Ariana Neumann: I grew up without knowing any of my family history. I knew my father had been born in Prague in 1921. What he had left behind was never discussed and it wasn't until my father died in 2001 that I felt I had permission, really, to delve into the silences and into the unspoken stories of my family.

Tim Cole: Ariana Neumann is our guest today born in Venezuela and now living in London. She’s the best-selling author of When Time Stopped, a moving account of her family’s survival that spans several continents and years.

Ariana Neumann: It wasn't actually until I started writing that my cousin, Madla, said to me, ‘by the way I have some artifacts of our grandfather,’ and she brought me this ring.

Louisa Clein: This piece really stands out. A small copper ring that she's actually wearing on a chain around her neck.

Ariana Neumann: It has a rectangle on the very top. And then, on that sheet, there is a symbol. I thought it was a reverse swastika, and it was only much later on that I discovered that it was someone 's initials. Everything in the box had some significance to my father, or to the family I immediately tried to figure out why.

Tim Cole: I’m Tim Cole.

Louisa Clein: And I’m Louisa Clein. From the Holocaust Educational Trust, this is Objects of the Holocaust.

Tim Cole: A podcast which explores the Holocaust through a single object, to tell wider stories of family, loss and survival.

Louisa Clein: So, Ariana, hello! Thank you so much for joining us today.

Ariana Neumann: Thank you very, very much for having me here. It's a huge joy and an honour.

Tim Cole: So, your father identified as Venezuelan, not as Jewish. Did you grow up at all thinking of yourself as Jewish? Or was that something that never really existed at home?

Ariana Neumann: Not at all. I mean my mother 's family was Catholic. I was sent to a Catholic school, and I had no inkling whatsoever that I was Jewish. My father never talked about religion, and the past — my father 's past — was never spoken about.

I knew my father had been born in Prague in 1921. I knew that he had emigrated with his brother to Venezuela in 1948. I had been told that he had escaped a broken Europe and then communism was obviously also mentioned. So it was never the Holocaust was never spoken about. It wasn't something that I knew. I mean I obviously knew about it, and I studied it, but it didn't feel personal. It didn't seem to involve my family.

As a matter of fact, I did know my grandparents had died during the war. But it wasn't until much later on, when I was already an adult, that I realized that they had been Jewish and that they had died during the Holocaust.

Louisa Clein: I find this so interesting because this is very similar to my story. And as children, one doesn't ask one 's parents these questions. There is something deep inside that you know not to ask. Whether it's you don't want to hurt them, or — you know the limits of your own understanding. And it's fascinating to hear you talk like this.

Ariana Neumann: Well it's interesting because, I think, as a child you probe, right? And you ask questions, and you're also, you know, you love your parents, and you don't want to hurt them. So if you pose a question that causes — in my father 's case he would either change the subject and talk about something else that was really, hugely interesting or he would sometimes get visibly upset and start to shake and leave the room. So, I think I learned pretty quickly not to ask any questions.

And if I look back, I go, but of course he was so — he was busy all the time. My father, we had to make appointments to see him. It was quite extraordinary. And he was always focused on the present; he was actually really excited about, like, the future. I mean, I remember sort of these ridiculous magazines like Scientific American and there was never any sort of melancholy for the past. Never anything about what came before.

Louisa Clein: So, going back to the ring. You found this ring in 2017, you say.

Ariana Neumann: Yes. So, I actually had already… my father died in 2001, and when he died, he left me a box. And it was terrifying. There were lots of Berlin and swastikas and not a lot of an explanation of what had happened, so I was terrified by that. And then when I started asking questions of the only family members that were still around, which was my Aunt Vera; she sent me some letters and when she sent me those letters, she basically just said, ‘these are your grandparents’ letters.’ And I didn't know what to expect.

And I realized that there were letters that have been snuck out of the concentration camp of Theresienstadt, just outside of Prague. And they spanned 1942 to 1944, and they were really — well, they were the only connection that I had to my grandparents. And they were quite significant because they hadn't been snuck out. So they were open. They were coded, because you never knew who would read them, but they were very open letters.

So I had those and it wasn't actually until I started writing about them that my cousin Madla — Vera's daughter… Of course memory is a tricky thing, so people don't immediately remember things when you asked them. And I said, ‘what is the ring?’ and then she said, ‘actually, well, that ring was kept there because of Zdeňka.’

Zdeňka was my uncle's first wife. So, my uncle when I met him, was married to Vera. I had never heard of Zdeňka until I started doing this research. Zdeňka was this remarkable woman who was born in 1916, who was a gentile — so she wasn't Jewish — and who was a law student, and was independent. She had her own car, and she was beautiful. Her grandfather had developed some buildings in Prague, and they had left her in charge of these buildings. So, she was independently wealthy, which was instrumental to my family because — as they were Jewish — they couldn't earn a living.

Two months after the Nazis invaded Czechoslovakia, Zdeňka had decided to marry her Jewish boyfriend. And then, as things progressively got worse and worse and worse, she helped the family by giving them food, by taking medicine from one place to another, by couriering letters, and eventually my grandmother was deported to Theresienstadt in May 1942.

Louisa Clein: I think we have such a strong image of what a concentration camp is from photographs, from testimonies of survivors. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Theresienstadt wasn't a death camp, as you say. It was a transit camp. Can you explain what life was like in these places?

Tim Cole: Terezín is this really odd place in the Holocaust. It’s almost this sort of combo creation of many elements of a concentration camp, or labour camp, but also elements of a ghetto. So, it's this hybrid place, and I think in some ways the two main prisoner populations have quite different experiences.

So, the Czech Jews are sent there mainly as a transit camp. So if you think of, say, French Jews being sent to Drancy, or Dutch Jews being sent to Westerbork, or Italian Jews being sent to Fossoli, that Jews from Prague — like your grandparents — are being sent to Terezín. But most of them are then quickly sent straight, I think, in ‘42 they're being sent mainly to Riga or Lublin district, places like Treblinka where the death camp is set up. And then, from ’42, late ‘42 onwards they're sent to Auschwitz.

But it also has this other function, where German and Austrian Jews are starting to arrive in the late second half of 1942. So I think June 1942 onwards, mainly elderly Jews — so age sixty-five and over — from Germany and Austria who’ve got a record of First World War valour, or a disabled veteran. And Jews from Germany/Austria who have some kind of notoriety in the arts, the culture. And so that's much more, almost the ghetto function, but it's also this place of workshops. So it's this really odd place like…

Louisa Clein: Did they live in houses? Were they..?

Tim Cole: They live in barracks within — so, it’s a garrison town. I know, Ariana, you've been there. It's an odd town isn't it? It’s Habsburg, an eighteenth-century Habsburg garrison town. It's beautiful in some ways.

Ariana Neumann: It actually is. It is beautiful. I went there with my mother, who's very much into sort of architecture and aesthetic beauty. And she was… you know, there's little cherubs on the buildings. It's very symmetrical. You have a square, with a church, and a post office, and a cafe I mean it seemed…

Louisa Clein: It has a facade of normality.

Tim Cole: But it's interesting that your grandfather is still there in ’43, because that's quite unusual in some ways. That most Czech Jews seem to go to Terezín and then are quickly sent east. Your grandmother and grandfather stay there longer. Do you have a sense of why that is?

Ariana Neumann: At some stage between Ella’s arrival, and my grandfather Otto’s arrival in Theresienstadt, a system of contraband is set up. And these parcels are sent by Lotar and Zdeňka and my father, Hans, to Theresienstadt. They're snuck in, we think, via a friendly Czech gendarme who worked in the camp, and probably, a local woman who did the laundry for the camp who snuck these parcels in with wheelbarrows of sheets. And a weekly parcel would go in. And actually Lotar, there were about seventy-eight parcels sent.

Tim Cole: I think it's an extraordinary story. So many parcels travelling between Prague and Terezín. Can you tell us a little bit more about the contents of these?

Ariana Neumann: Yes, well, they — for some reason — every single one of them had Ovaltine, which is like a cocoa powder. So, I think pretty much every single parcel had that. But they also had, and again my family was very assimilated, so they had salami. They had lard. They had anything that they could find that was tinned.

They had currency. So, we think having spoken to a number of Terezín experts, that they were getting German marks and Swiss francs smuggled in. And then, because my grandmother kept on.. right, you know, actually requested specific things in these letters, there are some letters that say, ‘please can you send batteries.’ But there's one remarkable one from December 1943, where she asks for a warm sweater and one of her woolly dresses. And she also asks for face powder and lipstick. So even in the depths of misery, astonishingly — well, I don't know if it's astonishing or not — but she still, somehow, was worried about how she looked.

Louisa Clein: The system of contraband items flowing from Prague to Terezín would stall from time to time, and Zdeňka decided to take matters into her own hands. Now remember — Zdeňka's not Jewish, and that allows her to move around much more freely. She hatched an audacious plan to smuggle in the much-needed items herself.

Ariana Neumann: One morning she drove to a town called Bohušovice, where there's a train station. And there she picked up a bike and she rode the one and a half kilometers to the outskirts of Terezín where the agricultural group were working on the field. The people in charge of the agricultural field were actually Jews who were higher up in the hierarchy.

She went into the camp with them, so she actually had a yellow star sewn into an old coat which she had taken in a bag. And then, the second she got to the field, she put this coat on with the yellow star and snuck in to visit my grandmother.

Louisa Clein: Such an extraordinary story of risk and bravery that she was willing to do that. There could have been, at any moment, the strong possibility that she would then either be discovered or deported as a Jew. That she was willing to take that risk — again, it goes back to this sort of, on a very simple level, beautiful love story of a woman who is willing to do this for her in-laws.

Ariana Neumann: My grandfather was not the most lovable man on the planet, either. I mean he was really, really grumpy and I think he was quite… not particularly welcoming to Zdeňka. He didn't trust her, so it's quite remarkable that she went and then did this for my — I mean, I think she adored my grandmother — but also for my grandfather. And actually, she snuck into the camp again for him, because they had been told that they needed to appear strong and young. And my grandfather — like every man in my family — had completely white hair, even though he was only in his early fifties. And at the beginning of the war, in those parcels was hair dye. But eventually, as the war progressed it became impossible to get hair dye, and they started sending shoe polish. So black shoe polish and he could dye his hair. And that was really, really important, because you wanted to make sure that you didn't appear old. Because the old and the very, very young and the ill were just sent to the gas chambers.

Louisa Clein: Ariana's grandfather, Otto, would have known of the risks for Zdeňka to sneak into Terezín and bring contraband with her.

Ariana Neumann: So, it was incredibly dangerous for everybody involved.

Louisa Clein: He made a gift for her from inside Terezín: a ring emblazoned with her initials ZN for Zdeňka Neumann.

Ariana Neumann: So, there's a Z - which is quite, sort of quite visible. And then beneath the Z, but intertwined with it — almost as if there were vines — there's an N.

Tim Cole: So, in a sense, the ring is a gift from this grateful man to his daughter-in-law. Is that how you interpret it and think of it?

Ariana Neumann: It is. So, he would have stolen a piece of copper pipe from one of the workshops — again, a huge risk — and he would have presumably also stolen a chisel and or a nail and a hammer at some stage. He, I presume, he will have fashioned this in his barracks.

Louisa Clein: So, do you think it was made, sort of, hand punched so to speak?

Ariana Neumann: Yes, I think it was hand punched, absolutely. And actually you can tell that it was definitely not made by someone who was a jeweler by profession, or an artisan. My grandfather was anything but an artist. I think he trained as an engineer, and he liked numbers, and he had a paint factory. There was nothing artistic about him at all.

You know, if you think about what the Nazis tried to do, what genocide tries to do is to dehumanize. And yet, you know, these people in the most horrendous circumstances managed to create something which is actually really rather beautiful. Especially now that I know the story, I look at it and I think, I think you know in the midst of this horror, my grandfather somehow managed to be incredibly brave and bold. And he didn't like breaking rules, even before the war, and yet he did he break these rules for his beloved Zdeňka. And there's something really quite beautiful about that.

Tim Cole: It's interesting, isn't it? Because I think Terezín is this place that's a terrible place, you know, it's got a very high death rate. I think there’s over thirty thousand Jews who died there during the course of the war — I think 33, yeah, that's right 34,000 — but it's also this place of making, isn't it? Of creativity? So your grandfather is making this ring, but there's also a place of making opera or concerts. There’s a library of books, and I guess most famously for us, children 's art. You know this kind of story, this extraordinary story of an art teacher who is working with children who are creating art. So, this kind of Janus-faced place, in some ways, isn't it? That it’s both a place of creativity, but also a place of slave labour.

Louisa Clein: Your grandmother arrived in May 1942. So she's been there for a year and a half. Can you tell us a little bit about when they left Theresienstadt?

Ariana Neumann: Yes, so… so sorry. I-I don't like to focus on this bit so much. So my grandfather is deported first in September 1944, on September 19th 1944. And I have a letter from my grandmother where you can actually sense the despair. And she's saying they've taken him away, I don't know where he's gone. I’m hopeful that he was young and fit and that he's going to go for work. And it was called a work transport.

My grandmother was deported in October 1944. So, the big waves of deportation just as the war was ending were in September and October.

Louisa Clein: So, she was Theresienstadt for two and a half years?

Ariana Neumann: Yeah, she was there from May 1942 to October 1944. And she was sent in a transport. And she went straight to the gas chamber.

Louisa Clein: And then after the War, this ring is with Zdeňka. She is reunited with Lotar.

Ariana Neumann: Yes, so Zdeňka stays with Lotar, actually, throughout the war.

Louisa Clein: So, he then has a connection with his parents, as such. A very close connection.

Ariana Neumann: Yes, absolutely. And actually, I think, this is probably the last thing that my grandfather held that I have a connection to, I suppose, that I can hold myself, right? So Zdeňka keeps this, and I think they obviously then find out — not until late 1945 that my grandparents didn't make it out of the camps. And Zdeňka keeps it, but then all those qualities that made her a hero during the war — the boldness, and the, you know, not paying attention to laws and rules and prohibitions — are the same ones actually that make her fall in love with one of Lotar’s friends. And she leaves Lotar, and she gives back the ring because she doesn't feel worthy of it.

Louisa Clein: To your father, Hans, and Lotar were in Prague until 1948, but then they chose to go to Venezuela of all places. This country that — I certainly have the image, and from reading your book — the idea of sort of birds of paradise, the colors: it's everything that is post war Europe of grey and stock buildings, just darkness, really. Going to a South American country of vibrancy, you talk about all the art in your housem, and nature, and greenery. I’m interested in the choice that they made to go to Venezuela.

Ariana Neumann: Well, I think there were very few countries taking refugees in. So, I think that's the first thing. And my family had tried to immigrate to the US, but they've never made the quota, like many other hundreds of thousands of other Jews.

They chose Venezuela because there was there wasn't a paint factory there, so they thought it would make sense in terms of just starting a new paint factory. And one of my grandfather’s brothers who had survived the war had done a little recce for them. They had also thought of Cuba, at some stage during the war, but they decided Venezuela was welcoming refugees. All you had to do was be baptized, which pretty much every Jew that went to — I mean every single Jew that went to Venezuela was baptized, just so that they would be allowed in.

And the country was opening up. There was a lot of investment in the ‘50s and ‘60s. And all these refugees actually changed the landscape of the country, and did remarkable things and started businesses and brought a lot of their European heritage with them. And it became this really — that combined with the fabulous weather and all the potential — became a sort of really rich, wonderful place to be.

Louisa Clein: Sounds like paradise in comparison to what they've experienced in the past ten, fifteen years.

Ariana Neumann: Well, I think if you're escaping a sort of destroyed Europe, and all of a sudden, you're going to this place where the weather is fabulous. Where you know there's all these beautiful plants and music, and yeah all this joy, right? And there isn't, you know, you don't have this sort of darkness. You don't have this horrendous history. And you can reinvent yourself and be really whoever you want to be.

Louisa Clein: So, 1948 - your father and your uncle have moved to Venezuela. And this ring is held by Lotar. So, he's obviously he's held tight to it because it has a meaning. It's precious. It's been handed back to him, and he hasn't got rid of it, as such. He's held some importance to it. What happens to the ring in Venezuela?

Ariana Neumann: So, I think the ring actually goes into hiding. I think it's fair to say that Zdeňka was the love of Lotar’s life. And he kept it because of the connection with his father. He also kept it because of the connection with Zdeňka. And he goes to Venezuela where he reinvents himself, and he has a new beautiful wife called Vera, who absolutely adores him. And the ring sort of goes into a box, and it's cast aside. Because if you're gonna reinvent yourself, you can't be constantly reconnecting to your past. Especially, if it's a very painful past. So, I think the box just stays in Venezuela.

And then Lotar emigrates to Switzerland and takes the ring and, actually, my grandparents letters with him. I think as Lotar got older, and he actually traveled back and forth to Czechoslovakia — unlike my father — and he kept all these connections to his past, which my father didn't, he severed everything. But he apparently — according to my cousin Madla — when they were young, so I would think in the ‘70s at around December, during the holidays, would take out the box and show the letters, and show Madla the ring. And I think at some stage, he even suggested —Madla’s older sister is called Zuzanna, with a Z and obviously her last name is Neumann — and even suggested to Zuzanna that she wear the ring, which I think she had no interest in doing, of course. Because she wanted to be, you know, you don't when you're in your teens and twenties, you don't want to be connected to your father 's dark past. until the ring remained in the box until Madla shared it with me

Tim Cole: I mean, I’m really interested in the fact that she gave you the ring?

Ariana Neumann: You know, I think all families have a story keeper, maybe a storyteller. Well, I suppose I feel it's my duty to be that.

Louisa Clein: It's interesting you say this, because I feel that one of the reasons that this podcast came about in the first place, was the idea of the next generation, the second generation: the storytellers. I put myself in that in that position as well. And I suppose it's… one has a certain distance, inevitably being the generation below, but also an enormous responsibility. And I love the way that you talk about the permission that you were given when your father passed away, with this box, that he passed it on to you. And therefore — whether you like it or not — you have a story that has to be told. And as much as you have your father's story, you also have Lotar’s story and your grandparents’ story, who couldn't tell it themselves, and I think this is what this ring specifically tells. That story.

Ariana Neumann: Zdeňka could have easily turned away. She could have easily chosen the easy life. She could have chosen to just, you know, marry a gentile and, you know, stick her head in the sand. Instead, she chose to go into the belly of the beast. She chose to sort of tackle it head on, to do the right thing, take huge risks. I suppose ultimately that earned her my grandfather's respect and love. And that's why he made her this ring.

Louisa Clein: Ariana — thank you so much for coming today. It's been just extraordinary talking to you and hearing this story. So, thank you!

Ariana Neumann: Thank you very much. It's been an absolute pleasure.

Louisa Clein: Objects of the Holocaust is presented by me, Louisa Clein, and Tim Cole, and produced by Sarah Peters at Tuning Fork Productions. Original music is by Iain Chambers and sound design is by Peregrine Andrews. With thanks to Beth Lloyd, Annabel Pattle, Kirsty Young and Karen Pollock from the Holocaust Educational Trust.

The Holocaust Educational Trust is a charity that works across the UK to ensure that the horrors of the past are never forgotten details of the charity can be found in the show notes.