Eva

By Jack Dold

Eva Rothschild was born into the upscale Berlin world of the 1920s, an artistic, Cabaret society that lived on the edge between the two World Wars. Her secure world crumbled to pieces with the arrival of Hitlers storm troopers, forcing her parents to flee with their two daughters from Germany to Montevideo, Uruguay. Energetic and alive, she yearned for freedom to express herself in her own fashion, through dance and learning, until she finally took the daunting step of moving to New York City. In her third country, with her third language, she found the life she sought, with Boris Kastel, who was also on a personal life quest. Evas story covers nearly a century. And it is by no means finished.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496942807

Jack Dold

In the course of my 81 years, I have seen a great deal of the world. From my early years in Berkeley, through education at Saint Mary's High, Saint Mary's College, and U.C.L.A., I have been blessed with experiences that have far exceeded my dreams. The lessons learned from my teaching days at Bishop O'Dowd High School in Oakland provided the base for almost forty years in the travel business. And both of those careers have given me the inspiration for my retirement work as an author.

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© 2014 Jack Dold. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/10/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4282-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4281-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4280-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014917366

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter One: Cabaret

Chapter Two: Hitler

Chapter Three: Disaster

Chapter Four: Escape

Chapter Five: Tintoreria Paysandú

Chapter Six: War

Chapter Seven: Clubs

Chapter Eight: Club Bigua

Chapter Ten: Beach

Chapter Eleven: Change

Chapter Twelve: Despair

Chapter Thirteen: Rebirth

Chapter Fourteen: Decisions

Chapter Fifteen: Hope

Chapter Sixteen: Friends

Chapter Seventeen: America

Chapter Eighteen: Independence

Chapter Nineteen: Family

Chapter Twenty: City Life

Chapter Twenty-One: Boris

Chapter Twenty-Two: Snapshots

Chapter Twenty-Three: Confusion

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Rose

Chapter Twenty-Five: Mr. & Mrs. Kastel

Chapter Twenty-Six: Honeymoon

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Reunion

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Italy

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Memories

Chapter Thirty: Chickens

Chapter Thirty-One: Moving West

Chapter Thirty-Two: California

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Dream

Epilogue: Happily Ever After

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She never knew she was in the eye of a terrible hurricane, even when it swirled completely around her. On November 5, 1922, a beautiful daughter, Eva Maria, was born to Julius and Lotte Rothschild in Berlin, born into the pulsating world of Germany between the wars. It was a time of profitable business for Herr Rothschild, owner of the fashionable Jockey Club tailoring firm, situated in the center of the city, along the prestigious avenue called Unter den Linden. Eva was born into a world of wealth, to a house of maids and family cooks, with her own personal Kinderfräulein to see to her needs, and later to protect her from any lurking dangers. She was a beautiful child, whose doting parents practically hired a permanent photographer to capture on film, the little sprite posing for a wealth of formal, au natural vignettes that were passed freely among admiring relatives and friends. There was even talk of a sculpture.

She was also born during the maelstrom of monetary inflation of the German mark. Three days after her first birthday, it would take 630 billion marks to buy one US dollar. By the end of the month, that number would rise to the unfathomable figure of 4.2 trillion. On November 15, the Rentenmark would substitute for 1 trillion Papiermark and Berlin would return to a semblance of financial order. Naturally Eva was too young to realize all of this, and she would not even hear about it until she was long gone from her native land.

Chapter One

CABARET

1922

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Julius, what are we to do, now that we have a family? Lotte Rothschild asked her husband in a tremulous voice. They were in his office at the Jockey Club. Outside the room, in an elegant salon, fashionable men lounged in overstuffed leather chairs, waiting for their fitting or measuring session, conversing quietly or reading the Post Zeitung, the London Times or one of the dozen magazines that sat on the tables.

The world seems like it is falling apart, Lotte continued. The mark has lost all of its value. I saw some billion-mark bills at the store today. They are paying the people three times a day and giving them breaks so they can buy bread before the price goes up.

I have told you Lotte, I am not trading in marks. Julius let out a sigh of frustration put down his pen and turned to his wife. "We have gone over this a hundred times, Liebchen. My business is based in London and Paris. I deal in francs and pounds sterling. We have become very wealthy as a result. There is nothing to fear."

But I am afraid, Julius. This city has become a place of sin. Look at the people who frequent the cabarets, and the music that is coming from them. What kind of a world will our daughter find when she comes of age?

She will find a wonderful world that we have fashioned for her. Do you think that we have acquired all of these lovely things without hard work? We are living a very fine life, Lotte. Be happy about that.

Of course, I’m happy, dear, Lotte said, bowing her head almost in submission. But then she looked at her husband with fear in her eyes. I think we should move to Paris or London.

We will not leave Berlin at this time!

Julius threw his pen down and walked around the desk, taking his wife by the hand to escort her to the door.

Get yourself under control, Lotte. It is precisely because of the bad times that we are thriving. One pound sterling is worth a fortune today. The wealthy in Berlin are not to be found drunk in the cabarets and clubs. They are at the opera or at home, safe and sound. And they are buying my fine clothes and taking holidays on the Costa del Sol or lounging on the beaches in Crete. No, Lotte, Berlin is the place for us right now. It is an opportunity not to be missed.

Eva’s mother wasn’t convinced.

What a world for our Evchen to be born into! What sort of future will she have? I heard just today that some of those dreadful Americans were throwing coins on the floor of the Hundekeller if women would take off their clothes to pick them up. What have we become? Have we no shame?

We are paying the penalty for our beloved Kaiser, my dear. Our country has been squashed by the heel of the victors, and France and England mean to have their way with us. Be thankful that we are on their side, Lotte. This day will pass, and Germany will become strong again. It is the way we are. It is the way we have always been.

Lotte found herself outside her husband’s office, in the salon. Several of the clients, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, paused briefly in their own discussions or reading, then averted their eyes. Embarrassed, Lotte quickly left the Jockey Club.

Two years later, a second child was born, and though the Rothschilds had been praying for a son, they welcomed Elisa into their world as a playmate for their darling Evchen, Little Eva. There was never any question which daughter was the favorite. From birth, Eva was a smiling, happy, alert child, totally capturing the heart of her parents with her precocious ways, her boundless energy and inquisitiveness. Elisa, who immediately took on the nickname of Lisel, was of an entirely different temperament—quiet, somewhat sickly, subdued.

The family occupied an upscale townhouse in city center Berlin, with the Spielzimmer and Schlafzimmer for the children removed from the living quarters of the parents. There the girls played together, though they were hardly close friends, sometimes joined by their red-headed cousin, Ellen Bier, who lived in Frankfurt but visited often. Julius and Lotte didn’t allow their daughters outside of their own circle. Too young to know the shame of defeat and the German reaction to the Treaty of Versailles, of berserk inflation and unemployment, they were not even aware that the world was frantically heading into even more devastating depression. None of that penetrated the Rothschild playroom.

"Eva, Lisel, are you dressed? Uma is waiting for us."

It was a weekly event, an afternoon at the Zunfz Café on Unter den Linden with Grandmother Furstenthal and their mother, a chance for Eva and Lisel to dress up, properly was the word that Mutti used, and behave in a perfectly adult fashion. Here they sipped their warm chocolate and daintily tasted a wonderful variety of Kuchen and Tortes, filling the morning with chatter, to the delight of their mother and grandmother.

"Umi, have you ever tasted anything so delicious?" Eva would blurt after her first bite of a strudel.

Where on earth does she come up with such questions? her grandmother would exclaim, planting a kiss on Eva’s cheek.

It was all the inspiration Eva would need to continue what she considered an adult conversation, required in such elevated circumstances.

Eva grew to become an outgoing, chattering sprite of a girl, with a head of curly black hair, and a perpetual smile on her face. When the time came, she entered the public Volksschule in the city center, and she thrived. Class pictures show her always in the front of the class, usually near the teacher. Once a week, she left her class with the other Jewish girls for a lesson in Hebrew and scriptures. As she grew, her annual Mother’s Day cards and New Year greetings added a bit of Hebrew to the message, each year providing evidence of her progress in the difficult language. Her family could not be called practicing Jews. Once a year her mother observed the High Holy Days with her grandmother, but her father had long ago retreated completely into agnosticism. For Eva, being Jewish only meant a class a week away from her schoolmates. It never occurred to her that she was anything but a young German girl.

Now and then Lotte Rothschild would host the women in their Kaffeekränzchen, where they would sit around and gossip, sipping their coffee and plowing through the fertile fields of Berliner scandal for hours during the afternoon. Eva would sneak down to the stair landing to listen in on the conversation, much of which she didn’t understand, but all of which was undoubtedly important or these elegant ladies wouldn’t be discussing it.

Did you read about Dietrich? She is supposed to be working on a new film, der Blaue Engel."

What’s so special about Dietrich? I think she is sort of a slut.

Have you seen her legs, Ilse? With those legs she doesn’t have to work at night.

I think we have legs as nice as hers, Hildrun Mathies asserted.

Oh, be serious Hildrun! Next thing, you’ll be trying out for the Tiller girls to go high-kicking on Kurfurstendamm. That would be a sight!

I want to go over to the Romanische Cafe bookstore and listen to Erich Remarque speak, Tanya Heidel declared. "Have you read his latest book, Im Westen Nichts Neues? They say it is scandalous."

I’ve read it, Tanya Lotte volunteered, taking a petite sip of her coffee. It is nothing of the sort. It tells of the horrors experienced by our brave soldiers in useless battles. I think that Herr Remarque is a wonderful writer.

Well, I say, if you want an argument, Ilse changed the subject, what about that new play of Berthold Brecht that just opened at the Theater on Schiffbauerdamm? It’s about our wonderful underworld here in Berlin. I’m told it is quite good.

"Die Dreigroschenoper?" Helga Schimpfer joined in. Max and I have tickets for next week.

Did they cost you three pennies for the opera, darling?

That’s hardly funny, Hildrun. Berlin has wonderful theater. We must have twenty different stages where you are bound to find something you like.

For Eva, now fully seven years old, this was straight spoonfuls of sugar, secretly listening to her mother’s friends as they reviewed everything about the arts in Berlin. For her it was as if the entire world were magic, one gigantic stage in which she dreamed she held the leading role. She was the new protégé of Isadora Duncan, flowing across the stage at the Admirals-Palast.

I am going to be a great dancer when I grow up, she confided to her little sister. I am going to be one of the Isadorables.

Can I come to see you, Eva? Lisel would plead, wide-eyed.

Of course. They always have a special box for the family to sit and watch. And I will be able to bring you back stage so you can meet the other dancers.

Will you teach me to dance too? Please?

"Instead of dancing, maybe we should have our own Kaffeekränzchen," Eva suggested one day to her cousin and sister.

But Eva, we can’t drink coffee, Ellen protested.

"No, but we can talk a lot! I’ll ask Mutti to get us a tea set. I’m sure she won’t mind. Then we can discuss the latest books and plays and movie stars in an intelligent way."

I can’t even read yet, Lisel moaned. How can I discuss books and plays?

Oh, Lisel, Eva rolled her eyes toward her cousin, barely able to tolerate her baby sister. "I don’t mean real books, just as I don’t mean real coffee. We can make things up you know. I’ll ask Mutti right away."

She didn’t receive the answer she was expecting.

Eva, I can’t get you a tea set right now, Lotte said sadly. There has been a serious crisis in the world, and many people have lost all of their money, some even their houses. We will have to do without things for a little while, but when it gets better, I promise, you will have your tea set.

That was the year the stock market crashed in New York, and half a million Berliners, nearly six million Germans, were thrown out on the streets jobless. But the Jockey Club kept selling expensive suits and coats and Eva never knew the full extent of the world depression.

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Once a year, Julius Rothschild made his pilgrimage to England to secure the fine fabrics that were sold in his Jockey Club establishment. It was a heady time, that decade between war and depression. Even though Germany was financially and politically humiliated by the Treaty of Versailles that ended The Great War, the Twenties were a time of growth and rebuilding, with money to be made and money to be spent. The Rothschild name had been famous for a century in doing both, mostly the former. Julius’ father, Josef, lived in Frankfurt operating a maze of profitable businesses. The family had spread to Israel, where there was a fine wine business under their label, a label that had become world famous in the lush valleys of Bordeaux. Life was good throughout the Rothschild world.

How is business, Julius? a friend asked him as they were having lunch upstairs in the Sherlock Holmes Pub on Northumberland Street in Westminster. Are the stories true about the horrible inflation in Berlin?

They are indeed true, Julius answered between bites of well-done lamb. "The old Papiermark is completely gone, lost in the most amazing inflation the world has ever seen. They replaced it with the Rentenmark, taking nine zeros off in one stroke, and that seems to have stabilized the currency. We now have the Reichsmark. The problem is the debt from the Treaty of Versailles. To paraphrase a metaphor from your Shakespeare, Britain and France have extracted a pound of flesh from the bones of the German cadaver… He paused for a sip of claret. …and they have taken all of the blood at the same time. Fortunately I have been able to survive the inflation because I have an English product."

And what of that product? Are you still finding customers?

Herbert, I will always find customers, as long as they let me operate. Julius sat back in his chair and allowed himself a small joke. Even the Communists want fine clothes, and these new Fascists will want the best of worsted military capes and overcoats. The odd thing is that the name Jockey Club in Berlin doesn’t make anyone angry. It is like I am offering a neutral service. I hope it stays that way, but to be honest, deep down in my bones, I feel that my days are numbered.

Numbered? In what way, Julius? As one of your main suppliers, I haven’t noticed any lessening in your orders.

No, my clientele is holding. They have always been upscale and not subject to the whims of the economy, but I fear the enemy is not the economy. He held out his palm as though he were trying to stop something. There is a building resentment against the Jews in Germany. I feel it. My kind of business, which does well even in hard times, is a target for the new politics both left and right. I have not mentioned my misgivings to Lotte, because she doesn’t understand our business anyway, but I know we are in for difficult times. We may even have to leave Germany before too long. That stock market crash in New York may just be the thing that starts the change, not only in Germany but everywhere. He took a large swallow of his wine, shaking his head sadly. We are in for hard times, Herbert. Have you read anything about our National Socialists?

I have read about Hitler. He seems to be all the rage, even here in Britain. Everyone is holding out great hopes for him, saying he will bring about prosperity once more. Herbert looked questioningly at Julius.

Don’t you agree?

I would love to agree, but I can’t. Unconsciously Julius made fists with both hands and he grimaced. "Quite honestly, the man scares the hell out of me. What you don’t see here in London are the prisoner camps being built, and the anti-Jewish rhetoric that is everywhere. And the beatings inflicted on average people by his storm troopers.

Herbert looked shocked. I hope you are wrong, my friend. After the Great War, we have all prayed that the fighting is over. But I know you are right in some of the things you say. Right now the Yanks are the most powerful people in the world, full of spirit and energy. If their world falls, I can’t imagine that ours is far behind.

Well, let’s enjoy our wine and pray that we are both wrong! Julius held his glass up for a toast. Meanwhile, ship that fabric on the next train. We are running short on much of our supply. I am heading for Paris to see what the new men’s fashions look like. I don’t expect there will be much of a change, but you never know.

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"Vati, you’re home! Eva exclaimed, rushing from her room and down the stairs to jump into her father’s arms. We have all missed you. Our picnics in Grünewald just aren’t the same without you."

It’s nice to be home, Evchen. I’ll ask your mother to plan a special outing, maybe to Wannsee, on one of the boats.

Somehow, through all of the political strife that rocked Weimar Germany and Berlin in particular, and the cultural and social chaos created by the Great Depression, unemployment and monetary insecurity, the Rothschild family maintained itself, a tiny island of security in the midst of a national storm. The girls remained unaware that the storm would soon become a hurricane.

Eva, we have a special birthday present for you, Lotte told her daughter as her ninth birthday approached. It is a surprise, but I can give you a hint. We will have to find you a new dress for next Saturday.

"Oh, are we going to the theater, Mutti?" she blurted out, clapping and jumping around the playroom.

"Well, not quite, Liebchen, Lotte said with a smile, but you are very close."

I wish we could go see Isadora Duncan. It is the thing I most pray for.

Patience, Eva. You’ll just have to wait until Saturday.

Never did a week move by so slowly! Eva could barely contain herself as she counted the days until the weekend, unable even to think about her school work. Finally the big day arrived. She awoke to find a large box with a big pink bow on top sitting near the edge of her bed. Lisel saw it first.

Eva! You have a present!

The two girls jumped up and down, performing an impromptu dance around the box.

Hurry! Open it up!

A dress! Oh, what a beautiful dress! Look Lisel, there are sequins, and lace! And it’s pink!

Put it on, Eva. You will look like a princess. Oh, put it on!

That evening she was a princess as, holding tightly to her father’s arm, she walked on air into the Admirals-Palast, one of Berlin’s most elegant concert and dance halls. There she was thrilled by a performance of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. Eva sat mesmerized as the story of Siegfried and Odette unfolded before her. Lotte smiled as she watched tears flow down the cheeks of her lovely daughter, tapping her husband on the arm to catch his attention.

I’m going to grow up to be Odette, Eva promised as she danced out of the hall. "She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Did you see her dance, Mutti? Wasn’t it wonderful?

She was still bubbling after they were settled into their Kuchen at Konditorei Fester in Spandau. "Mutti," Eva asked, assuming the saddest expression she could muster, didn’t you just want to cry during that last dance of the dying swan? It was so unfair.

"Evchen, don’t you realize that by dying Odette was freed from her spell and lived again? It wasn’t meant to be sad, Liebchen. It was a beautiful ending."

Oh but I just wanted to scream when that terrible von Rothbart came on the stage. He was such an awful man!

Eva, her father kidded, offering a slice of Black Forest cake, "would you like a Kuchen, or will you talk the rest of the night?"

"I don’t know if I can even eat anything, Vati. I think I will dance all night."

Julius let out a laugh and kissed his daughter.

The ballet was only one part of your birthday present, Eva. We have arranged for you to have dance lessons, Julius Rothschild announced after the ballet. Your mother has had enough of hearing about Isadora Duncan, so she has given in. Of course Miss Duncan is no longer with us, but her sister, Elizabeth, took over her Grunewald Dance School, where you have been enrolled. I hope you are happy, Evchen?

"Happy? Oh Vati! It would be impossible for my brain to be happier. When do I start?"

It will not be easy, my dear. There is much work involved in modern dance. You will drag yourself to school most days. Your lessons begin in the spring, March.

March? That is so far away! Can’t we begin tomorrow?

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As the world-wide depression intensified, Berlin sank almost into a condition of lawlessness, with marauding gangs of unemployed men inhabiting the beer halls and roaming the streets. It was from this unemployed army that the new National Socialists recruited their army, a nearly lawless organization that came to be known as the Sturmabteilung, the storm troopers, or simply, the SA.

Lotte, we are going to have to move out of our city house, Julius announced one night to his wife early in 1932. It is becoming more and more dangerous living in the center of the city. I am afraid that the girls will be bothered by all of the hoodlums who are running wild on the streets.

Julius, the trouble is even greater on the edges of Berlin, Lotte answered, wringing her hands. "The women in our coffee meeting last week were all talking about the depression camps in Grϋnewald, whole towns of tents where they have armed guards defending the people against the vandals. Hildrun said that she read that the Nazis were recruiting soldiers among the unemployed men who hang out in the cellar bars and work lines. I don’t think there is any safe place in Berlin. All day long we hear the Sturmabteilung marching with that dreadful song, and the Hitler Jugend with their rallies."

Lotte, near tears, moved around the table to sit next to her husband. Julius, I am afraid, and I am afraid for our daughters. Why do you insist on staying? Many of our friends are urging us to move, at least to Paris. Your own brother and sister have already left Germany.

Her plea always fell on the same deaf ears. Julius patted her arm as if she were one of his daughters.

Lotte, we are the owners of one of the prestigious tailoring houses in Berlin. Our clientele has proven to be loyal, even through the inflation and the beginning of the depression. If Hitler is as dangerous as you think, there will be no place in all of Europe safe from him. Where are we to hide? I would rather take my chances here than in some country where we don’t even know the language. I do agree with you, however, that the center is not a good place to be at the moment.

Without too much ado, the family moved to Schmargendorf in the southwestern part of the city, a very fine locale, walking distance from Grünewald, a huge natural area that served as the city park. Here Eva and Lisel, of course accompanied by their Kinderfräulein, sledded and ice skated in the winter, went on hikes in the other seasons. The house may not have been as elegant as their old city house, but for Eva and Lisel, the life was immensely more exciting. Now they moved out of doors, enjoying the beautiful landscapes, and now they had friends outside the family with whom to play. Usually without their father, they made frequent excursions to Wannsee, and to the Ostsee in Westerland. One summer Lotte even took them to Switzerland.

I never realized that there was a depression, Eva said years later. Undoubtedly for that innocence she had her father to thank. Not only did he provide through his business acumen the very best in living conditions, he shielded his daughters from the dreadful events that were consuming his country. The hurricane had formed, but Eva didn’t see the pines blowing in the high winds.

Chapter Two

HITLER

1933

On January 30, 1933, the eye of the storm hit Berlin, in the form of a new chancellor, a man who had been inevitably on the rise since the ignominious Beer Hall Putsch in 1923 in Munich, an Austrian painter who was created by Versailles and crowned by the Great Depression, a man who announced in his insane Mein Kampf exactly what he meant to do, and proceeded to carry out his plan. Eva wasn’t the only one in her land who didn’t see him coming and didn’t realize that he had arrived. But in that year, she had her first hint of what was ahead.

The very next month, an agitated Julius Rothschild rushed into their apartment in Schmargendorf, home early from work.

Lotte, they have burned down the Reichstag!

The Reichstag? His wife put down her sewing and looked up at her husband, who was red in the face, perspiring. I don’t understand, she said, confused. Who burned it?

Hitler and his gang of thugs. Of course they are blaming it on the Communists, but everyone knows it was the SA hoodlums who did it. I think it was a good thing that we moved out of Berlin Mitte. There are soldiers marching everywhere. They are already starting to arrest the leaders of the Communist party. I don’t really care about that, but where will it end?

Julius, you have always been the one who worried for us, for me and Eva and Lisel. Please don’t upset them with this political talk, she pleaded, looking toward the girls’ room. They are too young to understand. I told Eva that you wanted to see her new dance and that you would play for her. We’ll have a private concert tonight!

So while parliament burned, Eva blithely danced.

Another institution died in 1933. For more than thirty years one of the most powerful developments in Germany was the growth of the Wandervogel, a youth organization founded by Herman Fölkersalm. His aim was to give young people a back-to-nature experience through campfires, hikes, even long treks, steering them away from the turmoil of life in war-torn Germany. His efforts inspired dozens of similar clubs, roughly lumped into the name of the German Youth Movement. One of those clubs was the Hitler Jugend, who came to adopt many of the mannerisms and practices of the Wandervogel, including uniforms and