DR. Werner Prenzlau was a respected physician and mohel in Denver. Quite formal. Quite charming. Quite distinguished. He died in 2001.
His wife Lucie, nee Spitzer, is a former a nurse. Quite charming. Quite distinguished. Quite the matriarch, with generations of her descendants healing the sick or studying Torah around the world.
That is now.
This was then:
He, crossing three continents. She, climbing a rope ladder to an American ship in the waters off Port Said, Egypt.
In the middle of World War II.
May I ask you a question, but I do not want an answer until after Sukkos: Would you wait for me?
Herr Prenzlau, Im telling you now: Yes.
That was at 2 a.m.
The adventure in the Mediterranean was six years later.
The marriage, seven years later.
On the third continent.
FLASH back.
To 1937.
Young Prenzlaus family has escaped Germany and Belgium for Palestine.
But Herr Prenzlau himself has made it to Switzerland, for medical school.
It is Tisha Bav in the Orthodox minyan in Basel, in Rabbi Schochets shul, to be exact.
There is one girl in the ladies gallery.
I found her with the glimpse of my eye. White blouse, pigtails hanging down. I was quite impressed. There was formality; this was Switzerland. I found out where she stayed. I dared call the Guggenheims: Would I be permitted to go for a walk with Miss Lucie Spitzer on Shabbos afternoon before mincha?
One walk.
Another walk.
I received a phone call from Mr. Guggenheim: Herr Prenzlau. What are your intentions regarding Miss Lucie Spitzer?
Mr. Guggenheim. Im a medical student. I cant think of anything more definite than that.
Herr Prenzlau. That is not being done in our circles.
So I realized it was over.
Rabbi Schochet advised: Marry the girl. Take a year off from medical school, and go learn in the Mir Yeshiva in Poland.
Herr Prenzlaus father said: One does not marry without having a livelihood.
So I said to myself, I must stay away. The parents forbid it. The Guggenheims forbid it. The young lady was taken aback by that; there was no other choice.
Fast forward six months. Herr Prenzlaus sister is married in Jerusalem.
Son to father: I met a girl, I like her, I want to marry her. Father to son: Get out of here! What have you done?Have you accomplished anything in life?
Herr Prenzlau traveled back to Switzerland. On the ship, he asked Hashem for guidance. I paced the deck.
On Rosh Hashanah, 1938, Herr Prenzlau and Miss Spitzer were invited to dinner by the Rokovskys. They were quietly pushing it.
By this time the Guggenheims couldnt prevent it.
We left the Rokovskys at 10 p.m. I took her for a walk. We kept talking and suddenly it was 2 a.m. I said: May I ask you a question, but I dont want an answer until after Sukkos: Would you wait for me?
Herr Prenzlau, Im telling you now: Yes.
HITLER took over Austria and Hungary, where Miss Lucie Spitzer was from.
Lucie wrote to her parents and asked to get engaged. Her mother said: I must meet him first.
It didnt take long for Mrs. Spitzer to arrive in Basel. One Sunday Herr Prenzlau was asked to appear at the Guggenheims to be presented, to be looked over. Mrs. Spitzer was tall, a very dignified lady, a mother of seven children, from a very distinguished family background. As Herr Prenzlau remembered it, Here comes a little yekkishe German student asking for the hand of her daughter.
Unheard of!
They were very learned. We were not.
I called at the Guggenheim mansion to meet Mrs. Spitzer.
I shook in my pants.
I wasnt quite sure of myself the first time this ever happened to me.
There she was standing in the living room. I introduced myself. We had a pleasant talk. And I was excused.
I understand afterwards that the kids were standing at the door eavesdropping.
Mrs. Spitzer left a few days later and the word got around that she approved of the young man, even though he was yekkish and even though he did not come from a distinguished background.
She told her daughter: If you contemplate marrying a medical man, why dont you become a nurse?
Herr Prenzlau graduated in January, 1939.
He said goodbye to Miss Spitzer, who went back to Hungary to take up nursing at the Jewish hospital in Budapest. He went back to his parents in Palestine and applied for a license to practice medicine.
Very little was spoken about a young lady named Miss Lucie Spitzer. But every so often a letter arrived from Hungary and Herr Prenzlaus mother kind of handed it to him under the table. Father, head of the family, observed: He still has no livelihood. The ruling British authorities said it would take two to three years to open a practice. Father said: Do not sit around. Spend six months in a post-graduate course in America.
He gave me a suitcase, a few hundred dollars, and said goodbye.
IN 1939, even Americas young medical graduates couldnt find a spot, so what does a young man like Herr Prenzlau do? He goes to shul.
You must meet Elaine, president of the Chicago Consumptive Relief Society. They have a san [sanitarium] in the Midwest. They could use a young man like you.
Five months later, in September, 1939, Hitler marched into Poland. Herr Prenzlau was now an enemy alien on American soil. Stuck. No return to Palestine. No return to Europe. But . . . still communication from America to Hungary.
In 1941, Lucie graduated from nursing school, then escaped on the last illegal transport of youth aliyah, via Turkey and Syria, to Palestine. Now, she is in Palestine, while Herr Prenzlau is in America.
Miss Spitzer has to accomplish the difficult task of going to his parents and saying, I am the girl who is planning to marry your son.
When Herr Prenzlaus father met this girl, he melted like butter. He became so enthusiastic and befriended her like nobody ever dreamed. Herr Prenzlaus parents didnt even allow Lucie to spend Shabbos with her sister in Tel Aviv. It had to be with them.
She went to work as a surgical scrub nurse under all of the the famous professors who had emigrated from Berlin and Vienna (and who, in Herr Prenzlaus words, considered themselves second to G-d).
She tried desperately to get transportation to the US.
It is the middle of World War II!
In America, Herr Prenzlau, enemy alien, is trying to get a visa for another enemy alien! Meanwhile, the Rokovskys had emigrated from Basel to New York.
Herr Prenzlau went there for yom tov. With the help of the Rokovskys’ lawyer, he got a visa for Lucie in November, 1943.
He wired her: VISA APPROVED.
IN Palestine, there was no boat for civilians. She wrote in broken English to the US War Shipping Administration, Head- quarters, Cairo, Egypt.
Dear Sir: I am in love with a man in America. We have been engaged six years. I have a visa, but no transportation. Can you provide transportation?
A certain naval officer, John Dart, wrote back:
Dear Miss Spitzer: I am in receipt of your letter and I am sorry to tell you that in view of circumstances, as you can well appreciate in these times of war, there is no possibility for a civilian to travel to the US.
However, in view of the circumstances stated in your letter, I would advise you to come to Cairo. We will do our utmost, without promising anything.
Lucie needed a transit visa to Egypt. Hard to obtain. She went to the Egyptian Consul. Cooks Travel Agency gave her a ticket to America so that she could justify her request for a visa.
She received a two-week transit visa to Egypt and went with suitcases packed. The judgment of her future-in-laws: How could a young girl travel by herself to an Arab country? She did.
She had friends from Hungary Mr. and Mrs. Varady in Cairo, who took her to the US War Shipping Administration, straight to Mr. Dart.
Are you the young lady in love with the man in America? Very well, tomorrow morning, theres a convoy from Alexandria to America. What is your quota number?
Quota number?
She had a visa, but no quota number.
Mr. Dart couldnt help her without a quota number. She broke into tears. She said she would wire Herr Prenzlau for a quota number, and asked, When will I have another opportunity?
That I cannot tell you.
HERR Prenzlau found somebody in Washington to get her a quota number and wired it to Cairo. On the evening of the 13th day her visa was good for 14 days the telephone rang: Mr. Dart wants to see you immediately.
She showed him her quota number.
Tomorrow, I have a berth on a convoy from Port Said. See the American Consul there, get examined and approved by the captain of the boat.
Lucie was driven in a limousine provided by the US Navy from Cairo to Port Said. An Arab showed her the way to the American Consul, then she went to the harbor.
She was taken by a motor boat out to sea where a large American convoy had arrived from India 90 boats. On one ship, a radio operator had failed to return to board in Bombay, India. That was brought to the attention of Mr. Dart.
In this spot he placed Lucie Spitzer.
She was driven out to the boat, had to climb up a rope ladder with her luggage and with 75 sailors hanging over the railing, whistling, a girl.
Her cabin was right next to the captains.
The Varadays passed the word back to Palestine. And she had given a sailor back in Port Said a note to wire to Herr Prenzlau: Leaving from somewhere on the coast of Africa on my trip to America. Hope to see you. Love, Lucie.
Shortly after Passover, 1944, Herr Prenzlau received a call in his sanitarium: A Mr. Smith would like to come to the sanitarium to see you.
Mr. Smith arrived, turned his lapel, and showed his identification: FBI.
Do you know a lady by the name of Lucie Spitzer?
Yes.
Do you know she is arriving in the US?
I hope so.
What are your intentions after Miss Spitzer arrives in the US?
I am going to marry her. Where is she, Mr. Smith? On Ellis Island?
Silence.
The telephone rang.
Dr. Prenzlau, would you accept a collect wire from Savannah, Georgia?
It read: Held on board ship by immigration officials. Please come and get me. Love, Lucie.
TRANSPORTATION for civilians in 1944 in America was at a premium. Again, Herr Prenzlau pulled some strings, this time spending two days and one night on a train to Savannah, thinking that by the time he arrived Lucie Spitzer would be standing on the platform.
It was empty.
At the office of immigration, Herr Prenzlau, who by now could speak an immigrants English, was asked whether he was that man looking for a girl on board a ship in port.
He was told to come back at noon.
He did.
It didnt take long until I heard steps running up the winding staircase. And behold, there appeared Lucie in a white blouse, grey skirt, followed by the ships captain. She looked different, beautiful; she beamed.
Sir, this is the girl you were waiting for, said the captain.
Captain, thank you.
Herr Prenzlau and Lucie Spitzer had found each other again after five years.
The train to New York gave them a chance to talk and talk and talk (sitting on a wooden bench). The joy of their reunion was indescribable.
Our gratitude to Hashem was you choose the word; I dont know.
In New York, the Rokovskys and the Guggenheims helped to prepare the wedding for which, according to tradition, the couple had to wait until Lag b’Omer.
On a hot, muggy, spring day in Manhattan, they were married on Lag b’Omer in 1944.
In Herr Prenzlaus hand was a present he bought at Feldheims, a siddur to be held under the chuppah, which he inscribed: Jacob waited seven years, and they were in his eyes like a few days, in his love for her.
WHAT is love? To wait five years and remain true. On the boat the sailors chided Miss Spitzer, What, five years? He didnt wait for you. Hes married already.
What is love? Said Dr. Prenzlau:
The willingness to sacrifice some of your own desires, and this is what a woman does when she crosses the ocean.
If someone had said to me, Dr. Prenzlau, why didnt you go over to Palestine to marry her? I would have said, What? I should go in submarine-infested waters?
The waters of the ocean were not too dangerous to prevent this young woman from reaching her beloved.
To put your life on the line for love this is the essence of the whole thing and only a woman will do that.
Song of Songs: Many waters cannot quench the flame of love.
This is based on a longer article, originally published in the IJN 25 years ago.
