Valor

Today is the day we traditionally celebrate the sacrifices of veterans. Many in my family have served in uniform. There are many stories I could tell. However, I want to focus on two lives intertwined with mine.

My maternal grandfather was a German. During the first of what we like to call world wars, he was a decorated U-boat commander. His exploits in his "little tin can" won medals galore during the war and he rose through the ranks after the war.

I knew little of this part of his life. He never talked about the war or what he did to earn all those decorations which included the Navy Cross. I did manage to badger him into opening the trunk that he kept locked. It held his dress uniform and a few other mementos. I was enthralled. Watching me joyfully (and I thought reverently) touch this part of his past, he shooed me away and closed the lid.

"War is nothing to celebrate."

Whatever his exploits on the high seas, those words that stuck with me.

His greatest act of valor happened after the war. He continued to serve as a navy officer and rose through the ranks. Coming from well-connected Prussian family, his future certainly looked bright.

During the 1930's, something changed in his outlook. He hailed from the town of Plauen, which had the dubious distinction of being the first place outside of Bavaria that the Nazis became active. He called them thugs, in no small part because they targeted many people he had known all his life to be people of integrity, compassion, wit, and charm. It changed him. At the same time, he could clearly see his beloved country headed back to war under leadership that he did not trust or respect.

In 1937, my grandfather chose to abruptly leave Germany and emigrate to the United States. It was certainly a courageous act, but not exactly an easy road. His English was broken and heavily accented. The only thing on his resume was military service to a former wartime enemy of the United States. The deck was stacked against him.

By whatever you call chance, luck, or serendipity, his story came to the attention of a woman that owned a chain of fur shops. She decided to take a chance on my grandfather, training him to be a master furrier and salesman. Before long, he was using his old world charm on the wealthy in Virginia. Ironically, this woman just happened to be Jewish and a devoutly religious one at that.

I knew her growing up as a family friend. Every year during the Christmas holidays, she would come by my grandparent's house and bring holiday gifts for all. (One year she gave me a ridiculously cool Tonka fire engine that even sprayed water.) When her health began to fail, we would visit her. My grandfather always brought sweets and a bottle of her favorite libation. He remained fiercely loyal to her and continued to work for her company until his eyesight failed.

My grandfather's decision to leave Germany strained his relationship with his relatives that were stuck behind the Iron Curtain in what became East Germany. During the height of the Cold War, he could manage a visa every decade or so to visit. His sister was allowed a few pilgrimages to the United States.  But for the most part, red tape and suspicion kept he and his family of birth apart. He died before the Berlin Wall fell in 1989.

I do not think of my grandfather a hero for what he did as a commander of a submarine. What took real courage was his decision to leave the country he loved because of what he knew in his heart of hearts to be corrupt and evil leadership. He gave up privilege and prestige in Germany to come to a country that viewed him with considerable suspicion as the world lurched towards a second war to end all wars.

He deliberately patronized Jewish merchants, in no small part as a sign of his respect for his benefactor and lifelong friend. In fact, every Sunday afternoon he went to a local Jewish delicatessen and load up on meats, cheeses, bread, and all sorts of strange goodies. A German Lutheran hanging out in a Jewish deli in the capital of the old South. I did not appreciate at the time how truly strange all of this was.

We often hear about Jews saved by the courageous actions of people under Nazi rule. My grandfather was German military officer that refused to fight for a monster and was saved by the compassion of a Jewish woman in America. It is just one of those strange stories that remind me of why Jesus put such a premium on loving others as we would wish to be loved.

On this Veteran's Day, I raise a glass to toast to a German submariner and his American benefactor. And never forget to celebrate the service and many sacrifices of men and women in uniform. It is the wicked in power that put them in harm's way.