(Continued from last week)
On January 17 we boarded the S/S Siboney, destination New York.
Since Britain and Germany were at war, there was the danger of floating mines, or German submarine attacks, despite the fact that the vessel flew the then still neutral US flag. We had to wear life jackets at all times, as well as sleep with them next to us. We had an evacuation test even before we left the harbor of Lisbon.
I was seasick from the time we left the Lisbon harbor almost until arrival in New York about 10 days later. In fact, I was actually already seasick before we even had left the harbor. We did not have a private cabin, but there were only very large holds for about 20-30 passengers each, separately for men and women, on double-tier bunks beds. Steerage, I guess is what you would call it.
In the same hold with me was a group of Afro-American musicians, who had been on a tour in Europe. The one who had his bunk on top of mine tried to help me overcome my seasickness with his family remedy—corn on the cob. I did not know what that was, having never seen corn on the cob before in Germany. In fact, in Germany corn is not food for human consumption. It was fed only to the pigs. Opa, even after many years in the US, would not go near corn on the cob. In any event, it did not help, nor did any of the other suggestions from fellow travelers. I just had a very miserable time, whether in bed or (mostly) on deck with my head over the railing.
That was my first experience with motion sickness, which later would be repeated on other similar occasions.
The story I related previously, beginning with my school years in 1933, is what I describe as my “Holocaust Story,” and it is that content that I have used to speak to groups on numerous occasions over the past 20-30 years.
The S/S Siboney arrived in Hoboken, New Jersey, on January 27, 1941, where we were received on the pier by Opa and other family members. So much had transpired since Opa had left Germany about 20 months earlier, to both Opa and us. Being alive and seeing Opa again, while at the same time absorbing the first sights of our new home, must have been overwhelming. I do not remember much of the day except for my first impression, when getting off the ship, when I saw the long line of waiting taxis. Not knowing that they were taxis, it seemed to me that all cars in the US were yellow.
I do remember our first meal in New York in the home of Oma’s younger brother Paul at 717 W 177th Street in Washington Heights. Neither Herman nor I knew what to do with the knife when it came to the meat dish, not having eaten any meat in so many years. When we took the chicken bones into our hands, not wanting to waste even a shred of meat, we were told in no uncertain terms by Opa that “Man macht dass nicht,” one does not do that in public.
We were put up in Washington Heights, in upper Manhattan, because not only was that the destination for most Jewish refugees from Germany, but moreso, because that was where my uncle Paul lived, with whom Opa and Oma stayed initially. The boys were put up with friends in the neighborhood. After a short while we moved to our own apartment at 609 W177th Street.
The early years were economically a very difficult time for the Strauss family. The few wooden crates of personal belongings that we had been permitted to ship out of Germany to Lisbon, including my stamp collection, never made it on board the S/S Siboney. The crates had been stored in a warehouse in Lisbon awaiting our departure from there. When the time came to have them loaded, we did not have the money to pay the warehouse and transportation charges. Eventually, the contents were auctioned off by the warehouse and we never heard about it any further.
Our belongings in New York consisted of whatever Opa had brought with him and whatever we had been allowed to pack in the suitcases that we brought with us.
Various attempts at making a living had failed, including a coffee and tea business (named All American Coffee and Tea Company) that never got off the ground. Opa was working as a furniture finisher and “Man Friday” in a second-hand furniture shop on 178th Street and Broadway when we arrived in the US. The owner of the store, Ludwig Schwartzschild, was a distant relative of Oma.
From the owner of that store we learned our first lesson in the US. When Opa introduced us to the owner, he reached into his pocket and gave a coin to each of us boys. We did not want to accept the gift, whereupon he taught us that in the US, if someone wants to give you money, you take it first, and ask questions later.
Jobs were hard to find in those days, particularly if you were an Orthodox Jew and needed to leave early on Friday afternoons in the winter, as well as to be off on the Jewish Holidays. But Opa never wavered; giving up his beliefs was never an option. As time went on, the family had to sell off most of the silver household goods, which Opa had been permitted to take out of Germany, in order to put food on the table, and to buy new school clothing for the boys.
(To be continued next week)
By Norbert Strauss
Norbert Strauss is a Teaneck resident and has volunteered at Englewood Hospital for over 30,000 hours. He was general traffic manager and group VP at Philipp Brothers Inc., retiring in 1985. Prior to Englewood Hospital he was also a volunteer at the American Committee for Shaare Zedek Hospital for over 30 years, serving as treasurer and director. He frequently speaks to groups to relay his family’s escape from Nazi Germany in 1941.
