past—home, belongings, books—are lost. Through the use of such descriptions, the war is presented as a global phenomenon with indeterminate temporal borders, the degree of accountability assigned to any one factor is lessened, and the war becomes a cosmic event dissociated from the deeds of men. In this case, the old world is destroyed and from it a the new world emerges.

Past-Present Dichotomy The message in these books—that past events occurred in another world and another space—is strengthened by the dichotomy between the old and new worlds. The old Germany burned to death. The old world is no more and a new genesis has dawned in its place. As Christine Nöstlinger explains in her prologue to Maikäfer flieg!, the Germany of the Third Reich no longer exists: Clothes were different twenty-five years ago, and so were cars. Streets were different, and food was different, and we were different too. (Fly Away Home, Foreword) Vor fünfundzwanzig Jahren waren die Kleider anders und die Autos auch. Die Straßen waren anders und das Essen auch. Wir waren anders. (Maikäfer flieg!, Vorbemerkung) Stern ohne Himmel promises a future for the children, for the generation of tomorrow. The end of the war means the beginning of a new life. Ruth quotes her grandfather, the prophetic figure of the book, as saying that “when the war is over […] and if we lose, then our life will really start” (“wenn der Krieg vorbei ist…und wenn wir ihn verlieren, dann fa’ngt das Leben für uns überhaupt erst an,” p. 27 [19]). At this point, the children are subject to great hardship, but this hardship will ultimately form the foundation upon which the future and hope will be built. Brüder wie Freunde begins two years after the war. Frank, the main protagonist, is too young to remember anything of the war, which is related to him by his older brother. With his brother’s death, the last link to the war is gone. The war becomes a thing of the past and loses all relevance to the present. There is

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such a pressing need to conclude the issue of the war that the story almost implies that Frank’s brother had to die in order to allow Frank to begin a new life. Frank feels he might have prevented this tragedy. And yet, his guilty feelings pertain only to the present (p. 195 [144–145]). As far as the more distant past is concerned, Frank harbors neither feelings of guilt nor any emotional disquiet. In her book Nacht über dem Tal, Wendelgard von Staden states that her only consolation from the horrors was that “a decent Germany would emerge from the ruins” (“wir würden aus den Trümmern ein gutes Deutschland aufbauen,” p. 97 [70]), in the words of the priest she and her mother visited in order to mollify their feelings of melancholy. She describes this new world when, returning to her childhood home many years after the war, she discovers that everything has changed beyond recognition. Krücke describes the complete anarchy reigning in the world at the end of the war. According to Peter Härtling, the past had been erased and was no longer perceived as being part of the future. Nothing but fragments were left of the German nation of the Third Reich, exactly like the ruins left by the Allied bombing. The surviving Germans began anew. Their lives must be measured against their success in outlasting the chaos. The book, which begins at end of the war, expresses the idea that it is possible to begin from the end and to consider the year 1945 as the beginning of a new era. When history is viewed in terms of subsequent historical events, profound questions concerning the past can be left unanswered, such as how almost an entire nation could have aided Hitler’s terrible regime, or how it could have returned so quickly to ostensible normalcy. Addressing the future is also expressed in the map of Germany appearing in the beginning of Krücke. This map shows a partitioned Germany and the east-to-west migration route of German refugees. The past has disappeared off the map of Germany. This map shows Germany of the future, a Germany punished for the sins of its Nazi past.

Nature and Its Destruction Parallel to the distinction between past and future, the texts distinguish between “Germany” the nature sanctuary and “Nazi Germany” that distorts and spoils nature. Nacht über dem Tal opens with pastoral scenes of the valley in which the village is nestled. Von Staden later depicts the valley’s confiscation by the Nazis, who construct a concentration camp in it. The camp is presented as an antithesis to the breathtaking vista previously described. During the war the earth is barren and afflicted, after fathers and sons had been drafted and no one is left to work the land. After the war the red poppies bloom in the valley for one season only and never reappear. Other books also describe nature becoming vengeful and angry at the war and Nazism. Hans, who is sent to the East for premilitary training in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, writes a letter describing the prolonged drought affecting the German settlement areas in Poland (p. 133 [126]). Wells dry up completely, and the soldiers are not allowed to drink the water. In Brüder wie Freunde a street group that Frank has joined finds a hiding place among the ruins of houses demolished by wartime bombardment. Creeping plants and even small trees cover the ruins, and the foliage is full of pests and crawling insects (pp. 89–91 [66–68]). During the two years that have elapsed since the end of the war, the war areas have become a jungle.

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“Germany,” in Er hieß Jan, is the land of villages and nature, while “Nazi Germany” is replete with big cities and mutilated nature. The story’s protagonist, a Nazi supporter, lives in the city. As a result of her ideological changes she is hounded there and finds refuge in a village. Emma emphasizes the vast difference between the bombed-out cities of Nazi Germany and the relative tranquility of German villages. The potato field belonging to the Roland family and to Hanna’s family in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? grows and flourishes, indifferent to the death and bereavement plaguing the family. Hanna travels to a village following her father’s execution and finds that nothing has changed there. Berlin is destroyed and Hanna is traumatized beyond recognition, yet all is well in the village. Here she finds the same dirt roads, fields, and smells, and the window of her room looks out on the same view that she had known years earlier. The village in Schleswig-Holstein, where she escapes with her mother in 1943, is depicted as an enclave untouched by destruction. The war passes over this old, unhurried village, and it becomes a miniature Garden of Eden in contrast to the hell of Nazi Germany. The rise of Nazism violates the unity between man and nature. The German family in Wir werden uns wiederfinden has deep roots in Bohemia. The family home was built by the great-grandfather (p. 13). The family works the land with great devotion and acts with consideration toward nature. Ancient trees dotting the area show that nature, like man, has had a long history there (p. 19). The unity maintained by man and nature demands continuity. The accession of Nazism violated this unity, and the family is expelled from its natural place. In Rosa Weiss, changes of nature serve as a metaphor for the suffering endured by Germans during the war. The gloomy skies are a figurative description of Rosa Weiss’s sadness after she witnesses the capture of a boy trying to escape. The passing seasons signify the beginning and the end of the period during which Germans became victims. When trucks enter the city and many men enlist, winter begins. The onset of spring symbolizes the end of the year and hints that life can return to normal. Even the weather is disrupted under Nazi rule, and it becomes difficult and severe. At times it is hot and the sun beats down on the residents of Vienna, as if they are living in the middle of the desert or an area scorched by a nuclear blast (Krücke, pp. 7, 10 [13, 15]). It gets hot even in Bronka’s home, which serves as a shelter from the hell outside (p. 43 [45]). During the hours-long wait for Hitler’s speech in Wir waren dabei, the sun is mercilessly hot on the heads of those congregated in the square (p. 24 [27]). During the journey back to Germany in Krücke, children become ill and the passengers all suffer from cold as the temperature drops to freezing (p. 96 [93]). Toward the end of the story, after being assigned a house, Thomas and Krücke are still afflicted by the cold (p. 157 [150]). Only at the end, when Thomas is reunited with his mother, does the weather improve. Thomas is no longer cold, and he enjoys the warmth permeating through the room (p. 163 [155]). As Jan’s relationship with Regina becomes more dangerous, his hut, which serves as their meeting place in Er hieß Jan, becomes ever colder. At their last meeting, which takes place despite their decision not to meet again, Regina discovers that the weather has subdued Jan and that he is ill. In Wir waren dabei the harsh, muggy weather and limited visibility serve as the backdrop to the tragic death of the narrator and his friend Günther at the front lines in Stalingrad (p. 177–179 [142–144]). During their journey, Krücke and Thomas traverse the small German town of Weisslingen, described as a kind of Nazism-free enclave unaffected by Allied bombing. When Thomas and Krücke walk around the town for the first time, Krücke can scarcely

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believe that such a place still exists: “Not one single house had been destroyed ” (p. 136 [130]). Such a setting allows Thomas and Krücke to dwell in a place where the past is untainted by Nazism. The normalcy in the town is shown in contrast to Nazi Germany, and against its backdrop the two refugees are surrealistically conspicuous. According to the new map of Germany charted by Härtling, the two refugees will slowly assimilate and become healed; in the years to follow, more and more places will become part of this normalcy.

Perspective The choice of a limited temporal and geographical space is primarily a result of the narrator’s perspective. The texts consistently adhere to the limited point of view of children, adopting their limited perception of the events that take place in the temporal and geographical space. In this manner, the texts create the desired filtration and reconstruction of the subject matter. A large number of texts are presented as biographical or autobiographical stories, written by an adult but communicated through the voice of a child narrator; alternatively, the texts are related by a mature narrator, in embedded speech with the narrator as a child. The adherence to these points of view enables the justification of the main character’s ignorance and the handling of more difficult events in an evasive manner and through numerous screens. The texts recurrently present events that the children are unable to understand and that it would be futile for them to try to understand. Incomprehension becomes a common pattern that organizes the entire picture. Thus the books attain two goals simultaneously. It is commonly thought that children do not “beautify reality” but report on events “as they were.” As a result, a high degree of credibility is attributed to the texts, because they succeed in creating an image of a story that does not avoid the “difficult truth.” At the same time, however, their adherence to the child’s perspective exempts the texts from having to provide insightful presentations of the historic events. The child-narrator is expected to know little, and his or her knowledge of the events is characterized by innocence and a lack of sophistication. He or she has only limited capacity to associate between events that do not concur, or to understand and interpret such events. As a result, it is possible to provide fragmented descriptions in untainted language of what children see without creating any cause-effect linkage. Although the story in Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett is related long after the fact by an adult narrator, it adheres to the point of view of the narrator in his youth and is limited to his knowledge at the time. The point of view of the adult narrator is used to embellish his detachment from the setting of his youth and complete estrangement from his father, yet in no way whatsoever is it used to shed light on the Third Reich era or the war. Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld is totally confined to the limited knowledge of five-year-old Susanne. Even though the story follows her as she grows up, and by the end she is an independent girl of fourteen who succeeds in changing her life, the story does not exploit her independent personality to further scrutinize what is told about the war in an embedded speech. Krücke does not use the experience Bronka most likely had in order to introduce information about the extermination of Jews during the last few years of the war, or about the concentration camps. It is vaguely indicated that she had undergone

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difficult times when the three (Bronka, Krücke, and Thomas) visit the offices of the Red Cross in Vienna. The severe overcrowding and the long wait drive Bronka away, but this implication may be realized only if it is associated with other information about her experiences during the war. Since such other information is not provided in the text, the event serves only to set the tone (pp. 48–49 [49–50]). In Lena the schoolchildren receive books and pictures that aim to incriminate the Poles. The father tells them that the bodies in the photograph are actually a mass grave of Polish Jews. Information about the mass extermination of Jews is seemingly provided here, but this partial information is not developed further. The narrator fails to seize this opportunity to add information later; for example, she might have written that “after the war I realized how true father’s descriptions were, that he even understated the facts,” but she deliberately chooses to remain within the constraints of a little girl’s limited knowledge about the war (p. 115). Bruder wie Freunde repeatedly emphasizes that Frank, the story’s main protagonist, remembers nothing of his childhood during the war (p. 144 [106]). He is aware that something “happened” to his city but does not know exactly what took place. Klaus Kordon seals the temporal and geographical boundaries by means of the protagonist’s limited awareness, and he does not include any details that are outside of Frank’s scope of knowledge and understanding, neither about Berlin nor about the war. Renate Welsh’s “Die Ohrfeigen” (“Slaps in the Face”), in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, is a tale of innocence and incomprehension of children. The story describes a girl who goes shopping with her grandmother and unwittingly sings a forbidden song (p. 26). Her grandmother becomes alarmed and slaps the girl, who had heard her father singing the same song at home and is confused by the reprimand. She also hears that her family fears deportation to a concentration camp, but she does not know what that means (p. 26). It is clear that something terrible is happening in the camps, and that her uncle trembles out of fear of them, but the source of this fear and what transpires there remain obscure. Welsh leaves the meaning of the term “concentration camp” uncertain, as it was in the mind of a little girl during the war. In the preface to another story, which depicts the life of Nadine, a Jew, Welsh indirectly justifies the choice of this perspective in a somewhat different manner—claiming that the suffering in the concentration camps does not lend itself to description. Freundschaft für immer und ewig? is told through the voice of Susi, the hero of the story, and restricts itself to the years prior to Hitler’s rise to power. An attempt is made to compensate for this in the afterword by providing information about what happened to the story’s main characters later. Esther’s (Jewish) family successfully flees to Switzerland, only their possessions are seized; Mr. Mendelsohn manages to escape; Bubi Schapiro remains in Germany and meets an unknown fate (p. 138). In Rosa Weiss, Roberto Innocenti chooses to tell the story from Rosa Weiss’s point of view, a German girl who, by the narrator’s account, does not understand the events taking place. For example, her limited perception does not allow her to understand where the trucks are going and what cargo they are hauling. When Rosa Weiss is exposed to brutal events, Innocenti diverts these events along a different course by using Rosa Weiss’s point of view to illustrate her own suffering. As mentioned earlier, in the scene of the Jewish boy with raised hands, Innocenti focuses on Rosa Weiss’s sadness as she watches him, and tells nothing at all of the Jewish boy’s fate. It is unclear why he was hiding, why his

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hands are raised, what is happening between him and the soldiers, and what is about to happen to him. Due to the adherence to Rosa’s point of view, information pertaining to the boy’s fate is outside the scope of the story, although the boy himself seems to be part of the story. Lena presents itself as an historical novel of wide breadth, although nothing is included that is not directly connected to the children’s life. This is also true of Sonderappell’, November 9, otherwise known as Kristallnacht, is appropriated by the personal story of the protagonist and is presented as the date on which Charlotte’s life changes, because on that day she travels to the Reich Labor Service work camp during the last year of the war (p. 12). When the protagonist’s Jewish friend disappears, there is no attempt to uncover her fate, and no further information is offered. The story focuses on Charlotte, who is sad after her good friend leaves her without bidding farewell. What happens outside this narrow circle remains wholly untold. In Zeit für die Hora information about the concentration camps is conveyed by survivors, whose recollections are erratic and combine recollection with forgetting, and who are frequently interrupted by unwilling listeners. Omission of the horrors of the camps is made possible due to the interplay of disjointed recollections and the description of events as they occur. Alan and Naomi provides a glimpse into the horrors through Naomi’s erratic recollections, which are cut short more than once when Naomi resists confrontation of the past. When Alan wishes to hear more, he does not turn to Naomi, for fear that she will be hurt by recalling the past (p. 144; p. 116 in the German translation). Wie niet weg is wordtgezien by Ida Vos, translated from the Dutch into German as Wer nicht weg ist, wird gesehen, does not present testimonies of the camps’ survivors. On the contrary, the book legitimizes their silence. Miep declares that she is unwilling to relate her difficult camp experiences, and the grandfather and grandmother tell almost nothing of Theresienstadt. Stern ohne Himmel depicts the world of the adults who are aware of the extermination of Jews, in contrast to the world of the children who do not know a thing. Because the book adheres to the children’s knowledge, that of the adults is scarcely in evidence. Adherence to the children’s perspective facilitates the description of the persecution and extermination of Jews through numerous filters. Even when a bit of the terror is revealed toward the end of the book, this brief interval is used to focus on the children’s adolescence and to concentrate on the painful process of becoming exposed to the knowledge about the war, which is represented as a “Bildungsroman” (initiation novel). Thus, the story’s development makes it easy to accept the disbelief surrounding Abiram’s difficult stories, as well as the vague circumstances of his maltreatment. Furthermore, Abiram is ultimately saved at the end of the story, while the extermination of the Jews merits only partial and vague mention. The cover of Judith und Lisa indicates that the story is told ex post facto, through Lisa’s own reflective observations, but there is no attempt to supplement what she was able to comprehend or know at the time. Although the book states that Lisa did not forget her (p. 21 [21]), and many years later she tells her story to young children, even then she fails to add any information to that which she knew as a child. Quite the opposite—the text repeatedly emphasizes the limited scope of her knowledge. Descriptions of all the important events in the story begin with such words as “one day,” “one afternoon,” or

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“suddenly” in order to stress the narrator’s surprise and her inability to associate the events with one another or with other incidents. Most books incorporate furtive glimpses into German events before, during, and after the war, but since these events are beyond the limits of the stories’ main episodes, they remain short and incomplete. The glimpses allow inclusion of at least some information unknown to the children, but also the subjection of such information to their perspective. These scenes appear in connection with the main story but are not part of it, serving only to intensify the principal axis of the story. Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, for example, draws an analogy between the deterioration at the battlefront and that of the hinterland. In Nacht über dem Tal, Stern ohne Himmel, and Maikäfer flieg! as well, anticipation of the Allies’ arrival plays a central role in the protagonists’ lives and is evident in the limited accounts of the war. It is not the very choice of a children’s perspective that ultimately entails such a structure of narration. Adopting a children’s perspective can yield other structural options. Even if the narrator adheres to a child’s point of view, a variety of techniques enables him or her to convey additional information beyond that which is directly provided by the child. For example, the children’s partial accounts are enhanced by another account providing instructions for its construction. Thus, in Gudrun Pausewang’s Reise im August (The Final Journey), a difficult and piercing story is constructed in addition to the story of young Alice and presented in embedded speech with her (see Chapter 12). Most books choose not to use the option of guiding the reader to reconstruct a story that is different from the one related by a child. Even when the reader is required to do so, the ancillary story only supports the story told from the child’s perspective, and it makes no attempt to counter it with a different story. Several cases, however, indicate that the children know more than the story reveals. In Nacht über dem Tal the narrator is in her teens; the narrator in Maikäfer flieg! is particularly curious and nosy, and through her observations something may be learned of the concentration camps; the title Nie wieder ein Wort davon? indicates that the children know more than they are permitted; Stern ohne Himmel contains occasional flashes from inside the transports and concentration camps; in Krücke the story shifts momentarily, in a restricted manner, to Bronka and the children in her care. And yet, no attempt is made to use these materials for constructing a counternarrative, and the aforesaid exceptions remain mere hints that reveal a little but conceal much more. The events taking place beyond the range of the protagonists’ knowledge remain obscure, beyond the boundaries of the story, and alien to the world familiar to the narrator. The narration method of a child-narrator resembles a sieve riddled with holes and enhances the texts’ capacity to filter the world described. It legitimizes an incomplete, personal story, which does not touch on the issues of accountability and guilt associated with World War II. The war is perceived as a montage of personal experiences, and the books are “permitted” to avoid issues that do not form the intimate world of the child and do not directly affect him or her. The personal and “subjective” nature of the stories makes it possible to ignore significant events that occurred during the relevant time period and to focus instead on the world of the protagonist, the street corner on which he or she lives, and the events of his or her life, not on the ghetto or the Gestapo headquarters located only a few blocks away.

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The texts prefer elements of somewhat documentary nature relating to a personal, “subjective” story. “Testimonies” only add another angle to the general picture, ostensibly precluding the possibility of another story existing apart from a specific personal experience.

Chapter Six “Some of My Best Friends”—Philo-Semitic and Anti-Semitic Descriptions of the Jews The children’s texts seek to change the stereotypical set of negative traits that were attributed to the Jews by a long history of anti-Semitic tradition and particularly by Nazi propaganda. They aspire to combat anti-Semitism and correct its distortions. In their campaign against stereotypical patterns of the portrayal of Jews, the books create another set of patterns based on traits borrowed from a reservoir of Jewish depictions, in which both anti-Semitic and philo-Semitic traditions mingle. The convergence of these two traditions is not surprising, because both assume the existence of distinct and opposing categories between Jews and Germans. Both tacitly assume that there is a fundamental difference between Jews and Germans whereby “Jews” are not “Germans” and “Germans” are not “Jews.” In effect, the books do not acknowledge the possibility of a hyphenated “German- Jew.” The texts use stereotypical descriptions of Jews taken from a reservoir that had previously served Nazi ideology and propaganda, particularly descriptions of Jewish power, wealth, and world control. Because the texts for children are certainly not antiSemitic nor propagandistic in nature, they obviously contain no explicitly anti-Semitic descriptions. Such descriptions are presented indirectly by contrasting Jews and Germans and describing the consequences of so-called Jewish traits for Germans. The Jews are portrayed as enjoying a permanent relative advantage that threatens the Germans. Even the Jews’ ostensibly positive characteristics turn out to have negative implications for Germans. The stereotypic presentation of Jews is reinforced both by their depiction as a mass of people who are “different” from the Germans, all possessing identical traits, and also by the books’ ignorance of Jewish customs. The Jewish family in Damals war es Friedrich is presented as a traditional family who observes the Sabbath, and the mother kisses the mezuzah 1 on the door post whenever she leaves the house. Such a family cannot possibly eat non-kosher food. Yet they are portrayed eating nonkosher food during their visit to an amusement park (when the Jewish father treats everyone to frankfurters that are certainly not kosher). The Jewish doctor suggests to Friedrich’s mother, on her deathbed, that she accept last rites. Traditional Jews would do no such thing. Gudrun Maecker’s Als die neue Zeit begann (When the New Time Began) tells of a yarmulke-clad Jew selling his wares specifically on Saturday (which Jew-ish lawstrictly forbids), while in…aber Steine reden nicht (…But Stones Don’t Speak) a boy celebrates his bar mitzvah at the age of fourteen, rather than thirteen, and the text makes no comment on the irregularity of the timing.

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In the eyes of the non-Jewish narrators, from whose perspective the story is generally told, all Jews look and sound alike. For example, the narrator of Im roten Hinterhaus comments: I don’t know the first name of the master of the little house, but it must have been an Old Testament name. They may have called him Isaac or Abraham, Esau, Samson or Saul…(my translation) Ich weiß nicht, welchen Vornamen der Gebieter des kleinen Hauses hatte; jedoch muß es ein alttestamentlicher gewesen sein. Isaak hätte er heißen können, Abraham, Esau, Samson oder Saul…(Im roten Hinterhaus, p. 89) Christina in Geh heim und vergiß alles says: I had seen hundreds and more, and they all looked alike. (my translation) Ich hätte hundert gesehen und mehr, und alle sahen gleich aus. (Geh heim und vergiß alles, p. 16)

Explicit Anti-Semitic Remarks Explicit anti-Semitic remarks in the texts are a rarity, expressed only by negatively characterized figures. The remarks are not refuted, however, and are often reinforced by a certain event or additional source; they therefore cannot be casually dismissed. In Damals war es Friedrich, the shopkeeper’s claim that the Jews ruined her livelihood is later confirmed by the large Jewish-owned department store competing with her shop (p. 38 [39]). In his address to the class, the teacher speaks about the Jews’ cunning. His statements are later confirmed by the policeman: Believe me, we grownups have had plenty of experiences with Jews. You can’t trust them; they’re sneaky and they cheat. (Friedrich, p. 40) Glaub mir: Wir Erwachsenen haben unsere Erfahrung mit Juden. Man kann ihnen nicht vertrauen; sie sind hinterlistig und betrügen. (Damals war es Friedrich, pp. 39–40) Anna, the narrator of Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, is amazed at the large number of Jews in Berlin—after the Jews were ordered to wear a yellow badge (p. 40 [40]). This confirms Nazi propaganda that Jews lurked everywhere and thus required distinguishing marks. Anna is waiting in line for meat. One of the women standing with her attacks a Nazi supporter claiming that they send Germans to the front while keeping their own sons in safe places. In response, the Nazi woman attacks Mrs. Schmidtke, a Jewish woman standing in line, claiming that Jews take the Germans’ food. Offended, Mrs. Schmidtke leaves the line. The Nazi woman’s charge is soon corroborated. With her mother’s permission, Anna rushes after Mrs. Schmidtke and gives her the German family’s meat ration (p. 21 [19]); it appears that Jews are indeed taking food out of the mouths of the Germans. After Mrs. Schmidtke leaves the line, the Nazi woman makes disparaging remarks about Jewish arrogance and cowardice. (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, p. 18

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[19]). Her claim regarding Jewish arrogance is confirmed by Mrs. Schmidtke’s readiness to forgo her children’s meat ration rather than suffer an indignity. The claim about Jewish cowardice is buttressed later on when the Jewish family prefers to commit suicide rather than cope with its difficulties. And what if she gets the last piece of meat? Then Jew children have meat on the table and the others have to eat vegetables and potatoes without meat…. But they were always, like that: arrogant, unfriendly, and cowardly. (Don’t Say a Word, p. 18) Und was ist, wenn gerade sie das letzte Stück Fleisch bekommt? Dann steht bei Judenkindern Fleisch auf dem Tisch und andere mtissen Gemiise und Kartoffeln essen ohne Fleisch…. Aber das waren sie schon immer: anmaßend, hinterhältig und feige. (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, pp. 19, 20) The Devil in Vienna cites Der Stürmer’s assertion of the suicidal inclinations of Jews (p. 226). The quote follows a description of the suicide of Max Plattau, a friend of the Jewish family. This is the only instance in which the text features the death of a Jew, thus substantiating the equation between Jewish death and suicide. Inge’s mother tries to draw her away from the Der Stürmer article, calling it “dirt.” But the connection between Jewish suicidal leanings and the demise of Max Plattau is neither denied nor challenged by any other case involving a fatality. Karl-Heinz, one of the protagonists in Die Webers, reads an article of anti-Semitic nature that warns of the risk of being poisoned by eating food from Jews. He ponders the propaganda in light of his friendship with the Jewish boy Ernst Heine. Karl-Heinz’s internal dialogue ostensibly neutralizes the propaganda, for he had never personally seen Jews poisoning anyone. The dialogue concludes, however, with Karl-Heinz deliberating over the difficulty of identifying poisonous mushrooms. Hence, the propaganda is not altogether refuted and ultimately is doubly reinforced. Later, the text indirectly compares Ernst Heine to a repulsive reptile; the pleasant expression of the youth movement counselor dissolves into a look of revulsion when he discovers that Ernst Heine is a Jew. This image, borrowed from the repertoire of Nazi propaganda, is neither refuted nor dismissed. The anti-Semitic insinuation in Im roten Hinterhaus is based on the German saying “noisy as a synagogue” (“ein Lärm wie in der Judenschule”). The idiom implies that the synagogue is a scene of uproar and indirectly ascribes the characteristics of noise and disorder to Jewish rites. Nevertheless, the narrator uses this adage when fondly recalling his Jewish neighbors, who have since disappeared. Even if the saying is almost linguistically neutral, its association with the Jewish neighbors alludes to its latent antiSemitic potential. “He who gorges himself from Jew[ish hand]s”—utter nonsense, but— “will die from it!” So the Jews were poisonous after all—and the others were not. Actually it was amazing that it was impossible to see that. Of course: you can’t see that much poison is concealed in a beautiful fly agaric [toadstool], either. (my translation)

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“Wer vom Juden frißt”—glatter Unsinn, aber “der stirbt daran!” Also waren die Juden wohl giftig, und die anderen eben nicht. Eigentlich mußte man staunen, daß es ihnen nicht anzusehen war. Freilich: Einem hübschen Fliegenpilz sieht man auch nicht an, daß er voller Gift steckt. (Die Webers, p. 20) The youth movement leader’s face, which had been friendly until now, suddenly turned to stone, and it almost seems as though he recoiled in horror at the unexpected appearance of a disgusting reptile. (my translation) Das zuletzt recht freundliche Gesicht des Pimpfenführers versteinerte, und es sieht fast aus, als schrecke er wie beim unerwarteten Anblick eines widerwartigen Reptils zurück. (Die Webers, p. 41) Nazi propaganda was accustomed to drawing comparisons between Jews and animals. When Anna’s father, a uniformed senior officer, gives up his seat on the streetcar to an elderly Jewish woman in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, the woman’s reaction is compared to that of a startled animal. In Stern ohne Himmel, Abiram gets down on his hands and knees among the jars of food and preserves and is compared to a pursued animal (pp. 33, 35 [25, 26]). Wendelgard von Staden, in Nacht über dem Tal, describes the Jews crawling on all fours in an attempt to get their hands on a potato (p. 69 [53]). In the story “Die Nonna” (“Grandma”) in the collection Damals war ich vierzehn, the grandmother running from the streetcar to her grandson’s home is portrayed as a small gray mouse. The woman looked at him timidly, from underneath, like a frightened animal. (Dont Say a Word, p. 46) Die Frau blickte ihn an, scheu von unten wie ein ängstliches Tier. (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, p. 45) They dragged themselves among the intimidated villagers, who huddled together in rooms or remained crouching in their cellars. They crawled on top of overturned trunks and over personal belongings that had been trampled underfoot. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 129) Sie krochen zwischen den verängstigten Dorfbewohnern herum, die sich in einer Stube ihrer Häuser zusammengedrangt hatten oder noch in den Kellern safien. Sie krochen über umgestürzte Truhen und am Boden zertrampelte Habseligkeiten. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 94) She scurried like a little gray mouse from the streetcar stop to Rommi’s parents’ house…(my translation) Sie huschte wie eine kleine graue Maus von der Straßenbahnhaltestelle zum Haus von Rommis Eltern…(Damals war ich vierzehn, p. 40) Nazi propaganda also linked Jews with dirt and contagion. Damals war es Friedrich describes the filth and stench that spread through both Dr. Askenase’s clinic and Rosenthal’s shop after Kristallnacht. In Wir waren dabei, incited teenagers curse the Jewish boy Friedrich, calling him a “dirty Jew” (“dreckiger Jude”) and “stinking Jew” (“stinkiger Jude”) (p. 46 [43]). In Das Kind im Koffer, the child smuggled in the suitcase is the only character identified with certainty as a Jew. The prisoners hide him in a

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garbage can in the infirmary block. The Jewish inmates in Nacht über dem Tal are infested with lice. The ailing Jews in Geh heim und vergiß alles live amid stench and filth in a quarantine camp, and they are also infested with lice. Dr. Marmor’s pants and shoes are covered with dirt. Christine describes with disgust the unsanitary Jew seated beside her and hints that the Jews’ lack of hygiene caused her father’s death (p. 108). Even the description of the Jews’ burial ground focuses on the vermin that permeate it. The narrator’s revulsion is especially salient against the description of the Austrians’ gleaming cleanliness and their affinity to cleanliness, whiteness, and purity. Christine, the Austrian girl, dons a sparkling white apron and returns from the camp to the bright rooms of her house and her cool, clean, pure bed. The stink of smashed medicine bottles polluted the whole area. A radio that had been hacked to bits stuck fast in a manhole…Counter and broken shelves were piled high on the sidewalk like garbage. The wind blew dirty sheets of paper against the wall. (Friedrich, pp. 88, 89) Der Gestank der zerschlagenen Medizinflaschen verpestete die Gegend. Im Kanal steckte ein zerhacktes Rundfunkgerat…Auf dem Gehsteig türmten sich Verkaufstisch und zerbrochene Regale wie ein Berg Gerümpel. Der Wind trieb schmutzige Papierbogen gegen die Hauswand. (Damals war es Friedrich, pp. 77–78) Fat black bugs were crawling sluggishly across the ground. A worm squirmed as it was split by the gravedigger’s shovel. (my translation) Dicke schwarze Käfer krochen träge auf der Erde. Ein Wurm krümmte sich, als ihn die Schaufel des Totengräbers entzweischnitt. (Geh heim und vergiß alles, pp. 61–62) Nazi propaganda elaborated on the affinity between Jews and rodents. In Stern ohne Himmel, the children first believe that the noise made by Abiram is the sound of rats scurrying about the storeroom. This metaphor, which plays no role in the subsequent development of the plot, is also found in the account of Abiram’s dream, which takes him back to his arrest: He saw the guards swinging their clubs. The dripping in the cellar turned into shots in the gymnasium. The scratching became blows from the sticks. The mice’s squeaking became the cries of the children. (Star Without a Sky, p. 50) Er sah die Aufseher ihre Knüppel schwingen. Aus dem Tropfen im Keller wurden Schüsse in der Turnhalle. Aus dem Kratzen das Schlagen der Stöcke. Aus dem Fiepen der Mäuse Geschrei der Kinder. (Stern ohne Himmely pp. 37–38) Nazi propaganda claimed that Jews rob Germans of their loved ones. Abiram, the refugee child in Stern ohne Himmel, gains the support and concern of Ruth—the girl Antek loves—thereby kindling Antek’s jealousy and fear that the Jew will steal her away (p. 40 [30]).

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Nazi propaganda also claimed that the Jews poison wells, and a description in Nacht über dem Tal alludes to this claim. After the Jews are released from a concentration camp and they crawl through the village, the village’s water becomes contaminated and typhus rages. The water had already become polluted. We were warned not to drink it. Typhus broke out in the village. During daytime the weather was very hot and dry, and the risk of epidemic steadily grew. (my translation; this passage has been left out of the English translation, the scenes right before and after this one are on pp. 128–129 in Darkness over the Valley) Das Wasser war bereits unsauber geworden. Man wurde gewarnt, davon zu trinken. Im Dorf brach Typhus aus. Tagsüber war es sehr warm und trocken. Die Gefahr einer Seuche wurde immer größer. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 94) Nazi propaganda additionally maintained that the Jews usurped Germans’ jobs. In “Eisern, Emil, eisern” (“Steadfast, Emil, Steadfast”), from the collection Hände hoch, Tschibaba! (Hands Up, Tschibaba!) by Klaus Kordon, a story set in 1932, Emil’s two friends claim that the Jews hold jobs at the Germans’ expense and are responsible for the high rate of unemployment. The unemployed Ger-mans in “Die Nonna,” in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, envy Rommi’s father for his job: His father worked in an office. He was envied for that, for there were few jobs to be had. Many people couldn’t find a job and helped out here and there for a few shillings. (my translation) Sein Vater arbeitete in einem Büro. Darum wurde er beneidet, denn Arbeitsplatze waren knapp. Viele Menschen konnten keine Arbeit finden und halfen da und dort für ein paar Schilling aus. (Damals war ich vierzehn, p. 38) Such claims are not contested in the text. Nazi propaganda also described the Jews as capitalists who exploit the working class. In Kordon’s Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, this claim is confirmed by Hans’s father. Although he opposes the Nazis, he explains that the Jews were easily made into scapegoats because the workers envied the Jewish landlords and department store owners who embezzled their money.

The Jewish Advantage The a priori advantage enjoyed by Jews is a key concept that underlies the relationship between Jews and Germans. Descriptions of Jews never stand alone but appear in comparison with Germans. The Jews’ advantage is absolute, all-encompassing, and applies to all spheres of life: social, economic, familial, and intellectual. It stems from a set of traits associated with Jews, while often one parameter is singled out from an entire category of contradicting parameters. For example, the filth ascribed to Jews in the category of hygiene may be replaced on another occasion by the manic pursuit of

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cleanliness; the generosity ascribed to Jews in the category of wealth may turn into infuriating arrogance when their attitude to “Germans” is described. In terms of their social standing, the Jewish families always enjoy a superior position. From a professional standpoint, the Jews pursue more prestigious careers and enjoy commensurate remuneration. From an economic vantage, they are always better off than the Germans. They are intellectually gifted, and their family relations are warmer and more harmonious. They surpass the Germans even in their very “Germanness.” Before the war Lajos’s (Jewish) family in Geh heim und vergiß alles had been wealthy industrialists who owned property and other assets in both Budapest and Paris. Inge’s (Jewish) family in The Devil in Vienna is clearly better off than the family of her German friend, until the friend’s father is promoted within the Nazi party. Inge’s family has a fulltime maid, as does her grandmother. Friedrich’s mother in Damals war es Friedrich can afford a German maid, while the mother of his German friend works her fingers to the bone as a laundress. Only after her husband joins the Nazi party and obtains a job can she, too, afford to hire a maid. In Wie war das eigentlich?, Max von der Grün describes— in great detail and at length—the poverty his family suffered, the meager food, the fetid clothing, the child labor, and the long hours put in by those adults who were lucky enough to find work. Only then does he go on to describe the immense wealth of the factory owners—wealth that, as a child, he was able to view only from a distance. Thereafter he describes with great familiarity the home of the porcelain factory owner where his aunt worked as a domestic, dwelling on the unbelievable wealth and opulence, as though it were a kind of Schlaraffenland—paradise on earth—and how he imagined that one entered the house only after having consumed a mountain of cakes (he rarely had even a single slice of cake). All these riches, described in minute detail in his aunfs stories, turn out to have belonged to a Jewish factory owner who “died in a concentration camp” (“ist…in einem KZ umgekommen”) in the late 930s (p. 50 [38]). The Jews enjoy social advantages and occupy a higher professional status. In Damals war es Friedrich, almost all the Jews enjoy high-ranking positions. Dr. Levy and Dr. Askenase are physicians, and Herschel Meyer owns a large department store. Unlike his German neighbor, Friedrich’s Qewish) father has a job, and an enviable one at that—a tenured position as an official, a Beamter. To obtain a similar job, according to the story, the German father is compelled to join the Nazi party. The narrator’s aunt in Heute nacht ist viel passiert works for a Jewish shopkeeper. Susi, the protagonist of Freundschaft für immer und ewig?, comes from a well-to-do family, but Esther’s (Jewish) family is far wealthier. After visiting Esther’s home, Susi meticulously compares it with her own (p. 32). The Jewish family lives in a more luxurious house with many rooms, an elegantly attired maid, and a telephone, whereas Susi’s home has no telephone (p. 32). Susi’s mother has but one maid, who has been hired primarily because Susi’s family was trying to help the maid out of difficult financial straits. The Jewish family has several maids. In fact, the Jewish mother does not deal with household matters at all and always looks more attractive and elegant than Susi’s mother. Although Dr. Jökesch, the Jewish physician in the quarantine camp in Geh heim und vergiß alles, is a refugee and a lone survivor, the text implies that he enjoys a professional edge over the narrator’s father. Jökesch is a surgeon who worked as the head of a hospital department in Budapest (p. 74), whereas the narrator’s father is only a

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country doctor. Sarah’s (Jewish) father in Winfried Bruckner’s story “Die Puppe” (The Doll), in Damals war ich vierzehn, is also a senior physician. The social and professional standing of most of the Jews in the quarantine camp in Geh heim und vergiß alles is higher than that of the Austrians in the neighboring village. Nikolaus is an engineer (p. 56), Michael is a student (p. 19), and Imre is a student and an artist. By contrast, the Austrian girl who helps as an auxiliary in the hospital camp is merely a seamstress. The only Jews mentioned in Lena are a count and countess from Poland, who constitute the village aristocracy, own an estate, and enjoy social eminence over the other villagers. Ernst Heine, the Jewish boy in Die Webers, has many more tin soldiers than his German friend (p. 22). The Jewish family in Damals war es Friedrich is financially better off than the Germany family. In almost every scene in the book, the Jews’ advantage is stressed in regard to the most trivial of assets. Even the bags of candy given to the children on the first day of school are of different sizes. The narrator’s bag is smaller than Friedrich’s and contains less. Friedrich and I each received a large, cone-shaped paper bag from our parents…. My blue bag was a little smaller than Friedrich’s red one. (Friedrich, p. 20) Friedrich und ich bekamen eine große spitze Schultüte;…Meine blaue Tüte war ein wenig kleiner als Friedrichs rote. (Damals war es Friedrich, p.23) As previously described, Inge’s (Jewish) family in The Devil in Vienna are clearly better off than the family of her German friend; they buy her a bridesmaid’s dress of expensive material (p. 99) and go on holiday in summer and ski vacations in winter. Her mother is an editor at a publishing house, and her father is a businessman. The other Jews in the story are also fairly well off. The grandfather is employed by an insurance company, and Evi’s father owns a jewelry store. The financial status of the Austrians, however, remains unclear. Although Ilse’s Jewish grandmother in Mischling Second Degree is not depicted as a rich woman, she lives in a well-to-do neighborhood surrounded by gardens and posh houses (p. 11). She does not have much to eat during the war, but her flatware is much more valuable than that owned by Ilse’s German grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa Dereck (p. 73). Even after years of economic privation and other persecution, the SS men who come to arrest her still find something to loot in her house (p. 124). Before and after the war, the Jews in the books by Ida Vos and Johanna Reiss (Wie niet weg is wordtgezien, translated into German as Wer nicht weg ist, wird gesehn, and The Journey Back, translated into German as Wie wird es morgen sein?) enjoy an economic advantage over their Dutch neighbors. When the Jewish father gets married after the war, the wedding reception is relatively lavish, stressing that his financial state is far superior to that of Johann (Johan, in the English translation) and Dientje, who risked their lives when hiding the family’s two daughters during the war. Dientje’s envy is obvious as she takes in the elegant scene. Almost all the Jews enjoy a conspicuous economic advantage in Charles Hannam’s A Boy in Your Situation (translated into German as…und dann mußte ich gehen). The hero of the story, Karl Hartland, comes from an extremely wealthy

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Jewish family. Admittedly, other Jews in the story are not wealthy, but all the wealthy characters are Jews. Krücke stresses the economic advantage of the Jewish refugee Bronka over her German counterparts. Like them, she reached Vienna as a refugee, but she is the only person in the book to have her own apartment, with a bathtub and a kitchen redolent with cooking aromas (pp. 38–39, 72–73 [40, 72])—a far cry from the world of the German refugees and a stark contrast to the situation in which Thomas and Krücke find themselves. In When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, Gunther’s father is unemployed. Gunther, who is best friends with Max, a Jewish boy, is often invited for lunch at Max’s house, receives old clothes from his friend, and even takes food home. The German father in Damals war es Friedrich is unemployed, and the Jewish family sends his family pears as a kind gesture. Erna’s father in Freundschaft für immer und ewig? is similarly jobless, and Erna is dependent on Esther, a wealthy Jewish girl, who generously shares her breakfast. The Jewish family in Im roten Hinterhaus hands out some of its Passover matzohs to its neighbors (p. 120). The Jews enjoy a relative advantage even when they live in poor neighborhoods, such as the quarter along the Rhine described in Im roten Hinterhaus. Although the text states explicitly that the Jewish family lives in a “run-down house” (“verwahrlostes Haus,” p. 89), and that Mr. Badland left nothing to his heirs, they are clearly better off than the German neighbors. Mieze’s (Jewish) father in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand died in battle in World War I, and she chose to live with her Jewish aunt and uncle rather than with her Christian mother, who resorted to prostitution for lack of any other means of support. Mieze’s economic situation is not particularly good, but the narrative stresses that she is better off than her mother and her friend Hans Gebhardt, who works in the same factory as her uncle, who holds a management position. Like his colleagues in management, the uncle is better dressed than the factory workers (p. 20), and his skin is not gray like theirs (p. 23). Mieze lives with her family outside the city, in a small lodge with an allotment garden that they were assigned by lottery (Schrebergartenhäuscheri), while Hans lives in the dingy inner courtyard of an ugly apartment block. Mieze’s family can afford luxuries like coffee and cake, which Hans has not enjoyed for a long while. The text refers to the Jews living in the poor quarter of Scheunen (p. 202), but these Jews are not described in the story and do not comprise part of the world it portrays. I only know that standing there were a huge desk and a large wall cupboard through whose glass doors shone silver candlesticks, bowls, and sparkling glasses—things that you couldn’t find at that time in any house in the entire Rhine quarter. (my translation) Ich weiß nur noch, daß es darin einen machtigen Schreibtisch gab und einen riesigen Wandschrank, dessen Glastüren den Blick freigaben auf silberne Leuchter, Schalen und funkelnde Gläser. Dinge, die es damals in keinem Haus im ganzen Rheinviertel zu sehen gab. (Im roten Hinter-haus, p. 121) Coffee and crumb cake stand ready in the small living room of their summerhouse. Hans sits down on the sofa that serves as Mieze’s bed at night and eagerly helps himself. He has not eaten any cake since

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Christmas, and coffee is an even rarer commodity in his house. (my translation) In der kleinen Wohnstube der Laube stehen Kaffee und Streuselkuchen bereit. Hans setzt sich auf die Couch, die nachts Miezes Bett ist, und langt gleich zu. Er hat schon seit Weihnachten keinen Kuchen mehr gegessen, und Kaffee ist zu Hause eine noch größere Seltenheit. (Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, p. 321) The Jews’ advantage over the Germans is not only economic but also intellectual and physical. Jews excel at mathematics. Grandma Ehrenfeld in Emma helps Julia with her math lessons; Friedrich in Damals war es Friedrich is better at math than his German friend; and the teacher asks the Jewish girl Rachel in Wie niet weg is wordt gezien to help the Dutch girl Akke, who is having difficulty reading. Anna in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit is practically a supernatural phenomenon; she excels at mathematics and wins prizes for all her essays, while her brother receives the outstanding student award soon after arriving in Paris as a refugee. Naomi in Alan and Naomi is exceptionally intelligent and has amazing pedagogical abilities. Faced with her extraordinary ability, a friend suspects her of being an adult masquerading as a child (p. 122; p. 98 in the German translation). Nadine in “Nadines Geschichte” (“Nadine’s Story”), in the collection Damals war ich vierzehn, is a particularly outstanding student and eager to help her friends (p. 115). Although the story does not ignore her need to excel because she is Jewish, on the whole she fills the role of the exceptional Jewish child. Friedrich in Damals war es Friedrich rides a bike and swims better than his German friend (pp. 67 [74–75]), while Sophie in Im roten Hinterhaus is not just pretty, she is the “prettiest girl in the world” (“das schonste Mädchen auf der ganzen Welt,” p. 92). Mieze, the half-Jewish girl in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, proves to be especially proficient at table tennis (p. 329). Ilse in Mischling Second Degree, who has Jewish blood, finishes first in her class in grade school (p. 30). She excels as a leader and stands out in the camp to which girls are evacuated from Berlin. The newspaper she produces there is very successful. At a meeting of Hitler Youth, in which she participates when left with no alternative, the youth movement leader chooses her as the most responsible girl for courier assignments (p. 40; p. 44 in the German translation). She was in charge of decorations for her room, which wins first prize in a camp competition. In addition to their high socioeconomic status and intellectual and physical prowess, the Jews are also more amiable and courteous than the Germans. Abraham Rosenthal in Damals war es Friedrich gives children discounts and, like the Jewish shopkeeper in Heute nacht ist viel passiert, treats them to candies (p. 29 [30]). Dr. Askenase in Damals war es Friedrich is very kind to the children who visit him (p. 28 [29]), and the Jewish count in Lena is the first to greet the townspeople he encounters (p. 41). When it comes to familial relations, the Jewish family is affectionate and tender, while the German family is cold and strict. The Sabbath eve atmosphere in Damals war es Friedrich is that of a loving, open, and united family. In the concluding scene of that chapter, the sound of divine music wafts out of the house. The parallel scene involving the German family describes a visit by the grandfather, who terrorizes his family, and the entire evening is more reminiscent of a military inspection than a family dinner. The relationship between (Jewish) Mrs. Schneider and her son is portrayed in harmonious and

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warm terms; she hugs him and has fun with him, and he clings to her. The Jewish mother has the time to play and build a snowman with her son, while the German mother must first complete her housework and hardly has leisure for such indulgences. Inge in The Devil in Vienna enjoys warm family ties, whereas the familial interaction in Lieselotte’s home is not harmonious, and her father is a frightening character. The family relationships of the Jewish side of the family in Mischling Second Degree are marked by affection; although the German Grandpa and Grandma Dereck are not bad people, they are unfeeling and practical to a fault, and even their daughter is afraid of them. When their grandchild returns home from the first evacuation camp, after a long absence during which she experienced great suffering, the German side of the family greets her almost with indifference and is incapable of displaying feelings of joy at her return (p. 64; p. 69 in the German translation). Their behavior upsets Ilse and she clearly prefers her Jewish grandmother, who showers her with affection (p. 65; p. 70 in the German translation). The Jews are profoundly devoted to German culture. They are immersed in it even more deeply than the Germans themselves. When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit emphasizes the eminent status that Anna’s father enjoys on the German cultural scene. Mischling Second Degree describes the home of Ilse’s Jewish grandmother as a kind of museum of German culture. The beautiful furniture, attractive tableware, well-stocked library, embroidered tablecloth, and mealtime etiquette all stand in sharp contrast to the norms prevalent among the German side of her family, where the house is devoid of books and its inhabitants don’t mind their manners. Ilse’s German mother has great musical talent, but her parents do not help cultivate it (p. 2). Ilse’s Jewish family, by contrast, appreciates music. Her father plays the guitar (p. 14) and encourages his daughter’s interest in music. When she returns from the first evacuation camp in Czechoslovakia, at the height of the war, he even buys her an accordion (p. 61). Mieze’s Jewish aunt and uncle in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand enjoy a much richer cultural life than her German friend Hans. Her uncle goes to the theater twice a month, and Mieze buys books even though the cost of a book is about half her allowance (pp. 136, 263). The Jews are also portrayed as loyal Germans and patriots who fought and died for the Vaterland in World War I. Mieze’s uncle in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand served in the army for four difficult years, and her father died in the war. Wolf ‘s father in the story “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” in Klaus Kordon’s collection of the same title, is presented as a patriot who fought for Germany (p. 52). Miriam’s grandfather in Zeit für die Hora is a member of the society of decorated combat soldiers; Ernst Heine’s father in Die Webers and Mr. Stern in Im roten Hinterhaus were decorated in World War I and received the Iron Cross. The Jewish father in Im roten Hinterhaus rides at the head of the festive parade of the Riflemen’s Society (Schützenbrüderschaft) and is noted for his riding ability, groomed horse, and attractive clothes. Sometimes, when they played with the [tin] soldiers, he secretly wore the Iron Cross that his father had brought back from the war along with his stiff leg. (my translation) Manchmal, wenn sie mit den [Blei] Soldaten spielten, hätte er sich heimlich das Eiserne Kreuz angesteckt, das sein Vater zugleich mit einem steifen Bein aus dem Krieg heimgebracht hatte. (Die Webers, p. 22)

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Here in the picture Isi and I stand alone. It was the day after the two of us had received the First Order of the Iron Cross. (my translation) Hier auf dem Bild stehen Isi und ich alleine. Es war am Tag, nachdem wir beide das Eiserne Kreuz I. Klasse erhalten hatten. (Im roten Hinterhaus, p.112) The Jews are depicted as being cleaner than the Germans. In Damals war es Friedrich, the German child is enthusiastic about the perfectly scrubbed Jewish apartment; his mother, he adds, has not yet cleaned their house (p. 17 [21]). Grandmother Koehn in Mischling Second Degree is meticulous about aesthetics and cleanliness, unlike German Grandpa and Grandma Dereck, who have no interest in things of beauty. She also insists that Ilse change her school dress every day, and she washes and irons each dress after it has been worn once (p.n). The Jews also display almost superhuman self-control. Mr. Fried, Evi’s father in The Devil in Vienna, reacts with amazing equanimity and restraint when faced with the results of the pogrom and the looting of his jewelry store (p. 190; pp. 169–170 in the German translation). Anna’s family in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit succeeds in fleeing Germany thanks to its members’ level-headedness, much the same way that Bronka survives the war in Krücke (pp. 72–73 [72]). In Die Webers, Ernst Heine wants to join the Jungdvolk and is rejected in a humiliating scene. But he exercises restraint and holds back his tears despite the insult, just as his father does not utter a word upon seeing the destruction wrought on his shop on Kristallnacht (p. 69). These examples suggest that the Jews are more “German” than the Germans themselves. Traits deemed very positive in the German discourse and identified as “classically German”—such as industriousness, hygiene, discipline, selfcontrol, culture, and bravery in combat—are ascribed to Jews. Miriam’s grandfather in Zeit für die Hora even articulates this demand that the Jews be more German than the Germans themselves. …they had to be more German than the Germans in order to prove that they were serious in their attitude toward the Fatherland. (my translation) …sie müßten deutscher sein als die Deutschen, um damit zu beweisen, wie ernst es ihnen ist mit diesem Vaterland. (Zeit für die Hora, pp. 122– 123)

Consequences of the Jewish Advantage for Germans The official message of the texts is abundant with philo-Semitic descriptions of the Jews that emphasize their superiority in many fields—particularly with regard to their demeanor, intellectual talent, and economic and social standing. Such philo-Semitic depictions often cross the thin line between philo-Semitism and anti-Semitism, infusing the philo-Semitic traits with an anti-Semitic undertone, especially when the negative effect on Germans becomes apparent. Almost all the books mention Jewish generosity. Im roten Hinterhaus is about a cheerful Jewish home and a Jewish family whose generosity saves a German family from starvation. Yet Jewish generosity turns to be harmful to Germans. In Damals war es

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Friedrich, the Jewish family invites the German family to the amusement park in order to celebrate their children’s first day at school. The Germans reluctantly join the outing because their dire economic situation does not allow for entertainment of this sort. Once there, the Jewish family treats the Germans to all the rides and in fact to nearly everything. This largesse injures the Germans’ sense of pride, and in order to preserve their dignity the German family spends its last pfennigs—the money set aside for lunch— on a group photo and on candies, as their treat to the Jews. Thus the Jews—and Jewish generosity indirectly—are to blame for the German family going hungry. The Jews are depicted as extraordinarily courteous. Grandma Ehrenfeld in Emma is always friendly and pleasant, and the Jewish parents in Damals war es Friedrich are polite and cheerful—the father is courteous and the mother smiles. He always said a friendly good morning on his way to work, and an equally friendly good evening when he returned, but only rarely was there any real conversation. My parents knew Frau Schneider, a small woman with dark hair, even less well…. She smiled at everyone she met, but unlike her neighbors she never stopped to gossip. (Friedrich, pp. 2–3) Er grüsste freundlich, wenn er morgens zu seiner Dienststelle ging, und er grüsste ebenso freundlich, wenn er abends nach Hause zurückam; nur gelegentlich wechselte man einige Worte. Frau Schneider, eine kleine dunkelhaarige Frau, sah man noch seltener. Wem sie begegnete [Frau Schneider] den lächelte sie, an, aber sie blieb nie auf der Straße stehen. (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 10) What lies behind Mr. and Mrs. Schneider’s smiles? The text emphasizes how aloof they are and that they do not befriend their neighbors, making their courtesy suspect. Later in the story, the Jews’ smiles are shown to be deceptive—ostensibly a sign of friendliness but actually a façade for Jewish cunning, as the German grandfather maintains. I once had a superior who was a Jew. Cohn was his name. None of us liked him. He always smiled, even when he told you off. (Friedrich, p. 15) Ich hatte einmal einen Vorgesetzten, Geheimrat Cohn; das war ein Jude. Niemand bei uns mochte ihn. Er lächelte immer, sogar wenn er uns zurechtwies. (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 20) In Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, excessive Jewish courtesy embarrasses Hans and causes him to feel like an outsider in his girlfriend’s house. During his visit to her relatives’ home, Mieze’s uncle addresses him in the third person despite the boy’s young age, thus illustrating his exaggerated compliance with the rules of etiquette. Thanks to the Jews’ economic advantage, the Germans become their debtors. Robens in Im roten Hinterhaus joins in the SA vigils in the street outside because he has a vested interest in seeing the Jew’s shop put out of business—evading his debt to the owner. Johanna owes the Jewish shopkeeper money. Wretchedly poor and employed by a family that treats her like a slave, she has almost no personal belongings and cannot even afford

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sanitary napkins. The Jew is one of the few characters in the story who treats her kindly and is prepared to help her overcome her financial difficulties. After receiving her first salary, Johanna wants to buy the many things she needs, but she still lacks the money. The old Jew is initially depicted as understanding, generous, and ready to help. But it subsequently becomes clear that he manipulates her into buying more and more, so that she ultimately comes to owe him a debt. And that filthy Robens! Last year he bought a coat at Stern’s, and I’ll bet you he hasn’t paid for even half of it yet. (my translation) Und dieser schmutzige Robens! Im Vorjahr hat er noch einen Mantel bei Stern gekauft, und wetten möchte ich, bis heute ist nicht die Hälfte daran abgezahlt. (Im roten Hinterhaus, p. 108) “Well, I can imagine that you need many things. I suggest you check what you want to buy, then well add everything up, and what you can’t pay today you’ll pay next month.” (my translation) “Also ich könnte mir vorstellen, daß Sie eine ganze Menge brauchen. Ich schlage vor, Sie suchen jetzt aus, was Sie haben wollen, dann rechnen wir alles zusammen, und was Sie heute nicht zahlen können, zahlen Sie im nächsten Monat.” (Johanna, p. 128) Karl-Heinz in Die Webers was able to begin competing with Ernst Heine only when Nazism grew increasingly powerful. Before that, Ernst, who took advantage of his father’s Iron Cross to play the role of Hindenburg, had won all the tin soldier battles. It was not until later that Karl-Heinz was able to play Hindenburg’s role. By then, Ernst Heine had no choice; as a Jew, the text explicitly states, he is forced to yield to his German playmate. But now things would change! If only one of them could be Hindenburg, it had to be Karl-Heinz as of now. Ernst had to accept this. After all, he was the Jew! (my translation) Aber das sollte jetzt anders werden! Wenn nur einer den Hindenburg spielen könnte, dann mußte das kiinftig Karl-Heinz sein. Damit hätte sich Ernst abzufinden. Schließlich war er der Jude! (Die Webers, p. 22) According to Wir waren dabei, the Germans were able to obtain good food only after the Nazis came to power. Before then, the Jews had enjoyed the best of everything at the Germans’ expense. Do you remember how we lived before 1933? We didn’t have any veal cuts then! (I Was There, p. 81) Erinnerst du dich noch, wie wir vor dreiunddreißig gelebt haben? Damals hat es bei uns keine Schnitzel gegeben! (Wir waren dabei, p. 69) This, then, is the texts’ latent message in respect to the Jews’ advantage: the Germans had trouble keeping up with the Jews, and Nazism indirectly helped them close the gap. The German mother in Wir waren dabei notes the improved conditions of the Germans

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alongside the worsening state of the Jews, and she expressly refers to the linkage between the decline of the Jewish advantage and the rise of Nazism: “We are better off today,” she agreed, “but on the other hand, others are doing worse. Think of the Jews!…” (I Was There, p. 81) “Uns geht es besser heute,” bestätigte sie, “aber dafür geht es andern auch wieder schlechter. Denk nur an die Juden!…”(Wir waren dabei, p.70) This is the nexus linking philo-Semitism and anti-Semitism. The seemingly positive portrayal of the Jews in the philo-Semitic descriptions transmutes into anti-Semitic sentiment. The Jews’ upper hand is perceived as an a priori advantage that harms the Germans, who are unable to meet the challenge.

The Jews as Agents of Harm The Jews are usually portrayed as menacing rather than threatened, and their ability to cause harm—even as refugees or prisoners—is mythical. The recurrent message is that trouble is to be found wherever Jews are present. In Nacht über dem Tal, the risk of contracting typhus looms over the Germans because of their proximity to Jews (pp. 99– 100 [72–73]); it is hinted that the narrator has picked up lice because she was in the vicinity of Jews (pp. 155–156 [114]). The Jewish prisoners in that novel almost cause the death of the narrator’s mother. She wants to have them moved to the big bunker, and her request so infuriates the SS men that one of them nearly shoots her (p. 115 [84]). The narrator’s father in Geh heim und vergiß alles jeopardizes his own health by treating Jews, and he eventually contracts typhus and dies. Even Jews who seem innocent or helpless cause harm. While playing with his German friend in Damals war es Friedrich, Friedrich is responsible for the uproar in the neighbors’ apartment; he eats all the pancakes that the German mother had just prepared, leaving nothing for the German father who goes hungry after returning home. In Rosa Weiss, as in Stern ohne Himmel and When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, the Jews consume the Germans’ food. Rosa gives the little food she has to the prisoners in the camp. During her first meeting with them, the youngest prisoner complains of hunger, and Rosa carefully slips a slice of bread she is holding through the fence (p. 14 [14]). From then on, she feeds the Jewish children by depriving herself and her family. As a result, Rosa grows steadily thinner, as both the text and the illustrations make amply clear. Ultimately the Jews cause her death, albeit indirectly. While bringing food to the prisoners on a foggy day, Rosa encounters what are probably Allied troops. Because of the fog, they fail to discern that she is a child, and she is shot. The long-standing friendship between the boys at the boarding school in Stern ohne Himmel comes to an end because of Abiram the Jew (p. 100 [79]), who prompts Willy to inform on his former friends. After discovering the cache of food meant to sustain the children at the end of the war, Abiram loots some of it and manages to escape from his pursuers; the German children remain locked up in their room and the cache is exposed. Later on they find themselves in a dangerous confrontation with the school’s

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administration because of Abiram. Thus Abiram’s presence threatens the lives of the children and the adults around him. Ruth is almost killed by a deserter when she brings Abiram a blanket and a coat (pp. 82–84 [64–65]). The naïve Zick tries to help Abiram by looking up the address of the communist Dressler at the Population Registry Office, after Dressler has gone underground. Fortunately, the office is in a state of chaos, because of Germany’s impending defeat, and Zick manages to make a last-minute escape; otherwise he would have suffered a grim fate (p. 161–162 [128]). Abiram places Kimmich and Nagold in jeopardy: “That could mean prison for your grandfather,” [Willi] added lazily. “And all for a dirty Jew.”… (Star Without a Sky, p. 165) “Das kann für deinen Großvater das Gefängnis bedeuten,” fügte er [Willi] lässig hinzu. “Und das alles wegen einem dreckigen Juden.”… (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 130) Additionally, Abiram indirectly causes Willi’s death, after Willi goes out to search for him. (p. 208 [167]). The narrator’s mother in “Die Nonna,” in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, warns her daughter not to speak of a past friendship with a Jewish child, lest harm befall her. In this story, it is the Austrian family who faces peril, not the Jewish child who has already departed Austria with her family (pp. 39–40). In another story in the same collection, “Fräulein Lola Buchsbaum,” (“Ms. Lola Buchsbaum”), a Jewish girl tells her Austrian girlfriend that their friendship may place her (the Austrian girl) in jeopardy and explains why she must not reveal it to anyone. The Jewish girl is in no danger, because she has already obtained Swiss citizenship, but the Austrian friend will be at risk if their friendship becomes known (p. 36). In Wir waren dabei, Günther risks his life trying to save the Jewish boy from the Hitler Youth members who have surrounded him. There is no doubt that were it not for the help of the adult who arrives on the scene at the last minute, Günther’s fate would have been no less cruel than that which awaited the Jewish boy (pp. 47–48 [44–45]). Contact with Jews places Germans in mortal danger. The maid in Damals war es Friedrich tells of a woman who was harassed and humiliated because she had a Jewish lover (p. 67 [61]). In Nacht über dem Tal, the French forcibly recruit the men of the village and threaten to execute the village leader unless food is served to the Jews (p. 132 [96–97]). In Stern ohne Himmel, Abiram, the Jewish boy, is the aggressor who seeks revenge and desires Willy’s death (p. 36 [26]). The Jew in The Upstairs Room is caught by the Nazis, and his fate remains unknown. But the fate of the Dutchmen who hid him is clear—they are executed. The members of the (Jewish) Hartog family are saved in The Journey Back, but the priest who hid them in his home is arrested by the Gestapo (58; p. 72 in the German translation). The eldest son of Mrs. Droppers, the neighbor in The Journey Back, is shot by the Germans when he tries to help a Jew escape from a Polandbound train (p. 38 [39–40]). The half-Jew-ish girl Mieze in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand seduces the German Hans into joining the resistance movement, even though his father believes in the futility of resistance and opts for survival. In the third part of the trilogy, it becomes clear that the father was right. Hans is caught and executed; Mieze, however, survives.

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The Jews’ Penchant for Survival An almost demonic power of endurance is tacitly attributed to the Jews. Not only do they manage to survive, but they often succeed in extricating themselves from oppressive situations and turn them to their advantage. The text presents Inge’s harsh experiences in The Devil in Vienna, including the Aryanization of her parents’ business and her suspension from school, as experiences that serve only to strengthen her spirit. Mieze in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand is half Jewish and thus suffers discrimination, but she makes the best of it and earns the admiration of Hans who strives to prove himself equally worthy. Just like Mieze, he primarily wants to prove to himself that he was no less worthy than everybody else (pp. 328–329). Rachel in The Journey Back made headway in her studies while in hiding (p. 151 in the German translation; p. 127 in the English translation), and in Judith Kerr’s The Other Way Around (translated into German as Warten bis der Frieden kommt) Professor Rosenberg notes that Max’s wonderful achievements in his legal studies at Cambridge would not have been possible without Hitler (p. 253; p. 248 in the German translation). Despite Max’s ironic reply—“I have a lot to thank him for”—the sequence of events indeed suggests that Hitler is responsible for Max’s academic advancements and successful integration into English society. Unlike the German father in Damals war es Friedrich, who fails to find work until Hitler comes to power, the Jewish father gets a job immediately after being fired from his previous position at the post office. His new job, at a Jewish-owned company, is actually much better than his previous one. Although he was fired by the post office solely because he is a Jew, which deeply offends him, the higher salary and more interesting work at his new position are a suitable compensation. Furthermore, the new job is every boy’s dream—head of the toy department in a department store—and upon hearing the children’s admiration when they visit the store, the father admits, “I for one like myself better this way” (“Ich gefalle mir jedenfalls so besser!” p. 57 [52]). The text suggests that the Jews maintained their relative advantage even under Nazi rule. With the war still in progress, Bronka, the Jewish refugee in Krücke, manages to obtain papers and an apartment in Vienna. Her wondrous ability to establish herself amid all the destruction and misery is contrasted with a visit by the helpless and destitute Krücke. The text does not bother to explain how Bronka could have done so well for herself while the war was still on, and suffices to describe her as smart and clever. Nacht über dem Tal describes how Rubin, the former prisoner, gets back on his feet more quickly than the narrator’s parents, who have difficulty returning to a normal life. During his visit to the family’s home, he proves to be a shrewd merchant, a profiteer who gets rich overnight and becomes a nouveau riche who sports a large ring on his finger. He is a man with connections who knows how to exploit the situation and the distress of others to his own advantage (pp. 141–142 [103]). A firm belief in the Jews’ power of endurance also underlies the refusal of Wawra, Mr. Goldmann’s faithful servant in Maikäfer flieg!, to believe that his Jewish employers are dead. Despite Christel’s claim that all the Jews have perished, the servant is convinced that his employer will return home one day, and he prepares the house for the arrival.

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“The Russians have arrived, so old Herr Goldmann will be coming back now! Fancy that—old Mr. Goldmann! I must get his bed made, and scrub the floor. He’ll be tired.” (Fly Away Home, p. 52) “Jetzt kommen die Russen, und dahinter, da kommt der Herr Goldmann! Der alte Herr Goldmann! Ich muß sein Bett überziehen und den Boden scheuern. Er wird miide sein.” (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 76)

Candid Discussion of Anti-Semitism Some of the books attempt to discuss anti-Semitism openly rather than sidestep the issue, but even this discussion is characterized by two opposing messages: the texts’ official, overt, and positive message and the subtext with its anti-Semitic components. A typical example is the teacher’s speech in Damals war es Friedrich. The teacher strives to voice empathy with Friedrich after he is expelled from school. In his endeavor to support Friedrich, the teacher analyzes the reasons behind anti-Semitism. He traces it back to its roots and explains its injustice. Unwittingly, discussion of anti-Semitism gradually turns to its justification. In an attempt to show his empathy for the Jews, the teacher says that Jews are people too, “just like us”—“Jews are human beings, human beings like us!” (“Juden sind Menchen, Menchen wie wir!” p. 63 [57]). Later on, however, this claim evolves into one that implies that Jews enjoy an a priori advantage over Germans and, in fact, are superior: “But one thing even the worst Jew-haters have to concede—the Jews are a very capable people!” (“Eines aber miissen selbst die ärgsten Judenfeinde Zugeben: Die Juden sind tüchtig,” p. 63 [57]). Further on he presents the story of Jesus’s crucifixion by the Jews as a proven historical fact. By thus incorporating the story of the crucifixion into the long history of anti-Semitism, he echoes the words of the Nazi grandfather who, in an earlier chapter, blames the Jews for the crucifixion. After providing this justification for the persecution of the Jews, the teacher moves on to the Jews’ reaction, insinuating that historical circumstances have made the Jews sly, mean, and avaricious. Thus, rather than demolish the anti-Semitic contentions, the teacher’s speech actually buttresses them. His explanation for the rise of anti-Semitism indirectly justifies the phenomenon by according it historical validity, for it cannot be that such a long tradition is entirely devoid of truth. At the same time, the universalization of anti-Semitism links the Germans with the pan-European hatred of Jews. Because Jews did not believe Jesus to be the true Messiah, because they regarded him as an impostor like many before him, they crucified him. And to this day many people have not forgiven them for this. They believe the most absurd things about Jews; some only wait for the day when they can persecute them again. (Friedrich, p. 62) Weil sie nicht glaubten, daß Jesus der wahre Messias sei, weil sie ihn für einen Betrüger hielten, wie es derer schon andere gegeben hätte, deshalb haben sie ihn gekreuzigt. Und das haben ihnen viele bis heute nicht verziehen; sie glauben die unsinnigsten Dinge die über Juden

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verbreitet werden. Einige warten nur darauf, die Juden wieder verfolgen und peinigen zu können. (Damals war es Friedrich, pp. 56–57) “We are Christians. Bear in mind that the Jews crucified our Lord.” (Friedrich, p. 15) “Wir sind Christen. Bedenkt, die Juden haben unsern Herrn ans Kreuz geschlagen.” (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 20) “Jews are accused of being crafty and sly. How could they be anything else?…It is claimed that Jews are avaricious and deceitful. Must they not be both?…They have discovered that in case of need, money is the only way to secure life and safety…” (Friedrich, p. 63) “Man wirft den Juden vor, sie seien verschlagen und hinterlistig! Wie sollten sie es nicht sein?…Man behauptet, die Juden seien geldgierig und betrügerisch! Müssen sie das nicht sein?…Sie haben erfahren, daß Geld das einzige Mittel ist, mit dem sie sich notfalls Leben und Unversehrtheit erkaufenkonnen…” (Damals war es Friedrichy p. 57) The universalization of anti-Semitic sentiment recurs in many of the books. In The Devil in Vienna, Orgel draws a comparison between the persecution of the Jews in Germany and that of other ethnic groups outside Germany, such as Native Americans in the United States (pp. 53–54 in the English original; p. 48 in the German translation), whereas the motto of Damals war es Friedrich compares the persecution of minorities in the past and in the present. As mentioned in chapter 2 (p. 58), this motto reads: “Then, it was the Jews…Today it’s the blacks there, the students here…Tomorrow it might be the whites, the Christians or civil servants.” In her notes to Nadine Hauer’s story in the collection Damals war ich vierzehn, Renate Welsh refers to the universality of ethnic persecution. The historicization of anti-Semitism appears in several books, for example in Antoinette Becker’s afterword to Judith und Lisa. Becker associates the crucifixion of Jesus with Hitler’s rise to power, thus placing the blame for the genocide primarily on the long tradition of global antiSemitism, with the Holocaust as merely one of its side effects. To be sure, Becker holds the Germans responsible for murdering Jews, but their responsibility is to be seen in the context of the long history of anti-Semitism. As a matter of fact, the premises of historical anti-Semitism are not refuted in the afterword; on the contrary, they are supported by a depiction of the Jews both as aliens and as different. Judith und Lisa is among the few books that openly attempt to introduce questions relating to anti-Semitism. This book describes school as a successful agent for the dissemination of anti-Semitism and the brainwashing of small children. The teacher’s anti-Semitic speech describes the grave threat that the Jews pose to the Germans and depicts the Jews as dark, hook-nosed, with a deceitful stare. The teacher’s statements are seemingly contradicted, at least in part, by the unfolding plot. We learn on the very same page, for example, that Judith is a Jew but that she is not evil and does not pose any threat to the German people. The author clearly aspired to counter the anti-Semitic propaganda in the teacher’s speech. Yet the subtext conveys a different story. The double message is a result of the drawings of Judith, which include all the physical traits the teacher ascribes to Jews—she is dark with dark eyes and a long nose. On the one hand, the text attempts to shatter Nazi anti-Semitic propaganda, but on the other hand the illustrations support

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anti-Semitic propaganda. If the Jews do not look like Germans, perhaps they differ in character as well. When the narrator in Judith und Lisa blames the Jews for the Germans’ distress, her tone is ironic. Alongside the irony, however, the text affirms some of the anti-Semitic claims. Many German fathers were unemployed and many families were impoverished (p. 9 [9]), whereas Judith’s parents own a pharmacy, and nothing is lacking in their home (p. 13 [13]). The anti-Semitic charge that the Jews stole food and good jobs from the Germans secretly creeps into the text. Thus, even a book that sets out to undermine antiSemitism does not succeed in deviating from the cycle of intending to cast doubt on antiSemitism and unwittingly contributing to its further support. The explanation for the latent anti-Semitism that crops up in these books can be found in the patterns of world order prevalent in the German discourse (see Even-Zohar’s study on realemes; Even-Zohar 1990).2 Officially, of course, the texts endeavor to reject antiSemitic claims and stereotypical depictions of the Jews. But preexisting models of the German repertoire for portraying Jews shape these depictions more strongly than any formal intentions. The models generate patterns of writing and habits of perception, in writers and readers alike. Sander Gilman has already demonstrated (Gilman 1986) that postwar German literature was characterized by tension between anti-Semitic and philoSemitic images—as in the writings of Giinter Grass. During the 1950s and 1960s, Gilman argues, Grass created ostensibly “sympathetic” images of Jews by turning negative stereotypes into positive ones. But an analysis of Grass’s images shows that at least some of them were no more than an inversion of earlier negative images. In every culture, descriptions of the “world” are effected by means of a preexistent repertoire of paradigms that largely predetermines a writer’s choices. Such is the case of the Third Reich; the portrayal of the “reality” of that period is dictated—whether or not the writer is aware of it—by the available repertoire. German writers who portray the Jew as “different” employ for this purpose models already present in German culture. Even if they consciously and avowedly aspire to rid German culture of its antiSemitic paradigms, the writers remain captive to the previously existing repertoire of models for depicting Jews, and they are unable to deviate or introduce a new and different, alternative repertoire.

Chapter Seven “Not as It Seems”—Nazis and PseudoNazis The Distinction Between Nazis and Pseudo-Nazis By designating three different categories—Germans, Nazis, and pseudo-Nazis—the texts create the impression that the Germans were not Nazis and the Nazis were not Germans. The books repeatedly present a distinction between “they”—the Nazis—and “us” the Germans. “Like putty in their hands, that’s what we are” (“Mit uns kann ja jeder machen, was er will!” p. 3 [9]), exclaims the grandmother in Maikäfer flieg!, referring to the Nazis. The categorical distinction between Germans and Nazis is supported by the formation of two contentions that substantiate each other. One portrays Nazism as a foreign entity that subjugated Germany, led the Germans astray, and in turn succeeded in realizing its scheme; the second introduces the term “pseudo-Nazis.” “Pseudo-Nazi” is a key term in the historical discourse because it makes it possible to settle the contradiction between the presence of numerous Nazis in Germany and the categorical distinction between Germans and Nazis. The pseudo-Nazis are the great majority of the Germans—“unauthentic” Nazis, “real” Germans who were coerced into joining the Nazi party or who were brainwashed. They recover only when the “real” Nazis, those responsible for the brainwashing, disappear from the scene as quickly as they had appeared, after having occupied Germany for twelve years as a foreign entity. Germans who have consciously decided to become Nazis are rare. Enrollment in the Nazi party or Hitler Youth is rationalized in a variety of ways—it may be the default option, a result of pragmatic considerations, health reasons, coercion, poor education, or hypnotic devotion. Enlistment is even presented as a means for helping the Jews or for concealing clandestine activity in the resistance movement.

Enlistment by Coercion, by Default, or as a Consequence of Poor Education Enlistment in the Nazi party is described either as the default option at the time or as a means of conforming to the system. In Vier Fragen an meinen Vater, Walter Jendrich says that almost everyone he knew during the Third Reich was part of the system, although they did not identify with it (pp. 128–129). Liese’s father in Wir werden uns wiederfinden wears a swastika, not out of identification with the underlying ideology but, as he says, because the soldiers had ordered him to do so. The father of Regina’s friend Doris in Er hieß Jan is a perfect person. In a heart-to-heart talk with Regina, his daughter

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says, “He’s everything he has to be” (“Der ist alles, was nötig ist,” p. 48 [38]). He has a formal education and is naturally portrayed by the text as a dissident. His discussions against the Nazi regime are held behind closed doors and windows (p. 60 [48]). Nevertheless, his enlistment in the Nazi party is described as an existential necessity, bereft of any personal ramifications and indicative of nothing. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon? the grandfather joins the party because, according to him, as a civil servant he has no choice (p. 36 [35]). He is not a conscious Nazi, but one born of necessity. He is merely adapting to the difficult times and does not hesitate to tell his dissident son-in-law, “Our ideas aren’t so far apart on that” (“Da gehn unsere Meinungen ja gar nicht so weit auseinander,” p. 36 [36]). Hanna’s father objects to her grandfather’s assertion that civil servants were forced to join the Nazi party, and he argues that he knows many civil servants who had not done so (p. 36 [36]). Nevertheless, as the events evolve it becomes evident that the grandfather, the obvious Nazi, was right all along. Hanna’s father is executed as a dissident. He had endangered his household, in addition to forfeiting his own life, and was indirectly responsible for his son’s death in the war. By contrast, the family was saved thanks to the Nazi grandfather. Those who join the party or youth movement never take the matter seriously. Anita and Eva, the brown-shirted counselors at the girls’ Hitler Youth camp described in Mischling Second Degree, are willing to leave Ilse and her friend in charge of the camp in order to have a fun outing (pp. 88–89; p. 94 in the German translation). Several counselors, such as Erika and Helen, are dissidents (p. 134; p. 142 in the German translation) or cast doubt on the system (pp. 151–152; p. 160 in the German translation). Ilse twice manages to avoid appointment as a Hitler Youth counselor, yet in the end, due to her natural leadership ability, she is sent to a special training camp for future leaders of the movement. Her selection, despite being a Mischling—“second-degree”—only demonstrates the triviality of formal membership in a Nazi organization. Sophie Scholl, a member of the underground White Rose movement who became the icon of the opposition, had also been a member of Hitler Youth (Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl, p. 41 [45]). The father in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? insists that Hanna and her brother Hannes become members and excel in their activities (pp. 12, 68 [14, 66]). It later becomes apparent that this demand stemmed from his desire to protect his children and himself, and, no less important, to establish a sound cover for himself as a dissident. Günther, who becomes an exemplary Hitler Youth leader in Wir waren dabei, is coerced to enroll in the movement (pp. 55–62 [50–55]) a fact that is asserted openly. The naïve village boys in Nacht über dem Tal join the youth movement under coercion and out of ignorance. They later pay dearly for it when they are killed in the war (pp. 13, 17 [14, 19]). Other boys in the village are forced to become members after undergoing terrible beatings. Before the outbreak of the war, Stephan and the “Heinrich von Plauen” Squad came by to see us one last time. They were on a hiking trip to the Carpathians. The boys no longer wore green shirts, but brown ones, and even their songs sounded different. They told us they had been forced to join the Berlin Hitler Youth. After being badly beaten up, they finally all agreed to join so they could stay together. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 21)

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Vor Ausbruch des Krieges ist das Fahnlein Heinrich von Plauen noch einmal zu uns auf den Hof gekommen; es war auf einer Fahrt in die Kapaten. Die Jungens trugen keine grünen Hemden mehr, sondern braune. Und sie sangen auch andere Lieder als früher. Sie waren der Berliner HJ beigetreten. Sie sagten, man habe sie gezwungen. Sie hätten arge Prügel bekommen, bis sie schließlich alle zusammen eingetreten seien, um beieinander bleiben zu können. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 18) The few children who enrolled in the Hitler Youth movement of their own free will are presented as having done so because of their poor education. The husband of young Frau von Braun in Maikäfer flieg! dies because his mother had taught him to believe in Nazism and to serve it. Siegbert, the Nazi boy in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum, is a poorly educated, malicious boy who tortures weaker children and loves to irritate them and play war. As opposed to Willi, the Nazi boy in Stern ohne Himmel, however, Siegbert is able to mend his ways. The therapeutic experience of expressing pain and sorrow after his mother’s death teaches him a lesson and he becomes humane. With time he is able to become a part of German society once more (p. 225). Although this entails renouncing his Nazi father, such repudiation is consistent with the general reform taking place in Germany’s ailing society.

Hypnotic Devotion Enlistment in the Nazi party or youth movement is often described in terms of mass hypnosis. Hitler is portrayed as a figure exerting an electrifying influence on both young and old. The new members follow him blindly without giving any thought to their actions. Die Webers compares the influence of Nazism to that of the hypnotizing gaze directed by the snake at the rabbit (p. 17). Er hieß Jan depicts it as commanding the magical and seductive power that the Pied Piper of Hamelin exercised over the children. “…Do you know the story of the Pied Piper?” “Yes, but my parents weren’t children anymore.” “Many people never grow up…” (A Night in Distant Motion, p. 54) “…Kennst du das Märchen vom Rattenfänger?” “Ja. Aber meine Eltern waren keine Kinder mehr.” “Viele Leute werden nie erwachsen…” (Er hieß Jan, pp. 43–44) Hitler is presented as a non-German entity exerting a bewitching influence over the Germans. He possesses superior and supernatural powers. He is a “superhuman being ,” “übermenschliche Persönlichkeit,” or “von Gott gesandte” (Wie war das eigentlich?, p. 57 [44]). His image penetrates the German psyche through ubiquitous pictures, and his descriptions undergo demonization and mythologization. Thomas, whose wonderful friendship with Krücke the dissident is the focal point of Krücke, had been a Nazi as long as Hitler’s visage had been imprinted in his mind—“…a little Nazi, a pretty little wolf cub with a picture of Hitler in your head” (“ein kleiner Nazi…, ein schmucker Pimpf mit dem Führerbild im Kopf,” p. 74 [73]). The narrator’s mother in Nacht über dem Tal, a

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steadfast dissident, describes the hypnotic effect of her encounter with Hitler, whose mesmerizing effect causes audiences to act as if “they’re drunk” (“sind wie betrunken,” p. 32 [26]), inebriated, and unconscious. Similarly, Günther’s father in Wir waren dabei describes Hitler’s intoxicating effect on his son and his Hitler Youth friends, and the hysterical excitement that overcame the Germans when anticipating Hitler’s arrival (pp. 25–26 [28]). Gertrud, daughter of the farmer woman who sheltered Regina, depicts Hitler’s followers as drug addicts (p. 70). Hitler thus becomes an icon that negates Nazism’s realworld character and replaces it with an abstract, almost mythical concept. Suddenly he was right in front of me. There were his brown shirt and shoulder straps, his hand raised in salute, his dark hair falling across his forehead. He stared straight ahead, past the crowd. It seemed as though he saw no one. His eyes were very blue. I wanted to scream, but I could not. I was struck dumb. I saw him slowly striding in high boots. I saw his eyes, so blue they seemed fluorescent. Then he was past me…. My feelings had been stirred. I swore deep in my heart that I would die for the Führer if that was what he wanted. (Darkness over the Valley, pp. 26–27) Auf einmal war er gerade vor mir. Ich sah das Braunhemd und den Schulterriemen, der Arm war zum Gruß angewinkelt, dunkles Haar fiel ihm in die Stirn. Er sah geradeaus, an allen vorbei. Es schien, als wiirde er niemanden sehen. Die Augen waren ganz blau. Ich wollte schreien, aber ich konnte nicht. Meine Stimme versagte. Ich sah den langsam Schreitenden in den hohen Stiefeln, und ich sah die Augen. Es schien, als würden sie im Blau schwimmen. Dann war er vorbei…Mein Gemiit war aufgewühlt. Ich schwor in meinem Herzen, daß ich für den Führer sterben würde, wenn er es wolle. (Nacht über dem Tal, pp. 22, 23)

Pragmatic Considerations Enlistment in the party is also justified by a set of rational motives, devoid of any ideology and based on narrow, personal interests or pragmatic considerations—such as state of health; employment prospects; the necessity of obtaining work, food, and improving living conditions; the desire to climb the social or professional ladder; or the craving to liberate oneself from familial oppression. The narrator’s brother in Nacht über dem Tal has health problems and is not drafted by the army, which is why he volunteers for the Waffen SS (p. 44 [33–34]). As already mentioned, Robens in Im roten Hinterhaus joins the SA vigil near the shop of Stern, a Jew, in order to evade a debt (p. 108). Walter Jendrich’s father in Vier Fragen an meinen Vater sees Hitler as a social liberator, recalling the trying economic situation after World War I, the hunger he himself had experienced, and the six million [sic] unemployed. Max von der Grün explains that Hitler won the 1930 elections because he had pledged to end unemployment (p. 37 [25]). Lieselotte’s counselor in The Devil in Vienna describes the improvement ushered in by the Nazis’ accession to power: highways were built, “a car for each worker” was provided, unemployment was eradicated, and people no longer went hungry (p. 155; p. 140 in the German translation).

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Gustav, the narrator’s brother in Im roten Hinterhaus, joins the party because his wife desires a better life. Marta, Hans’s sister in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, wishes to liberate herself from the squalor and poverty of her neighborhood and enlists in the party after being persuaded by her boyfriend, Günter, who is quickly climbing the ranks of the SA. The text offers a detailed account of her grim existence. Electricity and running water are a luxury (p. 73), and the children are forced to share one bed and go off to work at a very young age. Indeed, upon joining the party, Marta’s living conditions improve immeasurably—she and Günter move into a new two-room apartment, which even has its own toilet and bath (p. 397). In Sonderappell as well, enlistment in the party enables the unfortunate inhabitants of poverty-stricken neighborhoods to obtain housing (p. 180). Regina’s father in Er hieß Jan joins the party after failing to find a job and suffering a prolonged period of unemployment. He is an honest and decent man who is compelled to steal food. He and his wife cannot pay the rent and are forced to separate. Enlistment in the party restores his honor and keeps the wolf from the door. The grandmother’s housekeeper in Sonderappell announces that she will no longer steal from the grandmother now that she has joined the party. The German father in Damals war es Friedrich becomes a party member only because he cannot find work. Robens in Im roten Hinterhaus joins the party in order to get a job, and immediately after achieving this goal resigns from the SA (p. 117) Saur, the Nazi in Der erste Frühling, joins the party solely for the benefits he gains. His mustache attests to his opportunism—in the days of the Kaiser he groomed his mustache in the Wilhelm fashion, and in the days of the Third Reich it resembles Hitler’s. At the end of the war he immediately removes his mustache and betrays his party cohorts to the Russians (p. 25). In “Eisern, Emil eisern,” from the Hände hoch, Tschibaba! collection by Klaus Kordon, Emil’s friends enlist in the party for hot soup and a job (p. 33). “Good thing the Führer came along,” ran a line of my mother’s. “Or we’d probably have starved.” (A Night in Distant Motion, p. 53) “Gut, daß der Führer gekommen ist,” lautete ein Spruch meiner Mutter. “Sonst waren wir wahrscheinlich verhungert.” (Er hieß Jan, p. 42) “You must understand, Herr Schneider, that I was out of work for a long time. Since Hitler’s in power, I have work again—better work than I had ever hoped for. We are doing well.” (Friedrich, p. 70) “Sie müssen das verstehen, Herr Schneider, ich war lange arbeitslos. Seit Hitler an der Macht ist, habe ich wieder Arbeit, bessere Arbeit, als ich erhofft hätte. Es geht uns gut.” (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 63) “Mrs. Major,” the old cleaning lady had told Grandma one morning with tears in her eyes, “I have stolen firom My lady often, Mrs. Major will surely have noticed. But now Mrs. Major can trust me. Now we believe in the Führer, and the Führer has said: A good National Socialist does not steal! Now Mrs. Major can leave the keys in all the cupboards!” (my translation) “Frau Major “hätte die alte Putzfrau eines Morgens mit Tränen in den Augen zu Großmutter gesagt, “ich habe gnä’ Frau ja oft bestohlen, das werden Frau Major gewiß gemerkt haben. Aber jetzt können Frau Major mir trauen. Jetzt glauben wir an den Führer, und der Führer hat gesagt:

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Ein guter Nationalsozialist stiehlt nicht! Frau Major können jetzt an allen Schränken die Schlüssel stecken lassen!” (Sonderappell, p. 180).

Aid to Jews and Concealment of Underground Activity Enlistment in the party is occasionally rationalized as being part of an effort to eradicate Nazism and assist the Jews. The German father in Damals war es Friedrich joins the party, among other reasons, in order to help his Jewish neighbor save his family. He discloses party secrets, informs Mr. Schneider of the goings-on at party meetings, and counsels him to leave Germany. Heinz, the son of a senior Nazi in Wir waren dabei, leaks secrets and tells his friends of the Nazi party’s Kristallnacht strategy (p. 93 [79]). The mother in Die Webers ostensibly maintains the façade of an active Nazi—she hangs a picture of Hitler in her house and sends her son to Hitler Youth. But she also goes to the priest’s house to warn him that he is being watched, complies with his request to assist victims of state oppression, and takes part in the rescue of Ernst Heine, the Jewish boy. The father in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? beseeches his daughter to present herself as an ardent member of the girls’ youth group and to refrain from publicly disclosing her friendship with Ruth, who is Jewish; only in this manner will they be able to help Ruth, he assures her. The involvement of Hannes and Hanna in the youth movement is presented as a cover that helps their father carry on his underground activity in the army. You also know what I think of anti-Semitism and everything they have to put up with—and there’s worse to come. Still, I must ask you not to invite Ruth here too often. In my position I simply cannot afford to show so clearly what I think about the Jewish question…. It could turn out that someday the Schmidtkes might need our help in some form or another. And we could only help them secretly. And therefore no one needs to know how we feel about them. (Dont Say a Word, p. 16–17) Und du weißt auch, wie ich über den Judenhafi denke und über alles, was sie auszustehen haben. Und es wird noch viel schlimmer kommen. Doch muß ich dich bitten, Ruth nicht allzu oft hierher zu holen. In meiner Position kann ich es mir einfach nicht leisten, so deutlich zu zeigen, wie ich über die Judenfrage denke…. Es könnte durchaus sein, daß Schmidtkes unsere Hilfe noch einmal brauchen, in welcher Form auch immer. Und helfen können wir ihnen dann nur heimlich. Und darum braucht niemand zu wissen, wie wir über sie denken. (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, p. 18) On the first page of Rosa Weiss, Rosa is illustrated with two bits of red—the red ribbon in her hair and the small red swastika pennant in her hand. In addition, there is red in the swastikas on the Nazis’ lapels and in the flags waving throughout the town. By linking these bits of red, Roberto Innocenti presents the naïveté of the Germans, who did not initially comprehend the enormity of the disaster that had befallen them. Many good people acted like Rosa Weiss and waved the Nazi flag. The full extent of the horror unfolded only after it was too late. The illustration indicates that not everyone who waved

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the flag was an authentic Nazi. On the contrary, even those who donned the swastika (like Rosa Weiss) could have been, in actual fact, dissidents. The protagonisfs mother in Vier Fragen an meiner Vater appears to be a zealous Nazi, yet her son reveals that she had repeatedly opposed the Nazis’ policies with regard to the Jews (p. 34). In Die Webers, Gerhard distributes dissident pamphlets while wearing a Hitler Youth uniform. The neighbor who comes to aid Wolf, whose Jewish parents are taken away in the story “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” (in the Kordon collection Hände hoch, Tschibaba!), sends him to hide in the garden shed until the liaison arrives to smuggle him across the border to Switzerland. The liaison is dressed in an SA uniform. Upon realizing that this frightens the child, the liaison tries to soothe him by explaining that one must not judge people by their uniform (pp. 67–68). It is not clear from the text whether the liaison is merely disguised as an SA officer or really is an SA officer who rescues Jews. On the other hand, it is clear that only some of those who appear to be Nazis are actually Nazis. Most of those appearing to be Nazis are not only discontent with party policy, but they also are willing to act against it at great personal risk. Thus, those who wear the uniform are not necessarily Nazis; more accurately, according to the texts, they are almost never Nazis. Summary At first glance, the story featured in Im roten Hinterhaus seems to depart from the familiar account of forced enrollment in the party. Erich has decided to enlist as an SA officer out of conviction, and rails against his father, “I am a Nazi!” (“Ich bin ein Nazi! ” p. 19). Nevertheless, he is portrayed in a positive light in terms of his appearance and personality (p. 101). As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that Erich is not a real Nazi. Although this transformation evolves slowly and Erich initially follows orders, he carries out relatively harmless acts, such as the ransacking of the display window in a Jewishowned shop (p. 108). Soon after, Erich is no longer willing to obey orders blindly, and following an immoral order he decides to resign from the organization altogether (pp. 109,111) and pays the price of losing his job (pp. 117–118). In accordance with the internal logic of the discourse, the sympathetic and logical Erich cannot be a real Nazi, because a “real German” may err about Hitler only temporarily. Rosa Weiss’s mistake is also transitory. At the beginning of the story, she is seen waving a red Nazi flag. Yet after she discovers the great suffering caused by the Nazis, she extends assistance to the miserable prisoners and pays with her life for doing so. The characters of Erich and Rosa Weiss thus do not obscure the distinction between Nazi and pseudo-Nazi and even reinforce it. Most of the texts cast their characters according to two categories—Nazis and pseudoNazis. The principle “Be a good German at home and a Nazi outside” acquires metaphoric expression in the account of Hanna’s father in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?— when wearing his Luftwaffe uniform outside he enjoys great respect, but at home, where he wants to be “himself,” he doffs the fatigues and wears civilian clothing instead. This metaphor prevails in the representation of pseudo-Nazis in most of the texts. Now and then I used to meet him in the city or at the RLM and then I was very proud when everyone came to attention for him. But at home he

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always took off his uniform first thing. Even if we went out, he wore civilian clothes. “Sometimes I like to be myself for a while.” (Dont Say a Word, p. 23) Hin und wieder holte ich ihn in der Stadt oder im RLM ab und war dann sehr stolz, wenn alle vor ihm strammstanden. Er aber zog zu Hause immer als erstes die Uniform aus. Auch wenn wir weggingen, zog er Zivil an. “Manchmal mocht ich auch noch ich selbst sein.” (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, p. 24)

Real Nazis: A Minority and an Abstract Entity The majority of the Germans in the books are pseudo-Nazis, while the “real” Nazis remain an insignificant minority. When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit implies that most of the children in Max’s school belong to Social Democrat families rather than Nazi families. Mensch, Karnickel emphasizes that, with the exception of the Hitler Youth and one SS man who was arrested immediately upon the Americans’ arrival at Himmelsbach (p. 32), there were no Nazis in the town. In Rosa Weiss the only overt Nazi in the story is the obese mayor. Even in the girls’ evacuation camp in Mischling Second Degree, there is only one “real” Nazi, and Ruth is astonished even at that (pp. 121–122). “Germans” are not personally acquainted with any “real” Nazis. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, when women are waiting in line to buy their ration of meat, the only Nazi standing among them is an unnamed woman, as if to imply that the narrator was not acquainted with Nazis. In Ich bin David the Nazis have no names and are always referred to in the third person. Dientje and the girls hiding in The Upstairs Room refer to the Nazis by the pronoun “them” and describe them only metonymically, by imitating their voices and the sound of their footsteps (p. 149; pp. 104–105 in the German translation). In When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit there is almost no contact between the family members and the Nazis. In Mischling Second Degree Nazis appear only at a distance. Furthermore, when a concrete Nazi character is presented, the description is vague. The Devil’s Arithmetic by Jane Yolen, translated into German as Chaja heißt Leben (literally, Chaya Means Life), ostensibly describes the commandant of Auschwitz, but the book is not clear about the existence of the camp itself and of a certain Nazi named Breuer (pp. 127, 129; pp. 132, 134 in the German translation). Hannah-Chaya’s difficulty remembering the name of the commandant is a central part of the story. She remembers a familiar name from the “future,” Dr. Mengele, but her friends disagree and Shifra questions Hannah-Chaya’s credibility, claiming that she tends to say “strange things.” The technique of confusing two different time periods makes it difficult to associate the commandant with a definite name. Is Hannah-Chaya standing before Mengele or Breuer? Is she really in Auschwitz? The story leaves these questions unanswered. Parallel to their absence from the texts as concrete key figures, the Nazis, and especially the Nazi party, are described as being responsible for every single catastrophe. In Er hieß Jan, Gertrude blames the Nazis for destroying human relations. They are responsible even for disputes between neighbors (p. 89 [70]). The grandmother in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit even blames them for a dog’s death (p. 80; p. 73 in the German translation). Ultimately, however, the Nazis are depicted as a small group, a fanatical

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non-German minority that descended upon Germany from above, robbed Germany from the Germans, and, after taking power by force, appropriated Germany for itself. ]

The Nazis as Inferior and Malformed People “Real” Nazis are depicted on the one hand as inferior, stupid, and malformed, and on the other hand as brutal, inhuman, dangerous, and terrifying. Sigrun, the only “real” Nazi in Mischling Second Degree, is intellectually inferior to the other girls, with somewhat slower comprehensive abilities. She lacks courage and regurgitates propaganda slogans and hollow clichés. The other girls do not desire her company and refuse to share a room with her. The overt Nazi in Lena uses a drunken informant who is unable to produce a proper Heil Hitler salute (p. 50). The Nazis in Das Kind im Koffer do not know how to count and are easily duped, allowing an uprising and mutiny to be engineered under their very noses; ammunition is even stored under their own seats. Complete imbeciles, as the prisoners refer to them. Their stupidity is portrayed in the style of a slapstick movie—Marian, one of the prisoners, tries to smuggle a suitcase containing a child past the head guard. He experiences a moment of terror when the guard, nicknamed “Crooked Nail,” attempts to stop him. When Pippig, another prisoner, bumps into him intentionally, the guard tumbles to the floor and is buried in a heap of underwear from the pile of clothes Pippig was carrying. The family in Lena receives a stupid German shepherd with an old German name in place of the clever Polish dog they used to have (p. 117) The “real” Nazis exhibit physical abnormalities. They are short and ugly, almost deformed. The special emissary in Damals war es Friedrich is a hunchback. Willi, the Nazi boy in Stern ohne Himmel, is especially fat (pp. 22, 36 [15, 26]). Perwanger in Lena is grotesquely misshapen. All the guards in Das Kind im Koffer are physically deformed. One merits the nickname “Crooked Nail,” while the head guard is nicknamed “Matschbacke” because his face looks like a squashed pancake. Siegbert, the young Nazi in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaurriy is fat (p. 35) and his face sometimes resembles that of a frog (p. 30). In Rosa Weiss the mayor is grossly obese and appears in the illustrations as a bloated Hitler doll. Elli in Im roten Hinterhaus is fat and has buckteeth. At times the Nazi deformity is depicted metonymically, for example by employing a distorted sound. The Nazis do not speak; they shriek or talk in a grating voice. The hunchback in Damals war es Friedrich screeches and so do the SS officer in Nacht über dem Tal, the patrolman in Er hieß Jan, and both the SS man and the company commander in Stern ohne Himmel. Erich in Im roten Hinterhaus also has a grating voice. The guard nicknamed “Crooked Nail” and the guards’ supervisor in Das Kind im Koffer scream and shriek. The man in the brown uniform in Wir waren dabei calls Heinz by shouting at him. Jähde, the Nazi headmaster in Stern ohne Himmel, shouts frequently. The principal in Emma and all the children cry “Heil Hitler.” The Nazi in Der erste Frühling Sauer, screams at Änne, and even sweet Charly in Emma starts to scream upon mentioning Hitler’s name. “We knowyow,” he roared. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 115) “Wir kennen Sie,” brüllte er. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 84)

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During air alerts, though, he took on the voice of authority and yelled at whoever violated regulations… (A Night in Distant Motion, p. 13) Bei Fliegeralarm verwandelte er sich, bekam eine Kommandostimme, brüllte jeden an, der gegen die Vorschriften verstieß… (Er hieß Jan, p. 12) “What are you doing here, fellow?,” bellowed an SS-man… (Star Without a Sky, p. 138) “Was machst du hier, Bürschlein?”brullte ein SS-Mann… (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 109) One felt the entire force that Erich put into his voice in order to make the grainy sentence sink into his brothers’ hearts; besides, his voice was breaking. I felt a cold shudder throughout my body. (my translation) Man spürte die gesammelte Kraft, die Erich seiner Stimme verlieh, um den kernigen Satz in die Herzen seiner Brüder zu senken; außerdem befand er sich gerade im Stimmbruch. Es lief mir richtig kalt am Körper herunter. (Im roten Hinterhaus, p. 30) The top guard of the washing room runs around like Krummnagel, shouts, curses, yells and makes the confusion even bigger. (my translation) Der Oberbewacher des Waschraums rennt herum wie Krummnagel, schreit, flucht, brüllt und macht das Durcheinander noch größer. (Das Kind im Koffer [n.p.]) “Confess! ” bellowed the group leader. (Star Without a Sky, p. 73) “Melden! ” brüllte der Scharführer. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 57) “Heinz! ” a shout rang across the schoolyard. (I Was There, p. 16) “Heinz! ” schallte es über den Schulhof…(Wir waren dabei, p. 20) …answered Jähde instead of the policeman in a cutting voice. (Star Without a Sky, p. 72) …antwortete Jähde an Stelle des Uniformierten mit schneidender Stimme…(Stern ohne Himmel, p. 56) The headmaster yelled “Heil Hitler.” The children and the teacher jumped up and also yelled “Heil Hitler.” (my translation) Der Rektor hat “Heil Hitler” gebrüllt. Die Kinder und die Lehrerin sind aufgesprungen und haben auch “Heil Hitler” gebrüllt. (Emma, p. 63) And how he was shouting at her…She still dreamed of those evil eyes in the red face and the widely opened mouth underneath the Hitler-beard long afterwards. “Concentration camp-brat! Concentration campbrat! Concentration camp-brat! ” it kept reverberating within her. (my translation) Und wie er sie anschrie!…Sie hat danach noch lange von diesen bösen Augen im roten Gesicht und dem weit aufgerissenen Mund unter dem Hitler-Schnauzer getraumt. “KZ-Göre! KZ-Göre! KZ-Göre! ” hallte es immer wieder in ihr nach. (Der erste Frühling, p. 48)

The Nazis as Tyrants and Exploiters

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The Nazis are egotistical and care only for themselves. They are tyrants who take advantage of other people’s weaknesses. The tyrannical grandfather in Damals war es Friedrich exploits the dependence of his unemployed son-in-law’s family in order to make them fear him. He enjoys playing the role of the “big boss” in the family, before whom everyone must stand and quiver. Jähde in Stern ohne Himmel knows how to save his skin by securing the position of the boarding school director, which exempts him from being sent to the front lines, quite unlike the teacher Nagold who lost a leg there. The district commandant flees for his life before the approaching Russians, even though it is forbidden to leave the city. His deputy pilfers the cache of children’s food without sharing it with anyone. The two Nazis in Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett evade retribution after burning their uniforms in time, while Pröllmann, the policeman who never hurt a soul but fails to remove his uniform, is punished unjustly. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, Hanna’s Nazi grandmother and grandfather manage to survive better than anyone else. The Nazi journalist in Er hieß Jan, who is portrayed as a “super-Nazi,” arranges to obtain “clean” papers for himself (i.e., to denazify him) just before the end of the war. Young Schmidt, who is also known as a “super-Nazi,” cajoles his dissident neighbors into guaranteeing his safety. We were allowed to shake hands then. He made me show mine first. Both were clean. Then I had to turn around and lift up my feet one after the other. Grandfather wanted to see if the crosspiece between the sole and heel of each shoe had been polished with shoe cream. Since we knew about this whim, he didn’t find anything to object to. (Friedrich, p. 13) Wir durften ihm die Hand reichen. Von mir liefi er sich die Hände zeigen. Sie waren sauber. Dann mußte ich mich umdrehen und nacheinander beide Füße heben. Großvater wollte wissen, ob der Steg zwischen Sohle und Absatz bei meinen Schuhen mit Schuhkrem geputzt war. Wir kannten diese Schrulle; deshalb fand er nichts zu beanstanden. (Damals war es Friedrich, pp. 18–19) Even in prewar times Jähde had been known and feared as a strict proponent of National Socialism. Thus he never let an opportunity pass to call in the boys’ choir for Party proclamations and celebrations. While Nagold had been fighting at the front, was wounded and lost a leg, Jähde had been promoted…. But in fact, in keeping the school going he was struggling to save his own skin, since only as a school principal was he exempt from military service. (Star Without a Sky, pp. 12–13) Jähde war schon in Vorkriegszeiten als strenger Verfechter des National-sozialismus bekannt und gefiirchtet gewesen. So liefi er sich keine Gelegenheit entgehen, den Knabenchor für Parteikundgebungen und Feierstunden heranzuziehen. Während Nagold an der Front gekämpft hatte, verwundet wurde und ein Bein verlor, war Jähde avanciert…. Tatsächlich aber kämpfte er mit der Erhaltung des Alumnats um seine eigenen Haut, denn nur als Rektor der Schule hätte er sich seine Freistellung von der Wehrmacht sichern können. (Stern ohne Himmel, pp. 7–8)

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The Nazis as Violent and Cruel Alongside descriptions of the Nazis’ selfishness, the books detail their cruelty and violence, the horrific damage they caused, and the fear they instilled. Feldmann, the inspector in Er hieß Jan, evokes a combination of both ridicule and terror. The children snicker at his gait, yet they and their parents are terrified of him (p. 13 [12]). In Stern ohne Himmel, Nagold, the kind teacher, is no less afraid of Jähde the Nazi than are the children. Olbrischt, who comes to class in his brown uniform in Das Jahr der Wölfe, frightens his teacher, who attributes demonic powers to the boy. The Nazi in Lena beats the forced laborers and workers on the estate and intentionally starves them (p. 160). In both Wir waren dabei and Nacht über dem Tal, the Nazis brutalize the prisoners and sadistically beat them. The Nazis in Vier Fragen an meinen Vater commit murder in cold blood and are nearly insane. Walter Jendrich describes how death has become second nature for one of the SS officers (p. 99). The company commander (Scharführer) in Dachau instructs the prisoners to build a barbed wire fence. In his madness he forgets that the fence was re-electrified that night and thus meets his death. Die Webers presents the extreme, cynical brutality of the Nazis through the heartrending story of the execution of a starving little Polish boy who was caught stealing bread. Karl-Heinz is indirectly responsible, though he acted not out of brutality but because he was afraid to risk his chances for a career in the officers’ corps. Nagold had to smile. His fear of Jähde was hardly less than the children’s. (Star Without a Sky, p. 43) Nagold mußte lächeln. Seine Angst vor Jähde war kaum geringer als die der Kinder. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 33) Mr. Olbrischt scrutinized the children before him. He was wearing uniform and the red armband with the swastika on it glowed dully in the ill-lit classroom. “Heil Hitler! ” he shouted. The schoolmaster started, and raised his palsied arm much higher than usual. “Heil Hitler,” he replied. (The Year of the Wolves, p. 16) Olbrischt spähte in die Klasse. Er trug die Uniform. Die rote Armbinde glühte im Halbdunkel. “Heil Hitler,” rief er. Der Lehrer fuhr erschreckt zusammen, riß seinen zittrigen Arm viel hoher als sonst und erwiderte den Gruß. (Das Jahr der Wölfe, p. 23) One time when the prisoners were working in the field at some distance from one another, I found myself standing next to a man I didn’t know yet. He was new to the detachment. Suddenly I saw him look past me with eyes wide open. SS leader Möller was coming across the field with a whip in his belt and his wolfhound at his heel. Möller had started coming more often lately to check up on what the prisoners were doing. He was very close behind me. The prisoner trembled and his hands went limp still clutching the shovel handle. “Can’t you give a salute? ” bellowed Möller. But the man froze. Möller then raised his whip and struck the prisoner right in the face. The prisoner screamed and doubled over, pressing his face. By the time he straightened up again, Möller was gone, but something had happened to the man’s face. His chin had been

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dislocated and his cheeks were swollen out of shape and beginning to turn purple. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 91) Einmal arbeiteten die Häftlinge auf dem Feld, weit voneinander entfernt, und ich stand in der Nähe eines Mannes, den ich noch nicht kannte. Er war neu im Kommando. Plötzlich sah ich, daß er mit weit aufgerissenen Augen an mir vorbeisah. Der SS-Führer Möller kam über den Acker, mit einem Wolfshund an der kurzen Leine und einer Peitsche am Gürtel. Er kam jetzt häufiger, der Möller, um zu sehen, wie die Häftlinge eingesetzt wurden. Er war ganz nah hinter mir. Der Häftling zitterte, und seine Hände hingen mit dem Schaufelstiel nach unten. “Kannst du nicht grüßen,” brüllte ihn der Möller an. Aber der Mann bewegte sich nicht. Da holte der Möller mit der Peitsche aus und schlug zu. Er traf mitten ins Gesicht. Der Häftling schrie auf und krümmte sich zusammen. Er preßte seine Hände auf das Gesicht. Als er sich wieder aufrichtete, war der Möller schon weitergegangen. Mit dem Gesicht war etwas passiert. Das Kinn war in eine andere Richtung gedreht und die Wangen schwollen unförmig an. Sie wurden blaurot. (Nacht über dem Tal, pp. 66–67) Well, during the last weeks Veske went completely over the top…In his enthusiasm he must have forgotten that in the evenings the electric current was reinstalled. The next morning they found him hanging dead in the wires. (my translation) Also der Veske war in den letzten Wochen total übergeschnappt…In seinem Eifer vergaß er wohl, daß abends der Strom wieder eingeschaltet wurde. Am nächsten Morgen fanden sie ihn tot in den Drähten hängen. (Warum warst du in der Hitler-Jugend?, p. 139) The Nazis’ harassment of their victims is often described as gratifying for them. In Er hieß Jan, the Gestapo men who imprison Regina and her sweetheart, Jan the forced laborer, cut off her hair with sadistic pleasure (p. 142 [110]). Schuster, the fitness teacher in Damals war es Friedrich, abuses his students, metes out strict punishment, and forces them to run while carrying bricks on their backs. The Hitler Youth Oberjungstammführer in Wir waren dabei is a sadist who enjoys tormenting his subordinates (pp. 74–79 [64– 68]). The two “real” Nazis in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, Otto Schröder and Bernhard Klump, enjoy beating their victims to death. Klump, animal-like with a small, dark, hairy appearance, blindly obeys the tall, blond Schröder. In the story “Trümmerkutte” (“Rubble cowl”), in the Hände hoch, Tschibaba! collection, the Nazi counselor tortures Kurt and almost succeeds in breaking his spirit (pp. 78–79) after Kurt fails to show sufficient enthusiasm for Hitler Youth activities. He mercilessly subjects his subordinates in the youth group to grueling training and harsh weather conditions (pp. 10–11, 27). Conscientious Günter is caught talking at a company assembly of Hitler Youth, and as an educational punishment he is subjected to a series of humiliations and physical torture by the company leader in the presence of the other boys (pp. 66–67). The youth group counselor in Wie war das eigentlich? beats one of the cadets bloody after the latter forgets to salute a flag during the parade (p. 161 [141]). The commander humiliates the narrator in Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten for shaving improperly and calls him names usually reserved for Jews—“pig” and “sow” (p. 30 [29]). The book later provides a

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detailed account in which another commander abuses one of the narrator’s comrades, which continues until the soldier is no longer able to move. The rest of the soldiers are forced, grudgingly, to watch the horrific scene (pp. 34–35 [34–35]). Only last week the Storm 1100 caught a few Nazi opponents away from the street and abducted them into an SA-pub. The Browns tortured and beat up their opponents and then simply threw them out on the street. A young guy from Soldiner street did not survive those beatings. (my translation) Erst vorige Woche hat der Sturm 1100 wieder ein paar Nazigegner von der Straße weggefangen und ins SA-Lokal verschleppt. Gefoltert und geschlagen haben die Braunen ihre Widersacher und sie danach einfach auf die Straße geworfen. Ein junger Bursche aus der Soldiner Straße hat diese Schläge nicht überlebt. (Mit dem Rücken zum Wand, p. 52–53) The Nazis brutalize their own family members as well. Siegbert and his mother in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum are subject to his father’s abuse (pp. 43, 179). Franz’s Nazi father in Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett is terribly cruel to his wife and children. His wife dies of neglect, and he beats his children until they lose consciousness (pp. 184– 185). The Nazi in Lena is cruel to his wife, as is the Nazi in Im roten Hinterhaus. Kurt’s mother in “Trümmerkutte” (in the Hände hoch, Tschibaba! collection) is a devout Nazi who does not hesitate to send her son to a school for disobedient children, just because he does not behave as a devoted Nazi should (p. 91). Perwanger, the unmistakable Nazi in Lena, does not mourn the death of his son in the war, nor does he allow his wife to do so. Willf s father in Stern ohne Himmel publicly flogs him with a belt. When Lieslotte’s father in The Devil in Vienna finds that she had lied to him and avoided participating in Nazi ideology classes in school, he awaits her at home like an animal ambushing its prey, and he brutally thrashes her with a belt. Even as she cries out in pain, he neither shows empathy nor consoles her. Biermann, the Nazi teacher in Emma, mercilessly beats Julia even though she had just been evacuated to the village. The Nazi teacher in Als die neue Zeit begann, Jähde the boarding school headmaster in Stern ohne Himmel, and the teacher in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum all beat children and treat them violently. Needless to say, they are all “real” Nazis according to the keys presenting them in the books. He also made his black and still beautiful wife work a lot for him. (my translation) Auch seine schwarze und immer noch hübsche Frau spannte er tüchtig ein. (Im roten Hinterhaus, p. 97) When Gustav Perwanger came to the pub the following Sunday, he drank more than usual and told everybody how proud and happy he was that Manfred had been given the opportunity to die a hero’s death on behalf of his beloved Führer. Everyone in the village was angry at him for that, since even those who were in the party mourned for their sons and husbands who had died in combat. However, Gustav Perwanger would not even let his wife mourn for Manfred. (my translation)

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Als Gustav Perwanger am Sonntag danach ins Wirtshaus kam, trank er mehr als sonst und erklarte allen, wie stolz und glücklich er sei, daß sein Manfred den Heldentod für den geliebten Führer habe sterben dürfen. Das nahmen ihm alle im Dorf übel, denn selbst jene, die bei der Partei waren, trauerten um ihre gefallenen Söhne und Manner. Gustav Perwanger aber wollte sogar seiner Frau nicht erlauben, um Manfred zu trauern. (Lena, p. 204) Then things happened very fast. His father appeared within minutes. Without a word he unbuckled his belt and began to beat Willi with it in front of the gateman. Then his father dragged him home. (Star Without a Sky, p. 138) Dann ging alles sehr schnell. Minuten später war der Vater da. Wortlos schnallte er sich den Gürtel ab und schlug in Gegenwart des Schrankenwärters auf Willi ein. Dann schleppte ihn der Vater nach Hause. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 109) When I came home for noon meal, my father stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for me. He said, “Take your coat off. Go in the living room.” I went in there. “Lean over the chair.” My father took his belt off. It made a hum in the air and came down across my back. I screamed. I sounded like an animal. “That one was for ‘Faith’! ” my father said. Again. “That one was for ‘Beauty’” One more time. “And that one was for lying to me. There, Fm through. Stop screaming or the Pfaltzes will think we’re roasting you on a spit.” (The Devil in Vienna, p. 170; pp. 152–153 in the German translation) I had to hold my hands towards Hitler. “I—am—going—to—teach— her—the—big—multiplication—table!” Biermann promised Hitler with his rod. (my translation) Ich mußte dem Hitler meine Handflachen hinhalten. “Ich—werde— ihr—das -Große—Einmaleins—schon—beibringen!” hat der Biermann mit seinem Rohrstock dem Hitler versprochen. (Emma, pp. 83–84)

A Foreign Power That Robbed Germany from the Germans The Nazis are a foreign power that occupied Germany for a short period of time and stole it from the Germans. The Nazis “robbed” the Germans of their country, says Anna’s father in The Other Way Round, and we do not know their fate after Hitler swallowed them up (pp. 30–31; p. 29 in the German translation). After occupying Germany, the Nazis confiscated the Germans’ cultural assets. In Stern ohne Himmel, the transition from German culture to the Nazi era is made clear by the changes in the principal’s room; shelves overflowing with music literature—symbols of German culture—disappear from

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the school upon the Nazis’ arrival and are replaced by symbols of Nazi culture such as a full-sized picture of Hitler. The Nazis remove Kimmich, a composer whose entire life had been devoted to music, as principal of the boarding school and in his place appoint Jähde. The school’s music, which had long been a manifest expression of superior culture, becomes a device for the stirring of passions. The regime denounces Kimmich, the representative of classical German culture, as a traitor, after he refuses to let the choir serve the regime and allows his students to sing degenerate music. He is sent to detention and, after being released, is forbidden to pursue his profession or play his own music in public. Die Webers depicts the Nazis’ eradication of German culture as well as the burning of books. In contrast to the Nazis who burn books, “real” Germans gather the books and read them. The father, a blue-collar worker, collects books passionately and reads them with great interest. The Nazis, on the other hand, burn the books without comprehending their actions. One of the youngsters burning the books admits to the father that he had never read any of them (p. 23). Maurice, the French forced laborer, asks Regina in Er heiß Jan whether she has read Thomas Mann’s books. Naturally she must admit she has not because, as is apparent in The Devil in Vienna, the character of school education had changed; instead of teaching German culture, educational institutions were filled with Nazi flags and Hitler’s bulletins. As Maurice assures Regina, however, this is just temporary (p. 32). Like Kimmich in Stern ohne Himmel, who preserves German music in his stark room, other “real” Germans make similar efforts. Hanna in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? carries Goethe’s Italian Journey in her satchel when she travels to a camp as part of her commitment to the Hitler Youth movement (p. 68 [66]). While the father is executed as an opponent of the Nazi regime, his family is attending a performance of Beethoven’s Fidelio, unaware of the execution. The choice is clearly symbolic: the lover in Fidelio is locked up in the cellar just like the father (p. 119 [113]). No less symbolic is Hanna’s visit to the theater to see Goethe’s Faust (p. 71 [69]). After she converts from Nazi to dissident in Er heiß Jan, Regina rediscovers her identity as a German through a poem by Rilke. The poem, which illustrates separation, corresponds to Regina’s brutal, forced separation from her sweetheart, Jan, and serves as a metaphor of the great abyss between German culture and Nazism (pp. 105–106 [82–83]). The confiscation of German culture has a twofold meaning: on the one hand, German culture does not disappear but lives on, hidden away by “real” Germans while, on the other hand, the Nazis attempt to dispose of it and install a different culture. The narrator’s father in Nacht über dem Tal describes the Nazis melting down Schiller’s statue for the war machine, while the dying farmer in Stern ohne Himmel mocks the statue of Hitler: Through the gap in the tarpaulin he saw from below the head of the statue on the fountain and thought it was a statue of the Führer. He could see the white traces of pigeons on its shoulders. “You see,” the farmer muttered, “now they’ve crapped on you too.” (Star Without a Sky, p. 63) Durch den Spalt der Pläne sah er von unten den Kopf der Brunnenfigur und glaubte, es sei ein Denkmal des Führers. Er könnte die weißen Spuren der Tauben auf dessen Schultern erkennen. “Siehst du,” murmelte der Bauer, “nun bist du auch angeschissen.” (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 48)

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Ousting Nazism The portrayal of the Nazis as cruel and sadistic is certainly meant to evoke disgust and cast them out of German society. Descriptions of the Nazis maintain that they did not belong to German society but were a foreign entity that completely disappeared from Germany toward the end of the war. In Kordon’s Der erste Frühling, the grandfather jokes about the lack of any Nazi respect for Hitler: “Too bad you didn’t have your swastika tattoed on your forehead, then Hitler wouldn’t have been the only Nazi left” (“Schade, daß Sie sich ihr Hakenkreuz nicht auf die Stirne tätowieren lassen haben, dann wäre Hitler jetzt wenigstens nicht der einzige Nazi gewesen,” p. 200). Yet the texts suggest that the Nazis really disappeared from Germany upon war’s end. Hoffmann, the regional commander in Stern ohne Himmel, leaves town when the Russians are about to enter it (p. 212 [170]). Nacht über dem Tal describes the Nazis’ abandonment of the camp—one day the guards depart, the watchtowers are vacated, and pieces of uniform are left strewn across the train tracks (p. 116 [85]). In Damals war ich vierzehn, Schauer the Nazi informer disappears from town after the war is over (p. 46). The Hitler Youth counselor in Mensch, Karnickel, one of the few Nazis in the town, vanishes as well (pp. 7–8). Nazi government clerks flee as the war comes to a close in Die Zeit jungen Soldaten, and the narrator, an officer posted in the East, breaks into their lodgings and finds a great cache left behind in the rush (p. 107 [119–120]). In Maikäfer flieg! the Nazis bolt, vanishing from the world created in the book. Christel sneaks into the city in Cohn’s wagon. She understands from her grandfather’s answers that the Nazis have already run away. The Nazis’ abandonment of the population not only proves their selfishness; it also shows that German society is cleansed of them. Charlotte comes home after the war in Sonderappell and discovers that everything has remained as it was; Nazism had simply vanished from her house and her life—“the house was unchanged” (p. 237) and “Everything as usual, only she had changed” (p. 239) (“das Haus war unverändert,” p. 237; “Alles wie immer, nur sie hätte sich verändert,” p. 239). At the conclusion of the war in Lena, the house is cleared of all the “Nazi” objects and thus, in effect, the house is purged of the remnants of Nazism. Immediately upon the end of the war, German society becomes “Nazi-rein”—empty of Nazism. The texts create the impression that the Nazis disappeared from Germany altogether. Regina’s Nazi father in Er heiß Jan disappears on the Russian front and never returns home. Rosa, the Nazi girl in Lena, gradually fades away as the war reaches its conclusion, and vanishes as if a world order had come to an end—“…her life extinguished as a candle whose wick has been consumed” (“…ihr Leben erlosch wie eine Kerze, deren Docht heruntergebrannt ist” p. 247). In addition to the distinction between “Nazis” and “Germans,” many of the texts distinguish between “us”—those who were children during the war—and “them,” the actual perpetrators. Thus a distinction is made between the parents’ generation and that of their children. The parents’ generation (the grandparents) is made up of Nazis who support the regime, in contrast to their children who oppose Nazism. The grandfather and old Mr. Resch in Damals war es Friedrich, the grandmother and grandfather in Er heiß Jan, the old uncle in Nacht über dem Tal, old Mrs. von Braun in Maikäfer flieg!, and Hanna’s maternal grandparents in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? are all to carry the guilt, while the younger generation is innocent. This approach is emphasized in Das kurze

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Leben der Sophie Scholl, in which the members of the White Rose underground are depicted as pure young people guided by moral values. The building of a new Germany is made possible in the texts by both the military defeat and the younger generation that is free of the sin of Nazism—a claim of considerable significance, particularly when appearing in books for children and teenagers. Regardless of the explanation for the disappearance of Nazism in Germany, one point clearly arises from the texts—because the “real” Germans were not Nazis, and the Nazis were not Germans, Germany had no difftculty in restoring the pre-Third Reich good times immediately after the end of the war. Just as Nazism had invaded Germany out of the blue and brutally forced itself on the German people, it disappeared just as abruptly. The nocturnal title Nacht über dem Tal alludes to the darkness that enveloped Germany and subsequently vanished. Just as night melts into dawn, so Nazism, which had beclouded a vulnerable Germany, dissipated like a bad dream. With the withering of the poppies, Camp Wiesengrund disappeared from the lives of most of us in the same way it had come, like a ghost or a bad dream. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 135) Mit dem Verbltihen des roten Mohns verschwand das Lager Wiesengrund aus dem Leben der meisten von uns. Gerade so wie es gekommen war: Wie ein Spuk oder ein böser Traum. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 99)

Chapter Eight “If He Only Could”—The Analogy Between Jews and Nazis Establishment of the Equivalence As we have seen previously in this book, the texts create an opposition between Germans and Nazis and between Germans and Jews. Alongside this opposition, they also create an analogy between Jews and Nazis. The claim that such an analogy exists may provoke misgivings, anger, and incredulity. It is therefore important to emphasize at the very outset that this analogy is unintentional. It is not part of the formal message of the texts and unequivocally not a component of their ideological stance; the texts do not intend to argue for any similarity between Jews and Nazis, nor do they intend to argue that the Jews were Nazis. Nevertheless, despite the clear absurdity that lies at the heart of any analogy between Jews and Nazis, it has its own logic within the world constructed in the texts. The analogy is drawn from juxtaposing the “real” Germans versus Jews and also versus Nazis. The presentation of the Nazis is based on the premise that they are not Germans. Therefore, in accordance with the internal logic of the texts, the set of characteristics used to describe the Nazis should differ from the set used for Germans. As is always the case, the texts employ the available cultural models that already exist in the cultural repertoire in order to describe the “non-German entities”—the “Others.” By the attribution of a limited set of characteristics, the Others are presented as a homogeneous, amorphous mass. The difference between the “real” Germans and the “Others” is a result of the establishment of two categories, “familiar” and “nonfamiliar.” Because the German cultural repertoire has traditionally perceived Jews as the immediate non-German Others, it is nearly the default option to apply the repertoire of the “Others” for the description of Jews and Nazis, attributing traits to both groups that contrast them with Germans, and making them the ultimate “non-Germans” who are characterized by “non-German” traits. This is, needless to say, further evidence of the sad irony of history. These categories of “familiar” Germans and “foreign” groups differ not only in terms of their set of characteristics but also in terms of their organization. Different principles and sets of traits are used to depict the two categories. For example, one who is “familiar” is described by means of his or her thoughts, emotions, and complex inner world, while an external, physical, homogeneous, and one-dimensional set of characteristics will be

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used to describe those who are “foreign.” “Familiar” people are described by the use of a diverse set of characteristics, while the characterization of “foreign” individuals is limited to the use of one or two elements. “Familiar” people are characterized by their actions and deeds, “foreign” people by frequently bizarre ceremonies and rituals; “familiar” people are characterized by their correct complexion, profession, and a certain manner of speech while “foreign” people have a “different” complexion, a different profession, and a different manner of speech. The Others are like allegorical characters. The texts use them to develop the plot and as catalysts of the events, but the characters themselves are not developed and their only role is to provide a faceless representation of Jews or Nazis based on a stereotypical set of traits. The status reserved for the Others—Nazis and Jews—is particularly conspicuous given the great variety of German characters, each one a human being exhibiting different characteristics in accordance with his or her own unique personality. Because the texts present Jews and Germans as mutually incongruous entities, and because the JewishGerman combination is never acknowledged, it is impossible to depict the Jews with the same terms used to describe Germans. Emphasizing the difference between Germans and Jews and between Germans and Nazis gives rise to the homology between Nazis and Jews, particularly by attributing the following characteristics to both groups: Smallness: Jews are exceptionally small, and Nazis are small Physical deformities: Jews and Nazis suffer from physical deformities Dark hair and complexion: Jews and Nazis have dark hair and dark complexions Rituals: Jews and Nazis are depicted by the various ceremonies each group performs, their ritual objects, and the accessories they wear Madness: Jews and Nazis are depicted as mad and obsessed Suicide: Jews and Nazis often commit suicide Fraudulence and deceit Jews and Nazis are cunning and deceitful Control and exploitation of Germans: Jews and Nazis control the Germans and exploit them

The Physical Description In contrast to the Germans, who are not generally described in terms of their physical traits, Jews and Nazis are almost always described in this manner. In Damals war es Friedrich, Mr. and Mrs. Schneider, Mr. Rosenthal, and the rabbi are all described physically, whereas the German family is not. The Jewish owner of the stationery store in Wir waren dabei is described by his beard (pp. 94, 95 [80]), while very little is known about the physical features of the German characters although they form the majority of the cast. In Stern ohne Himmel, Leonie Ossowski sketches a diverse gallery of characters, in an apparent attempt to present a complex picture of German society. She selects children of different backgrounds and political standing, assigning each one a representative role in the political spectrum. Yet despite the marked differences between them, the German children are grouped together and placed against Abiram the Jew: he is

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one, and they are many and varied; he is described physically, and they bear few physical traits. The narrator in Nacht über dem Tal portrays the Jewish prisoners arriving at her house by their external appearance (pp. 67–68 [51–52]), yet she does not describe the German soldiers in this fashion. Christel in Maikäfer flieg! illustrates Cohn, the Jewish cook, by elaborating on his external appearance—his round belly, bald pate, skinny arms, bow legs, and curly hair (p. 64 [92])—while almost none of the German characters in the book are thus depicted. Abiram stood silent with his head to his side. In his thinness he looked wretched compared to the four well-fed boys. His black hair, hanging long over his ears, shone in the candlelight. (Star Without a Sky, p. 125) Abiram stand stumm mit schief gehaltenem Kopf. In seiner Magerkeit wirkte er gegen die vier wohlgenahrten Knaben geradzu armselig. Sein schwarzes Haar, das lang über die Ohren hing, schimmerte im Kerzenlicht. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 98) The man driving the cart was very small, with a stomach as round as a ball, a shiny bald head, thin arms, bow legs, and curly black tufts of hair behind his ears, which stuck out. He wore old-fashioned metal-framed glasses. He had very few teeth, and those he did have were bad. His skin was sallow and greasy. He wore a uniform coat, but somehow it did not look like part of a uniform. (Fly Away Home, p. 64) Der Mann auf dem Kutschbock war sehr klein. Er hätte einen kugelrunden Bauch, eine Spiegelglatze, diinne Arme, gebogene Beine und schwarze, gekräuselte Haarbüschel hinter den abstehenden Ohren. Er trug eine altmodische Nickelbrille vor den Augen. Er hätte zu wenige schiefe, verfaulte Zähne im Mund. Seine Haut war gelb und glänzte fett. Er hätte einen Uniformrock an, der aber nicht wie eine Uniform aussah. (Maikäfer fliegly p. 92) In Wir waren dabei, the narrator encounters a confrontation between a group of boys in Hitler Youth uniform and a Jewish boy he knows. “I knew that jacket and that hair; it was Friedrich! Friedrich from our house!” (p. 46 [43]), he exclaims when he recognizes the Jew by his hair and jacket. What is it about Friedrich’s hair that makes him so distinct? And his clothes? Perhaps the answer is to be found in the words of Annie’s eldest sister in The Upstairs Room, who explains to Annie that the Dutch collaborator spat at them after recognizing them as Jews by their different appearance (p. 7). Perhaps it is their noses that makes the Jews so conspicuous. Descriptions of Jews may be accompanied by blatant or metaphorical insinuations about the Jewish nose, as a beak-like or avian appendage. In Als die neue Zeit begann, the Jewish peddler is portrayed as a diminutive man. He carries a sack on his back, and his facial features resemble a bird’s beak. Krücke describes the owl-like appearance of David, a Jew. The SS men beating the Jewish uncle in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand identify him as a Jew by his nose, despite his light eyes—“They had recognized the Jew in him” (“Sie hatten in ihm den Juden erkannt,” p. 324). The uncle asks why he is being beaten, and they answer that they don’t like the look of his nose. Although Abiram’s “famous Jewish nose” (“die

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berühmte Judennase”) in Stern ohne Himmel (p. 36 [29]) is narrow, it is also slightly crooked. Some of the traits attributed to the Jewish nose do not apply in this case, though others do. And above all, because Abiram is a jew he is ultimately described in terms of his nose: The door opened…then a small, thin figure appeared. I knew him well, he who came. He had a bird-nose face, gray hair, baggy trousers loose about his legs, and a small cap on the back of his head. Over his shoulder he was carrying a linen sack that lay heavily on his back. (my translation) Die Tür öffnete sich…Dann erschien eine kleine spindeldiirre Gestalt. Ich kannte ihn gut, der da kam. Er hätte ein vogelnasiges Gesicht, graue Haare, eine viel zu weite Hose, die ihm um die Beine schlotterte, und auf dem Hinterkopf ein schwarzes Käppchen. Auf der Schulter trug das Männchen einen leinen Sack, der sich schwer auf seinen Rücken legte. (Als die neue Zeit begann, p. 60) Sometimes, when he was especially sad, she called him “my little owl.” He looked like one, too. A thin little manikin, with a bald-shaven head stuck on his neck. (Crutches, p. 53) Manchmal, wenn er besonders traurig war, nannte sie ihn “mein Totenvögelchen.” So sah er auch aus. Ein diinnes Gliedermannchen, auf dessen Hals ein kahlgeschorenes Köpfchen steckte. (Krücke, p. 54) As [the uncle] defended himself, they hit him. And when he asked them why they were doing this, they said: “Because we don’t like your nose.” They had recognized the Jew in him and had also beaten up his colleague who had wanted to defend him, for being a Jew’s friend. (my translation) Als [der Onkel] sich wehrte, schlugen sie ihn. Und als er sie fragte, weshalb sie das taten, sagten sie: “Weil uns deine Nase nicht gefallt.” Sie hatten in ihm den Juden erkannt und den Kollegen, der ihn verteidigen wollte, als Judenfreund gleich mitverprugelt. (Mit dem Rücken zum Wand, p. 324) …and wild rage was in his black eyes…. Antek got no answer. He didn’t really need one, since he knew perfectly well that no one in Germany carried that star around of his own free will. He was looking at a Jew. Uncut curls hung down at the sides of his face. His high-arched brows could have been drawn with charcoal, and the famous Jewish nose was hardly hooked but very narrow. (Star Without a Sky, pp. 35, 36) …und wilde Wut stand in seinen schwarzen Augen…. Antek bekam keine Antwort. Sie war auch gar nicht nötig, denn er wußte genau, daß kein Mensch in Deutschland solch einen Stern freiwillig bei sich trug. Vor ihm stand ein Jude. Die ungeschnittenen Locken hingen seitlich über das Gesicht. Die hochgeschwungenen Brauen waren wie mit einem Kohlestift gezeichnet, und die beruhmte Judennase war zwar wenig gebogen, aber ganz schmal. (Stern ohne Himmel, pp. 26–27)

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Thus, it is insinuated that something in the Jews’ appearance makes it possible to identify them as Jews. Most of the texts present Jews as small (particularly small, in fact), pale, scrawny, and dark; little Cohn in Maikäfer flieg! has black hair and pointed ears. Margarete in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, nicknamed Mieze, has a black braid (p. 41). Ruth in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? has black hair, just like the diminutive Jewish officer in Geh heim und vergiß alles, the diminutive Jewish officer in Sonderappell, and Sophie in Im roten Hinterhaus (p. 120). Modersohn, the Jewish tailor in Bruder wie Freunde, Bronka in Krücke, and the grandmother in Emma are all small, pale, slight, and dark. …small, delicate, dark-haired officer (my translation) …kleiner zierlicher, dunkelhaariger Offizier (Sonderappell, p. 229) …a small woman with dark hair (Friedrich, p. 2) …eine kleine dunkelhaarige Frau (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 10) Her [Ruth’s] black braids lay on the coverlet. (Don’t Say a Word, p. 57) Ihre [Ruth’s] schwarzen Zöpfe hatten auf der Bettdecke gelegen (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, p. 56) Her shoulders swayed and she looked small, very small.... Grandmother Ehrenfeld walked small, tiny between them via the zig-zagroad through the lawn down to the street. (my translation) Ihre Schultern haben gewackelt und sie hat klein ausgesehen, ganz klein…. Großmutter Ehrenfeld ist klein, winzig klein zwischen ihnen über den Zick-Zack-Weg durch die Wiese zur Straße runtergegangen. (Eraraa, pp. 96, 97) However, the little tailor didn’t hold anything against them…Mr. Modersohn. The little man pulled him away. “You’re having breakfast with us today.”… Then he found Mr. Modersohn. Wearing a black suit that was much too tight and much too short, the little tailor came over to him and gave him a roguish look. (Brothers Like Friends, pp. 14, 171,179) Doch der kleine Schneidermeister nahm ihnen nichts übel…Herr Modersohn. Der kleine Mann zieht ihn fort. “Du friihstiickst heute bei uns.”… In einem viel zu engen und viel zu kurzen schwarzen Anzug kommt der kleine Schneidermeister auf ihn zu und macht ein verschmitztes Gesicht. (Bruder wie Freunde, pp. 9,125–126,131–132) Furthermore, Jews are described as being physically deformed. Cohn, the Russian cook in Maikäfer flieg!, is small with skinny arms, crooked legs, and missing and decayed teeth. Dr. Marmor in Geh heim und vergiß alles and the grandmother in Emma are both small and bent. Conscious endeavors to change the stereotypical portrayal of Jews in fact lead to its substantiation. In the self-proclaimed antiracist book Maikäfer fliegty Christine Nöstlinger intentionally contrasts the fair Aryan look with the Jewish look. Christel, the Austrian narrator, is dark, not fair. In this manner, Nöstlinger attempts to change the Aryan stereotype and demonstrate that even Germans can be dark. Christel’s complexion

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is the exception to the rule, however, and she is surrounded by fair Germans. Moreover, Christel, who had previously suffered because of her dark complexion, benefits from it when faced with the Russian soldiers’ hostility toward any suspected Aryan. She quickly discovers the advantages of a dark complexion. The text thus maintains that the stereotypical ethnic prejudice is universal, because the Allied soldiers are also depicted as racists who discriminate on an ethnic basis. The comparison between Nazis and Jews is sometimes blatant. Nagold’s wife in Stern ohne Himmel despairingly approaches a fortuneteller who warns her of a “small dark man” (“einen kleinen schwarzen Herrn”) posing a threat to her and her husband (p. 110 [87]). The man matches the description of Hitler himself, though this is not stated explicitly. However, Mrs. Nagold confuses Jähde, the Nazi boarding school headmaster (p. 188 [150]), whom she initially recognizes as the threatening individual, with Abiram, the small, dark Jewish boy. Such direct equations between Jews and Nazis are rare, however, and the comparisons are usually indirect. In Rosa Weiss, one of the illustrations creates a visual resemblance between a Jew and a Nazi; the Jewish boy looks to the side, and alongside him the Nazi mayor also averts his eyes (p. 8 [8]). They both wear brown coats, in contrast to the blue coat worn by Rosa, the German. Like the Jews, Nazis are also described by their physical features. In Damals war es Friedrich, the Nazi officer, Herr Resch, Herr Gelko, and the Nazi who comes to arrest Mr. Schneider are all portrayed by direct or indirect physical descriptions. The Nazi farm owner in Nacht über dem Tal, who instructs the narrator in agriculture, is characterized by his looks. The narrator in Emma describes the SS men who take Grandmother Ehrenfeld to the concentration camp (p. 97) according to their physical traits. The specific characteristics used for the descriptions of Jews and Nazis are similar. If a dark character is introduced, he or she will most likely be either a Jew or a Nazi, while fair hair usually designates a German. As in the descriptions of Jews, the Nazis’ dark color is typically depicted in terms of the color of their hair, although Nazis also have mustaches. Siegbert, the Nazi boy in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum, is nicknamed Black Siegbert. The Nazi farm owner in Nacht über dem Tal has dark hair, and illustrations of the mayor in Rosa Weiss highlight his mustache and black hair. The Nazis’ dark complexion reinforces the negative values associated with black and its allusion to evil and terror. The linking of black with evil, although part of the cultural repertoire, is not essential, because black can be related to other values such as elegance or high social rank. These options are not evoked by the texts, however, whereas a categorical association prevails between the color black and the Nazis and their evil. The Nazis almost always appear wearing black—Helga in Freundschaft ftir immer und ewig? (p. 125) and the Nazis in Vier Fragen an meinen Vater (p. 14) wear black. Willi, the Nazi in Stern ohne Himmel, wears black boots. Even the title Nacht über dem Tal (literally, Night over the Valley) suggests the metaphor of Nazism as a black shadow cast over Germany. The black color comes to symbolize Nazism, and this linkage is particularly evident in illustrated children’s books such as Die Lisa and Rosa Weiss, in which Nazi characters, and sometimes Jews as well, are drawn in black. Like the Jews, Nazis also exhibit physical deformities. The super-Nazi in Damals war es Friedrich is a hunchback. One of the guards in Das Kind im Koffer has a distorted, flattened face. The mayor in Rosa Weiss resembles an inflated balloon. Olbrischt, the only Nazi character in Das Jahr der Wölfe, is small and bent over.

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A short man in a brown uniform quickly strode across the square. He stopped short before the largest car… (I Was There, p. 28) Ein kleiner Mann in brauner Uniform schritt rasch quer über den Platz. Kurz vor dem größten Wagen hielt er an… (Wir waren dabei, p. 30) Olbrischt planted himself in front of the bench, feet apart. His short thick-set body stood out against the night sky like a crude silhouette. (The Year of the Wolves, pp. 10–11) Olbrischt stellte sich breitbeinig vor die Bank. Sein Körper, klein, untersetzt, zeichnete sich wie ein grober Scherenschnitt vor dem Nachthimmel ab. (Das Jahr der Wölfe, p. 18)

Strangeness and Linguistic Peculiarity Jews, like Nazis, are presented as a foreign minority whose world is alien to and estranged from German society. In some books Jews are not present at all, while in others their presence is negligible. In the summer of 1940, the protagonist of Vier Fragen an meinen Vater and his friend exit the cinema following a screening of “Jew Suess.” Their conversation indicates that they, the Germans, do not know any Jews living in their city or who had previously lived there (p. 30). Stern ohne Himmel creates the impression that the teenage boys had never encountered Jews and that Jews are not of flesh and blood but are foreign, distant shadows. They had never seen a yellow star until meeting Abiram (p. 36 [26]). The narrator in Im roten Hinterhaus unequivocally describes the foreignness of his Jewish neighbors’ family life—“It was a strange world” (“Es war eine fremde Welt,” p. 120). Similarly, the narrator in Geh heim und vergiß alles asserts, “I was so strange here among them in the barracks” (“Ich war so fremd unter ihnen in der Baracke,” p. 33). Even sharing the same miserable fate, Jews and Germans (or Austrians) do not come close. Geh heim und vergiß alles describes the differences between Jews and Austrians after the war; the Austrians are cultured, clean, and properly dressed, while the Jews are dirty, neglected, and detached from real life, having the appearance of a pile of rags. The local inhabitants are disturbed by the Jews’ presence, so much so the that they can’t wait for the Jews to leave town. Even death fails to remove the barriers. Christine stresses the difference between the appearance of her dead father and that of the Jews who had died in the detention camp. Jewish foreignness is depicted as an inborn trait; it haunts Anna’s family in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. Toward the end of the book, on their way to England, Anna asks her father whether they would ever feel a sense of belonging: “…do you think we’ll ever really belong anywhere? ” “…I suppose not,” said Papa. “Not the way people belong who have lived in one place all their lives. But we’ll belong a little in lots of places, and I think that may be just as good.” (When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, p. 186)

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Maikäfer flieg! describes how absolutely strange the Nazis and their world seem to all German protagonists, while an entire chapter in Krücke (pp. 88–95 [86–92]) is devoted to the strangeness of a Nazi who boards the train that Krücke and Thomas take to Germany. He is called “the stranger” (“der Fremde”), his unmistakable strangeness exposes him as a fleeing Nazi, and he is chased out of the train compartment. Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten describes the strangeness of the Nazi officer, one of five officers who travel together to the front. He is different from them in every possible way—he belongs to a different unit, he is older, and during the meal he leaves their company. Jews and Nazis are distinguished by their linguistic otherness as well. As Sander Gilman demonstrates in his various works (Gilman 1986; Gilman 1986–1987), German society maintains a powerful image of its language, which defines its identity and distinguishes the Other as having a different language. This image has its roots in the Christian anti-Semitic tradition, which perceives Jewish speech as contaminated and infectious. The legacy of this tradition is visible in nineteenth- and twentieth-century German literature. According to studies carried out by Gilman and other scholars (for example, Angress 1985; Engelmann 1970; Zipes 1986), German literature both before and after World War II had presented the Jews as estranged, detached, and speakers of a corrupted dialect. Gilman demonstrates in his 1986 study how this image dominates postwar German literature as well. In his analysis of Die Blechtrommel (The Tin Drum), he details the usage of the terms “judeln” and “mauscheln” (German pronounced with a Jewish accent), which served to characterize the degenerate nature of Jewish discourse at the end of the nineteenth century. Children’s books do not attribute a distinct dialect to Jews or Nazis, although the two groups are identified by their language usage. In several instances, Jews and Nazis are depicted as adulterators of the “pure” German language. Mr. Badland’s strange accent in Im roten Hinterhaus makes him difficult to understand (p. 90); his wife’s speech is nearly incomprehensible. Cohn, the Jewish cook in Maikäfer flieg!, speaks a corrupted German, while the Russian officer speaks proper German. In Nacht über dem Tal, the Jewish prisoner relates the goings-on at Auschwitz to the narrator in corrupted German, which makes it difficult to comprehend what he says. His ice-gray wife, at least that’s what I suppose, did not make much of an effort to be understood by her new environment. (my translation) Seine eisgraue Frau, so vermute ich jedenfalls, gab sich keine große Mühe, von ihrer neuen Umgebung verstanden zu werden. (Im roten Hinterhaus, p. 90) “I going be cook here!” (Fly Away Home, p. 64) “Ich werde sein die Koch da hier.” (Maikäfer fliegl, p. 93) “They are giving soap and also towel, they are making thumb up or down, there is child and woman and man, they are standing in rows many hundred deep, they are going through big gate and big hall, they are making gas on, then is dead, woman and child and man…” (Darkness over the Valley, p. 107) “Daß se geben Seife und auch Tuch, daß se mache de Daume hoch oder ab, daß se sind de Kind und de Fraue und de Mann, daß se stehn in der Reih viel hundert tief, dass se gehen durch das große Tor und de große

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Hall, daß se drehn auf de Gas und daß se sind tot, die Fraue und de Kind, de Manne und de Weibe…” (Nacht über dem Tal, pp. 77–78) Ernst, a Nazi party member in Die Webers, speaks with grammatical mistakes. Karin, his “German” subordinate, corrects him. In Mensch, Karnickel the children who were supervised by the Nazi counselor in the evacuation camp are unable to speak proper German but instead speak a corrupted tongue. Their ignorance of the poor German they speak is mocked in an interview with the admissions clerk. The clerk asks Karnickel if he can speak German, and his friend answers on his behalf—in corrupted, colloquial German—that the two of them speak the language beautifully. In the same camp, a little girl who is about seven years old has lost her language skills altogether and knows only three words in German, “Mummie take Gisela” (“Mutti holen Gisela,” pp. 16,17). “You are thinking in too humanistic a way” Pg. Ernst lectured her. “You mean human.” (my translation) “Du denkst zu humanistisch,” belehrte Pg. Ernst. “Human, meinen Sie.” (Die Webers, p. 88) “…Does he know German at all?” “You, he speaks you the most beautiful German,” said the boy with the rimmed glasses. “He speaks you German as beautifully as I.” (my translation) “…Kann er denn überhaupt Deutsch?” “Sie, der spricht Ihnen das schonste Deutsch,” sagte der Junge mit der Drahtbrille. “Der spricht Ihnen genauso schon Deutsch wie ich.” (Mensch, Karnickel, p. 21)

Madness and Insanity, Ceremonies and Rituals, Suicidal Tendencies Nazis and Jews are portrayed as being obsessed or insane. The Jewish kapo in Geh heim und vergiß alles is mad (p. 22), and similarly described are the Jewish soldier’s wife who is hospitalized in an asylum (p. 70) and the Jewish camp inmates in Nacht über dem Tal (p. 93 [68]). In Mischling Second Degree, harassment by the Nazi youth leaders in Ilse’s first camp is described in terms of insanity (p. 50; p. 54 in the German translation). The father in Wir waren dabei even describes Hitler’s attitude toward the Jews as madness, albeit transitory. “Well,” Father said, “Hitler has this spleen about Jews. But then everyone is a bit crazy somewhere. He’ll calm down, you’ll see.” (I Was There, p. 81) “Na ja,” meinte Vater. “Der Hitler hat nun einmal diesen Tick mit den Juden. Irgendwie, irgendwo ist schließlich jeder von uns ein bifichen verrückt. Aber das wird sich legen.” (Wir waren dabei, p. 70) Jewish and Nazi rituals are described in great detail, in accounts bordering on the exotic. Im roten Hinterhaus describes the Passover seder and the taste of the matzo (Osterbrot);

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Damals war es Friedrich recounts Friedrich’s bar mitzvah ceremony, the Sabbath Eve prayers in his home, and the mezuza on the door—“that little tube you have over your doorpost” (“ein Röhrchen, das ihr dort oben am Türpfosten hängen habt” p. 16 [21]). Nacht über dem Tal describes the bizarre prayer service of the Jew visiting the German family after the war. Fetishistic party ritual often characterizes the Nazis. For example, Wie war das eigentlich? portrays their flags, swastikas, armbands, uniforms, marches, endless ceremonies, and Hitler worship (p. 18 [10]). Nacht über dem Tal recounts the Hitler Youth marches, and Stern ohne Himmel describes Willfs initiation ceremony upon joining Hitler Youth. Wir waren dabei describes the ceremony that Heinz is planning to hold at the premises of the youth group as a prelude to displaying a nearly life-size picture of Hitler. Ilse, the main character in Mischling Second Degree, tells Ruth about a dinner with Sigrun’s family, a Nazi family, as if the meal were a ritual ceremony accompanied by many ritual symbols. The mother served the meal in full uniform, the tablecloth was adorned with Aryan symbols, and a life-size picture of the Führer dominated the scene. When we invited him to sit down with us, he did not do so at once, but turned toward the tile stove, which stood in the eastern corner of the room, and began to bow repeatedly, mumbling some kind of prayer. Each time he bent over, his new leather shoes squeaked. (Darkness over the Valley, pp. 141–142) Als wir ihn aufforderten, sich zu uns zu setzen, blieb er zunächst noch stehen. Er drehte sich zum Kachelofen, der im Zimmer gegen Osten stand. Viele Male verbeugte er sich und murmelte dabei Gebete. Bei jeder Verbeugung knarrten die neuen Lederschuhe. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 103) It was an almost life-sized portrait of Adolf Hitler, framed behind glass. “I’ll make you a present of it.” We didn’t know what to say. We even forgot to say thank you. “Well, is it a surprise?” Heinz put his arm around my shoulder. “It certainly is!” he said…. Heinz thought. “We’ll unveil it on the Fiihrer’s birthday, Father.” His father agreed. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “You can arrange a suitable ceremony and at its height you unveil the picture. In a short address you can point out that the Führer has been sent to us by God …” (I Was There, p. 83) Dann brachte er uns ein fast lebensgrofies Führerbild, gerahmt mit Glas. “Das schenke ich euch!” Wir wußten nichts zu sagen. Wir vergaßen sogar das “Danke.” “Nun, ist das eine Überraschung?” Heinz legte seinen Arm um meine Schulter. “Allerdings!”bestatigte er…. Heinz überlegte. “Wir werden das Bild zu Führers Geburtstag feierlich enthiillen, Vater.” Der Vater stimmte zu: “Damit bin ich einverstanden. Als Rahmen gestaltet ihr eine kleine Feier; zum Höhepunkt enthullt ihr das Bild. Ihr könnt in einer kleinen Ansprache darauf hinweisen, daß der Führer uns von Gott geschickt ist…” (Wir waren dabei, p. 71)

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“I was once invited to her house “I tell Ruth, “and their Hitler picture was as large as their dining-room table, I swear. Her mother served dinner in full uniform including the Führer’s Mother Cross.” “You re kidding!” “No, Fm not. Ask her. Her father is a big Party wheel—polished boots, the whole bit. Even their tablecloth has Aryan runes on it. (Mischling, Second Degree, pp. 121–122) Germans, on the other hand, are not described by means of rituals. Church scenes dwell upon speeches by clergymen depicted as dissidents, rather than on the sacraments themselves. Nazis and Jews take their own lives, as opposed to the Germans who are killed by Nazis, the Allies, or indirectly by the Jews. Various reasons prompt their suicidal acts, yet only Jews and Nazis take their own lives. Perwanger, the Nazi in Lena, commits suicide as the war comes to an end, after hearing of Hitler’s own suicide (p. 86). In “Der rote Eisenbahner” (“The Red Railway Man”; a story in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection), we are told that the senior Nazis committed suicide prior to the Russians’ arrival in the city (p. 46). Frau Brenner, the Nazi in Maikäfer flieg!, threatens to kill herself when the Russians come. Julius, the Jew in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, fails to leave Germany in time and kills himself. Masha, one of the extermination camp inmates in The Devil’s Arithmetic, kills herself with a jump rope provided by another Jew. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon? the Jewish family commits suicide by gas, and in Geh heim und vergiß alles several patients refuse to cooperate with the physicians, preferring death over rehabilitation. Max, Anna’s brother in The Other Way Round, who is imprisoned in a British internment camp for refugees from enemy countries, writes in a letter to his family (p. 75; p. 73 in the German translation) about a Jewish inmate who had committed suicide. In Orgel’s The Devil in Vienna, Max Plattau, a Jew, takes his own life.

Common Characteristics: Control over Food, Selfishness, Fraudulence, and Maltreatment of Animals Germans suffer from hunger and shortages, while Nazis enjoy an overabundance of food. “We suffered hunger, real hunger” (“wir litten Hunger, einfach Hunger” p. 81 [69]) says the narrator’s father in Wir waren dabei. By contrast, the Nazis eat well, even lavishly (pp. 82–83 [70–71]). In Lena, the Nazis’ gluttony is described as developing into a veritable orgy. The obvious Nazi moves into an estate house from which Jews had fled, where he indulges in culinary surfeit. The most extravagant dishes are served, including caviar and champagne, while the local inhabitants are already beginning to suffer from shortages (pp. 97–98). Sigbert, the Nazi boy in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum, enjoys all manner of goodies, arousing the jealousy of his hungry peers (p. 42). In Rosa Weiss, the corpulent Nazi mayor increases in girth; he is the only one among the city’s inhabitants who has enough to eat and grows increasingly fat, while the Germans around him starve and become emaciated. Wir waren dabei initially describes Heinz’s house, a Nazi home overflowing with contentment and sumptuous meals (pp. 82–83 [70–71]). The book goes on to provide an account of the dire circumstances prevalent in Günther’s

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home after his communist father loses his job (p. 85 [73]). The narrator’s father has work, but the wolf kept from his door is now assailing Günther’s. Regina in Er hieß Jan hopes to receive a head of cabbage, considered a luxury, for her birthday. When she dines at a friend’s house where the father’s birthday is celebrated, she discovers that real luxuries are not, in fact, a thing of the past. High-ranking officers attend the party, and the table is laden with delicacies the likes of which Regina has not seen for a long while (p. 120 [93]). In Maikäfer fliegly SS troops come to Christel’s house carrying a can full of butter and a sack of potatoes. They ask her mother to prepare fried potatoes for them (p. 35 [54]). The German children barely have enough bread to eat, and must subsist on moldy potatoes, but when the Nazi Leinfellner flees his villa they find a substantial amount of fine food in its pantry (pp. 32–34 [49–52]). In Stern ohne Himmel Willi stocks his hiding place with plenty of food; Feller, the neighborhood chief, takes as much of it as he can and makes no attempt to share it with the refugees who are crowding the boarding school or the hungry inhabitants for whose welfare he is responsible. Feller wasn’t listening. He began to shine his light around the pantry systematically. He counted the jars and the remaining sausages and checked the contents of the sacks and bags. He couldn’t keep his mouth from watering. “I’ll take the provisions for safekeeping, “Feller said. (Star Without a Sky, p. 145) Feller hörte nicht hin. Er begann, systematisch den Keller abzuleuchten. Er zählte die Gläser, die restlichen Würste und kontrollierte den Inhalt der Säcke und Tüten. Er könnte nicht verhindern, daß ihm das Wasser im Mund zusammenlief. “Ich werde die Lebensmittel bei mir sicherstellen,” sagte Feller. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 114) Rose Blanche was getting thinner. In town, only the mayor was staying fat. (Rose Blanche, p. 17) Rosa Weiss wurde immer magerer. Von allen Leuten in der Stadt blieb nur Bürgermeister Schröder rund und fett. (Rosa Weiss, p. 17) Time and again the texts tell of the shortages plaguing the Germans, which are juxtaposed, inter alia, against the abundance enjoyed by the Jews. In Damals war es Friedrich, the Jewish family is content and sits down to meals around a finely set table, as opposed to the German family that has almost nothing to eat. Krücke and Thomas in Krücke must make do with sparse meals, while in Bronka’s home tasty and wholesome meals are served. Gunther, Max’s German friend in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, eats his fill at the Jewish family’s home, in contrast to his own home where his father has been unemployed and his family impoverished for quite a while. At the home of Mieze’s Jewish uncle in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, the German Hans enjoys delicacies such as coffee and cake, which have long been absent in his own house. In Chapter 7 we saw that Nazis are depicted as selfish, wishing to save their own skins at the expense of the Germans. Jews are also described as selfish and exploitative. In Geh heim und vergiß alles, the Jewish physicians are apathetic, even ignoring Jewish patients and providing only minimal care (pp. 47–48, 91). Their indifference to the fate of their brethren is particularly evident when compared to the German doctors, who are willing to

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give their lives for their patients—the narrator’s father dies after contracting typhus from a patient (a Jew). Usch, the maid in The Devil in Vienna, feels exploited by the Jewish family. She believes that she devoted her entire life to raising the family’s children and keeping their house, and as a result she never had a family of her own (pp. 193–194). Jews and Nazis stop at nothing to achieve their goals. The protagonist of A Boy in Your Situation is a chronic liar who steals from his father despite the family’s affluence (p. 17; p. 13 in the German translation). Anna and her brother Max in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit haggle over the price of pencils. Anna wants to buy the cheaper pencils so she will have a few coins left. She bargains hard, in her poor French, and exhausts the poor vendor. In the end she gets exactly what she wants (pp. 105–106; p. 95 in the German translation). Friedrich, the Jew in Damals war es Friedrich, rides a horse symbolically named “Fox” when he goes to the fair. In a scene that alludes to the Pied Piper of Hamelin, he uses a cuckoo whistle to tempt the German child into allowing him to play with all his toys. In the words of the story, the German child manages to “save” only his teddy bear. Each time Friedrich blew “cuckoo,” I moved a step closer till I stood right in front of him. Friedrich laughed again and pressed the cuckoo whistle into my hand. At first I didn’t understand. Speechless and stupid, I stared at him. Then I understood. I took Friedrich’s sleeve, pulled him across the hall, and pushed him into my room and to my toys. “You can play with them “I told him, saving only my bear. (Friedrich, p. 4) Jedesmal, wenn Friedrich sein “Kuckuck” blies, ruckte ich einen Schritt näher, bis ich dicht vor ihm stand. Friedrich lachte wieder und drückte mir die Kuckucksflote in die Hand. Zunächst verstand ich nichts. Stumm und dumm starrte ich Friedrich an. Dann begriff ich. Wortlos fafite ich ihn beim Rockärmel, zog ihn über den Flur und schob ihn durch die Tür bis zu meinen Spielsachen. “Du darfst damit spielen,” sagte ich. Nur meinen Baren rettete ich. (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 11) In Die Webers, after a political argument ends in a scuffle, Weber meets Asmus, a Nazi with a bandaged head. Weber is shocked to discover that Asmus was not hurt at all, but had bandaged his head only to add flavor to the Nazi gathering. In The Devil in Vienna, the Nazis exploit the raids into Jewish homes in order to steal expensive objects. The SS plunder silver and other valuables they find in the house belonging to Max Plattau’s brother (p. 114). In Mischling Second Degree, SS men steal a valuable object from the Jewish grandmother. As already mentioned, in Stern ohne Himmel Feller steals the food cache. Nazis are cruel to animals. Perwanger, the Nazi in Lena, drowns his dog’s litter because the puppies are not purebred (p. 90), and later he becomes angry at his dogs and beats them severely (p. 247). Perwanger abuses the dog that the girl receives as a gift from the Jewish count; in turn, the dog hates Perwanger (p. 30). When Perwanger hears of Hitler’s suicide, he shoots his wife and his dogs before killing himself. The Nazi forest ranger in Maikäfer flieg! shoots his dogs before fleeing from the Russians. Mrs. Brenner threatens to poison her dog and herself when the Russians come (p. 11 [20]) but, after witnessing the death throes of the dog she poisons, she does not dare to bring the same

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fate upon herself. Lena describes in detail a Nazi officer who brutally drives over a kitten. The torturing of a cat by Otto, a Hitler Youth leader in Freundschaft für immer und ewig?, is presented in minute detail (p. 108); Otto kidnaps Esther’s cat, climbs to the roof of the brewery, and hurls down the cat. Heinz, Lieselotte’s Nazi brother in The Devil in Vienna, tries to drown Schnackerl, the dog belonging to the Weintraub family, their Jewish neighbors (p. 180; p. 160 in the German translation). Jews are selfish and show little concern for animals. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, the Jewish couple prefer not to give up their pet (p. 41 [40]), and put it to sleep after they are no longer allowed to keep it. They act just like the Nazis, who at the end of the war kill their pets rather than let them fall into Allied hands. By contrast, Germans are not depicted in terms of their treatment of animals. I saw how it got thrown to the side. The captain continued driving. The speckled [kitten] lay at the roadside in front of our garden-gate. It cried so pitifully as I had never heard an animal cry before. (my translation) Ich sah, wie es zur Seite geschleudert wurde. Der Hauptmann fuhr weiter. Das Scheckige lag am Straßenrand vor unserem Gartentor. Es schrie so jammerlich, wie ich noch nie ein Tier hätte schreien hören.” (Lena, p. 95) Frau von Braun came to the gate, and the Commissioner bowed to her. “I have come to say goodbye, Frau von Braun,” he said. He swallowed. “I’ve shot my two dogs, my faithful friends—given them the coup de grâcel” (Fly Away Home, p. 31) Der Forstrat veneigte sich, sprach: “Frau von Braun, ich komme mich verabschieden!” Er schluckte. “Meine beiden treuen Freunde, die Hunde, habe ich erschossen, ihnen den Gnadenscuß gegeben!” (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 47) “They did have poison. First of all, they killed the dog.” “And then?” “And then they watched the dog’s agony as he died and they became scared.” “Did he die?” “Who?” “The dog.” “Of course the dog died, but the Brenners, they are still alive!” (my translation; this scene is left out in the English translation, Fly Away Home; the passages before and after this scene can be found on p. 116) “Gift haben sie schon gehabt. Zuerst haben sie den Hund umgebracht.” “Unddann?” “Und dann haben sie gesehen, wie sich der Hund mit dem Sterben plagt, und da haben sie eine Scheißangst bekommen.” “Ist er gestorben?” “Wer?” “Der Hund.” “Natürlich ist der Hund gestorben, aber die Brenner, die leben noch.” (Maikäfer flieg!, p. l72)

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“If you mean the two old people Tm thinking of, then the dog certainly didn’t die of natural causes. The couple is Jewish.” “So? What’s that got to do with Blackie’s dying?” “Don’t you know Jews aren’t allowed to have house pets anymore?” “…And so some people would rather put them to sleep.” That was horrible. (Dont Say a Word, p. 41) “Wenn du die beiden Alten meinst, die ich meine, dann ist der Hund bestimmt keines natürlichen Todes gestorben. Die beiden sind nämlich Juden.” “Na und? Was hat denn das mit Mohrchens Tod zu tun?” fragte ich. “Weißt du denn nicht, daß Juden keine Haustiere mehr haben dürfen? “…darum bringt man sie dann lieber um.” Das war schrecklich. (Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, pp. 40–41)

“If I Only Could”—Nazi-Jew Role Exchange The similarities between Nazis and Jews makes the role exchange between them easier. Jews who are responsible for the Germans’ fate are replaced by Nazis during the Third Reich; after the war, the Germans’ dependence on the Jews is restored. The climax of such role substitution is the portrayal of the occupational forces as Jews, and that of the postwar Jewish avengers in the roles previously filled by Nazis. In Wendelgard von Staden’s Nacht über dem Tal, a favorable testimony by the Jews may save the mother from incarceration; hostile testimony will lead to her conviction. The family needs the Jews’ assistance in order to procure a certificate of good standing for her, because she is charged with the exploitation of forced laborers during the war. The occupational forces marching proudly through the city are not German soldiers, but Jews. Gentlehands describes Jews from the “Jewish Action League” as replacing the Nazis and, albeit unintentionally, burning Trenker’s girlfriend to death; Trenker, a former Nazi who took part in sending Jews to the crematoria, was their real target. Thus, the girlfriend of a Nazi murderer who sent Jews to the crematorium becomes a victim of the Jews. A pendulous balance of power exists between Nazi and Jew; when one is stronger, the other is weaker. The Jew is not fimdamentally weaker than the Nazi. Quite the opposite—just as the Nazis previously oppressed Jews, the Jews are now the oppressor, and a terribly brutal one at that. I had to stop at the railway underpass to let a company of soldiers march by. They were tall men with rifles slung over their shoulders and helmets dangling from their leather belts—flat English steel helmets. “That’s a Jewish regiment” someone next to me remarked. “They’re stationed in the town now.” (Darkness over the Valley, p. 150) An der Bahnunterftihrung mußte ich anhalten. Eine Truppe zog an mir vorbei. Hochgewachsene Manner in Uniform mit Gewehren über der Schulter zogen auf der Straße hin. Ihre Helme hingen am Koppel, flache, englische Stahlhelme. “Des isch e jüdisches Regiment,” sagte einer neben mir. “Die sind jetzt in die Stadt komme.” (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 110)

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Finally, I had an idea. Some of the former camp inmates were still living in Stuttgart and I felt sure they would help. They could bear witness to the fact that mother didn’t deserve to be imprisoned. (Darkness over the Valley, p. l52) Und es kam mir eine Idee. Einige der früheren Häftlinge waren doch in Stuttgart. Sie würden mir sicherlich helfen. Sie würden Zeugen sein dafür, daß es meine Mutter nicht verdient hätte, eingesperrt zu werden. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 112) In the last scene of Stern ohne Himmel, Abiram, the Jew, takes the place of Willi, the Nazi, within the group of boys; he also exchanges roles with the army deserter by trading coats. The deserter is only too happy to part with his army coat in return for Ruth’s old one. At the end of the scene, Abiram is dressed in the deserter’s uniform, which sports a swastika. During his first breakfast at the partisan camp in Uncle Mishas Partisans (translated into German as Auf Leben und Tod [For Life and Death]), Motele discovers a swastika carved on the bottom of his mess tin (p. 31; p. 31 in the German translation). Later, when the partisans send him to gather information in the city of Ovrutch, the local German commandant is impressed by the music he plays in the street and hires him to play for Nazi officers, insisting that he wear a uniform when performing. Both his landlady and the pianist who accompanys him when he plays for the officers see him as an authentic Nazi. In a threatening letter received by Regina’s Nazi father in Er hieß Jan, the word “Nazischwein” (Nazi swine) replaces “Judensau” (Jew pig). In Wer nicht weg isty wird gesehn, the narrator’s family is given the house of a former Nazi. The house remains as before, but its inhabitants are replaced, and the Jewish family now lives there instead of the Nazis (p. 126 [109]). Nazis and Jews are shown giving orders, while the Germans obey. As shown in Chapter 6, Germans are depicted as subordinate to Jews until the Nazis come to power. The Germans are then subjugated to the Nazis, who replace the Jewish oppressors. The grandfather in Damals war es Friedrich is a tyrant. On one hand, he acts exactly like a Jew named Cohen who had once been his superior. On the other hand, the grandfather’s actions resemble those of another Jew, Mr. Schneider, who demonstrates his domination over his son and the German boy during their visit to the department store section he manages. It is manifestly evident that he enjoys giving orders. Jewish authority is ironically echoed in Stern ohne Himmel, when the boys succeed in escaping from the cellar in which Willi, the Nazi boy, had imprisoned them. Paule cunningly opens the lock using a duplicate key he had prepared earlier. He then opens the door for Abiram, the Jew, and in a half-ironic, half-serious gesture bows to him. It is important to note that he plays the master-servant game only with Abiram, a fleeing refugee, and not with any of the German children. “Fräulein Ewert, please come over here a moment!” A young salesgirl hurried over. “…these two customers, Fräulein Ewert, would like to see our toy exhibition. Kindly show them everything they would like to see and explain what needs explaining…” (Friedrich, p. 58)

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“Fräulein Ewert, kommen Sie bitte einmal her!” Eine junge Verkäuferin eilte herbei. “…diese beiden Kunden, Fräulein Ewert, mochten sich unsere Spielzeugschau ansehen. Zeigen Sie den beiden jungen Herren bitte alles, was sie sehen mochten, und erklaren Sie ihnen bitte auch das Nötige…” (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 53) Paule put the key into the lock, opened the door wide, and bowed low like the perfect servant. “If you please, perhaps the gentleman would enjoy a little freedom?” (Star Without a Sky, p. 132) Paule steckte den Schlüssel in das Schloß, liefi die Tür weit zurückspringen und verbeugte sich mit der Vollendung eines Diners: “Bitte schon, vielleicht wollen der Herr ein wenig Freiheit?” (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 104) Jews and Nazis exchange the roles of food supplier and benefactor. In Damals war es Friedrich, When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, and Im roten Hinterhaus, unemployed Germans receive food from Jews. Either concurrently or later, Nazis take their place. In Damals war es Friedrich, the Nazi grandfather supports the German family as long as the father remains without work, thereby saving them from perpetual hunger—“Without it we’d have been hungry even more often” (“Ohne diesen Zuschuß hätten wir noch öfter gehungert,” p. 14 [19]). At the same time, Germans receive food from their Jewish neighbors; in Im roten Hinterhaus, the Nazis supplant the Jews as benefactors. Initially, the Jewish Badland had taken care of and supported the Peters family, and now the Nazi party (indirectly) does so; immediately after joining the SA, Erich is given work, and he gives the money he had saved for a uniform to his mother for household expenses (p. 82); Gustav finds employment just after becoming a party member, while Rubens gets a job after joining the SA. Nazis and Jews share responsibility for German suffering. Most of the books accuse the Nazis for German wartime suffering. At war’s end, however, it is Jews who are responsible for German suffering. In Nacht über dem Tal, the narrator is harassed by the Nazi farm owner while on her way to agricultural training. He abuses her as well as the other workers, including refugees and prisoners. In Geh heim und vergiß alles, the camp commandant causes suffering among the local population and the internment camp inmates (p. 92). Toward the end of the story we learn that the commandant is a Jew. He intentionally mistreats Christina’s father, a physician trying to help sick Jews (p. 76), and he is ultimately responsible for the father’s death from disease (p. 109). Above all, he is responsible for the death of the Jews in the camp. Whenever someone straightened up in the field, the manager would be there with his dog in an instant yelling, “Hey you, get to work! Don’t just stand there rolling the spit around in your mouth till it freezes.” (Darkness over the Valley, p. 55) Wenn man sich aber auf dem Feld aufrichtete, war der Chef mit seinem Hund sofort in der Nähe und rief: “Weitermachen! Auf! Ihr wälzt ja die Spucke im Mund rum, bis sie friert…” (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 42)

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The camp, which was supposed to turn into a clean, orderly hospital with the commander’s help, would remain what it was: a wretched row of wretched barracks where men without hope lay down to die. (my translation) Das Lager, das sich durch die Hilfe des Kommandanten in ein sauberes, ordentliches Spital hätte verwandeln sollen, würde bleiben, was es war: eine trostlose Reihe trostloser Baracken, in denen sich Männer ohne Hoffnung hinlegten, um zu sterben. (Geh heim und vergiss alles, p. 27) The analogy between Jews and Nazis is supported by the suggestion that, if only given the chance, Jews would have joined the Nazi party. In Damals war es Friedrich, Friedrich tries excitedly to join the Nazi youth movement. During visits with his father at the Jewish-owned department store, Friedrich greets the guard with a Heil Hitler salute. Friedrich’s father understandingly accepts the German neighbor’s enlistment in the party, assuring him that, had it been possible, he himself might have joined. On page 4 of the illustrated book Judith und Lisa (p. 4 of Best Friends) Judith is seen with her hand upraised in salute along with the rest of her class. On page 7 (p. 7), she is described as also wanting a swastika flag but her parents forbid her from displaying one. Page 8 shows a man giving her a swastika pennant, with Judith smiling in gratitude. Friedrich is the envy of his friends in Damals war es Friedrich because he owns a swastika ring. Even Max, the Jewish boy in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, has a swastika, which he won after a fight with Hitler Youth members. Later he throws it down the lavatory (p. 12; p. 10 in the German translation). In the story “Die Nonna” from the collection Damals war ich vierzehn, Rommi, whose grandmother is Jewish, joins other children who are chasing one of the Jews and calling him names (p. 40). In The Devil in Vienna, even the Jews are swept up by Nazi propaganda. Lieselotte teaches Inge a popular Nazi song. Inge subsequently becomes obsessed by the song, which inspires her to conform, march with the masses, and identify with them (p. 49). In Die Webers, Ernst Heine, who wishes to join Hitler Youth, argues for it patriotically on the basis of his father’s wartime decoration. “I wanted to ask, whether I am allowed to join the Jungvolk, please.”… “Why not? How old are you?” “Ten years. And my father was a front-line soldier and received the Iron Cross.” (my translation) “Ich wollte fragen, ob ich ins Jungvolk darf, bitte sehr.”… “Warum denn nicht? Wie alt bist du?” “Zehn Jahre. Und mein Vater war Frontsoldat und hat das Eiserne Kreuz.” (Die Webers, p. 41) “I understand you very, very well. Perhaps—if I weren’t a Jew— perhaps I would have acted just like you. But I am a Jew.” (Friedrich, p. 70) “Ich verstehe Sie sehr, sehr gut. Vielleicht—wenn ich nicht Jude wäre—vielleicht hätte ich genauso gehandelt wie Sie. Aber ich bin Jude.” (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 63)

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Judenrein Germany One of the results of the role exchange between Jews and Nazis is that Germany remains in German hands after the war. Chapter 7 shows how the books describe Germany banishing the Nazis and becoming nazirdn’, similarly, Germany becomes judenrein after the war. Due to their strangeness, the Jews are portrayed as not belonging in Germany but rather as eternal migrants in limbo between cultures. Because the Jews have no difficulty leaving Germany, the books suggest that they be sent away. The narrator in Nacht über dem Tal expresses surprise that the Jews do not rush to depart Germany and travel to Palestine immediately after the war (p. 142 [104]). In Krücke, Peter Härtling sends Bronka to Palestine. Krücke knows that his love for Bronka is doomed, because she is Jewish and her place is not in Germany. This assumption is not challenged in the book. The love between Krücke and Bronka, which was to have symbolized the triumph of humanism over racism, ironically comes to symbolize the unbridgeable chasm separating Jew and German. Bronka indeed chooses to leave Krücke, who desperately needs her, and travels with a group of children that she accompanies to Palestine, a different place that belongs only to Jews. Germany will be left only with the Germans, and no Jews. “I love Bronka very much. She loves me, Fm sure. There is much that binds us together, perhaps too much. Often that’s just what hurts. Especially when it becomes clear that eventually we must part.” (Crutches, p. 74) Ich habe Bronka sehr lieb. Sie mich wohl auch. Uns verbindet viel, wahrscheinlich zu viel. Genau das tut oft weh. Vor allem dann, wenn einem klar wird, daß man sich irgendwann trennen muß. (Krücke, p. 73) Phrases came to him from Bronka’s letter that had come a few days before. In it she said good-bye. She was traveling with the next group of children to the Promised Land, to Jerusalem. She planned to remain there. (Crutches, p. 157) Ihm fielen Sätze aus Bronkas Brief ein, den sie vor ein paar Tagen bekommen hatten. In ihm verabschiedete sie sich. Sie reiste mit der nächsten Kinderfuhre ins Gelobte Land, nach Jerusalem. Sie habe vor, dort zu bleiben. (Krücke, p. 150) Nacht über dem Tal unfolds a pattern similar to that in Krückes love story. As the war ends, the narrator falls in love with Kuba (Jakob in the English translation), an inmate at Wiesengrund. Their love is meant to signify the narrator’s impartial attitude toward the Jewish people, but this love story also proves to be an impossibility. Although the texts explain that Kuba and Bronka, as Jews, will hate Germans, there is another, latent assertion—their place is not in Germany, nor do they belong in Germany. As in Krücke, Jews who survive the Holocaust belong “elsewhere.” Germans may love them (the better Jews, that is; both Kuba and Bronka are presented as being “other” Jews), but only from a distance. The difference between Jews and Germans is valid after the war as well; there are Germans and there are Jews, but Jews are not considered rankand-file German citizens. The phrase “German Jew” becomes untenable during the Third Reich, and remains so after its fall.

Part III Whose War Was It?

In Part III, I discuss the type of story made possible by these strategies. This story assigns the lion’s share of the blame to the Allies; presents (nearly) all of the Germans as opponents of Nazism; relieves the Germans of responsibility for the atrocities of the Third Reich and the Nazi Holocaust; and considers the Germans to be the primary, and sometimes sole, victims of the Third Reich and the Holocaust.

Chapter Nine “The Whole People…”—The Scope of the Resistance Movement Introduction In the courtyard of Berlin’s Plötzensee prison stands a large memorial wall commemorating the members of the German resistance movement. Placed just opposite the wall, seeming a bit forlorn, is a small urn symbolically containing the ashes of Jews who “died” (not “were murdered”) in the concentration camps. This memorial wall provides a clear manifestation of the means with which the historical discourse in Germany strives to safeguard and remember the resistance movement. The resistance movement is perceived as having encompassed all strata of German society and as having expressed a certain state of mind prevalent among most of the German people during the Third Reich. It transcended boundaries of status and education, professions and geographtcal differences. In cities and towns, working-class neighborhoods and affluent villas, among senior military officers, teachers, and factory hands, the resistance movement pervaded their entire being as they struggled against the Nazi regime during the Third Reich. The opposition to the Nazi regime is depicted in terms of a popular sentiment vis-à-vis the regime, rather than an active movement striving to topple it. Therefore, the resistant movement is judged according to the courage of its members, not by any pragmatic criterion nor by the extent of its effectiveness. The impression that pockets of resistance were spread throughout Third Reich Germany is created by the distinction among three groups of dissidents, which together comprise nearly the entire German people: the silent majority, which resisted passively; unorganized groups, which nevertheless acted against the regime in varying degrees of involvement; and organized groups, which were engaged in a concerted effort to topple the regime.

The Silent Majority: Passive Resistance Sentiments of resistance, as well as any actions or thoughts expressing disagreement with the regime, are portrayed in the texts as constituting passive resistance. Descriptions of the resistance movement indicate that, by sustaining a sentiment of opposition, most of the German nation resisted the regime. This silent majority usually expresses its disagreement at home or outside in hidden, surreptitious ways. Most Germans are shown

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opposing the regime in their thoughts, their hearts, or only at home. Nearly every German described in positive terms is presented as a dissident. The main characters are often presented as dissidents: the father and the beloved aunt Jusch in Eraraa; Aunt Lilli from the children’s house in Maisfrieden (The Hideout) by Sigrid Heuck; Gerhardt in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum’, the father in Die Webers’, all of the main characters except those of the grand-parents, generation in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?; the mother in Nacht über dem Tal; Krücke in Krücke; all of the characters except Regina’s parents in Er hieß Jan; the narrator’s parents in Geh heim und vergiß alles; the narrator’s father in Wir waren dabei; nearly all of the Germans (i.e., Austrians) in Christine Nöstlinger’s Maikäfer flieg!; and the list goes on and on. Die Webers creates the impression that the resistance movement rises above differences in status, gender, and age, and it encompasses all societal strata: members of the upper and lower classes, tall people and short people, men and women, the young and the elderly. Nearly all of the characters in Mischling Second Degree are engaged in passive resistance, whether young students, parents, or grandparents, villagers or urban intellectuals, and whether or not the narrator is acquainted with them. Each one, and all of them together, are repulsed by Hitler and oppose the Nazi regime. Neighborhood residents in “Der rote Eisenbahner” (“The Red Railroader,”a story in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection) shun the Nazi informant, avoid him in shops and at work, and cross to the other side of the street when he approaches (p. 45). In “Denk lieber an den Nikolaus” (“Better Think of Santa Claus”), a story by Brigitte Peter published in the same collection, the mother takes the military decoration she was awarded for saving children from a burning house and, in an act of defiance to the regime, flushes it down the toilet. Most of the narrator’s relatives in Wie war das eigentlich? are dissidents, whether engaged in active resistance like his father, who is imprisoned and sent off to Buchenwald, or in passive resistance like his mother, who prevented him from joining the Jungvolk (Hitler Youth) for quite a long time (p. 123 [105]). Lena’s parents, her relatives, her friend Willi, and all the clergymen in Lena oppose the regime. In Das Jahr der Wölfe, it appears that all its main characters are engaged in passive resistance, while some of the people close to them resist more actively. The narrator’s father in Die Webers is arrested because of his underground activities. He later resumes this clandestine activity, duplicating antiregime pamphlets and participating in their distribution. Wie war das eigentlich? mentions the great enterprise of underground literature; in 1937 no fewer than 900,000 anti-Hitler pamphlets were printed (p. 126 [107]). Although Klaus Kordon claims that the dissident family highlighted in Der erste Frühling is exceptional, he extensively portrays the prisons and concentration camps filled with dissidents during 1933–1945. Moreover, nearly all of the book’s characters practice active or passive resistance. Kurt, the neighbor, distributes flyers (pp. 95, 484); the grandfather helps forced laborers (p. 20), secretly listens to enemy broadcasts (p. 48), obtains a forged medical certificate with which Änne may be exempted from service with Hitler Youth (p. 68), and at war’s end tries to convince soldiers to surrender (p. 176). Despite the prohibition, the grandmother continues to purchase stationery from Löwenberg, a Jew, and gives him food coupons (p. 240). The two main adult characters in Freundschaft für immer und ewig? oppose the regime. One of them is Susi’s beloved teacher who is forced to leave the school

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immediately after Hitler’s accession to power, the other is her Uncle Alfred who helps oppressed individuals (p. 138). In Er hieß Jan, Regina learns that, as a supporter of the regime, she belongs to a small minority. After joining the resistance she realizes that many of her acquaintances had hidden their real affiliation from her, fearing she would turn them in. The dissidents form a large group and use a predetermined linguistic code that Regina learns after joining their ranks. Her teacher, Dr. Mühlhoff, speaks to her in this code after he reads a composition she wrote against the war. The manner of greeting others in the street and other public domains—namely the use of “good morning” in lieu of “Heil Hitler”—becomes the epitome of the popular, silent resistance movement, and it is presented in many texts as a defiant expression and a dissident symbol. Associating a manner of greeting with a subversive sentiment implies that most Germans opposed the regime and even expressed such opposition openly. Nie wieder ein Wort davon? presents the minor characters as dissidents by specifying the manner in which they greet others; they prefer the simple “guten Tag” or “guten Morgen,”—“good afternoon,” “good morning” or “good day” (pp. 14–15 [16])—to the “Heil Hitler” greeting. The young (male) high school teacher in Mischling Second Degree issues the “Heil Hitler” greeting and wears the party symbol (p. 33; p. 37 in the German translation), whereas the female teachers all prefer the old, familiar “good morning,” unlike the female Nazi grammar school teacher who insisted on “Heil Hitler” (p. 33; p. 36 in the German translation). Regina hides in a town where the locals defiantly avoid the officially mandated greeting (Er hieß Jan). In Wir werden uns wiederfinden, the grandmother refuses to respond to the Nazi Schmidt’s greeting of “Heil Hitler,” while the mother does so only in a faint voice. All of the members of the family in Heute nacht ist viel passiert are opponents of Nazi rule, but only the grandfather takes the risk of refusing to raise his arm in salute. Wir waren dabei elaborates upon the greetings offered by the narrator’s parents on their way to the polling station. Winter, the teacher in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum, manifests his opposition to the regime by his scornful salute. His conduct distinguishes him sharply from the Nazi teacher, Herr Speehr, who is prepared to abuse children while instructing them how to salute properly (p. 72). One of the teachers in Wir waren dabei refuses to participate in a Hitler salutation ceremony held in the school. In his English suit, he is conspicuous and stands out from the students, most of whom wear brown uniforms; he lectures the class on the virtues of his English jacket, which symbolizes culture, while the brown uniforms stand for German barbarism (pp. 36–38 [36–37]). Resistance is often exhibited by expressing reservations to Hitler or cursing him within the family circle. Wie war das eigentlich? recounts the family’s protesting silence when listening to a radio broadcast of Hitler’s speech following the invasion of Poland. Each of the positive characters in Emma hates Hitler and repeatedly curses him. The father in “Zuckerschlecker” (in the collection Damals war ich vierzehn), utters “shitty Hitler” (“Scheißhitler”) over and over as he lies wounded in a Warsaw hospital, letting the Jewish physician know that he is no Nazi, just a simple German soldier (pp. 64–65). Juli, the grandmother in Maikäfer flieg!, refuses to use the “Heil Hitler” greeting and rains curses down on Hitler. The voices willing to publicly defy the regime increase only as the war comes to an end. Before the city is relinquished to the Allies in Stern ohne Himmely the teacher Nagold blames Jähde, the Nazi headmaster, for Willi’s death (p. 212 [170]). The

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neighbors sitting in the bomb shelter in Vienna in Maikäfer flieg! mock Mrs. Brenner, the only Nazi present, as they vociferously make their opinions known. “You and your Führer! Your Führer can lick my arse, that’s all I’ve got to say!” (Fly Away Home, p. 11) “Wissen Sie, was mich Ihr Führer kann? Ihr Führer kann mich am Arsch lecken!” (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 21) Passive resistance is often depicted through song lyrics. The title Maikäfer flieg! is actually the name of a popular children’s song, which mentions the large-scale draft of fathers (“Maybug, maybug, fly away home! Father to the war has gone”). The song tells of a lonely mother and a boy who has not seen his father in ages. By alluding to the song, the story becomes one of resistance by children, mothers, and the protagonist’s father, who preferred to desert his unit instead of singing marching songs. In Stern ohne Himmel, Antek goes to choir practice and mistakenly brings Kimmich’s work, entitled “Peace” (“Friede,” p. 56 [43]), based on a poem by Hermann Hesse. Despite the ban, the boys and Antek himself are swept away by its beauty (p. 57 [44]). The song signifies a change in the boys’ attitude, and their conversion to dissidence. Headmaster Jähde deems the act to be seditious and accuses Antek of collaborating with Kimmich, the dissident, even before Antek himself is aware of the mental change he has gone through. In Renate Welsh’s story “Die Ohrfeigen,” in the collection Damals war ich vierzehn, the girl goes shopping with her grandmother and innocently sings a song she had heard her father singing at home, unaware that the song, which makes a mockery of Hitler, is meant to be a clandestine way of expressing the family’s opinions. The song, “Es geht alles vorbei” (“Everything comes to an end”), was very popular before the war, and was included in song collections. Parodies of its last two lines were composed, and the modified song had become so popular by 1945 that the song was no longer broadcast over the radio. The original text of the stanza was as follows:

Everything comes to an end, everything will be over! But two who love each other, will remain true! (my translation) Es geht alles vorüber, es geht alles vorbei! Doch zwei, die sich lieben, die bleiben sich treu! This was replaced by the following:

Everything comes to an end, everything will be over!

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First, the Führer will be gone, and so will the party! (my translation) Es geht alles vorüber, es geht alles vorbei! Zuerst geht der Führer, und dann die Partei! (Damals war ich vierzehn, p. 24) In other variations of the parody, the last two lines read as follows:

Everything is upside down, Everything is falling apart; first, Adolf Hitler is going to fly, and then, his party will fly. (my translation) Es geht alles kopfüber, es geht alles entzwei; erst fliegt Adolf Hitler, dann seine Partei. The two boys in Wir waren dabei innocently sing the Internationale in the street (pp. 11 [16–17]) causing Günther’s father, himself a dissident who is later imprisoned, to panic. In Nacht über dem Tal, a group of schoolgirls memorize a poem posted in the streets of Berlin criticizing Göring, Goebbels, and Himmler, and lamenting the ruin of culture under Hitler:

You finally managed to destroy him, Him whose spirit nourished our spirits well. A new Gessler hat is hoisted in Berlin, But only wait, there’ll come a Wilhelm Tell! … Oh, woe to the folk who their allegiance swore To little men like Spiegelberg and Wurm and Moor. (Darkness over the Valley, pp. 47–48) “Jetzt habt ihr endlich ihn vernichtet— ihn, dessen Geist ist unseres Geistes Quell. Ein neuer Gessler-Hut ist aufgerichtet—

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Doch wartet nur, es kommt ein Wilhelm Tell!” … “Ach weh dem Volk, das die zu Führern sich erkor Den Wurm, den Spiegelberg und den Franz Mohr…” (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 36) Resistance assumes a more active nature by means of a number of deeds, such as listening to enemy broadcasts, refusing to cooperate or to obey orders, and even deserting from the army. In Die Webers, Wilhelm Weber and Karin disclose to each other that they listen to enemy radio. In Lena, Der erste Frühling, and Er hieß Jan, listening to BBC radio broadcasts from Great Britain is perceived as an act of resistance and heroism that involves great danger. In Er hieß Jan, it is emphasized that this is a crime punishable by death, and the text depicts the considerable discretion exercised by those undertaking the risk. Nacht über dem Tal relates the great amount of preparation and danger associated with the mother listening to “World News” on Radio Switzerland. In Maikäfer flieg!, listening to the radio is described as a valorous act, though the grandfather’s heroism is recounted somewhat ironically and pathetically—he fears for his life, although he never succeeds in finding the correct frequencies when trying to listen to the forbidden transmissions. The dog owners in “Unser Hund und der Krieg” (“Our Dog and the War”), in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, demonstrate a refusal to cooperate when they are not willing to part with their dogs for the sake of the war effort. The mother and grandmother in Wir werden uns wiederfinden refuse the request by Schmidt, the Nazi, to billet eight more policemen in their house. “Der Nachzipf” (“Repeat Test”; in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection) depicts the friendly attitude of the villagers toward prisoners of war and the irreverence with which they treat government orders (p. 81). In Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett, the Petermann family disobeys orders and treats Janosch, a forced laborer, warmly. He enters their kitchen freely and sleeps in a real room, not in a pig sty as demanded by the regime (p. 64). Gertrud, the farmer’s daughter who provides Regina with a hiding place in Er hieß Jan, is romantically involved with a French forced laborer, a severe crime punishable by death. The texts are populated by army deserters. Christel’s father in Maikäfer flieg! deserts at war’s end and hides until the arrival of the Russians. The deserter in Stern ohne Himmel is aided by Ruth in his attempt to escape. Heinz and Dieter in Der erste Frühling go AWOL several months before the war ends (p. 277). The Lischinsky family in Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett hides a deserter in its home. The passive nature of the resistance is explained by the Germans’ helplessness in the face of the catastrophe that befell them as Hitler took power (Die Webers), or by claiming that resistance had become futile, as in Der erste Fruhling—“Once the dictatorship is in place, it is already too late to do anything about most things” (“Ist die Diktatur erst mal da, ist es für das meiste zu spät,” my translation; p. 326). Following the failed attempt on Hitler’s life, the mother in Nacht über dem Tal maintains that overt resistance is

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pointless, whereas Horst Burger in Vier Fragen an meinen Vater describes it as useless, due to its failure and the fact that the downfall of the Third Reich is at hand. It is better to sit quietly and wait. The father in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand tries to persuade his son to leave Germany for Moscow. Opponents of the regime have no role to play in Germany (p. 433). All they can do is resist in their hearts and wait for the day they are called to arms and can take effective action. The grim fate met by Hans, who joined the underground and was then caught and executed, proves the father was right—there was no sense in resistance. Thus, the following case is made: many Germans, a great many of them, opposed Hitler and Nazism, but after failing to prevent the Nazis from taking power they could do nothing but await better days. Only passive resistance could have any effect. As long as the dissidence of the narrator’s father in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? remains unknown, he is effectively engaged in covert activities (later, when his actions are revealed, he is sentenced to death). Mühlhoff, the teacher in Er hieß Jan, saves Regina’s life by using a secret code, while the overt resistance shown by the biology teacher, Miss Rosius, is futile. The underlying message is that passive resistance was the correct strategic choice as well as the correct pragmatic choice, which made it possible to assist those oppressed by the regime. There is no use in playing the hero, it is all about survival—so that we’ll be there, in case we should be needed in better time. (my translation) Es nützt nichts mehr, den Helden zu spielen, es geht nur noch ums Überleben—damit wir da sind, falls wir in einer besseren Zeit gebraucht werden sollten. (Mit dem Rücken zum Wand, p. 433) As we have seen, the books present three different lines of reasoning regarding the resistance movement: (1) there was resistance; (2) not only was there resistance, but there were also widespread manifestations of it; (3) these manifestations could not have realized the goal, and most opponents of Hitler and the regime were forced to express their opposition passively and in secret. Because actual deeds could not have been expected, the dissidents had to make do with small gestures, such as listening to British radio, cursing Nazi leaders, and criticizing the regime. Anyone daring to do more was acting unwisely and endangering his life, and very often the lives of his family as well.

The Perils of Resistance The books repeatedly recount the great risk undertaken by dissidents and the personal price exacted from them. Central to Nie wieder ein Wort davon? is the story of Hanna’s officer father, who is sentenced to death for opposing the regime. The book also depicts the harsh results for other members of his family. Die Webers tells of an old pensioner charged with writing antiregime slogans on walls, who is subsequently executed (p. 118). Juli, the grandmother in Maikäfer fliegly risks her life by cursing Hitler (p. 5 [12–13]). Er hieß Jan hints at the death penalty awaiting an army deserter whose hideout is discovered (pp. 130–132 [101–103]). Stern ohne Himmel provides a detailed account of the torture endured by Kimmich and Dressler in the political detainees’ section of a concentration

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camp (pp. 73–75 [57–59]). The dissidents in Vier Fragen an meinen Vater pay a heavy price: Dr. Wode is sent to Dachau, and Rudnik the train conductor commits suicide before the Gestapo can put their hands on him. The biology teacher in Er hieß Jan who publicly denounced racial theory no longer comes to school. Instead, members of the Gestapo arrive to question the children about the things she told them. Mr. Martin in “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” (in the Hände hoch, Tschibaba! collection), is sent to prison and his family goes hungry (p. 63) after he dares to joke about Hitler. As we have seen, the grandmother in Renate Welsh’s story “Die Ohrfeigen” (“Slaps in the Face”) in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, fears that the girl’s singing while waiting on line at the butcher shop will result in the family being sent to a concentration camp (p. 25). The mother in Das Jahr der Wölfe hushes the father when he speaks disapprovingly of the regime, for she remembers the fate of her cousin who called Hitler a “fool” (“Dummkopf”) and said the war was a “crime” (p. 11 [18]). In Vier Fragen an meinen Vater, all the occupants of the shelter try to silence a dissident who speaks his mind during the bombing, but after he is arrested they are afraid to look in his direction (p. 50). The narrator’s father in Wie war das eigentlich? is a cobbler who loses his customers because he opposes the regime (p. 145 [126]). Freundschaft für immer und ewig? emphasizes the great risk undertaken by Uncle Alfred who helped people oppressed by the regime (p. 123). Hans in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand loses his job after openly showing his disapproval of the supporters of Nazism. Following the Reichstag fire, he fears that the factory workers will turn him in (pp. 390–391). He is not entitled to unemployment allowance, and the family is left destitute, especially after the father’s arrest (p. 404). Lena describes the reign of terror, with the Gestapo executing people by the minute. The gendarme said there were days when an execution took place every minute in the Gestapo building in Vienna. (my translation) Der Gendarme sagte, im Haus der Gestapo in Wien gäbe es Tage, an denen jede Minute eine Hinrichtung stattfände. (Lena, p. 287) The texts portray danger looming everywhere. As maintained in Er hieß Jan, the street is filled with dangerous spies who ambush dissidents and seek to unmask them and deliver them to the authorities. Lena describes the town informant, listening beneath people’s windows and sending people to their deaths; on the same page, the gendarme tells of informers and the execution of the condemned. Someone informs on Regina, the main protagonist of Er hieß Jan, for having a love affair with Jan, the forced laborer. Even a bereaved mother, who reviles Hitler in her grief after learning that her son fell in the war, is not spared and is arrested immediately after being betrayed (p. 122 [95]). Fritz, an army deserter, is condemned to death by informants (pp. 130–132 [101–103]). The farmer woman in Sonderappell does not dare to flee from the Russians for fear that informants will betray her to the district commandant (p. 118). Willi’s mother in “Unser Hund und der Krieg” in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection is gripped by hysteria when her son screams that he will not allow his dog to be conscripted for the war effort. She shuts all the windows, afraid that Willi’s declaration will bring the Gestapo (p. 31). The narrator of “Der rote Eisenbahner” in the same collection tells how his mother warned him not to tell anyone about the spy who informed on the railway worker, because she fears spies (p. 44). Another story in the collection, “Denk lieber an den

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Nikolaus” (“Better Think of Santa Claus”), tells of a young invalid who is arrested after it is reported that he built a transmitter (pp.8, 22). Anyone wishing to act wisely and secure his own life must be wary of spies, as Jan and Regina are instructed by Steffens in Er hieß Jan (p. 60 [48]). Lena, in Lena, does not dare write her thoughts in her personal diary, fearing it will be discovered, and Ilse in Mischling Second Degree decides that she must do everything to prevent the exposure of her thoughts after hearing that the members of the Weiße Rose group had been arrested (p. 123; pp. 130–131 in the German translation). The message between the lines is clear—even if you oppose the regime, you must protect yourself and your family by keeping your thoughts to yourself. Yet even the home is no longer secure. Wie war das eigentlich? depicts the domestic dangers faced by the Germans; at times, even family members are not above informing on their own flesh and blood (p. 79 [65]). The narrator’s father in Die Webers recounts how the risk of betrayal had penetrated his home, and he is forced to live in fear that his own son will inform on him (p. 73). Since spies were everywhere and the regime was immediately apprised of any dissident activity, it was impossible for the resistance to take a more public or practical form.

Active Resistance The considerable potency of the regime precludes active resistance, but active resistance movements enjoy immense popularity in the historical discourse and thus cannot be eliminated from the “story.” The solution to this contradiction is found in the presentation of resistance activists as ethereal—almost mythical—figures, not as mere human beings. The presentation of the Hans and Sophie Scholl story is typical. They are members of Weiße Rose, a resistance group composed of Munich University students, which became a symbol of German resistance. Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl tells the story of Sophie Scholl, sister of Weiße Rose founder Hans Scholl.1 The book describes a girl blessed with exceptional talents, intelligence, and morals, who has the courage to rebel against the Nazi behemoth and dies the valiant death of a tragic hero. The story develops a heroic-tragic character underscoring the courageous stance that made her a tragic hero. The desire to arrange Sophie’s life around her tragic heroism—and not around the activities of the resistance movement—is evident from the chapter division of the book. The evil factor is introduced in Chapter 2, and her transformation begins in Chapter Three as she takes a stand against the evil. In Chapter Four, the heroine and her brother meet the inevitable fate of every tragic hero and are put to death. At this point the mythification reaches its climax—Sophie and her brother Hans show extreme bravery at their execution. The nature of Sophie’s religious beliefs and the description of her martyrdom in the chapter entitled “Sie ging, ohne mit der Wimper zu zucken”—“She Went Without Batting an Eyelash” (pp. 188–189 [169–170])—take the mythification a step further. The mystical powers commanded by Sophie and Hans are also mentioned in an interview with Ilse Aichinger, the text of which is appended to the final chapter of the book. Aichinger attributes to Sophie and Hans a prophetic ability, which enabled them to act in ways that humans cannot, even to see into the future (p. 214 [188]).

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Mythification of the Weiße Rose movement is intended to give expression to the turbulent spirit of German youth, rather than to describe German resistance under the Third Reich. As such, resistance is presented as a worldview and not as a practical alternative. Therefore, the activities of Weiße Rose are rendered in terms of the youngsters’ mind-set. The text portrays Hans and Sophie Scholl gallantly leading the way for others. The mythification of Sophie Scholl works in several ways. It constructs a character to be admired and to serve as an example for the future, paints a vivid image of an anti-Hitler resistance movement, and creates the impression that there was resistance in Germany. Nevertheless, the tragic deaths of Sophie and Hans, while bringing honor to Germans, confirm their helplessness in the face of the Nazis. The final chapter deals with the survivors and is devoted to lessons learned. The conclusion with regard to the resistance movement is full of contradictions. On the one hand, the Weiße Rose group is depicted as a threat to the Nazi regime, while on the other hand it is described as a group of vulnerable youngsters engaging in a useless war against a colossal beast. On the one hand, the Germans are shown to be guilty of aiding Hitler by their passivity. On the other hand, it is stated that they could have done nothing against his overwhelming force—Hermann Vinke himself empathizes with those who failed to actively resist Nazi rule, as they were victims of the fear and terror prevalent at the time. His heroine is an ideal exemplar, but not for ordinary mortals to emulate. Organized and Established Resistance Acting to Subvert the Regime At the forefront of several stories are descriptions of an established resistance movement, primarily stressing the attempt on Hitler’s life, resistance within the German army, and the underground activity of the Church. Descriptions of the July 20, 1944 assassination attempt concentrate not on the act itself but on the narrators’ attitude toward it as well as on several peripheral events. Jan in Er hieß Jan sees the assassination attempt as proof that hope remains, since a great number of Germans take part in the resistance movement (pp. 59–60 [48]). Willi in Lena cannot bear the reality any longer and hopes to die like Stauffenberg, one of the assassins (pp. 241–242). Krücke scarcely refers to the war itself, but the narrator’s feelings about the assassination attempt are described in relative detail (p. 72 [71]). The narrator in Nacht über dem Tal suggests that identifying with the attempt on Hitler’s life is heroic (p. 58 [44]). Die Webers describes the assassins’ execution in almost morbid detail(p. 119). To the best of my knowledge, a children’s book focusing primarily on the assassination attempt itself has yet to be written. The predilection for describing the protagonists’ feelings about the attempt, and not the event itself, may derive from the assassins’ failure to kill Hitler, the lateness of the attempt, or the texts’ endeavor to emphasize identification with their protagonists. As we have seen, many of the books describe army deserters, but only a minority, such as Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, depict dissent in the ranks. Hanna’s father in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? is a high-ranking officer who took action against Hitler’s regime, was put on trial, and executed. Later it becomes clear that he was not acting alone and that, like him, his co-conspirators had been arrested by the Gestapo (pp. 69–70 [67]). In any case, organized resistance within the Wehrmacht goes almost entirely unmentioned,

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whereas many books extol the opposition by the Church and create the impression of a Church-led popular uprising against Nazi rule. The texts cite clerical sermons refuting Hitler’s racial doctrine and highlight the personal sacrifice of many clergymen. Die Webers affirms that hundreds were arrested due to their subversive sermons (p. 48) and describes the Church leaflet containing the sermon delivered by the Bishop of Münster in August 1941. The book even includes the full text of Pastor Großmann’s radical sermon attacking the regime. The church was filled to capacity as the pastor delivered his sermon, and many attendees had nowhere to sit (p. 48). Father Ludwig, Lieselotte’s uncle in The Devil in Vienna, does not allow the Nazi flag to be flown over his church, thus making it possible for Mizzi to wed because her fiancé is unwilling to marry in a Nazi institution. Ludwig baptizes Inge’s parents, facilitating their escape from Austria. It is evident that he helped many other families as well (p. 229; p. 207 in the German translation). The clergymen in Die Webers take part in the Jewish boy’s rescue. The minister in Das Jahr der Wölfe does not hesitate to eulogize the physician who hid Jews and was consequently shot at the door of his home. The eulogy praises the physician’s deeds, comparing them with Christ’s acts of kindness. The locals identify with him, showing their support by forming a silent circle around the district commandant in an unspoken threat when he issues a warning to the minister after the service (p. 71 [79]). The minister in Lena is arrested by the Gestapo, which executes him as a dissident by hanging. The book vividly depicts the execution, the mourning, and the entire town’s identification with the minister (p. 177). Wie war das eigentlich? offers a detailed description of the arrest of Father Niemöller and his deportation to Sachsenhausen and later to Dachau, as well as the sermons delivered in all the churches about his arrest (pp. 123–124 [105–106]). A minister in Im roten Hinterhaus, nicknamed Mönch, delivers a poignantly anti-Nazi oration (p. 119). In Nie wieder ein Wort davon? Hitlerite propaganda that concludes with the words “May the good Lord now help us in this battle” (“Möge uns der Herrgott gerade in diesem Kampfe helfen!”) prompts the narrator’s comment that Hitler has absolutely nothing in common with the Church (p. 27 [28]). Toward the end of the book the narrator wishes to hold a religious funeral service for her brother. The military representative insists that the army’s address be delivered first and forbids the soldiers from remaining present for the religious ceremony. Yet the soldiers disobey his command and participate in the service. Hermann Vinke’s Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl is an exception to the rule with respect to the presentation of Church resistance. Vinke provides an explicit account of the collaboration between the Protestant Church and the Nazi administration. A clear distinction is made, however, between the Church establishment and the authentic faithful who had gone underground and were active in the resistance (pp. 110 [102–103]). The texts implicitly maintain that it was not possible to found an effective resistance movement that could harm the regime or weaken it. Yet the same texts also present a different state of affairs in which underground activities were entirely feasible. Die Webers recounts that, as the war was winding down and it seemed that the attempt on Hitler’s life had succeeded, resistance plans began to materialize swiftly, which included the occupation of storage facilities, trains, power stations, and police stations, not just the writing of pamphlets. Mieze’s recollections in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand indicate that

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she and Hans built bombs, sabotaged railroad tracks, and helped conceal Jews. Das Kind im Koffer describes a revolt at Buchenwald. The account begins at a time when German defeat is a forgone conclusion, and the organization of the prisoners is self-evident. In fact, it is self-evident to such a degree that it is not at all clear why it had not happened beforehand. The prisoners stockpile numerous weapons, even hiding ten pistols underneath the table of one of the guards, nicknamed Krummnagel. The revolt is described as being fairly nonviolent, and there are barely any casualties, certainly none among the prisoners. After a short gun battle, the revolt is over and the inmates prevail. A guard fearfully retreats from Pippig, one of the inmates. Although the text intends to present an organized underground activity and an authentic revolt, the entire affair is little more than a playground fracas. Nevertheless, it does represent the feasibility of active resistance. Yet no importance is assigned to the degree of success met by the resistance movement, nor to its actions. The activities of the resistance movement are frequently described as constituting no more than elaborate plans, extensive paperwork, and very little action. Its only significance is its very existence. Most of the books imply prevalent emotions of a mass resistance movement, primarily by creating a rebellious atmosphere that, for the most part, has no external manifestation and exists only below the surface. The books are unable to choose between one of three mutually exclusive positions regarding the resistance movement: Alongside the assertion that everyone resisted, it is also claimed that resistance was not feasible and that it was futile because it never had any chance. The Nazi beast was so pervasive that any expression of active resistance was tantamount to suicide. The historical discourse presents the resistance movement both as a popular one, in which every German was a member, and also as a superfluous historical phenomenon, because the few who joined it paid a heavy and unwarranted personal price.

Knowledge and Resistance The awakening of the resistance groups toward the end of the war is depicted by the texts as a direct consequence of the disclosure of information about the misdeeds of the Nazi regime, thus implying that inaction was a result of unawareness, and that once the Germans were privy to the truth they began to act. In addition, the texts construct the equation of knowledge=danger= resistance. In Vier Fragen an meinen Vater Walter Jendrich is caught watching the school’s principal as he beats Jews. The principal is concerned that Walter’s knowledge will become dangerous (p. 26). As a senior army officer, Hanna’s father in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? had access to more knowledge than the average German, and therefore became a dissident and ultimately faced a firing squad. The association between knowledge and resistance is instantaneous. Er hieß Jan describes the change in Regina’s opinions once she discovers the truth through Jan. She had previously been blind, and now that her eyes have been opened she clearly states that she believed in Nazism only because she was ignorant of “what lay behind it” (“was dahinsteckt” p. 52 [42]). Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl recounts how Hans Scholl and his friends become convinced of the necessity to form a resistance movement

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immediately after hearing of the mass murder perpetrated in the occupied areas (pp. 106,108 [101]). The connection between knowledge and resistance is one of the main themes in Stern ohne Himmel. Initially, only Nazis are aware of the atrocities, and they keep this information secret in order to deceive the civilians and to allow the operations to continue unhindered. Dissidents who were sent to concentration camps and fell victim to physical and mental torture became aware of the horrific reality firsthand. This hints at the rigorous conditions for knowledge of the truth—one must have actually been in the camps in order to know what happens there. As most of them never came back, it is not surprising that “no one knew a thing.” Children certainly know nothing at all. In order to illuminate the point that only knowledge can lead to resistance, in Stern ohne Himmel Leonie Ossowski depicts the utter ignorance of the youngsters. Their conversation with Abiram shows that they were unaware of the existence of concentration camps (p. 126 [99]). They hear about the camps and the systematic killing only after the war is already over. They then progress from a state of ignorance, and espousal of the Nazi regime, to a state of awareness and mobilization toward opposition. This applies to all the children, apart from Willi, the young Nazi. He remains silent despite his encounter with the rail car in which Jews are being transported (pp. 137–138 [108–109]). Antek, Paule, and Zick undergo a transformation that is directly consistent with the degree of their awareness of the acts perpetrated against innocent people. Through the character of Antek, the oldest of the children and their leader, Ossowski constructs a veritable model of the transition from ignorance and collaboration with Nazis to awareness and underground activity. As the story begins, sixteen-and-a-half-year-old Antek wishes to join the army. Preventing him from doing so is Jähde, the Nazi headmaster who had succeeded in being released from the army and who requires Antek for the school choir. Antek is portrayed as a devoted German patriot who cares about his country. It is this attitude that later induces him to revise his opinions about the regime. Kimmich, who converses with him at length, tells him about the extermination of Jews and the pointlessness of the war. He tries to convince Antek that the regime must be opposed. Kimmich’s efforts have far-reaching effects— Antek is convinced and tries to persuade his friends as well. He succeeds with all of them, except for Willi. This new information is confirmed that very day by Abiram and his testimony of the events taking place in the concentration camp. While the rest of the group is made aware of the brutal truth through Abiram’s report, Willi alone continues to uphold the Nazi doctrine and tries to inform on the Jew to the authorities. The plot of Stern ohne Himmel ostensibly provides an anatomy of being exposed to knowledge, which in turn prompts resistance. This composition, however, which incorporates the contention that “we knew nothing so we did nothing,” is contradicted even by the events in the book itself. Here, too, reports of crimes committed against Jews reach several of the main characters (e.g., Kimmich) prior to the end of the war, but such knowledge clearly failed to stimulate the formation of a resistance movement. Ossowski’s thesis, which explains the failure to resist as a result of the lack of information, is therefore a dubious one. In fact, the thesis is doubted even by Ossowski herself, who states the following in the book’s afterword:

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…the German citizen preferred to keep his mouth shut…Silent and tense, one made one’s way up, heard nothing, saw nothing, and especially said nothing. (my translation; this quote was taken from the afterword by Leonie Ossowski, which has not been translated into English) …der deutsche Bürger zog es vor, den Mund zu halten…Schweigsam und verbissen turnte man aufwärts, hörte nichts, sah nichts und redete vor allem nichts. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 173)

Chapter Ten “Actually, I Myself Was a Victim”—The Germans as Victims The primary objective of the set of strategies described in Part II was to present the Germans as the main, and sometimes sole, victim of World War II, the Third Reich, and Nazism. The texts emphasize the unemployment and recession in Germany prior to the Third Reich, the oppressive Nazi regime, its reign of terror, as well as postwar destruction—moral and cultural decline, hunger, disease, grief, mourning, looting, rape, expulsion, and separation of families. The German suffering is described in precise and overwhelming detail, which leads to a feeling of oversaturation directed to ensure the constant presence of this suffering. The cumulative effect is the creation of multiple alibis of German suffering—through the submission of numerous alternatives—as if to guarantee that, in the event certain cases prove insufficient, others may be readily procured. Thus, not even the slightest reservation may be raised with respect to the suffering experienced by Germans. The near-absolute exclusivity of German suffering is also bolstered by the analogy between German and Jewish victims and by the mitigation of Jewish suffering in contrast to that of the Germans. Jewish suffering is described in abstract terms and in association with German suffering. Charlotte in Sonderappell gives an extraordinarily detailed account of the circumstances of her uncle’s injury, the damage sustained to his eye, and the appearance of his skin after he is hurt. When describing Kristallnachty, however, she mentions only some broken windows and thrown furniture (p. 179). Adversely, the terrible risk undertaken by the grandfather opposing a pogrom against the Jews is granted an extensive description (p. 179). The girls’ work camp where Charlotte is sent during the winter of 1944 is located adjacent to Auschwitz, and the suffering of the Jews in Auschwitz is mentioned in passing, whereas Charlotte’s own suffering is described at length. The day of her journey to the camp, November 9, 1944, marks the end of Charlotte’s comfortable and sheltered life and the beginning of her tale of woe. Her work resembles that of a laborer without a moment’s rest. Fatigue is constant, due to undernourishment and a lack of privacy, as is evident from a description of the lavatory. At the temporary camp where she stays during the escape from the advancing Russians, she must wait in a long line for her supper—thin soup and a slice of bread. The bread is kept for the next day’s breakfast and must be guarded from thieves until then (pp. 198– 199). In Krücke, Thomas, the son of Nazis, is placed with a group of Jewish youngsters and children of “foreign workers.” Like them, he is a pitiful orphan. Ruth in Stern ohne

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Himmel sees the resemblance between her own suffering and that endured by Abiram, a Jewish refugee who escaped from a concentration camp—both had lost their mothers. “What dream?” “About my mother being shot.”… “My mother’s dead too,” she finally said. “Buried alive.” Abiram nodded as if her information were a matter of course. (Star Without a Sky, pp. 51,52) “Was denn?” “Wie meine Mutter erschossen wurde.”… “Meine Mutter ist auch tot,” sagte sie schließlich. “Verschüttet.” Abiram nickte, als sei ihre Mitteilung selbstverständlich. (Stern ohne Himmel, p. 39) Jewish and German suffering is recounted in unison. The good Germans, as Burkhard, Frank’s elder brother, points out in Brüder wie Freunde, found themselves in even greater danger than the Jews they were trying to help. The only Jew depicted in the book, Mr. Modersohn, whose German wife hid him throughout the war, says that his fate was more favorable than that of Germans who were forced to join the military, died in the war, or faced Nazi oppression (p. 14 [9]). Consoling Frank, whose brother died, he refers to their mutual suffering—which created a bond between them—assuring that both he and Frank will overcome it (pp. 179–180 [132]). Interestingly, the second edition of the book, published in 1988, reinforces the tendency of subordinating Jewish suffering to that of the Germans. The storekeeper, who in the 1978 first edition is a soldier lucky enough to return from the war (p. 11), becomes, in the second edition, a prisoner of war lucky enough to return home (p. 8; in the English translation, which is based on the second German edition, see p. 12). In this manner, the second edition juxtaposes two survivors— the Jew and the German POW. In Klaus Kordon’s comprehensive trilogy, Wendepunkte, the German victim is glorified primarily by minimizing Jewish victimization. The first two parts of the trilogy are set in the pre-Nazi period and contain scarcely any Jewish characters. In the third part, entitled Der erste Frühling, the Jewish aunt and uncle of Mieze, a half-Jew, immigrate to the United States in time and are thus saved (pp. 224, 495). Mieze herself survives the war, but her German friend Hans is caught and executed. Hans’s brother, Helmut, is imprisoned for twelve years, first in solitary confinement in Berlin and later at the Buchenwald concentration camp. Jutta, his wife, is murdered, and he returns home beaten and broken. His condition is worse than that of a prisoner of war. He resembles an old man; his body is bent, skinny as a rail, and swollen with hunger. His face is gray and his mouth toothless. His daughter does not recognize him, nor can she see in him the man she knew from photographs (pp. 305–309). In “Der rote Eisenbahner” (a story in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection), a railway employee wishes that the war will soon be over, and he is sent to a concentration camp. After the war, he returns home a broken man, never to recover (p. 46). Various textual devices are employed for the amplification of German suffering. Brown-gray colors gradually pervade the girl’s wardrobe in Rosa Weiss, as she slowly becomes thin and brown like the inmates in the camp. German civilians are portrayed in

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detailed and exact terms; each has a distinct face and color. The camp inmates are usually illustrated as an inert backdrop set in frozen poses much like wax figurines. The Jewish prisoners are drawn sporadically, as if there are only a few of them, while the Germans are shown as a mass of people. In Brüder wie Freunde, Frank and Burkhard amuse themselves with a mirror and reflect sunlight at the building opposite them, first at the grocery owned by a previous prisoner of war, and later into the face of the Jewish tailor. This juxtaposition establishes a correlation between both, as victims saved from the clutches of the war. In Stern ohne Himmel, the army deserter’s coat is placed on Abiram’s shoulders. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, the suicide note penned by Ruth Schmidtke, the Jew, is associated with the letter sent by Erik from the front lines in the East just before his death. Like Ruth, the innocent Jewish girl, Erik is an innocent soldier and he too becomes a victim. When Hanna watches Faust, the text refers again to the similarity between them: “I even forgot that Erik was dead and the Schmidtkes” (“ich vergaß sogar, daß Erik tot war und die Schmidtkes,” p. 71 [69]). The correlation established between Jewish and German suffering makes it possible to alternate smoothly between suffering Jews and suffering Germans. In Stern ohne Himmel, when Ruth lies to her grandfather about a blanket and a coat, she substitutes destitute German refugees for Abiram. She assigns Abiram’s horrific story to a “woman” (“Frau”) she met by the well—both are pitiful victims of Nazism (p. 55 [42]). In Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum and Lena, forced laborers replace the Jews throughout the entire description. Lena depicts the laborers as victims of the Nazis, subjected to starvation and to beatings by Gustav Perwanger, the Nazi who vents his anger at them (pp. 160,247). The laborers are joined by local Germans who similarly suffer from poverty and hunger and who work in the same factory; both German civilians and forced laborers die together during a bombing raid (p. 254). The handicapped are depicted as victims of Nazi extermination in Lena and Die Webers. The former describes the fate of handicapped Germans (Austrians in this case) murdered by the Nazis; the latter provides a detailed account of Detlev, the handicapped son of the neighbors. Karin Asmus, a beloved character in the book, willingly helps take care of him. The book recounts the bond between the two, and the great love between the boy and his parents. This sets the stage for Detlev’s entrapment and murder at the hands of Nazis (pp. 60–61). Karl-Heinz, the servant in Bergen-Belsen in Die Webers, compares the prisoners led to their deaths in the concentration camp to the group of boys and old men, members of the Wehrmacht, unfit for army service and sent to battle as cannon fodder during the last days of the war. And when the silence was complete, something strange happened: The young officer heard the slurping of tired feet, saw the row of wrinkled and wrinkle-free faces change in front of his eyes. It seemed to him as though he was facing the wretched train of people destined to die, which he had watched from the window in the casern. (my translation) Und als die Stille vollkommen war, vollzog sich etwas sehr Seltsames: Der junge Offizier hörte das Schlurfen müder Füße, sah die Reihe der faltigen und glatten Gesichter sich vor seinen Augen verändern. Ihm war, als sähe er vor sich den trostlosen Zug todbestimmter Menschen, den er vom Kasernenfenster aus beobachtet hätte. (Die Webers, p. 122)

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This substitution may indeed derive from a universal, humanistic orientation, but the general interest in “human suffering” allows for the presentation of the Germans as those who suffer just like the Jews. The association between Jews and other minorities also serves to augment the relativization of Jewish suffering. Lena refers to the extermination of the mentally insane, not the Jews (p. 100), and elsewhere a latent comparison is made between Jews and Native Americans (p. 88). The exchangeability of the victims gives expression to the notion of universal suffering. Everyone suffered, including the Germans whose suffering was no different. In the same breath, Charlotte in Sonderappell describes the collective suffering endured by the German soldier, the Russian prisoner of war, and the Jewish inmate at Auschwitz (pp. 117–118). Later, pictures of the various victims she had met mingle in her head; the picture of the German boy praying for salvation during an Allied bombing attack is confused in her mind with images of a dead German baby, of her Jewish friend, and of Ruth, the daughter of a German dissident. The suffering experienced by all of them is presented on the same level, as if suffering purifies.

Germans as Victims of World War I As presented in the books, the roots of German suffering are to be found in World War I. Already, then, Germany had been victimized and had experienced suffering, bereavement, and grief. The long tally of victims in Nacht über dem Tal begins with World War I. The grandmother in Wir werden uns wiederfinden tells how the Germans suffered at the hands of the Czechs after World War I (p. 23), an account that is substantiated by Pavelka, the Czech. Other texts choose to describe the 1920s and 1930s and the terrible unemployment and inflation of that period. Damals war es Friedrich depicts a family near starvation. The father is out of work and depends on the good graces of the tyrannical grandfather, without whose help the family cannot survive. Wie war das eigentlich? portrays the terrible hunger afflicting German households and the meager salaries insufficient to maintain even the most meager existence. The number of people receiving unemployment allowances increases dramatically; these people suffer real hunger and nourish themselves with the insipid food distributed in soup kitchens (p. 50 [38]). The introductory scene in Die Webers shows the long lines of people waiting to receive their barely adequate unemployment allowance; the text emphasizes their distressing situation, which worsens when the harsh winter comes. Thus, the Germans become victims of a force majeure. Mit dem Rücken zur Wand offers a detailed account of the events in the year preceding the Nazis’ rise to power—particularly the acute unemployment of the 1930s and its bitter consequences. In addition to its description of the political scene, the book portrays the unbearable living conditions of the lower classes, especially in connection with the unemployment. Mieze’s mother cannot find work after her husband is killed in the war. She starves, becomes an alcoholic, and resorts to prostitution in order to feed her daughter (pp. 207–208). Kösliner Straße, the story’s venue, is depicted in terms of complete decay. Its inhabitants are too poor to use electricity or gas, and they sit in darkness. Food is sparse, and they have forgotten how meat tastes (pp. 99,101). Even large families that have a proper breadwinner live in

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crowded, dank, fetid apartments, and are on the verge of malnutrition (pp. 99, 101, 167). When their poverty is aggravated by unemployment, the families’ circumstances become utterly insufferable. Many, like the Haberschroths, are evicted from their homes after defaulting on lease payments. They are forced to choose between the lesser of two evils—starvation or freezing (p. 51). Certain families are served with an eviction order (p. 50), and some move to shelters in which evictees vie for space in the large rooms, crowded wall to wall with beds, where even the lice jostle for space. Even these shelters are insufficient to house all of the impoverished people (p. 61). As depicted in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, the dire situation drives the unemployed to commit desperate acts. Honest people become thieves (pp. 254–255). Others do not know where to go and end their own lives. The mother of an evicted family kills herself, and her suicide is described as typical of the reality in Berlin at the time (pp. 62–63). The employment crisis allows employers to exploit workers scandalously. The story “Eisern, Emil, eisern,” in the Hände hoch, Tschibaba! collection, shows how Emil’s employer takes advantage of him. During the years when an apprenticeship is nearly impossible to come by, Emil wishes to work as an apprentice at an automobile workshop. He knows he is being used as cheap labor by his employer and will be fired immediately upon the end of his apprenticeship (p. 26). The other workers are also aware of the injustice committed, but they fear for their livelihood and maintain their conspiracy of silence. Emil justifies their inaction, saying that he would do the same in their place (p. 43). Without work or hope for the future, Emil and his friends can find refuge only in the SA (p. 44). The assumption here is that the man in the street is a victim of the system, against which he can do nothing.

Germans as Victims of World War II Germans suffer from hunger during the ruinous years between the wars, and from starvation during World War II and thereafter. During this entire period, the Germans lead grueling, bitter lives, and their hardship and grief is underscored in the texts. When the bereaved mother dies in Er hieß Jan, her daughter is comforted by the French forced laborer who tells her it was a “good death” (“guter Tod”). The daughter painfully responds, “A good life wouldn’t have been a bad thing, either” (“Ein gutes Leben wär auch nicht schlect gewesen,” p. 134 [104]). The narrator in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum describes how hard it was for her mother to obtain food for the children (p. 6). In Maikäfer fliegl, the week’s menu consists of potatoes and more potatoes, usually of poor quality. The food Christel must eat is repulsive—“The sausage had a strong smell and tasted of flour and rancid fat. The milk was thin and pale blue” (“Die Wurst schmeckte nach Mehl und ranzigem Schmalz und stank. Die Milch war hellblau und durchsichtig,” p. 22 [36]). Sonderappell provides a nauseatingly detailed description of the wormy food that the girls are forced to eat at the camp. The hunger is so great that Charlotte must overcome her nausea and eat the compote along with the worms that crawl in it (p. 40). Shortages affect even Hanna’s home in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, despite the father’s high rank in the Wehrmacht. His status entitles the family to receive periodic supplements of provisions, but they must still wait on long lines for food. Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld tells of the terrible hunger

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endured by Susanne’s family. They are forced to part with their few possessions in exchange for a bit of food—potatoes and lard (pp. 28–29). Susanne and her sister must even sell the earrings their father had given them before he was killed. Everyone in Stern ohne Himmel is hungry—the army deserter is too famished to fall asleep (p. 80 [62]), and one of the women Antek meets on the road is named “the starving woman” (“die hungernde Frau” p. 32 [24]). Only the children who find a cache of food do not suffer, yet they are afraid “of going hungry” (“zu hungern,” p. 32 [24]) if it is discovered. Wartime hunger is a central theme in Emma. Food cards, rationing, and shortages are all depicted in detail. These are especially conspicuous when contrasted with the sumptuous meal attended by Julia and her family at the farmer’s home (pp. 27–28). The description of the meal through the yearning eyes of the girl and the way the guests impatiently fall upon the food accentuate the shortage and suffering. In addition to hunger, the Germans suffer from the freezing cold. Sonderappell gives a detailed account of the cold and its bitter consequences. Charlotte’s legs freeze when she is in the girls’ work camp (p. 58). Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld depicts the harsh weather conditions of the last year of the war, the terrible cold indoors, and the efforts of Susanne and the grandfather to obtain a bit of coal with which to heat the house (p. 32). In Nacht über dem Tal, soldiers at the front and women and children at home must endure the chill (p. 41 [31]). Wir waren dabei repeatedly tells of the bone-chilling cold at Hitler Youth meetings (pp. 28–29 [30]). Soldiers are also victims of the war. Heute nacht ist viel passiert refers to the hellish Battle of Stalingrad, mentioning that every last soldier there was killed (p. 37). Wie war das eigentlich? describes the court martial of a young soldier who complained of harsh conditions in a letter to his family. According to the narrator, any other soldier could have written the same letter. Nevertheless, the soldier is sentenced to death and immediately executed (p. 253 [225]). In Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten, soldiers are the main victims of the war. During their retreat they find barely any food, and ten men must share one loaf of bread. Each receives fifty grams of horse sausage per day, and the cooks can offer nothing from their empty pots. The book relates the story of one soldier who engaged in hand-to-hand combat for twenty-five consecutive days without a weapon (p. 104 [116– 117]), and managed to survive, the sole survivor of his entire unit. Other soldiers knew the bitter taste of captivity. Erich, Susanne’s uncle in Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld, reappears during the winter in late 1949 after escaping from a POW camp. For an entire year he had subsisted on whatever he was able to forage in the forest, and his hands and feet froze. Yet fate smiled on him. His friends never make it home; one was shot and the other starved to death (pp. 103–104). The soldiers’ lot in Rosa Weiss is not much better than that of the prisoners. The same trucks that take the men off to war return later to transport prisoners to the camp. The soldiers return home after some time—weary, injured, and miserable (pp. 19, 20–21 [19, 20–21]). They are shown in an illustration that depicts terrified villagers fleeing an Allied air raid (pp. 20, 21 [20, 21]). On the right side of the illustration, the viewer sees a group of injured soldiers in dilapidated uniforms, as the villagers are seen escaping in carriages, on bicycles, or on foot. The book’s cover shows Rosa Weiss peering through a window opposite a boarded-up building and a truck in which German soldiers sit, blood dripping from their wounds.

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Soldiers who return home from battle continue to pay the price of the war throughout their lives. Lene Mayer-Skumanz’s story “Der fremde Mann” (“The Stranger”; in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection) tells of a soldier who returns home, only to remain afflicted by the memories of the war. He is a shadow of his former self, completely gray, unable to speak of the war for years; he suffers nightmares (p. 111). Christel’s father in Maikäfer flieg! was severely wounded in his leg. Nagold, the teacher in Stern ohne Himmel, loses a leg during army service, like Krücke in Krücke and Herr Steiner in Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum (who became crippled during World War I). Heute nacht ist vielpassiert recounts soldiers who die immediately upon their return home. Not only do they suffer terribly during the war, but even the return home, and home itself, do not spare them from death. There is no escape, neither at the front lines nor at home (p. 83). Even soldiers who commit war crimes are depicted as victims. Wir werden uns wiederfinden tells of the mental anguish suffered by the perpetrators of war crimes. In Vier Fragen an meinen Vater, the description of such crimes is subordinate to that of Walters’ suffering; he is nearly strangled to death after sympathizing with a British prisoner murdered by German villagers (p. 67). Wie war das eigentlich? depicts the suffering of a German officer who sympathizes with those being sent off to their deaths in a concentration camp, desiring to join them. The fact that he remains alive is seen as a cause of even greater suffering than that endured by the prisoners on their way to die (p. 242 [216]). One of the chapters in Lena is entitled “Wie sie Florian zum Mörder machten” (“How They Made a Murderer of Florian”). Florian is a war criminal, whom the text presents as a victim of the regime. He suffers due to the war crimes he had committed and almost goes insane as a result (pp. 200–201). The gendarme in Lena is a pitiable figure because he is forced to betray people to the Gestapo. His conscience gives him no rest, and he is unable to bear his duty of informing on childhood acquaintances. “I used to know him when I was a little boy,” the gendarme cried. “And I had to arrest him!” And then he cried, he could not keep silent any more, now he had to tell my father everything. (my translation) “Ich hab’ ihn schon gekannt, als ich ein kleiner Bub war,” schrie der Gendarm. “Und ich hab’ ihn verhaften müssen!” Und dann schrie er, er könne nicht mehr schweigen, er müsse jetzt meinem Vater alles sagen. (Lena, p. 287) Charlotte’s uncle in Sonderappell was a party to war crimes and murdered partisans with his own hands, yet the story emphasizes his victimization by the regime, which turned him into a criminal against his will—“We had to. We didn’t want to. We had to” (“Wir mußten. Wir wollten nicht. Wir mußten,” p. 160). As a result of Allied bombing, Germany becomes flooded with refugees. Krücke creates the impression that all of Germany became a nation of refugees. Stern ohne Himmel describes how the refugees overran the city at the expense of its inhabitants. The wave of refugees inundating the city is described almost in terms of a natural disaster, like “a swarm of termites” (“ein Heer von Termiten” p. 104 [82]). The refugees’ arrival is depicted as an invasion (p. 9 [5]). The students’ bedrooms in the boarding school are taken away by strangers, their beds are given to old and infirm refugees (p. 105 [83]) and they must sleep on blankets in the small classrooms. Emma elaborates on the family’s

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flight from home, during which its members become separated. Her father initially remains in Münster, her older sister Renate is sent to another city, and Julia is torn away from her family. The entire latter half of Wir werden uns wiederfinden is devoted to the suffering of refugees expelled from Czechoslovakia. After being given only two days’ notice (p. 56), the women, children, and old people are rounded up, along with their belongings, to await deportation (p. 67). Czech soldiers plunder their possessions, and nothing is left for the deportees to take with them. When the mother speaks to a soldier about the coat taken from the grandfather, her fur-lined coat is snatched as well (p. 74). Upon arriving at their destination in Germany, the refugees continue to experience nothing but suffering, misery, hunger, fatigue, and illness. Krücke opens with the description of a refugee sitting on the threshold of her ruined home (p. 1 [7]). She is mentally unsound, bursts into tears before the boy, and tells him of the enormity of her loss (p. 4 [10]). One of the last illustrations in Rosa Weiss features refugees: women, children, soldiers, and the injured running for their lives. A central facet of Das Jahr der Wölfe is the suffering experienced by the Bienmann family, which flees from East Prussia after the area has been surrounded by Russian forces. The description of their hazardous journey is contrasted to the description of the family’s almost idyllic life in their village before they were forced to take flight. The mother is in an advanced state of pregnancy when the family is forced to choose whether to remain in place and risk capture by the Red Army or to depart across the Haff and take the chance of drowning in its frozen waters (p. 94 [104]). The refugees are also subject to hunger and thirst, and often they do not even have enough bread to eat (pp. 134–135 [144–145]). The motto of Mensch, Karnickel, taken from Josef Reding’s Friedland, reads: “Ein Krieg wird noch Jahrzehnte später bitter bezahlt” (“it takes decades to pay bitterly for a war”) (p. 5). The book relates the story of Clemens Graber, a sixteen-year-old boy on a perilous homeward journey. He stays in an evacuation camp and moves between other camps as well. His latter experience turns him into a self-destructive person who is also harmful to others (pp. 53, 73, 80). In Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten, the soldier-narrator returns home as the war comes to an end, evidently after a prolonged absence. Tragic news awaits him: his father has been declared missing, and was probably killed during the war (pp. 98–99 [110–111]); his grandfather’s home is destroyed, and his mother and her parents were evacuated to an area less prone to bombing; his mother now lives in a small room, is pale, and barely acknowledges his visit. She is tormented by an oppressive landlord, who does not allow her to share a room with her father and forbids her from listening to the radio in order to economize on electricity. There is no room in the house for her son. The bombings have completely fragmented the family. In Heute nacht ist viel passiert, the children must walk a great distance to obtain a bit of bread. The street’s residents, particularly the elderly, would have perished from hunger if not for the kindness of Aunt Hanna, who works at the Ministry of Economy (p. 65). In Krücke, when Thomas and Krücke first speak to each other, the topic of their conversation is hunger. Thomas is visibly malnourished, and Krücke treats him to a mean meal of bread and horse sausage (p. 14 [19]). Christine in Geh heim und vergiß alles describes the table set by her mother. Although the mother is careful about table manners and aesthetics, she has nothing to serve but frozen potatoes and bread as dry as dust(pp. 25–26).

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Peter, a refugee from the eastern province of Pomerania, is a good friend of Frank, the main protagonist in Kordon’s Brüder wie Freunde. Peter is uprooted from home and forced to cope in a hostile, alien environment. His mother becomes a nervous wreck and his father turns to alcoholism. This is not the full extent of their suffering; Peter’s elder brother is killed by the Russians after the war (p. 72 [54]). In order to accentuate Peter’s victimization, Kordon made a minor revision in the book’s second edition. In the 1978 edition, Gisela, a Berlin resident, sings the well-known children’s song from Pomerania, Maikäfer flieg! (Fly, Junebug, fly) (p. 10), whereas in the subsequent 1988 edition it is Peter, the wretched Pomeranian refugee, who sings the song (pp. 50–51; such is also the case in the 1992 English translation, p. 67). “Schreckliche Spiele” (“Terrible Games”; in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection), a story by Rudolf Pritz, relates the accidental death of one of the children who played with a rifle and ammunition left behind by the Wehrmacht after the war. Kordon’s Brüder wie Freunde focuses completely on descriptions of German victims during the postwar period. The two brothers grow up without a father. The father of one of the boys died before the war, the other father during the war. They are forced to live with an abusive stepfather who takes advantage of their mother. The ruins next to the District offices in their neighborhood are not rebuilt for a long time (p. 89 [66]). From one edition to the next, Kordon extends the period of postwar German suffering; the 1978 edition states that the suffering continued throughout the first six months after the war (p. 19), while the subsequent 1988 edition extends this period to two full years (p. 15, see p. 22 in the English translation).

Germans as Victims of the Allies The books offer lengthy and detailed accounts of Allied bombing and the damage wrought thereby. In Der erste Frühling, during a walk in the woods with her grandmother, Änne comes upon children crying for help and searching for their mother amid piles of twisted corpses, described as “mountains of corpses” (Leichenberge[.] [p. 85]). Later in the book, the Soviet officer uses the same words, “mountains of corpses,” to describe what he saw at Treblinka, Majdanek, and Auschwitz (p. 255). Civilization is flooded with corpses in Nacht über dem Tal and has been reduced to ruins (p. 103 [75]). The narrator’s cousin in Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten is buried under the ruins of a bombed house, and his corpse, lying alongside the toy airplane he received for his tenth birthday, is barely identifiable (pp. 20–21 [19–20]). Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld describes people burned to death by incendiary bombs (p. 24), and Emma describes people burned during the bombings (p. 98). In the story “Als der Bahnhof brannte” (“As the Railway Station Burned”; in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection) by Käthe Recheis, the children discover a decapitated corpse among the ruins (p. 84). Er hieß Jan describes ruins, flames rising everywhere, collapsed walls, and burning people (pp. 147–148 [114– 115]). Die Webers mercilessly recounts a bomb hitting a shelter and burying its inhabitants alive (p. 100). One of the book’s most gruesome scenes describes a baby hit during bombardment. The mother wheeling the carriage neither senses nor sees a thing. Only Gerd, a boy who had returned from the front, sees the blood dripping from the carriage and understands what has happened (p. 124).

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The stories in Damals war ich vierzehn describe the daily routine under bombardment as the end of the war approaches. Victims, small and large, are described from a childish point of view—whether it is the need to give up a present from Santa Claus in church, or three young children trapped in a bombed house and nearly burned to death (as in “Denk lieber an den Nikolaus”), or a four-year-old boy running for his life after his parents are hit by the bombing (as in “Ich weiß noch, wie das war” [“I Still Remember What It Was Like”]). The story not only emphasizes the horrors of the bombing, but also the terrible loneliness of a small child with no one in the world to care for him (p. 89). Heute nacht ist viel passiert is also related from a girl’s point of view who describes the dire experience of the bombing, the darkness that suffuses everything, people screaming while running blindly to the shelters (p. 21), and adults losing control of themselves after the raids. Much-loved pets also become casualties of the bombing. “Unser Hund und der Krieg” describes how Willi resorts to deception in order to save his beloved dog from being taken for the war effort, but the dog dies during bombardment and seventeen-year-old Willi meets a similar fate shortly thereafter (p. 35). Many texts depict the suffering caused by the long time spent in shelters. Damals war es Friedrich (p. 133 [112]) and Die Webers (p. 98) particularly emphasize the suffering of children in the shelters. Wie war das eigentlich? depicts soldiers carrying sleeping children to the shelters; the mothers are deathly exhausted from working all day at the ammunition factory (pp. 253–254 [225]) and are unable to carry the children themselves. Emma describes the terror experienced by those sitting in a shelter in Münster. The description from a young girl’s point of view intensifies the description; she fails to comprehend the dangers and complains only of the terrible noise that grows louder and louder and reverberates through her eardrums. The din is worsened by the heartrending cries of infants (p. 53). Geh heim und vergiß alles tells of villagers forced to remain in the shelter for days on end (p. 15). Mischling Second Degree recounts the horrific overcrowding in the shelter (p. 195; p. 205 in the German translation). In Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld, Germans are shown crammed into a cellar during a curfew ordered by the Allies, without food, sleep, or even sanitary facilities (pp. 39–40). As already mentioned, the Bienmann family in Das Jahr der Wölfe is helplessly exposed to Allied bombing, and risks freezing to death while crossing the Haff (pp. 104– 105,107 [114,116]). Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten tells of Allied bombs hitting innocent civilians in Denmark—men, women, and children whose only crime was a Sunday stroll (p. 94 [105]). Allied bombing in The Journey Back causes dams to crack, and houses on the Dutch island are flooded (p. 19; p. 24 in the German translation). The texts describe at length the destruction wrought by the bombing and the killing of innocent civilians. In Stern ohne Himmel, rats take over city streets demolished by Allied bombardment (p. 23 [16]). Ilse and her classmates in Mischling Second Degree are asked to assist rescue efforts after northern Berlin is hit by a severe air strike. The neighborhood has been turned into piles of rubble, with homeless survivors standing despondently in long lines (pp. 99–100; pp. 106–107 in the German translation). Nacht über dem Tal is replete with images of bombardment, crumbling façades of buildings, pipes hanging in midair, and twisted walls. The bombing itself is seen as a force majeure, a monstrosity against which there can be no defense (p. 48 [36])—“It was eerie, like a force of nature” (“Es was unheimlich wie eine Naturgewalt,” p. 60 [46]).

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Nie wieder ein Wort davon? tells of hundreds of thousands of homeless people and the 30,000 civilians who died during the bombing of Hamburg, which turned the downtown into ruins (p. 157 [148]). Er hieß Jan mentions the 200,000 civilians and more who were killed during the bombing of Dresden (p. 80 [63]). In Wir werden uns wiederfinden, the family’s journey to Dresden is perilous. The grandmother explains that Dresden was bombed by the Allies in revenge for the destruction wrought by the Germans, but she indicates that the real evil is not the German misdeeds but rather the world’s refusal to forget. The book depicts only destruction in Dresden, implying that Germans alone were victims of horrific bombing (p. 124). The same impression is created in other books through portrayals of damage caused to the respective protagonist’s home, be it the narrator in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, Gerd in Die Webers, Thomas in Krücke, or Christel in Maikäfer flieg! Only Maikäfer flieg! presents a slightly different description of the German victim. The book dwells on minor victims, mocking them to some extent. For example, Auntie Hanni is insane, and each time the siren sounds she runs amok through the neighborhood. Although the scene of her death is a difficult one, its severity is mitigated by the marginality of her character and the derision she elicits. The folding chair she always carrys around adds to her character’s derisiveness and also serves to identify her decapitated body. The macabre ridicule is supplemented by the name of the street on which she dies, “Mountain of Calvary”1 (“Kalvarienberggasse”). Christine Nöstlinger probably introduces this element in order to relieve the horror of an otherwise gruesome situation. No, we had not seen Auntie Hanni. We never saw Auntie Hanni again; she was lying in Kalvarienberggasse, buried under a heap of rubble. Her husband dug her out. But for the folding stool under one arm and the check rug under the other, he would not have known her, because her head was blown off. But we did not know that at the time. (Fly Away Home, p. 5) Wir hatten die Hannitante nicht gesehen. Und wir sahen sie auch nie mehr. Sie lag oben, bei der Kalvarienberggasse, unter einem Schutthaufen. Ihr Mann grub sie aus. Hätte sie nicht das Klappstockerl unter dem einen Arm und die karierte Decke unter dem anderen Arm gehabt, hätte ihr Mann sie gar nicht erkannt, weil ihr Kopf fehlte. Doch das wußten wir jetzt ja noch nicht. (Maikäfer flieg!, p. 12)

Who Died, How and When Did They Die, and Who Remained Alive? Discussion of this issue may indeed seem to be in bad taste, but the image of death is manipulated by the texts to such a degree that it cannot be ignored. Death is a fate met by Germans more often than by people frorn any other nation. This impression results from the prominence of German deaths and cumbersome descriptions. Conversely, the deaths of Others are dryly reported or mentioned only casually. Indirect reports describe the deaths of Others, which ultimately lowers the degree of empathy and identification with them. German deaths are directly reported, and descriptions of German deaths are

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endlessly varied, while a limited number of ways are employed to describe the deaths of Others. German deaths warrant an emotional dimension, while the deaths of Others are described in cold, aloof terms and are presented as marginal, coincidental, and bereft of grief. German grief and bereavement over their immense losses are a central theme in many of the books. A great number of Germans are killed during the war by Nazis or by Allied bombing, in battle or in the civilian rear. The deceased in Er hieß Jan are part of the narrator’s daily routine: two of her classmates, the butcher, and the neighborhood shoemaker (p. 21 [18]). All of the male members of the farmer’s wife’s family die in the war, as do all of the narrator’s friends from dancing class, eighteen-year-olds who had not had the opportunity to enjoy the taste of life. In Sonderappell, Charlotte encounters a refugee running for her life (p. 62) clutching a dead baby. People of every affiliation die in Stern ohne Himmel. Abiram and Kimmich testify that Jews died (pp. 50–51, 96 [38– 39, 76]); the death of German civilians—including young children—is recounted by the mother whom Ruth saved (pp. 117–119 [92–94]), and the local inhabitants die from the constant Allied bombardment (pp. 81–82 [64]). The mother in Das Jahr der Wölfe gives birth while fleeing and nearly dies after failing to find shelter. Only after much pleading is the father able to locate a hiding place for her, thereby saving her life(p. 171 [186– 187]). “Death is a lot cheaper than cabbages here,” says Maurice. (A Night in Distant Motionyp. 10) “Der Tod ist bei Euch biller als Kohlkopfe,” sagte Maurice. (Er hieß Jan, p. 10) Young Frau von Braun’s aviator husband in Maikäfer flieg! is killed in battle, as are Thomas’s father in Krücke, all of the narrator’s friends in Nacht über dem Taly and the father of Kurt, the main character in the story “Trümmerkutte,” from the Hände hoch, Tschibaba! collection. Die Webers offers an extensive list of fatalities (p. 93), including Frau Krüger’s twin sons who are killed on the same day (p. 86). In Mensch, Karnickel, Clemens’s mother loses her husband in the war. Almost every girl at the evacuation camp in Mischling Second Degree has lost a relative in battle. As previously stated, Nacht über dem Tal abounds with casualties: Carl, who contemplates desertion, is sent to the Russian front and is shot in the back (p. 47 [35–36]); Stephan and his good friend die while serving as officers (pp. 48–50 [37–38]); Rolf Potmann survives only to be killed later in an aerial collision (p. 50 [38]); the innocent youngsters who sang around a bonfire never return to their village but fall in battle (p. 19 [17]). In Das Jahr der Wölfe, the number of casualties during the winter of 1944 is so great that the minister is no longer able to list their names during his Christmas sermon, as he had done in the past (p. 44 [52]). The minister lists the casualties of battles in Africa and Europe, along with civilians killed by bombing, and begs mercy for future refugees (pp. 44–45 [53]). In “Denk lieber an den Nikolaus” (a story in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection), three of the crippled boy’s brothers are killed in action (p. 8). Frau Krüger in Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld loses her third son on the Eastern front (p. 25). The farmer woman who hides Regina in Er hieß Jan loses all her sons in the war. She resembles a lifeless statue, a symbol of the grieving mother. Frank’s father in Brüder wie Freunde is killed in Russia during the war, after

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seeing his newborn son just once. Günther and Heinz in Wir waren dabei die on the battlefield. In Emma, Charly dies in battle while Pimpi dies during a bombing raid. Auntie Hanni in Maikäfer flieg! dies during the bombing, and in Stern ohne Himmel countless civilians die at war’s end. Nie wieder ein Wort davon? tells of the deaths of the three most important men in the life of Hanna, the narrator. Her father is executed in Plötzensee (p. 122 [116]) in February 1943 after being charged with treason; Erik, her cousin and sweetheart, is killed on the Eastern front in June 1942; and her brother Hannes dies of blood poisoning when his health deteriorates while serving in the national service in late 1943. Nacht über dem Tal first describes the annual memorial service that the town held for German casualties of World War I (pp. 16–17 [16]), and proceeds to describe fallen Germans in World War II (p. 19 [17]). Using the technique of anticipation, the narrator indicates those destined to die in World War II, providing a linkage between the young victims of the past, whose heroic and patriotic deaths grace many a song of sorrow, and the demise of German soldiers in World War II. Thus, the innocence of the former radiates onto the latter. Such descriptions create the impression of history repeating itself; the two world wars are alike, each claiming countless Germans lives. The tendency to quote precise numbers of casualties and to describe the collective ritual of grief results in the perception of death as an omnipresent, active, and painful element that is an inseparable part of community life. It later becomes evident that death also pervades the narrator’s circle of family and close friends. Carl, an artist and the son of a family friend, falls victim to the patriotic aspirations of his father and the narrator’s father, and dies in the war (pp. 46–47 [35–36]). Cousin Stephan also dies in the war, as do many friends—such as the narrator’s suitor, a young officer of nineteen who is killed at a godforsaken location. The narrator says that about half of her acquaintances have been killed, and she is surrounded by war widows and grieving parents. Suppression of the Deaths of Jews Death becomes a cosmic, independent entity, permeating and suffocating every last sanctuary of hope. So many Germans are killed, that no room is left for the deaths of “Others.” In addition, the magnitude of German grief is contrasted with the personal detachment and survival capacity of the Jews, who recover immediately after World War II and do not mourn their dead. Rubin, a former prisoner in the Wiesengrund camp (p. 103 in the German text; a nameless “former prisoner” in the English translation, p. 141), visits the narrator’s family in Nacht über dem Tal but does not mourn the loss of his loved ones. Kuba (Jakob in the English translation), a camp survivor, does not occupy himself with grief but with building his life anew. This is also true of Bronka in Krücke, who mourns no one, and Anna in The Other Way Round, who feels no sorrow at the death of her Uncle Viktor (pp. 239–240; pp. 234–235 in the German translation). Inflation of the number of casualties detracts from the significance of the systematic murder of lews, even when this is mentioned in the texts. The harsh account of the horrors experienced by Abiram in Stern ohne Himmel is lost in the overwhelming descriptions of the general catastrophe that beset Jews and non-Jews alike. When Antek consults Kimmich about his desire to enlist in the army, Kimmich apprises him of the horrific acts perpetrated by Hitler. Later in their conversation, he says that 8,000 Jews

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were gassed to death in the concentration camps; the text adds nothing with respect to the mass extermination of the Jews. As a result, the number of murdered Jews is marginal compared with the millions of deaths for which Hitler is responsible. The texts do not ignore the deaths of Jews and Others, but Jewish deaths are downplayed by being described from a distant point of view and in metaphoric language. Unlike German deaths, which are depicted evocatively and vividly, there are but isolated instances of Jewish deaths. Even these deaths are presented as random, and details are scant. Jews die in Allied air raids, commit suicide, are killed by other Jews, or simply disappear. The Jews disappear in The Devil in Vienna, as they do in Judith und Lisa and Im roten Hinterhaus. Friedrich in Damals war es Friedrich dies as a result of Allied bombardment, although Herr Resch, who would not let him stay in the shelter, is partly responsible. Friedrich’s body lies next to that of an anonymous German, who was killed under the same circumstances. Löwenberg, the Jew in Der erste Fruhling, commits suicide just before he is to be sent to a camp. Zeit für die Hora refers to more than three hundred Jews who killed themselves in those days (p. 123). The Jewish Schmidtke family in Nie wieder ein Wort davon? commits suicide, and in the letter they write death is presented as their best alternative (p. 59 [57–58]). Of Rommi’s grandmother (in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection), it is said that “Der Tod war ein Glück für sie (“death was a blessing” [p. 40]). In Nacht über dem Tal, the narrator assumes that it was his peers who killed the Jew afflicted with typhus, in order to hide the outbreak of disease in the camp from the SS offtcers (p. 100 [73]).” The circumstances of Frau Schneider’s death in Damals war es Friedrich remain ambiguous. It is unclear whether the rioters who broke into her house killed her, although this is a likely assumption. The description of the death of Abiram’s parents in Stern ohne Himmel is given from a distance and in a detached manner (p. 127 [100]). Abiram gives a monotonous, concise account of his father’s death, based on second-hand information. His mother’s death, at which he was present, remains vague, and Abiram describes it in terms of a hallucinatory nightmare of dubious authenticity (p. 127 [100]). The death of the German farmer, on the other hand, is told in an extensive, dramatic description, which dwells on his death throes and the ugliness of his demise. The text elaborates on his sickly appearance, pale face, and unstable mental condition as death approaches. The account spans several pages and is told from several perspectives—his own, his wife’s, and that of two reliable witnesses, Jähde and Nagold. By contrast, the text does not relate Abiram’s personal experience directly, resorting to a minimal account instead: The farm wagon with the sick man lying on a pile of straw got just as far as thefountain…. “I want to die,” the farmer whispered angrily…. Horrified, the girl screamed. She flung the tarpaulin back and looked into the gray face of the farmer. Sweat was dripping from his beard stubble, and his lashless eyes darted about aimlessly…. “Maybe you would like my wagon and my horse Liese,” [the farmer woman] said, but she soon realized the hopelessness of her offer. In her despair she pulled the tarpaulin up and cried, “Look, sirs, look how sick the man is!”

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Jähde and Nagold stared into the wagon. A man lay there on his side, straw in his beard stubble and the remains of whiskey poured over his face. He was dead. (Star Without a Sky, pp. 62,64,66–67) Der Bauernwagen, in dem der kranke Mann auf seiner Strohschütte lag und sterben wollte, kam gerade noch bis vor den Brunnen…. “Ich will sterben,” flüsterte der Bauer böse…. Entsetzt schrie das Mädchen auf. Sie schlug die Plane zurück und sah in das fahle Gesicht des Bauern. Schweiß tropfte ihm aus den Stoppeln, und die wimperlosen Augen irrten hin und her…. “Vielleicht wollen Sie mein’ Wagen haben und meine Liese dazu,” sagte [die Bäuerin], aber sie erkannte schnell die Hoffnungslosigkeit ihres Angebots. Da riß sie in ihrer Verzweiflung die Pläne hoch und schrie: “Da seht doch selbst, ihr Herren, wie krank der Bauer ist!” Jähde und Nagold starrten in den Wagen. Dort lag ein Mann auf die Seite gerollt, Stroh in den Bartstoppeln und einen Schnapsrest über das Gesicht gegossen. Er war tot. (Stern ohne Hitnmel, pp. 47,48, 49, 51–52) Nacht über dem Tal provides lengthy accounts of German deaths, written in emotional proximity to the deceased. The text features many heartbreaking stories of friends who die, and the descriptions take up many pages (pp. 45–50 [34–38]). Yet the Jewish victim remains foreign and nameless. Although Dr. Wetzel, the family doctor, photographs communal graves of Jews in the Ukraine, the text does not describe the photographs themselves, emphasizing only the risk undertaken by the doctor to obtain the photographs (pp. 41–42 [32]). In contrast to the concrete, direct, and verbose descriptions of German deaths, Jewish deaths are usually depicted in metaphorical or sanitized terms. The book depicts not the prisoners dying in the camps but corpses borne on stretchers. The language is metonymical and depicts the stench of death rather than death itself. Every morning a line of people bearing stretchers made its way up the narrow path leading to the pit. The stretchers were tipped into it and a white substance scattered around. Then the procession would return to the camp. Soon a strange odor, heavy and foul, began to pervade the valley, creeping up as far as the village. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 80) Dorthin bewegte sich auf einem schmalen Pfad jeden Morgen ein Zug mit Tragbahren, auf denen leblose Körper lagen. Sie wurden in das Loch gekippt und etwas Weißes darübergestreut. Dann ging der Zug wieder zurück in das Lager. Bald hing über dem Tal ein merkwürdiger Geruch. Er kroch hinauf bis zum Dorf und hing schwelend und schwer in der Luft. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 58)

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Summary The Germans were victims of horrible suffering, but their suffering was not in vain, for it served to cleanse them. The bitter defeat in battle, which caused destruction and grief, purged German society of Nazism. The Jewish victim is a purifying victim. Certain books allude to the crucifixion of Jesus and draw a parallel between the Jewish victim and Jesus of Nazareth; a circle closed, an account settled. Winfried Bruckner’s story “Die Puppe” (“The Doll”; in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection) provides an inverted version of the crucifixion. As their maltreatment of a Jewish girl reaches its climax, the four boys raise her doll on a cross (pp. 47, 50). This scene in fact represents the boys’ revenge for the crucifixion of Jesus. Once the doll, a representation of the Jewish girl, has been crucified, the circle closes and the account is settled. The girl who was called a “Jew girl” (“Judenmädchen,” p. 49) is called now, after the doll’s crucifixion, a “Jew sow” (“Judensau,”p.50). In von Staden’s Nacht über dem Tal the Jewish Kuba (Jakob in the English translation) is compared with the crucified Jesus while traveling on a train. This link settles a lingering account and gives the Jews an opportunity to take the place of Jesus and assume his role as the suffering servant. Concurrently, a comparison is made between Jewish suffering and the agony endured by Jesus. In such manner, thousands of years of history come full circle. The Germans sinned and are punished, their country left in ruins, while the new Jew sets off for a new land, and his suffering is part of a collective German process of atonement. Jakob stood in the aisle, hanging on the strap with both hands. His head inclined, he looked down at me with his large, dark eyes. Like Jesus crucified, I thought. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 163) Er stand in dem beleuchteten Wagen mit ausgebreiteten Armen, den Kopf ein wenig geneigt, sah er mit großen dunklen Augen zu mir herunter. Wie der Herr Jesus am Kreuz, mußte ich denken. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 121)

Chapter Eleven “I’m Not Guilty”—The Germans and Guilt The previous analyses and summaries all culminate at this point—the issue of German collective and individual guilt. Both types of guilt involve the issue of German accountability for the crimes of the Nazi regime, and they oscillate on an axis between two poles. At one pole we find the argument claiming that “we didn’t know anything,” which is countered at the opposite pole by “we knew, but we were unable to do anything,” or as formulated by Ralph Giordano: The collective sentiment “But we didn’t know anything!” by the way, is usually followed by a second argument that goes hand in hand with it, an afterthought so to speak, that says: “We couldn’t do anything about it!” Thus let’s ask most innocently: About what? About that which one “didn’t know”? (my translation) Dem kollektiven Affekt “Aber wir haben doch von nichts gewußt!” folgt übrigens meistens eine Zwillingsbeteuerung, sozusagen ein Unteraffekt, der lautet: “Wir konnten doch nichts dagegen machen!” Da sei doch in aller Unschuld gefragt: Wogegen denn? Gegen das, was man “nicht gewußt” hat? (Giordano 1990, p. 33) Along this “axis,” four different themes recur: • Presentation of the “Germans” as ignorant • Marginalization of the atrocities and the genocide, while concealing the fate of the Jews • Obscured accountability • Description of the assistance provided to the Jews

Presentation of “Germans” as Ignorant Those who witnessed the events cannot be judged, because they were not sufficiently informed. This is a major point of departure when addressing the question of guilt. Only when “all the facts” are known, and only then, can the events of the past be considered. The texts postulate the linkage between knowledge and accountability; only those in the know may be held accountable for what happened. Preconditions of such knowledge are

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stringent. The requisite knowledge is almost scientific, is substantiated by data and numbers, and pertains to numerous “facts.” As demonstrated in Chapter 10, the German story develops from ignorance to awareness, concluding with the awakening of the antiregime resistance. Most of the texts emphasize the inability to know the facts, that the Germans really knew nothing. Vier Fragen an meinen Vater, first published in 1976, is composed around four questions about the period of the Third Reich that a son poses to his father. The book seeks to address the issue of accountability in clear and explicit terms, and therefore it should be given special attention. The book ostensibly casts doubt on the widespread contention regarding the lack of knowledge. Although the character voices the claim that “some people knew, but most did not wish to know” (my translation) (“Es wußten etliche Bescheid. Doch die meisten wollten es nicht wissen” [p. 137]), the book concurrently suggests that most Germans knew nothing at the time. Contemporary attempts at passing judgment are flawed, inasmuch as they are undertaken in hindsight and based on the body of information that has been amassed retroactively: “Today, what happened at that time is common knowledge. There are numbers and statistics that prove everything” (my translation) (“Heute ist allgemein bekannt, was damals geschehen ist. Es gibt Zahlen und Statistiken, die alles belegen”[p. 6]). The books go out of their way to emphasize that Germans knew nothing and that information was a commodity of the privileged few. Wie war das eigentlich? blames the Germans for their ignorance, claiming they did not want to read what the Nazis wrote. Yet their lack of knowledge remains undisputed and even justified by the Germans’ preoccupation with survival during the economic depression and the subsequent period of Nazi rule. The book further stresses the remote location of concentration camps, allowing the Germans to be aware of the camps’ existence, perhaps, but not of the goings-on within. Unlike the oblivious Germans, the narrator’s uncle is privy to affairs conducted behind closed doors. Thus the book presents a small minority that was aware of the events and exempts the vast majority of Germans from the possession of such knowledge (p. 122 [104]). The severe censorship practices in Nazi Germany, and the regime’s successes suppressing information, are also recurrent themes throughout the texts. In its description of what was supposedly known, Wie war das eigentlich? indirectly highlights the scarcity of what was known by Germans. For example, the narrator describes the announcement in church of pastor Niemöller’s arrest and giving details of his deportation to a concentration camp (pp. 123–124 [105–106]). Only those present in church that Sunday could have known of the incident, as the information was kept from anyone else. The German grandmother in Wir werden uns wiederfinden listens to enemy broadcasts nearly each day (p. 27), but she is still unaware of the proximity of the Eastern front and learns about it from Pavelka, the Czech. Even the testimonies of former concentration camp inmates do not reveal what went on within the camps. The gardener’s son in A Boy in Your Situation is released from Dachau on the condition that he depart Germany within three days. He refuses to speak of his experiences in the camp, claiming he undertook not to do so (p. 131). Thus, Dachau is portrayed as a place from which one may return, but even then it is impossible to know what goes on inside. In Nie wieder ein Wort davon? the narrator has a coincidental encounter with a transport of Jews, among them an older couple with whom she is

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acquainted. She does not know the Jews’ destination. It is suggested, then, that only a small group of people close to the regime knew this, and that most Germans who asked themselves this question believed that the Jews were sent to labor camps. The mother in Er hieß Jan believes that a concentration camp is a place where lazy communists and Jews are sent to be taught how to work (p. 53 [43]). In the story “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” in Klaus Kordon’s collection of the same title, Wolf s Jewish father passionately asserts that concentration camps are a place for criminals (p. 53). The text does not attempt to offer any contradictory information. In Der erste Frühling, even the Gebhardts, a family of dissidents, think that the prisoners were sent to labor camps rather than to extermination camps (pp. 324–325). Only Mieze, the half-Jew, hears of the extermination camps by listening to foreign broadcasts, but ordinary Germans know nothing about them(pp. 281–282). According to Geh heim und vergiß alles, the villagers do not become aware of the existence of a camp holding Jews, located near their homes, until after the war. The camp is not portrayed as a labor camp or as an extermination camp, but merely as a camp of Jews in the midst of the forest, a closed area no one was allowed to enter. Then we had come to know there had been a Jew’s camp, right in the middle of the forest, in the prohibited zone no one was allowed to enter. (my translation) Dann hatten wir erfahren, daß es ein Judenlager gegeben hatte, mitten im Wald, im Sperrgebiet, in das niemand hatte gehen dürfen. (Geh heim und vergiß alles, p. 15) Sonderappell initially creates the impression that everyone knew about Auschwitz. Gradually, however, this impression becomes incorrect. The lack of knowledge is emphasized by its incorporation into the book’s dramatic development. Charlotte, the main protagonist, is the curious type, but nevertheless she knows nothing about Auschwitz. She hears of the murder of Jews at the camp from her friend, a dissident student, and as events unfold the following information comes to light: • Everyone knows that there is a concentration camp (except for Charlotte—the story is told in embedded speech with her. • Not everyone knows what happens within the camp. • Local inhabitants can see people behind barbed-wire fences. Perhaps they are hungry, but this is disputable. • “They” may be executing Jews there, but this is disputable as well. This leads to the conclusion that the protagonist cannot know anything with certainty. She receives contradictory information regarding Auschwitz, and it is not clear which information is correct. This is particularly confusing because there is no reason to believe her student friend, portrayed as being unaware of many things. Throughout the book, the activity taking place in Auschwitz remains ambiguous, despite the proximity to the girls’ camp. An American officer, not a German, raises the topic of extermination towards the end of Sonderappell. The implication is that only non-Germans—that is, Americans, Jews and Czechs—could have known what was happening.

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In Die Webers, Jews are taken from their homes by black-uniformed men. Their destination and eventual fate are uncertain. They simply disappear. Anything further is beyond the knowledge limitations of the book (p. 77). However, when a German, KarlHeinz’s father, is arrested by the men in black uniforms, the mother rushes to find out what has become of him and obtains all the necessary information. In other words, according to the story itself, knowledge limitations do not necessarily end at the point of arrest. Knowledge about the fate of the prisoners can be obtained subsequent to their arrest. Er hieß Jan casually mentions the fate met by the Jews (pp. 111–112 [86–87]), while Regina’s question about their disappearance (pp. 111–112 [86–87]) remains unanswered. As we have seen, Sonderappell relates that Charlotte’s Jewish friend suddenly disappears one day (p. 101)—the same day that Charlotte falls ill and lies unconscious. This condition becomes a metaphor for the state of mind prevalent among Germans, who were helpless and unconscious of the atrocities committed by the Nazi regime. She remembered exactly, how all of a sudden everything flickered in front of her eyes and then she must have fainted. She was lying in bed for a long time, she knew she was ill, but she was surprised that she didn’t hear from Janne. No visit, no card, no greetings. Nothing. (my translation) Sie erinnerte sich genau daran, wie ihr plötzlich alles vor den Augen verflimmerte, und dann mußte sie ohnmächtig geworden sein. Sie lag lange im Bett, sie wußte, daß sie krank war, aber sie wunderte sich, daß sie nichts von Janne hörte. Kein Besuch, keine Karte, kein Gruß. Nichts.” (Sonderappell, p. 102)

Marginalization of Atrocities and Extermination; Suppression of the Fate of the jews The atrocities perpetrated under the Third Reich are further blurred through their marginalization. This is accomplished by allocating minimal space for the description of such atrocities and by the use of euphemistic descriptions thereof. In addition, responsibility for the events is assigned to all of the parties involved, excluding the Germans. Thus, Hitler, the Allies, the Jews, and the prevailing circumstances are either jointly or separately responsible for the events of World War II. Without exception, the books do not attempt to deny any of the atrocities committed by the Nazis; instead, they marginalize them. Concentration camps are presented in various contexts, in which extermination camps appear relatively trivial. Only a small number of texts mention the murder of Jews. As previously shown, in Chapters 4 and 5, even books set in the 1942–1945 period usually refrain from describing extermination camps, and almost none of them refer to the mass genocide. It is unclear what goes on within these camps, whether distant or close by. The books hint that the camps posed a threat to all—Germans and Jews alike—but what transpired inside remains unclear. Heute nacht ist viel passiert describes the reaction of the narrator’s family to Kristallnacht. They are all shaken by the destruction of the shop owned by Lustig, a Jew, and of the synagogue, but when the girl asks who was behind the actions she receives no

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answer (pp. 9–10). In “Die Puppe” (“The Doll”; in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection), the boy recounts having seen his Jewish friend’s family being taken from the city by truck. No one could tell him their destination. He later finds out that the family was murdered in a concentration camp, but the identity of the perpetrators is unclear (p. 50). Krücke describes concentration and extermination camps in the context of the surviving children; it does not provide a description of the extermination itself, which is mentioned only in vague terms. The book tells of children whose parents did not survive—it is not explicitly stated that they were killed—but this revelation says nothing about those responsible. In Das Kind im Koffer, the murder of the hidden child’s parents by Nazis is transformed into mere death in the subsequent passage. His parents were Polish Jews and were killed by the Nazis. The little old man found the Jewish boy in the other camp, in which the parents died. (my translation) Seine Eltern sind polnische Juden gewesen und von den Nazis umgebracht worden. Der kleine, alte Mann hat den judischen Jungen in dem anderen Lager, in dem die Eltern gestorben sind, gefunden. (Das Kind im Koffer [n.p.]) Vier Fragen an meinen Vater employs euphemisms when describing the Jews embarking on a long journey (p. 36). In Das Jahr der Wölfe, extermination of the Jews is depicted by use of a lyrical metaphor of the Gate of Death and the Gate of Life. In Sonderappell, the circumstances of the disappearance of Charlotte’s friend are blurred to such a degree that the story does not even make the feasible connection between the date of her “disappearance,” November 1938, and Kristallnacht. Charlotte’s grandmother explains that the “opinions” held by Charlotte’s friend differed from those of most people, causing her to leave. The text does not develop the issue of the “opinionated” German Jews. “Oh, you know,” said the grandmother, “they had different opinions than most other people here in this country.” (my translation) “Ach weißt du,” sagte die Großmutter, “sie hatten andere Ansichten, als die meisten Leute hier in diesem Lande haben.” (Sonderappell, pp. 102–103) Many texts allow Jews to disappear without telling what happens to them. Other texts prefer to relate stories of survivors. The Jewish father in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit survives, as do his wife and two children. The fate of any other family members remains secret. Bronka, the Jewish character in Krücke, survives, but she does not tell what happened to the rest of her family. The Jewish father in Damals war es Friedrich is taken to the police station, and his subsequent fate is unclear. In the story “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” in Kordon’s anthology of the same title, Wolf himself survives but little is known about the fate met by his parents, who were taken away in a truck. Im roten Hinterhaus says nothing about the fortunes of Stern, the Jew, following April 1,1933. He simply vanishes from the story. All that is said about the Badland family is that they disappeared from the city; the book provides no further explanation (p. 122). Vier Fragen an meinen Vater tells us that the Jews abruptly disappeared and does not explain how this

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transpired (p. 30). Heute nacht ist vielpassiert depicts the Jew at whose shop the aunt is employed. After Kristallnacht he no longer appears in the story, with no hint of what might have happened to him. His disappearance is merely implied, when the children fear that they will no longer receive the candies he used to give them (p. 10). Wie war das eigentlich? features very few Jewish families, specifying that after Kristallnacht one was forced to shut down their business, but says nothing of the family’s fate thereafter (p. 205 [183]). In “Die Nonna” (“Grandma” from Damals war ich vierzehn), the Jew’s fate is obscure. After the war, the narrator meets Rommi, a Jewish boy who survived; he gives an ambiguous answer in response to her question about the fate of his Jewish neighbor (p. 41). Rommi’s survival, however, is taken as self-evident: I had no news at all from him. Then, one morning, he was taken away and never returned. (my translation) Ich hatte nichts mehr von ihm gehört. Er war damals, an einem Vormittag, mit einem Lastwagen weggebracht worden und ist nicht mehr zurückge-kommen (Damals war ich vierzehn, p. 41)

Obscured Accountability Nacht über dem Tal tells of Ukrainians who killed Jews in collaboration with the Nazis. Yet the active participation of German soldiers in battle or in the war is mentioned only rarely. The drafted fathers are usually sent to places where they can cause no damage. Christel’s father in Maikäfer flieg! is stranded by the railroad tracks on his way to the Russian front (p. 10 [19]). Liese’s father in Wir werden uns wiederfinden is “stationed” at an unknown place, but the last location mentioned is Flensburg, on the Danish border, where he most certainly could not have hurt anyone. The story does not go to the trouble of completing the information regarding the father, and even when he is granted a furlough in 1945 only the perils of his journey home are mentioned (p. 24). In Sonderappell, this distinction between Wehrmacht soldiers and Nazis is bolstered and confirmed by Charlotte, by the German soldiers themselves, and even by Allied troops. One of the soldiers stopping at Charlotte’s camp reports that the war has ended in defeat, expressing a sentiment of shared destiny. He recommends that she escape, after ascertaining whether they (i.e., the Nazis) are still holding the girls (p. 159). Charlotte requires a travel pass from the Allies in order to return home, and waits in a line with German soldiers, thereby equating her with the soldiers. The American officer takes no special interest in the German troops but asks whether any of them served in the SS (p. 229). Later, when American soldiers find the uniform of a missing soldier, they ask the aunt whether it is a Nazi uniform and are relieved when she assures them that it is a soldier’s uniform (p. 223). Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten depicts the last three years of the war. This makes it possible to present a relatively weakened military that is losing the war. The story describes what is portrayed as an unwarranted attack by the Allies on the Wehrmacht and its troops, as the German army had done no wrong. The army is shown licking its wounds, preoccupied with defending itself from a superior opponent. German troops, equipped with relatively inferior equipment, are sitting ducks for enemy aircraft and try

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to fight the Allies against all odds. All that the German soldiers can do is “hide our heads under the blankets” (“zogen die Köpfe unter die Decken” p. 97 [109]) and wait for the wrath to subside. As we saw in Chapter 7, Krücke, in Krücke, is immediately able to identify the Nazi officer boarding a train (pp. 88–95 [86–92]). In Nie wieder ein Wort davon? the Gestapo arrests Hanna’s father, a Wehrmacht officer. The family is quick to invite into their home a member of the underground who comes much later to visit the father, because they immediately recognize him as someone who is not in the Gestapo—“Inside the house we could see immediately that the stranger had nothing to do with the Gestapo” (p. 99; “Drinnen im Haus sahen wir sofort, daß der Fremde bestimmt nicht von der Gestapo war,” p. 104 [99]). When the narrator’s mother in Nacht über dem Tal goes to meet the camp commandant, the clear distinction between military men and Gestapo members is stressed. Both the mother and the commandant, a well-mannered man, emphasize that he is only a military officer with limited authority, quite unlike an SS man. …“I really have nothing to do with the camp itself. I’ve merely been assigned to the administration here. The SS is responsible for the prisoners.” (Darkness over the Valley, p. 83) …“Ich habe eigentlich mit dem Lager selbst nichts zu tun. Ich bin nur für die Verwaltung hierher abkommandiert worden. Für die Häftlinge ist die SS verantwortlich.” (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 60) Only one figure is held unequivocally accountable—Adolf Hitler. Some books even suggest that Hitler was not German at all. “Hitler has been a German just for a year. Why should I have to go, and not him?” (my translation;“Hitler ist erst seit einem Jahr Deutscher. Weshalb sollte ich fortgehen und er nicht?” p. 324) says the Jewish aunt in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand. Nevertheless, Hitler is frequently described as being exclusively responsible for the situation. Nothing remains of the street where Susi, protagonist of Freundschaft für immer und ewig? grew up, and children can no longer play there as they did in the past (p. 139). Hitler is responsible for this destruction. In Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld, Hitler is held liable for everything—“Grandfather used to rage about someone named Adolf Hitler. He was responsible for everything, grandfather said” (my translation; “Opa schimpfte viel über einen, der hieß Adolf Hitler. Der war an allem schuld, sagte Opa,” p. 13). Die Webers blames Hitler for all atrocities. It is his fault alone that the war could not have been stopped (p. 118). In Emma as well, Hitler is responsible for everything, large and small; this includes confiscation of the father’s car, his draft by the army (p. 30), and even a scolding endured by Julia about her new red shoes (p. 63). Alongside these trivial matters, in the same breath and in a childish tone, the book cites Hitler’s responsibility for the Jews’ suffering—Hitler simply “cannot stand Jews” (my translation; “Der Hitler kann die Juden nicht leiden,” p. 95). Conversely, certain books absolve even Hitler of responsibility for the atrocities. In Im roten Hinterhaus, Erich, who had left the SA, distinguishes between Hitler and those who carry out his bidding, claiming that Hitler is not responsible for their actions (p. 124). Even Erich’s father, who opposes the regime, fails to contradict this. The same contention is repeated in other books as well, such as Vier Fragen an meinen Vater in which Walter Jendrich’s teacher, Frau Wallner, rules out the possibility that the atrocities are being

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carried out on Hitler’s behalf (p. 60). In his book on growing up in Naxi Germany, Max von der Grün elaborates on this matter—the Germans trusted Hitler and were convinced he knew nothing of the horrors taking place in Germany. The people were so credulous that they actually believed that the Führer knew almost nothing about the acts of injustice taking place in their land. After all, they thought, he’s busy with “high level” politics. (Howl Like the Wolves, p. 109) Das Volk war so gutgläubig, daß es meinte, der Führer wisse das meiste überhaupt nicht, was an Ungerechtigkeiten im Lande vorging. Er mußte sich schließlich um die “hohe” Politik kümmern. (Wie war das eigentlich?, p. 93) This conviction obscures the issue of accountability and leaves the acts bereft of perpetrators. It is but a short leap to assign blame to the general circumstances and difficult times, particularly the unemployment and the prevailing crisis, which ostensibly triggered the Germans’ blind faith in Hitler. Hermann Vinke’s Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl attributes the rise of Nazism to economic factors. This assertion is voiced by the father of Sophie and Hans Scholl, an authoritative dissident (p. 39 [44]). In Rosa Weiss, circumstances outside of the Germans’ control are responsible. “Eines Tages” the army came and disrupted the tranquility of the city. German civilians have nothing at all to do with the events; the demonic power of the circumstances, like the resultant suffering, are unstoppable. Mensch, Karnickel goes as far as putting the blame for the war on the war itself, by personifying it. The war is an independent entity that causes suffering and extinguishes all happiness. “This terrible war brought so much suffering… It took so much, this war…” (my translation) “Dieser Krieg hat so viel Leid gebracht… So viel hat er genommen, dieser Krieg…” (Mensch, Karnickel, p. 54) German atrocities are rarely described, and the harshness of these few acts is blunted by comparing them with acts committed by the Allies. In Der erste Frühling, this phenomenon gains iconic expression when the red Nazi flag is replaced by a Soviet flag at the house at no. 140 (p. 203). The text presents a direct correlation between Nazis and Allies; both are guilty of war crimes and the merciless killing of innocent women and children. Two Silesian refugees tell of atrocities worse than death that are committed by the occupying forces (p. 154). Furthermore, former Nazis such as Sauer easily find their way into the Russians’ good graces and become collaborators—“the real Nazis have long since become the best Russians” (“die echten Nazis sind längst die besten Russen,” p. 376). In Nacht über dem Tal the narrator compares the atrocities carried out by the Red Army against refugees with those carried out by the Nazis (p. 160 [116]). The Russians are dangerous (p. 136 [99]), and Stalin is a cruel man—such is the nature of wars. During his discussion with the narrator in Lena, the minister creates a parallel between the Austrian civilians’ current fear of the Russians and the Russian civilians’ previous fear of the Germans (p. 312). The book’s chapter entitled “Als der Stephansdom brannte”

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(“When St. Stephen’s Cathedral Burned”) supports this symmetry between Russian and German war crimes, as the Russians torch this magnificent symbol of Vienna (p. 314). Mensch, Karnickel (pp. 8–10) and Das Jahr der Wölfe describe the flight before the Red Army and Russian bombing of columns of innocent refugees fleeing for their lives. Der erste Frühling repeatedly depicts the destruction of Berlin, the bombing of civilian populations by the Allies, and the destruction of Dresden (pp. 161–162). According to this description, only the brutality of the Allies prevented the war from ending earlier. In Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld, the death of Susanne’s beloved dog is blamed on British forces, whose tanks crush it (p. 37). Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett states that four of the town’s inhabitants fall in the war (p. 122), but that the Allies are directly accountable for two or three deaths in the village. Because the anger and vengeance of the Allied troops is not explained, they appear brutal and merciless, shooting anyone walking through the fields (p. 159), and even horses (p. 156), with no reason. Maikäfer flieg! describes the terrible fear aroused by the Allies, particularly the fear of rape, and Der erste Frühling is replete with detailed scenes of rape. Rape by German soldiers is rarely mentioned, however. One such account, in Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten, is palliated and does not clarify whether it is an act of rape or attempted rape, for although the Russian cleaning woman tries to resist, she does not cause a commotion. In the end she casually bids farewell to the others in the room, yet she never returns (p. 57 [59]). Some books blame the Jews for their own fate. In Geh heim und vergiß alles, as we have already seen, the Jews are assigned indirect responsibility for their physical condition, because they refuse to cooperate with the physicians and consequentially never recover properly. Direct responsibility for their death is placed with the Jewish-American commander of the camp, who refuses to help them. According to Mit dem Rücken zur Wand, the Jews were at least partially accountable for the rise of Nazism by showing political indifference and creating the impression that Nazis were actually harmless and that Hitler meant well (p. 415). A number of books suggest that the Jews are at least partially responsible for the hatred they attract. Nacht über dem Tal implies that the Jews have a hand in antiSemitism, as they accept being reduced to animals: “it’s you who’ve made us into animals…” (“Ihr habt uns zu Tieren gemacht,” p. 70 [53]). Die Webers holds Jews responsible for the persecution they suffer; there must be some reason for their persecution, as Jewish Frau Heine points out when speaking to young Karin. “I think it is wicked,” she said. “You haven’t done anything to those people!” “I don’t know,” said the woman quietly. “Sometimes I believe we must have done something without knowing it…” (my translation) “So was finde ich gemein,” sagte sie. “Sie haben den Leuten gar nichts getan!” “Ich weiß es nicht,” sagte die Frau leise. “Manchmal glaube ich, wir müssen doch etwas getan haben, ohne es zu wissen…” (Die Webers, p. 70)

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Most of the books hold the Jews responsible for their fate in a different way—on the grounds that they refused assistance offered to them by noble Germans. Instead of heeding the Germans’ advice to depart Germany, they waited until it was too late, when they could no longer be helped.

Description of the Assistance Provided to the Jews Almost invariably, the texts mention the assistance the Germans gave to Jews during the Third Reich. A small number of books negate the very possibility of helping Jews, while some indicate that all Germans aided Jews; still others state that the Germans were merely unable to help. Johannes in Emma wishes to know whether it is possible to hide the grandmother, a half-Jew, and the father categorically rules this out, claiming that “there is no hiding from them!” (“gegen die gibt es kein Versteck!” p. 94). Lena describes a transport of Jews who froze on the train (p. 281) when no assistance could have been provided. As already mentioned, such accounts are rare, and the typical discourse focuses on Jews aided by the Germans, private individuals, the Church, or social institutions. The father in Im roten Hinterhaus demonstrates his solidarity with the Jewish family by entering their home despite the SA members stationed outside the door (p. 109). Nor does the minister hesitate to openly inform SA members that he is a friend of Stern, the Jew (p. 110). The German boy in “Die Puppe” in Damals war ich vierzehn shows his solidarity with his Jewish friend Sara, in front of older children who aggravate her (pp. 49–50). Regina’s Nazi mother in Er hieß Jan is portrayed, without irony, as a kind woman who would have given a Jewish boy something to eat had she encountered one (p. 112 [87]). In Vier Fragen an meinen Vater, Walter Jendrich suffers guilt feelings because he harmed Frau Wandres, a Jewish woman, when he led his friend to her house; this friend broke her windows and evidently turned her in to the authorities. Walter is willing to give her all his savings as compensation (p. 35). Hanna’s father in Nie wieder ein Wort davon?, in the full uniform of a high-ranking Wehrmacht officer, comes to the aid of an old Jewish woman when a young officer take her seat on the streetcar (pp. 45–47 [45– 46)]). As we have seen earlier, Hanna’s mother donates her meat ration to a Jewish family. In Wir waren dabei, uniformed youths beat Friedrich the Jew, and Günther rushes to his aid unhesitatingly and without regard for his own safety. They escape together with the help of a man who suddenly bursts out of the mob (pp. 46–48 [43–45]). The neighbors in Damals war es Friedrich try to take Friedrich, the Jew, into an air-raid shelter as the city is being bombed, but Resch the Nazi prevents them from doing so. Even the Anschluss referendum is presented in The Devil in Vienna as a means of aiding Jews (p. 119), and in Lena as an attempt to save whatever may be saved (p. 76). The girl’s father in “Die Ohrfeigen,” in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, helps her half-Jewish aunt and the family of a former employee. Krücke, in Krücke, risks his life to smuggle Bronka to Vienna. Time and again, the village girls in Geh heim und vergiß alles are ready to sacrifice their time and health to care for the Jewish patients (p. 14). They continue to work diligently and efficiently, even as the task becomes unbearable. The contrast between them and the Jewish-American commander of the camp, who is unwilling to extend any assistance to the sick people in the camp,

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emphasizes their dedication. In Die Webers, the family shows great courage when saving Ernst Heine from the Gestapo and taking him to a safe refuge. Frau Weber asks her husband to help break down the door of the Jewish family’s apartment, and the family members all cooperate in keeping the secret from the Nazi son. Gerd, a friend of Ernst Heine, tells him that he is ready to stay in the apartment of Ernst’s family forever (p. 80). Inge’s family in The Devil in Vienna manages to survive due to aid received directly from Ludwig, the father in the story, and indirectly from his niece Lieselotte. Dr. Lukowski in Das Jahr der Wölfe sacrifices his life for the Jews he saves. With the help of local inhabitants, he hides three Jews in his apartment. They are discovered not because of an informer, but rather because of the stupidity of gossiping women. The doctor is caught and executed at the entrance of his home, but the Jews he hid survive thanks to the locals who refuse to betray them (p. 71 [78–79]). In Nacht über dem Tal, the mother endeavors almost single-handedly to act against the Nazi regime and to save Jews. Kuba [Jakob in the English translation] the Jew, who later becomes the sweetheart of the narrator’s daughter, asks the mother to smuggle him out. The mother weighs his request and is inclined to help. Both decide that such an attempt would be futile, because of the Nazis’ dogs and the Polish informants. Kuba accepts this reasoning. An SS man discovers the mother’s activity; he considers her a traitor and threatens her life toward the end of the book. One of the storm troopers whirled around and came at her threateningly. “We know you ”he roared. “You’re a traitor. I ought to shoot you on the spot.” (Darkness over the Valley, p. 115) Einer der SS-Leute drehte sich um und kam ihr drohend entgegen. “Wir kennen Sie,” brüllte er, “Sie haben Verrat geübt. Ich sollte Sie zusammenschießen!” (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 84) In “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” (in the Hände hoch, Tschibaba! collection), an impressive assortment of Germans come to the aid of Wolf, the Jewish boy. Wolf’s parents are taken from their home and loaded onto a truck. The neighbor, Frau Meier, comes to his rescue and hides him in a park gazebo. Later she sends someone who can escort him over the border to Switzerland. Complete strangers also come to his aid. The owner of the gazebo finds him and, although he is aware that Nazis are everywhere, he decides not to turn him in (p. 61). He returns secretly and provides Wolf with food to last the night, candies, and a coat without a yellow star (p. 66). In fact, all of the characters in the story are willing to risk their lives and help Jews, with the exception of the schoolteacher. This is how the criteria are established for measuring the willingness of Germans to assist Jews—a minority within German society takes part in the persecution, while some are indifferent to their fate, but the majority of Germans are ready to put themselves at risk and aid Jews. In Brüder wie Freunde there is just one Jew, Modersohn. He is saved by his wife during the war (p. 13 [8–9]). Comparison of the 1978 and 1988 editions shows that, in the book’s second edition, Kordon felt it was necessary to develop and glorify the rescue, and the great risk undertaken by the wife is portrayed in more detail (p. 13 [8]). In order to explain her husband’s disappearance, the wife says that they are divorced. In the first edition the neighbors show sympathy for her, while in the second edition they judge her

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behavior unfavorably. This is further accentuated by the addition of a description of the couple’s remarriage after thewar (p. 14 [9]). Even when Jewish characters do not appear in a text, the Germans’ willingness to aid oppressed minorities remains—Jews being replaced by forced laborers. Er hieß Jan depicts a woman who gives up her daily bread and risks herself while trying to help. She runs after a group of laborers and gives them her last bit of bread (p. 120 [93–94]). In Lena, the laborers are surrounded by Germans who come to their aid from all directions. In Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum, Sanne’s mother and neighbor aid a female laborer, the mother of baby Jan. Olga, another forced laborer, also receives empathy and aid, and if matters had been in the hands of the local inhabitants nothing untoward would have befallen her (p. 187). The text emphasizes the considerable sympathy the Germans show her but fails to inform the reader of her fate. What remains in the reader’s memory is the sorrow for Olga’s disappearance, not for her bitter fate (p. 185). Thus, the pattern that characterizes the description of the aid granted to Jews repeats itself in the description of the aid given to the forced laborers. Even when the Germans’ help proves ineffective, it is described at length and in heroic terms. The texts also create the impression that the Catholic Church opposed the regime and mobilized to assist Jews and other oppressed minorities. In Wir waren dabei, Günther joins the group known as “Die Neudeutschen” (New Germans) operating under the auspices of the Catholic Church. Children of Hitler Youth are ordered to persecute them (p. 41 [40]). Im roten Hinterhaus depicts the SA guard posted at the entrance to the church in order to prevent worshipers from entering (p. 111), as well as the minister who does not hide his friendship with the Jew (p. 113). Das Jahr der Wölfe describes a sermon delivered by the minister after the execution of Dr. Lukowski, who hid Jews in his home. The minister earns the appreciation of all the local inhabitants by openly identifying with the doctor and his heroic act (p. 173). The minister in Sonderappell helps find shelter for people pursued by the regime (p. 105). Die Webers offers a detailed account of the organization of an underground network within the church, which helps Jews escape and survive (p. 27). “I spoke to provost Grüber. His office is going to take care of the boy, you can count on that.” “And where will he go?” “It’s better to have only Grüber’s office informed. I don’t know it either.” (my translation) “Ich habe mit Probst Grüber gesprochen. Sein Büro wird sich um den Jungen kümmern, darauf können Sie sich verlassen.” “Und wohin kommt er?” “Es ist besser, wenn darüber nur das Büro Grüber unterrichtet ist. Ich weiß es auch nicht.” (Die Webers, p. 80) In their struggle against the Nazis, Jews are assisted by several institutions. As we have seen, the schoolteacher in Damals war es Friedrich asks the children to remain friends with Friedrich after he is forced to leave the school. The judge stands by the Jewish family against the Nazi landlord who wishes to evict them from their apartment. Attempting to console the weeping Friedrich, the judge reassures him that the institutions of justice are on his side.

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“Why are you crying, eh?” the judge asked warmly. “You don’t have to worry. Nothing will happen to you. That’s why I am here, to see that justice is done.” (Friedrich, p. 54) “Warum weinst du denn so?” fragte der Richter mit warmer Stimme. “Du brauchst dir keine Sorgen zu machen. Euch geschieht nichts. Dafür sitze ich doch hier, daß es gerechtzugeht.” (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 50) Regrettably, the Jews do not appreciate the help offered by the Germans. In the Dutch book Wer nicht weg ist, wird gesehn, the mother is convinced that the Nazis will kill all the Jews (p. 8 in the English translation; p. 17 in the German translation). The father belittles her foreboding prophecy and decides that what happened in Germany cannot happen in Holland (p. 9 in the English translation; p. 17 in the German translation). The Jewish aunt in Mit dem Rücken zur Wand refuses to leave Germany, claiming that her family has lived in Berlin for more than two hundred years (p. 324). Mirjam’s Jewish grandmother in Zeit für die Hora also refuses to leave the country. She will not move to the ghetto, even though this may save her life, according to the book (p. 104). She even refuses to go into hiding and will not listen to the advice of her German friend, Uncle Burre, who risks his life for her and is ready to obtain a passport that will enable her to depart (p. 91). Sophie, the sick mother in The Upstairs Room, insists on remaining in Holland. Ilse’s father in Mischling Second Degree is in mortal danger after failing to leave Germany. Herr Schneider in Damals war es Friedrich finds his life similarly threatened, because he does not depart on the advice of his German neighbor, who discloses secrets from Nazi meetings. “I went to a Party meeting this afternoon. At such meetings one gets to hear a lot about the plans and aims of the leadership,…Many of those who share your faith have already left Germany because life was made too hard for them here. And it will only get worse! Think of your family, Herr Schneider, and go away!” (Friedrich, p. 71) …“Ich habe heute nachmittag eine Parteiversammlung besucht. In einer solchen Versammlung erfährt man allerhand,…Viele Ihrer Glaubensbrüder haben Deutschland bereits verlassen, weil man ihnen das Leben zu schwer gemacht hat. Und das wird noch nicht aufhören, das wird sich noch steigern. Denken Sie an Ihre Familie, Herr Schneider, gehen Sie fort!” (Damals war es Friedrich, p. 64) The Jews foolishly ignore astute counsel, provided at great risk, and thus cannot blame anyone but themselves. Later, Friedrich’s father admits that he should have accepted the German’s advice to leave Germany and tells his neighbor “you were right” (“Sie haben recht gehabt,” p. 125 [105]). And indeed, Jews who heed the Germans’ good counsel survive. In Zeit für die Hora, Julia repeats to her classmate Mirjam what her father says—that one must leave now while it is still possible (p. 89). In The Devil in Vienna, Jews are saved at the last minute and depart Austria, thanks to aid offered by Austrians (pp. 129–133; pp. 117–122 in the German translation). In Lena, the Jewish count and countess manage to escape to Poland

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prior to the German takeover of Austria, owing to a warning passed to them by a police officer. The Jewish friends of Wolfs parents in “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” (in the Hände hoch, Tschibabal collection) leave before it is too late, unlike Wolfs parents who are unwilling to comprehend the events taking place before their very eyes (pp. 52–53). Esther’s family in Freundschaft für immer und ewig? leaves Germany in time (p. 136). Anna’s family in When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit is an excellent example of Jews who wisely left before it was too late. Those who fail to do so, such as Uncle Julius, pay the price. This is pointedly illustrated in “Die Nonna” (in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection)—the Bauer family emigrates, and those who stay behind are loaded onto a truck, never to be seen again. The latent message is that those who listened to the sound advice offered by the Germans (or Austrians) survived.

Summary The issue of German accountability for the crimes of the Third Reich and the Holocaust is not neglected in the texts, nor is the question of guilt. However, the books hardly depict the Germans as directly responsible for the wartime atrocities. Accountability is either forsaken entirely, assigned to a small group of Nazis, or reduced to the question of tacit consent, for which the suitable emotions are sorrow and shame. During the terrible flight before the advancing Red Army in Das Jahr der Wölfe, the father of the Bienmann family tells his eldest son, Konrad, how the urban Jews were taken from the cities in trucks, like cattle (p. 70 [77]). This is the only place in which the text refers to the fate of Jews under the Third Reich, and the reference appears out of context, political or otherwise. There is no account of the previous oppression, nor of the political system. This suggests that the events took place without any guiding hand. On the contrary, the choice of the victim seems almost random, and according to the father the Germans themselves might also have been sent to camps. Father and son are glad that “we’re not going there” (“daß es uns nicht getroffen hätte,” p. 70 [77]). Although the description is harsh and poignant, its intensity is diminished by the reduction of German guilt merely to silent approval. During the rail car conversation towards the end of Das Jahr der Wölfe, one passenger hurls accusations at the others, to the effect that they all remained silent in the face of the atrocities (p. 191 [211]). Silence and obliviousness are the most severe accusations against Germans and appear in only a few of the books, such as Vier Fragen an meinen Vater, Sonderappell, Wie war das eigentlich?, and Er hieß Jan. The unwillingness to know of the Jews’ fate is dramatically represented in Er hieß Jan—Regina’s mother blocks her ears and forcefully resists her daughter who is trying to tell her what she heard on the British radio. She put her hands to her ears. “It’s not true!” “Yes, it is!” I screamed. “The whole world knows it. And you cover your ears!” (A Night in Distant Motion, p. 112) Sie drückte die Hände an die Ohren. “Das stimmt nicht!” “Doch!” schrie ich. “Die ganze Welt weiß es. Und du hältst die Ohren zu!” (Er hieß Jan, p. 87)

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What exactly did the Germans prefer not to see or hear? This remains vague, as the texts never tell the reader of the atrocities in which the Germans participated. Guilt becomes abstract, and no one assumes responsibility—primarily because there is nothing for which responsibility may be assumed. It is “strangers” who try to implicate the Germans as having committed war crimes. In Sonderappell, the Jewish-American officer confronts Charlotte with the bitter truth and tells her of the atrocities. The Germans are made aware of their actions through double mediation—that of the “strangers” and that of testimonies regarding war crimes. In such manner, the text substantiates the lack of knowledge and consequently the absence of personal responsibility (pp. 229–231). The presentation of Others is central to Nacht über dem Tal; this book can be seen as somewhat representational of the other books. The book is constructed as a statement of defense and is wholly committed to describing the mother’s postwar imprisonment on charges that she ran a slave enterprise. This “defense” features the two points of view regarding accountability and guilt—that of family and that of the “strangers.” The family members consider themselves courageous dissidents, a veritable island of goodness and generosity within the maelstrom of the Third Reich: after the war, the family must cope with the point of view of the “strangers ”who incriminate them as war criminals. Beyond the von Staden case, this line of reasoning can serve as an example of the anatomy of German guilt and accountability. First, the narrator creates an alibi of ignorance—although the camp was situated adjacent to the estate, in which prisoners worked, the narrator claims to have known nothing of the atrocities perpetrated in the camp. We had known a lot about the camp, but what it was really like even we could not have imagined. (Darkness over the Valley, p. 127) Wir hatten viel vom Lager gewußt. Aber wie es in seiner ganzen Wirklichkeit war, das hatten wir nicht einmal geahnt. (Nacht über dem Tal, p. 93) In addition, various pieces of evidence are interwoven throughout each of the chapters, attesting to the integrity of the mother and the family as a whole. Such evidence includes the family’s history, legally valid “objective evidence,” news clippings, letters, and even the testimonies of the victims themselves. The profusion of information speaks for itself—in writing the book, von Staden spares no effort and uses every possible type of justification and reasoning in order to clear the mother’s name. The book presents the family’s relationships with dissidents who “mysteriously vanished” (“waren verschwunden”) (p. 33 [26–27]), suggesting that the family belongs to the circle of dissidents. In order to rule out any ties with Nazism, the book emphasizes the estrangement between the father and his Nazi brother, von Neurath (pp. 23,24 [20]). The attempt to renew their relationship is depicted as an attempt to exploit the uncle’s connections in order to aid the Jews (p. 72 [55]). The mother’s involvement with the Nazi party does not derive from identification with its racial ideology, but rather from a socialist-Marxist consciousness as well as her desire to help the disadvantaged (pp. 33–34 [27–28]). The younger brother who volunteers for service with the SS is a depressed, sickly boy who never bloodies his hands. His voluntary enlistment is depicted as an

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innocent, harmless act (p. 151 [111]). The mother’s attitude toward camp inmates is commended; the employment of laborers under favorable conditions is depicted in terms of a philanthropic effort to aid citizens of the Third World (pp. 39–40, 42–43 [30, 33]). The mother’s noble conduct is evidenced by her critical attitude toward the local inhabitants who employ laborers. It is thus implied that it would be quite impossible for the mother, who accused others of managing a “slave market,” to do so herself (p. 42 [32]). The mother is shown helping the prisoners prepare a notice that lets the Allied forces know of the concentration camp hidden in the valley (p. 113 [83]). The book even specifies the name and date of the newspaper that documents this event (pp. 125–126 [91–92]). Inclusion of individual testimonies by foreign institutions provides additional reinforcement for the defense. Von Staden does not overlook even a single person who is related to the affair, and each one verifies the mother’s good standing: the prisoners, the French priest, and the court itself. Upon their release, the prisoners begin to pillage the homes in the village. They are ordered by Kuba, the liberated Jewish prisoner, not to touch the family home (p. 129 [95]); Kuba also testifies on the mother’s behalf following her incarceration (p. 153, 156 [112,115]). The French priest and the prisoners visit the beloved family when they are released (pp. 129, 141, 144 [95, 103, 105]). Before returning to his own country, the priest writes the family a letter brimming with praise (p. 144 [105]). The text cites the courtroom transcript, which lauds the mother’s activities (p. 161 [118]). All of this is intended to explain the terrible mistake leading to the mother’s arrest—“We thought some who were picked up deserved to be, but we couldn’t figure out why others had been arrested” (“Es wurden Menschen abgeholt, von denen man fand, daß sie es verdient hätten, aber auch solche, wo man es nicht verstand” p. 147 [108]). The reader is presented with a statement of defense on the mother’s behalf, which effectively reiterates the facts offered throughout the entire story—the mother was brave and willing to help, but was not always able to do as she wished. Alongside the writ of defense, von Staden also directs accusations at the parents’ generation. This guilt is collective and abstract, alluding to the issue of Germany’s collective trauma. Von Staden protests the unbearable price that must be paid by the younger generation, herself included, for crimes committed by the parents’ generation. She is particularly eager to enlighten the “foreign” reader in regard to the younger generation’s innocence; her introduction to the Hebrew edition of the book is quite unlike that prefacing the German original. The Hebrew introduction (as well as the introduction to the English translation) addresses issues such as German guilt and places blame for Nazi crimes on the author’s generation. We had worked to repair some of the damage done by the generation of our parents…When we reached adulthood we were left with little to believe in, least of all the greatness of our country. Rather, we were confronted with a sea of destruction, of terror, of millions of people murdered in our name. (Darkness over the Valley, Preface to the English [p. ix] and Hebrew translations [p. 6]) Beyond the willingness to admit the collective guilt of the parents’ generation, the general guilt of Germans remains vague. This is no more than an emotional state, which

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some texts transform into a feeling of sorrow, without concrete reference to time and place. A typical example of this sentiment may be found in Judith und Lisa, in both text and illustration. This book tells the story of two friends, one Jewish and the other German, who are separated as a result of Nazism. The illustration appearing on the book’s cover gives expression to German sorrow in the following manner: two hands grip a monochrome photograph showing two girls wearing identical outfits. Both are smiling. One is blond, with a pug nose; the other dark, with long braids and a nose exhibiting a somewhat downward slant. Behind the girls, still within the photograph, hangs a Nazi flag. The grinning girls are as yet unaware of what the flag foreshadows. The face of the adult woman who holds the photograph is not visible in the illustration. The hands and the room are drawn in blue and yellow colors. The black-andwhite photograph seems old contrasted with the other colors, as if it has been summoned from the past in order to lend a sense of authenticity to the scene. The text, and the afterword in particular, indicate that the hands holding the photograph belong to Lisa, the German girl who has since grown up to become the author narrating the painful story of her childhood. Lisa’s window and yellow curtain are also pictured on the book’s cover, indicating that the hands featured in that illustration are hers as well. The cover illustration is drawn so that the reader views the photograph from the point of view of the woman holding it. This effectively creates an affinity between the reader and the woman peering at her past. Like the reader, Lisa laments the disappearance of her friend Judith. The reader’s inability to reverse what has already been done mirrors Lisa’s own helplessness as a child. In this manner, the adult narrator succeeds in uniting young Lisa’s innocent perspective with her own adult one. The cover illustration does not evoke a feeling of guilt but rather great sorrow over the powerlessness to enforce change. These sorrowful feelings are highlighted throughout the entire story. The circle closes—we were powerless but blameless as well. Due precisely to its frankness and simplicity, this book offers a concise rendering of the German sentiment of guilt. Like other texts, the book points an accusing finger at the parents’ generation, against which it juxtaposes the younger generation that has since reached maturity and agonizes over the tragedy brought on during those dark times. Like other texts, the book also embodies the attempt by the public historical discourse in Germany to cope with the guilt by transforming it into a feeling of sorrow, which does not entail any recognition of accountability or guilt.

Part IV The Construction of an Alternative Discourse

Chapter Twelve “Seeing It Differently”—The Alternative Narrative The image of the past created in the plethora of children’s books published in Germany over the past several decades makes the following question unavoidable: if such a consistent image of the past is repeated in so many books, by so many different authors writing in various periods, is it possible that there is no other way to describe the German past? The answer is twofold. The overwhelming majority of the texts do create the impression that such a past image is deeply ingrained within the public historical discourse in Germany. Nevertheless, analysis of the entire body of children’s literature indicates a number of attempts to present a different “story.” Of the several dozen prizewinning children’s books, only three or four contain such attempts to present alternative narratives. Needless to say, the relative incidence among the hundreds of books published in the former West Germany is smaller still. One such book, Sternkinder by Clara Asscher-Pinkhof, was translated into German at a very early stage, and another, Gudrun Pausewang’s Reise im August, was published just after reunification. Winfried Bruckner’s Die toten Engel, as well as two stories in Damals war ich vierzehn, also offer a different “story.” The prizes awarded to these books signify the status and prestige they commanded among the cultural elite. Pausewang’s book indeed won the Swiss “La vache qui lit” (The Cow Who Reads) prize, but that is an accolade of relatively minor importance; in terms of sales, it also did not enjoy commercial success. According to data on the book’s back cover, sales have been unimpressive. Sternkinder, which was translated from Dutch into German in the early 1960s with a preface by Erich Kästner, enjoyed favorable reviews (see Chapter 2). In 1962, the book received the prestigious “Der Deutsche Jugendliteraturpreis (German Award for Youth Literature), and it has sold well throughout the years (see Chapter 1). Even if its high rate of distribution is a result of inclusion in school curricula, it is clear that efforts were made in Germany to promote the exposure of the book. It is interesting to note, however, that the Hebrew and German translations differ significantly from the Dutch original,1 differences that merit a separate discussion. In this chapter, we will discuss only those discrepancies in the German translation that are most relevant to the issue at hand—without indulging in an exhaustive analysis. Sternkinder is an “alternative” book not only because it tells the story of Jewish victims but also because it inversely reflects the prominent West German discourse with respect to temporal and geographical boundaries of the events; the perspective from which the story is told; the stereotypical presentation of Jews, Germans, and Nazis; the

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depiction of Jews as victims; and the designa- tion of Germans as the responsible party for the victimization of the Jews.

Comparison: The Alternative Discourse in Sternkinder and the Prevalent Discourse Abstract Knowledge Sternkinder was first published in 1946 in Holland. The first and second parts of the book were written in wartime, during the years 1941–1943, and left with the publisher. The three subsequent sections were written immediately after Asscher-Pinkhof’s arrival in Palestine in 1944 with a group of Bergen-Belsen prisoners who were released as part of an exchange between the British government and Nazi Germany. Evidently the book was written for Jewish survivors and the Dutch reading public. Thus, the author was able to assume that the historical background of the Third Reich, the Holocaust, and the genocide would be well known to and undisputed by the book’s readers. This may explain the book’s ambiguity with respect to the venue of the events—it does not even name the camps to which Amsterdam’s Jews are deported. In fact, no information at all is offered about names, locations, and dates. Given the dearth of solid details, the Yad Vashem publishing house in Jerusalem decided that the 1991 translation from the Dutch would include short introductions to each of the book’s five chapters; the Dutch publisher followed suit (see Chapter 2). Nevertheless, no introduction providing any historical background was added to the subsequent 1995 German edition published by Oetinger, nor were any other changes made, despite the thirty years that had passed since the book’s first German translation in 1961. As a result, the hellish, evil reality in the Oetinger edition remains general and abstract, particularly for the younger generation of readers. No supplemental information is offered with regard to the Bergen-Belsen camp, placed within the borders of Germany, except for a hint that this is a camp to which Jews were sent. The German translation favors a general description of the misery, without pausing to consider details such as the cause of the horrible reality and who was responsible for its creation. Helpless heroes, nameless villains, and “star children” (“Sternkinder”) are featured in this translation. The backdrop is a generally depicted man-made hell into which others are cast. Prospection and Introspection The prevalent German discourse directs the outlook toward the future, while Sternkinder fixes it squarely on the wretched present. In the German discourse, the protagonist is often presented as a child who became a writer and documents his or her difficult wartime experiences. The texts of the prevalent German discourse are based on a plot that concurrently employs suspense, fear, and hope, and leads the way to a better future. This plot asks what the end will bring. Sternkinders heroes have no future, and most do not survive the Holocaust. The book is replete with brief pictures of a bitter and unbearable reality, while its conclusion is a fait accompli.

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The prevalent German discourse is directed outwardly, while Sternkinder directs attention into the ghetto, into the concentration camp. The events of the camp are described from within. Interest is not diverted outside the camp, and no information is given about events occurring elsewhere. The introspective orientation is stressed toward the end of the book, when the world is revealed anew to a group of Jews taken out of the camp: Nothing else has existed to them except star men and star women and star children and uniforms, uniforms with death’s heads. And here is a woman under a tree by a house, rinsing out her laundry in a washtub.... Has this existed all that time without their knowing it? (“Flap of Wings” Star Children, p. 246) Sie kannten nichts mehr als Sternmänner und Sternfrauen und Sternkinder. Außerdem Uniformen, Totenkopf-Uniformen. Und hier ist eine Frau in einer bunten Schürze, die mit nassen Armen in einer großen Wanne Wäsche sptilt…Hat es das die ganze Zeit hindurch gegeben, ohne daß sie davon wußten? (“Flügelschlag,” Sternkinder, p. 209) The protagonist in the prevalent German discourse is most often a boy or youth, a good German caught up in troubling circumstances. Sternkinder, on the other hand, lacks a main character and is written in the embedded speech of the narrator together with another, usually youthful, individual, identified only by age and gender—seven, three, or fourteen years old; a young girl; a grandfather. Whereas the prevalent German discourse exhibits a tendency to highlight the story’s autobiographical background, in Sternkinder the effect is reversed—the author may be perceived as “every Jew,” and her feelings are intermingled with those of the other characters. The information provided in the introduction indicates that the author was one of the “star people” whose story is related in the book, but it does not refer to a concrete person. Temporal and Geographical Boundaries Geographical and temporal regions that are almost entirely absent from the prevalent German discourse lie at the heart of Sternkinder—the ghetto, the transit camp, and the concentration camps during the 1941–1944 period. As mentioned previously, not only did the prevalent German discourse confine itself within the prewar borders of Germany, but it also refrained from depicting the concentration camps located in Germany, as well as those in other countries, and it ignored almost totally the war years. Sternkinder is set in a concentration camp within Germany. Although the story begins with the Amsterdam ghetto and the deportations therefrom, the book soon turns to the events taking place in Germany itself. Most of the brief episodes take place there and portray a local concentration camp—Bergen-Belsen—although the camp’s name is not explicitly mentioned. The descriptions also refer to a concentration camp in Poland, to which transports are sent. Extermination camps are not shown, but it is clear that they are the destinations of the transports. It is likewise evident that at least some of the Jews are aware of the death that awaits them in these camps. Toward the end of the book, the systematic gassing of Jews is alluded to by means of a French inscription found by the

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narrator on the wall of the lavatory block, which reads: Nous sommes des juifs de Warschawa. Tout le ghetto de Warschawa a été brûle. Tous les juifs du ghetto ont été tués par le gaz ou le…ils se sont defendus Comme des héros. Hommage a eux, qui sont nos freres, nos héros. Nous espérons partir pour l’exchange, pour Palestine. (p. 234 in the English translation; p. 197 in the German translation). Death is described at arm’s length, in an attempt to obscure the horrors. The descriptions include neither mounds of corpses nor the circumstances of people’s deaths. All that is revealed is that someone dies and the coffin is removed to a burial ground. The sense of horror remains, nonetheless, because the texts convey a reality ruled by death, in which death is part and parcel of the daily routine. Descriptions of death transports are also characterized by detachment. Tuesday is transport day, and all inmates in the camp, children included, comprehend that anyone sent away on that day is being sent to a destination of death. The overwhelming presence of death is expressed through the almost macabre attempt to take full advantage of whatever is left. In “Hora” (“Horra”), the children perform a dance in honor of the present, in order to suppress any thought of Tuesday—transport day—which is only two days away (pp. 167–168 in the English translation; p. 135 in the German translation). “Good Luck Song” employs the children’s perspective when describing the happiness of those briefly saved from death and the grim fate awaiting those led to it. This story depicts severely ill children who are sent to a hospital. The children are quarantined, and from a distance they observe the arrival of the death train at the camp (p. 182 in the English translation; p. 149 in the German translation). Yet the children are endowed with life for a short time only, and several weeks later they too are sent to the death transports. The terror of death is emphasized by the scene of unlucky transport passengers grasping at glimmers of hope. In “Good Night—Good Morning,” (“Gute Nacht! Guten Morgen!”) which precedes “Good Luck Song ” (“Viel Glück!”) two girls who have lost their families discuss what may await them on the rail transport. One expresses her wish to be reunited with her family in the camp (p. 180 in the English translation; p. 147 in the German translation). Although the books conclude just short of describing the extermination, they do not conceal the fact that it transpired. The fate of the deportees is disclosed and is mentioned again later in the book, in “Passage to Heaven” (“Himmelfahrt”). The narrator describes what was in store for the passengers on the death train, in a story about a fortunate few who are traveling by rail to Vienna en route to Palestine (p. 248 in the English translation; p. 158 in the German translation). Nor do the stories dispense with depictions of deportation, suffering, and humiliation, as well as death resulting from starvation, disease, grief, and suicide. Perspective The German discourse uses the child’s perspective and limited capacity as a narrator to minimize the amount of information conveyed to the reader. Although most of the characters in Sternkinder are children or youths as well, the restricted viewpoint is not used for concealing the events. Quite the opposite—the reader is mercilessly overwhelmed by dreadful scenes. Asscher-Pinkhof employs embedded speech in order to introduce information between the lines, to which the children are uncomprehendingly exposed. In “Return” (“Riickkehr”), for example, a girl and her parents are put into a car

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that takes them from their home in the ghetto. During the drive, it is evident that an innocent question asked by the girl would jeopardize the life of a woman living with the girl’s family, who had not been arrested. The naïvete of the girl’s question is meant to underscore the sense of danger and horror in the text. Her perspective is used to augment the feelings of fear and dread, not to mitigate them (p. 35 in the English translation; p. 21 in the German translation). In this story, the girl who has fallen mortally ill is unhappy about being alone in the transit camp infirmary, so she wishes her mother would be similarly stricken. The irony of seeing a chance for familial reunification by virtue of lifethreatening disease is a product of the girl’s desire to be with her mother at any cost (pp. 35–36 in the English translation; p. 22 in the German translation). Another story conveys the horror of waiting in the dark for a transport to haul people to their deaths. The emphasis is placed not on the horror of the death transport, which needs no elucidation, but rather on the minor stories simultaneously taking place. The story describes the terrible darkness in the truck and the distress of mothers unable to hold their babies and children to soothe them in the utter blackness (p. 197 in the English translation; pp. 162–163 in the German translation). The book’s title, Sternkinder, expresses the tragic tension between the childish and adult conceptions of the yellow star. “Merry Child” (“Herrliches Leben”) is the story of a little girl pleased at the innovation—she earns a beautiful yellow decoration that attests to her mature age, unlike her sister who is too young to wear one (p. 28 in the English translation; p. 14 in the German translation). This is the book’s second story, featured before the readers have been gradually introduced to the dreadful meaning of the star. In this manner, Asscher-Pinkhof uses the immature perspective to present not only the horrors of the time, but also the shocking capacity to see a bright side in any situation. Unlike the prevalent German discourse, the children’s perspective aims not at moderating the information but at accentuating the tragic irony, an irony that never characterizes other German texts. In a later story entitled “Free Afternoon” (“Freier Nachmittag”), which appears among the book’s last stories, everyone including the children understand the meaning of the star. Here as well, the star is described as it is comprehended by a child, but by this time the children know that the star is no cause for joy, as it brings only trouble and suffering (p. 219 in the English translation; p. 183 in the German translation). Jews Unlike the prevalent German discourse, which pays scant attention to Jews and subjects them to stereotypical and placatory descriptions, Sternkinder presents a broad panorama of its protagonists. They may be good or bad, ugly or attractive, old or young; some seek to help their suffering brethren, while others care for no one but themselves and even try to exploit the adverse circumstances. “Passage to Heaven” portrays the solidarity shown by the 250 fortunate people on their way to freedom. They do their best to help an ill-fated group of Hungarian Jews being transported to an extermination camp. Although the fortunes of the luckier people have improved, they have not forgotten the horrific reality of being on the wrong side of the proverbial fence (pp. 253–254 in the English translation; pp. 215–216 in the German translation). In contrast to these images of solidarity and fraternity, “Nights” (“Nächte”) depicts the opposite—a mother losing her sanity and resolving to ruin the night for all the

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prisoners (pp. 199–200 in the English translation; p. 165 in the German translation). In “The Curtain Falls” (“Der Vorhang fällt”) we find Jews working against one another, collaborating with the Germans and assisting them during “actions” (p. 120 in the English translation; p. 95 in the German translation). “Shopping” (“Besorgungen”) depicts Jewish porters assisting with the removal of property from the homes of deported Jews. “Caravan” (“Aufbruch”) describes Jews helping to separate concentration camp deportees into groups (p. 130 in the English translation; p. 103 in the German translation). The stories do not stifle ugly scenes in which parents lose their patience, engage in vulgar behavior, and are unable to look after their children’s well-being. “Breakdown” (“Panne”) shows the mistreatment of children at the hands of adults. After their father’s arrest, the children in the story are forced by their mother to drag themselves across town, all the while pushing their younger sister in a carriage. The misery they experience, forbidden from taking the tram and unable to repair the broken carriage, indicates the adults’ renunciation of their parental capacity as guardians (pp. 30–31 in the English translation; pp. 16–18 in the German translation). Children are neither depicted as angels nor idealized. “Neighbor Below” (“Im unteren Bett”) depicts the boy’s disgust at the old woman who occupies the bunk below his in the camp. After she dies one night, he is overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and fear. Now that she is dead, perhaps she knows everything—even all his ugly thoughts about her and how furious he was with her tonight. (Star Children, p. 221) Da sie nun gestorben ist, weiß sie wahrscheinlich alles. Auch, wie häßlich er über sie gedacht hat und wie wütend er noch heute nacht gewesen ist. (Sternkinder, p. 185) Anti-Semitism The official German discourse negatively regards any reference to anti-Semitism and does not allow it to be treated with any irony or cynicism, and yet—as we have seen earlier—the discourse is saturated with latent anti-Semitic sentiments. Sternkinder presents anti-Semitism in a complex manner and from several points of reference. “First Worry” (“Die erste Sorge”) describes Jewish and gentile children playing together while the city is under bombardment. The Jewish children fear that they will be blamed if anything happens to their non-Jewish playmates. Despite the ironic slant, the danger is real. The story does not ignore the hazards of anti-Semitism and presents its consequences with some irony (pp. 33–34 in the English translation; pp. 19–20 in the German translation). This irony is a result of the children’s understanding that there is nothing they can do against the ubiquitous anti-Semitism, not even in street games. AntiSemitism plays a significant role in the stories, figuring prominently in “Shopping “which describes how a short moment of happiness is abruptly cut short. A mother and daughter browse contentedly through a music store when a saleswoman notices the yellow stars on their clothing and drives them out (pp. 60–61 in the English translation; p. 44 in the the German translation).

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Acquiescence Sternkinder adopts a diverse approach to the Jews’ reactions during the Holocaust. Attempts at resistance are described along with the powerless acquiescence of the victims. In “How Can Herod Bear the Light?” (“Bleibt keiner mehr übrig?”) the adults are compelled to wake their children, who are being sent to their deaths by train. The parents act out of submission and compliance. Before the bigger children are awakened, that sobbing must stop. It must. It must. You are allowed to be torn apart from inside, as long as it remains invisible. You must have the strength and the composure to awaken them when it is morning and time to get up. You must compose yourself. You must. Oh, there is no getting away from it. (Star Children, p. 184–185 [the boldface passages were omitted from the German translation]) Das Schluchzen muß aufhören. Es muß aufhören. Muß. Muß. Es kann einer innen von Schmerzen wund und zerrissen sein, aber er darf es nicht zeigen. Er muß die Kraft und die Ruhe haben, die Kinder zu wecken, als sei es Morgen und Zeit zum Aufstehen. Es muß sein. Es gibt keinen anderen Ausweg. (Sternkinder, p. 151) Suicidal acts committed by Jews receive relatively extensive attention and occasional detailed descriptions. “Dawn” (“Sterben ist nicht schlimm”) depicts the suicide of the father’s Jewish friend (pp. 65–66 in the English translation; pp. 48–49 in the German translation). “Secret” (“Bedrtickendes Geheimnis”) tells of the suicide of a despairing old man who jumps out of the window of the theater building, in which Jews were held before being sent to concentration and extermination camps. The girl who watches this blames herself, but the story leaves no doubt as to what was behind the old man’s desperate act (pp. 103–105 in the English translation; pp. 79–80 in the German translation). “Transport Night” (“Zwei melden sich nicht”) illustrates the suicide of two old women who lost all hope at a transit camp (p. 150 in the English translation; p. 120 in the German translation). In other cases, adults and children tire of their wretched lives and welcome death even as some hope remains (pp. 99, 115, 134 in the English translation; pp. 75, 91, 106 in the German translation). The Jews’ suicides are attributed to their misery and vulnerability. Responsibility is placed squarely on the Germans. The suicides are set against a backdrop of Germans tormenting and killing Jews—in contrast to the prevalent German discourse, which exclusively faults Jews for their own suicides. “Roll Call” (“Appell”) depicts the Jews’ blind obedience to an arbitrary and utterly senseless inspection (pp. 206–207 in the English translation; p. 171 in the German translation). One of the last stories in the book portrays the Warsaw Ghetto uprising; one girl is at a transit camp en route to Vienna and freedom when she notices a French inscription on a restroom wall, telling of the uprising (p. 234 in the English translation; p. 197 in the German translation). In the discourse dominating German children’s literature, barely a mention has been made of the events that took place in the ghettos, specifically the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. Only Winfried Bruckner’s Die toten Engel describes the Jews arming themselves and alludes to the revolt. As we have seen, in Innocenti’s Rosa Weiss, the picture of the boy raising his hands in the Warsaw Ghetto is removed, taken

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out of its original context, and transplanted into a different context—thus assigning it a different meaning (for details, see Chapter 4). Assistance Offered to Jews Unlike the prevalent German discourse, which views passive resistance in virtually heroic terms, Sternkinder deems it a kind of collaboration. The text charges the Dutch with the sin of silence and does not relieve them of responsibility for the past or absolve them of their passive cooperation. The text describes several Dutch citizens assisting the Germans, while other residents become accustomed to the persecution of the Jews, as in the story “A Laundry Basket Full” (“Ein Waschkorb voll”). Later, months later, when the city has gradually become used to everything, a summons and the darkness of night will no longer be necessary; then Jews will be taken out of their homes without preparation, at any hour of the night or day. Then the old and the sick, the crippled and the dying will go as well, those who were lulled by safety. Then it will no longer be called “employment of lews in Germany” because the dying cannot be put to work. Then it will no longer need a name that appears just, for by then the city will be used to it all. (pp. 77–78 in the English translation; p. 58 in the German translation [the passages marked in boldface were omitted from the German translation]) Später, Monate später, werden die Juden dann ohne Vorbereitung zu jeder Tages- und Nachzeit aus ihren Häusern geholt. Dann müssen auch die Kranken und Alten, die Gebrechlichen und Sterbenden fortgehen, die jetzt noch in Sicherheit gewiegt werden. Dann wird es nicht mehr “Arbeitseinsatz von Juden in Deutschland” heißen, dann ist die Stadt an alles gewöhnt. (Sternkinder, p. 58) In addition to descriptions of the widespread sympathy for Jews and the sorrow upon witnessing their bitter fate, as is the case in “Aufbruch” (p. 128 in the English translation; p. 101 in the German translation), several stories offer accounts of the aid provided to Jews by their Dutch neighbors. Some are willing to adopt family pets, while others take the risk of making the Jews’ lives a bit easier by clandestinely entering their apartments, collecting certain objects, and sending them to the concentration camp (pp. 98–99 in the English translation; pp. 74–75 in the German translation). “See Again” (“Wunderbares Wiedersehen”) mentions the fate of the Dutch nuns who were arrested on the charge of hiding Jews (p. 168 in the English translation; p. 136 in the German translation). “Transfer” (“Schwerer Gang”) features a girl entrusted to a young woman who helps conceal Jewish children in Christian homes. The Dutch civilians’ dedication and selflessness are intertwined with the mother’s anguish at parting from her daughter, perhaps forever (pp. 69–70 in the English translation; p. 52 in the German translation). In contrast to the prevalent German discourse, which invariably attributes the actions of those who assisted Jews to altruistic, rather than utilitarian, motives, Sternkinder’s rescuers are not idealized. In addition to benevolent Dutch civilians who helped Jews for moral reasons, Sternkinder describes greedy people. “See Again ”for example, shows

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Dutch people starving the children as soon as payment on their behalf ceases (p. 170 in the English translation; p. 138 in the German translation). Nazis Unlike the prevalent German discourse, which distinguishes between Nazis and Germans, Sternkinder relates to all Germans simply as “them” (“sie”), without distinguishing between Nazis, German soldiers, and members of the Gestapo. Men of authority are usually called “greens” (“Grüne”)—people without names or faces, sadistic and hopeless drunks—and are characterized by the butts of their rifles and their “barking” (p. 107 in the English translation; p. 82 in the German translation). Although the book does not explicitly refer to the soldiers’ origin, which is indicated only by the peculiarity of their speech, their use of German allows for no mistake. In “Unloading” (“Ich dachte, sie waren ein mensch”), one of the girls is no longer able to tolerate the German soldier’s rudeness, and she addresses him in German (p. 117 in the English translation; p. 92 in the German translation). This description evokes a sense of a huge, threatening beast, whom the girl comprehended as something other than a human being. Allies The prevalent German discourse presents the Allies ambiguously, often as being exclusively responsible for the suffering and devastation, as those who intentionally assaulted an innocent civilian population. Only rarely are the Allies shown as liberators. Sternkinder describes the Allies as redeeming angels coming to the aid of the Jews. During an encounter with Allied troops in Vienna, the Jews are faced with “dark-skinned men” (“Dunkelbraunne Männer”) who treat the former prisoners fondly and particularly enjoy indulging the children (p. 252 in the English translation; pp. 214–215 in the German translation). Allied bombardment does not endanger the Jews; even if they are at risk, the text creates a different impression. “Game of Dice” (“Würfelspiel”) alludes to Germans sitting in bomb shelters during Allied attacks, suggesting that, unlike the Germans, the Jews were not in any danger (p. 243 in the English translation; p. 206 in the German translation). As the Jews line up for inspection, the camp is bombed by Allied aircraft. The description suggests that the bombardment imperiled Germans only, while the Jews present at the same location were not at risk (p. 236 in the English translation; p. 199 in the German translation). Victims The prevalent German discourse places the German victim squarely at the center. Sternkinder, however, concentrates on the Jewish victim while bitterly mocking the Germans who see themselves as victims and wish to compare themselves to the Jews. The story titled “Back and Forth” (“Hin und Her”) derides the notion at the heart of the German discourse that “we were all victims.” The gaping chasm separating German and Jew is accentuated when the young Jewish woman in the story is dismayed to find out that she sympathized with a German. In fact, the woman’s faculty for compassion toward

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the cruel German gives expression to the differences Asscher-Pinkhof establishes between victim and tormentor. The greens do not have such a capacity, while the Jewish woman, at the height of suffering and humiliation, finds it within herself to identify with the German’s implied misery. They stand waiting in the fierce sun and do not know how they can remain upright. They may not go sit on the ground. An old woman who had not understood that she could have waited for a truck to bring the old and the sick here asks the man in green if she may go inside the garage and look for a place to rest. “Oh, well!” he calls. “My mother is eighty-two, and she sits in the airraid shelter every night!” She hears it because she has been walking right behind the old woman. Suddenly she has a strange feeling of pity for that man who roars and shouts so and who is so harsh, because his mother sits in the air-raid shelter every night. She is terribly ashamed that she has pity for a man in green who has no pity for a single one of them. (p. 243 in the English translation; p. 206 in the German translation [the passages marked in boldface were omitted from the German translation]) Sie stehen in der grellen Sonne und können sich kaum noch auf den Füßen halten. Setzen dürfen sie sich nicht. Eine alte Frau fragt den Grünen, ob sie sich nicht an der Mauer ein bifichen ausruhen darf. “Ach was!” ruft er. “Meine Mutter ist zweiundachtzig und muß jede Nacht in den Luftschutzkeller!” Sie steht dicht hinter der alten Frau, versteht jedes Wort und empfindet plötzlich ein seltsames Mitleid mit diesem Mann, der so laut brüllt und so hartherzig ist, weil seine Mutter jede Nacht in den Luftschutzkeller muß. (Sternkinder, p. 206) The empathy for German suffering, Jewish suffering, and victimization is illustrated in painstaking detail–the longing for home and family, hunger, extremes of heat and cold, disease, harsh labor, death, loss of parents, filth and unsanitary conditions, as well as the mental abuse and horrible overcrowding to which the Jews were subject in the cattle cars en route to the death camps in the East. The plot of the short stories depicts the slow entrance to hell and the chance deliverance of a handful of people. Not for a moment can the reader forget where the plot leads, or who is its victim. This is explicitly stated in “Passage to Heaven,” the book’s concluding story, which depicts a very small group traveling to freedom, in contrast to the journey undertaken by a much larger group of Jews to their destination of death. It exists, then, a train that takes you from hell to heaven. Once there were trains that brought those star children from heaven to hell—but that was something else; she must not think about that now. (p. 248 in the English translation; p. 211 in the German translation [the boldface passages were omitted from the German translation])

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Das gibt es also! Es gibt einen Zug, der sie von der Hölle in den Himmel bringt. Einstmals haben die Züge die Sternkinder vom Himmel in die Hölle befördert. Doch daran mag sie heute nicht denken. (Sternkinder, p. 211) Circumstances of the Reception of Sternkinder as an Alternative Text Clara Asscher-Pinkhof’s book had already been published by 1946, and since 1961 had been translated into many languages (according to a personal letter dated November 11, 1996, written by Tsofia [Pika] Langer, Asscher-Pinkhofs daughter: into German in 1961; Hebrew in 1963, translated from the German, and in 1991, translated from the Dutch; Swedish in 1963; Danish in 1964; Serbian in 1970; and English in 1986). The book was published in Germany before the German discourse on the Third Reich took shape, and before establishment of the constitutive model for telling children and youth the “story” of the Third Reich and Nazism. In 1962 Sternkinder was awarded the most coveted prize in Germany for children’s literature. The book’s superb quality is embodied primarily in its ability to document themes that lack physical evidence, such as sensations, feelings, and desires. Death is ubiquitous in the reality portrayed by the book, even without being explicitly recounted; the inevitable conclusion hovers over each of the stories, as if in a Greek tragedy. Yet unlike Greek tragedy, catharsis is absent at the end of the book, and the reader is left with a heavy burden and great sadness. It seems, however, that it was not only Sternkinder’s special quality that eased its acceptance, but also the manner in which it was translated, particularly its descriptions of the Germans. The book refrains from presenting Nazi brutality at its worst, and it does not point an accusing finger at Germans as a whole. In fact, the word “German” appears only rarely: five times to be exact, three of which in connection with a woman—“the German Miss,” “das deutsche Fräulein”—and twice as an adjective (pp. 96, 117 in the English translation; pp. 72, 92 in the German translation), while “SS,” “Hitler,” and “Nazis” are totally absent. The fact that Germans are barely mentioned in explicit terms eases its acceptance by the German reader, since it allows for an interpretation of the evil as a metaphorical demon. But this does not seem to be Asscher-Pinkhof’s motive. The casual depiction of the murderers evidently stemmed from the assumption, correct at the time, about the reader’s acquaintance with the history of the Third Reich, World War II, and the Final Solution on the one hand and Asscher-Pinkhof’s attempt to describe Germans as little as possible and to concentrate instead on Jews. She may also have thought it superfluous to utter these terrible words while describing the events. And yet readers unequipped with prior knowledge are left confused with regard to the nameless monsters who tortured and humiliated their Jewish victims before sending them to their deaths in Poland. Although the description of Germans is toned down even in the Dutch original, the German translation is milder still. The translated edition omitted passages in which an accusing finger clearly singles out the Germans. For example, the translation into German omitted two passages that hurl accusations and contempt at the perpetrators, even if Germans are not expressly named. The first quotation depicts a grandmother locked in a cell, who has committed no wrong. In the second, from the book’s concluding story “Passage to Heaven” fortunate Jews arrive at a Vienna transit camp and receive food and

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beds with sheets. Precisely at that moment, when the people are again treated as human beings, one of the old women collapses; the words she speaks are unintelligible to the two girls in nearby beds but understood all too well by the reader. The little old woman across from them does not laugh. Again and again she says the same thing to her neighbors and to the customers: “Because I’ve done so much harm—that’s why they are locking me up! How can it be? I haven’t wronged anyone that much yet!” (“Market Woman,” Star Children, p. 48) But the old woman in the bed on the other side of her sits erect, her hands in front of her face and in a complaining voice she cries, “That they have don’t that to us! That they have don’t that to us!” Disheartened, the girls listen but do not understand her. Then they pull the covers over their ears and go to sleep. (“Passage to Heaven,” Star Children, p. 252) The German translation excludes full sentences, even paragraphs—mainly those that expressly refer to Germans, acts of German cruelty, or the results thereof. In the book’s first story, “Star Dance” (“Sterntanz”), the detailed accounts of the roundup (“actions”) and the cruelty have been filtered and refined. The translation altered the proportions of the original description and stressed the fact that the children continue to play in the street as if nothing had happened. The Dutch text includes the following account: There has been a roundup today. Already in the early morning the dim rumor had blown over to this street of Jews: they were busy in other neighborhoods, and soon they would come here, too. They were standing in little groups in the street, the men and women, their eyes full of bewilderment and their voices shrill from tension. They did not know where it was better: in the house where they could trample down the door and drag you from the stairs, or in the street where they could take you in passing and push you into the police van. Oh, in the street you had each other, with all your despair but with all your sense of togetherness, and you could always go inside as soon as you saw the van and uniforms entering the street. The threat was the worst. It hung heavily over the street in the warm summer air, paralyzing, suffocating. A little old woman, her shopping bag over her arm, had gone out when she had not yet known of the roundup. But then she could not find her way home because it had suddenly grown from half a street to an endless road of terror. She grasped a large woman whom she did not know and cried, “I can’t go alone! I can’t go alone!” The woman supported her and soothed her, just as you soothe a child. The little woman wailed softly, “But I haven’t done anything! But I haven’t done anything!”

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No one had done anything…. (pp. 25–26 in the English translation; p. 12 in the German translation [the boldface passages were omitted from the German translation]). Of the foregoing text in the original, only the following brief passages remain in the German translation: Heute ist Razzia gewesen. Schon am frühen Morgen war es als dumpfes Gerücht herüber zu ihnen gedrungen: In anderen Vierteln seien sie gerade dabei, gleich kämen sie auch hierher. Die Menschen standen auf der Straße beisammen, die Blicke verwirrt, schrille Spannung in jedem Wort. Es gab nichts Schlimmeres als diese Bedrohung, die erstickend über allen lastete. Sie hatten nichts getan…. (Sternkinder, p. 12) The issue of German guilt, explicitly mentioned in the original text, was omitted from the German translation. A group of 250 individuals is released from the camp and makes its way toward freedom. The beautiful land is described through the eyes of these survivors. This pastoral account is accompanied by the narrator’s ambivalent approach—she cannot comprehend how the charm of the environment can coexist with the cruelty perpetrated by its inhabitants (pp. 248–249 in the English translation; p. 211 in the German translation). Sternkinder does not absolve Germans of the curse on the land, and the narrator makes a distinction between the local geography and those who dwell upon it. Oh, no—but this country, this ground, these hills have not done it. It was only the men who walked over the land and who lived on the land—they were the ones who have brought the curse. Now those men themselves are no longer there to walk on and to live on the land, they are no longer there to farm it and to raise food on it. Now those men themselves have moved farther on to bring a curse upon other men and upon themselves. On this land, this beautiful, sunny land, they have set strangers, prisoners, who must farm it and raise food on it for those who remain here and for those who have left. The ground is farmed by hands that sow seeds and hatred—by hands that want to be farming a distant and deserted land, sowing seeds and love. (“Passage to Heaven,” Star Children, pp. 248– 249; the entire passage was omitted from the German translation) The German translation does not incorporate the poignant answer, which appears only in the Dutch original (and in the Hebrew and English translations) and assigns collective guilt to the German people. Although the latter are referred to only briefly as “those men… [who] moved farther on to bring a curse upon other men and upon themselves” (Star Children, p. 249), it is evident that the reproof was prohibitive enough to prevent its inclusion in the German edition. As a result, the questions in the German translation assume a rhetorical tone; German sin becomes abstract and at least partially absolved, because the girl is making her way to freedom, to her mother and father, and does not desire vengeance. Instead, she is able to admire the beauty of the countryside unfolding

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before her eyes. The beautiful scenery is particularly striking when contrasted to the hideous descriptions of the concentration camps. It is also striking when contrasted to the prevalent German discourse, which usually portrayed a ruined and ghastly land, its cities and villages obliterated by the Allied bombing, which didn’t leave a blade of grass untouched. While the girl is on her way to freedom, she asks herself the following question: Is this the country that has brought a curse over the world, the country that has turned children into star children, driven forth and snatched away? Is this the country that you must learn to hate, the country against which you must pray for revenge to the God who has seen all rolling and so farreaching to where the sky touches it? (“Passage to Heaven,” Star Children, p. 248) Ist dies das Land, das Fluch über den Erdkreis gebracht, das Kinder zu Sternkindern gemacht, sie ins Elend gejagt und abtransportiert hat? Ist dies das Land, das sie verabscheuen, auf das sie die Strafe Gottes herabbeschworen muß, der alles Leid gesehen hat? Warum ist es so lieblich, warum streckt es sich in glänzenden Wellen bis an den Himmelsrand? (“Himmelfahrt,” Sternkinder, p. 211) In the Dutch original, this question is followed by a number of answers, missing from the German translation. After the words “and on your way to father and mother” comes the passage mentioned above accusing Germans of bringing a curse upon the world, and upon Germany in particular, and planting the seeds of hatred, by dint of which they will remain forever cursed. Thus is the German reader spared the ordeal of reading about the curse placed on him by the victims.

The Alternative Discourse in Original German Texts In addition to the translation of Asscher-Pinkhof’s book into German, as we said, a few other texts that introduce a “story” that is different from the prevalent one have been published in Germany: Winfried Bruckner’s Die toten Engel, published relatively early, in 1963; Gudrun Pausewang’s Reise im August, published nearly thirty years later, in 1992; and two stories by Christine Nöstlinger and Ernst Nöstlinger (no relation) in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, edited by Winfried Bruckner and containing fourteen stories. The different “story” in these texts is constructed following these patterns: The story is told wholly or partially from the victim’s perspective, often employing embedded speech. Responsibility for the horrors of the war is assigned, at least partially, to the Germans. Presentation of Jews and Germans is more complicated and less stereotypical, initially precluding the possibility of opposition between Nazis and Germans, or analogy between Nazis and Jews.

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No distinction is made between Germans and Nazis. The Nazis are Germans (although not all Germans are Nazis). The Jews are the main victims of the Third Reich and the Holocaust, alongside acknowledgment of German suffering. The Victim’s Perspective Viewing the victim through the eyes of the Jewish victim (or via embedded speech) places the Jewish victim at the center, but not at the cost of disregarding the suffering of others. Persecuted on account of their race, the Jews gradually lose their world and their identity. After being shamed and mistreated, they are sent off to their deaths, the last semblance of their humanity having been stifled. German suffering still evokes sympathy, but it evidently dwarfs in comparison. In “Zuckerschlecker,” Christine Nöstlinger presents suffering from the Jewish victim’s point of view, notwithstanding the fact that the story’s protagonist is a German girl whose father is lying in a military hospital near Warsaw after having been severely injured. Thanks to his connections with the ruling class in Berlin, he enjoys preferential treatment. Nöstlinger describes the despair permeating the hospital, the unavailability of adequate care, and acquiescence in the face of death (p. 63). Unlike the prevalent German discourse, however, the suffering and death afflicting the German soldiers and the difficulties faced by the doctors and nurses do not stand alone and are not perceived as an exclusive representation of “those terrible times.” In contrast, Nöstlinger’s descriptions of the dying soldiers are set against the backdrop of the atrocities being committed in the neighboring ghetto, which make the Germans’ suffering seem almost trivial. The Jewish point of view is introduced into the text by a Jewish physician, summoned from the ghetto to try and save the life of the German girl’s father. This enables Nöstlinger to provide a dry account of the events taking place in the ghetto—the hunger, the filth, and the precarious, denigrated lives of its inhabitants. Nöstlinger makes no effort to shield her readers from the descriptions of Jews living behind barbed-wire fences, soldiers in guard towers who fire at anyone attempting to escape the ghetto, and Jews sent off to extermination by gas. By means of her narrative about the Jewish physician, Nöstlinger directs attention away from the suffering of the German father and toward the suffering endured by the Jewish physician, who is subjected to unceasing humiliation and the fear of death. The description of the father’s rescue is constructed around the horrific misery of the Jewish physician. A famous doctor, he must save the life of a German patient in order to prolong his own life, at least for a short while—a life that had been reduced to an animal existence, trapped in filth and starvation behind the barbed wire (pp. 63–64). In Reise im August (The Final Journey), Gudrun Pausewang depicts twelve-year-old Alice, taken in a cattle car to her death in Auschwitz. Unlike other books that describe children saved from such a bitter fate (for instance, in books written by Judith Kerr and Anne Holm), Alice is a girl who has no future, only past and present. The entire book is written in embedded speech together with Alice, whose journey toward death is also her initiation story. The adoption of Alice’s perspective allows the reader to experience with her the gradual comprehension of the reality that surrounds her, after having enjoyed years of a protected childhood. By using the perspective of a girl whose consciousness is

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only gradually grasping the horrors taking place, Pausewang sketches the story of the extermination of European Jewry. Pausewang does not use a twelve-year-old’s perspective as an excuse for rendering limited information. On the contrary, Alice’s gradual exposure to the facts of her hellish reality is a key theme in the book. Thus, the juvenile perspective is used to increase attention to the revealed information and to amplify its significance not to obscure it as is the case with the prevalent German narrative. In addition, Pausewang uses various techniques in order to overcome the limitations of a young girl’s knowledge and to introduce additional channels of comprehension of information. This is achieved through numerous dialogues between Alice and other persons in a rail car. Alice does not fully understand certain information conveyed during these conversations. Often, another character’s reactions to what Alice says alert the reader to the partiality or inaccuracy of her words. For example, one understands that Alice was prevented from going outside when her family was hiding in the cellar, and not, as she believes, because the dirty streets had become unsafe for her. Unlike the prevalent German discourse, which seeks to lend a sense of authenticity to narratives by resorting to a perspective that provides an account of the events “as they were ,” Pausewang undermines the truth value of the story provided by the structure of the perspective. She repeatedly calls attention to the uncertainty inherent in the narrative, as well as to the limitations of perspective and knowledge. Reise im August maintains an ongoing dynamic between various types of knowledge and negates the possibility of any final and conclusive comprehension—all the while emphasizing the latter’s inadequacy, transience, and fragility. “If only one knew what was lies and what was the truth,” said Mr. Blum. “Who knows if what we now think is true really is the truth?” (The Final Journey, p. 72) “Wenn man nur immer wüßte, was Lüge und was Wahrheit ist,” sagte Herr Blum. “Wer weiß, ob gerade das die Wahrheit ist, was wir jetzt für Wahrheit halten.” (Reise im August, p. 78) Depictions of Brutality and the Question of Culpability Quite unlike the prevalent German discourse, culpability for the acts of horror is by no means doubted by this alternative discourse. From the outset, the two novels and pair of short stories make it clear that the Germans are the sole responsible party. Additionally, in another departure from the prevalent discourse, the German-perpetrated hell is depicted here without superfluities or embellishments. Winfried Bruckner’s novel Die toten Engel is set in the Warsaw Ghetto and describes what the Germans have done to the Jews. Their dreadful living conditions in the ghetto and the transports to extermination camps are described in minute and relentless detail. The book says that half of the children died en route to the ghetto (p. 25), thirty people were crowded into one room (p. 8), and hundreds of thousands waited in the streets until rooms became vacant when their inhabitants died. The author recounts the monthly toll of 15,000 fatalities from typhus (p. 23); the corpses littering the sidewalks each morning and the enticement of children to leave the ghetto for an outing, only to be shot (p. 59); and transportation of the ghetto’s

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inhabitants to extermination camps, first by inducement and later by force and violence (pp.60,70). Reise im August describes the gradual process whereby the persecution of the Jews began, a process that culminated in their systematic extermination. The novel begins with discrimination and Kristallnacht and progresses to deportations. The force of the story lies in its focus on apparently trivial minutiae. Pausewang portrays the girl’s gradual banishment from society and isolation from friends, and the diminishing number of people who come to visit her home. This description, given from Alice’s childish perspective of her narrowing world, gives rise to a reality in which the Jews’ existence steadily deteriorates; the Jews face increasingly hostile legislation, social isolation, and exclusion from more and more areas of life (pp. 85–87 [91–93]). The tragic nature of the short step preceding the long journey toward death is described as a marginal event, one that emphasizes the text’s commitment to the childish point of view while clarifying how the banality of evil has permeated all areas of life. Namely, the Mandel family’s little dog tries to accompany the family to the train, only to be severely beaten by the Germans. The focus on the children’s longing for their dog powerfully demonstrates the family’s distance from daily routine as they are sent to their deaths (p. 2 [6]). German responsibility for what happens is repeatedly asserted throughout the descriptions of oppression, selections, deportations, and gassing. Pausewang follows the victims all the way into the gas chamber, and the final scene in the book takes place inside the Auschwitz crematorium. “Undress, undress,” came a voice. “There’s a lot more to go through today!”… Ruth put her arm around Alice and Alice saw that her eyes had filled with tears. With trembling fingers, Alice opened her locket and pressed her lips to the pictures of her parents…. (The Final Journey, pp. 149, 153– 154) “Ausziehen, ausziehen!” tönte eine Stimme. “Hier müssen heute noch vieledurch!”… Ruth legt ihren Arm um Alice, und Alice sah, daß Ruths Augen in Tränen schwammen. Mit zitternden Fingern öffnete Alice das Medaillon und drückte einen Kuß auf das Bild ihrer Eltern…(Reise im August, pp. 155, 159) Pausewang exempts no one from responsibility. Government officials are not alone in their accountability for the genocide, and the passive collaborators—the silent majority that preferred neither to see nor to hear—are guilty as well. Such collaboration is described by showing what Alice sees when she peeps through a crack in the rail car: passers-by who hear the cries inside the car but choose to ignore them (pp. 25, 45–46, 82 [30–31, 52, 88]). This prompts the following cynical response from a woman inside the car: “Afterwards they will say they didn’t know anything about it,” moaned the woman. “Saw nothing, heard nothing.” (The Final Journey, p. 48)

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“Hinterher werden sie sagen, sie hätten von nichts gewußt!” heulte die Frau. “Nichts gesehen, nichts gehört!” (Reise im August, p. 54) Pausewang emphasizes the huge dimensions of the collaboration. This comprises every single person who, in one way or another, assists the transportation of Jews to Auschwitz, including Red Cross nurses who provide assistance to the guards but ignore the screams of those trapped in the rail cars (pp. 130–131 [136–138]). Pausewang does not overlook the Germans who assisted Jews, such as Mrs. Lohmann who hid Alice’s family and was subsequently arrested along with them. Yet, in contrast to the prevalent German discourse, which presented assistance to Jews as the ruling norm, Pausewang presents it as an exception. This position is clearly demonstrated when several people manage to escape the train and Alice tries to imagine what will become of them. She is certain that they have no hope of finding help (p. 125 [131]). Die toten Engel presents the issue of accountability via the character of a young officer, who professes to be following orders unwillingly. The officer is told to evacuate the hospital and send its occupants to an extermination camp. His courteous, hesitant behavior is judged by the text as nothing more than a sanctimonious attempt to procure a moral alibi, rather than a serious effort to confront reality. The officer continues to carry out orders, even though he deems them immoral. His hesitation and embarrassment are meaningless because they are accompanied by his readiness to evade responsibility. In his deeds, the officer is indistinguishable from other Germans, and hence he is responsible for the perpetrated acts as much as they are. When Pavel is unable to produce a work certificate that would allow him to remain in the ghetto and avoid being deported to the extermination camp, the officer tries to apologize for not being able to help. Pavel does not allow such expressions of remorse to diminish the dreadfulness of the act, and does not absolve the officer of his accountability and hypocrisy. “In that case I am sorry,” said the officer helplessly. “You’re not sorry about anything,” said Pavel, “and even if you were sorry, it doesn’t change a thing.” (my translation) “Dann tut es mir leid,” sagte der Offizier hilflos. “Nichts tut Ihnen leid,” sagte Pavel, “und wenn, dann ändert das auch nichts.” (Die toten Engel, p. 160) Ernst Nöstlinger’s “Lasberger Kriege,” in the Damals war ich vierzehn collection, also recounts an attempt to evade responsibility. This story presents the common claim about “not knowing” as an intended and conscious decision not to know. During the war, the inhabitants of the village adjacent to Mauthausen chose not to know anything of what happened in the camp just under their noses. As soon as the war was over, however, they hurried to investigate the camp when their cattle began to disappear. Knowing and not knowing are portrayed as a selfish and comfortable decision made freely by the villagers, not as a fact forced on them by the circumstances, as described in the prevalent German narrative. The prevalent discourse exempts German soldiers from responsibility for the atrocities. Although Bruckner’s soldiers in Die toten Engel are anonymous, the war atrocities are attributed solely to the Germans (p. 86). The anonymous troops are part of a

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system consisting of numerous elements, so that the responsibility is attributed to the entire system as well as to individuals who set it in motion (p. 151). Complex Presentation of Characters Abolition of the Distinction Between Nazis and Germans. The alternative discourse does not accept the distinction between Germans and Nazis established by the prevalent German discourse. The Nazis are Germans, but not all Germans are necessarily Nazis. Because the texts refrain from attributing personal and physiognomic traits exclusively to Jews, Nazis, or Germans, no opposition is created by the alternative discourse between Jews and Germans, nor is there any analogy between Jews and Nazis. In Die toten Engel, Bruckner uses the terms “Germans” and “Nazis” interchangeably. For example, Pavel Kaufmann, the former artist working as a corpse bearer in the ghetto, describes the cruelty that characterizes the transportation of the Jews to the ghetto. As a matter of course, he describes the murderers first as Nazis and then in the next sentence as Germans (pp. 5–6). More than once, and perhaps deliberately, Reise im August emphasizes the physical resemblance between Jews and Germans in order to relinquish the linkage between race and physiognomic traits, and between physiognomic and character traits. When Alice describes Paul, the boy in the rail car whom she fancies, she mentions his curly hair and remembers that one of the Gestapo soldiers who had come to arrest them at night had similar curls. Unlike the prevalent German discourse in which— as is always the case in stereotypical presentations—similarity in one attribute leads automatically to similarity in others, Pausewang makes it clear that physical resemblance does not necessarily imply additional similarities (pp. 25–26, 28 [31, 34]). The absence of distinctions between Nazis and Germans does not lead to the portrayal of all Germans as murderers. For example, Pausewang describes officials who empathized with the victims’ plight and even tried to help them (p. 96 [102–103]). Alongside descriptions of Germans who enjoy the maltreatment of Jews, Die toten Engel describes Germans who fulfill their duties faithfully but hesitantly and yet others who are unable to murder children. For example, one scene shows two German soldiers seizing Michel Bronsky, who had slipped out of the ghetto walls to smuggle food. They are unable to shoot him because he reminds them of their children and their own childhood. He is released and continues on his way. “Look at this,” said the older one, “only skin and bones. And something like this has to crawl over the wall and they shoot at him with a machine gun. I always imagine that this were my boy.”… “And how old are you, Michel?” “Seven.” The soldiers looked down at their feet. Both of them thought of their children and of home and of their own childhood. (my translation) “Sieh dir das an,” sagte der Ältere, “nur Haut und Knochen. Und so etwas muß über die Mauer kriechen, und man schießt mit einem Maschinengewehr auf ihn. Ich stelle mir immer vor, das wäre mein Junge.”…. “Und wie alt bist du, Michel?”

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“Sieben.” Die Soldaten blickten zu Boden. Beide dachten an ihre Kinder und an zu Hause und an ihre eigene Kindheit. (Die toten Engel, p. 85) Such scenes are, of course, not uncommon in the prevalent German discourse. Here, however, they are contrasted with other scenes. The two soldiers in Die toten Engel are juxtaposed against a slew of soldiers who do not hesitate to shoot defenseless people. The scene in which the two soldiers release the Jewish boy is countered by a brutal scene in which a soldier opens fire into a sewer ditch, hitting Dov and the children with him, who had been trying to escape the ghetto (pp. 143–144). Bruckner composes a complex picture by introducing several sets of characters, rather than a single set. The two soldiers guarding the ghetto walls differ from one another in their attitude towards Jews. One soldier, Thalhammer, does not see Jews as human beings (p. 26). He is an enthusiastic murderer (pp. 120–121) driven by lust for killing, who hunts down Jews in cold blood, and makes every effort to shoot the seventeen-year-old boy scaling the ghetto walls in search for food. The other soldier, Erich Schremmer, is described as having been drafted almost against his will. He has no desire to kill and has special empathy for children (p. 27). Unlike Thalhammer, who clearly enjoys shooting and killing, Erich Schremmer finds it hard to accept the necessity of shooting children and suffers a nervous breakdown. Schremmer is not a typical character, but rather the opposite—his behavior does not resemble that of the other soldiers who enjoy killing or accept it. The introduction of this character and its positioning in opposition to the two other groups of characters results in a nonstereotypical description of the German soldiers. In addition to Thalhammer and Schremmer, another pair is described: Captain Klein and the major who preceded him as the officer responsible for the cemetery. The major is presented fulfilling his duties emotionlessly, even showing a bit of sympathy for the Jews (p. 65); Captain Klein, on the other hand, is portrayed as a sadist who fancies shouting and beating (pp. 64, 95, 156) and indulges in the abuse and torture of the Jews subject to his authority. Apart from brutal Germans who occasionally demonstrate their cruelty, the text presents other Germans who identify with the victims. One may wonder at Bruckner’s decision to conclude the book with a scene showing German soldiers crying with the children, as the latter sing en route to their destination of death. Yet given the complex presentation of Germans throughout the book, this can be seen as nothing more than a desire to end the book with a sense of identification, which is cynical in light of Pavel’s ambiguous remark: They sang their song of the flowers and the butterflies and the wind that rocks the flowers to sleep. The soldiers and railroaders stood completely still, and on their faces were white stains. “They are crying,” said Lersek once. Pavel swallowed. “So what?” he asked. “The Germans,” said Lersek. They looked over with a quick, disquieted glance, and saw the soldiers who were standing at attention, tears running down their cheeks.

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The children sang. It was a light, cheerful song of meadows and butterflies. (my translation) Sie sangen ihr Lied von den Blumen und den Schmetterlingen und dem Wind, der die Blumen in den Schlaf wiegt. Die Soldaten und Eisenbahner standen ganz still, und ihre Gesichter waren weiße Flecken. “Sie weinen,” sagte Lersek einmal. Pavel schluckte. “Na und?” fragte er. “Die Deutschen,” sagte Lersek. Sie sahen hinüber mit einem schnellen, unruhigen Blick, und sie sahen die Soldaten, die noch immer strammstanden und denen die Tränen über ihre Gesichter rannen. Die Kinder sangen. Es war ein helles, frohliches Lied von Wiesen und Schmetterlingen. (Die toten Engel, p. 170) Representation of jews in a More Complex and Less Stereotypical Manner. Presentation of the Jews relies on a wide variety of characteristics. In Reise im August, Jews come from different social strata and differ from one another in their behavioral patterns and appearance. Unlike the Jews in the prevalent discourse, who are usually described as diminutive and black, the Jews depicted by Pausewang may be small or large, with dark or fair hair. The epithets “dark and small” do not create a stereotype because they appear in different combinations or are replaced by other elements. Otherwise formulated, the stereotype is defeated when it is no longer possible to automatically foresee the manner in which Jews will be described. Mrs. Mandel is tall, not short, but her hair is dark and straight. Others have auburn, curly, or blond hair (pp. 4, 7, 13 [8, 11, 18]). Alice, the main character in Reise im August, is quite small for her age, although her grandfather and Mrs. Mandel are large (pp. 3, 7 [7, 11)]. Likewise, all the characters—not only Jews—are presented in terms of their physical appearance. Jewish society is portrayed as heterogeneous and varied, rather than cut from the same cloth. The Jews in the rail cars are polite and disrespectful, refined and coarse, fraternal and malicious, tolerant and prejudiced. The rail car that takes all of them to Auschwitz accommodates rich and successful Jews along with lower-class families. Through Alice’s eyes, one learns about a well-known singer traveling in the rail car, as well as the practical matron of the Maibaum family, a simple, poor woman who has little in common with the values with which Alice was raised, such as hygiene and good manners (pp. 18, 55 [23, 61]). Some of the half-Jews save their own skins and abandon their families (p. 67 [74]), while others accompany their loved ones to the bitter end. Some betrayed other Jews and informed on them(p. 129 [135]). The “Jewish advantage” is not absent from the narrative but, unlike its presentation in the prevalent German discourse, it is not introduced here in the guise of philo-Semitism that eventually justifies anti-Semitism; rather, it is shown as an excuse employed by the anti-Semites to defend their envy of the Jews. Rebekka clearly conveys this to Aaron during their conversation en route to Auschwitz. “We are too clever for them,” said Rebekka. “It makes them envious.” (The Final Journey, p. 110)

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“Wir sind ihnen zu klug,” antwortete Rebekka. “Das macht sie neidisch.” (Reise im August, p. 115) German Suffering Unlike the prevalent discourse, which presents German suffering as punishment to atone for German sin, the alternative discourse presents this suffering as the justified wish of the victim. Whereas the prevalent discourse assigns the suffering a role of absolution, suffering here is perceived as an end unto itself; the hope is expressed that Germans will be tormented as vengeance for the atrocities they have committed. During discussions held aboard the train traveling to Auschwitz in Reise im August, Aaron describes the punishment he wishes on the Germans. What the prevalent discourse sets forth as terrible German suffering and German victimization is voiced by Aaron as an appropriate punishment. “I hope,” said Aaron, “that in this war, which they started, they will die like flies. I hope their houses will be bombed and burned and that lots of their children won’t be born—children they would have had if they had kept the peace. I hope many of them will lose their homes and families, and above all I hope other countries will feel loathing for them. I wouldn’t be one of them for anything in the world.” (The Final Journey, pp. 110– 111) “Ich wünsche ihnen,” sagte Aaron, “daß sie in dem Krieg, den sie angefangen haben, wie die Fliegen umkommen. Daß ihre Häuser zerbombt und verbrannt werden. Und daß viele ihrer Kinder nicht geboren werden—Kinder, die sie bekommen hätten, wenn sie Frieden gehalten hätten. Ich wünsche ihnen, daß viele ihr Zuhause und ihre Familie verlieren. Und vor allem wünsche ich ihnen, daß die anderen Völker Abscheu vor ihnen kriegen. Ich möchte um alles in der Welt nicht zu ihnen gehören.” (Reise im August, p. 117) In contrast to Pausewang, whose protagonists find a bit of solace in the punishment in store for the sinners, Die toten Engel casts cynical doubt that any punishment awaits the Germans. Pavel speaks to Lersek about the victim’s consolation—the knowledge that one day the murderers will pay for their crimes (p. 149), but Lersek does not share this consolation. He doubts the murderers will ever be punished, and he cynically concludes that they, including those who turned machine guns on innocent children, will be decorated for their crimes (pp. 148–149).

Lessons of the Alternative Discourse The alternative discourse casts a cruel light on the prevalent discourse by highlighting its self-righteousness and avoidance of a brave and candid confrontation with the story of the Third Reich and the Holocaust. The contention that this period cannot be described in any other manner is shown to be false. The alternative discourse reveals the cowardice,

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intense stereotyping, and manipulation inherent in the prevalent German discourse—a discourse that strives to produce a palatable historical discourse that will instill in the mind of the young reader the past image desired by the discourse’s architects. The alternative story offers another way of describing the Third Reich and the Holocaust in books for children and young adults. The German repertoire contains preexisting models for presenting a different story. The decision to conform almost entirely to the models contained in the prevalent discourse results from a conscious choice, not the absence of other options. The alternative discourse indicates that the prevalent discourse is not inevitable but consciously selected. It also shows that the argument relating to the alleged difficulties of relating the horrors of the Third Reich and the Holocaust to children is not a result of any inability on the part of the authors, but by their choice to avoid ab initio a more taxing and audacious confrontation with the dark history of the German past.

Conclusion The Image of the Past in German Public Discourse and Texts for Children This book elucidates the “story” imparted to German children and young adults about the Third Reich and the Holocaust. The familiar “story” about the Third Reich and the Holocaust, known to most members of the Western world, is the story of a war machine and a vicious genocidal Juggernaut that consumed the lives of tens of millions of Europeans, of a brutal reign of terror, of prisoner-of-war camps and labor camps, and of the systematic murder of the Jewish people, together with Roma and other minorities. This familiar story—with which non-German readers, whether American, British, or Israeli, are well acquainted—cannot be familiar to the German reader simply because the German historical discourse tells a completely different story. Non-German readers confronted with the German version of the story wonder at the disappearance of the Nazi persecution of the Jews and other minorities. Where are the prisoner-of-war camps, the murder of civilians, the terror of the Gestapo, the torture of defenseless children, the privation and ruin, the transports, the death camps, the genocide? These readers are also perplexed by the definitive distinction created in the story between Germans and Nazis, and by the absurd resemblance, implicit and explicit, between Nazis and Jews. NonGerman readers cannot avoid noticing the almost total absence of all these elements in the German “story.” It is also hard not to notice that the horrors of the period, as well as German responsibility for them, are almost entirely purged in German children’s books, more obviously than in adult literature. As an alternative, they offer a “story” that features the Germans as the prime and sometimes sole victims of the Third Reich and the Holocaust. In fact, the making of Germans into the main victims lies at the heart of the “historical narrative.” Attention is focused on German suffering, which is highlighted and described in great detail. Everything else—descriptions of cruelty, suffering, and the extermination of peoples—is pushed aside or totally excised. It seems that the good intentions that undoubtedly underlie the telling of the German “story” for children lead to very poor, not to say malicious, results. German writers, most probably, do not deny that Germans were Nazis, nor are the analogies they create between Nazis and Jews intentional. However, because these writers focus primarily on German suffering and German victims (and the Germans, too, undoubtedly suffered under the Third Reich, during the war and thereafter), they unavoidably become participants in the telling of a distorted and fraudulent tale, at least from a non-German point of view. In an interview with Israeli television on April 9, 1994, the leader of the German Republicans at the time, Franz Schönhuber, ironically observed the retroactive change in the representation of the image of the German past. According to him, the eighty percent

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majority of the German people that supported the Nazi regime during the Third Reich had become an even larger majority (ninety percent) that now claims to have supported the Jews during the Third Reich and offered them assistance. In light of Schönhuber’s ironic remark, it may well be asked how Germany managed to create a historical narrative that enables the Germans to see themselves as victims of the Nazis, no less than the Jews, and to see their forbearers as people who came to the aid of the Jews and rescued them, at the risk of their own lives? This story of the German victim in World Wars I and II, woven into the story of the rejection of guilt, emerged in the early 1960s, perhaps as an attempt to avoid moral dilemmas. Since then, this story has become a fundamental platform of the German historical discourse—a kind of “master narrative,” which was also embraced by most writers for children. They chose to narrate it even when it was not part of their own personal experiences. Almost all historical novels for children present themselves as deriving from personal and authentic memories of their narrators, but how can we account for the fact that writers who belong to different generations and who could not possibly have undergone identical experiences tell the same story? This can be explained only by the existence of a common past image, an image that guides the authors’ writing to a greater degree than their own life stories. Their attempt to give their story the value of “real” memory is probably a product of their desire to construct an alibi of memory, rather than a “true” memory. This homogeneity of a story of the past is unique to the German case. All other instances of Western historical discourse consist of alternative paradigms that challenge the central one. By contrast, German children’s literature is characterized to this day by its adoption of a paradigm that was established in the 1960s for writing about the Third Reich and the Holocaust. Rather than grow more variegated and self-critical, as is the case in other national narratives, the variations of this paradigm have been reduced further over the past thirty years. The historical novels for children and adolescents written in West Germany after 1945 were not created in a vacuum. They participated in an integral effort to construct a past that will best suit the needs of the present. Not surprisingly, analysis of the children’s texts indicates the extent to which their strategies resemble those employed by a wideranging historical discourse. In light of the key role played by past images in the shaping of national values, it is evident that West Germany endeavored to create a past that would serve its desire to build a democratic society and to become an equal member of the family of nations. Many professionals participated in the creation of this historical discourse—academic historians, government-employed historians, public institutions, public figures, politicians, writers, poets, stage and film directors, screenwriters, artists, monument builders, and, of course, educators—and all of them were partners in building the image of the past. Much ink has already been spent in studies devoted to this endeavor, and there is no point in citing even the most prominent ones. Our discussion has not focused on the attempt to rewrite German history by adapting it to contemporary needs. Rather, the analysis in this book has preferred to show the extent to which children’s books have served as effective agents of this endeavor. Through their writing about the German past, writers for children have served West Germany’s social and political interests, domestic and foreign alike.

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Like any other description of the past, the German one is characterized by a systematic selection of certain events and the omission of others. The tension between remembering and forgetting is typical of this selection, as is the desire to preserve the memory of the more agreeable events and systematically banish the recollection of the less agreeable ones. Various scholars have analyzed this phenomenon from a psychohistorical perspective, describing it as amnesia of the German public life. They have argued that forgetting and repression have played a key role in the Germans’ ability to relive the trauma (Caruth 1991), or that Nazism and the Holocaust have remained an unmastered past because of the rise of a blurred and unresolved historical awareness, which would not allow any conclusion concerning the historical significance of the events (Friedlander 1992). Even later, when German society had begun to address its Nazi past more frankly and more comprehensively, it never reached the point of “working through” the past and instead preferred “acting it out” (Friedlander 1992). From silence and a general denial of the Nazi past, German discussion moved on to “acting out the past”—historiographical writing whose main objective was normalization of the past. German historians sought to weave the recent past into a “normal” history in order to make a constructive contribution to the formation of a collective national identity. This tendency was manifested by variety of techniques, the most important of which included the relativization and delineation of the past (Schlußstrich), both serving the objective of obscuring, minimizing, and even expunging, to the greatest extent possible, the existence of Nazism and the Holocaust. On the eve of reunification, the new urgent national needs made this endeavor even more palpable. As many studies have shown (e.g., Hobsbawm 1983a; Kedourie 1982; Lewis 1975a, 1975b, 1976; Morgan 1983), recruiting “history” into the service of new national needs has been typical of many modern nations. Essentially, almost every group whose national identity was changed has attempted to find confirmation in its past, delegating, so to speak, its architects of the historical discourse to comb the past for materials from which a desirable identity could be constructed. During the late 1980s and early 1990s, the Germans faced a pressing need to draw various elements from their past for the reframing of their collective national identity and the effacement of the stain tarnishing it. German politicians and historians believed that the sense of weakness pervading the national identity could not serve as a base for building the future of Germany. The source of this weakness lay, in their view, not in the refusal to face the past and work through it (Friedlander 1992) but in the historical discourse itself, in the way the past was processed, and in the resulting past image. Accordingly, they called to replace the existing past image and to encourage the creation of a different historical discourse, one that could play a constructive role in the shaping of Germany’s future. The immediate needs of German nationalism demanded the shaping of a new historical discourse that would adapt to these needs and best serve such needs in a desirable way. The culmination of this deliberate and manifest effort was the heated discussions known as the Historians’ Controversy (Historikerstreit). This controversy shifted the sphere of deliberation from the realm of professional historians—the writers of historiography—to the public arena. As often happens, the professional historians then became part of the historical discourse that found its way, quite emphatically, onto the agenda of the German public at large. However, their activity was now directed at the political and intellectual vistas of the public participating in the debate (Valensi 1996, p.

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11). The Historians’ Controversy placed the discussion of the past on the public agenda, relocating it from the domain of the historians. The direct causes of the Historians’ Controversy are usually associated with a series of events in the mid-1980s, including the Bitburg incident, the Fassbinder affair, the controversies over the historical museums in Berlin and Bonn, and the Bonn memorial to the fallen of World War II (Heilbronner 1998). The Bitburg flap prompted an emotional outburst on both sides of the Atlantic (Brockmann 1986, pp. 159–160). Beyond its emotional dimension, however, the Historians’ Controversy had a clear rationale that placed it high on the public agenda. One of the motives behind the effort to alter the Germans’ understanding of the past and their role in it was the desire to unite East and West Germany. The attempt to relieve Germany of the Nazi past by denying its very existence, like the attempt to disavow it, was no longer able to meet the needs of the public historical discourse. A group of German historians (called the “revisionist historians”) tried to formulate a past image that would no longer conceal the NationalSocialist history of the Third Reich and would instead refashion it. In addition to establishing the Germans as the prime and occasionally sole victims of the Nazis, the story they related was based on the following claims: the number of Jewish victims of Nazism was far smaller than previously claimed and, accordingly, there was no genocide. Genocide was merely an invention of Allied propaganda, particularly of the Jews and most of all the Zionists. The “Final Solution” was never more than the expulsion of the Jews to Eastern Europe. Hitler’s Germany was not responsible for World War II; rather, the responsibility belonged to Stalin’s Soviet Union, the principal enemy of the human race during the 1930s and 1940s (see Vidal-Naaquet 1992, “A Paper Eichmann,” pp. 18– 19). The construction of such a story of the German past was made possible by the following strategies, all of which, as we have seen in various chapters of this book, characterize books for children as well. Division and Fragmentation. The creation of subcategories when discussing Nazism made it possible to maintain “zones of denial” within historiography, ostensibly without undermining its scientific “purity.” For example, the distinction made between Wehrmacht and SS activities and the focus on the Wehrmacht’s courageous battle on the eastern front rather than its murderous core. Identification and Empathy. Evoking identification with the Wehrmacht battle on the eastern front made it possible to forge a sense of national empathy based primarily on an anti-Soviet orientation. Heroization. Heroic descriptions of the eastern front characterized by brave fighting, as well as the focus on the crimes of the Red Army, enabled the creation of the brave Wehrmacht soldier and made it possible to ignore SS troops and the genocide. Nostalgia for a Europe in Which Germany Played a Constructive Role. Weaving nostalgia for “die europädische Mitte” (Central Europe) into heroic descriptions facilitated the focus on Germany’s “historical role” in Europe prior to World War II. Focus on the Last Year of the War. Concentrating on the last year of the war, when the Wehrmacht was crushed by the Red Army, made it possible to “bypass” the German genocidal machine and adhere to the point of view of the local population, empathizing with the defenders of the eastern front. In addition, the focus on the last year of the war made it possible to draw attention to the great suffering of the Germans.

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Concentration on Daily Life. Portrayal of life under the Third Reich as nonideological routine, characterized by customary social processes, made it possible to present in a single discourse a comprehensive historiography consisting of many different aspects. Focusing attention on everyday life made it possible for historians to discuss Nazism as part of the modernization of Europe and to describe some of its aspects as stemming from the need to integrate masses of “new people” into the new German public. Universalization. Germany’s defeat was portrayed as the collapse of the historic bulwark between east and west and, as such, a loss for all of Europe. The “Nazi atrocity” was described as one link in a long, universal history of atrocities or was juxtaposed against another historical case, that of Stalinism. Relativization. Highlighting the anti-Soviet attitudes led to an equation between the Nazi past and other pasts. All the nations were responsible for the war, which, in any event, was a universal phenomenon. Similarly, by creating an equation between Bolshevik and Nazi atrocities, it was argued that every nation has its own Hitler. Moeller’s study (1996) supplies a fascinating example of the extent of the dissemination of the new past image. Moeller analyzed the stories depicting the past that were told in Germany immediately after World War II and described the deliberate and institutionalized attempt to establish the “story” of the German past upon the “story” of German suffering. During the late 1940s and early 1950s, the attention of the German public was drawn to the suffering of the German deportees and prisoners of war. This focus on German suffering made it possible to construct a story in which the Germans were victims of the war, to facilitate discussion of the fall of the Third Reich without taking responsibility for its rise, and to portray the war as one begun by Hitler in which “they,” the Germans, lost everything. The story emphasized the millions of German prisoners of war and uprooted Germans driven from their homes, as well as the separation of families caused by the partition of Germany. Acknowledgment of the suffering of the German victims was accompanied by a desire to make their legacy and “cultural values” part of the public discourse. Institutes established to study the past stressed the German heritage in the east and concentrated on documenting the German suffering in the past and present. For example, the West German government set up two projects designated to meticulously document German losses and suffering during and after the war, the product of which was meant to become the source for writing “contemporary history.” The accounts collected by these projects compared various populations of victims, especially the Jews and the German displaced persons and prisoners of war. Particularly stressed were the ruthless experiences of the POWs: the hunger, forced labor, reprisals, disease, harrowing conditions, and mass graves. These elements became the sine qua non of the public discourse. The place they occupied in public consciousness is clearly manifested in the results of a poll conducted on May 8, 1995. In reply to the question “Was the expulsion of Germans from the East just as great a crime against humanity as the Holocaust?” thirty-six percent of all Germans and forty percent of those aged sixty-five and older answered “yes” (Moeller 1996, p. 1009). This broad documentational endeavor helped in determining the German past image. The German victim was portrayed as the victim of an ideology, which, like Nazi ideology, was irrational and aspired to “de-Germanize” Eastern Europe. This ideology

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reduced identity to ethnicity and gave rise to the Germans’ understanding of their victimization as resulting from their Germanness. The story of the war was channeled into a story of the war’s aftermath; the story of pan-European suffering was transformed into a story about the suffering of the deportees; and the concentration camps were replaced by POW camps. The documentation project described the concentration camps, especially Theresienstadt, as camps populated after the war by German prisoners and prisoners of war. Almost entirely absent from these descriptions are references to the victims of the Germans. The story barely mentioned Jewish suffering, almost to the point of disregarding it. The few references to Jewish suffering became a yardstick for comparing the horrors experienced by German deportees and prisoners of war. In some of these camps, particularly Theresienstadt, only the victims had changed: where Jewish prisoners had suffered from the National Socialist system of oppression, Germans were now tortured and maltreated. (Moeller 1996, p. 1028) A predetermined set of narratives comprised the German historical discourse, into which the story of the German past was channeled. As such, the story was preserved in German public memory. The story of World War II had a predetermined arena, time span, and protagonists. Its heroes were the German victims of Nazism, its arena was confined to the East, and its time span shifted from the war to its aftermath. Contrary to common belief, this set of narratives was not created by the revisionist historians alone, nor by any certain political faction. (On the distribution of the revisionist stance among historians in Germany and other countries in Europe and elsewhere, see Vidal-Naaquet 1992, pp. 68–128.) Despite considerable differences between the German Left and Right, both were involved in this endeavor, as shown by Friedlander (1987). Essentially, almost all parties that were engaged in constructing the German historical discourse embraced this model long before historians like Andreas Hillgruber and Ernst Nolte placed the so-called “revisionist discourse” on the agenda. In other words, the “Historians’ Controversy” would not have been possible had it not been preceded by certain patterns of historical discourse formed as early as the 1950s. The “Historians’ Controversy” was unique in that it rose to the top of the public agenda and that it did not dissipate for quite some time. Indeed, great interest was generated well beyond the boundaries of West Germany, probably due to the traumatic character of the story of the German past. This traumatic nature of this story often served to justify the way in which the past image is constructed in books for children. It is commonly argued that the dark chapters of the Third Reich are particularly difficult for young readers and that they should be spared; or that any society would seek to protect its young from its the terrible past and would be reluctant to expose itself by telling children about the atrocities perpetrated by their forebears—“they will have sufficient opportunity to confront it in their adulthood,” so the argument goes. Accordingly, books for children in general, and historical novels in particular, should describe the brighter side of life. The books should expose children to the more “positive” events of the Third Reich—however exceptional—and create a world peopled mostly by “good” Germans who were fond of their Jewish neighbors and helped

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them. In order to build a better society for the future, it is maintained, a world of “positive” protagonists supplying role models should be served up to young readers. The naïvete behind the assumption that children will believe a story, even one which adults know is not true, deserves a separate discussion. In this context I would like to raise two issues. First, as we have seen throughout this book, the German texts for children do not hesitate to expose their young readers to descriptions of the “less pleasant side of life.” German children’s literature repeatedly confronts children with very detailed and cruel descriptions of human suffering, a cruel and grim world of hardship, pain, and horror experienced by people during World War II. In most cases these descriptions relate to German suffering and to German suffering alone. It is not the descriptions of the “less pleasant side of life” that the children are spared, only suffering that is caused by the Germans. Second, the protective approach in children’s literature is no longer popular in Western culture, nor German culture in particular. More than a decade ago, children’s literature in the West was opened up to a number of subjects that had formerly been taboo and presented them in all their harshness—showing no mercy to young readers—in the belief that this is the pedagogically and psychologically correct way to prepare children to cope with the world. The attempt in German children’s literature to continue protecting young readers from basic truths about the Third Reich and the Holocaust is particularly conspicuous given the decline of the protective approach in children’s literature, and especially in literature for young adults. Moreover, German children’s literature is known as challenging and avant-garde in its realism and social naturalism. It is only in its historical novels about the Third Reich and the Holocaust that this literature recycles the old paradigms of the 1960s concerning the German past; this is true even of authors known as nonconventional, provocative, and ground breaking, such as Christine Nöstlinger and Peter Härtling. Furthermore, in supporting the current German story, it is argued that children’s literature plays an important role in the formation of the child’s world view, as part of his or her socialization process, and should therefore provide the child with positive role models. “How is it possible to build a desirable world view for children,” goes the argument, “while portraying their parents and grandparents as monstrous murderers?” Even if this point is accepted, for the sake of argument, one might ask what is the best way to present children with such a repertoire of models. Should the children not also be presented with sets of values that are to be rejected? Is it not better, from a pedagogic point of view, to let children consider various possible value systems and guide them to choose the one preferred by the writer or society, rather than conceal from the children the very existence of other sets of values, the one that dictated the behavior of their own people, which they may at any rate learn about later in their lives? What pedagogical and psychological results can be expected if children grow up to discover that the story they were told in their childhood was nothing but a lie? Some may prefer to cling to this false story rather than confront the truth, thereby perpetuating the trend of falsification and repression; others will realize that they were deceived and will lose their faith in the cultural (and political) system that created the false narrative. In either case, the result is unwelcome. Another question is in order: What kind of moral can children draw from a narrative that presents a world of well-intentioned people, citizens possessing goodwill, who all

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fought in vain against an unbeatable demon? Is the intended lesson that opposition to a dictatorship is pointless? If, indeed, most of the Germans were engaged in helping the Jews and other persecuted communities, as the texts for children seem to imply, why were their efforts all in vain? Is this the moral the children should draw? Would it not be better to teach them a different lesson, that if more Germans had been willing to oppose dictatorship and fight the Nazi beast, history might have been different? Who is actually being protected here? Is it the children that the writers wish to spare, or is it the adults who are spared from the need to be confronted by their children and by their children’s attitude toward the older generations who were complicit, in one way or another, actively or passively, in the history of the Third Reich? I contend that those who speak for the “good of the child” and who use psychological and pedagogical arguments should reconsider, more than anyone else, the deliberate attempt to temper and filter the story told in Germany about the Third Reich and the Holocaust. Having said all this, one might still ask: so what? What is the significance of this shared past image in books for children? After all, these texts are read mostly, often exclusively, by children; more often than not they do not have great literary value, nor are they particularly well positioned in the culture. Might it be that this study exaggerates the ability of books for children to shape the past image and world view and to participate in the creation of the reader’s historical consciousness? I contend that, despite the low cultural status of children’s literature, the books in question play a fundamental role in the construction of the Germans’ past image. Images perceived at a young age are internalized and tend to remain, becoming a cornerstone of historical memory and knowledge. The books in question were authorized and endorsed by the cultural establishment of West Germany and were sold in tens of thousands of copies. They often serve as the leading, at times the only, mediator between their readers and history. They participate in determining the world-view of children, and due to the socializing function of children’s literature they take part in establishing attitudes that the children carry into adulthood. German children’s literature written after 1945 was clearly neither the only nor the most important factor that contributed to the distortion of the historical narrative. As literature designed specifically for young readers, however, it laid the foundation for this distortion and lent it a platform. It continued to do so fifty years after the Holocaust and the collapse of the Third Reich. The passing of time has not done anything to help promote different books that will be willing to confront the truth and expose it. On the contrary, over time this willingness has been further reduced even among the “wellintentioned” writers. The process of the construction of the past, as described in this study, is typical of the formation of any other historical construction. The manner in which German writers use historical materials is essentially no different from the way such materials are employed whenever an image of the past is created, regardless of national identity. We may well ask: don’t German writers have the right to present their point of view, their story, as they see it and wish to remember it? At a time when we acknowledge the existence of multiple “narratives” and endorse the notion that everyone has a story of his or her own, why not justify the German story, however it is chosen to be told?

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The case of the Third Reich and the Holocaust is not just “another case of a distorted story.” This is precisely why its legitimacy as such must and should be questioned. Even if this story was created unintentionally and unwillingly, it is the end result that matters. The end result is a story that West Germany chose to tell present and future generations about the Third Reich and the Holocaust, which is not only a distorted and deformed story, but an immoral one as well.

NOTES

Chapter 1 1. I am grateful to Gina Weinkauff, Winfred Kaminski, and Rüdiger Steinlein for their insightful remarks on an earlier draft of this chapter. 2. I am grateful to Orly Seliger for her translation of the German citations of texts that were not translated into English. 3. The prize, worth 3,500 Reichsmarks, was named after Hans Schemm, founder of the National Socialist Teachers’ Association, who was appointed Bavarian Minister of Culture on March 16,1933. 4. Düsseldorf: Droste, 1954 (gekiirzte Ausgabe); Düsseldorf: Droste, 1959; Wien: Österreichische Buchgemeinschaft, 1956; Gütersloh; Bertelsmann, 1966; Düsseldorf: Claassen, 1980; Bergisch-Gladbach: Bastei Lübbe, 1982; München: dtv, 1989; Reinbekbei Hamburg: RoRoRo-Rotfuchs, 1989 (Die feinen Leute und die Pferdeäpfel. Zwei Geschichten aus dem Roman). 5. Düsseldorf: Claassen, 1981; Bergisch-Gladbach: Bastei Lübbe, 1983; München: dtv, 1989. 6. I am obliged to Susanne Koppe for placing the entire letter at my disposal. 7. Embedded speech (Sometimes referred to as combined discourse), as formulated by Menakhem Perry in an unpublished speech (cited by Shlomith Rimmon-Kenan, 1983. Narrative Fiction. London: Methuen, p. 111), “is formed when together with a basic frame of discourse an alternative, secondary frame is activated, which organizes some of the elements. The frame is not the formal or official linguistic frame; it has other indicators—linguistic or thematic—and once constructed, is always incongruent with the formal frame.” (See also Menakhem Perry, 1979. “Literary Dynamics: How the Order of a Text Creates Its Meaning.” Poetics Today 1:1–2, Autumn, pp. 35–64, 311–361; Menakhem Perry, 1979. “Alternative Patterning: Mutually Exclusive Sign Sets in Literary Texts.” Versus 24, pp. 83–106, esp. pp. 93–102; see also Mieke Bal, 1981. “Notes on Narrative Embedding.” Poetics Today 2:2, Winter, pp. 41–60).

Chapter 2 1. This chapter, as a chapter in itself, is cited from the Hebrew translation because it does not exist in either the German or the English edition; these do, however, include a subchapter entitled “The Chosen.” 2. Wendelgard von Staden was married to Berndt von Staden, who held such posts as Secretary of State and ambassador to the United States. 3. Von Neurath served as foreign minister in Hitler’s government until February 1938, and, as SS Obergruppenfuhrer, served as governor of the Protectorate. In 1943 he was appointed an

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SS general. He stood trial after the war before the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg and was sentenced in 1946 to fifteen years’ imprisonment for crimes against peace, war crimes, and crimes against humanity (see personal file at Yad Vashem archive, 068/351; and Heineman 1979, Wistrich 1982, and The Trial of German Major War Criminals, 1958). 4. During the Reich years, Dönhoff maintained contacts with the July 20 group. After the war, she served as political editor and later editor-in-chief of Die Zeit and was co-publisher in Hamburg from 1973. 5. Because the introduction by Marion Gräfin Dönhoff for the German original was not translated into English, but was rewritten by Wendelgard von Staden especially for the English edition, this is a direct translation from the German original introduction. 6. Ilse Aichinger’s introduction does not appear in the English translation of the book. 7. The introduction to the German edition, which was written by Erich Kästner, was not translated into English; therefore, this is a direct translation from the German introduction. 8. The afterword by Antoinette Becker to the German original was not translated into English. 9. This motto appears in the German edition of 1988. However, it appears neither in the original edition (1961) nor in the English translation (1987).

Chapter 3 1. I am grateful to Itamar Even-Zohar, Israel Gershoni, Nurit Gertz, Dan Dinar, Nadav Naaman, and Yaacov Shavit for their comments and assistance on this chapter. 2. Model (pl. Models) A pre-cast combination from a given repertoire to either understand (perceive) or produce a situation, an event, or a product. It is assumed that while “repertoires” may be “the general necessary knowledge,” models are the working tools in actual behavior, the operating units that help navigating in a culture of one or another group. For further discussion see Even-Zohar, Itamar, 1997. “Factors and Dependencies in Culture: A Revised Draft for Polysystem Culture Research.” Canadian Review of Comparative Literature / Revue Canadienne de Litterature Comparee XXIV (1, March), pp. 15–34. (Also included in Papers in Culture Research, 2004 [http://www.tau.ac.il/~itamarez/works/books/ez-cr2004.pdf]) 3. Repertoire (pl. Repertoires) A structured array of interdependently related components for perception and action. In any social or cultural activity or industry (= an institutionalized activity), it denotes the options available for the management of that activity or industry. In culture, for example, these components are the options available to a certain group for the management of social and personal life. It is assumed that it is repertoires that people normally have to learn in order to both understand and act in social situations or industries. For further discussion see Even-Zohar, Itamar, 1997. “Factors and Dependencies in Culture: A Revised Draft for Polysystem Culture Research.” Canadian Review of Comparative Literature I Revue Canadienne de Litterature Comparee XXIV (1, March), pp. 15–34. (Also included in Papers in Culture Research, 2004 [http://www.tau.ac.il/~itamarez/works/books/ez-cr2004.pdf])

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Chapter 4 1. Langenscheidt explains the German expression “Zuckertiite” as follows: “large cornet filled with sweets and given to children in Germany on their first day at school.” 2. The English translation differs from the German original in that it includes two more chapters, while some passages are omitted or relocated. 3. Kapo (Capo) Term used in the Nazi concentration camps for an inmate appointed by the SS to head a Kommando (work group) made up of other prisoners. Source: Encydopedia of the Holocaust, vol. 2, pp. 783–784 4. SA Sturmabteilung or “Storm Troopers,” also known as “Brown Shirts,” Nazi street fighters before Hitler’s rise to power. On the whole, the SA was characterized by virulent antiSemitism, anti-democratic illegal military activities, the rejection of bourgeois law and order, a lower middle-class mentality, corruption, and bids of personal power. The night of mass political assassinations, on June 30, 1934 (Nacht der langen Messet, “Night of the Long Knives”), resulted in the SA’s losing its position of predominance in the Third Reich to the SS. However, the organization was allowed to continue to exist. Source: Encyclopedia of the Holocaust, vol. 4, pp. 1319–1321

5. Jürgen Stroop (1895–1951) SS and police chief, and a World War I veteran, who crushed the Warsaw Ghetto uprising and destroyed the Warsaw Ghetto. Source: Encyclopedia of the Holocaust, vol. 4, pp. 1415–1417

Chapter 5 1. Anschluss The takeover of Austria by Germany, March 13, 1938 (the term is usually translated as “connection,” “union,” or “annexation”). Source: Encyclopedia of the Holocaust, vol. 1, pp. 47–48 2. Philo-Semitic An interest in or respect for the Jewish people and the historical significance of Jewish culture. Some warmly welcome it and argue that it must lead Jews to reconsider their identity. Others reject philoSemitism as they feel it, like its apparent opposite anti-semitism. Source: http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/Philo-Semitism

Chapter 6 1. Mezuzah A small parchment scroll inscribed with scriptural verses (Deuteronomy 6:4–9, 11:13–21) and the name Shaddai and placed in a case fixed to the doorpost by some Jewish families as a sign and reminder of their faith. Sources: Encyclopaedia Britannica Article. http://www.britannica.com/eb/article?eu=537208rtocid=0&query=mezuzah&ct

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2. Realeme (pl. Realemes) A component in the repertoire of realia of a culture. The combinations of realemes are models of representing a segment of “reality.”“Realia” is “the world outside,” or “reality” as it is constructed by cultural repertoires, such as the everyday accepted inventory of images about “reality,” or the stylized inventory as established and perpetuated by institutionalized industries such as literature and “the arts” in general. The Realeme is therefore a constructed component in culture, not an objective piece of reality, which is assumed to never be known as such. For further discussion see Even-Zohar, Itamar 1990. “‘Reality’ and Realemes in Narrative.” Polysystem Studies [Poetics Today], (1990) 11:1, pp. 207–218. Also available electronically as http://www.tau.ac.il/~itamarez/works/books/ez-pss1990.pdf

Chapter 9 1. As is well known, having been charged with treason, Sophie was executed along with her brother in 1943. They had been apprehended two days earlier at Munich University while distributing leaflets calling on students to act against the regime. A total of eight group members were executed. Approximately fifty were arrested and sentenced to various prison terms.

Chapter 10 1. Calvary is the dome of the skull.

Chapter 12 1. The book has been published in Holland in numerous editions (the tenth edition was published in 1986, and the eleventh in 1995). Two Hebrew editions have been published. The first was a translation from the German by A.D. Shapir, which was published in 1963 as a book for adults in the “Sifriya La’am” series by the Am Oved publishing house. The second Hebrew edition was published by the children of the author in 1991, after her death, in the “Korczak youth series” published by Yad Vashem. The latter edition was translated directly from the original Dutch. The differences between these editions indicate the different ways each publisher viewed the book. Whereas Am Oved included the book in a series for adults, the objectives of the Yad Vashem youth series were commemoration and remembrance. As we shall see later, the German translation sought to dispose of the commemorative dimension almost entirely. 2. I am grateful to Ran Hacohen for his help in comparing the Dutch original and the German translation and for translating sections from the Dutch.

Primary Sources

The following is an alphabetized list of the books—both original and translated editions—that were analyzed for purposes of this study, including details of accolades and prizes. The information for each title is listed in the following order: 1. Author; title in German 2. English translation: author; year of publication; title; translator; city of publication; publisher; subsequent editions 3. English original: title; publisher; year of publication; subsequent editions 4. Original in language other than English or German: author; year of publication; title; city of publication; publisher [original language] 5. First German edition: city of publication; publisher; year of publication 6. Additional editions in German by the same publisher, to the extent known; information regarding the circulation of such editions, to the extent known 7. Later editions in German that were reviewed; information regarding the circulation of such editions, to the extent known up to 1997 8. Edition from which German quotations were taken 9. Edition from which English quotations were taken 10. Accolades 11. Hebrew edition 1. Asscher-Pinkhof, Clara, Sternkinder 2. Asscher-Pinkhof, Clara 1986. Star Children. Terese Edelstein and Inez Smidt (trans.). Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press 3.— 4. Asscher-Pinkhof, Clara, 1946. Sterrekinderen. ‘s-Gravenhage: Leopold [Dutch] 5. Berlin: Dressler, 1961 6.— 7. Hamburg: Oetinger, 1986; Hamburg: last edition 1996; Berlin: Kinderbuchverlag, 1997 edition 8. Hamburg: Oetinger, 1992 9. Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press, 1986 10. German Award for Youth Literature 1962 (Category: Youth Book) 11. Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1963; Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 1991 1. Bayer, Ingeborg. Zeit für die Hora 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Würzburg: Arena, 1988 6. 4th Edition 20,000–24,000 1989 7. München: Knaur Pocketbook, 1992 8. München: Knaur Pocketbook, 1992 9.—

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10. German Award for Youth Literature 1989 (Category: Youth Book) 11.— 1. Berger, Peter. Im roten Hinterhaus. Die Geschichte einer Familie in verworrener Zeit 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Stuttgart: Schwaben, 1966 6.— 7. Würzburg: Arena, 10th Edition 94,000–96,000 1995 8. Würzburg: Arena, 1991 9.— 10. German Award for Youth Literature 1967 (Category: Youth Book) 11.— 1. Bruckner, Winfried. Die toten Engel 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Wien: Jungbrunnen, 1963 6.— 7. Ravensburg: Ravensburger Maier, 16th Edition 1996 8. Ravensburg: Ravensburger Maier, 1994 9.— 10. Austrian Award for Children and Youth Book 1963 11.— 1. Bruckner, Winfried (u.a.). Damals war ich vierzehn. Berichte und Erinnerungen 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Wien: Jugend und Volk, 1978 6.— 7. Ravensburg: Ravensburger Maier, 1st Edition 1981, 9th Edition 1994 8. Ravensburg: Ravensburger Maier, 1994 9.— 10. Shortlist, German Award for Youth Literature 1979 11.— 1. Burfeind, Ilse. Das Kind im Koffer 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Hamburg: Kinderhaus, 1987 6.— 7.— 8. Hamburg: Kinderhaus, 1987 9.— 10.— 11.— 1. Burger, Horst. Vier Fragen an meinen Vater 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Reutlingen: Ensslin & Laiblin, 1976 6.—

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7. Warum warst du in der Hitler-Jugend? Vier Fragen an meinen Vater. Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1st Edition 1978, number of edition not mentioned 196,000–199,000 1996 8. Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1994 9.— 10. Shortlist, “Special Award for the International Year of the Child: History and Politics in Youth Book,” German Award for Youth Literature 1979 11.— 1. Dick, Lutz van. Der Attentäter 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Reinbek: Rowohlt Pocketbook, 1988; Reinbek: Rowohlt Pocketbook, 1993 6. Number of edition not mentioned 23,000–26,000 1995 7.— 8. Reinbek: Rowohlt Pocketbook, 1993 9.— 10. Shortlist, Oldenburg Award for Children and Youth Books 11.— 1. Fährmann, Willi. Das Jahr der Wölfe. Die Geschichte einer Flucht 2. Fährmann, Willi, 1973. The Year of the Wolves: The Story of an Exodus. Stella Humphries (trans.). London: Oxford University Press 3.— 4.— 5. Würzburg: Arena, 1962 6. Würzburg: Arena-Pocketbook, 1994 7. 11th Edition 1995 as Arena-Pocketbook, total number of copies: 237,000 8. Würzburg: Arena-Pocketbook, 1994 9. London: Oxford University Press, 1973 10. Shortlist, German Award for Youth Literature 1963 11.— 1. Foreman, Michael. Kriegskinder 2.— 3. Foreman, Michael, 1989. War Boy. Blantyre, Glasgow: Eagle Colourbooks 4.— 5. Frankfurt/Main: Alibaba, 1989 6.— 7.— 8. Frankfurt/Main: Alibaba, 1989 9. Blantyre, Glasgow: Eagle Colourbooks, 1989 10.— 11.— 1. Fuchs, Ursula. Emma oder Die unruhige Zeit 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Kevelaer: Anrich, 1979 6.— 7. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1st Edition 1983, 10th Edition 1993 8. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1993 9.— 10. German Award for Youth Literature 1980 (Category: Children’s Book) 11.—

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1. Gehrts, Barbara. Nie wieder ein Wort davon? 2. Gehrts, Barbara, 1986. Dont Say a Word. Elizabeth D.Crawford (trans.). New York: Margaret K.McElderry Books 3.— 4.— 5. Stuttgart: Union, 1975 6.— 7. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1st Edition 1978, 15th Edition 1995 8. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1995 9. New York: Margaret K.McElderry Books, 1986 10. Shortlist, German Award for Youth Literature 1976 (Category: Youth Book) 11.— 1. von der Grün, Max. Wie war das eigentlich? Kindheit undjugend im dritten Reich 2. von der Grün, Max, 1980. Howl Like the Wolves: Growing up in Nazi Germany. Jan van Heurck (trans.). New York: William Morrow 3.— 4.— 5. Darmstadt und Neuwied: Hermann Luchterhand, 1979 6.— 7. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1st Edition 1995 8. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1995 9. New York: William Morrow, 1980 10.— 11.— 1. Hannam, Charles…und dann mußte ich gehen 2.— 3. Hannam, Charles, [1977] 1988. A Boy in Your Situation. London. André Deutsch 4.— 5. Würzburg: Arena, 1979 6. Arena-Pocketbook, 1st Edition 1985 7.— 8. Würzburg: Arena-Pocketbook, 1985 9. London. André Deutsch, [1977] 1988 10.— 11.— 1. Hartig, Monika. Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum? 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Würzburg: Arena, 1986 6. Arena-Pocketbook, 1st Edition 1990, 2nd Edition 1993 7.— 8. Würzburg: Arena-Pocketbook, 1993 9.— 10. Ziircher Children s Book Award “La vache qui lit” 1986 11.— 1. Härtling, Peter. Krücke 2. Härtling, Peter, 1988. Crutches. Elizabeth D.Crawford (trans.). New York: Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Books 3.— 4.— 5. Weinheim: Beltz & Gelberg, 1986

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6. 7th Edition 41,000–46,000 year not mentioned; Beltz & Gelberg—Gulliver Pocketbook, 1st Edition 1994, 2nd Edition 1995, number of edition not mentioned 1996 7.— 8. Weinheim: Beltz & Gelberg, 1992 9. New York: Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Books, 1988 10.— 11.— 1. Herfurtner, Rudolf. Mensch, Karnickel 2.— 3.— 4.— 5. Wien: Ueberreuter, 1990 6.— 7. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1992, 3rd Edition April 1994 8. München: dtv (Pocket Book), April 1994 9.— 10. Bookworm Award, Germany’s National Public Television Broadcaster 1990; shortlist, German Award for Youth Literature 1991 (Category: Youth Book) 11.— 1. Heuck, Sigrid. Maisfrieden 2. Heuck, Sigrid, 1988. The Hideout. Rika Lesser (trans.). New York: Dutton. 3.— 4.— 5. Stuttgart: Thienemann, 1986 6.— 7.— 8. Stuttgart: Thienemann, 1986 9.— 10.— 11.— 1. Holm, Anne. Ich bin David. 2. Holm, Anne, 1965. North to Freedom, L.W.Kingsland (trans. from the Danish), San Diego, New York, London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich 3. Heidelberg, Wien: Ueberreuter, 1964 4. David. København: Glydendal 5.— 6. Aarau, Frankfurt/Main: Sauerländer, 1972, as bt Youth pocket book, München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1st Edition 1976, 16th Edition 1993 7. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1991 8. München: dtv (Pocket Book), 1991 9.— 10. 1st Award, Scandinavian Youth Book competition 11.— 1. Innocenti, Roberto/Gallaz, Christophe (text). Rosa Weiss 2. Innocenti, Roberto and Christophe Gallaz, 1990. Rose Blanche. Martha Coventry and Richard Graglia (trans.). New York: Stewart, Tabori & Chang Inc. 3.— 4. Innocenti, Roberto/Gallaz, Christophe, 1985. Rose Blanche. Lausanne: Editions 24 Heures [French] 5. Frankfurt/Main: Alibaba, 1986 6. 5th Edition 1992 7.—

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Index

A …aber Steine reden nicht (…But Stones Don’t Speak) (Ross), 138 Adorno, Theodor, 14 Aichinger, Ilse, 50, 57–58 Alan andNaomi (Der gelbe Vogel) (Levoy) anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 147 misplacement of elements, 107 publishing developments, 21 temporal boundaries, 124, 133 Allies alternative narrative, 270 atrocities committed by, 28, 247–248 attacks on troops, 245 bombardment of cities by, 28–29, 37–38, 126, 229, 232–234, 248 comparison with Germans, 38 correlation with Nazis, 247 Germans as victims of, 230–233 keys to past image, 30 rape, 109 responsibility, 37 World War II, 246 Als die Neue Zeit begann (When the New Time Began) (Maecker), 138, 184 Alternative narrative abolition of distinction between Nazis and Germans, 281–283 abstract knowledge, 262–263 acquiescence, 267–268 Allies, 270 anti-Semitism, 267 assistance offered to Jews, 269–270 brutality, 278–281 complex presentation of characters, 281–284 culpability, 278–281 geographical boundaries, 264–265 German suffering, 284–285 introspection and prospection, 263 Jews, 266–267 lessons of, 285 Nazis, 270

Index

289

in original German texts, 276–285 perspective, 265–266, 276–278 prospection and introspection, 263 reception circumstances of Sternkinder (Star Children), 272–276 representation of Jews, 283–285 temporal boundaries, 264–265 victims, 270–272, 276–278 Americans, see also Allies as Allies, 30 Germans persecuted by, 121 Analogy between Jews and Nazis ceremonies and rituals, 182, 190–193 establishment of equivalence, 181–182 food, control of, 193–197, 199 fraudulence, 193–197 judenrein Germany, 201–202 linguistic peculiarity, 188–190 madness and insanity, 182, 190–193 maltreatment of animals, 193–197 physical description,, 182–188 selfishness, 193–197 strangeness, 188–190 substituting roles, 197–201 suicidal tendencies, 182, 190–193 Angress, Ruth, 28, 189 Anilin (Schenzinger), 6 Animals analogy between Jews and Nazis, 193–197 beaten by Germans, 279 comparisons with Jews, 140–141 death blamed on British forces, 248 Germans as victims, 231 guard dogs, 95 misplacement of elements, 93 Nazis responsible for dog’s death, 169 Anne Frank, see also Anne Frank [play]; Das Tagebuch der Anne Frank (The Diary of Anne Frank) misplacement of elements, 110 publishing developments, 14–16 temporal boundaries, 126 Anne Frank [play], 14, see also Anne Frank Anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism alternative narrative, 267 explicit remarks, 138–143 Jewish advantage, 143–153 Jews as agents of harm, 153–154 penchant for survival, 155–156 propaganda, 138–143 publishing, second period in, 16 temporal boundaries, 127 Arena [publisher], 4

Index

290

Asscher-Pinkhof, Clara, 19, 22, 41, 43, 44, 88, 261–262, 265–266, 271–273, 276, see also Sternkinder (Star Childreri) Assistance to Jews, 166–169, 249–253, 269–270 Auf Leben und Tod (Uncle Misha’s Partisans) (Shul), 18 Auschwitz [concentration camp] alternative narrative, 277, 279 Germans as victims, 221, 231 ignorance of Germans, 241–242 temporal boundaries, 125 Austria and Austrians assistance to the Jews, 253 burned by the Allies, 53 linkage of Jews with dirt and contagion, 141 takeover (annexation) by Germany, 120,295 Autobiographical books, 17, 23–24 Awards Buxtehuder Bulle (Buxtehude’s Bull), 19 Der junge Mensch in seiner Umwelt (The Young Man in his Environment), 19 Der Deutsche Filmpreis (German Film Prize), 6 Der Deutsche Jugendliteraturpreis (German Prize for Children’s Literature), 19–20, 261 Goldene Taschenbuch (Golden Paperback), 20 Göttingen Book of the Month, 19 Gustav-Heinemann-Preis für Friedenserziehung (The Gustav Heinemann Prize for Peace Education), 19 Hans-Schemm-Preis für das deutsche Jugendschrifttum (Hans Schemm Prize for German Literature for Youth), 6–7 La vache qui lit (The Cow Who Reads), 261 Nobel Peace Prize, 42 Preis der Leseratten des ZDF (Bookworm Award of Germany’s National Public Television Broadcaster), 19 B Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld (Barefoot across the Field of Stubble) (Kanstein) Germans as victims, 226–227, 231–232, 234 guilt and ignorance, 246, 248 temporal boundaries, 116, 118–119, 123, 131 Die Barke der Brüder (The Barque of the Brothers) (Baumann), 7 Bartov, Omer, 74 Baumann, Hans, 5, 7, see also Die Barke der Bruder (The Barque of the Brothers); Der Sohn des Kolumbus (Son of Columbus); “Es zittern die morschen Knochen” (“The Rotten Bones are Trembling”); Steppensöhne (Sons of the Steppe) Bayer, Ingeborg, see Zeit für die Hora (Time for the Hora) Becker, Antoinette anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 157 introduction to German original, 294 keys to past image, 54–55, 57 Beisbart, Ortwin, 3 Bergen-Belsen [concentration camp] Anne Frank’s death, 126

Index

291

Germans as victims, 224 misplacement of elements, 93 Berger, Peter, 19, see also Im roten Hinterhaus (In the Red Backhouse) Berlin museum, 286 partition of, 32–33, 129 reunification of, 62, 286 suicide, 226 wall, 33 Bitburg controversy, 286 Die Blechtrommel (The Tin Drum) (Grass), 189 Bloch, Mark, 71 Bolius, Gisela, 9–10 Bond, George Clement and Angela Gilliam, 62 Bonn memorial, 286 Bonn museum, 286 Books, burning of, 43, 178 Borders of the Reich globalization and universalization, 126–128 length of time periods, 123–126 nature and its destruction, 129–131 past-present dichotomy, 128–129 severance of time and place, 115–123 Boundaries of time globalization and universalization, 126–128 length of time periods, 123–126 nature and its destruction, 129–131 past-present dichotomy, 128–129 severance of time and place, 115–123 Boundaries, Temporal alternative narrative, 264–265 globalization and universalization, 126–128 length of time periods, 123–126 nature and its destruction, 129–131 past-present dichotomy, 128–129 severance of time and place, 115–123 Sternkinder (Star Children), 264 A Boy in Your Situation (…und dann mußte ich gehen) (Hannam) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 194 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 146 guilt and ignorance, 241 Brandt, Willy, 22, 42–43, 51 Brenner, Rachel Feldhay, 15 Briegleb, Klaus and Siegrid Weigel, 28 British, as Allies, 30 Brockman, Stephen, 286 Bruckner, Winfried, 145, 238, 261, 268, 276, 278, 281–283, see also “Die Puppe” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“The Doll” in When I Was Fourteen); Die toten Engel (The Dead Angels) Brüder wie Freunde (Brothers Like Friends) (Kordon) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 185–186 Germans as victims, 222–223, 230, 234 guilt and ignorance, 25

Index

292

temporal boundaries, 117–122, 127–129, 132 Brunken, Otto, 6 Brutality, alternative narrative, 278–281 Buchenwald [concentration camp] Germans as victims, 223 misplacement of elements, 96, 103 resistance movement, 217 temporal boundaries, 115 Bundestag, 42 Burfeind, Ilse, see Das Kind im Koffer (The Child in the Suitcase) Burger, Horst R, 20, see also Warum warst du in der Hitler-Jugend? Vier Fragen an meinen Vater (Why Were You in the Hitler Youth? Four Questions for My Father) C Capo/Kapo, 103–104, 190, 295 Caruth, Cathy, 74, 285 Catholic Church, 251 CDU, see Christian Democratic Union (CDU) Censorship, 9–10, 240 Christian Democratic Union (CDU), 21 Cloer, Ernst, 3, 12,21 Communism, 9, 40 Communists concentration camps, 90, 97, 241 resistance movement, 49 Concentration camps,see also Auschwitz; Bergen-Belsen; Buchenwald; Dachau; Majdanek; Mauthausen; Theresienstadt; Treblinka; Wiesengrund all nationalities, 93, 96 communists, 241 dissidents, 92 ignorance of, 240–241, 255 Jews in, 27–28, 96, 241, 289 marginalization of, 243 misplacement of elements, 90–103 no mention of, 29 POW camps, 289 propaganda about, 90, 99 summer camp/boot camp description, 101 temporal boundaries, 125, 132 Cottle, Thomas, 74 Culpability, 56, 278–281 Czechs fear of hiding Germans, 108 Germans as victims, 106, 225, 229 rape by, 109

Index

293

D Dachau [concentration camp] ignorance of, 241 misplacement of elements, 92,97,103 Nazis as violent and cruel, 173 resistance movement, 216 temporal boundaries, 115 Dahrendorf, Malte, 3–4, 12, 16–17, 20, 22–24 Damals war es Friedrich (Friedrich) (Richter) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 183, 185, 187, 191, 194–195, 198–201 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 137–138, 141–142, 144–151, 153–154, 156–157 Germans as victims, 223, 225, 231, 236 guilt and ignorance, 244, 249, 252–253 misplacement of elements, 88–89 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 165–166, 170, 172–173, 175, 180 publishing developments, 19–22 temporal boundaries, 121, 124–125 Damals war ich vierzehn (When I Was Fourteen) (Bruckner) “Als der Banhof brannte” (“As the Railway Station Burned”), 231 “Denk lieber an den Nikolaus” (“Better Think of Santa Claus”), 206,231,234 “Fräulein Lola Buchsbaum” (“Ms. Lola Buchsbaum”), 154 “Der fremde Mann” (“The Stranger”), 228 Germans as victims, 231, 236 guilt and ignorance, 249 “Ich weiß noch wie das war” (“I Still Remember How It Was”), 81, 231 “Lasberger Kriege” (“Lasberg Wars”), 109, 280 “Der Nachzipf” (“Repeat Test”), 211 “Nadines Geschichte” (“Nadine’s Story”), 147, 157 “Die Nonna” (“Grandma”), 154,201, 244 “Die Ohrfeigen” (“Slaps in the Face”), 132,209,212 “Die Puppe” (“The Doll”), 145, 238, 243 “Der rote Eisenbahner” (“The Red Railway Man’”), 192, 206, 223 “Schreckliche Spiele” (“Terrible Games”), 230 “Unser Hund und der Krieg” (“Our Dog and the War”), 210,213, 231 ”Zuckerschlecker” (“Candy Cane”), 80, 208, 276, 277 Death, text manipulation, 233–238 Death transports, 264–265 De Lange [publisher], 8 Del Castillo, Michel, 19, see also Elegie der Nacht (Nocturnal Elegy) Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag [publisher], 20 De Vos, Albert, 44 The Devil in Vienna (Ein blauer und ein grüner Luftballon) (Orgel) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 193–195, 201 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 139, 144–145, 148–149, 155, 157 Germans as victims, 236 guilt and ignorance, 249–250, 253 misplacement of elements, 88 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 165, 176, 178 resistance movement, 216 temporal boundaries, 120

Index

294

The Devil’s Arithmetic (Chaja heißt Leben) (Yolen), 169, 192 Diner, Dan, 33, 76 Disappearance of individuals, 36–37, 118,242,244 Diseases alternative narrative, 278 Germans as victims, 236 misplacement of elements, 81–82, 94–95 Doderer, Klaus, 3–5, 18–19, 21 Domansky, Elisabeth, 37, 126 Doneson, Judith E., 15 Dönhoff, Marion Gräfin, 44,49, 293–294 Dressler [publisher], 20 Droste [publisher], 8 Dumas, Alexander, 70 Durchbruch anno 18. Ein Fronterlebnis (Breakthrough in 1918. Experience at the Front) (Steuben), 6 E Economist [magazine], 42 Ehe alles Legende wird (Before All Becomes Legend) [catalog], 20 Eichmann trial, 16 Elegie der Nacht (Nocturnal Elegy) (del Castillo), 19 Ellermann [publisher], 4, 8 Emma oder Die unruhige Zeit (Emma or Stormy Times) (Fuchs) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 185–186 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 150 Germans as victims, 227, 229, 231, 234 guilt and ignorance, 246, 249 misplacement of elements, 97, 107 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 170, 172, 177 publishing developments, 21 resistance movement, 208 temporal boundaries, 115 Engelmann, Bert, 189 Enlistment in Nazi party, 161–163, 165–166 Enssling & Laiblin [publisher], 5 Er hieß Jan (A Night in Distant Motion) (Korschunow) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 193, 198 Germans as victims, 226, 231, 233–234 guilt and ignorance, 241–242, 249, 251,254 misplacement of elements, 90–91,96, 107, 110 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 163–166, 169–173, 175, 178, 180 resistance movement, 206–207, 210–213,215,218 temporal boundaries, 115, 117–119, 121, 123, 129–130 Der erste Frühling (The First Spring) (Kordon), see also Wendepunkte (Turning Points) Germans as victims, 223, 230, 236 guilt and ignorance, 241, 247 misplacement of elements, 106, 109 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 165, 170, 172, 179 resistance movement, 207, 210–211

Index

295

temporal boundaries, 122 Es lebe die Republih (Long Live the Republic) (Prochazka), 19 “Es zittern die morschen Knochen” (“The Rotten Bones are Trembling”) (Baumann), 7 Even-Zohar, Itamar, 63, 75, 158, 294–295 Executions and extermination, 103–110 F Fährmann, Willi, 20, see also Das Jahr der Wölfe. Die Geschichte einer Flucht (The Year of the Wolves: The Story of an Exodus) Fassbinder affair, 286 Felguth [publisher], 4 Final Solution alternative narrative, 273 constructing the past, 73 keys to past image, 29, 44 temporal boundaries, 118, 121, 125 Fischer [publisher], 13–14 Der fliegende Pfeil (The Flying Arrow) (Steuben), 7 “Flight and expulsion era” (“Flucht und Vertreibung”), 12 Forbidden love misplacement of elements, 91, 103–110 resistance movement, 211, 213 temporal boundaries, 118 Forewords, introductions, and afterwords guilt, 51–56 intended audience, 44–45 keys, 45–59 moral of story, 57–59 signs of resistance, 48–50 victims, 45–48 writers, 42–44 Frahm, Karl Herbert, 42 French occupational forces, 109 Freundschaft für immer und ewig? (Friendship Forever and Ever?) (Michels) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 187, 195 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 144, 146 guilt and ignorance, 246, 253 resistance movement, 207, 212 temporal boundaries, 118–119, 124, 132 Friedlander, Saul, 67, 285–286, 289 Fuchs, Ursula, 21, see also Emma oder Die unruhige Zeit (Emma or Stormy Times) Die fünfzig vom Abendblatt (The Fifty from the Evening Paper) (Weidenmann), 6 Funkenstein, Amos, 65 Der Fuβball (The Football), 8 G Gallzaz, Christophe, 111 Geh heim uhd vergiß alles (Go Home and Forget Everything) (Recheis), see also Das Schattennetz (The Net of Shadows)

Index

296

analogy between Jews and Nazis, 185, 188, 190, 192, 194, 200 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 138, 141–142, 144–145, 153 Germans as victims, 230, 232 guilt and ignorance, 241, 248, 250 misplacement of elements, 88,95,103 resistance movement, 206 temporal boundaries, 119 Gehrts, Barbara, see Nie wieder ein Wort davon? (Don’t Say a Word) Genocide denial of, 287 location-based relativization, 54–55 marginalization of, 51, 243 temporal boundaries, 122 Gentlehands (Sanfthand) (Kerr), 106,197 Gepäckschein 666 (Baggage Check 666) (Weidenmann), 6 Germans accountability for crimes, 253–254 Allies comparison, 38 assistance offered to Jews, 28, 38, 48–49, 269–270 blame, 56 cleansing, 238 in concentration camps, 91 correlation with Jewish victims, 39–40, 47, 51–52 culture, 178–179 death of, 29 deserters, 11,215 distinction between Nazis and Germans, 281–283 exile and expulsion, 46, 48 geographical spaces, 115–123 guilt of silence and obliviousness, 254 helping the Jews, 166–169, 249–253 helplessness, 211 ignorance, 50, 240–242, 254–255, 280–281 lack of knowledge, 254 marginalization of atrocities and extermination, 243–244 Nazi propaganda about, 90 obscured accountability, 245–249 pamphlet distribution, 206–207, 296 passive, 34, 36, 211,215 political prisoners, 108 powerlessness, 30, 33–35 “real,” 27, 161 refugees, 86–87, 121–122, 229 replacing Jewish suffering with German suffering, 39–40 resistance of, 30, 46, 57, 111, 205, 241 responsibility, 36–37 suffering of, 12, 28, 284–285, 288 ties to Jews, 42–45 as victims, 28, 30, 39–40, 45–48, 221–238 victims of Czechs, 106 during World War I, 38–39, 225–226 during World War II, 226–230, 287

Index

297

Germany Berlin Wall, 33 distinction between Wehrmacht soldiers and Nazis, 245, 287–292 East Germany, 38–39, 286 Federal Republic, 5–6 historical role in Europe, 287 judenrein Germany, 201–202 nature, 129–131 Nazi Germany, 123, 177–179 nazirein Germany, 201 a “new” Germany, 179–180 partition of, 32–33, 129 reunification of, 62, 286 West Germany, 12, 286, 288–289 Gilman, Sander L, 14, 158, 189 Giordano, Ralph, 239 Goes, Albrecht, 15–16 Grass, Günther, 158 see also Die Blechtrommel (The Tin Drum) Graver, Lawrence, 14 Greuter, Tobias, 10 Gruber, Albrecht, 10 Grün, Max von der, 91, 246, see also Wie war das eigentlich? Kindheit und Jugend im Dritten Reich (Howl Like the Wolves: Growing Up in Nazi Germany) Guilt (Germans) assistance provided to Jews, 249–253 forewords, introductions and afterwords, 51–56 ignorance of Germans, 240–242, 255 marginalization of atrocities and extermination, 243–244 obscured accountability, 245–249 suppression of the fate of Jews, 243–244 Gurvitch, Georges, 74 Gypsies, see Roma H Haidu, Peter, 73 Halbwachs, Maurice, 65, 68, 74 Hände hoch, Tschibaba! (Hands Up, Tschibaba!) (Kordon) [collection] “Eisern, Emil, eisern” (“Steadfast, Emil, Steadfast”), 166, 226 “Hände hoch, Tschibaba!” (“Hands Up, Tschibaba!”), 149, 167, 212, 241, 250, 253 “Trümmerkutte” (“Rubble Cowl”), 175–176, 234 Hannam, Charles, see A Boy in Your Situation (…und dann mußte ich gehen) Harranth, Wolf, see “Ich weß noch wie das war” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“I Still Remember How It Was” in When I Was Fourteen) Hartig, Monika, 93, see also Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum? (When Does the Sugar Bag Tree Bloom?) Härtling, Peter, 27, 46, 53, 57, 82, 86, 93, 103, 128, 131, 201, 290, see also Krücke (Crutches) old paradigm recycling, 290 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 65 Heilbronner, Oded, 286

Index

298

Heimat [television series], 74 Heimkehr ins Unbekannte (Homecoming to the Unknown) (Luft), 41–42, 51, see also Brandt, Willy Held, Kurt, see Kläber, Kurt Herder [publisher], 4 Herfurtner, Rudolf, see Mensch, Karnickel (Goodness, Rabbit) Hesse, Hermann, 208 Heuck, Sigrid, see Maisfrieden (The Hideout) Heute nacht ist viel passiert (Much Happened Tonight) (Klare) anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 144,148 Germans as victims, 227–228, 230–231 guilt and ignorance, 240, 244 misplacement of elements, 107 resistance movement, 20 Hillgruber, Andreas, 289 Historikerstreit (Historians’ debate), 286, 289 Hitler, Adolf equating with Stalin, 55 guilt, 51, 54 Hitler wave (Hitlerwelle), 22 hypnotic devotion, 163 non-German, 28 not responsible for World War II, 287 pledge to end unemployment, 165 responsible for World War II, 246 trust and blind faith in, 163–164, 246–247 unequivocal accountability, 246 Hitler-Jugend (Hitler Youth) enrollment rationalization, 161 marching song, 7 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 162–164, 175, 178 Nazis as violent and cruel, 175 resistance movement, 207 Der Hitlerjunge Quex (Quex, A Hitler Youth) (Schenzinger), 6 Hobsbawm, Eric, 62, 72–73, 75, 286 Hoch [publisher], 4 Holm, Anne, 97, 277, see also Ich bin David (North to Freedom) Holocaust [television series], 10, 14, 22 Hutton, Patrick H., 62 I Ich bin David (North to Freedom) (Holm), 97, 169 Images of the past constructing, 61–76 creating, 69–71 discourse structure, 74–75 forewords, 41–59 keys, 27–59 premise, 63–65 social role, 71–73

Index

299

the “story,” 27–29 strategies and techniques for construction, 73–75 Im roten Hinterhaus (In the Red Backhouse) (Berger) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 185, 188–189, 191, 199 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 138, 140, 146–147, 149–151 Germans as victims, 236 guilt and ignorance, 244, 246, 249, 251 misplacement of elements, 85 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 165, 168, 170–171, 176 publishing developments, 19 resistance movement, 216 temporal boundaries, 116, 118, 120 Innocenti, Roberto, 111, see also Rose Blanche (Rosa Weiss) Institut für Jugendbuchforschung (Institute for Research of Literature for Youth), 18 Internationale [song], 92, 210 International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg, 293 J Das Jahr der Wölfe. Die Geschichte einer Flucht (The Year of the Wolves: The Story of an Exodus) (Fährmann) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 187–188 Germans as victims, 229, 232, 234 guilt and ignorance, 243, 247, 250–251, 253–254 misplacement of elements, 83–86 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 173–174 publishing developments, 20 resistance movement, 206, 212, 216 temporal boundaries, 123 Jäschke, Petra, and Winfred Kaminski, 3, 10,12 Jews activities forbidden, 124–125 advantage of, over Germans, 48, 143–153 as agents of harm, 153–154 alternative narrative, 266–267 analogy between Nazis and, 181–202 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 137–159 assistance to, 38, 48–49, 166–169, 269–270 as avengers, 232, 238 ceremonies and rituals of Nazis and, 182,190–193 cleaner than Germans, 149 comparisons with animals, 140–141 in concentration camps, 27–28, 96, 241, 289 dirt and contagion, 141, 188 disappearance of, 36–37, 118, 242, 244 equality with others, 58 equation between Jewish victims and German victims, 39–40, 47 exceptional abilities, 29 exile and expulsion, 48, 86–87 extermination of, 89, 104, 120–121, 133–134, 243–244, 264

Index

300

friendliness and generosity, 150–151 inferior human beings, 98–99 jobs, taking from Germans, 143, 158 knowledge of Auschwitz, 242 marginalization of atrocities and extermination, 223,243–244, 289 more “German than the Germans,” 143, 150 nose shape, 184–185 as the Others, 29–30, 181–182 penchant for survival, 155–156, 235 persecution of, 17–18 poisoning Germans, 139–140, 142 portrayal of, 35–36 as purifying victims, 238 representation in alternative narrative, 283–285 responsibility for own fate, 30, 37, 248–249, 252–253 responsible for World War II, 243 second-class status, 36 self-control, 149 stereotypical descriptions of, 35–36, 96, 137,281,283–285 suppression of the deaths of, 235–238, 243–244 Johanna (Welsh), 20–21, 152 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 157 publishing developments, 20–21 The Journey Back (Wie wird es morgen sein?) (Reiss) anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 145, 154–155 Germans as victims, 232 temporal boundaries, 124 Judische Rundschau [newspaper], 42 Judith und Lisa (Best Friends) (Reuter) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 200 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 157–158 Germans as victims, 236 guilt and ignorance, 256 keys to past image, 54–55, 57–58 (see also Becker, Antoinette) temporal boundaries, 134 Jungen im Dienst (Young Men in Service) (Weidenmann), 6 Jungvolk, 150, 206, Jungzug 2 (Youth Platoon 2) (Weidenmann), 6 K Kaes, Anton, 28, 70 Kaminski, Winfred, 3–7, 10, 12 Kanin, Garson, 15 Kanstein, Ingeburg, 116, see also Barfuβ übers Stoppelfeld (Barefoot Across the Field of Stubble) Kästner, Erich forewords and introductions, 41 keys to past image, 43–44, 54, 56 Sternkinder (Star Children), 261 Katriel, Tamar, 62

Index

301

Kedourie, Elie, 286 Kerr, Judith, 21, 23, 277, see also The Other Way Round (Warten bis der Frieden kommt); When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit (Als Hitler das rosa Kaninchen stahl) Kerr, M.E., 106, see also Gentlehands (Sanfthand); Meaker Marijane Keun, Irmgard, 8, see also Das Mädchen, mit dem die Kinder nicht verkehren durften (Grown- ups don’t Understand…); Kind aller Länder (Child of All Lands) Kind aller Länder (Child of All Lands) (Keun), 8 Das Kind im Koffer (The Child in the Suitcase) (Burfeind) anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 141 guilt and ignorance, 243 misplacement of elements, 96, 101 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 170–171 resistance movement, 217 Die Kinder auf der lnsel (The Children on the Island), 9 Erwin kommt nach Schweden (Erwin Comes to Sweden), 9 Erwin und Paul (Erwin and Paul), 8–9 Mirjam in Amerika (Miryam in America), 9–10 Die Kinder aus Nr. 67 (The Children from No. 67) [Series] (Tetzner), 8, 54 Kläber, Kurt, 8 Klare, Margaret, 107, see also Heute nacht ist viel passiert. Geschichten einer Kindheit (Much Happened Tonight) Knowledge alternative narrative, 262–263 constructing the past image, 76 remembrance and forgetting, 66 resistance movement, 217–219 Koehn, Ilse, 85, see also Mischling Second Degree. My Childhood in Nazi Germany (Mischling zweiten Grades. Kindheit in der Nazizeit) Kohl, Helmut, 62 Kok [publisher], 44 Komet [publisher], 8 Koppe, Susanne, 11 Kordon, Klaus, 31–33, 35, 39–41, 42, 45, 47–49, 54–55, 58, 116, 117, 122, 132, 143, 149, 166– 167, 179, 207, 223, 230, 243, 244, 251, see also Brüder wie Freunde (Brothers like Friends); Die Lisa (Lisa); Ein Trümmersommer (Summer of Rubble); Hände hoch,Tschibaba! (Hands Up, Tschibaba/); Wendepunkte (Turning Points) Korschunow, Irina, see Er hieß Jan (A Night in Distant Motion) Kranz, Herbert, 4–5 Kristallnacht, 36–37, 92, 124–126, 133, 141, 150, 166,221,244 Krücke (Crutches) (Härtling) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 184–185, 189, 194, 201–202 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 146, 149, 155 Germans as victims, 222, 229–230, 232, 235

Index

302

guilt and ignorance, 243–245, 250 keys to past image, 27, 46, 53, 57 misplacement of elements, 81–83, 86–88, 93–94, 103, 107 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 164 resistance movement, 206, 215 temporal boundaries, 115, 117–122, 127–129, 130–132, 135 Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl (The Short Life of Sophie Scholl) (Vinke) guilt and ignorance, 247 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 162, 180 publishing developments, 21 resistance movement, 214, 216, 218 L Labor camps, 80, 87, 90–91, 93, 100, 241, 283 LaCapra, Dominick, 74 Lambert Schneider [publisher], 13 Langer-Asscher, Tsofia (Pika), 44, 272, see also Asscher-Pinkhof, Clara Lanzmann, Claude, 74, see also Shoah Lehnert, Hanna, 116, see also Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett oder: Die zweite Flucht (Like a Rusty Nail in the Board or: The Second Escape) Lena. Unser Dorfund der Krieg (Lena. Our Village and the War) (Recheis) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 195–196 Germans as victims, 224, 228 guilt and ignorance, 247, 249, 251, 253 keys to past image, 50–51, 54, 58 misplacement of elements, 91–92, 103 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 170, 176–177, 179–180 resistance movement, 206, 210, 213, 215–216 temporal boundaries, 116, 132–133 Lentz, George, 4 Lepman, Jella, 11 Levin, Meyer, 14 Levoy, Myron, 21, see also Alan and Naomi (Der gelbe Vogel) Lewis, Bernard, 62, 69, 71, 286 Liebs, Elke, 11 Die Lisa (Lisa) (Kordon) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 187 guilt, 36–38 image of the past, 31–41 keys to past image, 31–41, 45, 57 temporal boundaries, 120, 122 time, 32–33 Loewes [publisher], 5 Loewy, Hanno, 14–16 Lotman, Yuri, M., 62, 69, 75 Luft, Gerda, 41–43, see also Heimkehr ins Unbekannte (Homecoming to the Unknown) M Das Mädchen aus dem Vorderhaus (The Girl from the Front House), 9

Index

303

Das Mädchen, mit dem die Kinder nicht verkehren durften (Grown-ups Don’t Understand) (Keun), 8 Maecker, Gudrun, see Als die Neue Zeit begann (When the New Time Began) Maier, Otto, 4 Maier, S.Charles, 70 Maikäfer flieg! (Fly Away Home) (Nöstlinger) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 183, 185–186, 189, 192–193, 196–197 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 156 Germans as victims, 226, 228, 230, 232–234 keys to past image, 52 misplacement of elements, 90, 104, 106 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 161, 163, 179–180 resistance movement, 206, 208, 210–212 temporal boundaries, 115, 119–121, 123, 127–128, 134–135 Maisfrieden (The Hideout) (Heuck), 206 Majdanek [concentration camp], 96, 100, 231 Mann, Erika, 8, see also Zehn Millionen Kinder (Ten Million Children) Mann, Thomas, 43 Manner. Ein Buch des Stolzes (Men. A Book of Pride) (Steuben), 6 Marder, Eva, 23 Mauthausen [concentration camp], 91, 96, 281 Meaker, Marijane, 106, see also Kerr, M.E. Memory individual memory vs. collective memory, 65–66 patterns of memory organization, 67–69 remembering and forgetting, 65–67 social role of, 74 Mensch, Karnickel (Goodness, Rabbit) (Herfurtner) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 190 Germans as victims, 229, 234 guilt and ignorance, 247 misplacement of elements, 81, 108 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 169, 179 temporal boundaries, 115, 117, 119 Mental illness analogy between Jews and Nazis, 182, 190–193 Germans as victims, 228 Metall (Schenzinger), 6 Michelet, Jules, 75 Michels, Tilde, 119, see also Freundschaft für immer und ewig? (Friendship Forever and Ever?) Mischling Second Degree. My Childhood in Nazi Germany (Mischling zweiten Grades. Kindheit in der Nazizeit) (Koehn) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 191–192, 195 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 145, 148–149 Germans as victims, 232, 234 guilt and ignorance, 252 misplacement of elements, 85, 90, 93, 95, 108 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 162, 169–170 resistance movement, 206–207, 213

Index

304

temporal boundaries, 115 Misplacement of elements abuse and persecution, 103–110 concentration camps, 90–103 executions and extermination, 103–110 rape and forbidden love, 103–110 severance of time and place, 115–123 trains, trucks, and transportation, 80–89 Mit dem Rücken zur Wand (With the Back to the Wall) (Kordon) accountability and guilt, 254–256 analogy between Jews and Nazis, 184–185, 194 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 143, 146, 148–149, 151, 154–155 English edition, 294 Germans as victims, 225–226 guilt and ignorance, 246, 248, 252 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 165, 175–176 resistance movement, 211–212, 217 temporal boundaries, 122 (see also Wendepunkte (Turning Points)) Model (models), 23–25, 64, 68, 71, 295 Moeller, Robert G., 13, 28, 288–289 Morgan, Prys, 62, 73, 286 Müller, Heidy M., 28 Müller & Kiepenheuer [publisher], 7 N Nacht über dem Tal (Darkness over the Valley) (Staden) accountability and guilt, 254–256 analogy between Jews and Nazis, 183, 187, 189–191, 197–198, 200–201 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 140–143, 153–155 English edition, 294 Germans as victims, 225, 227, 231–232, 234–238 guilt and ignorance, 245–248, 250, 254–256 keys to past image, 44–45, 49, 56, 59 misplacement of elements, 80, 100, 103–104, 108–109 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 163–165, 170, 173–175, 178, 180 resistance movement, 206, 210–211, 215 temporal boundaries, 115, 117–118, 120–121, 124, 126–129, 134–135 Nazis/Nazism abstract entity, 169 aid to Jews, 161, 166–169 alternative narrative, 270 analogy between Nazis and Jews, 181–202 censorship, 240 correlation to Allies, 247 distinction between Nazis and Germans, 281–283 enlistment in the Nazi party, 161–163 as a foreign power that robbed Germany from the Germans, 177–179 hypnotic devotion, 161, 163–164 as inferior and malformed, 170–172 Nazification of Germany, 123 non-Germans, 29–30

Index

305

as Others, 27, 29–30 ousting of, 179–180 as part of an effbrt to assist the Jews, 161, 166–169 Physical abnormalities, 170–172, 182 poor education, 161–163 for pragmatic reasons, 165–166 pseudo-Nazis, 161–180 real Nazis, 169 social and economic, 38 super-Nazi, 172 as tyrants and exploiters, 172–173 underground activity, concealment of, 161, 166–169 as violent and cruel, 173–177 Neue Zürcher Zeitung [newspaper], 42 Neurath, Constantin Freiherr von, 44, 49, 293 Nie wieder ein Wort davon? (Dont Say a Word) (Gehrts) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 185, 192, 196–197 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 139–141 Germans as victims, 223, 226, 232, 234, 236 guilt and ignorance, 241, 244, 349 misplacement of elements, 81, 85 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 162, 166–169, 172, 178, 180 resistance movement, 206–207, 211–212, 215–216, 218 temporal boundaries, 115, 117–118, 120–121, 127, 129, 134–135 Noack, Hans-Georg, 51, see also Die Webers (The Webers) Nolte, Ernst, 289 Nora, Pierre, 69 Nöstlinger, Christine, 23, 27, 52–53, 80, 104, 128, 186, 206, 233, 276–277, 290, see also Maikäfer flieg! (Fly Away Home); “Zuckerschlecker” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“Lollypop” in When I Was Fourteen) Nöstlinger, Ernst, 276, see also “Lasberger Kriege” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“Lasberg Wars” in When I Was Fourteen) see also “Lasberger Kriege” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“Lasberg Wars” in When I Was Fourteen) O Oetinger, Friedrich, 4–5 Oetinger [publisher], 20, 262 Orgel, Doris, see The Devil in Vienna (Der Teufel in Wien) Ossowski, Leonie, 22, 86, 183, 218–219, see also Stern ohne Himmel Himmel (Star Without a Sky) see also Stern ohne Himmel Himmel (Star Without a Sky) The Other Way Round (Warten bis der Frieden kommt) (Kerr) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 193 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 155 Germans as victims, 235 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 177 Others accountability and guilt, 254 analogy between Jews and Nazis, 181–182 Germans as victims, 233, 235–236

Index

306

keys to past image, 27, 29–30 past image, 65 Otto, Bernd, 3, 12–13, 17–18, 21–22 P Das Parlament [journal], 63 Passive resistance, 206–212 Pausewang, Gudrun, 25, 88, 134, 261, 276, 277–282, 283, 285, see also Reise im August (The Final Journey) Peter, Brigitte, 206, see also “Denk lieber an den Nikolaus” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“Better Think of Santa Claus” in When I Was Fourteen) Philo-Semitism, see Anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism Pressler, Mirjam, 15 Pritz, Rudolf, 230, see also “Schreckliche Spiele” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“Terrible Games” in When I Was Fourteen) Prochazka, Jan, 19 Promies, Wolfgang, 3–4 Pseudo-nazis, see Nazis/Nazism Q Querido [publisher], 7 R Rape, 80, 103–110, 221, 248 Realeme (realemes), 158, 294 Recheis, Käthe, 50–51, 54, 58, 88, 231, see also Lena. Unser Dorf und der Krieg (Lena); Das Schattennetz (The Net of Shadows); Geh heim und vergiß alles (Go Home and Forget Everything) Red Army guilt and ignorance, 247, 253 misplacement of elements, 109 temporal boundaries, 119 Reding, Josef, 229 Reich Labor Service misplacement of elements, 90, 98, 103 temporal boundaries, 133 La Reine Margot [film], 70 Reise im August (The Final Journey) (Pausewang) alternative narrative, 261, 276–281, 283–285 misplacement of elements, 88 temporal boundaries, 134 Reiss, Johanna, 23, 145, see also The Journey Back (Wie wird es morgen sein?) Renan, Ernest, 62 Repertoire (repertoires), 63, 68–69, 71–72, 294–295 Resistance and resistance movement, see also Acquiescence active resistance, 214–217

Index

307

fighters, 97 forewords, introductions, and afterwords, 48–50 knowledge and resistance, 217–219 manifestations of, 38–39 passive resistance, 206–212 perils of resistance, 212–214 regime subversion, 215–217 Reuter, Elisabeth, 57, see also Judith und Lisa (Best Friends) Rheinische Zeitung [newspaper], 42 Richter, Hans Peter, 19, 20–21, 25, 58, 88, 92, 121, 124–125, see also Damals war es Friedrich (Friedrich); Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten (The Time of the Young Soldiers); Wir waren dabei. Jugendjahre im Dritten Reich (I Was There) Rijksinstituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie, 13 Roma (Gypsies) concentration camps, 97 omission in introduction, 46 victims, 48 Rose Blanche (Rosa Weiss) (Innocenti) alternative narrative, 268 analogy between Jews and Nazis, 187, 194 Germans as victims, 223, 227, 229 guilt and ignorance, 247 Jews as agents of harm, 153 misplacement of elements, 100, 111–113, 268 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 167, 169 temporal boundaries, 130, 133 Rosenfeld, Alvin H., 14 Rosenstock-Huessy, Eugen, 69 Ross, Carlo, see…aber Steine reden nicht (…But Stones Dont Speak) Der rote Sturm (The Red Storm) (Steuben), 7 Die roten Matrosen oder Ein vergessener Winter (The Red Sailors or A Forgotten Winter) (Kordon), 122 Rowolht [publisher], 20 Russians as Allies, 30 atrocities commited by, 247–248 feared by Austrians, 247 fear of Germans, 247 Germans as victims, 229 inadvertently gassed to death, 103 as real Nazis, 247 responsible for World War II, 287 S SA (Sturmabteilungor “Storm Troopers”), 107, 151, 165, 167–168, 175–176, 199–200, 226, 246, 249, 251, 295 Sachsen [publisher], 10 Sannes-Müller, Inger, 3, 12–13, 16–17, 22–24 Sauerländer [publisher], 9–10

Index

308

Das Schattennetz (The Net of Shadows) (Recheis), 63, see also Geh heim und vergiß alles (Go Home and Forget Everything) Schemm, Hans, 293 Schenzinger, Karl Aloys, 5–6, see also Anilin; Der Hitlerjunge Quex (Quex, A Hitler Youth); Metall “Schmutz und Schund” (dirt and trash) publications, 18 Schneider, Franz, 5 Scholl, Hans charged with treason, 296 keys to past image, 46, 50 resistance movement, 214–215, 218 Scholl, Inge, 13, 16, 50, see also Die weiße Rose (Six Against Tyranny) Scholl, Sophie charged with treason, 296 keys to past image, 46, 50, 54 resistance movement, 214–215 Scholl, Werner, 46 Schönfeldt, Sybil Gräfin, 23, see also Sonderappell 1945—ein Mädchen berichtet (Special Roll Call. 1945—A Girl Reports) Schönhuber, Franz, 284 School for Barbarians (Die Schule der Barbaren), 8, see also Zehn Millionen Kinder (Ten Million Children) Schütz, Anneliese, 15 Schwartz, Barry, 68 Schwarz, Annelies, 46, see also Wir werden uns wiederfinden (We Will Find Each Other Again) Shavit, Yaacov, 12, 16–17, 72 Shoah [film] (Lanzmann), 74 Shul, Yuri, see Uncle Misha’s Partisans (Auf Leben und Tod) Smith, Anthony D., 70–71 Der Sohn des Kolumbus (Son of Columbus) (Baumann), 7 Die soldatische Tat. Berichte von Mitkämpfern des Heeres. Der Kampf im Osten 1941/42 (The Soldierly Deed. Reports by Combatants. The Battle in the East 1941/42) (Steuben), 7 Sonderappell 1945—ein Mädchen berkhtet (Special Roll Call. 1945—A Girl Reports) (Schönfeldt) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 185 Germans as victims, 221, 224, 226, 228, 233 guilt and ignorance, 241–242, 245, 251, 254 misplacement of elements, 84, 90–92, 98, 103 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 165–166, 179 resistance movement, 213 temporal boundaries, 133 Soviet Union, 287, see also Russians SS (Schutzstaffel), 103–105, 107, 111–112, 145, 153, 165, 169, 170–171, 173–174, 184, 187, 193, 195, 236, 245–246, 250, 255, 272, 287, 293, 295 Staden, Wendelgard von, 44–45, 49, 56, 59, 80, 103, 128, 129, 140, 197, 238, 254–256, 293, 294, see also Nacht über dem Tal Eine Jugend in Deutschland (Darkness over the Valley] Steinlein, Rüdiger, 3, 12–13, 17, 20, 25 Steppensöhne (Sons of the Steppe) (Baumann), 7 Sternkinder (Star Children) (Asscher- Pinkhof), see also Kästner, Erich; Langer-Asscher, Pika

Index

309

“A Laundry Basket Full” (“Ein Waschkorb voll”), 269 alternative narrative, 261–276 “Back and Forth” (“Hin und Her”), 271 “Breakdown” (“Panne”), 266 “Caravan” (“Aufbruch”), 266, 269 “Dawn” (“Sterben ist nicht schlimm”), 268 “First Worry” (“Die erste Sorge”), 267 “Free Afternoon” (“Freier Nachmittag”), 266 “Game of Dice” (“Würfelspiel”), 270 “Good Luck Song” (“Viel Glück!”), 264 “Good Night-Good Morning” (“Gute Nacht! Guten Morgen!”), 265 “Hora” (“Horra”), 264 “How Can Herod Bear the Light” (“Bleibt keiner mehr übrig?”), 267 keys to past image, 41, 43, 54, 56 “Merry ChildZ (“Herrliches Leben”), 266 misplacement of elements, 88 “Neighbor Below” (“Im unteren Bett”), 267 “Nights” (“Nächte”), 266 “Passage to Heaven” (“Himmelfahrt”), 265–266, 270–271, 275–276 publishing developments, 19–20 “Return” (“Riickkehr”), 265 “Roll Call” (“Appell”), 268 “Secret” (“Bedrückendes Geheimnis”), 268 “See Again” (“Wunderbares Wiedersehen”), 269–270 “Shopping” (“Besorgungen”), 266–267 “Star Dance” (“Sterntanz”), 273 “The Curtain Falls” (“Der Vorhang fällt”), 266 “Transfer” (“Schwerer Gang”), 269 “Transport Night” (“Zwei melden sich nicht”), 268 “Unloading” (“Ich dachte, Sie wären ein Mensch”), 270 Stern ohne Himmel (Star Without a Sky) (Ossowski) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 183–188, 191, 193–195, 198–199 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 140, 142, 153–154 Germans as victims, 222–223, 226, 228–229, 232, 234–237 misplacement of elements, 86, 90, 104, 107 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 163, 170–174, 176–179 publishing developments, 22 resistance movement, 208, 211–212, 218–219 temporal boundaries, 116–123, 128, 133–135 Steuben, Fritz, 5–7, see also Der fliegende Pfeil (The Flying Arrow); Der rote Sturm (The Red Storm); Der strahlende Stern (The Shining Star); Die soldatische Tat. Berichte von Mitkämpfern des Heeres. Der Kampf im Osten 1941/42 (The Soldierly Deed. Reports by Combatants. The Battle in the East 1941/42); Durchbruch anno ‘18. Ein Fronterlebnis (Breakthrough in 1918. Experience at the Front); Manner. Ein Buch des Stolzes (Men. A Book of Pride) Der strahlende Stern (The Shining Star) (Steuben), 7 Stroop, Jürgen, 111, 112, 295 Der Strümer [newspaper], 139 Stuffer [publisher], 9–10

Index

310

Stürmer, Michael, 62–63 Suicide alternative narrative, 268 analogy between Jews and Nazis, 182, 190–193 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 139 Germans as victims, 226 misplacement of elements, 109 temporal boundaries, 120 T Das Tagebuch der Anne Frank (The Diary of Anne Frank), 13–16, see also Anne Frank Tecumseh (Steuben), 7 Tetzner, Lisa, 8–11, 22, 54, see also Die Kinder aus Nr. 67 (The Children from No. 67) Der Teufel in Wien (The Devil in Viennd) (Orgel), 88 Theresienstadt [concentration camp], 96, 133, 289 Time, see also Misplacement of elements keys to past image, 29 length of highlighted periods, 123–126 Die Lisa (Lisa), 32–33 severance of time and place, 115–123 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 75 Die toten Engel (The Dead Angels) (Bruckner) accountability, 280–282, 283, 285 alternative narrative, 261, 268, 276, 278, 281 Trains, trucks, and transportation, 80–89 Treblinka [concentration camp], 97, 231 Ein Trümmersommer (Summer of Rubble) (Kordon), 45, 58 U Ukranians, collaborators with Nazis, 245 Ulm trials, 16 Uncle Mishas Partisans (Auf Leben und Tod) (Suhl), 198 Underground activities misplacement of elements, 107 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 166–169 publishing developments, 13 Union [publisher], 5 Universalism and Universalization of anti-Semitism, 157 of atrocities and suffering, 224, 288 attribution of a universal moral to the Anne Frank’s story, 15 concentration camps, 93 deduction of globalization and universalization, 126–129, 156–157, 288 humanistic conclusions from history, 40–41 transition from a particular moral to a universal one, 57 The Upstairs Room (Und im Fenster der Himmel) (Reiss) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 184 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 154 guilt and ignorance, 252 misplacement of elements, 91 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 169

Index

311

V Valensi, Lucette, 67, 69–70, 72, 286 Das Vergangene ist nicht tot (The Past is NotDead) [catalog], 22 Vesper, Will, 5 Victims alternative narrative, 270–272, 276–278 forewords, introductions, and afterwords 45–48 Victims, German, 30, 39–40, 45–48, 221–225, 226–238 Vidal-Naquet, Pierre, 75, 287, 289 Viera, Joseph S., 5 Vinke, Hermann, 21, see also Das kurze Leben der Sophie Scholl (The Short Life of Sophie Scholl) blind faith in Hitler, 247 Church resistance, 216 keys to past image, 54, 57 Voggenreiter [publisher], 5 Vos, Ida, 133, 145, see also Wer nicht weg ist, wird gesehn (Hide and Seek) W Wann blüht der Zuckertütenbaum? (When Does the Sugar Bag Tree Bloom?) (Hartig) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 187, 193 Germans as victims, 223, 226, 228 guilt and ignorance, 251 misplacement of elements, 93, 103 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 163, 170, 176 resistance movement, 206, 208 Warsaw Ghetto, 268, 278 Warum warst du in der Hitler-Jugend? Vier Fragen an meinen Vater (Why Were You in the Hitler Youth? Four Questions for My Father) (Burger), 20, 175 analogy between Jews and Nazis, 187–188 guilt and ignorance, 240, 243–244, 246, 249, 254 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 162, 165, 167 resistance movement, 211–212, 217 Weber, Bernd, 3 Die Webers (The Webers) (Noack) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 190, 195, 201 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 139–140, 145, 149, 152, 190 Germans as victims, 224, 231–232, 234 guilt and ignorance, 51, 242, 246, 248, 251–252 misplacement of elements, 93, 98 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 163, 166–167, 173, 178 resistance movement, 206, 210–213, 215–217 temporal boundaries, 115, 125–126 Wehrmacht, 111, 173, 215, 224, 226, 230, 245, 249, 287 Weidenmann, Alfred, 5–6, see also Derrick; Die funfzig vom Abendblatt (The Fifty from the Evening Paper); Gepackschein 666 (Baggage Check 666); jungen im Dienst (Young Men in Service); Jungzug 2 (Youth Platoon 2) Weinkauff, Gina, 10

Index

312

Die Weiße Rose (Six Against Tyranny) (Scholl), 13, 50, 58 Popularity, 13 Resistance, 50, 58 Die Weiβe Rose (The White Rose) [movement], 13, 213–214 Welsh, Renate, 20, 21, 132, 157, 209, 212, see also “Die Ohrfeigen” in Damals war ich vierzehn (“Slaps in the face” in When I Was Fourteen); Johanna Wendepunkte (Turning Points) (Kordon), 116–117 Germans as victims, 223 Wer nicht weg ist, wird gesehn (Hide and Seek) (Vos), 133, 147 (Dutch title Wie niet weg is wordt gezien) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 198 guilt and ignorance, 252 temporal boundaries, 133 When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit (Als Hitler das rosa Kaninchen stahl) (Kerr) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 188, 192, 194, 199–200 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 146–149 guilt and ignorance, 244, 253 misplacement of elements, 92 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 169 publishing developments, 21 temporal boundaries, 117–118, 120, 123, 127 White, Hayden, 74–76 Wie ein rostiger Nagel im Brett oder: Die zweite Flucht (Like a Rusty Nail in the Board or: The Second Escape) (Lehnert) guilt and ignorance, 248 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 172, 176 resistance movement, 211 temporal boundaries, 116, 131 Wiesengrund [concentration camp], 100 Wie war das eigentlich? Kindheit und Jugend im Dritten Reich (Howl Like the Wolves: Growing Up in Nazi Germany) (Grün) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 191 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 144 Germans as victims, 225, 227–228, 231 guilt and ignorance, 240, 244, 246–247, 254 misplacement of elements, 91, 95 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 164, 175 resistance movement, 206–208, 212–213, 216 Wir waren dabei (I Was There) (Richter) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 183–184, 188, 191–193 anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 152, 154 Germans as victims, 227, 229 guilt and ignorance, 249, 251 misplacement of elements, 92, 107 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 162–163, 166, 170–171, 173, 175 resistance movement, 206–208, 210 temporal boundaries, 117–118, 121, 124–125, 130 Wir werden uns wiederfinden. Die Vertreibung einer Familie (We Will Find Each Other Again) (Schwarz) Germans as victims, 217, 225, 232

Index

313

guilt and ignorance, 241 keys to past image, 46 misplacement of elements, 87, 94–95, 106, 108 resistance movement, 207, 210 temporal boundaries, 115–117, 123 Wuermeling, Franz Josef, 19 Y Yad Vashem [publisher], 262, 296 Yerushalmi, Yosef Hayim, 69 Yolen, Jane, see The Devil’s Arithmetic (Chaja heißt Leberi) Young, E.James, 70 Z Zehn Millionen Kinder (Ten Million Children) (Mann), 8 Die Zeit [newspaper], 293 Die Zeit der jungen Soldaten (The Time of the Young Soldiers) (Richter) analogy between Jews and Nazis, 189 Germans as victims, 227, 229, 231–232 guilt and ignorance, 245, 248 misplacement of elements, 83 Nazis and pseudo-Nazis, 175, 179 Zeit für die Hora (Time for the Hora) (Bayer) anti-Semitism and philo-Semitism, 149–150 guilt and ignorance, 252–253 temporal boundaries, 124, 133 Zipes, Jack, 189