Alice Eichenbaum, ninety-two, Providence
AS TOLD TO SAMANTHA LABRECQUE
I
was born in Vienna, Austria, and was an only child.
My parents were from a little town in Poland. They
came to Vienna very young, so they were very Austrian
— mostly my mother, with white gloves and a hat. She
was very proper. My father had a business in Vienna and one in
Sofia, Bulgaria. As a child I commuted back and forth between
Vienna and Sofia.
By sheer luck, in March 1938, when Hitler marched into
Austria, we were in Bulgaria. So that’s why I survived the war.
Just by sheer luck. I went first to a private German school then
to a French Catholic school. I had to leave the German school
because when Hitler marched into Bulgaria they didn’t want
any Jewish kids in the German school.
I loved Bulgaria. Life was simple. I loved the simple life.
Never in my life I felt I would leave. But let me tell you something.
We only knew a little of what was going on in the West.
Letters were coming in from family like, “don’t write us because
we are going on a trip.” They all disappeared and were never
heard from again.
The moment Hitler and the Germans marched in in 1941,
things changed. We had passports with a big J for Jew with a
swastika on top. Hitler gave an order that all foreign Jews had
to leave. I would say that I really don’t know if us being German
Jews is why we never got the order to leave. I had a very German
name. My maiden name was Händel.
We had to report to the police. After 6 p.m., Jews couldn’t be
on the street. We had food stamps, but we still managed.
In November 1942, they issued to us the yellow star. We
wore them on our jackets. It is known that Bulgaria had
the smallest yellow star and the West had big stars. We
couldn’t go to any restaurants, no hotels, no concerts,
nothing. Even some streets we couldn’t go on. They had
to do something with us, so they decided to disperse us
into small communities built like ghettos, and from there,
ship us off slowly.
We got the notice on a Thursday, I still remember,
because Friday was my last day of school. On Tuesday,
a few days later, they told us the police would pick us
up and move us to a small town near the Turkish border.
We only could take one suitcase. Twenty-five pounds.
Our whole life into one suitcase. Anyway, they shipped
us on a train. We didn’t know. It was a real train and
I will never forget it. There were quite a lot of people
wearing the yellow star.
They cleaned out a school and gave us straw mattresses
to sleep on the floor. There were three families
in one room. My grandmother and me, we slept in a
little bed. There was no plumbing and no running
water. Strict curfew. We only had from 10 a.m. to noon
we could go out. Once a month we could go to the
Turkish bath. It was a treat! But you get used to it.
Food was bad and we were very restricted. We had
coupons. Life was tough. No going out. No job, no
money, no food. But I always say I was so lucky to be
with my parents. As long as I was with them I felt
nothing could happen. There were always new rules
but life went on somehow.
September 9, 1944, the Russians moved in through
the Black Sea and we were liberated very early compared
to everywhere else. My husband went in the
beginning of September to Auschwitz. Can you imagine?
He was not liberated until April 1945. So, I was lucky
that the Russians moved in that early.
It was hard to pick up the pieces after and go back
to being ourselves. We went | | CONTINUED ON PAGE 128
70 RHODE ISLAND MONTHLY l MAY/JUNE 2020