Freiburger historische Bestände - digital

A Father 's Story

67

body had told them when they shipped their belongings from Germany that
Buenaventura's warehouses were uncovered and easy prey to thieves and
rain. My parents' furniture, clothes, china, and books were all gone. What-
ever was not stolen by thieves was destroyed by the elements.

My father was disappointed and frustrated, but he knew he had to estab-
lish his own business in order to make a good life for his family in Colom-
bia. After having spent one year in Palmira learning the bakery trade, my
parents moved to Ibague, a small Colombian city in the foothills of the An-
des Mountains to start their own bakery. Ibague was not the ideal town to
start a business because it had very few inhabitants at the time, but my
health prevented us from moving to Bogota, the country's capital and my
parents' preferred city of relocation. At an altitude of 2600 meters above
sea-level, my doctors feared that Bogota's altitude would have an adverse
affect on my heart condition.

Soon after arriving at Ibague, my parents started their own bakery. They
ran this business with the knowledge they had acquired in Palmira and
from books on bread and dessert baking they were able to find. This line of
work was very hard for all of us. My parents' working days would begin
before 5:00 a.m. and end at 10:00 p.m. In the end, however, it paid off, as
my parents were able to provide a comfortable livelihood for themselves
and their children. Indeed, "El Centro Social" (The Social Center), the
bakery they founded, is still in existence today in Ibague, where it is run
successfully by my brother, Helmuth.

Little by little, we began adjusting to our new lives in Ibague. In 1941,
my "Colombian" brother, Enrique, was born. The birth of a Colombian son
to my parents proved to be quite symbolic, for each year that passed inte-
grated us more and more into our adopted society. The persecutions we ex-
perienced in Germany at the hands of the Nazi party were a thing of the
past, but our Columbian integration also signaled a disintegration of many
of our Jewish traditions. There were no other Jewish families in Ibague, no
synagogue, and no Hebrew academy. In fact, my brothers and I were
forced to attend classes on Catholic catechism in our schools in Ibague. At
first, my parents attempted to persuade the principals to exempt us from
these classes, but my parents eventually relented. Over time, we no longer
celebrated the high holidays. My parents also ceased teaching us Hebrew
and most Jewish traditions. At home, however, we continued to speak German
for many more years. When I had children of my own, I continued
this one small tie to my native country by educating them in a German
school in Colombia, where they were taught in both the Spanish and German
languages.

My family led a very isolated life in Ibague, not only because we were
the only German or Jewish family in the city, but also because, in the
1940s, Colombia and its small towns were relatively cut off from the out-