After some
four (4) more hours that had passed quickly and
uneventfully, I reached around 12 noon my final
destination: Graz, Austria. It was Saturday, April 19,
1969. Exactly one week ago at the same time I had still
been working at the Romanian Observatory in Bucharest!
What a truly extraordinary week had just passed. Snapping
out of these thoughts, here I was leaving the train that
brought me to freedom.
Once in the Graz Station, the first thing that I looked
for was a place where I could exchange my currency. I saw
not far away a Currency Exchange window. I had with me
5000 of the Romanian currency which in spite of their
name "The Lions" (in Romanian "Lei") were worthless. I
also had with me the 20 Yugoslavian dinars --my change
"leftover" from the ticket. The Yugoslavian money,
however, to my relief, was good and could be converted
into the Austrian schillings. And if I am not mistaken, I
got an even exchange: for my 20 Yugoslavian dinars, I
received 20 Austrian schillings. Then, I took my camera
from my suitcase (I had a beautiful Russian-made Zorki
camera, picture below, in a nice leather case) and went
to check my luggage. (In the Station there was a Room
where passengers, for a small fee, could leave their
luggage for 24 hours.) Freed from my luggage and with
only a camera hanging over my shoulder, I went straight
to the Station's Information Center. There was a small
adorable chubby person who greeted me in German. "Do you
speak English?" --I asked. "No", he responded in German.
I said to myself "Thank God!" and then, in English, I
asked:
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Zorki
Caamera
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"Listen, I am from America, and I am here to take
pictures of your Synagogue. Can you tell me how to
get there?"
To this, in
disbelief, the man came out from his booth saying:
"America, America. No one from America came here to take
pictures of our Synagogue." He then gave me a map with
the City of Graz pointing out where the Synagogue was
located. "Only three stops with the streetcar and you
will be there" he continued. Happy with the great help
just received, I left the Information booth thanking the
man very much for his assistance. As I was about to leave
the Station, I saw a place where you could buy postcards
and stamps and immediately went there as I was eager to
write to my dear mother. [In
Romania, we agreed that I would write in coded messages.
If my escape from Romania were succesful, we agreed that
my letter must contain this coded sentence "The birds are
flying" and be signed as "Clara".]
My actual lines in my first postcard in the Free World
were these:
"Spring
is a beautiful time of the year with birds that are
flying and flowers that are blooming" and signed as
Clara.
[My mother I believe still has this very first
postcard received from me!]
After mailing my
postcard, I left the Station for the streetcar. And with
no problem, within minutes, I was in front of the
Synagogue --a massive structure surrounded by a tall wall
with heavy metal gates at its front. To my dismay the
gates were closed and I could not understand why this was
happening on a Saturday afternoon around 1
o'clock!
[My Jewish
education at that time was non-existent notwithstanding
the fact that my both parents were non-practitioning
Jews. From my father's side, almost everyone (some 60
people) were killed in the Auschwitz Concentration Camp.
From my mother's side, all her eight (8) sisters and
brothers were living in Israel and, the father of my
mother had been the President of the Jewish Community of
a small Romanian town in Romania, Carei of Satul Mare
district, where my mother was born. Because my parents
did not know how Communists would react towards Jews,
they in 1945 changed their names to typical Romanian
names [to Bratu as family name] and until I was
17 I was not aware of my Jewish heritage much less of
Jewish traditions.] As
I was moving from one end of the site to the other to
find a way of entering into the Synagogue, I saw a little
boy no older than 6 playing nearby. I attempted to speak
with the boy but he knew only German which I did not
know. After explaining to the boy, through some
gesticulations, of my desire to go into the Synagogue and
see a rabbi, the boy with a smile took my hand and
through a hidden passage he was able to put me in front
of a rabbi. He was a man perhaps in his late sixties with
a long beard and the black attire of a rabbi. I was
extremely happy and enormously excited to see him and
upon mentioning to him all of the languages that I could
speak aside from Romanian, he was glad to learn that
Hungarian was one of them as he was born in Hungary. As
he immediately invited me into his home, I began telling
him, with tremendous excitement, that I just escaped from
Romania. After only five minutes into my story, he
stopped me with the question: "Are you hungry?" Stunned
by his off-guard question, I timidly responded in the
affirmative. Then, the rabbi continued: "You have plenty
of time to tell me your story, but now let's go to the
restaurant across the street where you will eat first."
In apologetic fashion I warned the rabbi that I do not
eat Kosher food but only "normal" food. To put me at ease
the rabbi assured me that I could eat whatever I wanted.
As we went across the street to a very nice and elegant
restaurant, the rabbi asked me what was my favorite food.
I said "I like snitzel very much but I do not how to
translate or explain this to you." With a warm smile, he
called the waitress over and ordered for me snitzel with
potatoes! The meal was an absolute feast with a chocolate
torte at the end. As we left the restaurant and walked
towards the rabbi's home, the rabbi stated "Now, you can
tell me your entire story!"
After some two (2)
hours of telling my story, the rabbi got quite excited
calling my escape "extraordinary." He told me that he
must contact the President of the Jewish Community
immediately. Apparently the President was on a weekend
retreat where he could not be reached by telephone but
only by telegram. The rabbi's telegram to the Jewish
President contained this message: "Please return
immediately. Something extraordinary has happened." After
sending the telegram, the rabbi showed me a room in his
home where he said that I could stay for as long as I
wanted. I also met his son, briefly, a student at the
Graz Polytechnic University. Overwhelmed by the rabbi's
goodness, I began wondering if my own father could have
behaved more warmly.
Some five (5) hours
later, around 9 o'clock on that Saturday evening of April
19, 1969, the President of the Jewish Community for the
city of Graz arrived. Since he spoke only German, the
rabbi was our translator. We talked for about
three (3) hours, telling him of my escape and of my
absolute determination to go to the Unites States and
nowhere else. As I was telling my escape story to the
Jewish President, I asked him if he could explain what
had happened at the border in Yugoslavia and why my
passport was not stamped by either of the two Yugoslavian
officials that examined my passport. To this the Jewish
President replied:
"My
boy, you do not know how lucky you were. If you
should ever meet those two people again, you should
kiss their feet for what they have done for you.
The first young Officer clearly recognized that you
did not have a valid passport for crossing into
Austria and thus he could not have placed a stamp
on a non-valid passport. He went and informed his
supervisor about this. The supervisor when he
arrived and saw you decided ultimately to let you
go. To protect themselves in case you were caught
in Austria, they did not stamp your passport. In
this way, they could have said that they had never
seen you. You could have been under the train or
above when you exited Yugoslavia. And the proof
that they did not see you was in the fact that no
Exit Yugoslavian Stamp was to be found in your
passport!"
I was very
impressed upon hearing all this. Clearly, there was no
chance in heaven that I would ever met again those
Yugoslavian Immigration Officials to thank them for
setting me free. Because of my determination to go to the
United States and no other place on earth, the Jewish
President informed me that he would need to contact the
Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (HIAS) which would be able
to help me towards reaching my goal.
On the next day, Sunday April 20, 1969, around noon time,
the Jewish President came to see me. I was informed at
that time that he had made all the necessary arrangements
for me to go on the next day to Vienna and see the
officials from HIAS. I was happy and grateful for his
help and advise. The rabbi was very excited by the news.
"Yes, but what about if something goes wrong? You have to
think about that and you have to have money with you,"
--the rabbi insisted. I assured the rabbi that nothing
would go wrong and that I could not accept the money. He
then insisted that I had to take with me the seven (7)
letters of credit that he prepared for me. These letters,
the rabbi indicated, were seven distinct sources in
Vienna from where I could take money, as needed. Stunned
by his genuine concern about my welfare, I took those
letters of credit with tremendous emotion and
gratitude.
Knowing that this
was my last day in Graz, I went strolling and explored
this historic city which had so much significance for me.
That was my first stroll in a city as a free man. What a
tremendous and indescribable joy I was experiencing. I
was the happiest man on earth!
