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Sofie

Berlin,Germany

October 1930

I’ve always loved early autumn. The tree-lined streets around my home in Lichterfelde quickly shifted from a canopy of summer foliage to a ceiling of reds and golds and deep, rich brown. It was still warm enough in October that we didn’t need our coats, but not so warm that it was uncomfortable. I married Jürgen in early autumn 1929. And twelve months later, early in the autumn of 1930, I discovered I was pregnant with my first child.

I told Jürgen and Mayim right away, but weeks later, I was finally ready to share the news with our wider circle of friends—starting with Lydia zu Schiller.

When I arranged lunch with Lydia, I planned to tell her my news as soon as Mayim and I sat down. But everything changed in the interim. Now it seemed that all of Germany was trying to process the results of our most recent election.

“I still can’t quite believe it,” Mayim said, as she stared blankly at a menu. I was so worried for her. I had the impression she was in a state of shock, as if she’d witnessed an accident or injured herself. “Even in these wild times, I didn’t expect this.”

“A hundred and seven seats! They are the second-biggest party in the Reichstag now,” Lydia said. Then she glanced at me. She was referring to theNationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei—theNational Socialist German Workers’ Party, known as the Nazi party. “I know you’re not one for politics, Sofie, but they only held twelve seats last term, and before that, they were a fringe party. No one took them seriously.”

Lydia was right that I wasn’t a political expert. Even so, I bristled at her condescending tone. I wasn’t fascinated with politics the way Jürgen was, or so determined to climb the social rungs in Berlin that I had to keep abreast of the most popular figures and fashions like Lydia and her husband, Karl. That didn’t mean I was ignorant. My best friend was Jewish—of course I noticed when a party founded on a platform of anti-Semitism had a sudden and shocking rise to prominence.

“It is terrible,” I said, squeezing Mayim’s hand. “But we must keep our spirits up. This is not a representation of who we are as a nation. People are scared about political instability, and the rising unemployment isn’t helping.” Mayim raised her gaze to mine, and I squeezed her hand again. “Even wealthy families are struggling.”

Not mine, thankfully. My family estate was flourishing—in fact, at that moment my father was in New York, taking advantage of the aftermath of the Wall Street crash to expand his business. Lydia’s family was fine too. Her father possessed extraordinary wealth, and Karl was a descendant of Prussian kings and German emperors. As the eldest child in his family, he inherited an incredible fortune when his parents passed.

But Mayim’s father, Levi, had taken out extensive loans to shore up his business through the hyperinflation crisis after the Great War. For years, he worked himself ragged to meet his repayments and keep his company afloat. Then came the Wall Street crash in 1929, and as the banks began to struggle, they called in the balance of Levi’s loans, years ahead of schedule.

Just one year earlier, Mayim’s family enjoyed a lifestyle of comfort to rival the wealthiest families in Germany. Over the space of just a few shocking months, they lost everything they owned.

Lydia shifted awkwardly in her chair, then flicked Mayim a hesitant glance.

“Howisyour father?”

“He’s found work,” Mayim said, forcing a smile. “So that’s something.”

“But...his business?”

“Gone. And the house.”

“He must have retained something. His cash, surely? Some artwork or a property or two?” Lydia pressed, as if the alternative were impossible. Mayim shrugged noncommittally, and we fell into a slightly strained moment of silence. Comprehension finally dawned on Lydia’s face and she gave me the horrified, panicked look of a wealthy woman who had never considered that someone ofhersocial class could ever be penniless.

“I have news, Lydia,” I blurted. She still looked frazzled, but she raised her thin eyebrows in question, and I smiled. “I’m expecting. The doctor says I’ll deliver the baby in January.”

Thankfully, the conversation moved quickly on from that moment of awkwardness, as Lydia predictably squealed. I then carefully managed to tie together two new threads of conversation—baby chat and matchmaking chat, as I discussed the “wealthy, handsome, preferably Jewish” young men Lydia or I could possibly set Mayim up with. I felt so terrible for her and I wished wecouldset her up with a suitable young man. She desperately wanted a family of her own, but potential suitors in our social circles dried up when her family’s wealth did.

Lydia knew for months that Mayim was living in one of my guest rooms. Maybe now that she knew the truth about Levi’s circumstances, she’d deduce that Mayim wasn’t really staying with me to keep me company while Jürgen went to the university to work on his thesis each day. There were only two bedrooms in her family’s new apartment. Jürgen and I insisted Mayim live in one of our spare rooms when we learned she was sharing a bedroom with her brother, Moshe. We tried to invite the rest of her family too, but they refused.

After we ate, Mayim excused herself to use the restroom, and Lydia leaned forward and whispered with audible shock, “Is it true? They havenothing? How can this be?”

“Levi felt so guilty that his staff was losing their jobs that he was determined to pay out as much of their entitlements as he could. He sold everything they owned, right down to the silverware. He’s working as a clerk for the City of Berlin and they’re living in aMietskasernein Mitte.” A tenement building, and in this case, one of the worst in Berlin. “Their situation is very bad, Lydia. Please try to be sensitive.”

“I will. My God, I can’t even imagine what that would be like, and especially for them. How on earth are they coping?”

“Better than you or I would, I suspect,” I admitted.

“I just mean it must be especially hard for them.” She was laboring a point and I didn’t understand why.

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Sofie, my God. You know how the Jews are. They justlovetheir money.”

The waitress came to clear our plates, so we fell silent, and by the time she finished, Mayim returned. She and Lydia easily slipped back into the conversation about my pregnancy, but I sat in uneasy silence.

Later, we parted at the roadside in front of the café. Lydia kissed my cheek, then Mayim’s, and waved to us as she slipped into the back seat of her car. Mayim and I climbed into mine, and my driver pulled out into the traffic.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she murmured. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine,” I told her, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

Why was I so unsettled by Lydia’s comment? It was a throwaway line, a silly, reductive stereotype that people joked about all the time. I tried to reassure myself that Lydia didn’t mean a thing by it. She wasn’t anti-Semitic. How could she be? She was one of Mayim’s best friends.

Besides, Mayim didn’t even hear what Lydia said, so no harm was done. Not really.