'Das Haus' the House and the Son of the Rabbi. Sean Ryan Stuart
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into a frenzied roar. The score now stood at four to zero for Niedergeyer and Erik had scored all four goals! Once the score reached 4-0, the coach brought some of the second string players, and even Dieter Johannes was able to play for the last twenty minutes. The game ended with the same score.
The winning trophy was brought to the center of the field, and all the players, coaches and fans go wild with joy. Both bands began playing joyous and cheerful music, even the losing team comes over to congratulate the Niedergeyer players.
Strangely enough, only one of his teammates, Dieter Johannes his best friend, came over and gave him a hug. Dieter and Erik had been best friends since they were in kindergarten.
Although Dieter was a member of the Hitler Youth, he had no time for politics and really admired Erik. Politics were of no interest to either boy. They just enjoyed playing soccer and talking about girls.
Dieter was convinced that under different circumstances Erik could have been a professional soccer player. Erik was a natural talent and was far superior to the rest of the players on either team. However being Jewish made his chances non-existent. Circumstances and world destiny would keep him from that goal.
Once the initial jubilation subsided, the rest of his teammates ignored him and ran off the field, without acknowledging his presence.
Many of the players, may have wanted to congratulate Erik, but they were afraid of what might happen to them. Being friendly with a Jew today, was not healthy. The only reason Erik was still on the team was because of his spectacular athletic ability. Nazi dogma preached that Jews were inferior to Germans, however Erik proved just the opposite. Dieter suspected that Erik would not be allowed to play again because of the current political environment. How true would Dieter’s prophecy be? Today’s victory would be the last time these young German boys would ever play soccer together again, or for that matter see one another for a long time. Sad as it was, providence would tear them apart.
Their fathers on the other hand, had both been friends and also served together in WWI. They had both served in Northern France, near the Champagne capitol of the world, Reims. Actually, three young men from their village had served together in the same unit, and on the same front. Erik’s father, although much older than the other two boys, had risen to the rank of Sergeant Major. As a matter of fact, Erik’s father was a highly decorated soldier and had been twice decorated for valor with the Iron Cross First Class. Erik’s father had valiantly fought for Germany and always considered himself a German first. Although he was a Rabbi by calling, his profession was that of the village butcher. Many of the inhabitants could fondly remember his generosity and kindness to all in the village, particularly those in need.
On the other hand Dieter’s father was more inclined to music and was an expert clarinet player. Unfortunately, during WWI, he was gassed by the British and never fully regained his health. He died at the early age of thirty-five in the year of 1933. Dieter never completely recovered, and always missed his gentle and talented father. The third boy who fought with them in France was Johann Krieger. Johann had been severely wounded, and was last seen in a French field hospital as a P.O.W. in late 1918. His fate was never known, as he was never seen again in the village. For over twenty years his destiny remained a mystery. Erik was puzzled and could not understand why the current Nazi regime mistreated all Jews. After all, being Jewish was just a religion and the Goldmann’s considered themselves Germans. It was very typical of most German Jews to be patriotic and pro-German.
Back on the field of play.
The crowd slowly left the playing field and within a few minutes, only Erik and Dieter were left. Erik turned to Dieter and said.
“How would you like it and to come over to my house and have some coffee and cake with me?” asked Erik to a startled Dieter. Without even pausing to reflect, Dieter gladly accepted.
Both boys quietly walked down the path to Erik’s house. By then dusk was gathering, and the walk down to Erik’s house had taken on the feeling of a funeral wake. It seemed that despite all good intentions a small rift had developed between them. Neither Erik nor Dieter ever suspected that this final soccer game for the league championship would also be the beginning of a nightmare for millions of European Jews.
After about fifteen minutes of walking they arrived at Erik’s home, Das Haus. Erik’s mother was there to greet them at the door. The Goldmann family had already heard of the good news about the winning game, and they were very excited for Erik, and the rest of the team.
However their excitement soon changed to worry when they saw Dieter standing there. Both parents looked at each other in a way that only parents can. They excused themselves and went to the kitchen.
“Can you believe that Erik brought that Nazi boy home?” shrieked an angry Mrs. Goldmann.
“Well, there is nothing we can do right now, and besides Dieter is not a Nazi! Don’t forget that his father served in my unit, and was a very brave, but gentle man.” Answered Mr. Goldmann, shrugging his shoulders.
“I, I hope you’re right, but I have a bad feeling.” Replied a now visibly upset Sarah Goldmann.
Sarah began preparing a large pot of steaming hot coffee, and brought out a tray of delicious German pastries for the boys. Both young men wolfed down the cakes and cookies as if they hadn’t eaten in a month. After thanking them for their hospitality, Dieter politely excused himself and left Erik’s house. Dieter realized that being there could jeopardize all of them. As he walked away from Erik’s home, he felt a thousand sets of eyes staring at him. Dieter lived less than eight hundred meters away, but it was the longest walk he ever took. He could not understand what was occurring, and yet he knew that something awful was about to happen. He quickened his steps, and arrived home in less than fifteen minutes. His door never looked so good in his life. The moment it shut behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. He went straight to his room and locked his door. He was both mentally and physically exhausted to the point of falling down. Dieter did not even bother to take off his dirty clothes; he just crumpled down on his soft feather bed and fell into a deep sleep. It was as if his mind was begging him for relief.
On the northern part of town, an equally tired Erik also resigned himself to an early nightfall. The weather was ideal for this type of scenario. November 8th, 1938 was a cold and dreary evening. Although winter was still more than a month away, the temperature had already sunk to five degrees Celsius below freezing. However there was moisture in the air. By eleven o’clock, the humidity was so heavy that a thin sheet of ice had already coated everything white. It made walking and driving particularly difficult. Nonetheless at this time of night there was very little vehicular traffic throughout the village. As it was customary in this part of Germany, everyone had already shuttered their windows for the evening, and were all preparing themselves for bed.
A shadow appeared on the street corner. It hugged the walls of the houses as it carefully made its way southward on the main street towards Das Haus. The only thing that gave his position away was the crunching of the ice beneath his feet on the sidewalk, and the phantom like footprints left behind on the ice.
This apparition was almost invisible. He wore dark clothing and stayed close to the doorways. It was obvious that he did not want to be seen by anyone. His furtive moves were in fact almost cartoon like. Those over-exaggerated movements almost resembled an early Disney cartoon. After a few moments of silence, he made a dash towards his target, Das Haus.
The last sprint towards the doorway had taken his breath away, and he was panting heavily. The cold night air was about to give his position away. He stood there frozen for a few seconds, pressing his black leather gloves against his mouth in an attempt to conceal his breath. After furtively looking around, the covert figure finally approached the door and knocked.
Franz Goldmann, Erik’s father, had just finished stoking the coal-fired stoves in the bedrooms. He knew from experience that this was a vain attempt at heating their rooms, but this was their only source of heat. The knock surprised Franz and his wife Sarah. They looked at each other and wondered who could be calling on them at this hour? No one in Niedergeyer would normally intrude on their privacy. Franz hoped that the sudden noise had not awakened the children.