Shadows Over My Berlin.

Shadows over My Berlin
By Heidi Scriba Vance 
with Janet Barton Speer, Ph.D.

One night when my family was asleep, we were awakened by loud shouting. "Das ist das Haus, oben im dritten Stock! Schmeiss sie raus und bring sie runter, die verdammten Juden!" Jews! They were looking for Jews. "Throw them out, damn Jews," they had said.

I looked at the alarm clock. It was 2:30 in the morning. A flashing light caught my eye. A searchlight. I looked out the window just as the bright, garish light passed by again. It was coming from an open truck on the street below. The searchlight kept swooping back and forth, back and forth. Wrapping my robe tightly around me, I ran into the hall, almost bumping into Mutti.

"What’s going on?" I asked. "Are we in trouble? I’ll get Hans." I turned toward his room but Mutti shushed me and told me not to wake him.

Papa was watching the street from another window, He motioned for us to join him. He put his arms around us and we watched the terrible sight begin to unfold.

People, Jews, were on the truck, huddled together. The October night was cold, and without proper clothing, they were shivering in the frigid air. More voices came, from inside the building this time. Harsh, ugly, frightening German voices. More people were being herded into the truck.

Before my father could stop me, I bolted out the door. I looked down the staircase and saw three Nazis in front of an apartment where a Jewish family lived. One Nazi pounded the door with his fist, another stood impatiently, raising his heels up and down, up and down again. The third slapped his boots with a rubber stick. Their lips were tight with impatience.

I leaned over the banister to get a better look. Papa was close behind me. "Watch it!" he whispered. "If they see you, they might not like it." I stepped back. The pounding at the door increased.

The Nazi soldiers threatened to break open the door. A young couple emerged, assisting an old woman. Their eyes were wide, frightened, obeying. I knew these people. They were nice neighbors.

A soldier grabbed the man by the arm and threw him to the stairs. "What took you so long, damn it! You must think we have all night! You’re not the only one, you know. We have more like you to pick up. Move it, you Jew bastard!"

The soldier grabbed the man again and shoved him toward the front door. The other two soldiers followed the leader, each shoving one woman along. The women were pushed so forcefully that they stumbled, trying to hold on to each other. Our Jewish neighbors were not even allowed to walk away from their home in dignity.

The young woman put her arm around the older woman, only to be pushed aside. Rubber sticks pounded the man’s head and shoulders as he made his way out the door to the truck. "Move, you bastard!" a soldier spat, infuriated by his captive’s nonresistance.

I ran back to our apartment window.

The soldier swung his rubber stick wildly and randomly, hitting people huddled in the truck. "Make room, damn it, or I will make it for you! There’s room for twenty more." The three new passengers were shoved in. Other Nazis slammed the truck door shut. Chains secured the door with an eerie echo, and a pin locked the chains in place.

A young Nazi stood in front of the truck and played the beam of his flashlight up the side of our building. He caught me staring out the window. He spread his legs, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled up at me. It was a flirtatious smile. Against a backdrop of terrified Jews, he must have thought himself so dashing and irresistible that he took a moment from his busy schedule of gathering Jews to solicit a young girl. He had no soul.