A discovery from their Czech past that changed an American family's life
When Audrey Knoth was growing up, there was a great deal that the family did not talk about. There seemed to be huge gaps in their past, and she always worried that this silence might have something to do with her. Only in the last couple of years have Audrey and her brother come to understand why their Czech mother and grandparents came to the United States at the beginning of World War Two. She tells the story of their escape, the reasons behind it and how that discovery has changed her life.
“My name is Audrey Knoth. I’m American and live in Virginia. I always knew growing up that my mother and her parents were born in what was then Czechoslovakia and that they had come to the US right when World War Two broke out. They were Catholic, and my understanding was that they left Czechoslovakia and came to the US because they had lived through World War One and they just wanted to get out when another large war was breaking out. And I knew that it took them three years to get from Czechoslovakia to the United States and that it was a difficult journey.
“But I really didn’t know much about it, especially because they didn’t talk about it, and my father, who was American, told me more than once, ‘Don’t ever ask your grandparents or your mother about Czechoslovakia. They just don’t want to talk about it.’”
And yet Czechoslovakia must have been a presence in your life. Did your grandparents speak Czech to one another?
“Absolutely. It was a presence in our lives. They knew English perfectly, but they spoke Czech to each other and they usually spoke it with my mother – in front of me, my brother and my father. There would be many times when we’d be just sitting around and suddenly this conversation in Czech would break out, which we had no understanding of. You always have this feeling: are they trying to keep something from me? [laughs] Do they want to speak this language or do they want to keep something from us?
“I really found this idea of being able to speak another language, that people around you don’t understand, fascinating, and I would have loved to have learned Czech, but my brother and I were not taught it as kids. A big part of the reason is that my grandparents said, ‘Well, you know, Czechoslovakia is a small country – at that time it was communist. You’re never going to need this language.’ They were also adamant that we had no Czech family, so we wouldn’t need it to talk to family members. And then my grandmother would say, ‘You know, in Czech is just impossible to learn. You would never learn it because it has seven cases.’ I never knew what seven cases were, but it sounded really bad.”
But now you do know what seven cases are and you have learned Czech.
“Well, I’m in the learning process. I do know about the famous seven cases now, but, throughout my life I’ve taken up Czech and about three years ago I took it up in real earnest and have worked very hard on it. I’m pleased to say that on this trip to the Czech Republic – and I’ve been here in the past – I’ve been getting some really nice comments about my Czech. I feel like I’ve made some progress.”
And you’re going to be giving a talk in Czech during your stay here in the Czech Republic.
“Yes, I’m going to be giving a talk at that synagogue in Pacov, a small town, south-east of Prague, relating to my family story and why they left Czechoslovakia. What happened along the way is pretty dramatic, as my brother and I have learned.”
An unexpected discovery
So let’s get to the dramatic story. You knew nothing, and you decided at some point that you wanted or needed to know more.
“The whole part of my heritage – the Czech part – has always been a big part of my psyche, I think just because there was such an air of mystery about it. I did come to Czechoslovakia as a child and then right after college, and then a few more times. Something about the country always spoke to me. Over the years I’ve read Czech books – in English translation of course – and then I took up studying Czech.
“But then, about two years ago, in 2022, I was reading the book by Norman Eisen, the former US ambassador to the Czech Republic under Barack Obama, who wrote the book, The Last Palace, about the Petschek Villa, this very sumptuous villa in Prague that was built by a magnate Otto Petschek. When the Germans occupied Czechoslovakia, they took this building, and it was a semi-headquarters for them during the war. After the war it ended up in the hands of the United States, which turned it into the residence for the US ambassador. So, the ambassador was living there and became fascinated by the history of this magnificent edifice.
“He just happened to mention, almost in passing, some details about the neighbourhood in the past, around the building. He mentioned that on the corner there was a department store that was run by the Prague Jewish family Robitschek. I was flabbergasted because Robitschek was my grandfather’s last name before he came to America and changed it. It had never occurred to me that Robitschek could possibly be a Jewish name. Then it was like a lightning strike – of course they must have been Jewish. Why else would they have left? And that was a lifechanging moment, and it leads to why I’m here now.”
It must also have changed what the Holocaust meant to you.
“What I discovered in further research was that after my grandfather and grandmother left the country, my grandfather’s mother was deported to Terezín and then to Auschwitz where she was gassed. This was a devastating shock. Words can’t really summon up how it feels to discover something like this.”
And you sent me a photograph of her as a confident middle-aged woman.
“We were able to find this photo and one other. She was a living, breathing person, with a personality, as you can see. It absolutely puts a personal dimension on history’s largest mass murder.”
A dramatic escape
The story of how your grandparents and your mother fled is an extraordinary one.
“My grandfather studied industrial engineering at Charles University in Prague and got a doctorate. He specialised in industrial ceramics, which was a really important thing back in those days for industrial production, before other types of technologies were developed. He rose to different managerial levels in the industrial ceramics industry in Czechoslovakia, and as a result, he travelled on business extensively through Europ. In particular he went to Germany quite a bit, because Germany had some of the most advanced technical ceramic techniques. When it became obvious that things were going really badly, my grandfather and grandmother decided they needed to leave the country with my mother.”
Your grandfather had actually seen the situation in Nazi Germany, so he probably had no illusions about what it meant to be Jewish there.
“He was very shocked and traumatised by an incident he saw. Some German soldiers absolutely terrorised a man on the street. This really triggered the decision to get out of Czechoslovakia. He started making the effort pretty early on, but they needed visas to get out. So he started contacting all these professional people that he knew in different countries, and he ended up getting offered a job in a small town in Belgium – at an industrial ceramics plant there. He applied for a visa from the Belgian government. It was turned down, and we found a handwritten note on the letter denying his visa request. It states that Mr Robitschek, because he’s Jewish, would not be able to go back to Czechoslovakia if his work were to end in Belgium, and he would be a burden on the economy of Belgium. However, in the same file we found that the owner of this factory rose to the occasion and wrote this really compelling two-page letter to the government, arguing that my grandfather had such a high level of knowledge of industrial ceramics that his contributions would catapult the Belgian economy into a leadership position. As a result, the government changed its mind and granted him a visa.”
Your grandparents got as far as Belgium, but only a few months later the Germans occupied the country.
“Yes. One fine day the Germans invaded Belgium and immediately my grandparents got hold of a truck and drove from Belgium into France to get away. They got to Paris, and my grandfather was able to find a job outside Paris and lodgings. Foolishly I guess, he thought it would fine, but that didn’t work out either because it wasn’t much longer before the Germans came into France. They were able to get three bicycles and they rode from the area of Paris down to Marseilles, around 600 kilometres. My grandparents were about forty at the time. My mother was ten. They took the secondary roads to avoid what they knew was going to be a huge mass of people on the main roads, trying to get out. But they did it, and they got to Marseilles.”
Like many Jewish people who managed to get out of France, they ended up going by boat to Africa.
“Yes, and it’s important to note that Marseilles was not exactly a safe place, because there were a lot of raids and roundups, not only of Jews, but also of Slavs, even during the time that my grandparents and mother were there. Fortunately, they were not rounded up, but this was not a safe place.”
This was the time of the Vichy regime.
“Exactly. And after my family got there, Marshall Pétain, who was head of the Vichy regime, had a ceremonial visit to Marseilles and there was a huge roundup before that to “clean up” the city. But there were still some ships leaving Marseilles that people were allowed to get on. Somehow my grandfather managed to get visas and tickets so they could get on one of the last ships, called the Alsina.”
And their destination was to be Brazil.
“Yes, because my grandfather was able to get Brazilian visas for himself, my grandmother and my mother. We think that was from the Brazilian ambassador, who was known at the time to go out of his way to issue diplomatic visas to people that were in real danger. They did get on the Alsina and must have breathed a huge sigh of relief as they pulled away from France. There were some initial stops in North Africa before heading over across the Atlantic, but when they got to Dakar, Senegal, the ship was stopped and blockaded by the British, because the British suspected the Alsina was carrying weapons and other material for the enemy.
“Eventually the Alsina went back to Marseilles, but fortunately the passengers had a choice of either going or not going back, so my grandparents and mother chose to stay. They ended up going through North Africa and being able to get on a ship called the Cabo de Hornos, leaving from Cadiz, Spain to Brazil. Unfortunately, when the ship got to South America, it was refused landing. People were not allowed to get off. It got to the point that the ship was going to turn around and take everyone back. A huge percentage of these people were either Jewish or people who had been baptised as Catholics recently. They called them Catholic Jews at the time. Amazingly and fortunately, at the very last minute, the island of Curacao agreed to accept the passengers, so they did get off on Curacao and were refugees there.
“You would think of Curacao as a tropical haven. They got a wonderful welcome – the island was very welcoming – but it was not a safe place because there was a big oil refinery, and it was supplying a huge amount of oil to the Allies. So the Germans were focused on it and there was an attack on the island while my grandparents and mother were there. It must have been unnerving to experience that.”
From Curacao they eventually got to the United States, but it was more complicated than they’d reckoned.
“Yes. There was a lot of publicity about the refugees from the Cabo de Hornos and some countries offered visas. One of them was the United States, and my grandparents and mother ended up getting visas to the United States. They were able to book passage on the Crijnssen which was a Dutch ship, both passenger and freighter, heading to the United States. After two nights aboard, they were at dinner and there was a tremendous boom. The food went everywhere and it became obvious that they had been torpedoed by a German U-boat. The ship was starting to list and to sink. So they rushed to get into a lifeboat – because everybody had been assigned a lifeboat when they boarded – and the ship went down. They spent the night in a lifeboat. It wasn’t too bad, because the weather was alright, and about a day into this a huge American freighter called the Lebore came by and picked them up. It was a gigantic ship. They had to climb up a rope ladder. It was like climbing the Eiffel Tower. Just don’t look down! And so they got on the Lebore. They’d lost everything they had, so the crew gave them pyjamas and gave them a cabin, and they turned in for the night.
“At about midnight there was a huge explosion. They knew what that was! The Lebore had been torpedoed by a German U-boat. So they rushed to their lifeboat and found it was broken, but they got to another lifeboat and were able to get down. Everybody got off except there was one member of the crew who refused to get off. Other members of the crew were trying to convince him. In the meantime the U-boat had surfaced and was just watching, which I’m sure was extremely unnerving. This crew member was refusing to leave, and then suddenly pulled a gun out of his pocket and he started shooting towards the U-boat, screaming ‘The Germans are going to kill us!’ The rest of the crew just got off and everybody rowed away in their lifeboats as fast as possible, because you don’t know if the submarine is going to react. Fortunately it didn’t.
“They saw the crew member go down with the ship. Not only was this bad enough but it was in the middle of a storm. So they spent two nights and two days in a small lifeboat, pitching up and down in gigantic waves, hoping someone was going to come and find them. Fortunately there were patrol airplanes that were scouting that area, because of the U-boat activity. A plane spotted them, waggled its wings and dropped a carton of cigarettes and coca colas – and then left. A motorboat came, picked them up and took everyone to the island of San Andres, which is a Colombian island. The people on the island were really generous. They lodged everybody in their homes and the women sewed new dresses for my grandmother and my mother. They spent a night or two on the island, and then the American warship, the USS Erie came by and offered to take my grandparents and my mother to Panama, which they happily accepted. They got on that ship and the crew was tremendously welcoming, and they did get safely to Panama.”
A new life in the United States
And then they got to Miami.
“… on to the United States. Two tickets eventually became available on a Pan Am plane, so my grandfather and mother went. My grandmother stayed behind. They got to Miami and really didn’t speak English, but that didn’t stop them. They went by train to New York. Grandfather started looking for work and sent out lots of letters.”
In the meantime your grandmother was still in Panama.
“She was still in Panama, and eventually she was able to go by plane to Brownsville, Texas, and take a train. Grandfather got a job in Ohio. She met him in Ohio and they just settled into American life.”
And as an engineer, he was able to work again with industrial ceramics.
“Yes, and he did very well at that company. They were able to rebuild their lives. Interestingly, my grandmother was a chemist. They had met when they were both working at the same factory in Prague. It was unusual for a woman. She was always the only woman working as a chemist, but in the early years in Ohio she also worked at the same company as a chemist, because they needed to rebuild their savings. They had lost so much.”
And did you and your brother then go on to go to school and university, and to lead typical American lives?
“Absolutely American lives, but there was always this Czech thing hanging. We embody what would be seen as the success story – that these people got out, they lived, they got to safety, and they rebuilt their lives.”
There is no handbook on how to deal with the aftermath of a Holocaust
From what you’ve just told me about the drama and the trauma of what they went through, I am not surprised that your grandparents and your mother didn’t talk about it later, because it must have been very hard to fit into the context of middle-class American life.
“Yes. I realise that, yet – before I made the discovery about my grandfather being Jewish and what had happened to his mother – I’d never quite understood it. There are a lot of families where people just sit around telling family stories, but it’s very difficult when you have no family story. You don’t feel connected somehow to the world or the human race. I don’t know that I would even understand how this feels if I didn’t myself feel this way. It’s hard to put into words.”
You told me that your grandparents had long lives. They were alive well into your adulthood, but still there weren’t the stories from before the war or during the war.
“And they maintained the idea that they were both Catholic. My grandmother lived to 103. My grandfather lived to 85, so we were well into adulthood. We thought we knew them very well, but they never said a word not only about their Judaism, but what must have been one of the most stunning events of their lives in a terrible way – the murder of his mother at Auschwitz. We know from documents that have turned up that my grandparents knew about it, because my grandfather wrote to the town of Pacov after the war, asking about his mother. From the replies we know that he knew.”
When did you find out that your great-grandmother died in Auschwitz?
“I found out about 48 hours after hearing the mention in the ambassador’s book about Robitschek being a Jewish name. I called my brother and we started searching online and ended up coming across a Rabbi in New Jersey, who turned out to be researching the WWII history of Jews in Pacov. He was involved in a non-profit organisation called Tikkun Pacov, which since 2015 has been restoring the synagogue there to turn it into a centre for tolerance and culture. It’s also restoring the Rabbi’s house. The people involved with that – Pavel Tychtl, a Czech, and Karen Koblitz, an American – have done a huge amount of research about the Jews from that town, as part of their undertaking of this project. So there was almost an avalanche of information, not just with Rabbi Roth telling us that Grandfather’s mother had been deported and murdered at Auschwitz, but even giving us the wagon numbers. The detail was extraordinary. It all snowballed on us really fast.”
And did that knowledge change your life?
“Absolutely. It changed my life and it’s changed my brother’s life. We’ve been equal partners in this research. It first of all revealed to me why my grandparents and mother never talked about the past, and I had this much deeper understanding about my grandparents and this terrible secret and the guilt they must have lived with, knowing that this had happened to his mother after they left. The survivor guilt must have been horrible – and the grief.
“But beyond that, it’s really made me understand the nature of trauma and how it comes down through a family. There are not many photos of my family before the war, but somehow some survived. I think they were kept by my Catholic relatives and sent on. My grandparents and mother in these pre-war photos are smiling and happy and having the time of their lives, but those were not the people I knew. The people I knew after the war were good people, ethical people, but very self-contained, sombre, closed in, just completely different people.
“I’ve realised that as a child, when you’re not told things but you can sense something’s wrong, you assume it’s because of you. You don’t assume it’s because of some larger force. You assume there’s something wrong with you that they’re not telling you. I can understand now the importance in a way I didn’t before of recognising trauma and the impact of trauma on generations.”
Do you almost feel a sense of resentment towards your mother and your grandparents?
“It’s interesting you should say that, because my first reaction was tremendous anger, anger to the point that I couldn’t sleep. I’m angry at the Nazis. I was angry at them before. Who’s not angry at them? But I was also angry that I wasn’t told – angry, angry, angry – I should have been told! Yet, by the same token I absolutely understand why they didn’t tell me. There’s no handbook on how to deal with the aftermath of a Holocaust.”
Return to Pacov
To go back again to the reason why you’re here in the Czech Republic. You’re going back to Pacov, to the place where your ancestors lived. You’re going to be meeting people there and delivering a lecture.
“I’m going to be delivering a lecture, hopefully entirely in Czech, telling the story of my grandparents’ and mother’s escape from Czechoslovakia. My grandfather is the only Jew of that time from Pacov who got to the United States.”
And for the people of Pacov, it must be a way of reconnecting with a piece of their town’s history that is all but lost.
“Absolutely, and it’s been really great to see that there’s been support and interest from the community in the restoring of the synagogue, in the restoring of the Rabbi’s house, but in particular interest in the lives of the individual Jewish people who resided there and then were gone.”
And your mother is now 94, still going strong. How is your relationship with her today?
“I actually think that my relationship with her is better than ever, and in some ways it’s due to this discovery because, after I made the discovery, I screwed up my courage and brought it up with her. It was the first time I’d really spoken to her about this as an adult. We were able to have a conversation where I presented to her that I was pretty sure her father was Jewish, and she thought about it, listened to what I had to say and said, ‘You know, you’re probably right.’ As we’ve moved through this process, she’s been very supportive of my brother and I doing this research, and she’s very clear that she wants to hear what we’re doing, she just can’t bear to hear the tragic part of it. So it’s been good to see that she’s been supportive.”
