Feuchtwanger Edgar - Hitler, My Neighbor: Memories of a Jewish Childhood, 1929-1939

ALSO BY EDGAR FEUCHTWANGER

From Weimar to Hitler: Germany, 191833

Disraeli

Imperial Germany 18501918

Bismarck

Today it seems to me providential that Fate should have chosen Braunau on the Inn as my birthplace. For this little town lies on the boundary between two German states which we of the younger generation at least have made it our life work to reunite by every means at our disposal.

ADOLF HITLER, FIRST LINE OF MEIN KAMPF

I like it when she plays this piece for me. A piano minuet. She told me Mozart wrote it when he was my age. Im five. I listen to the notes, its very pretty. Im on the floor, swimming on the parquet as if it were a lake. The armchairs are boats, the sofa an island and the table a castle. If Mama sees me shell scold me and say Ill dirty my suit. I dont care. Anyway, its itchy. Now Im lying flat on the floor under the chair. I have my gun so I have nothing to fear if the French attack. Ill stay hidden.

I was scared again this morning when the poor came and rang the doorbell downstairs where the caretaker lives. Mama went down and I watched from the top of the stairs. They had beards, and holes in their clothes. They wanted money. They were selling shoelaces. Mama came back up and walked right past me, not even noticing me. She found a loaf of that bread I love, the white bread with a golden crust woven over the top of it like a girls braids, and she took it downstairs. When she handed it to the poor people they smiled at her and went back out into the street.

They came again this afternoon. She was still playing the piano, the piece that gets really fast at the end, she was laughing and I was spinning on the spot, watching the room swirl around me.

The beggars were back. I was first to hear them hammering at the door. Mama stopped playing and went down to open it. One of them was really yelling. He said their house had been taken, and their savings, and theyd been thrown onto the street with their children. He said it was because of the Jews. I was scared, I wanted to cry. Mama was kind to them and one of the men said he knew her, a tall, fat man with a big white beard.

Shes a Feuchtwanger! he boomed.

He got hold of the nasty little guy who was yelling and pulled him away. He explained that hed been at school with Uncle Lion and had even read his books. I hid upstairs, keeping watch with my rifle. I wished I was invisible, like in the book they read to me at bedtime. The man with the beard winked and told the little guy he was a pain with his nonsense about Jews. Mama thanked him sweetly and asked Rosie to fetch some sausages. Rosies my nanny. I rolled away like a soldier and she didnt see me when she walked past. Her white apron and black dress made a rustling sound. I was under the chair. I watched her go to the kitchen. She muttered to herself in dialect, the different language she uses when no ones listening. She said the poor were idiots; she cursed, saying we didnt have all that many sausages, and she didnt know what wed have for dinner tonight. She came back with the sausages and gave the fat man a smile. He thanked her, blessed my mother and headed off with the gang.

Aunt Bobbie, our upstairs neighbor, came down and talked to Mama. I couldnt really hear. I think Aunt Bobbie told her my uncle would make trouble for us if he wasnt careful with his books. Uncle Lions a writer. He makes up stories for grown-ups. Mama smiled at Aunt Bobbie and promised to let Uncle Lion know. She tried to reassure her, telling her not to worry, saying the beggars were just poor people whod been in the war and had lost everything. I ran to the window to watch them. They were ringing the bell at the building opposite, gathering together a little group with others from up the street.

Ive been watching the poor through the window since this morning. Theyre still there outside our building. What if they attacked? I have my rifle! When Mama spotted me earlier, she smiled, came over to me, drew the curtains and said it was time for tea. I asked her what a Jew was, and she whispered in my ear that I was too young to understand.

I may be five but I follow everything. I know what a Jew is! One time Papa talked to Mama about them in front of me. She asked him to change the subject because I wasnt old enough, but he said I wouldnt understand and kept talking. I played with my little cars on the floor, pretending not to listen. But I heard everything. They were talking about the Nazis, who dont like the Jews. The Jews means us, the Feuchtwanger family. Ive known that for ages. I already talked about that with Rosie. Were all the same, Rosie told me when I asked her, only the Jews dont believe in the baby Jesus. But I know he was real. Rosie told me all about him. He had long hair and was very kind. Bad men hung him on a cross, put nails through his hands and feet and killed him. I wanted to know if the Jews were the villains. Rosie said they werent, the Nazis were mixing everything up. It was the Romans who killed Jesus, and anyway, he was a Jew himself. Its a very old story, from another age, another time, long before I was born, or my parents, or their parents, or all their ancestors, before the days of cars and cities; it happened in an ancient country that no longer exists, over the mountains, the fields, the rivers and the sea. She opened the neck of her blouse and showed me a tiny golden cross on her chest. She said I could hold it. I touched it softly, she brought it to her mouth and gave it a little kiss, then she kissed my forehead and said I was her little darling, and that all children and all people were made of one flesh, that we were all children of the Lord, and Jesus said we should all love each other. She looked kind of sad, and I snuggled close to her.