Ronnie Breslow

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My name is Renate (Re-na-ta) Reutlinger. I was born in 1929 to Elly and Gustav, a well to do German Jewish couple who owned and operated a dry goods store below our home. My early childhood was filled with many wonderful things including Nanny Sophia who lived with us, oh how I loved Sophia. I told her everything, she was my confidant. My relatives would visit often. Uncle Willie was my favorite for he brought me gifts, the gift I enjoyed the most was a stamp collection, Uncle Willie and I would talk on and on about the pictures on the stamps and I would imagine myself visiting the places. My Uncle Otto, Aunt Ittel and Cousin Helga would also visit. Helga was 9 years older than me; she was very tall with long legs and loved to dance. She would dance all the time. I too wanted to be a dancer. My best friend Maryanne and I would dance and play every day together. Life was wonderful until September 15th, 1935 the day the Nuremberg laws were signed.

The law stated, non-jews would not work for Jewish employers so Sophia, my nanny, left our home, my heart broke. The law stated, non-jews would not buy goods from Jewish store owners, I remember vividly the sounds of clanking guns and the pounding of soldiers feet as they marched back and forth in front of our home and store making sure that non-jews did not enter. With no business, our store was closed down. The law stated, Jewish children are not permitted in public schools, my first grade teacher ordered me not to return to school anymore. The law did not say, don’t be friends with me, yet all my friends including Maryanne were not allowed to play with me as forbidden by their parents. My life of joy turned to a life of rejection, isolation, and fear.

My family knew that we must leave our beloved Germany. Passports were hard to obtain and passage on a ship even more difficult for we were among thousands who were fleeing the country. Passage for one to Cuba became available and the family decided that my father should go since men were in the most danger at the time. My mom and I would follow on the next boat to Cuba. And sure enough we boarded a boat for Cuba on May 13, 1939 along with 936 other Jews. The boat was called the St Louis. There was much celebration aboard; we were free from the clutches of Nazi Germany.

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Upon our arrival, the Cuban government refused us entry. Our Captain, Captain Schroeder, was determined to find us safe entry into another country for if we returned to Germany, we would surely be sent to death camps. At least in another country, we would have a chance at survival or so we believed. After many weeks adrift at sea, four countries, Belgium, England, France and Holland offered us entry. My mother and I arrived in Holland and were placed in a detention camp where the children lived in separate buildings from the adults. The camp was dirty, the food minimal, I was hungry and cold all the time. Months passed and my mother finally was received at the US embassy where she asked for passage to the United States, a place where my father now lived. She was denied passage. My mother learned that the Commander of the detention camp was a captain in the Dutch Navy and an avid stamp collector. My stamp collection was the one item that I was allowed to bring for my journey when we left Germany and I did not want to give it up so my mother snuck into my building and took my stamp collection to give to the Commander. To me, a 9 year old, this was devastating. I did not understand at the time how important that collection was for our future. The stamp collection and my mother’s perserverence gained us voyage tov the US to join my father and to save our lives. For the others at the Holland camp were moved to Westerbrook Concentration camp where they received the same fate as Uncle Otto, Aunt Ittel and Cousin Helga - death. For me and my parents, spared lives to start again, in this great land of opportunity and freedom which is dependant upon each of us to keep it free from prejudice, bigotry and facism. For if we forget the lessons of the past, we are surely to allow history to repeat itself, if not with the Jews, with the Irish, the Italians, the Africans, the Americans. Let us not forget.

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