Generaloberst Alfred Jodl sat on a wooden chair in a redbrick schoolhouse and signed his name to a two-page document. He paused for a moment, lifted his eyes and passed the document across the table to General Walter “Beetle” Smith, General Eisenhower’s chief of staff. The paper, entitled Act of Military Surrender, recited, “We the undersigned, acting with authority of the German High Command, hereby surrender unconditionally to the Supreme Commander, Allied Expeditionary Force and to the Soviet High Command, all forces on land, sea and in the air who are at this date under German control.” Beneath the signature line, he simply scribbled “Jodl.”
In Europe, the war had ended. Inmates of the concentration camps, like those liberated from Buchenwald, found themselves free from their prisons but adrift in unfamiliar and disparate locales. The Allies, in anticipation of this day, had formed an organization entitled United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Agency (UNRRA) to provide housing, food, clothing, medicine and basic necessities to the war’s displaced survivors. It was primarily an American undertaking. It called for camps and housing areas to be established in Germany, Italy and Austria.
The great majority of the Jews who were liberated from Nazi prisons and concentration camps sought the protection of the United States Army and gravitated to the displaced persons camps established in the American Zone. Föhrenwald, meaning Pine Forest, set in the wooded foothills of Bavaria, was one of the largest American camps.
FÖHRENWALD DISPLACED PERSONS CAMP
AMERICAN ZONE
JUNE 1946
The door of the small wooden house on Florida Street swung open, and a twelve-year-old boy with a mop of brown hair burst into the room. Thin as a stick but full of energy, he yelled, “Papa, guess what?”
Eli smiled. “What is it, Izaak?”
“Mr. Abrams came to school today to teach us about writing and stuff, and after class he asked if Josh and I could help him deliver his newspapers tomorrow afternoon.”
“The camp newspaper? You mean the Bamidbar?”
“Yes, the Bamidbar. We’re hoping he pays us with chocolate like he did last time.”
Eli laughed and patted him on the head. “Chocolate. My businessman. You can go with Mr. Abrams, but don’t eat all the chocolate at once and come home as soon as you’re finished. Homework, you know?”
Izaak sighed. “I know, I know.”
“How do you like your new teacher?”
“She’s okay, I guess. She says she’s from Eretz Israel. She speaks Hebrew and Yiddish. And English, of course. The lessons are hard.”
“Well, you understand Yiddish, don’t you?”
“Sure, but not much English or Hebrew. Those languages are strange to me, but Mrs. Klein says I’m doing well. The English letters are a lot like the Polish letters, so I can write them. I can even draw some of the Hebrew letters. Better than a lot of kids. Some of the kids in my class can’t read or write anything. They’ve never been to school. Especially the ones who were hiding.”
Eli proudly hugged his son. He had been through so much and was rebounding so well. “Okay, deliver Mr. Abrams’s newspapers and come right home. I’ll leave a sandwich for you. I have a camp committee meeting tomorrow night, so I’ll be home late.”
“But you’ll tuck me in when you get home, no matter what time it is, right?”
“Absolutely. Always do.”
* * *
The Föhrenwald camp committee convened in the assembly hall on Roosevelt Place. On the agenda this evening was the troubling housing shortage. Meetings were attended by the camp’s administrators, an UNRRA representative and several interested residents. There was always an opportunity for people to raise grievances and it was often a spicy affair. On this night, though the news was generally disturbing, a certain revelation would rock Eli to his core.
Camp Director Bernard Schwartz, a burly man from eastern Poland, gaveled the meeting to order. “All right, settle down, everyone. We have serious matters to discuss tonight. Let’s get right to the housing issue. Harry?”
A tall thin man with tufts of white hair rose with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He rattled the papers for all to see. “We are now up to 5,600 residents, and even with the additional structures we’ve converted from commercial space, we’re 2,000 over our capacity. All of you know this little village was originally built to house workers for I. G. Farben’s factory, and they had 2,500 residents. Some of our families are now sleeping five in a room, double-decker beds. We desperately need to construct more housing.”
The UNRRA delegate shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry, but expansion is not