I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree: A Memoir of a Schindler's List Survivor [NOOK Book]

Overview

"HANNELORE, YOUR PAPA IS DEAD."
In the spring of 1942 Hannelore received a letter from Mama at her school in Berlin, Germany--Papa had been arrested and taken to a concentration camp. Six weeks later he was sent home; ashes in an urn.
Soon another letter arrived. "The Gestapo has notified your brothers and me that we are to be deported to the East--whatever that means." Hannelore knew: labor camps, starvation, beatings...How could Mama and ...
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I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree: A Memoir of a Schindler's List Survivor

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Overview

"HANNELORE, YOUR PAPA IS DEAD."
In the spring of 1942 Hannelore received a letter from Mama at her school in Berlin, Germany--Papa had been arrested and taken to a concentration camp. Six weeks later he was sent home; ashes in an urn.
Soon another letter arrived. "The Gestapo has notified your brothers and me that we are to be deported to the East--whatever that means." Hannelore knew: labor camps, starvation, beatings...How could Mama and her two younger brothers bear that? She made a decision: She would go home and be deported with her family. Despite the horrors she faced in eight labor and concentration camps, Hannelore met and fell in love with a Polish POW named Dick Hillman.
Oskar Schindler was their one hope to survive. Schindler had a plan to take eleven hundred Jews to the safety of his new factory in Czechoslovakia. Incredibly both she and Dick were added to his list. But survival was not that simple. Weeks later Hannelore found herself, alone, outside the gates of Auschwitz, pushed toward the smoking crematoria.
I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree is the remarkable true story of one young woman's nightmarish coming-of-age. But it is also a story about the surprising possibilities for hope and love in one of history's most brutal times.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In a straightforward first-person narrative, Hillman, who spent the last few months of WWII in Oskar Schindler's camp, recounts her harrowing experiences. While Laura is attending boarding school outside of Berlin, she receives a letter from her mother saying that Nazi soldiers have murdered her father. Soon after, she makes the first of many courageous moves by deciding to rejoin her mother and two younger brothers, who have received orders to be deported from Weimar, where they have been since the family was evacuated from Aurich, Germany. The family spends a brief period in a ghetto in Lublin, Poland, before they are forced to move to a labor camp, where they are separated. Among the horrors she experiences, Laura is violated and witnesses the death of one of her brothers. But in the camps she also meets Dick Hillman, the man she will one day marry. Clearly, it is Laura's memories of a saner, more tranquil world and her determination to begin a new life with Dick after the war ("One day, when this is over, I'll plant you a lilac bush," he promises) that motivate her to endure near starvation, physical abuse and mental torment even after she is transported to Auschwitz. Another ray of hope appears when Laura receives the news that both her name and Dick's have been placed on Schindler's list. Riveting from first page to last, this is a remarkable tale of survival. Ages 13-up. (Aug.) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
VOYA
As anti-Semitism reaches a fevered pitch in Germany of 1940, Hannelore Wolff, a German-born Jew, is sent by her parents to the presumed safety of a Berlin boarding school. When the Nazis arrest and murder her father, Hannelore writes to the Gestapo and requests that she be deported with the rest of her family to a Jewish Ghetto. Hannelore survives the Ghetto's liquidation only to face new horrors, including a promised rescue by an SS soldier that leads to the rape, beating, and subsequent death of her younger brother. At a camp in Budzyn, in the midst of these horrors, Hannelore meets a Jewish prisoner of war, and they fall in love. The two are selected for Schindler's list, and after a nightmarish detour through several camps, they reach Schindler's camp where they are liberated by Russian forces. Hannelore Wolff's story is told in simple and straightforward language that creates a powerful Holocaust memoir. Tension builds as Hannelore and her fellow Jews are herded into the Lublin Ghetto and a seemingly endless string of concentration camps including Budzyn and Auschwitz-Birkenau, never knowing where they are being taken or what will happen to them. The brutality of Hannelore's experiences accentuates the impact of the love she discovers so much that the final page of the book-a picture of Dick and Hannelore Hillman and the captain that married them-packs an immense emotional punch. It is an excellent recommendation for readers searching for stories similar to The Diary of Anne Frank. VOYA CODES: 4Q 4P M J S (Better than most, marred only by occasional lapses; Broad general YA appeal; Middle School, defined as grades 6 to 8; Junior High, defined as grades 7 to 9; Senior High, definedas grades 10 to 12). 2005, Simon & Schuster, 256p.; Photos. Maps., Ages 11 to 18.
—Paula Brehm-Heeger
Children's Literature - Michelle H. Martin
In this autobiographical story, Hannelore Wolff—now Laura Hillman—relates the harrowing history of how her happy and carefree boarding school life turned into a nightmare as her family was separated and she descended from a comfortable house in the suburbs to a Jewish ghetto, and later to Auschwitz. This first-person account gives readers an intimate view of one young woman's struggle to survive rape, constant deception, illness, destitution, the death of close relatives, and daily uncertainty as friends and relatives who are in her life one day could be (and often were) dead or deported the next. Hillman provides a map in the front matter that details her journey from Aurich, Germany, to Berlin, where she attended school, to Weimar, Lublin, and elsewhere, until she finally landed in Schindler's camp in Brunlitz, where she was finally liberated. After liberation, Hillman married the man who helped her survive the last several camps. This readable and compelling but frighteningly real life story will keep readers riveted and might also encourage further research into this era of history. Reviewer: Michelle H. Martin, Ph.D.
School Library Journal
Gr 9 Up-In a clear, objective narrative, Hillman (called by her German name, Hannelore, in the book) describes her life from April 1942, as a student at a private school in Berlin, until the German surrender in April 1945 that freed her from a detention camp. After her father's death, she left school and was deported with her mother and brothers to Poland. During her three years of captivity she was moved to several labor and concentration camps. Her inclusion on Oskar Schindler's list led, finally, to her deportation to the Brannlitz camp in Czechoslovakia, where Jewish prisoners were treated humanely. At the fourth detention camp-Budzyn-Hannelore met the man who would become her husband. Her growing love and concern for him; her strong instinct for survival; and her endurance in the face of deprivation, inhumane conditions, and near-starvation provide considerable inspiration. Several photos of family members are included, along with a map that clearly indicates the locations of the camps in which Hannelore was held prisoner. While strong language, descriptions of brutality, a rape scene, and sexual innuendos suggest an audience of mature teens, this readable account of loss and survival during Hitler's Holocaust belongs in most collections.-Susan Scheps, Shaker Heights Public Library, OH Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
"A man by the name of Oskar Schindler is taking eleven hundred Jews out of here. If only we could go with them." Thus appears one glimmer of hope in Hannelore Wolff's harrowing odyssey through eight labor and concentration camps, facing a rape, the death of a brother, lice, scarlet fever and near starvation. Yet, her story becomes one of courage and love and luck in the harshest of times. She falls in love with fellow prisoner Dick Hillman, who's involved with the Czech partisans in the countryside, and they help each other keep hope alive. They indeed make Schindler's list and survive until liberation, soon thereafter marrying and making their way to New York City. Hillman, born Hannelore Wolff, has written a memoir of astonishing power, told in plain, clear prose, even more powerful for its matter-of-fact tone. The facts speak for themselves in this work that ought to make its way into many high school Holocaust programs. (map) (Nonfiction. 13+)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781439108024
  • Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
  • Publication date: 5/11/2010
  • Sold by: SIMON & SCHUSTER
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 288
  • Sales rank: 55,309
  • Age range: 14 years
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author

Laura Hillman (nee Hannelore Wolff) was born in 1923 in Aurich, Germany, near the North Sea. She was the third of five children born to Karoline and Martin Wolff. Five years after Hitler came to power, Laura was separated from her town and family. The events Laura witnessed in the camps kept her from writing for many years, but she finally set out to write her memoir, facing for the first time the circumstances that led to her survival.
Laura now lives in Los Alamitos, California, and devotes her time between talking in high schools and colleges about her experiences and being a docent at the Long Beach Museum of Art.
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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

Since Hitler had come to power, it was dangerous for Jews to walk on public streets. In spite of the risk we walked along a tree-lined avenue in a suburb of Berlin, the ever-present yellow Stars of David sewn to our jackets.

Every now and then we stopped to admire spring flowers sprouting just above the ground. I especially admired the crocuses and daffodils, which reminded me of home. Irma, the tallest of us, was more interested in finding something to eat than looking at flowers, while Kaethe, the plump redhead, wanted adventure more than anything else.

This particular day Kaethe had come up with an idea. She knew of an ice-cream parlor where one could get a cone without a ration card.

"We've been cooped up at school too long," she said. "All we do is study. It drives me crazy! We should have more fun."

I shook my head. "Fun, is that all you can think about? Terrible things are happening to Jews. We should not even be on this street. They might take us away on one of those transports."

Kaethe paid little attention to what I had to say. She wanted ice cream. But there was still the matter of the yellow stars sewn to our clothes. No shopkeeper would serve us if he knew who we were. To Kaethe it was a minor problem. She showed us that by draping a shawl over the star it would be completely hidden. Not wanting to spoil her fun, I gave in.

Something else was troubling me that day. It had been over a month since I'd last heard from Mama and Papa. It wasn't like them to not write. Dear God, what if they had been deported? But for now I put aside my fears. Kaethe was right: What could possibly happen if we covered up the star?

We had not gone very far when two boys in the uniform of the Hitler Youth came around a corner. They were younger than we were, barely teens themselves. We tried hurrying past them, but the taller boy held up a hand and said, "We have not seen you around here before. Where are you from?"

Before we could answer, he invited us to come to a parade that night. To assure us how special this parade was, he added, "The Fuehrer himself will be there!"

I felt my legs buckling under me from fear. "See what you got us into," I whispered angrily. "What should we do now?"

"Start giggling, Hannelore," Kaethe said. "Pretend you are a moron. You too, Irma."

The second boy looked closely at our shawls. "Why are you wearing those silly things?" he asked.

Before I could think of an answer, he pulled at my shawl, exposing the yellow star.

"Look at this!" he shouted. "Jews, hiding their identity. You filthy swine, we will teach you a lesson you'll never forget! Let's take them to Gestapo headquarters," he told his companion. "They will get what is coming to them, and we will get a medal for bringing them in."

His fist struck me in the face and bloodied my nose. I ignored the pain and bleeding. The word Gestapo frightened me more than my injuries.

The boy held on to my arm. He was hurting me, but I didn't let on how painful it was. When he loosened his grip just a little, I pulled free and shouted to my friends, "Run, run!"

I am not sure how we managed to get away from those boys. Perhaps they decided they had better things to do than torment girls, even Jewish girls. Somehow we reached the gate to our school and ran inside. To make us feel better, Kaethe brought out a bar of chocolate her parents had sent. Before long things returned to normal. We changed clothes and talked about the young teacher who had come to lecture us on the poems of Rainer Maria Rilke, my favorite poet.

Kaethe began teasing me. "He had eyes only for you, Hannelore. The way you recited 'The Lute,' that was special. He stared at your lips throughout the entire poem."

Irma laughed. My face turned beet red. Yes, I did have a crush on the teacher. If only Kaethe wouldn't tease me about it so much.

"I wish I had your dreamy eyes," Kaethe continued. "Maybe then boys would look at me, too."

It was time to go down to the study hall. The room was crowded, which usually didn't bother me, but today I found it hard to concentrate. The encounter with the two Hitler Youth had troubled me more than I would admit to anyone. I decided I would be better able to concentrate on my studies in our room and returned there. Before long I was completely absorbed in my work. Then a girl entered.

"Mail," she said in a singsong voice, placing letters on the table.

I looked through the stack, picking up the one letter addressed to me. Thank God, a letter from Mama! Hastily, I tore open the envelope and began to read:

Dearest Hannelore,

I am sorry I didn't write to you sooner, but I have been terribly worried. Six weeks ago your papa was taken to Buchenwald, a concentration camp near Weimar. He was on his way home from work, riding his bicycle, when the Gestapo stopped him and took him to their headquarters. The next day, when I inquired about where he was and asked if I could bring him a change of clothes, I was told he had already left the city and wouldn't need the clothes. You can imagine how concerned and upset I have been since. Day after day I prayed for his safe return.

Yesterday the postman brought a letter and a small box postmarked "Buchenwald." The letter said the following: "Martin Wolff died of unknown causes on March 14, 1942. Urn contains his ashes."

Hannelore, your papa is dead.

Nausea overwhelmed me, and I barely made it to the bathroom down the hall. "They murdered him!" I cried. "They murdered Papa! Why doesn't someone stop this killing? Dear God, doesn't anyone care?"

Sweat and tears streamed down my face. The room began to whirl. "They murdered Papa!" I shrieked again. "How can they get away with this?"

I sobbed and sobbed as I staggered back to my room and fell on the bed. The next thing I remember was someone leaning over me.

"You left the study hall," Kaethe said, "so I came up to — Hannelore, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Here." I handed her the letter. "I told you I was worried about my parents, but you made light of it and called me names!"

I began crying again. After finishing the letter, Kaethe also cried, and she held me for a few moments as the sobs threatened to shatter my body.

Finally I stopped sobbing. Kaethe remained sitting next to me. I began to talk, telling my friend why I believed Mama and Papa had not left Germany before it was too late. "Papa made himself believe he would be safe. After all, he served in the war in 1918, where he was wounded and decorated. On the night the Nazis burned our synagogue, Papa came home; all the other men were sent to Buchenwald."

I could never forget that horrible night.

It was November 9, 1938. The Germans called it Kristallnacht — the night of broken glass — because not only did they burn our synagogue, they broke the windows in Jewish-owned businesses. I told Kaethe what it was like when Nazis in brown shirts and black boots stormed through our front door, ordering us out.

"You can't imagine the kind of foul language they used," I said, "while we stood to watch the synagogue burn. It was awful." Afterward we could no longer go to school; it too had been burned. Besides, from then on Jewish children all over Germany were not allowed to attend public schools. Papa found a Jewish school in Cologne for Wolfgang and Selly, my younger brothers, eleven and twelve at the time. The boys had to live in an orphanage there in order to attend. Thank God he didn't have to worry about Rosel and Hildegard, my older sisters. Both had left home a few years ago to work as mother's helpers for a Jewish family in the city of Fulda. In 1939 Rosel was able to leave for England. Hildegard went to Palestine in 1940. A year later we received a letter from the Red Cross, telling us Hildegard was living in Jerusalem. Papa and Mama were happy about that, and wished all their children could leave, but that was not possible now. Soon after Papa had taken care of the boys, he showed me a picture of Dr. Frenkel's Boarding School for Jewish Girls in a suburb of Berlin. He assured me I would be happy there.

"It...was the last time I saw him," I told Kaethe. "I wrote every week telling him how much the garden here reminded me of our garden at home in Aurich. But I missed the small forest behind our house, the one with the brook running through it. It wasn't really a brook — just a trickle of water — but we called it that. Wolfgang, Selly, and I played our favorite games there, games about the war made up from the stories Papa told us. We would pretend to be shot, and then, when confronted by a Russian bayonet, we would recite the prayer: 'Hear, O Israel...'"

The news of Papa's murder spread quickly. Classmates came to my room with small gifts. Spread out on my quilt were sugar cubes wrapped in cellophane, small pieces of chocolate, cookies, and wildflowers from the garden — gifts only children know how to appreciate. Their kindness touched me. Surely the food had been saved over a long time, for delicacies like these were hard to come by. When the dinner bell rang, they all urged me to come with them, but I could not. The idea of not having a father anymore...It was all too raw. I wanted, needed to be alone. So many memories to confront...It would soon be Passover, but Papa would never preside over the feast again, never sing the songs of freedom or offer gratitude for our people having come out of Egypt. Papa, with his beautiful voice, always on key.

My eyes came to rest on the bookshelf. The first week at school, when I was terribly homesick, books had been my solace. I picked up a thin volume of Rilke's poems. Papa's artistic lettering was on the flyleaf.

October 16, 1940

To Hannelore,

on the occasion of your birthday.

With love from Mama and Papa

The slender volume fell open to page 77 and a favorite poem called "Before the Summer Rain." Reciting from memory, I heard myself chanting the lines:

"Suddenly in the park from all the green,

one knows not what,

but something real is gone..."

Drawn to the simplicity of the poem, I recited it with intense emotion. The words had a deeply personal meaning. Putting the book back in its place, I next lovingly ran my hands over the volumes of Heinrich Heine and was reminded of the essay contest that had earned me these works. When I was preparing to move to the boarding school, Mama suggested I take only a few of my books to Berlin. "But, Mama," I had argued, "I need them all."

I walked over to the window. The chirping birds nestling under the eaves of the roof usually delighted me. Today I did not even turn my head. The thought of Papa and how he might have died tormented me. If only I could be certain they had not tortured him...

I cried again as if my heart would break, soon knowing that, indeed, it had.

It always amazed me how three girls living in a tiny attic room stayed friends. But that's how it had been from the start. We teased one another a lot, but there was no viciousness to it. Sometimes I made fun of Kaethe's doll collection, to which she replied, "I am not letting go of my childhood yet. At sixteen I can still pretend."

Both Kaethe and Irma had come from small towns in Westphalia. Up until Hitler's rise to power they had happily coexisted with children in public school. Now the laws of the Third Reich didn't allow Jewish students to attend public schools. Since there was no Jewish school in their town, they, too, had come to Berlin to Dr. Frenkel's boarding school.

Irma was often homesick. She missed her young brothers. But still, she loved having fun, entertaining us with exotic dances. Kaethe was practical. "If it weren't for Hitler's laws," she proclaimed, "I would have been stuck in Lingen for the rest of my life."

Kaethe was like that. She could turn a bad situation into a good one.

When the girls returned from dinner, I had recovered some control of my emotions. I needed little encouragement from them to talk about my childhood, about the ivy-covered house we had lived in, in Aurich, Ostfriesland — the house with the secret passageways. A faint smile creased my face when I talked about the storks nesting on top of the chimney and how as children we believed the story told us, that storks bring babies. But the best part was the friends I played hopscotch with, and hide-and-seek, and all the other games of childhood. And how it all changed when Hitler came to power.

The speeches Hitler made were mostly about his hatred for Jews. We told Papa of our fears, how afraid we were. He assured us that all this would blow over very soon. Yet oftentimes I saw him and my uncles having serious discussions.

Soon Wolfgang's and Selly's best friends didn't just stop coming to play, they repeated the slogans Hitler used in his speeches and what their parents, who now wore the uniform of the Brownshirts, the Nazi militamen, told them to say. Carl, who had been Wolfgang's best friend, shouted from across the street, "My father belongs to the SA. He says he can do whatever he wants to Jews and no one will stop him."

"Can you imagine how we felt when he said that?" I asked them. "Wolfgang tried to reason with him, reminding him that they were best friends, but Carl didn't listen."

Kaethe had similar stories about her little village: "One day we were friends, the next day they boycotted us. Nazis in brown shirts and black boots paraded around Father's sawmill, making sure no one entered. A few months from the time they first appeared, we were ordered to leave the village and our sawmill was given to a Nazi."

I told Kaethe and Irma about the time when a German friend of Papa's came one evening, after dark. He warned Papa to leave Germany as soon as he could. That was all he would say. But Papa still didn't listen.

"I fought for Germany," he told the man. "I am a decorated war veteran. They wouldn't harm me."

And yet in 1940 Mama and Papa, along with all the Jews of Aurich and of the entire region called Ostfriesland, were deported. They were no longer allowed to live there. Having to leave most of their possessions behind, they opted to go to Weimar, where Mama's married sister lived and where Grandmother Henriette, her mother, wanted to go. Not that they could have chosen any other place — permission to live in other cities was limited.

Suddenly the undulating sound of sirens interrupted us. "Air raid! To the cellar!" the housemother cried as she ran from floor to floor.

"I am not going," I said. "Everyone will ask questions. I can't face that, not now. Go without me."

But Kaethe and Irma would not hear of leaving me. We crawled under the beds as a fireball exploded in the sky.

"It might have been wiser for you to go to the cellar," I whispered.

"And leave you up here alone?" Irma said.

She had barely finished her words when the thunder of another crash made us recoil. The wait was unbearable. Bomb after bomb exploded all around us. I was certain we would be hit at any moment.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Still, we remained under the beds until another siren officially announced the end of the raid.

Copyright © 2005 by Laura Hillman

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First Chapter

Chapter One

Since Hitler had come to power, it was dangerous for Jews to walk on public streets. In spite of the risk we walked along a tree-lined avenue in a suburb of Berlin, the ever-present yellow Stars of David sewn to our jackets.

Every now and then we stopped to admire spring flowers sprouting just above the ground. I especially admired the crocuses and daffodils, which reminded me of home. Irma, the tallest of us, was more interested in finding something to eat than looking at flowers, while Kaethe, the plump redhead, wanted adventure more than anything else.

This particular day Kaethe had come up with an idea. She knew of an ice-cream parlor where one could get a cone without a ration card.

"We've been cooped up at school too long," she said. "All we do is study. It drives me crazy! We should have more fun."

I shook my head. "Fun, is that all you can think about? Terrible things are happening to Jews. We should not even be on this street. They might take us away on one of those transports."

Kaethe paid little attention to what I had to say. She wanted ice cream. But there was still the matter of the yellow stars sewn to our clothes. No shopkeeper would serve us if he knew who we were. To Kaethe it was a minor problem. She showed us that by draping a shawl over the star it would be completely hidden. Not wanting to spoil her fun, I gave in.

Something else was troubling me that day. It had been over a month since I'd last heard from Mama and Papa. It wasn't like them to not write. Dear God, what if they had been deported? But for now I put aside my fears. Kaethe was right: What could possibly happen if we covered up the star?

Wehad not gone very far when two boys in the uniform of the Hitler Youth came around a corner. They were younger than we were, barely teens themselves. We tried hurrying past them, but the taller boy held up a hand and said, "We have not seen you around here before. Where are you from?"

Before we could answer, he invited us to come to a parade that night. To assure us how special this parade was, he added, "The Fuehrer himself will be there!"

I felt my legs buckling under me from fear. "See what you got us into," I whispered angrily. "What should we do now?"

"Start giggling, Hannelore," Kaethe said. "Pretend you are a moron. You too, Irma."

The second boy looked closely at our shawls. "Why are you wearing those silly things?" he asked.

Before I could think of an answer, he pulled at my shawl, exposing the yellow star.

"Look at this!" he shouted. "Jews, hiding their identity. You filthy swine, we will teach you a lesson you'll never forget! Let's take them to Gestapo headquarters," he told his companion. "They will get what is coming to them, and we will get a medal for bringing them in."

His fist struck me in the face and bloodied my nose. I ignored the pain and bleeding. The word Gestapo frightened me more than my injuries.

The boy held on to my arm. He was hurting me, but I didn't let on how painful it was. When he loosened his grip just a little, I pulled free and shouted to my friends, "Run, run!"

I am not sure how we managed to get away from those boys. Perhaps they decided they had better things to do than torment girls, even Jewish girls. Somehow we reached the gate to our school and ran inside. To make us feel better, Kaethe brought out a bar of chocolate her parents had sent. Before long things returned to normal. We changed clothes and talked about the young teacher who had come to lecture us on the poems of Rainer Maria Rilke, my favorite poet.

Kaethe began teasing me. "He had eyes only for you, Hannelore. The way you recited 'The Lute,' that was special. He stared at your lips throughout the entire poem."

Irma laughed. My face turned beet red. Yes, I did have a crush on the teacher. If only Kaethe wouldn't tease me about it so much.

"I wish I had your dreamy eyes," Kaethe continued. "Maybe then boys would look at me, too."

It was time to go down to the study hall. The room was crowded, which usually didn't bother me, but today I found it hard to concentrate. The encounter with the two Hitler Youth had troubled me more than I would admit to anyone. I decided I would be better able to concentrate on my studies in our room and returned there. Before long I was completely absorbed in my work. Then a girl entered.

"Mail," she said in a singsong voice, placing letters on the table.

I looked through the stack, picking up the one letter addressed to me. Thank God, a letter from Mama! Hastily, I tore open the envelope and began to read:

Dearest Hannelore,

I am sorry I didn't write to you sooner, but I have been terribly worried. Six weeks ago your papa was taken to Buchenwald, a concentration camp near Weimar. He was on his way home from work, riding his bicycle, when the Gestapo stopped him and took him to their headquarters. The next day, when I inquired about where he was and asked if I could bring him a change of clothes, I was told he had already left the city and wouldn't need the clothes. You can imagine how concerned and upset I have been since. Day after day I prayed for his safe return.

Yesterday the postman brought a letter and a small box postmarked "Buchenwald." The letter said the following: "Martin Wolff died of unknown causes on March 14, 1942. Urn contains his ashes."

Hannelore, your papa is dead.

Nausea overwhelmed me, and I barely made it to the bathroom down the hall. "They murdered him!" I cried. "They murdered Papa! Why doesn't someone stop this killing? Dear God, doesn't anyone care?"

Sweat and tears streamed down my face. The room began to whirl. "They murdered Papa!" I shrieked again. "How can they get away with this?"

I sobbed and sobbed as I staggered back to my room and fell on the bed. The next thing I remember was someone leaning over me.

"You left the study hall," Kaethe said, "so I came up to -- Hannelore, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Here." I handed her the letter. "I told you I was worried about my parents, but you made light of it and called me names!"

I began crying again. After finishing the letter, Kaethe also cried, and she held me for a few moments as the sobs threatened to shatter my body.

Finally I stopped sobbing. Kaethe remained sitting next to me. I began to talk, telling my friend why I believed Mama and Papa had not left Germany before it was too late. "Papa made himself believe he would be safe. After all, he served in the war in 1918, where he was wounded and decorated. On the night the Nazis burned our synagogue, Papa came home; all the other men were sent to Buchenwald."

I could never forget that horrible night.

It was November 9, 1938. The Germans called it Kristallnacht -- the night of broken glass -- because not only did they burn our synagogue, they broke the windows in Jewish-owned businesses. I told Kaethe what it was like when Nazis in brown shirts and black boots stormed through our front door, ordering us out.

"You can't imagine the kind of foul language they used," I said, "while we stood to watch the synagogue burn. It was awful." Afterward we could no longer go to school; it too had been burned. Besides, from then on Jewish children all over Germany were not allowed to attend public schools. Papa found a Jewish school in Cologne for Wolfgang and Selly, my younger brothers, eleven and twelve at the time. The boys had to live in an orphanage there in order to attend. Thank God he didn't have to worry about Rosel and Hildegard, my older sisters. Both had left home a few years ago to work as mother's helpers for a Jewish family in the city of Fulda. In 1939 Rosel was able to leave for England. Hildegard went to Palestine in 1940. A year later we received a letter from the Red Cross, telling us Hildegard was living in Jerusalem. Papa and Mama were happy about that, and wished all their children could leave, but that was not possible now. Soon after Papa had taken care of the boys, he showed me a picture of Dr. Frenkel's Boarding School for Jewish Girls in a suburb of Berlin. He assured me I would be happy there.

"It...was the last time I saw him," I told Kaethe. "I wrote every week telling him how much the garden here reminded me of our garden at home in Aurich. But I missed the small forest behind our house, the one with the brook running through it. It wasn't really a brook -- just a trickle of water -- but we called it that. Wolfgang, Selly, and I played our favorite games there, games about the war made up from the stories Papa told us. We would pretend to be shot, and then, when confronted by a Russian bayonet, we would recite the prayer: 'Hear, O Israel...'"

The news of Papa's murder spread quickly. Classmates came to my room with small gifts. Spread out on my quilt were sugar cubes wrapped in cellophane, small pieces of chocolate, cookies, and wildflowers from the garden -- gifts only children know how to appreciate. Their kindness touched me. Surely the food had been saved over a long time, for delicacies like these were hard to come by. When the dinner bell rang, they all urged me to come with them, but I could not. The idea of not having a father anymore...It was all too raw. I wanted, needed to be alone. So many memories to confront...It would soon be Passover, but Papa would never preside over the feast again, never sing the songs of freedom or offer gratitude for our people having come out of Egypt. Papa, with his beautiful voice, always on key.

My eyes came to rest on the bookshelf. The first week at school, when I was terribly homesick, books had been my solace. I picked up a thin volume of Rilke's poems. Papa's artistic lettering was on the flyleaf.

October 16, 1940

To Hannelore,

on the occasion of your birthday.

With love from Mama and Papa

The slender volume fell open to page 77 and a favorite poem called "Before the Summer Rain." Reciting from memory, I heard myself chanting the lines:

"Suddenly in the park from all the green,

one knows not what,

but something real is gone..."

Drawn to the simplicity of the poem, I recited it with intense emotion. The words had a deeply personal meaning. Putting the book back in its place, I next lovingly ran my hands over the volumes of Heinrich Heine and was reminded of the essay contest that had earned me these works. When I was preparing to move to the boarding school, Mama suggested I take only a few of my books to Berlin. "But, Mama," I had argued, "I need them all."

I walked over to the window. The chirping birds nestling under the eaves of the roof usually delighted me. Today I did not even turn my head. The thought of Papa and how he might have died tormented me. If only I could be certain they had not tortured him...

I cried again as if my heart would break, soon knowing that, indeed, it had.

It always amazed me how three girls living in a tiny attic room stayed friends. But that's how it had been from the start. We teased one another a lot, but there was no viciousness to it. Sometimes I made fun of Kaethe's doll collection, to which she replied, "I am not letting go of my childhood yet. At sixteen I can still pretend."

Both Kaethe and Irma had come from small towns in Westphalia. Up until Hitler's rise to power they had happily coexisted with children in public school. Now the laws of the Third Reich didn't allow Jewish students to attend public schools. Since there was no Jewish school in their town, they, too, had come to Berlin to Dr. Frenkel's boarding school.

Irma was often homesick. She missed her young brothers. But still, she loved having fun, entertaining us with exotic dances. Kaethe was practical. "If it weren't for Hitler's laws," she proclaimed, "I would have been stuck in Lingen for the rest of my life."

Kaethe was like that. She could turn a bad situation into a good one.

When the girls returned from dinner, I had recovered some control of my emotions. I needed little encouragement from them to talk about my childhood, about the ivy-covered house we had lived in, in Aurich, Ostfriesland -- the house with the secret passageways. A faint smile creased my face when I talked about the storks nesting on top of the chimney and how as children we believed the story told us, that storks bring babies. But the best part was the friends I played hopscotch with, and hide-and-seek, and all the other games of childhood. And how it all changed when Hitler came to power.

The speeches Hitler made were mostly about his hatred for Jews. We told Papa of our fears, how afraid we were. He assured us that all this would blow over very soon. Yet oftentimes I saw him and my uncles having serious discussions.

Soon Wolfgang's and Selly's best friends didn't just stop coming to play, they repeated the slogans Hitler used in his speeches and what their parents, who now wore the uniform of the Brownshirts, the Nazi militamen, told them to say. Carl, who had been Wolfgang's best friend, shouted from across the street, "My father belongs to the SA. He says he can do whatever he wants to Jews and no one will stop him."

"Can you imagine how we felt when he said that?" I asked them. "Wolfgang tried to reason with him, reminding him that they were best friends, but Carl didn't listen."

Kaethe had similar stories about her little village: "One day we were friends, the next day they boycotted us. Nazis in brown shirts and black boots paraded around Father's sawmill, making sure no one entered. A few months from the time they first appeared, we were ordered to leave the village and our sawmill was given to a Nazi."

I told Kaethe and Irma about the time when a German friend of Papa's came one evening, after dark. He warned Papa to leave Germany as soon as he could. That was all he would say. But Papa still didn't listen.

"I fought for Germany," he told the man. "I am a decorated war veteran. They wouldn't harm me."

And yet in 1940 Mama and Papa, along with all the Jews of Aurich and of the entire region called Ostfriesland, were deported. They were no longer allowed to live there. Having to leave most of their possessions behind, they opted to go to Weimar, where Mama's married sister lived and where Grandmother Henriette, her mother, wanted to go. Not that they could have chosen any other place -- permission to live in other cities was limited.

Suddenly the undulating sound of sirens interrupted us. "Air raid! To the cellar!" the housemother cried as she ran from floor to floor.

"I am not going," I said. "Everyone will ask questions. I can't face that, not now. Go without me."

But Kaethe and Irma would not hear of leaving me. We crawled under the beds as a fireball exploded in the sky.

"It might have been wiser for you to go to the cellar," I whispered.

"And leave you up here alone?" Irma said.

She had barely finished her words when the thunder of another crash made us recoil. The wait was unbearable. Bomb after bomb exploded all around us. I was certain we would be hit at any moment.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Still, we remained under the beds until another siren officially announced the end of the raid.

Copyright © 2005 by Laura Hillman

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 92 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 17, 2012

    Good Book

    If you are interested in Holocust survivors this is a good book to read.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 11, 2006

    GREAT!!!!!

    I'll PLant You A Lilac Tree is an amazing book. I loved it! It really touched me and exposed me to the true story of War World II. I enjoyed this book grealty and hope others will get to read this book and love too.!

    3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted December 10, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    A compelling story woven with heart-warming experiences and unwavering love

    I would enthusiastically recommend the reading of the biography, "I Will Plant You A Lilac Tree," by Laura Hillman because the mesmerizing story articulates about the honest significance of being valiant in an attempt to sacrifice her own life and liberties for the devotion of her family. For example, on page 24, Hannelore Wolff says, "I must go with my mother to whatever that may be. I have to protect her and my brothers." This shows that even though Hannelore knew that she was going to have to endure the torture of the revolting treatment of the Holocaust, she rather put up with the consequences of her decision to join her family rather than her own safety. This also shows that she is unselfish because she cares more about others than herself. For example, on page 97, Hannelore says, "I don't care about this paradise if I can't take Selly along." This shows that Hannelore would rather refuse special treatment for being unique if she can't care for her injured brother. This also shows that Hannelore wants to spread and share the enhanced treatment with her family. For example, on page 150, Hannelore says "Let him have the comfort of having me here. I will give you my bread portion for a week." This shows that she would give up her essentials and lower her chance of survival in order to keep her dying brother alive. This also shows that she doesn't want to lose any more of the people she loves. As you can see, Hannelore's compassion and concern for her family made it complicated for her to survive but that affection is what made her victorious in her journey to freedom.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 16, 2012

    Excellent story written with great purpose!

    !,

    1 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 29, 2011

    Love it!!!!

    I think that this should be a book every one needs to read. I couldnt put it down on the first page. If you are reading this and thinking about buying this book i really recomend you do.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 16, 2010

    A GREAT BOOK!

    The book I read was called I Will Plant You A Lilac Tree by Laura Hillman. This is a story about a girl that was pulled into the holocaust because she feared the safety of her family. She was already safe at her school when her mother wrote to her telling her that her father was dead. Hannelore was terrified but she wrote a letter to a SS officer asking him to pay her way on a train to the camp that her mother, and brothers were going to. Hannelore soon found herself at a camp and falling in love. This story is a great story and would recommend it to anyone because it shows all human feelings.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 25, 2014

    excellent read

    This is a compelling story, one I enjoyed very much.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 23, 2013

    You smell the smoke first, then the blood-curdling sent of human

    You smell the smoke first, then the blood-curdling sent of human flesh. It could be your brother, your mother, your friend. You hear the shouts, and more gunshots. You always hear gunshots. You quickly pinch your cheeks, to make them look pink instead of the pale, sickly white that you normally look like. You do this to look healthy; you do this to stay alive. This is what the main character Hannelore Hillman, in the book, I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree by Laura Hillman has to go through during World War II. Hannelore is a Jewish, and she travels from camp to camp dealing with pain, sickness, death, and labor the comes with living in concentration camps. Then all starts to look good, when Dick, the man she is in love with, her best friend, and Hannelore get put on Schindler’s list. Throughout the book, she shows her bravery, courage, and faith as it is tested by one of the most horrendous events in history. I recommend this book for all ages, since it has good word choice that is not too hard. The book constantly keeps you on edge, and is great for all ages.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 17, 2013

    Book

    This book was ok i thought it was really sad

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted January 18, 2013

    Great book

    I've been reading a lot of WW2 books lately and this was a great book definitely worth your time.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 25, 2012

    love story of survival

    This book was better than I expect. This girls last most of her family.
    Endure hardship salvation and even in her most delirious moments
    she never game up.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted May 2, 2012

    A great book

    This book is hard to put down.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 14, 2012

    Wonderful

    This was a great book and I loved it. Very sad but as soon as I started reading it I couldn't put it down.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 11, 2012

    Well said

    I decided to read this book after the author came to my school. It was a great read and gave me a true meaning of how lucky I am today.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 26, 2011

    Awesomw

    I loved this book. Well written and shows that hope shines in the darkest places.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted May 18, 2011

    Mary anne

    Gteat book but too short around 132 psges

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 16, 2011

    A good read but sad...

    A sad story but held my attention to the end.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 7, 2011

    Excellent book!

    Very hard to read at times, as are most books on the Holocaust. Very well-written. The horrible things done to the Jewish people must never be forgotten!!

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  • Posted February 21, 2011

    Heartbreaking and warming

    How anyone could do such a horrific thing is beyond me. But it does make for good reading. The Holocaust is a major part of our history and I am drawn to reading about survivors and their stories. This book was only $5.00 on my Nook and I loved it. It was a quick read as well!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 29, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    A moving story

    I am the same age as Hannelore was when she decided to leave Berlin to stay with her family. This book was so moving and emotional for me it was both hard and irresistable for me to read. During the book you feel the pain, devotion, love, desperation, and happiness Hannelore feels. Anyone who is even the least bit intersted in this genre MUST read this book. One of my favorite parts is the reunion of Dick and Hannelore at Oskar Schindler's camp. It makes me incredibly happy to know that this story has the bittersweet ending of Dick and Hannelore going on and having a life together but she never heard from her family again. It leaves you wondering if Dick ever planted that lilac tree...... Overall the best, most well written book I have ever read and I am sure everyone who has read or is reading this book agrees with me!

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