Věstník (West, Tex.), Vol. 33, No. 8, Ed. 1 Wednesday, February 21, 1945 Page: 11 of 16

                                
Y V »JVi tU
uiic unuia ly1:
■;Wi
V ů O i li i Xa»
“The King Of Lampedusa”
A. J. Fisher
Men and women whom we háve given up, and
often. perhaps. half forgotten, and once more
on the stage — in Paris and Brussels. But there
is a personál přelude to this most recent chap-
ter in the story of the liberation of two coun-
tries.
18,000 of Belgiunťs 90,000 Jews and 250,000 of
France’s 400,000 háve survived the horrors of
the occupation and the racial laws. The outside
world has so far heard little about the fate of
these twentieth-century outlaws though it
knows the story of the Jewish units v/ho fought
side by side with the French Maquis in the
fight for freedom. But here their fate is ano-
nymous. Froin Belgium I háve heard the more
individual story of a. Jewish family in Brussels,
told in letters whieh háve reached London by
army post.
Years ago, two bag-manufacturers named
Charendorf had come to Belgium from Sub-
carpathian Ruthenia. The protecting hand of
the Belgian Queen Mother could only. eover
Jews of Belgian citizenship, lest her plea to
Hitler should be ineffective from the outset.
Not having been naturalized, the two Charen-
dorf families — like the vast majority of their
co-religionists — were therefore among the
first to be persecuted. For two long years they
were hunted like wild animals, exposed daily to
all the dangers of HitleFs and his Quislings’
man-hunt. They lived in a,damp cellar, tremb-
ling at every approaching step. Was it the
White Brigádě bringing food (obtained in the
Black Markét, of course), or was it the Fascist
hirelings, led there by denunciations or carry-
ing out a systematic house-to-house search?
Food was scarce. but these Jews did not starve.
By underground ways, the “Jewish Council of
Elders” sent money for foodstuffs to the White
Brigádě, from whom it reached that “under-
world” whose only crime it was that its people
were Jews. Thirty million Belgian francs were
spent in this gigantic relief work. Yet it would
be premature even today to reveal the sources
of this money, or the ways and means of Allied
and neutrál aid,
Besides giving materiál help, the White Bri-
gádě had to give many other kinds of help in
their Jewish relief work. They exchanged mes-
sages between the Brussels cellars and the Bel-
gian convents where Jewish children, passed
off as Christians, were hidden. Among these
convent pupils, equipped with falše passports,
were the daughters of the Charendorfs, who
had been born in Belgium and spoke fluent
French. It was no medieval “charity” which
was extended to them in these convents, no
compulsion. of conscience or religion. For two
years, children and parents heard from one an-
other only through the Belgian patriots, and
the only happiness of those left behind in Brus-
sels was a sign of life from their children.
For about two years, the two Brussels fam-
ilies did not see the light of day. Only when
dusk fell they ventured outside for a few mo-
ments to get a breath of fresh air, while the
White Brigádě kept watch. Danger lurked eve-
rywhere, doubly great for them on account of
the curfew for Jews, the order (which they of
necessity disregarded) for Jews to wear the
Star of David, and last but not not least the
organized mass arrests, meaning deportation
to the East!
One day, the White Brigádě caused a sensa-
tion by bringing a rádio apparatus, formerly
owned by Jews, which had been withheld from
the offitial requisition. To prevent the danger
of noise, old-fashioned ear-phones were ušed
for listening-in. Thus, the B.B.C. found its way
into the cellar of the Brussels Jews, giving
pleasure, hope and confidence, and lending
some color to the grey everyday life. Naturally,
the Charendorfs specially enjoyed listening to
the occasional broad.casts in their Yiddish
mother tongue.
Quite surprisingly, the Voíce from London
caused a sensation. An extract from the Yid-
dish comedy The King of Lampedusa, was an-
nounced. World success — six months’ run with
a packed house in the East End of London,
then a tour of the provinces — New York, Ca-
nadian, even Moscow Premiére — first Hebrew
performance in Tel Aviv — English stage ver-
sion — film rights acquired by an Anglo-Ame-
rican company! Then only came the name of
the author: S. J. Charendorf.
A storm of emotion breaks loose. As in a
dream, they repeat over again the two initials,
behind which is more than words: the brother
and brother-in-law. Millions of Red Gross mes-
sages had never reached their destination.
Since Hitleťs occupation of Belgium, they, too,
had not received a single sign of life from Eng-
land, the free country.
The whole thing is overwhelming to them in
their solituae and isolation. Only gradually
they begin to grasp the meaning of the broad-
cast, that strange humorous story of a Jew in
the free, democratic world. About eightcen
months ago, Sergeant Cohen, son of an East
End tailor, made a forced lading on Lampedu-
sa, and to his astonishment an Italian officer
rushed up and offered to surrender the island
to him. This really funny story is the centre of
the whole comedy. The amusing drama of an
East End tailor about a Jewish kingdom ruled
by his gallant son — under British mandate —
is bound to meet with an enthusiastic and af-
firmative response in the heads of a people
which for centuries has been longing for a
home. (The absence of such a national home
is, of course, felt with speciál intensity by those
who are suffering under barbaric anti-semit-
ism.)
For weeks the King of Lampedusa remained
the main topič for conversation, as a ray of
hope and an ideollogical bridge to the outside
world. Then, one sensation treads on anotheťs
heels. The wireless reports the fall of Paris,
Belgium follows, even before the ehapter of
France is finished. At long last the cellar doors
are opened. Brussels, too, has fallen to the AI-
lies! The bright daylight hurts the eyes, until
gradually they grow accustomed to it again, as
well as to the sound of voices, which is still ir-
ritating at first. It takés time to shake off the
fear of the persecutor which has become a sub-
conscious obsession of the hunted. Poverty, liv-
íng on starvation diet in empty rooms (v/itnout
beds or even blankets) are more than com-
pensated by the physical freedom pined for
through an eternity of darkness.
Reunion with the children is a great event,
unfortunately even exceptional — 5,000 others
háve become orphans,
Every Sabbath, the Charendorfs go to the
Synagogue and there try to get into contact
with English soldiers. Every time, their first
question is: “Where do you come from, and
háve you by any chance seen the King of Lam-
pedusa? Věry often the reply is: “Yes.” But
weeks go by, until someone adds:    . . . and the
author is even my best friend ” A strange coin-
cidence — before volunteering for the army,
this liberator in British uniform ušed to work
in the Press Roorn of the Ministry of Informa-
tion in London. At the next desk sat S. J. Cha-
rendorf, correspondent of the New York Jewish
Morning Journal. The two became great
friends. After countless personál details —
there seems to be no end to the questions — the
Brussels Charendorfs are told at last how their
London brother, who had never written for the
stage before, conceived the idea of his now
. world-famous play.
A cable from his páper, telling him to find
details about Sgt. Cohen’s family and past life,
had given him the idea that the story offered
materiál, not merely for a news páper ariicle,
but for a whole play. Only five weeks later,
after long nights of work, he completed the
stage play which, within the next forty-eight
hours, was accepted for the-East End Premiére.
Breakfast ended the conversation in a prac~
tically empty Brussels fiat. Then a long letter
řr
was sent to London by Army post: For S. J.
Charendorf it was the first, though indirect,
news about his relatives. After three years they
had risen from the dead and were alive. The
King of Lampedusa had built the bridge to
them. And no previous success, however great,
could be more pleasing than this.
Meanwhile regular correspondence became
the rule. The last letter from Belgium answer-
ed many personál questions: “Your brothers
are beside themselves with joy. The Yiddish
Theatre in Paris has been re-opened with the
King of Lampedusa, played by the drama circle
of the Zionist- Organization. Now your King is
coming to Brussels. Here, too, it will be the first
performance on the Yiddish stage after the
liberation.”
OATII TO CZECHOSLOVAK REPUBLIC
TAKEN IN ITALY
The following letter was received by the Cze-
choslovak Ministry of V/ar in London, from a
leader of the Czechoslovakian Partisan Group
in Northern Italy:
“The words which you are about to read are
written by a former officer in the Govern-
mental army of the so-called “Protectorate” of
Bohemia and Moravia, now a leader of the
“Monte Lera” group of Czechoslovakian parti-
sans at . . . in the valley of . . . west of Turin,
but they spring frorii the hearts of all the fifty-
seven Czechs in this group. At the end of last
May the treacherous and servile Government
sent us to Northern Italy. After a few days’
Service in northern Italy, a Service which v/as
revoltíng to us, we determined to draw up our
own balance sheet and lay the result of our ae-
tions before the Czechoslovak Government xn
London and our beloved President Beneš ....
Today we háve been more than a rnonth in the
ranks of the Italian patriots. Our ultimate aim
is, of course, to enter the Czechoslovakian Ar-
my. Neither I nor my comrades in the 1940-43
age groups háve been able to také the oath to
the Czechoslovak Republic. We, therefore, do
so now, and our other comrades, who are old
soldiers, associate themselves with us in this
oath, to emphasize once more their undying
love for their country. We swear to carry out
the orders of our President and of the Govern-
ment of the Republic. We thank God ...”
The letter was sent on August 24, 1944.
fSSÉ!
FROM DIFFERENT AMGLES
By Katherine Negley, Los Angels, California
Not long ago I came down to the city in a
street car. The conductor gave me a transfer I
did not care to use so I thought I would use ;t
to find out a little more about this queer sub-
ject called Human Nátuře.
My pian was to offer the transfer to people
standing at the transfer point, explaining I
could not use the transfer and wanted to give
it to them. -
The first lady said she had her faře ready
and she thought it would be less trouble to give
it to the conductor than to put it back into her
purse since she had so many packages in her
arms.
The second said, “Now, this is a new game on
me. If you need the seven cents, I guess I could
give it to you as well as the Street car compa-
ny.”
The next one said it would not be honest and
she was sure she would not sleep that night if
she took it.
The fourth started and stared at me from top
to bottom and across. I began to feel so smáli I
might háve disappeared if her car had not
come when it did.
The fifth looked scared and said, “No, thank
you.”
The sixth said it was unlawful and if she
were not in such a hurry she would report me.
This discouraged me somewhat but I tried
one more . . . the right one. She gave me a
winscme smile, took the transfer, and gave it
to her conductor.
I went do wi the strast, mutteríng to my šelf.
“This goes to show you.” Show what?
Well, any way, I had fun.