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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