The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (37 page)

The Colonel had a blank expression on his face, and stared out the window of the staff car as it drove past the Dutch city's canals. Oberman doubted his superior noticed the difference.

The old fool is little better than the Ukrainians, he thought. Oh well, that is part of my advantage. Oberman found himself a comfortable, spacious apartment with an abundance of old-world charm. He furnished it with his favorite things and then set about selling everything he didn't need. Whenever he could, he traded for diamonds and precious gems. When he had to take money he quickly converted it into the little stones elsewhere. When he had sufficient small stones, he traded up for larger, more precious gems. It would be easier to carry the larger stones than a large number of little stones. He kept a number of smaller stones to bargain with, but his real fortune was in rare large stones, prized by buyers of quality anywhere in the world. By mid-summer of 1944, Oberman had turned almost his entire fortune into easily transported and negotiable jewels, true pirate treasure.

He had also been doing well at his job, ferreting out resistance groups. But now he was turning his back on as many as he was arresting. Where he could, he took extortion in exchange for opportunities to escape. The resistance movement in Holland was altogether different from that in the Ukraine. Here, in Holland, it was almost universal. In the Ukraine, the Germans looked down on the people; here the Dutch looked down on the Germans. These people had courage. They were not anti-Semitic. They didn't give up their Jews to the Germans if it in any way could be avoided. They suffered, but with pride; even the Church resisted in Holland, despite the stand of the Vatican.

As time passed, Oberman was more certain that Germany's chances of winning the war were approaching zero. To express such feelings was considered by many as treason, so he kept his thoughts to himself. But he started thinking seriously about how to get out of Europe. He didn't know what repercussions there might be after the war, but he'd take no chances. He was quite certain that any Germans taken by the Russians would pay dearly for their part in the war. He figured the Americans, English and other powers would be a little more forgiving, but he thought it would be wiser to observe this from outside of Europe. He would always have the option of coming back if there was to be no retribution. If he stayed, he might not have any options.

His occupation now would be to make proper arrangements so when the time came he would be ready.

Oberman did not speak out. He listened. By the beginning of 1945, the Germans withdrew on all fronts. Oberman returned to Germany. Now there was considerable talk of ways to escape the advancing enemies. Oberman kept his mouth shut. He listened and gathered information. His fortune was in a pouch hidden where he could get it quickly. The more he heard, the more he realized that for him and other Nazis, salvation would come from the Church.

There was little question in Germany where Vatican sentiments lay. The Vatican had remained silent through the years. Never did the Holy See cry out against the policies of the Third Reich. Atrocities were never criticized. The Nazis were allowed to do their work without any show of indignation. But though the Vatican didn't speak out for or against Hitler's policies, it showed support in other ways.

Oberman heard that when Germany occupied Rome on September 10, 1943, the Nazis ordered the roundup of all Jews trapped in the city. The world waited for the Vatican to protest the arrest of eight thousand Italian citizens. There was a resounding silence. In spite of Vatican indifference, many of Rome's clergy gave refuge to condemned Jews, hiding as many as they could. The less fortunate were sent to Auschwitz or were shot right there in Rome. Because of the outrage around the world at the Pope's silence, the Vatican later issued a statement that three thousand Jews were hidden from Germans in the Vatican itself. Actually, of the eight thousand Jews threatened by the Nazis in Rome, some two or three dozen did find refuge in Vatican City.

Though the Vatican made no official statement, Archbishop Constantini voiced Vatican sentiments in 1943 when he said, "We wish with all our hearts that the Germans will bring final victory and the fall of Bolshevism." He hailed the brave soldiers who were fighting "Satan's deputies in Russia." Oberman kept in mind this statement by a leading churchman, a confidant of the Pope.

Christian support for the Nazi policies was further demonstrated by what Oberman recognized as previews of how the Church would help in his future. After the Americans and British landed forces in Europe, many German soldiers and officers were helped back to their own lines or hidden by priests. Many were smuggled back to their troops disguised as Jesuits and Monks. Oberman was quite sure the Church was pleased with the job the Nazis had done to combat Communism and destroy Judaism in Europe. He was quite sure that the Church would show its gratitude by helping Nazis escape prosecution after the war.

He set about to avail himself of its services.

In the first week of April 1945, about a month before VE Day, Major Hans Oberman took off his uniform for the last time. Dressed as a middle class German citizen, false papers in his pocket and the pouch of diamonds and other gems under his clothes, he left his apartment to go to "confession." He closed the door, not bothering to lock it.

There was no staff car awaiting him at the door this time. Casually, he walked the three kilometers to a small church in the outskirts of bomb-shattered Berlin. Upon entering, he strode straight to the confessional. After a short wait a priest appeared.

"You wish to confess?" the voice of the elderly priest trembled through the screen.

"I seek salvation only this sanctuary can give to the misjudged," Oberman said, speaking each word deliberately.

The old priest immediately recognized the code phrase.

Two days later, Oberman was hidden away in a monk's cell at a monastery in the Austrian Alps. He remained at the monastery for eight weeks. He spent his time reading and relaxing and growing a beard. He found it boring after only a few days, but there was no alternative. He showed no surprise at the announcement of Germany's surrender during his third week at the monastery. Each day at the cloister, more and more German officers came to be hidden by the monks. They were kept separate-no one was told identities of the others. Since most of the Nazis passing through the monastery now were very high ranking officers, they were sent through quickly. It meant Oberman was kept at this first refuge for weeks longer than most. It couldn't be helped. Those of high rank, wanted for war crimes, had to be moved out first. Never was Oberman asked to make payment for the services he received from the Church. It was, after all, Christian charity.

The war in Europe had been over for about four weeks when one morning a knock came earlier than usual at Oberman's cell door.

"Please come in. I am awake."

The door opened. A monk, robed in brown, entered the humble quarters. "Today is your day," the monk announced. He placed a garment similar to his own on the table next to Oberman's bed. "Please dress in these today. Later you will get new identity and proper papers."

"Where will I be going?"

"You will be told what you need to know when you get there. It would not do for you to know the next point on the escape route in case you were picked up."

At mid-morning, Oberman set out with seven other refugee Nazis along a country road in the direction of Innsbruck. A group of monks sworn to a vow of silence accompanied them. The walk would take three days at an easy pace. The nights were spent in safe houses established along the way.

They had no difficulties on the road to Innsbruck. Once there, they met a mountain guide. For another week, they hid in a third rate boarding house. At the end of the week, they walked to a small village near the border. There the guide had provisioned the party for the most difficult portion of their "pilgrimage" to Rome. For the next few days, they crossed the rugged Brenner Pass to an inn on the Italian side of the border. There they would rest from the ordeal.

Two days later, they were all safely hidden in a convent in Northern Italy. From there, the Nazis were taken out, one or two at a time. They received new identities and were driven to Rome. Again Oberman was the least important, so he was not taken to that city for almost three weeks being bypassed by more important, more desperate Generals and Colonels marked for war crimes.

Christian charity again took care of all expenses.

In Rome, he was passed on to Collegio Croatto, a seminary operated by a group of Yugoslavian priests. From there, contact was made with the Titular Bishop of Aela, a close friend and confidant of Pope Pius XII. That Bishop was a last contact before the infamous Bishop Alois Hudal, who operated the Vatican Rescue Mission.

In years to follow, Bishop Alois Hudal would make possible the escape of more than fifty thousand Nazis, among them Martin Bormann, right-hand man to Adolph Hitler. Bishop Hudal moved the fleeing Oberman along with other Nazis into Teutonicum Monastery, within the walls of the Vatican. There Oberman received yet another identity and a matching International Red Cross Refugee Passport.

In two days, Oberman found himself on an Argentine ship. While on board, he was given a choice of South America or Syria. Oberman chose Syria. He wanted to stay nearer Germany and the continent he knew. The thought of going to South America distressed him. He imagined it a primitive land of natives and jungles. He further suspected that in a few years, all would be forgotten and he would be able to return to his homeland. Besides, he wasn't even sure yet that he would be among those wanted for prosecution. He figured that he could make some investments in the Middle East and parley his fortune while in exile.

He disembarked the Argentine ship in Barcelona, Spain. When he got off, he had yet another identity and a new passport-this one, the most valued and versatile in the world-a Vatican Refugee Passport.

He was put aboard a ship for Lebanon. In Lebanon he was met by a priest of a church in the Christian sector. That priest was assigned to transport fugitive Nazis across his country into Syria. He also offered those Nazis positions as consultants to the Syrian army.

Oberman accepted an advisory position in guerrilla warfare and terrorism.

Immediately after Solomon decided to leave Kiev, he rejoined the Russian forces chasing the Germans out of the Ukraine. Many of the partisans actually enlisted in the Russian army. Diadia Misha joined, went to Officer's Training School and received a commission of captain. Many of the Jews preferred not to sign up. Before World War II, Jews were made to suffer terribly in the Russian army-and the reputation of their mistreatment lived on. Jews had been conscripted for periods as long as twenty-five years and most never lived to see discharge. So Sol and several of his Jewish comrades were satisfied to fight alongside the Russians as civilians, able to walk away as soon as the war was over.

Originally, Solomon intended to fight only until the Germans were out of the Ukraine, but he fought through the winter of 1943 and into the summer of 1944. Then he felt compelled to return once more to Kiev. He really didn't understand why. Perhaps it was homesickness, though no one was left who meant anything to him except Father Peter. He recalled the emptiness he'd felt when he'd returned there in November and asked himself, "Why should it be different now?" He had no answer. But he had to return-perhaps just to be absolutely sure before he closed that door behind him forever.

In November, the city had been freshly liberated; maybe now things would be more normal. Though almost everyone he cared about was dead, their memories lingered in the Kiev district. He reached the city in the last week of June 1944. Hardship and poverty were evident everywhere. A few Jews were now returning, coming out of the forests, out of hiding. Two or three thousand out of a pre occupation population of over a hundred thousand had come home to salvage what they could of their lives.

"Look how many have returned!" could be heard in street conversation everywhere.

"How come so many survived? I suppose they want to move back into their homes now."

"I thought they killed them all!"

"They're lucky to be alive. Why do they come back here now?"

There were certainly those who felt compassion for the survivors and wished them no further harm or hardship, but they were a silent minority.

"It is not up to us to give them back their property," the majority complained. "The Germans ran them out. To the victor go the spoils and we are the victors!"

Anti-Semitism was growing, flourishing.

"Damn Jews. Want to take over everything, again!"

Of the few Jews who returned to the city, Solomon knew none of them before. He went to the only friend he knew, Father Peter. As he approached the little parish church he wondered whether his friend still held the pulpit there. "Solomon! Welcome home, Solomon! Dear Solomon," he heard as he turned into the walk. Father Peter came around the side of the building.

"Father Peter! It's good to see a familiar face. Thank God you're still here."

"I was tending my garden. I saw you walking up the road but couldn't believe it was really you. When did you return to Kiev?"

"Only yesterday, but I couldn't stand it any longer. The city's terrible! I had to get away."

"Why didn't your come sooner? You are always welcome here, you know. Don't you, Solomon?"

"I was sure I'd be welcomed, but I wasn't sure you'd still be here. I'm so glad you are." The two men embraced.

"Solomon, come in. Let me make some tea and lunch. You must be hungry. I haven't anything fancy to offer, but my parishioners do keep me from starving. We have so much to talk about."

Sol had forgotten what a welcome was like. Not since leaving the forests had he felt it. It made him realize how very alone he was. Father Peter filled a chinik with water and put it to boil.