VISITING
AUTHOR/EDITOR ARTICLE
SEPTEMBER
2011
HELY
MERLE-BRENNER
Forwarded
By Eddy Palffy
"Why
did I survive when thousands of others died?"
By
Nancy Schertzing | Photography by Jim Luning
www.faithmag.com/faithmag/column2.asp?ArticleID=1180
“Once I was old enough, my father taught me to
play the accordion too, and when my mother sang
along, people loved listening to us!” Hely smiles.
“My grandparents, aunts and uncles all lived in
Nakovo. The Catholic Church was at the center of our
town and of our community life.”
“As a child, my father and his parents briefly
lived in the U.S. Dad and his cousin, Frank Freimann,
had been like brothers in Chicago. But my
grandparents had farmland in Banat, the breadbasket
of the Balkans. The farmland and the simpler way of
life drew my father and Grandmother Susie home.”
“My father married my mother, and they planned to
raise their children in the love of their families
and faith. They were going to name me Helene after
my godmother,” Hely recalls, “but my father
thought it was too long a name for a little girl.”
Generations before, the Austro-Hungarian Empire had
controlled Hely’s village in modern-day Serbia on
the Romanian border. The emperor had awarded land to
German pioneers who settled in the Donau Valley.
Though life was difficult for the earliest pioneers,
later generations of these Donauschwaben became
prosperous farmers who maintained their German
language and traditions, distinct from their Serbian
and Romanian neighbors. To 6-year-old Hely, however,
these distinctions weren’t important. “The
Serbians in our neighboring villages were our
friends, never our enemies,” she says simply.
In 1942, everything changed when Hitler declared
that all Donauschwaben must serve the Fatherland. He
sent forces to draft young Donauschwaben men. Nik
was forced to leave his beloved family and farm.
Hely remembers, “Mother and I stayed with our
family around us. My mother’s father was convinced
no one would harm us, since we had never harmed
anyone else. But many Donauschwaben began leaving
Nakovo because of growing persecution and the threat
of invasion. On Oct.5, 1944, a caravan of 150
horse-drawn wagons departed, leaving their beloved
farms and pastoral lifestyle behind. My father had
just come home that September and told us to hold on
because he would be home again soon. That was the
last time I saw my father. I was 8 years old.”
Anna and Hely waited for Nik and the unborn baby
Anna now carried. On November 6, Communist forces
led by Marshal Tito invaded Nakovo. They imprisoned
Hely’s grandfather when he dumped his wine stocks
rather than let them get drunk and run wild through
the town. That day, he and others were taken away
never to return. Any able-bodied Donauschwabe who
hadn’t fled were deported to Soviet-backed labor
camps in Siberia, sold as slaves to Serbian families
or exterminated.
“By the time the soldiers came for us, the only
ones left were the weak and sick. Since my mother
was pregnant with my baby brother, they didn’t
ship us out right away, but moved us with others
into a section of town they called a retention camp.
“The soldiers stole and destroyed everyone’s
belongings. We had almost nothing left. They even
took our religion away by closing our beloved church
and beating anyone who made the sign of the cross or
genuflected as they passed by. My brother was born
in the retention camp on May 5 – my mother’s
birthday.
“In the winter of 1945, the soldiers forced us
from Nakovo into cattle car trains bound for
concentration camps. We were so crammed in that we
couldn’t sit down. I remember my Grandmother Susie
fought back when they took my mother, brother and
me. Two soldiers beat her and locked her in a cellar
as others herded us into the cars.
“We emerged from the train at a concentration camp
in Rudolfsgnad, another Donauschwaben village that
had now become the most brutal of the Donauschwaben
concentration camps. Like Nakovo, all the houses had
been emptied, except for some straw and horse
blankets thrown on the floor. We never knew what
happened to the families that had lived there.
“My mother, brother and I were put in a room with
a great-uncle and what family he had left. They were
essential to us, helping get extra food and fuel for
an occasional fire. My mother was nursing my
brother, Franzi, and needed more food than our daily
rations. But even with their help, she was wasting
away.
“The next spring, we were joined by my Oma (my
mother’s mother) who was caring for my cousin Nik.
His mother, Lisa, had been sold as a slave to a
Serbian family. I was 9 by now, and Nik and I tried
to help too. In the attic, we found grains of wheat
and other scraps between the floor boards. Just as
in our village, the Rudolfsgnad farm families had
stored their harvest above their living space. It
wasn’t much, but the few kernels of wheat or corn
helped supplement a bit.
“One day, a Serbian soldier came into our camp –
and my mother and I recognized him as one of the
villagers who had helped my father with our harvest.
He looked shocked when he saw us. That night, he
came to our house, bringing food and words of thanks
for how well my father had treated him in Nakovo.
After that night, I never saw him again.
“But no matter how hard we worked to get food, my
mother kept wasting away. Typhoid fever and
tuberculosis were ravaging her body as she kept
trying to nurse Franzi. Eventually, she had to go to
the house for the dying. On May 23, my oma called me
to my mother’s bedside.
“I went to her and she looked up and said simply,
‘Hely, that is all I have.’ She reached up
weakly and hugged me saying, ‘Please take care of
your brother so that when your father comes home he
can see his son.’ In a few hours, she was dead.
“I went back to my baby brother, who was 1 by
then. Franzi was smiling up at me. As I bent down to
hug him, he reached up and grasped my braids in his
frail little hands, trying to climb up. I whispered
to him that I would take care of him as our dear
mother had asked. I didn’t know it was a promise I
could never keep.
“In less than a month, the soldiers took me away
to an orphanage. I last saw Franzi in my oma’s
arms. By October, he had joined my mother, starved
to death in the Rudolfsgnad concentration camp.
"Years later, I learned that my father had been
captured with his regiment of German soldiers in
Slovenia. As they were marching across the
landscape, his captors announced that the war was
over. They instructed my father and others to take
their POW clothes off and put on new civilian
clothes they would provide. My father and others
were delighted and stripped right away. As soon as
they had removed their clothing, the Serbian
soldiers mowed them down with machine gun fire. My
uncle escaped. My father died in the massacre that
day.
“As I boarded the train for an orphanage in
Zagreb, I was utterly alone. I think when you live
constantly with death, fright becomes part of your
daily life. You don’t have a choice, so you just
function with it. You sort of get this courage
within you that says ‘I am going to survive.’
And somehow you do.
“I was 10 and spoke only German, surrounded by
Serbians and Croatians. As the only Donauschwaben
child in the state-run orphanage in Zagreb, I
quickly learned to speak Serbo-Croatian. I went
through the first through fourth grades in one year,
and became very good at chess. I even began playing
the accordion again.
“We were housed in the mansion next to Tito’s
Zagreb residence. As time went on, I became more
identified with my fellow Young Communists. My
German language, Catholic faith and Donauschwaben
heritage were fading from my memory. Tito visited us
sometimes, and occasionally I was invited to perform
for him as an example of the gifted Young Communists
of his new regime.
“In a couple of years, I moved to an orphanage for
older children in a section of Zagreb called the
Upper City. I attended high school classes and
learned Russian as my second language.
Serbo-Croatian was my primary language.
"I was
12 the Christmas of 1948 when Paula, a friend of my
Grandmother Susie, appeared at my orphanage. She
told me Grandmother Susie had escaped from our
village and made her way to Austria, reuniting with
her daughter, Jolan.
“Paula had found me with my grandmother’s help,
and had come to take me to Christmas Mass. Though I
hadn’t attended Mass in years, I went with her
gladly, delighted to see someone who had known my
family.
“Sitting there in church beside Paula – even now
I get chills remembering! It was like I was reborn
there. The words and music of the Mass swept me back
home to my early life in our lovely Nakovo. I
returned to my orphanage that night, knowing my life
could never be the same again.
“In the new year, my Aunt Lisa came to take me
from the orphanage and reunite me with my surviving
family. Oma and Nik survived Rudolfsgnad and had
moved to a farm labor camp to join Aunt Lisa after
she had been freed from enslavement to a Serbian
family. My mother’s other sister, Susie, had been
exiled to a Siberian labor camp, but her daughter,
Annie, joined us in the farm labor camp. Together,
we worked the fields and lived in one room of the
old farm house.
“Within six months, we moved into the nearby town
of Gakovo, where Aunt Lisa found a job. Each day,
Nik, Annie and I rode the train to attend high
school in the nearby town of Sombor – another
former Donauschwaben town. Each night we returned
home to our family and a meal Aunt Lisa provided
through her work at the government-run food kitchen.
“As time went on, our lives changed thanks to the
wonderful work of the Red Cross. I cannot say enough
about how the Red Cross helped us and other families
across Europe, reuniting loved ones and letting
families know what had happened to those who were
missing!
“Aunt Susie was released from the Siberian labor
camp and moved to Germany, reuniting with her
husband, who had been a Scottish POW. Annie soon
joined them. In 1949, my Grandmother Susie, Aunt
Jolan and her family emigrated to Chicago – the
place Grandmother Susie had left so many years
earlier when my father was young.
“Grandmother Susie’s nephew, Frank Friemann, had
been like a brother to my father in Chicago. Now
Chairman of Magnavox Corporation, Uncle Frank had
been using his resources to find and rescue family
members who had survived. Eventually, he brought 14
of us to the U.S. Though I didn’t know it, Uncle
Frank had been working with the Red Cross and the
Croatian Embassy throughout my entire ordeal, trying
to get me out of Europe.
“In 1953, I got passage on a Red Cross
Children’s Transport train from Gakovo to Germany,
where Aunt Susie picked me up. Uncle Frank had
determined that I should establish German
citizenship so I could emigrate to the U.S. in two
years. Soon, Oma, Aunt Lisa and Nik joined me in a
two-room apartment where Nik slept in the kitchen
and Oma, Aunt Lisa and I slept in the bedroom. We
shared an outhouse with the entire building. Aunt
Lisa and Oma were very frugal so we had enough to
eat although we were very poor.
“In 1955, my immigration papers came through. I
boarded a PanAm flight to take me to a new life
Uncle Frank had arranged. I would stay with my
Grandmother Susie, Aunt Jolan and family in Chicago
and then attend school through St. Mary’s of Notre
Dame.
"I will never forget my first days in Chicago!
The first time I visited a grocery store, I almost
couldn’t take it. So much to absorb! I had never
seen such abundance of fruits and breads! It was
frightening really, almost utopian and overwhelming.
“In January 1956, Uncle Frank arranged for me to
meet his friend, Father Ted Hesburgh, the new
president of the University of Notre Dame. Uncle
Frank had asked Father Ted to be my guardian. He
accepted, and enrolled me in St. Mary’s Academy in
South Bend, Indiana.
“Aunt Jolan took me to the Palmer House in Chicago
to meet Father Ted. I wore my best pink suit and
carried a dictionary since I spoke German,
Serbo-Croatian and Russian at that time – but no
English. Father Ted spoke some German, but with the
help of the dictionary we did fine. At the end of
our meeting, I boarded a train to South Bend with
Father Ted.
“At St. Mary’s Academy, Father Ted introduced me
to Mrs. Olga Mestrovic, who would take me shopping
for new clothes. He asked Mrs. Mestrovic to help me
because of our shared language and experiences. Her
husband, Ivan Mestrovic, was a world-famous sculptor
who had last lived in The Upper City of Zagreb
before the war. He had been imprisoned by the
Communists, but was released from a Croatian prison
through the intervention of the Vatican. After his
release, he brought his family to the U.S. Mr. and
Mrs. Mestrovic practically adopted me when I was at
St. Mary’s Academy, then St. Mary’s College at
Notre Dame.
“But my guardian was always Father Ted. What can I
say about the role he has played in my life? I
cannot overstate it. He has been my guardian for
more than 50 years. When I am facing a challenge, I
call him. He always makes time for me and my family
to visit. And even though he hasn’t ever been a
spouse or “official” parent, he always has the
right answers.
“My life has been shaped by these wonderful
people, along with all the ones who went before and
everyone since. I have so many components; everyone
has had a hand in me!” Hely laughs.
“My children – Michael, Nik, Peter, Ted, Thad,
Matthew and Anna Schork – they are my best friends
and, really, they are why I am here today. When
their father, Tony, and I divorced after 24 years of
marriage, they were there for me and came through it
all so powerfully! I consider myself the proudest
mom I could be of them and of my 14 grandchildren
and two great grandchildren!
“I constantly asked God, ‘Why me?’ During my
divorce, single-parenting or my husband Bruce’s
stroke, I would even get angry and ask, ‘Don’t
you think I’ve been through enough already?’
“But I know I have a guardian angel watching over
me, and a sense of purpose guiding me. There’s not
a day I don’t think about my mother and her
example of taking care of others. She instilled in
me a sense of responsibility I have always tried to
honor. When I look at my children and grandchildren,
I see my baby brother. I hope I have done my very
best and in some way kept my promise to my mother.
“For years after I came to the U.S., I wondered
‘Why are people around me so normal?’ In Europe,
I was not much different from the other survivors.
But from my first days in America, I’ve known I
was different from the people around me. I never
wanted my children to feel their mother wasn’t
just like everyone else, so I didn’t tell them
about my childhood. I told myself I would not dwell
on the past.”
“But now, at 73, when I sometimes ask God, ‘Why
me?’ I believe the answer lies in telling others
the story of my life. I cannot change the atrocities
I witnessed that were inflicted on my people. I
can’t regret, nor will I forget, any part of it.
Regretting makes you dwell on the negative and makes
you unhappy. Instead, I hope my story can honor the
thousands of Donauschwaben who died with my family
and those who survived with me.”
“I have a great heritage! Now it is time our story
to be known. I feel the Lord has guided me to this
goal.”
Hely Merle-Benner lives in Ann Arbor with
her husband Bruce. She is an International
Travel Agent with the Conlin Travel Agency.
In 1999, Father Ted Hesburgh and Hely
traveled to Kosovo as part of the United
Nations High Commission on Refugees team to
witness the relocation of refugees during
the Kosovo War. In 2005, Hely, her son Peter
and daughter Anna, traveled to her beloved
Nakovo for her first visit since 1945. In
2008, she and her son Ted traveled to
Germany to attend her first reunion of
Nakovo survivors of the Donauschwaben
genocide.
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Nancy
Schertzing
Writer
- Faith Magazine |
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Jim
Luning
Photographer
- Faith Magazine
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