My father’s friend left Germany toward the end of 1938. It pained him to speak about the past; occasionally, he welcomed an opportunity to share his boyhood experiences. Amid the horrors of Nazi Germany, his family debated a topic that echoed through many Jewish living rooms. Should they leave Germany or stay?
This man–then boy–was devastated by the spreading anti-Semitism. But how could he and his family abandon all they knew? Conditions in Germany were certain to improve. Germans would come to their senses. Perhaps this was youthful optimism, but he was not alone. Of the half million Jews who lived in Germany in 1933, over 200,000 remained.
His parents decided to leave Germany, and the boy was heart-broken. It was only after he saw a particular piece of paper; he understood his parents made a wise decision.
Naturally, my father was curious what his friend observed to prompt this change of heart. Since a printed image was involved, my father knew his friend was not speaking of a brutal act or display of despair. Therefore, it could have been many things. The Nazis recognized the power of symbolism. Banners with swastikas and eagles, posters of Hitler and golden, glowing Hitler Youth hung everywhere. Graffiti covered Jewish storefronts. Newsstands displayed “Der Sturmer” with its vile cartoons depicting Jews as grotesque creatures or pigs, their hands clutching bags of money stolen from honest Germans. Such sights were part of this boy’s everyday life.
So what did he see to make him realize Jews had no place in the “new” Germany? He answered my father’s question in a surprising manner. He held up his thumb and forefinger, spread them apart barely an inch and said:
“It was the red ‘J’ on my passport.”
Earlier that year, the government decreed Jewish passports were invalid as of October 5, 1938. Jews were required to turn in existing passports that would then become valid only when stamped with a red “J.” (An earlier proposal had been to underline the first name of the passport holder in red ink. Officials rejected the idea because Jews could cover the line with black ink.) This “Judenstempel” allowed other countries to more easily identify which Germans were Jewish refugees and turn them away. The color red made the Judenstempel easier to detect. Red meant danger. Warning. Beware. Blood.
Was this a Nazi idea? A Swiss one? The boy did not care. The German government enacted this law. It was another measure to denigrate those who were “out.” It kept Jews from pretending to be something other than what they were. After all, the most dangerous Jews were ones who tried to blend in with the good German Volk.
During the years leading up to the passport incident, this boy had suffered and witnessed the suffering of others. But seeing this “J” on a legal document bearing his photograph and name was the first time he realized that for the Nazis, he could be nothing other than a Jewish object. He explained to my father: “Now no one had to figure me out. The ‘J’ told them all they needed to know.” The “J” stamped out his uniqueness. He and the label became the same. It didn’t matter if he was smart, funny or creative. No one cared apple strudel was his favorite dessert or his mother was constantly chiding: “Stop tossing your clothes onto the floor! Hang up your jacket!” This young German boy left behind the familiar, his language and the people who stayed and had their futures stolen. Despite fears regarding his own future, he went without protest because he rejected the government’s attempts to turn him into an object. He didn’t realize in 1938 that a red ‘J’ was paving the way for yellow Stars and tattooed numbers.
Was it the Judenstempel alone that made this boy eager to escape Germany, or was it a tipping point? He was never certain. But he created a new life in a new country. He grew up, married and had children. And he experienced tremendous joy in synagogue, praying as part of a Jewish community. He recognized the value of that community and the oneness of the Jewish people. But he also understood our community strengthens when each person maximizes his own potential. Minimizing the uniqueness of an individual weakens all Jews.
This man spent a lifetime blocking out events he witnessed. He also blocked out events he did not witness but knew had taken place. Each October, he recalled the horror he experienced upon viewing the “J” stamp on his passport for the first time. Each October, he felt especially grateful as he prayed alongside other Jews. And during quiet moments, he looked around the synagogue, curious whether the boy who sat three seats to the right liked apple strudel. And he wondered if the man who came late to services also had a mother who nagged about hanging up a jacket.
This article was published on aish.com on September 28, 2017.
