Sunday, April 17, 2011


 I don’t remember all that much about the war.

We arrived from Athens in Berlin sometime in June 1942. Just a few weeks before my grandfather, Opa, died.

What a culture shock - hot, sunny and bright in Greece and very dark in Germany. I can still see Tic-Tac Oma and Opa standing on the platform at the train station. Both dressed in black. They scared the schnook out of me.

I remember coming home from school and switching on the light in the stairway to brighten my climb to the third floor where Oma and Opa lived (we lived with them). The light was on a timer and stayed on just long enough for people to make it all the way up to the last floor. I still can feel the fear I had that the light might go off before I’d make it to the top. So, I was always running up and making noise and on the second floor the door would open and this old lady would stare at me without saying a word as I was flying by - I was so afraid of her. And then, we would be fast asleep at night, the sirens would go off and we would have to run down to the basement and huddle on benches that were set up. No smiling faces, only worried grown ups and cranky kids and all hoping that no bomb would fall on our building. 

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