I think all the following is enormously interesting. This is why I copy all of it!!
“Die Autorin hat sich auf die Suche begeben und Zeitzeugen gefunden. Unter ihnen ist auch Ruth Barnett, die Tochter von Robert und Luise Michaelis, die aus erster Hand von der Geschichte ihrer Familie berichten kann.
In den frühen 1930er Jahren stand Robert Michaelis am Beginn einer Karriere am Landgericht Berlin. Im April 1933 wurde er Opfer der Willkür der neuen Machthaber, die Nationalsozialisten warfen ihn aus dem Amt. Verheiratet mit einer “Nicht-Jüdin”, entschloss sich der Familienvater zunächst in Deutschland zu bleiben. Erst nach dem Novemberpogrom 1938 sah er nur noch einen Weg: die Ausreise.
Während die Kinder Martin und Ruth, “Halbjuden” in der Diktion der Nazis, im Rahmen von Kindertransporten nach England geschickt wurden, gelangte Robert Michaelis im Juni 1939 auf dem Seeweg nach Shanghai. Die chinesische Hafenstadt war die letzte Anlaufstelle für schutzsuchende Juden. Fast 30 000 Verfolgte überlebten hier das “Dritte Reich”. Drei Jahre nach Kriegsende kehrte Michaelis zurück nach Deutschland, in ein Land, das in Trümmern lag, in dem die Menschen nur nach vorn, nicht aber zurück schauen wollten.
Der Jurist war dabei übrigens ein Ausnahmefall, denn nur einer von zwanzig Exilanten wagte die Rückkehr in die frühere Heimat. Verglichen mit anderen verfolgten Familien hatten die Michaelis darüber hinaus noch Glück, denn sie alle hatten den Terror der Nazis überlebt. Die Kinder waren jedoch den Eltern entfremdet, wollten nicht zurück in die Familie. Robert Michaelis, der zurück kam, um am Aufbau eines neuen und demokratischen Deutschland mitzuarbeiten, erlebte zunächst die offene Ablehnung seiner Landsleute
Die Stadt Mainz bot ihm später die Chance einer zweiten Karriere als Jurist. Als “Opfer des Faschismus” erhielt Michaelis 1949 eine Richterstelle am Landgericht. Der Wiedereinstieg in den Beruf, 16 Jahre nach der demütigenden Entlassung durch die Nazis, schien zu gelingen. Doch dann bekam er die Missgunst und Verachtung vor allem jener Kollegen zu spüren, die ihre Laufbahn nach der NS-Zeit bruchlos fortsetzen konnten.
Michaelis’ Kampf um Wiedergutmachung und Entschädigung stieß auf wenig Verständnis. Der Geist der NS-Jahre wehte weiter in vielen Institutionen der jungen Bundesrepublik. Die Jahre des Exils, die Trennung von den Kindern, die gescheiterte Integration in die Nachkriegsgesellschaft zehrten an der Gesundheit des Richters. Mit 54 Jahren ging Robert Michaelis vorzeitig in den Ruhestand. Zeitlebens fühlte er sich ausgegrenzt.
Die Dokumentation rekonstruiert dieses bewegende deutsch-jüdische Schicksal, lädt ein zu einer Zeitreise an die Schauplätze der wechselvollen Biografie. Die Tochter des Richters, Ruth Barnett, lebt heute in London. In einem Buch hat sie die Verletzungen jener Kinder beschrieben, die in England zwar in Sicherheit, aber ohne elterlichen Beistand überlebten.
Die Familie von W. Michael Blumenthal zählte ebenfalls zu den Shanghai-Flüchtlingen. Der Gründungsdirektor des Jüdischen Museums in Berlin berichtet, wie er und seine Angehörigen die Ausgrenzung, die Emigration und die prekären Lebensbedingungen im Judenghetto der chinesischen Großstadt erlebten. Historiker Götz Aly erklärt die zeitgeschichtlichen Hintergründe jener tragischen Schicksale zwischen Verfolgung, Überlebenskampf und Neuanfang.”
I thought Ruth Bernett’ story is a very interesting story, and this is why I copy here the whole article. Ruth was born in 1935 and was originally recognised as a German citizen, like her parents, but the Nuremburg Laws came along eight months later to change that. Ruth’s father, Robert Michaelis, was born Jewish, which meant that his baby daughter had no official nationality. When you go to my other post from today, yo find out that there is a docmentary about the Michaelis family available. This is the link to the documentary:
IN June 1989, 1000 men and women crammed into a sports hall in Harrow. They had one thing in common: they had all been rescued by the British government when war broke out in 1939. Ten thousand Jewish children were sent on trains over to England from Germany and Austria in what was referred to as the “Kindertransport”. One of these children, Ruth Barnett (neé Michaelis), was four years old when she travelled with her older brother to England.
In 1989, a friend told Ruth about a 50th anniversary reunion of all the adults who had been part of the “Kinderstransport” scheme.
“Up until then, I knew nothing about the Kindertransport”, says Ruth, “I thought that only my brother and I had come from Germany.”
Without realising it, Ruth had avoided anything to do with her past; whenever people mentioned anything to do with the war, or her husband watched a war film, she would find some excuse to leave.
“You’re not a whole person if you cut off your roots.” she says.
Ruth was born in 1935 and was originally recognised as a German citizen, like her parents, but the Nuremburg Laws came along eight months later to change that. Ruth’s father, Robert Michaelis, was born Jewish, which meant that his baby daughter had no official nationality.
During her four years in Berlin, Ruth’s parents tried to protect her and to give her as normal a childhood as possible. The few flashes of memory that she still has of those years growing up in Germany are mostly happy, interspersed with strange moments which, in retrospect, Ruth knows were caused by the fear surrounding the Nazis. Her father once hid in a broom cupboard because the Gestapo were after him; Ruth’s aunt, ‘Tante Ella’, tried to tell her niece that her father was shaking with laughter (rather than fear) because it was all a joke, but Ruth was old enough to know this wasn’t true.
When Hitler came to power, many Jewish families had already left to escape to other countries, but many more stayed, including Ruth’s parents. They thought that the situation in Germany would calm down.
On November 9th, 1938, ‘Kristallnacht’ or ‘Night of the Broken Glass’ brought the Nazis’ actions to the attention of the rest of the world. It was after this blatant display of violence and hatred towards the Jews that the English government organised for children from Germany and Austria to be sent over (without their parents) to England.
“Parents had to make heart-rending decisions in sending their children to safety. Many rightly feared that they might never see their children again.” said Ruth in her autobiography Person of No Nationality.
At four years old, Ruth didn’t understand what was happening or where their mother had gone when she left them at a foster home in England. Ruth describes sitting around a table with Martin, their mother and Reverend Stead and his wife, eating tea.
“It was just like another outing for me. After tea, my mother put us to bed and tucked us up with a story,” said Ruth in her book, “It all seemed like an adventure. That is, until I discovered in the morning that my mother was no longer there.”
Whenever Ruth asked her new foster family questions about her mother, or cried because she missed her parents, she was met with anger. So she eventually decided she must be inherently bad, to be sent away to England. When her mother didn’t return to bring them home, she started telling people that her mother was dead.
This conviction that she was a bad child, deserving of punishment, followed Ruth around for many years. Her first foster home, Merston Rectory, only served to reinforce this, as her memories of living there are described in Person of No Nationality as “a nightmare of confusion, fear and pain.”
Reverend Stead treated the children with kindness, but he didn’t spend much time with them; the majority of the care was given over to his wife, Mrs Stead, and her companion, Miss Wright. They made a habit of refusing to give Ruth food at the dinner table until she could ask for it using ‘proper’ English, which meant that she often went without. Miss Wright also enforced specific times for going to the toilet, causing Ruth to wet the bed later on.
A bright spot in the horizon for Ruth and Martin came in the form of their boarding school, ‘The Friends School’, run by Quakers. So when they were told, at the end of the school year, that they were not to return to Merston Rectory because Reverend Stead was ill, they were delighted.
From the peace of The Friends School, Ruth and her brother were thrust into a world of complete chaos. They were sent to a hostel in Richmond, full of other children, which was relatively unsupervised. The chapter in Ruth’s book, Person of No Nationality, which talks about her next foster home (the Goodrickes) is titled: “A Real Family at Last”. After being wrenched away from everything that was familiar at such a young age, Ruth and Martin had not experienced any kind of security for a while. Living with the Goodrickes changed this.
Ruth felt so at home as part of the family that she started calling Mrs Goodricke “Mummy”. But she was told, gently, that Mrs Goodricke was not her mother, so not to call her that. Coupled with other events, this caused Ruth to withdraw into herself.
“I really didn’t know who I was.” said Ruth in her book, “The way depression was treated at that time was to tell the sufferer to ‘snap out of it’. When you are depressed, that is just what you can’t do – even if you want to.”
Ruth wasn’t the only one to suffer with the effects of the war. Her brother Martin, always such a source of strength to his sister, struggled to fit in with the Goodricke family and they agreed it would be best for him to move away and live with another family. They went to live with the Halting family on their farm in the South Downs. Ruth fell in love with the farming lifestyle and the beauty of the South Downs.
Four years after first moving there, Ruth’s mother contacted her and later visited her, with a desire to bring her ‘home’ to Germany.
“[For] ten years we were brainwashed with British propaganda against Germany in the war.” says Ruth, “As a small child, I believed it all. Most 14 year olds in England today are much more capable of thinking and questioning. I was very sheltered, so that the experience of being made to go to Germany was terribly shocking. That shattered my trust.
“It was the Kindertransport in reverse. Suddenly, a second time, my whole world had gone and I was in a frightening world gone mad.”
Ruth’s parents wanted her to slot straight in to her new life in Germany, but for her, it was overwhelming. After years of trying to adjust to every change in her life, struggling to fit into her foster families and find a sense of home, while thinking the whole time that her mother was dead, Ruth decided to give up. No longer would she be the obedient, docile child that everyone wanted her to be. She went for long walks and stayed in bed for hours, avoiding spending time with her mother during the day. On one occasion, she ran away from her parents’ house for 24 hours and ended up sleeping in a barn.
After this, Ruth’s parents resigned themselves to the idea that their daughter was not settling in, and they made an agreement with her. She would be able to go back to England, as long as she visited them during her school holidays.
“If I hadn’t [rebelled], I don’t know what my story would have been.” she says, “I might well be a mentally ill depressive, as I doubt I would have ever worked through my trauma.”
After university, Ruth was persuaded by her fiancée, Bernard to try and restore her relationship with her parents.
I thought I’d go to Germany and try to really get to know my parents.” she says, “I honestly wanted to give it a chance, because I knew that I hadn’t been able to when I was repatriated at 14. But it didn’t work.”
In 1958, Ruth and Bernard were married in a Jewish ceremony and Bernard received a grant, which allowed Ruth some freedom. She was employed in a small grammar school, where she was in charge of biology for the whole school. For the next 17 years, Ruth continued teaching, but knew that it was time to leave when the racial tension in a particular school in Acton grew too strong for the staff to deal with.
She re-trained as a psychotherapist, something that allowed her to look into some of her childhood behaviour and gain greater understanding. Three years after leaving Greenford High School, Ruth had built up her own private psychotherapy practice. It was during that third year of working as a psychotherapist that Ruth attended the reunion of the Kindertransport children.
“Now, there are plenty of good therapists, so I have retired.” says Ruth, “In order to talk, mainly in schools, but to any group that invites me. I’m very pleased to go and raise awareness of stereotypes that lead to racism.”
Ruth’s particular passion is for Roma-Traveller Gypsies, a people group that she looks upon as one of the most badly treated in Europe. She has written a second book, called Jews and Gypsies: Myths and Realities, which is self-published (“[my publisher] didn’t trust me that I would sell enough in schools” she smiles.)
“We have to learn and commemorate what’s happened in the past in order to be able to build a future.”
In Jews and Gypsies, it talks about Ruth’s conviction that she cannot stand up against anti-Semitism unless she also speaks up for other people groups who are being maligned.
“Real, convinced, Nazis were a small crowd.” she says, “The majority were bystanders and a small number who disagreed, were prepared to be active resistors and rescuers. That’s what I’m trying to challenge – people to take action and to think, before it’s too late.
Ruth works with the Holocaust Educational Trust and goes into schools to talk about her experience, but she emphasizes how long it took her to get to that point. For her it was 50 years before she was even able to look into her past, let alone speak to others about it.
“Self-confidence and trust have to be restored before you can speak in public.”
Ruth describes her husband’s “endless patience and encouragement” as the only reason she managed to gain enough confidence to speak about her experiences.
“I completely lost my trust in human people. That is what surviving genocide does to people. I have listened to [a survivor of the] Rwandan genocide, who was persuaded to speak before I would consider she was nearly ready, and it’s re-traumatising if you’re not ready.”
“I would never put pressure on anybody to face their past, if it’s a traumatic past. You can’t see trauma, like if a person has a rash or a broken arm or a broken leg.”
This is why Ruth knows she must continue to speak out against injustice. “Education to counter racism must go on. I think this is important. There are not that many people who speak out.”
This is what David Vickrey writes:
“I’ve always been interested in Exilliteratur – books by or about writers and artists forced to flee Germany during the Nazi era. Much, of course, has been written about the exile community in Southern California – including Michael Lentz’s terrific Pazific Exil (2007). Anna Seghers wrote about her exile in Mexico in Ausflug der toten Mädchen, and many of Hilde Domin’s poems deal with her exile years in the Dominican Republic. But very little has been written about the German exile experience in Cuba – which is one reason I was keen on reading Ursula Krechel’s Landgericht (literally “District Court”), which won the German Book Prize in 2012. The central figure in the novel, the Jewish barrister Richard Kornitzer, is forced to flee the Nazis and finds sanctuary in Havana for ten years.
But Landgericht is also about homecoming – returning to the “scene of the crime”, to the country that cast Kornitzer out and wrecked his family forever.
Life was good for Kornitzer and his wife Claire in the Weimar Republic. He was a talented young lawyer and judge with a brilliant career ahead of him, while Claire was a successful businesswoman, with her own advertising agency that created and placed ads in the booming German cinema. Together they lived in a chic apartment in central Berlin and had two children. But things quickly went downhill once the Nazi’s came to power: Kornitzer was forced out of his job and could no longer practice law, Claire, although of Aryan background, had her business stolen from her because of her marriage to a Jew (which she refused to renounce). Soon it was clear that Richard and the children (Halbjuden) were in mortal danger. The children were sent to England via the Kindertransport while Richard was able to secure safe passage to Cuba – without his wife Claire.
Ursula Krechel takes the reader back and forth in time. The book opens with Kornitzer’s return to a ruined Germany after 10 years in exile, hoping to resume his career where it had been suspended by the Nazis. He is given a post in the provincial civil court in Mainz – a city that had been 95% destroyed by the allied firebombing. And the descriptions of the deprivations of those early postwar years are well done. Kornitzer quickly learns that the Third Reich never really ended: his colleagues on the bench in Mainz are all either former members of the NSDAP or Mitläufer. Kornitzer is treated as an outsider – both as a Jew and because of his special status an Opfer des Faschismus. And he is not alone as an outsider in new “democratic” West Germany. Krechel often brings real historical events and figures into the novel. Such as Philipp Auerbach, a Jew and former chemist who survived Auschwitz and who after the war worked tirelessly for restitution to the victims of Nazi crimes. Kornitzer watches with great interest as Auerbach is persecuted by former Nazis in Bavaria. Eventually he is unjustly convicted and imprisoned by a court comprised of ex-Nazis, and commits suicide. Kornitzer cynically sees what is necessary to succeed as a Jew in postwar Germany:
“Am besten war es, man verhielt sich mucksmäuschenstill. man tut seine Arbeit, man fiel nicht auf, gab sich nicht als ehemaliges Mitglied einer Spruchkammer, als Jude, als Trauernder um Philipp Auerbach zu erkennen, gab keinen Anlass, antisemitische Äusserungen, Taktlosigkeiten, Nadelstiche auf sich zu ziehen. Am besten, man war wortkarg, sah nicht nach links und nicht nach rechts und tat seine Arbeit. Am besten, man war tot.”
I very much enjoyed the middle part of Landgericht, which deals with Kornitzer’s exile in Havana. Life for the German/Austrian exiles in Cuba was hardly a tropical vacation. Many ended up in a jungle detention camp where conditions were deplorable. Kornitzer is able to find work as a secretary for a corrupt attorney and fares somewhat better than his compatriots. Ursula Krechel obviously conducted quite a bit of research on Cuba in the 1940s and its treatment of European refugees. Eventually Kornitzer meets and falls in love with a young school teacher. The affair produces a daughter – Amanda – who Kornitzer never has a chance to see before the war ends he returns to Germany.
Kornitzer becomes frustrated and embittered by his inability to get ahead in the “new” postwar order. His children are now more English than German and are estranged from their parents. Claire’s health was ruined after her business was confiscated and she was forced to work in a dairy during the war. Kornitzer pursues every legal and bureaucratic channel to recover the life that was stolen from him – the back and forth with the various courts and agencies becomes somewhat tiresome to the reader. But Ursula Krechel makes one brilliant move towards the end of the novel: Kornitzer is bitter that he was passed over for a promotion and in a public court hearing reads out Article 3 of the German constitution (Grundgesetz):
Niemand darf wegen seines Geschlechtes, seiner Abstammung, seiner Rasse, seiner Sprache, seiner Heimat und Herkunft, seines Glaubens, seiner religiösen oder politischen Anschauungen benachteiligt oder bevorzugt werden.
(No person shall be favoured or disfavoured because of sex, parentage, race, language, homeland and origin, faith, or religious or political opinions.)
That simple act of reading out loud a passage from the constitution is viewed as scandalous, and Kornitzer is forced into early retirement. He spends his retirement relentlessly seeking restitution and – despite an appearance by Amanda – dies embittered man.
This novel would have benefited from a good editor – it is about 150 pages too long. Nevertheless, Landgericht is an important novel and deserves an English translation. Landgericht was a recently made into a two-part film for television, which hopefully will be available to American audiences at some point.”
“WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange is being aggressively pursued by the Trump administration, despite Donald Trump’s enthusiastic embrace during the 2016 election campaign.
Mr Trump famously declared “I love WikiLeaks” during the campaign as WikiLeaks began rolling out a series of leaks damaging to Hillary Clinton.
Mr Assange — an Australian citizen — is now charged with 17 counts of espionage and one count of hacking and faces a possible 175 years in jail if he is eventually extradited to the United States and found guilty.
The Obama administration also looked at the possibility of charging Mr Assange with espionage but eventually decided that a prosecution under the espionage act would be too problematic.
They concluded that if the US courts could charge WikiLeaks with publishing the classified information, they could also charge The New York Times.
The Trump administration obviously doesn’t feel The New York Times problem is so acute. . . . ”
Series 1 | Episode 1DRAMA91 mins
In 1964 when five young newly arrived immigrants met in a Sydney migrant hostel and formed a garage band, little did they know that they would take Australian rock’n’roll to the world. This is the story of The Easybeats.
Series 1 | Episode 2DRAMA88 mins
In part two the band are in London where success hasn’t come easily. On the verge of collapse they are introduced to smash hit producer, Shel Talmy and together they put out the monster international hit Friday On My Mind.
In June 2018 we stopped here:
We liked the hot apple cider. This was just the right thing to have on a cold winter day. I also had a very good pumpkin soup and Peter had a chicken pie and salad.
One year ago Peter mentioned the following on Facebook, and Facebook reminded Peter today of that entry which Peter allowed me to copy here: