Tosia: Chapter 3

Portrait of a Jewish woman as written by her daughter Felicia Graber.
Updated September 6, 2024

One day, in early 1939, Ignaz, my brother, came home very excited. Mrs. Lederberger had visited him. She was the wife of a wealthy businessman. They had a son Shlomo who was Ignaz’s contemporary and friend. Mrs. Lederberger was very anxious to find a suitable wife for her son. She had lost one son to illness a few years earlier. Her daughter who lived in the nearby town of Nowy Sącz had been married for a few years but had no children. The Lederbergers were yearning to have a grandchild. Their son, Shlomo, was 30 years old, ran the jewelry store with his father and was an accomplished goldsmith.

 He loved his bachelor life, but his mother felt he needed a wife to settle him down, to give him a home and children and to restrain his playboy way of life. Shlomo had steadfastly refused any proposed marriage plans. His parents had been suggesting every marriageable girl in town, preferably one with a nice dowry. He had refused to even consider any. Finally, he had agreed. But he would only consider Tosia Fallmann.

I was stunned and dumbfounded, Shlomo Lederberger wanted to marry me? That fun-loving, sports enthusiast who was always the center of every group, lived in the fast lane and loved fast women? He wanted me, the wallflower, the girl who did not know how to swim or even ride a bike, who had always even tried to skip gym classes in school? The girl whose dream was to work on a kibbutz in Palestine and milk cows and farm the land? The one whose wardrobe consisted of a few plain dresses and never used any makeup, not even a trace of a lipstick? How could that be? How could it possibly work? I had never even considered marrying and staying in Poland. I was still dreaming of a pioneer life in Palestine.

My initial response was, “No way!” There could not be two people of such different values, different goals in life, different expectations and social standing. Sarah Lederberger, however, was not easily put off. Although she and her husband had hoped for a substantial dowry to expand their business, she put aside the monetary issue and insisted that I think it over seriously.

Ignaz was very adamant: “He is a great shidduch (match), a man of wealth. You will be well taken care of. You will not have to work. Forget Palestine. Be realistic. He and you have more in common than you think: You are both Zionists, traditional Jews, although both of you have parted from the religious practices of our parents. You’ll see, once he is married, has his own home and responsibilities, becomes a father, he will settle down. He needs a woman like you to give him roots and stability.”

Finally, and somewhat reluctantly, I agreed. I will marry Shlomo. His parents were overjoyed. His father doted on me like his own daughter. He called me “Taubche,” little dove. He felt sorry for me because I was an orphan, had no mother. We had a very short engagement, and our wedding took place on March 7, 1939, one day after my twenty-eighth birthday.

During the wedding, the badchem’s (entertainer) job was to keep the bride happy before and after the wedding ceremony. He tried to remind me that my mother would walk with me under the chuppah (bridal canopy). I started crying, and my future father-in-law dismissed the badchem. Even though it was the custom to remind the bride or groom who had lost parents to remember them, he felt that it was too much for me. He chose compassion over tradition. I was always grateful to him for that.

We honeymooned in Krynica, one of the nicer Polish resorts. When we came back, we moved into a beautiful apartment on Krakowska 27, the city’s main street. It was spacious, beautifully furnished with new furniture given to us by my in-laws. I had everything I needed and more.

As Ignaz was still a bachelor, it was decided that he would move in with us so that I could continue to take care of his daily needs. This arrangement did not work out very well. The two men butted heads, each feeling that I was not giving him enough attention. So a little while later Ignaz moved out and got his own apartment.

Unlike the predictions of my friends and family, Shlomo did not settle down after the wedding. He stopped dating, of course. Shlomo no longer took those long hikes or went skiing with his friends. However, he never gave up his nightly bridge games. As I never liked cards or knew how to play bridge, this left me out of the loop. I would spend many evenings home alone, sometimes wondering whether I had done the right thing by getting married. Again, my in-laws and Ignaz would comfort me, saying, “Wait until you have a baby; a baby will change everything. When he becomes a father, he will certainly settle down.”

I quickly became pregnant, but fate would not let me enjoy my new condition. On September 1, 1939, Hitler invaded Poland and on the eighth, they entered Tarnów. Many of our friends, including my brother, planned to go East, to Russia. They felt that there they would be safe. As I was five months pregnant, I could not possibly make that dangerous and difficult trip on foot, which was the only means of transportation available to us because of the war. Besides, was this the right time to bring a Jewish child into the world?

Shlomo and I seriously talked about abortion. I consulted a doctor, a friend, who said he would do this for me even though it was illegal. I made an appointment. In the meantime, my father-in-law, Leib Israel Lederberger, found out about our plans. He came to us, begging me to reconsider. “Please Taubche, how can you kill your baby? It is against the Torah, against God’s law. Both your mother and I have been so happy at the thought of a grandchild. We have been thanking God daily that our prayers are being answered.  Please don’t do this. Allow the child to be born. God will help.”

The doctor also became worried: “The Germans are bombing the town, especially the railroad tracks. You live so close to the station that any time a bomb hits there, your lights go out. You know that I cannot perform an abortion in the hospital, and it is just too dangerous to do it here in your apartment. I just cannot take the risk of something happening that would endanger your life.”

German decrees made our lives harder and harder. In November 1939, our synagogues were burned down. In December, we were ordered to wear a Jewish star when in public and to surrender our personal jewelry. Shlomo refused to do that. He hid some of it and claimed some to be store merchandise.

There was one happy occasion. On Tuesday, March 26, 1940, my daughter was born. I gave birth at home with the assistance of our friend, the doctor. There was not even talk of going to a hospital. We gave our daughter the Yiddish name of “Feige” after my dear mother. We were going to register her as Fedula in City Hall but were advised not to. “That is a Jewish name, not a Polish one; name her Fella instead.” And it so was, we registered her as “Fella Lederberger.”

My in-laws were elated. My father-in-law came every day to see the baby, to play with her, to hold her. This became his routine for the next two years when it was still safe for him to be out in the street. His biggest joy was to take Feige for a walk in the park, to have her all to himself. He could not get enough of her.

To be continued.

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Read more by Felicia Graber.