Anne Frank's Family Page 10

  Otto Frank as a soldier in World War I (photo credit 4.7)

  Otto obviously was always thinking about his family; they were at the center of his thoughts, and their well-being was more important to him than anything else. Otto’s character comes through especially clearly in a letter he sent to his mother on the anniversary of his father’s death:

  My thoughts fly to you with these lines & to everyone else there too, coming together in your thoughts of Father. A few months ago I had counted on being able to be back home with you on this difficult day, but it didn’t work out & I can only be at your side in my thoughts. You know my thoughts without my needing to go into any details. It’s not the goal of these words to lose myself in gloomy memories. On the contrary. We should hold tight in our memories to the happy, uplifting things, and call back the good times, now when everything dark around us is so much darker than usual. And you don’t lack happy memories any more than we do. We’re all living off the past, really. The uncertain future wavers before us like a dream, the present and its demands consume all our superfluous thoughts, only the past refreshes our spirits. So anyone who has good years behind him and can spin unbreakable threads from his memories of those years has to count himself lucky. And we all have good memories, thanks to the example you’ve set for us & the joys & pleasures you have let us take part in. So even the 17th mustn’t only be a day of mourning for you. What you & we have lost, we know that. But did Father lose anything by not living through these times? My thoughts are wandering, I’ll stop here. Your Otto.

  The longer the war lasted, the worse the situation got in terms of provisions. Furthermore, thousands of wounded and maimed men were coming back from the front, despite the steel helmets that were introduced in 1916 after the terrible head wounds of the first years of the war. There was not enough food, enough bandages, enough medicine.

  Otto was called to the western front and served in a light rangers artillery troop in the Cambrai sector. He must have experienced the first major tank attack of the war—the first in history—in November 1916, and in 1918 he was promoted to lieutenant and received the Iron Cross, although he doesn’t mention that in his letters. Only his family mattered to him. On August 8–11, 1918, the English forces broke deep into the German positions with 450 tanks; August 8 has ever since been “the black day for the German army,” and it contributed significantly to their final defeat. On November 11, 1918, the armistice went into effect. All three of the Frank sons had survived.

  On December 15, 1918, Dr. M. Katzenstein of the medical corps wrote to Alice Frank. The document is not only a doctor’s reference for his assistant but at the same time a thank-you note to someone who had shared his suffering:

  For 4 years we have spent many worrisome hours together but also many satisfying hours that spurred us on to new labors, and when I think with satisfaction that it was granted to me to have helped in some small way so many of our poor soldiers, to have dried a few of their tears and alleviated some of their suffering, this is thanks in no small part to your self-sacrificing assistance. You have not only sacrificed your valuable time, sometimes more than the conscientious housewife in you could well spare, you have also given of your bodily and mental strength, and above all you always attended to the task at hand with your whole good heart, and all of this has made it possible to say today after 4 years that we did it for the fatherland. It is indeed an official duty of mine to acknowledge your great services properly, but since certain things in this respect are different than we had imagined, due to the new political conditions, you will no doubt find your greatest reward for everything good you have done for our wounded in the fact that you can think back on your actions during Germany’s darkest hour with satisfaction and with the knowledge that you have faithfully fulfilled your duties.

  Alice Frank as a hospital attendant, September 5, 1916 (photo credit 4.8)

  By these “new political conditions,” Dr. Katzenstein no doubt meant the abdication of Kaiser Wilhelm II on November 9, 1918; the debate about the form in which Germany would continue to exist after its defeat; the confusion of the 1918–19 revolution; and the proclamation of the German Republic. The revolutionary unrest lasted almost a year, until the constitution of August 11, 1919, laid the foundation for the Weimar Republic.

  The Franks were certainly faithful to the kaiser. This is proven by an invitation to a charity ball in October 1901 that the Franks received on the occasion of a Prussian princess’s visit: “Sir! Her Royal Highness the Princess Friedrich Carl von Hesse, Princess Margarethe of Prussia, will be honoring our International Fair with her presence, and we therefore invite you to arrive punctually on Thursday afternoon at 1:30. Black tie. Faithfully yours, the Select Committee, Georg Adelmann, L. Krebs-Pfaff.”

  And in 1907, “Banker Michael Frank in Frankfurt a.M.” received a thank-you note signed by Kaiser Wilhelm himself:

  Through the generous contribution that you have put at my disposal for the purposes of founding a convalescent home for officers in Falkenstein in the Taunus, you helped me to fulfill a wish I have long treasured and at the same time have helped lay the groundwork for a project that, God willing, will redound to the benefit of thousands in my army.

  In expressing my most heartfelt gratitude for your spirit of sacrifice, I have ordered a bust of me, modeled by Professor Manzel and manufactured in my majolica factory in Cadinen, to be sent to you forthwith as a sign of my appreciation.

  Berlin, January 27, 1907

  H.R.H. Wilhelm

  One reason for the Franks’ faithful service to the kaiser was no doubt their gratitude for the form of government that had brought the Jews equal civil rights. In addition, their social position presumably made them far more conservative than socialist. Thus Alice Frank, like many of her patriotic German fellow citizens, had bought war bonds with her private funds and lost a lot of money. Still, it is safe to assume that Alice Frank and her sons were in accord with the new form of government, the republic. They were in a position to be interested in politics only insofar as it had a direct influence on their own lives.

  For the time being, they had other concerns, and also other things to celebrate. Leni, after her unhappy affair with E.S. (Ernst Schneider), fell in love with Erich Elias, a Jewish man from Zweibrücken. He had taken part in the war as well: the cache of documents includes an authorization form for one year of voluntary service, from the examination board in Speyer, dated May 1, 1915. He too received an Iron Cross.

  The love between Leni Frank and Erich Elias must have been passionate, because beautiful, exuberant love letters from Leni to Erich survive. He too came from a very close-knit family. For example, his father, Carl Elias, visited his new relatives in December 1920 and afterward wrote a grateful letter to his son: “I’ve more or less recovered from the strain it was a bad follow-up to the delightful days I spent with your new relatives, they were all so nice and considerate to me; there has been so much work to do here at home that I have not yet had a chance to thank them for all their consideration.”

  Letter of thanks from Kaiser Wilhelm to Michael Frank, 1907 (photo credit 4.9)

  Erich Elias and Leni Frank were married on February 16, 1921.

  In a poem that Alice recited at the wedding, she mentioned that Helen Schuster, a childhood friend of the Frank children, had introduced Leni and Erich. The six-stanza poem gives many details of the childhood of the bride; in the second stanza:

  Then when our little girl was born

  Everything was turned upside down.

  The child was small but our joy was great,

  Her arms and legs were so little and sweet.

  Trauda was scared to give her baths

  Or hurt her by taking off her clothes.

  She may not have always gotten her way

  But we have our naches now today.

  Yiddish words come up very rarely in the family’s letters—they apparently spoke a pure German with nothing of their Jewish heritage in it—but the word naches
is an exception: it means “joy, pleasure.”

  Erich and Leni’s wedding photograph, February 16, 1921 (photo credit 4.10)

  One of the few surviving doc uments from Paul Elias, Erich’s brother, who was murdered in Ausch witz, is this wedding poem:

  Since Elias, as we all know,

  Was a great prophet long ago,

  And since everyone in this family

  Has a habit of always speaking frank-ly,

  I will prophesy today:

  That this couple will be happy always.

  For pure love binds them to each other

  And that is the best way to ensure

  A true and faithful life together.

  So now we wish for the youthful pair

  That the sun of happiness will always

  Shine upon them as it does this day…

  Alice had thus married off her daughter, but in the same year she lost her mother. Cornelia died in June 1921, another hard blow of fate for Alice since she and her mother were so close. There are no documents attesting to her loss; presumably the fact that her daughter was pregnant consoled Alice a little, and helped her get over the loss of her mother. Leni and Erich’s first son, Stephan Carl, was born on December 20, 1921, a wonderful present on Alice’s fifty-sixth birthday. Three and a half years later, on June 2, 1925, came their second son, Bern hard Paul, nicknamed Buddy—only Otto Frank and his family would call him Bernd.

  There is a lot of evidence to show that Leni and Erich had a good marriage. Not only their younger son, Buddy, but Gerti, Buddy’s wife, report that Leni and Erich’s life together was harmonious and tell stories about Leni’s gentle, affectionate teasing. She was apparently the stronger of the two.

  The following year, two more weddings took place. On April 12, 1922, Herbert August Frank married an American, Hortense Rah Schott, living in Aachen. The marriage produced no children and ended in divorce on August 16, 1932. The judgment reads: “She, the respondent, left him, the petitioner, in September 1930. A legal judgment of March 31, 1931, required her to return to the married state, but this judgment has not been obeyed … The marriage is therefore dissolved and respondent is held to be responsible.” And on July 18, 1922, Robert Frank married Charlotte Witt, whom everyone called Lotti. Neither letters nor poems related to either wedding survive.

  The next important wedding took place in 1925, when Otto Frank married Edith Holländer, daughter of the Aachen industrialist Abraham Holländer and his wife, Rosa née Stern. For Otto, who was by then working in the family bank, Edith’s dowry may have played a significant role, since financially Michael Frank’s banking house was not doing well after Germany’s defeat and the Holländers were a very wealthy family.

  Not much is known about Edith’s childhood. She was born in Aachen, a city near the Dutch border, on January 16, 1900. As the name Holländer suggests, her ancestors had emigrated from Amsterdam to Germany, in around 1800. Benjamin Holländer, Edith’s grandfather, began as a scrap metal dealer, quickly found success, and later owned several metalworking factories. Edith’s father, Abraham, was born in 1860 in Eschweiler, one of nine children. His own children were Julius (b. 1894), Walter (b. 1897), Bettina (b. 1898), and finally Edith. Abraham took over the family business and proved to be a successful businessman.

  The Holländers were not Orthodox, but Abraham was a prominent member of the Jewish community in Aachen. Compared with the Franks, they were religious. They kept a kosher household and regularly went to temple, where Edith’s oldest brother, Julius, sang in the choir. Edith attended the Victoria School, a Protestant girls’ high school that also accepted students of other faiths. She is described as a shy girl, but is also said to have had many friends. She played tennis and paid a lot of attention to fashionable clothing.

  The year 1914 was a turning point in her life, because her sister, Betti, died at only sixteen years old, of complications from appendicitis. To honor her memory, Edith would later name her firstborn daughter Margot Betti. During the war, Edith took her exams and helped her father in the office. Her brother Julius was wounded with a gunshot to the arm and put on the disabled list.

  Edith’s parents knew about Otto Frank’s financial difficulties, but it probably would have pleased them that their daughter was marrying into one of the best-known families in Frankfurt. Most likely, their main concern was that the Franks were known to be among the assimilated Jews, and anything but religious. Edith didn’t keep a kosher household, but her daughters, especially Margot, still learned about Jewish life at their grandparents’ house. Edith herself was an open, liberal-minded woman, as is clear from the “modern educational methods” that later, in the Secret Annex, would rub everybody else the wrong way. In the noticeably tight-knit network of the Frank and Elias families, Edith seems to have been somewhat off to one side. Possibly she chose this position herself, although her own prominent sense of family, her close relationship with her mother, and her love for her brothers would seem to suggest the contrary. Perhaps the Franks were simply too dominant, and too focused on themselves, to make room for her, even though she no doubt deserved it.

  Edith Frank née Holländer, the mother of Margot and Anne Frank,

  circa 1925 (photo credit 4.11)

  Edith and Otto Frank’s wedding photograph, May 12, 1925 (photo credit 4.12)

  The wedding took place on May 12, 1925, Otto’s thirty-sixth birthday, following the Jewish custom in accordance with the wishes of the bride’s parents. After the ceremony, the reception was celebrated in the Great Monarch luxury hotel in Aachen. A so-called “fairy tale” printed in a newspaper-style wedding announcement, the Aachen-Frankfurt Daily Paper—“first and only edition”—tells how Otto and Edith met:

  Once upon a time—that’s how fairy tales always start, but this time what I have to tell is a true story. Once upon a time in San Remo, in 1925, under blossoming flowers and in the laughing sunshine, a family from the Rhineland was taking a stroll by the deep blue sea. The family consisted of three ladies and a gentleman whose youthful appearance made it impossible to guess that he was the father of the family. Further sharpening people’s curiosity, since of course it is well-known that most people on vacation occupy themselves primarily with observing their fellow travelers, a slim young man from Main country had joined the Rhineland family. The beautiful beach of San Remo must not often have had the opportunity to observe together a daughter of the Rhine with a son of the Main, whereas the green meadows can tell far more tales of their affiliation with the river children. The Rhine Maiden’s parents cast their eyes discreetly aside, while the goddess Flora, curious as goddesses all too often are, caught every glance of love that passed between the young couple with great delight. After a torturous delay, the young people declared themselves to be engaged and public opinion was duly calmed. All entered upon the return trip to the Main and the Rhine. The couple, eyes magically drawn to each other’s, forgot their surroundings and leaned, blessedly entwined, against a gate which a ghost’s hand opened; only the powerful protection of the parents prevented them from sinking into the underworld. The goddess Flora enveloped the two lovers in the cloak of love until they reached the destination of their journey.

  Today we see them happily united, and I hope that they will often tell this tale of blessed days on the sun-drenched landscape of the Riviera to their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

  Of course no one could know that Otto and Edith would never have grandchildren or great-grandchildren. In 1925, the world was still as it should be, and the future was promising, even though Adolf Hitler had already written his book Mein Kampf.

  The menu with Alice Stern’s name on it has been preserved: “Pasta romana—Soup and side dish—Rhine salmon with mayonnaise—Roast beef and fresh vegetables—Sweetbreads ragout with fresh truffles and stuffed morel mushrooms—Young duck with various compotes and salads—Ice cream—Pastries—Mocha.” The rhymed commentary to the menu, presumably by Alice, runs:

  It’s cruci
al for a wedding’s mood

  To solve the problem of the food—

  The menu this is writ upon

  Has solved it with masterly aplomb!

  Above all with the meal, methinks,

  One mustn’t forget the needed drinks.

  And in between the different dishes

  Come cheery songs and thoughtful wishes:

  That’s the only way we can

  Tackle the next course on the plan.

  Host and guests, we all combine

  To make the party a happy time.

  It’s filled with love and filled with teasing

  And all the food is choice and pleasing!

  It must have been a magnificent party. After the honeymoon, which took the couple to San Remo once more, Otto and Edith moved in with Alice, in her house at Mertonstrasse 4, where Leni and Erich were living as well. They were still living there in 1926 when their first daughter, Margot Betti, was born.

  In 1927, Otto, Edith, and Margot moved into half of a duplex in Marbachweg 307, and in June 1929 their second daughter was born: Annelies Marie, called Anne. The reason for the move may well have been that Otto and Edith, with “modern” ideas about how to raise their children, wanted to avoid any interference from the family. Otto held the humanistic conviction that the only way to make the world a better place was to implant the seeds of goodness in children’s souls. He explicitly insisted that he wanted his children to grow up “free,” which meant as well, of course, that he aimed toward a liberal environment, free from social constraints. In any case, there was not a rift between the families: the children often visited Grandma Alice, as her nursery maid later reported. Buddy too remembers having seen his cousins often. The family relations were and remained close. Everyone was united in mourning when Trauda, Alice’s cook, passed away, and the death notice in the newspaper gives the names of every member of the family.