The Diary of Petr Ginz, 1941–1942 Read online

  My brother’s diary is written in a calm style, although it changes, together with his handwriting, in the last weeks and days, when he is expecting to be assigned to a transport. His notes are nervous, as if he didn’t know what was happening to him and was unable to describe those days. Only in Theresienstadt does he reveal the circumstances of his departure, after the fact, thus completing the diary in which he had not captured this fateful moment.

  I am presenting these notes even before the diaries from the years 1941–1942. Although this disturbs the chronology of events, I am of the opinion that it was precisely Petr’s assignment to the Theresienstadt transport and his portrayal of the preparations for his departure that throw a light on and a shadow over his earlier diaries, where he writes about his everyday existence in the midst of a threatening situation, but nevertheless pulsating with regular life and without interruption. Incomprehensibly to us today, there was a sense of harmony, and a hope that the future would not bring a tragic end.

  I. How I found out about the transport

  On the morning of September 22, 1942, I left at seven o’clock, as usual, for my work in 7 Josefovska Street, in a typewriter repair shop. The manager, Mr. Bruck (whom I had nicknamed Wolf), was already there, so was Mr. Fuchs. Mr. Bondy and Mr. Lampl arrived later. The work began immediately after. I cleaned the type-writers and others disassembled them. Don’t think that cleaning a typewriter is easy. There is cleaning and there is “cleaning.” If you want the typewriter to shine on the inside and on the outside, you have to remove the carriage and wipe the most invisible corners with a small brush. Then you have to use a blowpipe to clear it out. The most difficult part are the spaces between the typebars. Of course, this varies from one model to another. Cleaning the “Demontable” is no problem at all, you can take it apart completely, but the L. C. Smith is much harder. There, you can only remove the platen.

  After I finished cleaning a couple of typewriters (I wrote down the numbers conscientiously. Old Fuchs later copied them and collected payment for the cleaning. Of course, I didn’t get paid.), I was sent to inspect typewriters. Every fourteen days there was an inspection of typewriters in all the departments of the Jewish community, to see if any needed cleaning. That day, it was the Legal Department’s turn, at 21 Norimberska Street. I was sent there with a small case, in which I carried gasoline for cleaning the platen, alcohol for cleaning the keys, and for the same purpose a wire brush and a cloth. My case also contained several replacement ribbons (13, 14, and 14.5 mm), a notepad for recording the replaced ribbons, a couple of chisels, and an oil can. On the way, I had collected a few cigarette butts. But I found most of them on the stairs of the Jewish religious community center.

  I sat down in front of a typewriter in the legal department and began cleaning it. Suddenly, the phone rang. It was the typewriter repair shop, telling me to go to the workshop immediately. I was very surprised, because it was normally I who phoned them (that’s when I tore a string somewhere) rather than the other way around. But I kept my surprise to myself, collected my things, and walked to the workshop. As soon as I entered, Wolf said calmly: “You’re in it, don’t worry about it.”

  II. Preparations

  When Wolf said this memorable sentence to me, I remained surprisingly calm. I said good-bye to them, in case I didn’t see them again. I remembered all the mischief I had caused them (for example, I filled the spray for spraying typewriters half with gasoline and half with air, lit a match, placed it in the window, and then blew gasoline fumes into it. The resulting flame was so huge—about three metres long and one metre wide—that it could be seen in the next room. They came running right away, confiscated the matches, and I was told that if I ever did anything like that again, I would get kicked out. This was a case when things turned out well; but another time, while spraying a typewriter, I noticed rings of gas fumes rising in the air, and I wanted to make them burn. I should add that the typewriter was placed in a bowl full of gasoline, with another half of a can next to it. If I had lit those fumes back then, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this.) and I thought they might be pleased I’m leaving. But they looked as if they really were sorry.

  So I went home. While walking, I tried to absorb, for the last time, the street noise I would not hear again for a long time (in my opinion; Father and Mother were counting on just a few months). I arrived at home (I hid my star on the way from the corner to the entrance to our building, till I reached the apartment, so that it would not be noticed that Jews still lived in our house). All the way to the third floor there were only offices, on the fourth floor lived the Kohners (they left for Poland three months ago, people say all their luggage was confiscated), the Mautners (they left for Theresienstadt), Ichas (Aryans, railway employees), and us. We had been saved from moving out because the apartment was registered in Mother’s name.

  Finally, I arrived home and knocked on the door. “Who is it?” Mummy asked from inside. “Me.” Mummy opened, surprised that I was home so early. “Mancinka, don’t get frightened, I’m in a transport.” Mummy was immediately beside herself; she started crying, she didn’t know what to do. I comforted her. Suddenly the doorbell rang. Auntie Nada arrived to tell us I was in a transport, but we already knew it. Auntie Nada is a practical soul; she went straight into action. First, we hurried to the community centre to pick up the forms that were about to be distributed. Otherwise we would have heard about the transport only at noon. We were to board at 6 P.M., at Veletrzni Palace. Afterward we ran quickly back home; my good friend, Harry Popper was already waiting to say good-bye to me, which he had succeeded in doing. There was a lot of action; we were packing; some women helpers from the Jewish Community arrived to help us pack. In the meantime we somehow managed to eat lunch. I no longer remember what we had for lunch that day, although I would really like to know it; I believe it was hamburgers.

  The official letter sent to Petr on October 22, 1942, informing him that he has to report for a transport on the same day. Private archive, Chava Pressburger.

  TRANSLATION OF DOCUMENT

  You have been assigned to transport Ca and are ordered to report today, on 22/10/1942, at 6 P.M. at the latest to the assembly grounds Veletrh in Prague VII, entrance opposite Vinarska Street, with all your documents and your hand luggage, which must not exceed the weight of 10kg. Large suitcases will be picked up by our collection service tomorrow morning. Inform the person delivering this letter where these main suitcases will be stored. We are enclosing all the printed information and questionnaires; read through them, fill them out, and bring them with you to the Exhibition Grounds. At the same time we are informing you that you must hand in all food-ration coupons for the next supply period, which you have recently received. We have arranged for our service to help you with your preparations for joining the transport.

  After lunch I was told to choose which of my toys I wanted to take along. I took a supply of paper (including this notebook), linoleum, small knives for cutting it, the unfinished novel The Wizard of Altay Mountains, which at the time consisted of about 260 pages. I wanted to finish writing it in Theresienstadt, but in the end nothing came of it. I will speak later about laziness in Theresienstadt. I also took thin leather for binding, and a few sheets of endpaper. That was all. Sorry, also a few broken watercolour paints; the rest were left at home. And that was definitely all from my own drawer in the wardrobe, and the big case from Macesky. I packed these items lovingly with the other luggage, and it will probably be seen as bad that I was more worried about losing them than anything else.

  In the middle of the room, on the table the Mautners had hidden with us, there was a huge pile of things that were meant to be packed—the couch and the ottoman were also full. Pavel and Hanka came and helped where possible, and where not. Now that I’m writing this, I’m doing it in a humorous style, but at the time we didn’t feel like laughing. Daddy gave me his best shirts and a thick jacket, his ski boots and all sorts of things. I even reminded him jokingly that his
own protection wasn’t certain. (Protection applied to those married to an Aryan man or woman and their children under the age of fourteen.) At the time, the protection was unreliable. One day you could be protected and the next day deported.

  However, we had been prepared for my transport. Because during the last registration in Stresovice, the SS-man said to Daddy about me: “Der fährt mit [dem] nächsten Transport.”4 My parents didn’t tell me about it; I just found out about it. I didn’t go with the next transport, but the one after.

  III. Departure

  The entire afternoon passed away in confusion. My parents were packing my blanket. It was actually a quilted duvet. Auntie Nada was helping with this. I also remember Daddy saying: “Let Petr do it, now we are doing it all together but when he’s at Veletrh he’ll have to do it by himself.” So I took the blanket and packed into it a few loaves of bread, a pillow, a sheet, and a pair of pajamas. I closed the blanket and rolled it together by pressing on it with my knees. Then I slipped a sack over it, which Mummy pulled off the sink. I still remember saying that she won’t have anything to cover the sink with. Mummy just waved her hand.

  Soon, it was evening. We darkened the room (on other days we rarely did this) using the ottoman covers. This darkening always involved wild acrobatics. Mummy used to open the inside window; then she’d stand in the space between both windows and attach the rings on the corners of the blanket to prepared (or sometimes unprepared) nails or hooks. I was in favor of the closed-window principle. I moved along the inside window sill and, holding on to the window bolts, darkened the room. Then I jumped down, making the windows rattle.

  We continued packing. Auntie Nada called me into the bedroom and implored me to be sensible, to stay away from big boys and bad girls.5 Then she untied the cuffs on my coat and inside each cuff near the sleeve she put a hundred-mark bill. In addition, Daddy gave me a kitchen knife with a hollowed-out handle hiding another hundred-mark bill.

  We had to do it all quickly, because I had to be there at 6 o’clock. That’s why there were the last feverish preparations. They filled one of my pockets with sausage sandwiches; my other pockets were also filled with food but now I don’t know what they put in there. I’m sure it was something good.

  I was to leave at eight o’clock in the evening. We took the tram to Veletrh. This was because Jews who were called up for a transport received a permit for traveling by streetcar from the Jewish Community. You had to show the card and a personal identification document, pay, and only then could you travel. I still remember how Daddy appealed to the other passengers and explained to them how difficult it was. Our transport was in fact the beginning of the Mischling transports. [We] arrived at Veletrh, it was […] dark. Daddy said good-bye to me. He kissed me several times and Auntie Nada gave me the last kiss. […] took […] from the office. I was given a new number, 446. What was actually the name of our transport? They didn’t know yet. I handed over my suitcases in the optimistic hope that I would see them again someday.

  So this is how Petr described his departure. I am also adding here what our father, Otto Ginz, wrote a few years later about saying good-bye to Petr:

  Near the exhibition area there were large sheds, where the victims, selected for transport to Theresienstadt, were told to assemble. The Prague Jewish Community covered the soil with old mattresses. On October 22, 1942, I accompanied our Petr there. We had an earnest talk, but I avoided triggering sad thoughts in him, and we comforted each other by saying that we would both meet at home soon. On the basis of examples I knew I warned Petr in the last moment before his departure to be careful when dealing with German guards, with whom he would soon be confronted. We reached the point beyond which those accompanying the victims were not allowed to go, I pressed our Petr to me, we kissed, and Petr went inside. He turned around a few times, we waved to each other, and Petr disappeared in the gate. I turned away and at that moment a loud cry escaped my insides, more like a scream of pain. I controlled myself and forced myself to calm down. I don’t know how I made it home. I was well aware that my wife’s nerves would not have managed the separation I had just lived through.

  The terrible moments of our parting ended the two-year period recorded in Petr’s diaries, which I now present here. These were the last two years Petr had lived with his family and friends, in the environment where his life had begun—and from which he was torn.

  Notes by Petr Ginz at Theresienstadt, written in a cryptic code that he invented. From the private archives of Chava Pressburger.

  Editor’s Note

  Chava Pressburger

  Petr Ginz’s diaries and other texts have been copied without changes as closely as possible, while adhering to orthographic rules of the time. The diary headings have been given a unified form, according to the one used most frequently by Petr in his diaries: the days as Arabic numerals, the months as Roman numerals, followed by the year and in brackets the day of the week. Inconsistencies have been corrected during the copying of the entries. To facilitate the understanding of the text some details referred to as numerals have been rewritten as words, e.g., 4 children—four children. We also detail irregular abbreviations. A small number of grammatical and spelling errors have been corrected. In a few exceptional cases the syntax has also been corrected. Words that have been added are placed in square brackets.

  Petr Ginz’s Diary

  from 19th September

  of the year nineteen hundred and forty-one

  (Friday)

  till 23rd February

  of the year nineteen hundred and forty-two

  (Monday)

  Material donated as a birthday gift by Eva Ginzova.6

  19. IX. 1941 (Friday)

  The weather is foggy. Jews were told to wear a badge, which looks approximately like this:

  When I went to school,7 I counted sixty-nine “sheriffs,” Mummy counted more than a hundred of them.

  Dlouha avenue is now called “The Milky Way.”

  In the afternoon I went with Eva to Troja; we went on a ride on a tethered boat.

  20. IX. 1941 (Saturday)

  Cold in the morning, nice in the afternoon.

  In the morning I had to study. In the afternoon I went (to Troja) with Popper,8 from whom I bought a tank for 270 crowns. Mummy, Daddy, and Eva were at Grandma’s.

  21. IX. 1941 (Sunday)

  Very nice weather all day.

  I wrote my homework all morning, in the afternoon till three.

  The Miloses9 will come here around four and we’ll go to Troja.

  (Eva II10 arrived as well, and the Blochs, from whom I received photographs.)

  22. IX. 1941 (Monday)

  In the morning there was a terrible fog, in the afternoon it was nice.

  In the morning I went to wish Grandma “Le Shanah Tovah,”11 then I accompanied her to the Smichov synagogue.

  In the afternoon, because it’s Rosh Hashanah, we have no school.

  We all went for a walk near the slaughterhouse; we rode on rafts until the evening.

  23. IX. 1941 (Tuesday)

  In the morning there was fog; at noon and in the afternoon it was very nice.

  Popper and I went to the slaughterhouse in the morning.

  It is the autumn equinox, the beginning of autumn, but I have already seen fallen leaves somewhere.

  I spent the afternoon at home.

  24. IX. 1941 (Wednesday)

  Fog in the morning, afternoon nice.

  In the morning in school, in the afternoon with Popper in Troja.

  25. IX. 1941 (Thursday)

  In the morning chilly, in the afternoon nice.

  In the morning in the library, in the afternoon at school.

  At Denis train station there was a fire engine; smoke was blowing from there.

  Mummy heard a terrible bang, then many smaller ones.

  Probably another sabotage.

  27. IX. 1941 (Saturday)

  Quite nice all day. In the morning at home, in the afternoon with Pop
per and Martin in Troja. Martin became a member of SPVL, which made Popper very angry, because M. is not allowed to give up a membership that forbids him to sign contracts, without my permission. M. invited me to his house for his birthday. So on Sunday I’ll go to him.

  I arranged a boycott against Popper.

  They announced a so-called civil state of emergency (martial law) valid from 28. IX. 1941, 12 o’clock.

  Signed by Heydrich instead of Neurath.

  28. IX. 1941 (Sunday)

  Nice weather all day, especially in the afternoon.

  In the morning I was at home, did my homework; in the afternoon I went to Turna’s house for a snack; we also went to the Atlantic, where we tried out ships. I cancelled the boycott against Popper, who was threatening me with war. I made a pact with Martin, according to which I will supply him with ships in case of war.

  Then we played Mill (Nine Men’s Morris) and checkers.

  I am writing this in the evening by candlelight, my parents and Eva II went to the Levituses12 with spoiled sausages. Now it’s almost eight o’clock and they’re not back yet. P.S. I gave Turna “Mother Bear Brumka and Her Son” as a present. The tower clock is striking eight right now.

  29. IX. 1941 (Monday)

  Morning quite cold, afternoon fair. I was in school this morning, now I’m at home and soon I’ll go to my orthopedic exercise and school exercise class.

  I’ve been to the gym, then wasted time in school, where we were supposed to have handicrafts, and this because of the “Nine-tailed cat with eighteen iron balls” from Bardach.13

  Petr Ginz (1928–1944), Ex Libris Harry Popper, 1941. Linocut; Collection of the Yad Vashem Art Museum, Jerusalem.

  30. IX. 1941 (Tuesday)

  Quite cold all day.

  Morning at home, afternoon in school.

  1. X. 1941 (Wednesday)

  It has been raining all day. It is Yom Kippur,14 I fasted from Tuesday evening until Wednesday evening. But in the evening I ate a lot.