Page 25 of Who We Think We Are

“That’s for sure,” says Mikelia, who loops her hand through Kate’s arm and leads her out of the memorial and down the street. “I want to show you a few other memorials I think you’ll appreciate.”

As they walk, Kate notices brass plaques embedded in the sidewalks. They are four-inch squares that have a name and dates on them. “What are these?”

“Those are called Stolpersteine, or stumbling stones. The plaques are laid in the ground in front of the last addresses where Jews or other persecuted people lived voluntarily before they were rounded up, murdered, or escaped. Take this one, for example. Hier wohnte means here lived Selig Weissmann, and JG 1927 is the year he was born. Deportiert 1942 Theresienstadt, ermordet 19.12.1942, means he was deported to the concentration camp Theresienstadt in 1942 and murdered on the nine-teenth of December 1942.”

“Oh my God,” says Kate, kneeling and running her hands across a cluster of seven Stolpersteine. “This is a whole family. Grandparents, parents, and young children. Erased. Murdered. And what for?”

After a few minutes, Kate looks up at Mikelia with tears in her eyes.

“This could have been Saul, Sarah, Szymon, and Rachel. I don’t think I’ve ever been so present to the selflessness and sacrifice of Saul and Sarah, sending their children to Canada and staying behind to help others get out.

Dozens of people literally wouldn’t exist if they hadn’t. Suze wouldn’t exist.”

Mikelia adds, “And that is true for every single person murdered. No future generations.”

“I’ve got to tell Suze about these.” Kate takes pictures of the Stolpersteine. “I bet she could get one made for Saul and Sarah.”

“She could. If you have the information for someone who died or suffered in the Holocaust, and they can verify it, you can have one of these made.”

Mikelia helps Kate stand up, and they walk arm in arm to an overgrown Jewish graveyard. In front of it is a group of skeletal-looking greenish-bronze sculptures of women and children.

“This memorial is for the victims of Ravensbrück concentration camp,” says Mikelia, “the largest women-only concentration camp. It’s not too far north of Berlin.”

Kate kneels in front of one of the figures. “Look at this woman on her knees.”

“The SS doctors used some women as though they were laboratory animals, so they were called the rabbits, and also because they couldn’t walk, they hopped.”

“Oh my God, does the horror never stop?”

“No, it doesn’t. I’ve made it a practice to study World War II and the Holocaust for years, at first out of curiosity and then out of disbelief, and I still learn things that shock me. Come on, there’s one more last memorial I want to show you.”

They walk a short way, and Mikelia stops in front of a few rose-colored stone pillars heavily carved with prisoners and protestors.

“This is a memorial for the Rosenstrasse protest, the only mass protest in Germany against the deportation of Jews. In 1943, eighteen hundred Jewish men who were married to non-Jewish German women and their half-Jewish children were being held in custody, ready to be deported. The German wives and mothers protested for seven days and didn’t stop until the Gestapo released their husbands and children. ”

“Hell hath no fury like the power of a woman… But I’m surprised the Nazis listened to them.”

“It was a PR nightmare for the Nazis. Germans didn’t complain too much when Jews were deported, but when a German’s family members were rounded up, they protested.

The Nazis didn’t want to antagonize Aryan Germans.

Their unquestioning devotion was needed for the Nazis to get away with the atrocities they committed. ”

“This is enough,” says Kate as they head away from the memorial. “My heart can’t take any more today.”

That night, after dinner, as they walk along the Spree, calm and peaceful with weeping willows brushing against the water, Kate says, “You know what strikes me since I’ve been here?”

“What?”

“That at least Germany talks about her mistakes and has places where people can learn about the Nazi era. Canada and the United States could learn from her. And me too.”

“True,” says Mikelia. “But don’t kid yourself. There are still a lot of secrets lurking in the shadows. Most war criminals were never punished. They just reinvented themselves and carried on in the new Germany.”

The next day is Monday, and Mikelia is flying to Copenhagen and Kate to Amsterdam.

“Let’s have breakfast by the river before we leave,” says Mikelia. “That place on the corner we walked by last night looked like they have a nice breakfast.”

“It did. I thought the same thing.”

Over a breakfast of eggs benedict for Kate and crêpes for Mikelia, they carry on their nonstop conversation. “I could guess, but what did you mean last night when you said you could learn from Germany owning her mistakes?”

“Oh, we’re going to end our visit on a deep note, are we?” Kate sips her tea.

“You also said something about not hiding from your mistakes.”

“OK, OK, I am judgmental, shallow, and selfish.”

“No, you’re not.” Mikelia takes a bite of her crêpe.

“My first reaction to Oma’s confession of being in the Hitler Youth was shock and horror at what it meant for me. My identity. What did it mean about me? That maybe I wasn’t just horrible but actually evil. I was upset that a secret had been kept from me. Me, me, me.

“I am so spoiled. I’ve never had to worry about a thing other than my horrible mother.”

“And your asshole first husband.”

“What do you mean?” Did I tell Mikelia about his suicide note? No, I didn’t.

“Kate, I’ve wanted to say this to you for years.

He was emotionally abusive. Remember, we were friends before you met him.

I saw the change in you after years with him.

He was so manipulative. He blamed you for every single thing if it didn’t go the way he wanted it to.

Between him and your mother, they almost had you believing you were damaged goods.

If you weren’t such a powerhouse, they might have succeeded. ”

“Thanks, Mikelia.” Kate looks out the window at the Spree. “When I’m in my dark moments, they may have been more successful than it appears.”

She looks back at Mikelia. “Also, who am I to judge Oma with everything she had to live through? She didn’t become someone else when I found out she’d been a Nazi.

She was exactly the loving person I always knew.

Poor Oma. Her first sexual experience, at sixteen, was with an SS man to have an Aryan baby for Hitler.

Then, her daughter was taken away from her.

I would never be able to give away one of my daughters.

I don’t care if she knew it was going to happen; it was devastating for her. ”

“So much so that she told everyone the baby died,” adds Mikelia.

“Right. And then, she and her family were arrested for being Nazi collaborators. And then Grandad told her they needed to keep it a secret so she would be acceptable to his family.

“For the first time ever, I was mad at Grandad for doing that to Oma. But then, I am ashamed to admit, I’m glad I didn’t know any of this growing up.

I was able to believe the story that my family were heroes, all on the side of good.

I didn’t grow up feeling ashamed or like I had to hide part of my family’s past. Learning this, at this point in my life, I have the power to shatter secrets and not have them shatter me.

“Boy, you asked me a question and opened Pandora’s box. After the Resistance Memorial and all the memorials we saw yesterday, I’ve been thinking about Suze and why she is so upset with me. My family lived through World War II. Her family lived through the Holocaust.”

“What?” asks Mikelia.

“They’re like two separate but inextricably linked wars.

” Kate clasps her hands to show the connection.

“World War II was about world domination and land, no matter the cost. The Holocaust was about genocide, exterminating every single Jew from the face of the earth. Even when it was clear they were going to lose World War II, the Nazis stepped up the war against the Jews, murdering people at an accelerated pace,” says Kate.

“Hmmmmm. Two wars. Interesting perspective,” says Mikelia.

“When Suze was furious at me, I didn’t think she was being fair.

I didn’t know about Oma’s past, and Oma was a victim of the Nazis too.

I was confused because Suze wasn’t angry at Oma or Grandad, even though they were the ones who kept the secret.

She was angry at me.” Kate pauses as their server brings more coffee and hot water for tea.

“I didn’t trust Suze to handle the truth and do what she needed to do for herself and her family.

I disrespected her. I left her out and tried to figure out a way to deal with Oma’s secret on my own so it wouldn’t impact anyone, rather than being honest right at the start so we could handle the potential impact on the nonprofit together.

I think I was hoping to find out it wasn’t true.

That Oma was never a Nazi, and it would all go away.

And then I used her when I needed her. I feel so ashamed. So yeah, I’ve got a lot to learn.”