In a sea of blood and tears E-Book

Dieter Wilms

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 692

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The turn of the 19th to the 20th century. The European balance of power begins to falter. Two very different boys grow up during this time: David Rosendahl, the son of one of Berlin's most modern meat manufacturers; Martin, a foundling raised by monks and later suffering under the tyranny of his adoptive father Franz Kreidler. They have no idea that their paths and destinies will cross on the battlefield of the First World War. But this cataclysm is only the prelude to the social and political developments that increasingly lead to the next catastrophe from the 1920s onwards.

Leseprobe

Quote

If you hear screams, you murderers, then always remember, they are not the screams of your victims, they have long since fallen silent. They are the cries of your children, who are ashamed of your deeds.

1. BOOK

Chapter 1

His body, weakened by the illness, could no longer withstand the new attack.

Spitting up blood and clots of pus, whenever he coughed, he lay there and silently moved his lips in prayer.

He prayed the confession of sins of the great Day of Atonement.

Jacob dabbed his father's sweat-covered face with a damp cloth to cool him down.

The emaciated body glowed feverishly and had long since lost the hopeless battle against this insidious disease.

But salvation only came now, after weeks in which the sick man had had to endure unspeakable pain.

Aaron Rosendahl reared up one last time and gasped "echad Yisrael" in Hebrew, then sank back powerlessly into the pillows and slid over to his death.

Jacob stood motionless beside the bed and looked into his father's face.

Almost transparent, like parchment, the ashen skin covered the skull of the dead man.

He remembered how rosy his father's face used to be.

It was the boy's first confrontation with death and a shiver ran down his spine. He was in a room with a dead man.

He had been able to prepare for this moment long enough, when the incurability of his father's illness became a certainty and it was only a matter of time before it would end.

Jacob was ashamed of the feeling he was now experiencing. It disgusted him.

Reluctantly, he gave in, because it had to be done.

He laid the dead man on the ground, stripped him naked and lit a light.

He washed his father thoroughly with soap and water. Then he dressed him in a simple shroud. According to ancient Jewish custom, Jacob's mother had given this shirt to her bridegroom as a wedding present.

Jacob made sure he hadn't forgotten anything and went to the door.

He hesitated for a moment, then opened it and woke his mother.

When she entered the room and saw her dead husband, she sobbed loudly and Jacob had to support her.

He said quietly: "Don't worry mother, he's not in pain anymore."

She hugged her son and kissed him as she had always kissed him as a child, on his forehead, his eyes and on both cheeks.

The last few weeks had been terrible. They had taken it in turns to watch over her bedside and Jacob could see the strain on his mother.

They stood next to each other in silence, looking down at the corpse and both thinking the same thing.

What will happen now?

Three days later, Aaron Rosendahl was buried in the small cemetery of the Jewish community.

A plain coffin, no floral decorations, no gravestone.

All people are equal in death, say the Jews.

Jacob left school, he had to find work because he was now responsible for himself and his mother.

For a while, they lived off their savings, but this was quickly used up and Jacob had to earn money.

He found a job in one of the many private slaughterhouses that existed in a city as large as Berlin.

The slaughterhouse owner, a short, fat, unfriendly man called Otto Jakubke, showed little enthusiasm when Jakob asked him for work, but when he told him he would do anything, really anything, he finally agreed.

Jakob reported to work at five o'clock on the dot the next morning and his boss handed him a coarse street broom and explained what he had to do.

The entrails, which were torn out of the slaughtered animals and simply dropped on the ground, were swept up with a broom and then sorted with bare hands.

The animals' intestines and other offal were cleaned, separated from the faeces and thrown into a special vat, which had to be emptied several times a day.

Jacob swept the animals' excrement, urine and blood into a gutter that ended in a pit at the end of the hall, which stank so terribly that Jacob had to vomit several times in the first few days as soon as he came anywhere near the pit.

At first, Jacob could not keep up with the speed at which the men tore the intestines out of the slaughtered animals' slit bodies and so he was often shouted at and insulted. He suffered almost more from this than from the dull and disgusting work.

Jakob gritted his teeth and after a few weeks he went about his work as if in his sleep, easily keeping up with the pace of work required.

After six months, Jakob was assigned another job.

He had to boil the intestines in large troughs, which were then hung up to dry and later filled with sausage meat.

An easy activity.

His diligence and adaptability were rewarded because he did what was asked of him, he never complained and he learned.

He gradually worked all over the shop, filling in here and there and learning the butcher's trade from the ground up.

After two years, he knew everything there was to know about slaughtering and processing cattle, pigs, sheep and goats.

His boss appreciated him for his reliability and he was popular with his colleagues for his helpfulness.

Jacob's mother died shortly before his eighteenth birthday.

She had never got over the early death of her husband.

She died as she had lived, quietly and inconspicuously.

Jacob was all alone.

After the funeral, Jacob sold the entire household.

He moved into a cheap, furnished room. He didn't need much, because he was rarely at home anyway and was able to save more.

At some point, Jakob had started to dream.

Rather vague at first, but this dream became more and more realistic.

Your own business.

He had long since realized that he could achieve nothing with his hands alone, no matter how hard he worked.

He would find a way to stand on his own two feet.

He would leave the stinking hall, no matter what.

This is how the youthful years of the Jewish boy Jakob Rosendahl passed.

On a cold November day, Jakob walked to work as usual to save the money for the streetcar, he thought about his plans as he often did.

He had now saved almost 2,500 Reichsmarks.

He started work every morning at five o'clock, sometimes sixteen hours a day, even on Saturdays and sometimes Sundays, because the demand for meat in a big city like Berlin was enormous.

He was often teased by his work colleagues because he never missed an opportunity to supplement his earnings with overtime, but that didn't bother him.

They knew nothing of his plans because he didn't talk to anyone about them.

Jacob was twenty-five years old and the time seemed ripe to realize his dreams.

He wanted to save up for another year, then he estimated he would have enough to buy his own butcher's store in the surrounding area.

He walked faster, he was cold.

As he turned the corner, he saw his colleagues standing in the street and knew at the same moment that something must have happened.

When he reached the slaughterhouse, he saw the policeman standing at the entrance guarding the door.

"What's going on here," Jakob asked. The company accountant came up to him and answered eagerly: "The old man was arrested last night for tax evasion. I'll have to hand over all the books to the officers later. It looks like it's closing time here for now."

"What are the others waiting for?" Jakob gestured to his colleagues, who were standing in a group near the entrance and talking quietly.

"Curiosity, what else. Besides, everyone wants to know what happens next."

The accountant tried to leave, but Jacob held him by the sleeve.

"So, what happens next?" he asked.

"I don't know." The accountant released his arm.

"But the way I see it, our boss is going to prison for a long time."

"We will have to auction off the abattoir, Mr. Rosendahl, at least to avoid writing everything Mr. Jakubke owes us down the chimney.

Unless we find a solvent buyer. A solvent buyer. To roughly cover this gentleman's liabilities."

The bank manager looked at Jakob through his rimless glasses.

He could hardly believe that this little butcher sitting in front of him was seriously considering buying such an object.

He had thought it was a waste of time when his secretary announced a visit from a certain Jakob Rosendahl.

But he didn't want to appear rude and so he asked.

Now Jacob was sitting in front of him and was embarrassed and didn't know where to put his hands.

The bank manager was still looking at Jakob and waiting.

Jacob's mouth was dry and all he could think was: Here it is, my chance, here it is.

When he spoke, his own voice seemed strange to him. "What amount are we talking about?" "Are you seriously interested?"

The director smiled kindly and when Jakob nodded, he leaned forward as if to whisper, but then continued speaking in an unchanged voice. "6,000 Reichsmarks," he said, watching his counterpart closely, but he could not detect any movement in his closed face.

Jakob stood up. "In view of this sum, I'll have to pass."

He held his hand out to the principal, but he ignored it and instead motioned for Jacob to sit down again. He sighed.

"What is the order of magnitude of your ideas?"

He had to admit to himself that he had completely underestimated this young man.

"The most I can make liquid is 3,500 Reichsmarks."

The director rolled his eyes and seemed to gasp for air.

"Dear Mr. Rosendahl, you can't be serious, you're ruining me." He thought to himself: little Jewish bastard.

But when he saw that Jacob was about to rise again, he raised his hand to appease him and fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

"My final offer," he said, acting unhappy: "4,500 Reichsmarks." He added sourly: "My bank will take care of the paperwork, notary fees, etc."

Jacob took a deep breath and for the first time that morning since he had entered the bank, he relaxed and a smile flitted across his face.

"It's a deal," he said and they shook hands.

The business was perfect. Jakob was an entrepreneur.

Jakob knew that it was a stroke of luck to acquire the abattoir, especially at this price.

However, he also knew that he still had a lot to invest in order to get the business up to scratch.

He borrowed the same amount in addition to his 2,500 Reichsmarks from a well-known Jew in the neighborhood.

Of course, he could have taken out a loan from the bank, but he didn't want to.

The negotiating position was much more favorable with cash, he knew that.

Every banker is impressed by cash.

After deducting the purchase price, he was left with 500 Reichsmarks.

This budget had to be sufficient to make the first changes to the slaughterhouse.

First of all, he had the stinking pit pumped empty and commissioned the same contractor to do this once a week.

Next, all the walls and the entire floor were tiled with stone slabs.

The age-old cracks in the walls and floor disappeared and the hall could be kept clean.

The old wooden slaughter tables were torn out and replaced with new, washable tables.

Jakob divided the hall into three areas.

In the first part, the animals were slaughtered, skinned or de-boned and gutted.

What was not processed was placed as waste in zinc tubs, which were emptied regularly.

In the second part, the animals were cut in half, thoroughly cleaned and roughly dissected.

Finally, the last part was portioned as needed.

Initially, Jakob's employees did not get to grips with the new system, but it was well thought out and effective.

Most of them, mainly skilled workers, had been working here for a long time, as Jakob had taken them on for the sake of simplicity. But they struggled with the changes and were used to the old system.

But they soon realized that this way of organizing work was more rational and, above all, cleaner.

They were no longer standing ankle-deep in the blood, intestines and feces of the animals.

Jakob also took over as the slaughterhouse's accountant.

Anton Hollmann, as he was called, was a serious-looking, tall, thin man in his early thirties, with a lean face and alert eyes, always properly dressed.

When you saw him, you involuntarily thought of a civil servant.

Jakob needed his experience because he was new to accounting.

Hollmann had the specialist knowledge, knew the industry and knew why Jakob's previous boss had failed.

Within the next six months, the Jakob Rosendahl slaughterhouse doubled its previous turnover.

Jakob hired three more butchers and two assistants.

Now, including Hollmann, he had fourteen employees working for him, because word had quickly got around that the Rosendahl abattoir offered good meat at reasonable prices and was served correctly.

Jakob's customers were bulk buyers such as restaurants, hotels, hospitals and a large number of smaller butchers who had their livestock slaughtered here so that they could then process it themselves.

One morning Hollmann, the accountant, said to Jakob: "Mr. Rosendahl, I can no longer manage the office work on my own, I need an assistant.

For once, Jakob sat at his desk and looked up.

"I'll take care of it," he grumbled and immersed himself in his work again.

The following Monday, Hollmann came into his office as usual at seven, hung his hat and coat neatly on the clothes rack provided and was about to turn to his work when he stumbled.

Across from him, at his boss's desk, sat a young girl of about twenty, looking at him with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen.

"What," he began and broke off because he had a lump in his throat. He cleared his throat.

"What have we got here?" The new attempt was more successful. "Who are you?"

Hollmann was startled by his harsh tone. Under no circumstances did he want to frighten this lovely creature.

But the young woman didn't make a frightened impression at all. She stood up and came towards him. A figure like a dream, Hollmann thought.

He sat stock-still in his chair, as if nailed down, unable to move.

"Excuse me." The girl smiled and held out her small, dainty hand to him.

"My name is Ella Landau, I'm your new office assistant, Mr. Hollmann." He reached for her hand and stuttered idiotically. "Pleased to meet you, Hollmann."

She continued: "Mr. Rosendahl has assigned me his desk so that I can work with you in an office o. Forgive my intrusion, but Mr. Rosendahl told me to wait for him here." Her smile was still on her face.

"That's all right," said Hollmann, who only now realized that he was still holding her hand. So he quickly added: "Here's to good cooperation, let's get started." He shook her hand again vigorously and then let go.

Ella Landau was trained in the weeks and months that followed.

The young woman proved to be intelligent and inquisitive, had a quick grasp of things and was excellent with customers.

The latter resulted from the fact that she was not only beautiful, but also open-minded and uncomplicated.

The predominantly male clientele liked that.

Jacob registered all this with satisfaction and realized with satisfaction that there was no better advertisement for his business than this young woman.

She enchanted her surroundings.

But Jacob noticed something else. This young woman enchanted him too.

The accountant Hollmann noticed it immediately.

Jakob was in the office more often than usual. There was only one reason for this.

He didn't like the interest his boss showed in the new employee, because there was no need to ask why Jakob Rosendahl was seen here so often.

Hollmann admitted to himself that he was also taken with Ella Landau, even more so, he found her beguiling and fascinating.

He reacted with jealousy to anyone who came too close to her and made eyes at her.

He sat alone in the office and wrote columns of numbers one below the other. For the third time he added them up and for the third time the final result was different.

He couldn't concentrate on his work because other things were distracting him.

Hollmann thought about Ella, thought about how he could get closer to her.

He had to proceed with extreme caution because he didn't want to spoil things with his boss.

He saw him as a competitor in Ella's favor and had to admit to himself that Jakob Rosendahl would be the better match for the young woman.

But he wasn't going to leave the field to his boss without a fight. But something else stood in his way if Hollmann was interested in a woman.

His shyness. When women were around, he started stuttering, his ears turned red and he became as embarrassed as a schoolboy.

Yet it seemed so easy right now.

Ella, this open-minded young woman, liked him, Hollmann knew that. It wasn't just friendliness that she showed him, no, Hollmann was quite sure it was affection, he could feel it.

So how could he show Ella his own affection?

Unobtrusively but emphatically, he had been thinking about this for some time.

His thoughts kept circling around this one delicate point as the office door opened and Ella entered.

As always, Hollmann's heart beat faster as soon as he saw her.

Ella greeted her kindly and went to her desk.

"Mr. Hollmann, I'm in a hurry." She gathered up a pile of papers and approached him.

"Would you do me a big favor?"

"Anyone," Hollmann replied, "you know that."

To himself, he thought, if you only knew how literally I mean that.

Ella knew about Mr. Hollmann's feelings about her, a woman notices something like that. It was nothing new for her that men were fascinated by her appearance.

She looked dazzling, was cheerful and carefree.

But this stick figure, as Hollmann secretly called her, didn't interest her at all.

She didn't particularly like the dusty office stool.

His way of scanning her with his frivolous glances whenever he felt unobserved disgusted Ella.

She resolved to teach him a lesson, and now seemed to be the perfect opportunity.

She therefore chose her words carefully and with full calculation when she said: "I have an appointment tonight, if you don't help me, I'll be late. The papers need to be worked through and then filed, if you would be so kind."

Ella pressed the stack of papers into his hands and with her smile that could melt icebergs, she added: "Mr. Rosendahl is picking me up, you know how he detests tardiness."

She was out before Hollmann could say anything back.

He stood in the middle of the room like a kicked dog and didn't move at all for a while.

Then he walked with dragging steps to his desk and dropped into his chair. He carelessly tossed the papers aside.

He was miserable and felt very old.

They were sitting in one of the many beer gardens outside on the Wannsee.

Ella was wearing a light summer dress that perfectly accentuated her slim figure.

Her black hair fell loosely down to her shoulders and framed her beautiful face perfectly.

She had put on subtle make-up. A little blusher, because she always looked so pale, and lipstick, nothing more.

At this time of year, at the beginning of May, the season had not yet started and only a few tables were occupied.

Almost exclusively young couples spent their Sunday off here, far away from the big city.

Jakob had ordered beer and lemonade. He looked at Ella. How beautiful she is, he thought.

After the waiter had brought the drinks, Jacob said, raising his glass: "This is the fifth time we've been out together, an anniversary we should celebrate."

Ella laughed: "How did you imagine this celebration?"

Jacob furrowed his brow and pretended to think hard, then he said:

"First of all, let's leave out the silly you, my name is Jakob, and yours?" He drew the "you" out unnaturally long and emphasized it.

They both laughed and clinked glasses.

"We're going out for a fancy meal and I'll let you in on a secret."

Ella protested: "Mr. Rosendahl, I mean Jakob, you, you shouldn't always spend so much money. I like going out with you without you having to offer me anything special."

After a while, she added quietly: "You don't need to do that."

She blushed and lowered her eyes.

Jacob reached across the table and squeezed her hand; it moved him to see her like this.

"I know Ella," he said, "but it has to be today, remember our anniversary."

They didn't speak any more, just held hands and when the waiter came, Jakob paid and they changed restaurants.

The food was excellent and they both ate with great appetite.

The festively laid table was in an alcove. Jakob had reserved the table in advance, but Ella knew nothing about it. She must have been surprised that the waiter led her to the only free seat after Jacob had exchanged a few words with him.

During the meal, they talked about trivial things and every now and then Jakob would lighten the conversation with a witty remark, which always made Ella laugh heartily.

Ella liked being with Jakob, she had liked him from the start.

He wasn't as serious as most people she knew.

She also liked him as a man, although Jakob was not a woman's man in the classic sense.

He was good-looking, no question, but that wasn't what attracted Ella.

It was the way he did or said things.

There was something fascinating about his whole appearance.

Ella had often noticed it in the company. He captivated other people without doing anything special for them.

After the meal, Ella could hardly contain her excitement, so she asked:

"What's this big secret you were talking about?"

Jakob was amused: "If I wasn't curious, I wouldn't be a woman," he commented.

"All right," he became serious, then asked, "What's the biggest problem in our business?"

Ella made an uncomprehending face.

Jakob went on to ask: "What do we always have to expect with fresh meat, especially in summer?"

Ella's face brightened and she replied: "That the goods are spoiling us."

"Right," Jacob was now in his element. He leaned forward and continued speaking:

"The shelf life of fresh meat is limited, very limited.

So far, we have limited ourselves to slaughtering and cutting up the animals because we operate a pure slaughterhouse.

But what I have in mind is the kind of meat processing that every butcher does."

Jakob saw Ella's astonished face and quickly continued: "On a grand scale, Ella, do you understand?

From the slaughtering of the animals to the processing of the meat to the sausage. Simply everything."

"A," Ella interrupted herself and swallowed, "a meat factory," she said pressed.

She looked at Jakob admiringly. She liked the idea.

"A meat factory," Jakob said emphatically, "exactly."

He was delighted that Ella liked his idea.

They didn't talk about business for the rest of the evening and when Jakob said goodbye to Ella on her doorstep, he made her promise not to talk to anyone about his plans.

Ella lay awake for a long time that night. She thought about the lovely evening, Jacob and the conversation they had had.

She didn't know how Jacob intended to put his idea and his plan into practice. But she did know one thing for sure: whatever this man set out to do, he would do, and she was prepared to support him.

Ella was in love for the first time in her life.

One evening, Jakob was standing next to Ella and looking down at the sheet of paper she was holding in her hands when he happened to touch her breasts.

As if electrified, he jerked back and mumbled an apology.

Ella looked up at him with a smile and sat still. This smile was friendly and flirtatious at the same time. More than that, it was challenging and provocative.

They were alone in the office and Jacob could no longer resist the temptation. He had waited too long for this opportunity.

He leaned down and kissed her. Delicately and carefully at first, but when Ella returned his kiss with soft lips, passionately and demanding.

They kissed again and again, hugged each other and finally sank to the floor.

Jacob ran his hand under her skirt and touched bare, firm flesh where her stockings ended.

She gave in to his urging hand by opening her thighs and signaled her readiness.

Her lap felt warm and moist and Jacob no longer had any doubt that Ella wanted it too.

They both sank into a frenzy of passion and lust and Ella's small, sharp cry, which she emitted when Jacob penetrated her, increased his desire to unbearable levels.

They made love several times in a row, interrupted only by short breaks, were hungry for tenderness, addicted to each other's touch and infinitely happy to finally belong to each other.

When it got light outside, Jacob asked: "Will you be my wife, Ella?"

She looked at him seriously for a long time. Her face glowed. Then she kissed him again and again and between kisses she whispered: "Yes my beloved Jacob, that's what I want."

Jacob held Ella in his arms. He never wanted to let her go.

"Come in." Ella kissed Jacob fleetingly on the cheek.

Her face was flushed and Jakob thought she was just as nervous as I was.

He didn't feel comfortable in his own skin. He had kept putting off his first visit to Ella's parents, but it had to be sometime, because he didn't want to give the impression that he had no serious intentions.

He knocked the snow off his coat as best he could and took it off.

It had been snowing non-stop for days and it was freezing cold.

Ella closed the front door behind him and Jakob thought: There's no turning back now.

She took off his coat and hung it up on the coat rack.

Jakob nervously shifted the bouquet of flowers for Ella's mother from one hand to the other.

Ella eyed Jakob critically, but thought he looked good.

He was wearing a dark blue suit with a tie, although he hated ties.

"You look flawless," she said, "come on."

They looked at each other wordlessly for a moment, then Jacob nodded and Ella went ahead and opened the door to the living room.

A cozy warmth met them.

The Landaus sat at a table at the end of the room and looked at them expectantly.

Ella took Jakob by the hand and led him to her parents, who smiled warmly.

"Mother, Father," she said, "may I introduce you to Jakob Rosendahl?"

"Pleased to meet you," Jakob mumbled self-consciously, "I'm pleased to meet you."

He approached Ella's mother first and laboriously unwrapped the flowers he had brought with him from the paper. When he had handed them over, he shook hands with Ella's father.

"We're happy too," he grumbled and Ella's mother nodded, still smiling.

"It's unfriendly weather today," said Jakob, trying to say something.

"Unfriendly yes," replied Ella's father, "if it doesn't stop snowing soon, we'll drown in snow."

They all laughed at the last remark.

"But why don't you sit down?" Ella's mother stood up. "I'll get a vase for the pretty flowers, then we can have coffee."

She went out and Ella and Jakob sat down at the table.

"Mother baked a cake especially for you," said Ella, looking at Jakob from the side.

Jacob was embarrassed, but didn't say anything back.

"She's always baking cakes," growled old Landau.

"Dad!" Ella looked punitively at her father, who winked at Jakob with a grin.

Ella's mother came back with a tray and spread the coffee service on the table.

The coffee was steaming hot and good.

Jakob had to pass on the third piece of cake.

"Mrs. Landau, I've never eaten such a delicious cake, but I can't take any more."

Ella's mother was delighted with the compliment and beamed.

Satisfied, Ella thought: He's already got Mother on his side, the charmer.

When Ella's father began to ask Jakob about his business, plans and intentions for the future, the two women cleared the table and went into the kitchen.

Ella's mother said to her daughter when they were alone: "A really nice boy, your Jakob. Father likes him too. He's so reserved and polite and good-looking."

Ella laughed and hugged her mother.

"Well, mother, I hope I'm not getting any competition, am I?"

She was relieved and happy.

Ella's parents took over the preparations for the wedding.

Jakob and Ella didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but Ella's parents insisted.

They sat in the Landaus' living room and discussed the details.

"It is the most important festival of all in the lives of us Jews, because only through it do you become full members of God's people, never forget that.

In marriage we see the continuation of the people of Israel."

Ella's father looked first at Jacob and then at his daughter.

He pulled out a small, well-worn book.

"Everything you need to know is in here," he said solemnly and placed it on the table in front of Jacob and Ella.

"What kind of book is that?" Ella asked curiously.

"With this book," her father replied, placing a hand on the cover, "your great-grandfather prepared himself for holy matrimony, then your grandfather and then me."

He paused, then continued: "As I don't have a son, I'm passing it on to you." He stroked his daughter's hair tenderly. "In the hope that you will pass it on to your first-born child when the time comes."

"This is an important family tradition that needs to be upheld," remarked Ella's mother.

Jakob and Ella looked at each other meaningfully. They were powerless against these arguments.

The wedding took place in the synagogue of the Jewish community where Ella's parents had already married.

I have never seen anything more beautiful, Jacob thought when he saw his bride, and so did most of those present.

They stood under the wedding canopy, a canopy supported by four poles, which was intended to represent the couple's home.

After the blessing over the bridal booth and a cup of wine, Jacob drank first and passed the cup to Ella, who emptied it.

The marriage was then concluded by the groom's declaration.

Jacob said in a shaky voice: "See, you have been given to me by this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel." He put the ring on the second finger of Ella's left hand.

Ella's father stepped forward and read out the marriage contract.

In it, Jacob promised to honor his wife, to work for her, to provide for her and to provide her with everything she needed.

This was followed by the seven marriage blessings.

The ceremony ended with a glass being broken in memory of the destroyed temple.

Everyone present congratulated the bride and groom.

Jakob and Ella breathed a sigh of relief.

Only they both knew that Ella was already carrying a child under her heart.

Seven months later, Ella gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

They gave him the name David.

Chapter 2

The young woman kept looking around in all directions.

She stood there like a hunted animal. Crouched and listening into the dark night to see if a strange sound reached her ears.

But she only heard her breathing, which was intermittent, and white clouds formed in front of her mouth whenever she exhaled.

It was raining harder now and she clutched the bundle of blankets she was holding even tighter.

She caught her breath for a moment, then ran on as fast as the wet, slippery cobblestones would allow.

Her footsteps echoed loudly off the walls of the house and the young woman's heart clenched for fear of being discovered.

When she reached the end of the village, her eyes went black with exhaustion and her senses faded.

Nevertheless, she did not stop. She turned left onto a country lane, which climbed gently at first, but then became steeper and steeper, making it impossible for her to walk in the end.

She crawled the last stretch, half bent over, supporting herself in the mud with her free hand, always careful not to slip or lose the bundle of blankets, until she reached the old walls of the monastery.

She leaned back against the large gate and slid down, at the end of her tether.

The rain had softened the ground all around, but here, close to the wall, it was dry.

She sat motionless for a while, her eyes closed. She was unable to move or feel anything other than tiredness and exhaustion.

When her heart stopped beating so wildly and her breathing was normal, she opened her eyes again.

Her clothes were sticking to her body from the rain and her sweat.

She turned her head and stared up at the monastery walls.

How often had she climbed the long, arduous path to the monastery as a child to beg the monks for an apple or a glass of fizzy drink?

She was never turned away, on the contrary.

The monks were happy and always friendly.

Even as a child, she felt safe and secure up here as soon as she came anywhere near the monastery.

This memory had led her to make her decision.

But now, on this rainy night, the monastery seemed cold and threatening, even forbidding.

Suddenly the young woman froze. She stood up and carefully placed the bundle of blankets where she had just been sitting.

She flipped back the corners of the blanket and the tiny face of a sleeping child became visible.

The young woman cried silently, although she would have liked to scream out loud.

She bit her lips bloody to stop herself from making a sound.

Tears of despair, shame and sadness ran down her cheeks. Tears of rage, as she had no other way out.

She knelt down and kissed the sleeping child's little face over and over again.

"Forgive me, my son," she sobbed, "God won't forgive me, I know that, and I won't forgive myself either."

She carefully folded the corners of the blanket back together, then turned and ran down the slope as fast as she could.

To the east, a gray band of clouds heralded the new day.

Six days later, fishermen found the body of a young woman in the reeds on the shore of nearby Lake Constance.

The post-mortem, which was always ordered in such cases, revealed without any doubt: death by drowning. Suicide.

But something else was also discovered.

Shortly before her death, according to the final report, the woman had given birth.

But the child was not found, despite numerous searches.

This fact allowed only one conclusion to be drawn. The young woman must have taken her baby with her to her death.

The case was filed.

The Heilig Kreuz monastery, high above Lake Constance near the small town of Weingarten, was built by Benedictine monks in 1575.

The construction time back then was sixteen years.

Over the centuries, additions and changes have been made.

But the essentials, such as the main building with the chapel, the cloister with the cells for the monks and the monastery wall surrounding everything, were from that time.

The Benedictine order is the oldest monastic order of its kind still in existence.

Founded by Benedict of Nursia on Monte Casino near Naples in 529.

The Benedictine monks have been cultivating the liturgy ever since.

This term comes from the Greek and means something like "service to the people" or "for the people".

The Benedictine monks around the world still live and work according to this basic principle, which Benedict of Nursia set out as the essential task for the order over 1400 years ago.

The monks of the Heilig Kreuz monastery on Lake Constance are no exception.

Whoever knocks here will be opened, whether beggar or nobleman.

He is fed and given a place to stay for the night.

Sometimes also protection and refuge.

One of the main tasks of the monks of the Holy Cross Monastery, in addition to pastoral care, was to care for the sick among the poorest of the poor.

One of the monks who traveled daily to alleviate the suffering of the poorest was Father Thomas.

It wasn't raining at the moment, but the sky was full of black clouds.

Thomas crossed the courtyard and walked towards the large gate.

His bag, which tugged at his shoulder, was heavy because it contained everything he needed for his visits to the sick.

He would be busy all day, so he hurried.

Thomas thought about the arduous descent and wished he was already down in the village.

His back hurt, the rainy weather, he thought.

Thomas had got up earlier than usual this morning because he couldn't sleep and had read the Bible until breakfast.

After morning worship, all the monks gathered in the large dining room for breakfast together, which Thomas particularly loved, as it was the only opportunity to spend some time with all the monks and have a chat or two.

At the moment there were twenty-four Benedictines in the monastery.

Some brothers were just passing through, as they called it among themselves.

They went about proclaiming the word of the Lord and did not stay in one place for long.

The other monks listened to her reports and stories with particular interest.

"Thomas," Father Markus came across the courtyard and startled him out of his thoughts.

He looked towards the monk, who was coming towards him with shuffling steps.

"I'd like to ask you to give me my medicine, I have nothing left and you've been out all day."

The old monk now stood directly in front of Thomas and held out his knotty hand with an empty medicine bottle.

"That bad again?" asked Thomas, taking the bottle.

Markus grimaced. "No one can imagine that. Our Lord Jesus Christ must have suffered similarly when he was nailed to the cross." He crossed himself.

Thomas had to suppress a grin. He liked the old monk because it amused him when Markus spoke in such exaggerated comparisons, and he often did.

Thomas reached into his shoulder bag and handed the other the medicine he wanted.

"A thousand thanks, brother." The old monk smiled and opened his toothless mouth.

He looked up and looked at the dark clouds.

"It's going to rain even more," he noted.

Thomas also looked up at the cloudy sky. "Looks like it, yes," he replied.

"God bless." Markus patted Thomas on the shoulder. "And thank you for your kindness." He folded his hands and limped back the way he had come.

"Poor guy," Thomas murmured, looking after him with pity.

He had known Markus for twenty-five years now, just as long as he, Thomas, had been here in the monastery. He had never seen him other than limping and with bent, knotty hands.

Markus was plagued by rheumatism and gout.

A long time ago, Thomas gave him a strong pain-relieving ointment, which helped Markus to at least tolerate his suffering to some extent. Since then, Markus has needed this medicine regularly.

Thomas turned around and continued on his way.

A few monks came towards him and greeted him in a friendly manner, Thomas nodded to them.

A few more steps and he had reached the gate.

He pushed back the heavy beam that secured the gate and felt the sharp pain in his back again.

He paused for a moment, then opened one side of the portal and stepped out.

He had almost closed the gate again when he saw the bundle of blankets.

He knelt down and pulled apart the blanket he discovered there.

"A child," it escaped him, "good heavens, a child." Thomas looked at the little face and swallowed. The child had opened its eyes and was looking at Thomas.

It did not cry.

A thousand thoughts flashed through Thomas's mind. What now? First of all, get out of this awful weather, he thought.

He picked up the bundle and went back into the monastery courtyard.

The abbot would know what to do. The abbot always knew what to do.

He was sitting behind his desk when Thomas entered the room. He smiled kindly and waved, gesturing for him to come closer.

"What have we here, brother?" The abbot was still smiling and came around his desk.

Only when he was standing did you see his imposing figure in all its glory.

Everything about him was actually one or two sizes too big.

His huge skull with gray hair bobbed back and forth as he walked, just as if his head were attached to his broad shoulders with a spring.

The observer suspected that this head was too heavy and therefore wobbled.

An icy gray beard, matching his hair, covered his broad face and only when he spoke could you guess where his mouth was.

His brown eyes lay beneath the bushiest brows Thomas had ever seen.

Those eyes radiated kindness and confidence.

But the most striking thing about this face, and at the same time the center, was the nose.

Oversized, constantly red and bulbous.

Thomas had involuntarily thought of a large, fully ripe strawberry when he looked at this face for the first time many years ago.

"I was just going down to the village, venerable father," he said, "when this child lay in front of our gate. It must have been left there during the night."

The abbot came even closer and looked curiously at the boulder.

The clumsy way Thomas held the baby, as if he could break it, amused the abbot.

He sniffed with his bulbous nose and looked at Thomas questioningly.

"It's probably gone down your pants ..." Thomas didn't finish the sentence.

"Hmm." The abbot frowned, crossed his arms behind his back and began to wander back and forth around the room.

He was thinking hard and Thomas knew that he couldn't be disturbed now, so he kept quiet. He waited.

Without interrupting his walk, the abbot said, "Take the child to the kitchen and have Brother Stephan give you something to eat and drink. It needs to be looked after."

The abbot stopped in front of Thomas, then continued: "It also needs to be cleaned." He wrinkled his big nose.

"Take care of the boulder. Until we have found a solution, I will relieve you of your other duties."

Thomas looked at the abbot in astonishment and for a moment he wanted to protest, but that would have been highly disobedient and was not appropriate.

"Yes, Reverend Father," he simply replied and left the room.

The abbot waited until Thomas had left the room, then sat back down at his desk, folded his huge hands and thought the situation through.

The simplest solution, to send the child to an orphanage, was very much opposed by the abbot.

He had seen too many of these houses, looked into too many sad children's eyes, into too many hopeless faces that had to grow up without love, warmth and affection. Children without a future.

Isn't that exactly what the desperate mother wanted to prevent?

Isn't that why she had taken on the arduous climb to the monastery, so that she could take care of it here?

So that it would be brought up here in the Christian faith?

Of course, the abbot was a realist. The child couldn't stay here in the monastery forever.

But first of all. Until a suitable foster family had been found. What was wrong with that?

"The baby stays here for the time being, because it is God's creature and has a right to love and care."

The abbot spoke the last thought aloud, as if to emphasize his decision.

He took a sheet of paper from the desk drawer and began to write a letter.

After all, the authorities had to be informed.

However, the abbot already knew the official answer and smiled to himself.

The responsible authorities would be happy to have one less foundling to worry about.

He signed the letter, stood up, walked to the middle of the room and lay down on his stomach on the stone floor.

He stretched his arms and legs wide and said a prayer.

He prayed for the unfortunate mother and her child and when he had finished, he asked God for forgiveness if it had been the wrong decision he had made.

Thomas, meanwhile, walked down the corridor of the main building. He was nervous and irritated.

The venerable father handed the child over to his care. Why?

Just because he had found it? That alone could not be the reason.

The baby in his arms was crying.

Thomas tried to calm him down by talking to him in a low voice.

He actually stopped crying after a while.

When he reached the kitchen, Father Stephan was already waiting for him impatiently.

"There you are at last," he greeted him and worked on the large stove in the middle of the kitchen.

"You took your time."

As he looked into Thomas' astonished face, he added in explanation: "One of the brothers saw you with the little worm."

Thomas understood and sat down on a chair near the stove.

A pleasant warmth flowed through him and he felt the stinging in his back again. His arms also ached as he tensed up more and more trying to keep the child as still as possible, as he had started to rock and cradle it gently to stop it crying.

"Take it off me, please, I already have no feeling in my arms."

He handed it to Stephan, who took it carefully.

The baby immediately started crying again. Stephan made a horrified face.

"Did I hurt him?" he asked.

Thomas took the child from him again.

"I can only handle saucepans," he replied, holding the baby in front of his chest.

His mouth was now very close to the child's head and Thomas gently and very quietly whispered words into his ear and in no time at all he had calmed him down.

Father Stephan was impressed. "All respect," he said.

"We need warm milk and warm water."

The child was still lying on Thomas' chest with its head slightly tilted and seemed to be listening to what he was saying.

A touching picture.

"I've prepared everything." Father Stephan came to the stove.

There was actually a pot of water on the fire and a tin plate of milk next to it.

"Then let's not waste any time." Thomas stood up.

They placed the baby on the table and gently undressed him.

They used the blanket in which the child was wrapped as a base.

When they had stripped it naked, they saw that it was a boy.

Stephan came with the large pot of water and placed it on the table next to the baby.

Thomas reached his hand into the pot and almost scalded his fingers.

"Holy Mother of God," he said. "Do you want to kill him?"

"Hot water," Stephan shrugged and acted offended.

"Bathwater, Jesus in heaven, bathwater, I can't believe it." Thomas shook his head.

"We're supposed to bathe a child, not boil eggs."

Stephan poured in a whole bucket of cold water. It was now at the right temperature.

They gently placed the baby in the well-tempered water.

Stephan held it and Thomas washed it off with a soft sponge.

Then they dressed him again and gave him milk with a small spoon because they didn't have a bottle.

They made a raffia basket with blankets and put the boy in it.

Moments later, he fell asleep exhausted.

The two monks looked down contentedly at the sleeping infant and Stephan remarked: "Like Moses a long time ago."

Thomas just nodded with tears in his eyes.

He wouldn't have been able to utter a single word out of emotion at the sight of the peacefully sleeping child anyway.

Father Thomas moved into a larger cell because the abbot gave the foundling into his care and asked him to look after him.

Thomas immediately set about reading all the relevant material to provide for the boy.

The monastery had a library with more than two hundred thousand books, arranged and cataloged by subject.

Nevertheless, Thomas had to search for many hours to find the right books for his needs.

Almost everything Thomas needed for the boy was made in the monastery according to his specifications.

The other monks supported him to the best of their ability, which made him very happy.

What could not be produced in the monastery, Thomas procured in the village.

His new cell also became increasingly cramped and eventually he had to move again with his protégé.

Thomas was sitting at the table, a book open in front of him, but he wasn't reading.

He was lost in thought.

Since he had found the child, he had been tormented by memories that he thought he had long since overcome.

As a young man, immediately after completing his theological studies, he did not take up his intended position as a pastor, but asked his bishop to release him from his duties.

He explained his incomprehensible behavior by saying that he wanted to find himself first.

He did not yet feel strong, but above all not yet mature enough to take on the great responsibility of becoming a priest.

All the bishop's attempts to change Thomas' mind failed because he did not know why this young man was acting like this, nor what was troubling him.

But Thomas did not reveal himself to him.

What should he do? With a heavy heart, he complied with Thomas' request.

Thomas actually had a conflict of conscience with himself.

On the one hand, he had an unshakeable faith and his love for his Lord Jesus Christ was boundless.

On the other hand, there were so many inconsistencies in theological doctrine that Thomas, a modern thinker, often had doubts.

Not to mention the old-fashioned rigidity of the Catholic Church and its strict guidelines.

The fact that as a Catholic priest he would never have a family of his own, never a wife, never children, ate him up inside.

Over the next three years, Thomas wandered across Europe, restlessly driven from one place to another in search of answers to his questions and to clarify his feelings.

He owned only what he had on his body, lived on what he was given and slept in the open air.

He didn't find the answers he was looking for, but he did find himself.

At the end of the third year, he stayed at the Benedictine monastery of the Holy Cross, here on Lake Constance.

He realized that he had to make a decision.

But it took almost another year before Thomas thought he was sure of his cause.

He joined the Benedictine order.

Two years later, he was ordained a priest here.

Thomas heard a sigh from the bed and got up.

Only the child's head peeked out of the blankets.

Eyes tightly closed, mouth slightly open, nostrils quivering, it lay there, fast asleep. Thomas gently stroked the blond curls at the back of the boy's head.

He walked away from the crib, not without smoothing the blanket once more, then lay down on his stomach on the floor in the middle of the room and said his evening prayer.

When he had finished, he added: "O Lord, I ask you to give me the strength and patience to bring up the child in your name and in your faith, so that I may prove myself worthy and not betray the trust of the venerable father."

Thomas got up, lay down on his cot and closed his eyes.

The child was in the monastery for a month and was to receive his first holy sacrament on the next day, November 10, 1897: baptism. They would give him the name Martin.

Chapter 3

Berlin at the turn of the century was the cultural, social and political center of Europe and the capital of the German Empire.

A metropolis whose heartbeat pulsed faster than anywhere else.

A cosmopolitan, modern city with charm and flair.

Jacob loved this city and this city seemed to love him. What he started succeeded.

His business was excellent and he expanded.

With diligence, flair and business vision, he turned the former slaughterhouse into the meat factory he had planned.

Rosendahl meat and sausage specialties were known, appreciated and loved far beyond the borders of Berlin.

Twenty butchers, ten assistants and five office staff now worked at the Jakob Rosendahl meat factory.

Jakob bought a house - villa would be a more accurate term for this property - with a beautiful garden in Berlin Grunewald, a preferred residential area for wealthy business people. A high hedge surrounded the property and house, which was completely renovated and redesigned by a well-known architect. An oasis of peace and tranquillity.

Almost without exception, well-off Jews lived in this area. Here they were among themselves. Ella furnished her new home tastefully and Jacob let her, because he knew that Ella had style and a sense of beauty in such things.

"We have to expand the business," Jakob said to Ella one evening.

"There is no longer enough space."

Ella had put little David to bed and sat down on the sofa with Jakob.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"There's a vacant site behind the abattoir," said Jakob. "I want to build a new hall there. A modern production facility."

"Who owns the property?" Ella had taken her sewing kit and started her needlework.

"I don't know, I asked Hollmann to find out. I just wanted to talk to you about it first."

Jacob yawned. Ella looked at her husband's tired, relaxed face.

"You're working too hard," she said, "I'm sure you'll work even harder when the crops are grown.

You've achieved a lot so far, more than most people we know.

Jakob," she put her sewing kit aside. "What else do you want? Life isn't just about working. You hardly ever see your son. When he wakes up in the morning, you're already gone.

When you come home in the evening, he's already asleep. David will soon be four years old. He's slowly beginning to realize that his father never has time for him."

Ella swallowed, then continued: "I love you, Jacob, because you are hard-working and ambitious.

You provide for us well. We have enough to live on. The new house. I'm certainly not complaining, it's just," she swallowed again, "we forget to live."

They looked at each other in silence for a while, then Jacob took his wife's face in both hands and covered it with small kisses.

Then he said: "You're probably right, forget the new hall, for now anyway."

He stood up and took his wife by the hand. Wordlessly, she followed him into the bedroom.

Here they kissed devotedly and undressed each other.

They made love tenderly and Ella couldn't remember the last time it had been so good for her.

As they lay next to each other in the darkness, Jacob asked: "Am I really such a bad husband and father?"

Ella traced the contours of Jacob's face with her index finger.

"You stupid, stupid Jacob," she said.

"How I love you."

When Jakob entered the office two days later, Hollmann stood up and followed his boss into his office without being asked.

Jakob grinned. Judging by Hollmann's demeanor, he had good news.

The accountant could hide nothing from him. Jacob knew him well.

When Hollmann had closed the door behind him, Jakob asked, taking a seat behind his desk: "How did it go?"

The accountant opened a folder of business papers and also took a seat opposite.

"We've got it," he then said triumphantly.

Jacob clapped his hands: "Excellent and at what price?"

Hollmann grinned broadly, but said nothing. You could tell he wanted to savor the situation.

"Don't make it so exciting." Jakob was excited.

"Far below the price we calculated."

Hollmann turned the open folder so that Jakob could read the top sheet with the numbers and then lay back in his chair, still grinning with pleasure, and crossed his legs.

Jacob studied the series of numbers he had written down and whistled appreciatively through his teeth.

"That's really pleasing," he commented, and to emphasize his words, he repeated, "really very pleasing."

He looked jovially at Hollmann, then asked: "And the contracts?"

"On pages two and three, including the notarized entry in the land register and the notarial formalities."

The accountant stood up and came around the desk to show Jacob, but he was already leafing through the pages.

"Very nice, very nice," Jakob murmured and skimmed over the certificates.

"That would make everything perfect."

"One question, boss," Hollmann went back to his chair and sat down. "When do we start building?"

Jacob, who had been expecting this question, sighed: "Not for now."

The accountant's jaw almost dropped.

"What? But ... why?" He stuttered.

Jakob raised his hand in reassurance: "There's no question for either of us that we need to expand further. If only for reasons of competitiveness."

Jakob paused and chose his words carefully before continuing: "I didn't buy the land to leave it lying fallow. We will build the hall as planned."

He paused again, then said: "Just not at the moment. Postponed is not canceled."

He looked at Hollmann's disappointed face and added: "That doesn't change the fact that you've done an excellent job, my dear."

The accountant stood up. "Good," he then said, "you're the boss. You must know what you're doing."

"You can count on it," Jakob replied with a smile, "I know that."

He turned to his papers.

The conversation was over.

After Hollmann had left the room, Jakob got up and opened the window.

Outside, people hurried past on their way to work.

It was still early, but already very warm. An unbearable, sultry heat had been hanging over the city for weeks. Like a haze. It would be hot again today.

Jakob sat down at his desk and began to brood.

On the one hand, he could well understand Hollmann's disappointment. Three weeks ago, he had asked his accountant to visit him and told him his plans.

The enthusiasm with which Hollmann received Jakob's request to expand the company confirmed Jakob in his plans.

So he instructed the accountant to buy the land behind the slaughterhouse.

Hollmann was no fool and immediately set to work, knowing full well that further expansion would inevitably lead to an increase in his area of expertise.

Jakob had already appointed Hollmann as his deputy years ago.

He discussed all business and internal company matters with him. He trusted him.

The fact that the expansion of the hall has now been put on hold for the time being must be frustrating for Hollmann.

On the other hand, he couldn't cite Ella's objections as the reason for his decision.

He would interpret it as weakness.

Jakob had thought about it a lot in the last few days and had to admit to himself that Ella was right.

In fact, he worked too much and spent too little time with his family.

He thought of his son David. A splendid fellow.

David was now almost four years old. How time passed.