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AuthorHouse - Emil Muller

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202 pages

English

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Emil Muller started out to recount his experiences during the short period that began when he was arrested in his home in Berlin and ended with his arrival in Havana. But the reader will get much more than an adventure story or a coming-of-age memoir of a plucky adolescent who life depended upon being able to evade the Nazis who so wanted to exterminate him and every other member of the Jewish people. In this book, the reader will find the history of the world, the tale of a family, and the biography of a boy; the code of ethics and the philosophy to which Judaism adheres; determination and courage in the face of unimaginable danger; hope in the future and joy in the day, every day. This is a story that is too exciting to be real and that is told with the unique style of the author, always with a sense of humor and a sense of mischief that makes the painful bearable.

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Vie de famille

Relations familiales

Histoire

History

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Publié par	AuthorHouse
Date de parution	06 octobre 2006
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781467074834
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

LUCK OR DESTINY?

The True Story of a Young Man’s Adventurous Escape From the Nazis Brings Him to Similar Perils In Cuba
by
Emil Müller

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

© 2006 Emil Müller. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/8/2006

ISBN: 1-4259-0496-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4670-7483-4 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America
Bloomington, Indiana
Contents
PREFACE
A CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER
PROLOGUE
BOYHOOD IN BERLIN
ESCAPE!
OSTENDE
GERMAN OCCUPATION IN BELGIUM
WORKING FOR THE BRITISH INTELLIGENCE SERVICE
FRANCE
PARIS AND THE SOUTH OF FRANCE
EXPELLED FROM FRANCE
BARCELONA
CROSSING THE OCEAN
HAVANA
NEW YORK
POEMS BY EMIL MULLER

PREFACE
Many survivors of the Holocaust ask themselves the question, “Did I survive out of luck or was it my destiny to survive?” Few are able to answer the question even after a lifetime of experience, thought, and consideration. Emil Muller’s life has been marked by serendipitous occurrences and surprising coincidences. After his escape from Europe, during which he was always one step ahead of the Nazis, he landed in Cuba where he settled down, married Nina, his wife of 48 years, and started a family and a thriving jewelry business. Castro’s takeover seemed eerily familiar to him, reminiscent of a time in Germany, 30 years earlier. He packed up his family and set his compass for New York.
Once in New York City, again having had to leave without funds, he started a small mail-order jewelry business. He sent flyers to clothing stores throughout the country advertising items which could be purchased and shipped. His first order came from a store in Milwaukee – Harley’s. The store was owned by brothers, Har old and Stan ley . Harold’s daughter, Barbara, moved to New York and married. She would visit Emil, now known as Emilio, from time to time just to say hello and look over the jewelry. One afternoon, he told her about a book he had written. It was quite a tale – a man whose knowledge of English was strictly verbal went out and purchased a typewriter, which he did not know how to use, and wrote the book he had promised himself he would write while he was shipboard on the final leg of his escape from Europe, en route from Barcelona to Cuba. The book amounted to 400 pages. A friend Emil knew from the daily bus ride to work, a New York Times writer, read the manuscript and pronounced it compelling, but he emphasized that the English needed work. Emil, at a loss, told his problem to Barbara. Barbara went home and sadly explained the problem to her husband, Kerry. Kerry’s advice? Call my sister. She’ll do it.
I told her to have him call me, and we agreed that he would mail me the manuscript. I had in mind that I would be correcting spelling, making verbs agree with their subjects, and tightening up some overly long sentences. It took me a week to read it. It was as though he had composed each phrase in German and then translated it into English, word for word. But I loved the book. I loved the sense of adventure that pervaded many of his harrowing experiences; I loved the sense of history that guided his actions and reactions to events; I loved the common sense approach and ethical precepts that entered his every decision; I loved they guy’s chutzpah !
So I said yes. Following his example, I went out and bought a computer which I did not know how to use. I worked on the manuscript daily, three pages a day. At the end of a year, the corrected manuscript was finished. We were both satisfied with it, and Emil couldn’t wait to get it published.
For me, the best thing to come out of the experience was getting to know Emil as I did while we worked together on the book, mostly via telephone. I considered it a privilege to be a part of the project because of my belief that every survivor’s story must be preserved and told. But even more than that was the privilege of having this extraordinary man as my friend.
So, when in his characteristically generous way, he insisted that my name appear on the cover of the book, I refused because I did not write it; he did. We couldn’t decide what to call me: I didn’t translate it; it was already written in English. It was not a case of “as told to;” he wrote it himself. I didn’t really edit it; what I had done was less than that but more than that. My solution was to write this preface. It accurately explains my part in the production of Luck or Destiny without putting a title on it. Most importantly, it gives me the opportunity to express my gratitude to Emil for allowing me to be part of it and to my late sister-in-law Barbara for making the shiddach .

Harlee Berger
June 28, 2005

A CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER
July 12, 1993
Auschwitz
Dear Mom! As I pass through the gate at Auschwitz, I’m trying to imagine the indescribable fear, terrible pain, and profound suffering you must have felt when you arrived here with so many others in the windowless cattle cars.
I almost ended up here myself, and therefore, I am able to relate a little better than most people to the horrors you experienced. The crimes the Nazis committed against you and millions of other innocent people would make the devil look like a gentleman. Mom, you always had faith in the human race and told me that the German people couldn’t be so bad as to harm women and little children.
Mutti! (Mom!) where are you? I have so much to tell you! But wherever I look, I see only reminders and unthinkable terror and senseless barbarism. I have discovered that your beautiful, shiny brown hair was woven into German sweaters and uniforms and your body fat was used for soap. I’m saying the Kaddish prayer in front of the ovens where they burned you.
Dear Mom! May the Nazis and all their collaborators burn forever in hell for their crimes.
Since I can’t find you anywhere, the only thing left for me now is to believe in Einstein’s theory - nothing stands still; everything moves. Things seem to disappear, but they change into other forms of matter. Suddenly, I feel the urge to hug this nearby tree because I have to believe that your ashes, beloved Mother, could have had something to do with its growth, in the same way that when you were alive, you affected my growth.
Everything I am, I owe to you. As I press the tree tightly against my chest, searching the sky for you, I notice the top of the tree moving in the breeze. Suddenly, I have a warm feeling — you are looking down at me and saying, “Dear Emi\-chen, you should be so proud of the family you have raised! By doing so, you have fulfilled my dreams. I will always love you, dear son, and I will continue watching over the family.”
A stream of tears run down my cheeks. They fall onto the ground and are rapidly absorbed by the dry sand. I am overcome now by a feeling of calm because I believe that your ashes, Mom, or the product of them, are united with my tears.
Finally, I was able to contact you, dear Mother, in the only way I possibly could.

PROLOGUE
The Germans and Russians had signed a non-aggression pact. I was living in German-occupied Brussels when I awoke one morning to the radio blaring excitedly in German, “This morning our victorious troops have advanced fifty kilometers into enemy territory!” I froze, not knowing if it were a dream or reality. In my sleepy state, I could comprehend the words but not their meaning. Then the realization hit me, and I leapt out of bed. I was a German Jew, a young man of military age, a refugee living with my family in Belgium with neither citizenship nor legal resident status. We operated a thriving fur shop in the center of town which was frequented by German officers buying gifts for their family and friends at home. Perhaps because I was fair with blue-green eyes and dark blond hair, they had never suspected me of being Jewish as I bantered with them and sold them the goods that they coveted. Once or twice they had questioned me casually, “Why did you not join the German army? Why are you not living in Germany?” To put them off, I answered just as casually that because my parents were Russian, I was not in the army. Now however, the lie which had protected me put me in danger of immediate arrest. Germany and Russia were no longer friends but foes, and I knew I had to flee immediately.
I ran home to tell my mother the horrifying news and insisted that she prepare to leave. She refused, saying that she could not leave my grandfather who was too old and too ill to undertake the journey I proposed. She added that she was convinced that the Nazis would not harm women and old people. It did not change her mind when I pointed out that people were disappearing daily. I would have to attempt my escape to Lille, France, where we had family, alone.
After an emotional farewell, I left early the next morning with the clothes on my back, some cash, and a one-carat diamond of gem quality set in platinum which my mother had given to me. I wanted to be as mobile as possible, so I brought nothing else with me. Once on the train, I wondered if I would ever see my mother again. We were both in great danger. I was crossing the border without traveling papers, which was as risky as staying behind in Brussels.
The train was filled with Bel