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24
Gisela
AUGUST 1945
On a rainy day in August, I packed the few belongings I owned and climbed into the back of an Army vehicle with a dozen other Buchenwald survivors. Our lives were about to change once again. My new home would be in a displaced persons’ camp in Bensheim, Germany, on the edge of the Odenwald Mountains. Jim and most of the medical team from Buchenwald had been transferred to an Army hospital in Frankfurt, thirty miles away, and they were helping me and the others relocate. Jim promised to visit me whenever he had free time.
I was glad to finally leave Buchenwald. The Allies had divided Germany among themselves, and the concentration camp was now located in the Soviet occupation zone. So was the section of Berlin where my family’s home had once been. The new DP camp in Bensheim was in the American sector, and the nearly one thousand people who lived there with me were all fellow Jews who had somehow survived the Nazis. After an emissary from President Truman had toured the DP camps, the Americans had decided that the needs of displaced Jews were very different from those of other war refugees because we had no homes to return to. The Jewish communities all over Europe where we’d once lived had been destroyed, our homes and businesses confiscated. We were reluctant to return to countries where we would be an unwelcome minority again, so for now, we were placed by ourselves in camps like this one in Bensheim and given a measure of independence to govern ourselves. We were liberated but still not free. Together we faced an unknown, uncertain future.
It didn’t take long for me to settle into my new barracks and adjust to a new routine. The camp was clean and orderly, the food nourishing. As I got to know the other women who were part of my new life, I learned that most of us had lost our entire families. All of us were without homes. All of us still grieved our many losses. There was some small comfort in knowing that my life wasn’t unique. The people who shared my new barracks and ate and worked alongside me understood my loneliness and grief. They shared my rootlessness. As we talked during mealtimes and in the evening hours before bed, the questions that seemed to haunt all of our thoughts were “Why did I survive?” and “What should I do next?”
One thing I did have in this new camp was an address. I could get mail from Ruthie and the Jewish agency that was helping me search for my uncles without using Jim’s military address. Sam could find me here.
A few days after settling in, I was assigned to work with the doctors in the camp clinic and the small thirty-bed hospital, helping hundreds of other survivors who were still recovering from the ravages of illness and starvation. My work was satisfying and offered me a reason to keep living until, hopefully, the day would arrive when I would feel alive again.
* * *
“How are you doing, Gisela?” Jim asked about a month after I arrived in Bensheim. “And don’t smile and put on a good face. I want to know the truth.” He had brought medical supplies from Frankfurt, and he and I sat outside on the bumper of his vehicle with the view of the mountains in front of us. They seemed to be the only permanent feature in my life right now.
“I have good days and bad days. I miss my family. I miss Sam. I miss looking forward to the future we’d planned together. We would talk about it every night and we’d say, ‘We’re another day closer.’”
Jim took my hands in his, holding them tightly for a long moment. We had always been comfortable with long silences between us, but today I sensed a tension in Jim and feared he had bad news to share. “Gisela, I need you to be strong right now,” he finally said. His voice trembled. “And I know that you are strong and very courageous or you wouldn’t have survived everything that you’ve been through.”
“You have news of Sam, don’t you?” I continued to stare at the mountains, unwilling to see the truth in his eyes.
“Yes.”
I stopped breathing, waiting to hear more as my heart thrashed like a wounded animal against my ribs. “Is he dead?”
“We don’t know for sure.” He drew a breath. “I finally heard from the British Army and learned that Sam enlisted in what was called the Jewish Brigade, made up of Jewish soldiers. Nearly all of the other men had been born in Palestine, so it was unusual that they allowed him to join. They trained in Egypt, then served with the British Eighth Army in Italy. They fought in two important offensives this past March, then faced a German parachute division in early April. After the last battle, Sam was listed as missing in action.”
He gave me a moment to absorb the news, as if waiting for me to breathe again. I couldn’t. A blanket of grief had settled on my chest, suffocating me. “I’m so sorry, Gisela,” he said.
“But there’s still hope?” I asked. I pulled my hand free so I could wipe my tears.
Jim sighed and shrugged. “I delayed telling you while I waited for a more definite answer because it seemed cruel to leave you suspended between hope and grief. But my contact at the British consulate still doesn’t have an answer for me.”
I knew what that meant. “They haven’t found his body, have they?”
“No. But it’s also possible that he may have been taken prisoner. We can hope for the best.”
“But I should expect the worst. The Nazis surrendered in April. Surely all of the prisoners of war have been exchanged by now.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I asked for the name and address of Sam’s brigade commander. I thought it might help you and Sam’s family if you could talk to someone he trained with and fought alongside, someone who could provide more details about his disappearance. The commander has returned to Palestine, but I’ll let you know as soon as I get his address.”
“Thank you.”
Jim paused again, but this time I could tell that much of his tension had uncoiled. “I have more news that’s a little better, I think,” he said. “Your former landlord in Antwerp contacted me because he has heard from Sam’s parents. They were finally allowed to immigrate to the United States from Cuba. I have their new address in Miami, Florida.” Jim handed me a piece of paper.
I stared at it, picturing the coast of Florida as we had seen it from the deck of the St.Louis. “They’re finally together again,” I murmured. “And they made it to United States. I’m so happy for them.”
“Would you like me to write to his parents and—?”
“No, I’ll do it.” I heard voices from inside the clinic and turned to look at the screen door. “I should get back to work.” I rose slowly to my feet.
Jim stood as well. “I don’t think you should go back to work. You need time to take in this news. I’ll ask them to let you have the rest of the afternoon off.”
I shook my head, edging toward the door. “My work is a distraction—”
