My Family's Holocaust Martyrs

I want to tell you about my grandparents, Edgar Bodenheimer and Brigitte Levy. They were German Jews. They survived the Holocaust. They came to America, built a life, had children and grandchildren, and eventually I came along to pester everyone with genealogy questions.

This post is not about them, exactly. It's about everyone around them who didn't make it.

I wrote about why my family never talked about any of this back in 2015 — the silence, the survivor's guilt, the names I found entirely on my own because no one had ever mentioned them. If you want that backstory before diving into the list, start there. "We got out, we were the lucky ones," was all they ever said. What follows is what that sentence was covering up.

I have spent years tracing these connections — through Yad Vashem, the German Federal Archives (Bundesarchiv Gedenkbuch), the Czech Holocaust Database, Find a Grave, and Geni.com — documenting each person by name, with the facts of where they lived, how they were taken, and where they died. What follows is not a list of strangers. Every single person here was connected to my grandparents by blood, by marriage, or by the bonds of extended family that stretched across Germany and were severed forever between 1938 and 1945.

They are numbered not for bureaucratic tidiness, but for weight. Count them.

Edgar's Family

Edgar Bodenheimer was born in Berlin. His father was Siegmund Bodenheimer born in Heidelberg. Siegmund's siblings — Edgar's aunts and uncles — and their extended families were dispersed across Germany. The Nazis found them in Frankfurt, Cologne, Berlin, and beyond.

The Uhlfelders 

Selma was Edgar's aunt — his father Siegmund's sister. She and her husband Philipp Feist Uhlfelder were deported together from Frankfurt in September 1942. Philipp's first wife, Klara Pauline Lövy, had already perished at Gurs internment camp in France the year before. Their daughters Tilde and Gertrude — Edgar's first cousins — survived the war and settled in New York, where they married and became part of the extended family circle centered around Central Park West. Neither had children. The Uhlfelder line ended with them.

Selma and Philipp at Benno's birthday 1915. Composite from a larger family photograph.

1. Selma Uhlfelder née Bodenheimer — Born Heidelberg, 1874. Deported Frankfurt → Theresienstadt, September 15, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, December 2, 1942. Age 68.
2. Philipp Feist Uhlfelder — Born Würzburg, 1870. Deported Frankfurt → Theresienstadt, September 15, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, November 5, 1942. Age 72.
3. Klara Pauline Uhlfelder née Lövy — Philipp's first wife. Born Alzey, 1878. Deported to Gurs internment camp, France. Died Gurs, 1941. Age 63.
4. Adolf Uhlfelder — Philipp's brother. Born Würzburg, 1875. Deported Frankfurt → Theresienstadt, August 18, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, December 24, 1942. Age 67.

The Rubens

Klara Ruben née Bodenheimer was Edgar's aunt — his father Siegmund's sister. She and her husband Albert were deported from Cologne to the Lodz ghetto on October 22, 1941, and murdered together at Chelmno extermination camp on May 6, 1942. They had one child — a daughter, Lotte, who survived. Albert had served in the German Army in World War I. It did not save him. Albert's siblings were spread across the Rhine provinces, and the Nazis found nearly every one of them. The photographs here come from Lotte's family albums, preserved by her son.

Klara and Albert Ruben, circa 1930

Hans and Else de Beer with daughter Irena, circa 1941

5. Klara Ruben née Bodenheimer — Born Heidelberg, 1886. Deported Cologne → Lodz ghetto, October 22, 1941; transferred → Chelmno extermination camp. Murdered May 6, 1942. Age 55.
6. Albert Ruben — Born Bruttig, 1875. Deported Cologne → Lodz ghetto; transferred → Chelmno extermination camp. Murdered May 6, 1942. Age 66.
7. Ida Oster née Ruben — Albert's sister. Born Bruttig, 1882. Deported Trier-Cologne → Theresienstadt, July 27, 1942; transferred → Treblinka. Died September 19, 1942. Age 59.
8. Leopold Oster — Married to Ida Ruben. Born 1873. Deported → Theresienstadt, July 27, 1942; transferred → Treblinka, September 19, 1942. Age 69.
9. Else de Beer née Oster — Daughter of Ida Oster née Ruben. Murdered.
10. Hans de Beer — Husband of Else de Beer née Oster. Murdered.
11. Irena de Beer — Daughter of Else and Hans de Beer. Aged two. Murdered.
12. Emilie Levy née Ruben — Albert's sister. Born Bruttig, 1876. Deported Cologne → Theresienstadt, June 15, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, November 16, 1943. Age 67.
13. Mathilde Wendel née Ruben — Albert's sister. Born Bruttig, 1867. Deported Cologne → Theresienstadt, June 15, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, November 13, 1943. Age 76.
14. Rudolf Robert Ruben — Albert's brother. Born Bruttig, 1878. Died Theresienstadt, October 5, 1944. Age 65.
15. Adele Ruben — Albert's sister. Born Bruttig, 1893. Fled to France; deported Drancy → Auschwitz, August 12, 1942. Age 49.
16. Lina Ruben — Albert's sister. Born Bruttig, 1896. Deported to Gurs internment camp, 1940; transferred Drancy → Auschwitz, August 12, 1942. Murdered at Auschwitz. Age 46.
17. Jakob Nachmann — Albert's cousin. Born Langenlonsheim, 1880. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941. Died in Riga. Age 61.
18. Berta Nachmann née Adler — Jakob's wife. Born 1879. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941. Fate uncertain; possibly Stutthof. Age 62.
19. Hedwig Wolf née Scheuer — Albert's first cousin once removed. Born Heldenbergen, 1903. Deported Darmstadt → Treblinka, September 30, 1942. Officially declared dead. Age 39.

The Rosenzweigs 

Bella Rosenzweig née Bodenheimer was Edgar's aunt — his father Siegmund's sister. On December 7, 1941, the Nazis loaded the entire immediate family onto a single transport from Cologne: Bella, her husband Felix, and their daughters Inge and Lolo. They were sent first to the Riga ghetto, then eventually to Stutthof concentration camp. Bella died there on January 4, 1945 — four months before the war ended. Felix, Inge, and Lolo died there too.

The portrait of Felix and Bella was taken in 1915 at the 75th birthday celebration of Bella's father, Benno Bodenheimer — Edgar's grandfather. The entire family was there that day, all of Benno's children gathered in one photograph. Neither Lolo nor Inge had yet been born. Thirteen years later, in 1928, the two sisters were photographed in Cologne at Carnival — Inge was five, Lolo was ten, and their first cousin Edgar was twenty in Berlin.

Bella and Felix Rosenzweig, 1915

Inge and Lolo Rosenzweig, Carnival 1928, Cologne

20. Bella Rosenzweig née Bodenheimer — Born Heidelberg, 1887. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941; transferred → Stutthof concentration camp, October 1, 1944. Died Stutthof, January 4, 1945. Age 57.
21. Felix Rosenzweig — Born Cologne, 1875. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941. Died possibly Stutthof, late 1944/early 1945. Age 69.
22. Inge Rosenzweig — Daughter of Felix and Bella. Born Cologne, 1923. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941; transferred → Stutthof, October 1, 1944. Murdered. Age 20.
23. Lolo Rosenzweig — Daughter of Felix and Bella. Born Cologne, 1918. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941. Died possibly Stutthof, late 1944/early 1945. Age 26.
24. Alfred Rosenzweig — Felix's cousin. Born Cologne, 1879. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941. Officially declared dead; possibly Stutthof. Age 65.
25. Else Rosenzweig née Schiff — Alfred's wife. Born Gronau, 1884. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941. Officially declared dead.
26. Hans Rosenzweig — Alfred's son. Born Cologne, 1911. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941. Died in Riga.
27. Margarete Horwitz née Schiff — Else's sister. Born Gronau, 1885. Fled to Netherlands; deported Westerbork → Auschwitz, February 9, 1943. Died February 12, 1943. Age 57.
28. Alex Horwitz — Margarete's husband. Born Bünde, 1877. Fled to Netherlands; deported Westerbork → Auschwitz, February 9, 1943. Died February 12, 1943. Age 65.
29. Clara Rosenzweig — Felix's cousin. Born Cologne, 1875. Deported Cologne → Riga ghetto, December 7, 1941.
30. Walter Rosenzweig — Felix's nephew. Born Ludwigshafen, 1905. Deported Berlin → Minsk ghetto, November 14, 1941. Missing.
31. Hildegard Stern née Rosenzweig — Felix's niece. Born Berlin, 1915. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, January 29, 1943.
32. Walter Max Stern — Hildegard's husband. Born 1901. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, January 29, 1943. Died 1943. Age 41.
33. Gerson Stern — Son of Hildegard and Walter. Born 1941. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, January 29, 1943, as an infant. Murdered 1945. Age approximately 2 at deportation.
34. Bertha Elkan née Lucas — Felix's cousin's wife. Born Höngen, 1871. Deported → Theresienstadt, July 25, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, October 20, 1944. Age 73.
35. Ernst Elkan — Felix's cousin's son. Born Setterich, 1908. Fled to Belgium; deported Malines → Auschwitz, October 31, 1942. Officially declared dead.
36. Else Elkan née Mathes — Ernst's wife. Born Brand, 1913. Fled to Belgium; deported Malines → Auschwitz, August 25, 1942. Died Auschwitz, September 14, 1942. Age 29.
37. Josef Mathes — Else's father. Born Aachen, 1881. Deported → Sobibor extermination camp, June 15, 1942. Officially declared dead.
38. Tina Mathes née Daniel — Else's mother. Born Drove, 1882. Deported → Izbica ghetto. Officially declared dead.
39. Erich Mathes — Else's brother. Born Brand, 1926. A student. Deported → Sobibor extermination camp, June 15, 1942. Officially declared dead. Age 16.

Extended Bodenheimer connections — through marriages and cousins traced across the Bodenheimer and Lauchheimer lines.

40. Anna Caspary née Lychenheim — Mother of Ernst Caspary, who married Edgar's cousin Helene née Lauchheimer. Born Lübeck, 1880. Deported Hamburg → Auschwitz, 1943. Officially declared dead. Age 64.
41. Bella Lauchheimer née Leiter — Sister-in-law of Uncle Henry Lauchheimer. Born Aufhausen, 1883. Deported Stuttgart → Riga-Jungfernhof, December 1, 1941. Shot in Rumbula Forest, Latvia. Officially declared dead.

The Maass family — connected to Edgar through his mother's side. Uncle Oskar Maass took his own life in 1939 before deportation came for him.

42. Uncle Oskar Maass — Born Berlin, 1889. Resident of Frankfurt. Died by suicide, June 23, 1939, rather than face what was coming.
43. Eva Mannheim née Lachmann — Edgar's mother's cousin. Born Berlin, 1895. Resident of Hamburg. Murdered.
44. Walter Mannheim — Eva's husband. Born Ahlden, 1890. Resident of Hamburg. Murdered.
45. Hertha Mannheim — Daughter of Eva and Walter. Born 1922. Murdered.
46. Vilma Mannheim — Daughter of Eva and Walter. Born 1924. Murdered.
47. Ruth Mannheim — Daughter of Eva and Walter. Born 1928. Murdered.
48. Adele Maass — Second cousin twice removed. Born Berlin, 1863. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, August 19, 1942; transferred → Treblinka, September 26, 1942. Murdered. Age 79.
49. Hedwig Maass née Potzernheim — Married into the Maass family. Born Fürstenberg, 1884. Deported Berlin → Riga, August 15, 1942. Died August 18, 1942. Age 57.
50. Dr. Eugen Nathan Wolff — Second cousin twice removed. Born Berlin, 1856. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, January 29, 1943. Died Theresienstadt, March 15, 1943. Age 86.
51. Alice Wolff née Lehmann — Eugen's wife. Born Berlin, 1872. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, January 29, 1943. Died Theresienstadt, April 25, 1944. Age 72.
52. Lilli Hirschland née Maass — Third cousin once removed. Born Berlin, 1889. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, August 14, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, April 15, 1943. Age 53.
53. Otto Hirschland — Lilli's husband. Born Essen, 1871. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, August 14, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, September 15, 1943. Age 72.
54. Johanna Edith Ewer née Maass — Third cousin once removed. Born Berlin, 1890. Deported Berlin → Riga, August 15, 1942. Died August 18, 1942. Age 52.
55. Margarete Behrens née Maass — Third cousin once removed. Born Berlin, 1878. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, July 30, 1942; transferred → Auschwitz, May 16, 1944. Murdered upon arrival. Age 65.
56. Fritz Joseph Behrens — Margarete's husband. Born Berlin, 1872. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, July 30, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, November 28, 1942. Age 70.
57. Friedrich Aberle — Third cousin once removed. Born Berlin, 1892. Imprisoned Sachsenhausen 1938–1940; transferred → Dachau, September 6, 1940. Died Dachau, December 28, 1940. Age 48.
58. Frieda Lachmann née Ginsberg — Great-aunt (wife of Minna's brother Norbert, who survived). Born Berlin, 1868. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, April 19, 1943. Died Theresienstadt, November 8, 1943. Age 75.
59. Herta Bruck née Falkenberg — Edgar's cousin Helene Caspary's husband's cousin. Born Zempelburg, 1899. Lived in Amsterdam. Murdered at Sobibor, May 7, 1943. Age 43.

The Blau and Marcus families — connected to Edgar through his brother-in-law Teddy, whose family was scattered across Berlin and Vienna.

60. Ernst Johann Marcus — Brother-in-law Teddy's uncle. Born Berlin, 1883. Fled to Belgium; deported Drancy → Auschwitz, August 31, 1942. Age 59.
61. Rosa Blau — Brother-in-law Teddy's aunt. Born Vienna, 1864. Deported Vienna → Theresienstadt, July 28, 1942. Murdered. Age 78.
62. Robert Blau — Brother-in-law Teddy's uncle. Born Vienna, 1867. Deported → Theresienstadt; transferred → Treblinka, 1942. Age 75.
63. Regine Anna Ehrenfest née Egger — Brother-in-law Teddy's cousin once removed. Born Vienna, 1867. Died Theresienstadt, February 9, 1945. Age 77.

The Waibstadt Bodenheimers — cousins of Edgar's father traced back to the ancestral Bodenheimer home in Waibstadt, Baden. Several had fled to the Netherlands, where the Nazis ultimately found them.

64. Isaak Bodenheimer — First cousin twice removed of Edgar's father. Born Waibstadt, 1854. Fled to Rotterdam in 1939. Died Rotterdam, August 27, 1941. Age 86. A Stolperstein was placed in Waibstadt in his memory in 2012.
65. Emanuel Haas — Husband of Hermine Bodenheimer (Isaak's daughter). Born Guntersblum, 1874. Deported Darmstadt → Theresienstadt, September 27, 1942; transferred → Auschwitz. Died May 18, 1944. Age 69.
66. Willy Schlamm — Husband of Jenny Bodenheimer (Isaak's daughter). Born Gembitz, 1882. Deported Darmstadt → Treblinka (presumed), September 30, 1942. Officially declared dead.
67. Regina Schlamm née Kahn — Willy's second wife (Jenny died in 1924). Born Rhaunen, 1890. Deported Darmstadt → Treblinka (presumed), September 30, 1942. Officially declared dead.
68. Berthold Bodenheimer — Second cousin once removed of Edgar's father. Born Waibstadt, 1885. Lived in Rotterdam. Died Auschwitz, June 14, 1943. Age 58.
69. Rosa Paula Bodenheimer née Baer — Berthold's wife. Born Mannheim, 1888. Died Auschwitz, January 14, 1943. Age 54.
70. Madeleine Marianne Bodenheimer — Daughter of Berthold and Rosa Paula. Born Rotterdam, 1924. Died Auschwitz, January 11, 1943. Age 18. Her photograph and a letter appear in the book Koude Voeten by Bill Minco.
71. Eliane Hanna Bodenheimer — Daughter of Berthold. Born Rotterdam, 1928. Died Auschwitz, January 14, 1943. Age 14.
72. Julia Kälbermann née Bodenheimer — Daughter of Berthold. Born 1912. Died Auschwitz, October 12, 1942. Age 30.
73. Hugo Kälbermann — Julia's husband. Born Grosseicholzheim, 1904. Deported → Auschwitz, 1942. Died October 9, 1942. Age 37.
74. Rosie Kälbermann — Daughter of Julia and Hugo. Born Rotterdam, 1935. Died Auschwitz, October 12, 1942. Age 7.
75. Emanuel Kälbermann — Julia's father-in-law. Born Grosseicholzheim, 1865. Imprisoned in a mental institution; taken under the Nazi euthanasia program. Murdered at Hadamar killing facility, February 4, 1941.
76. Ludwig Frank — Third cousin (son of Bertha Bodenheimer and Hermann Frank). Born Mannheim, 1914. Deported to Gurs, 1940; transferred Drancy → Auschwitz, August 26, 1942; later transferred to Gross-Rosen. Died January 31, 1945. Age 30.
77. Kati Frank — Ludwig's wife. Born Munich. Murdered.
78. Ruth Frank — Ludwig's daughter. Born circa 1935. Murdered as a child.
79. Hans Frank — Ludwig's son. Born circa 1935. Murdered as a child.
80. Julchen Julia Frank — Sister of Ludwig's father Herman. Born Neckarbischofsheim, 1884. Deported to Gurs, 1940; transferred Drancy → Auschwitz, August 10, 1942. Age 57.
81. Max Frank — Brother of Ludwig's father Herman. Born Mannheim, 1884. Deported to Gurs, 1940. Died Gurs internment camp, France, circa 1943.
82. Helene Kafski née Frank — Sister-in-law of Bertha Bodenheimer Frank. Born Neckarbischofsheim, 1881. Died Paris, 1942. Age 61.
83. Katharina Frank née Uhlmann — Wife of Sigmund Frank, brother-in-law of Bertha Bodenheimer Frank. Born Munich, 1886. Deported Munich → Kowno (Kaunas), Fort IX, November 20, 1941. Murdered November 25, 1941. Age 55.
84. Alexander Siegmund Bodenheimer — Second cousin once removed. Born Waibstadt, 1865. Deported to Gurs, 1940; transferred to Recebedou internment camp near Toulouse. Died Recebedou, December 31, 1941. Age 76.
85. Helene Simon née Bodenheimer — Fourth cousin. Born Waibstadt, 1902. Deported to Gurs, 1940; transferred Drancy → Auschwitz, August 14, 1942. Officially declared dead.
86. Heinrich Simon — Helene's husband. Born Mannheim, 1902. Deported to Gurs, 1940; transferred Drancy → Auschwitz, August 14, 1942. Officially declared dead.

Distant cousins — connections traced through extended family branches.

87. Lazarus Louis David Loewenthal — Born Laupheim, 1865. Deported Stuttgart → Theresienstadt, August 22, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, June 23, 1943.
88. Doris Loewenthal née Klein — Lazarus's wife. Born Roth bei Nürnberg, 1876. Deported Stuttgart → Theresienstadt, August 22, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, September 6, 1942, just days after arrival. Age 65.
89. Paul Berthold Breslau — Born Frankfurt, 1877. Deported Frankfurt → Lodz ghetto, October 20, 1941. Died April 6, 1942. Age 64.
90. Klara Breslau née Auerbacher — Paul's wife. Born Kippenheim, 1892. Deported Frankfurt → Lodz ghetto, October 20, 1941. Fate unknown.
91. Lore Breslau — Daughter of Klara and Paul. Born Frankfurt, 1923. Deported Frankfurt → Lodz ghetto, October 20, 1941. Age 17.
92. Dr. Raphael Kaufmann — Born Merzig, 1871. Deported Frankfurt → Theresienstadt, September 1942. Died Theresienstadt, August 11, 1943. Age 71.
93. Ida Kaufmann née Isay — Raphael's wife and cousin. Born Cologne, 1881. Deported Frankfurt → Theresienstadt, September 1942. Died Theresienstadt, April 9, 1943. Age 61.

Brigitte's Family

Brigitte Levy's family was rooted in Berlin. Her father was Ernst Levy. Her mother's side connected through the Wolff and Mayer families. The numbering continues.

The Wolff family — Fritz Georg Wolff was Brigitte's uncle (brother of her mother Marie Levy née Wolff). He was married twice; both wives were deported. Fritz himself was deported in 1943.

94. Uncle James Simon — Ernst Levy's brother-in-law (married to Anna Levy), known as "The Lost Composer." Born Berlin, 1880. Fled to Netherlands; deported Westerbork → Theresienstadt, April 5, 1944; transferred → Auschwitz, October 12, 1944. Murdered October 14, 1944. Age 64.
95. Uncle Fritz Georg Wolff — Brigitte's uncle. Born Berlin, 1880. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, March 12, 1943. Officially declared dead. Age 63.
96. Aunt Margarete Wolff née Marckwald — Fritz's second wife. Born Wuppertal, 1900. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, March 12, 1943. Died Auschwitz, March 18, 1943. Age 42.
97. Aunt Minna Wolff née Pfeffer — Fritz's first wife. Born Gießen, 1884. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, October 14, 1943. Age 59.

The Neustadts — Elwina Wolff (Brigitte's aunt) and her husband Georg both took their own lives in 1937 rather than wait for arrest. Their daughter Ruth was later deported with her husband and young sons.

98. Aunt Elwina Neustadt née Wolff — Brigitte's aunt, daughter of Emanuel Wolff. Born 1887. Died by suicide, Berlin, July 14, 1937, two months after her husband.
99. Uncle Georg Neustadt — Elwina's husband. Born 1876. Died by suicide, Berlin, May 29, 1937.
100. Ernst Neustadt — Georg's brother. Born Breslau, 1879. Deported → Tormersdorf and Grüssau collecting camps. Died circa 1943.
101. Grete Neustadt née Staub — Ernst's wife, daughter of the noted jurist Hermann Staub. Born 1889. Deported with Ernst to Tormersdorf/Schlesien.
102. Cousin Ruth Kaufmann née Neustadt — Daughter of Elwina and Georg. Born Berlin, 1909. Deported Westerbork → Theresienstadt, April 5, 1944; transferred → Auschwitz, May 18, 1944. Died Auschwitz, July 7, 1944. Age 34.
103. Ernest Kaufmann — Ruth's husband. Born Cologne, 1898. Deported Westerbork → Theresienstadt; transferred → Auschwitz. Died Auschwitz, January 31, 1945. Age 47.
104. Thomas Kaufmann — Son of Ruth and Ernest. Born Chemnitz, 1933. Deported with his parents through Westerbork and Theresienstadt to Auschwitz. Died Auschwitz, July 31, 1944. Age 11.
105. Stefan Kaufmann — Son of Ruth and Ernest. Born Chemnitz, 1934. Deported with his parents through Westerbork and Theresienstadt to Auschwitz. Died Auschwitz, July 7, 1944. Age 9.
106. Bertha Kaufmann née Kaufmann — Ernest's mother. Born Merzig, 1869. Fled to Netherlands; died at Westerbork collecting camp, April 18, 1943. Age 73.

Extended Wolff family connections — the Rosenfeld, Klempner, and Joachimczyk families on Brigitte's mother's side.

107. Else Henriette Salzburg née Rosenfeld — Brigitte's mother's cousin (daughter of Eva Wolff's sister). Born Poznan, 1882. Deported Berlin → Raasiku killing field near Reval, September 1942. Murdered.
108. Grete Blumenthal née Klempner — Second cousin. Born Berlin, 1897. Resided in a sanitarium in Eberswalde from 1934; taken by the Nazis and euthanized in 1940. Age 42.
109. Heinz Werner Blumenthal — Grete's son. Born Berlin, 1926. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, April 19, 1943. Died Auschwitz, April 1943. Age 16.
110. Hans Klempner — Second cousin (brother of Grete). Born Berlin, 1898. Deported Berlin → Minsk ghetto, November 14, 1941. Died Minsk, November 1941. Age 42.
111. Margarete Görke née Wolff — Brigitte's mother's cousin. Born Poznan, 1895. Deported Munich → Kowno (Kaunas), Fort IX, November 20, 1941. Murdered November 25, 1941. Age 46.
112. Alice Selma Wolff — Brigitte's mother's cousin (sister of Margarete Görke). Born Poznan, 1890. Deported Berlin → Lodz ghetto, October 18, 1941. Died November 5, 1941. Age 51.
113. Paul Wolff — Brigitte's mother's cousin. Born Poznan, 1871. Died by suicide, Berlin, November 28, 1942.
114. Georg Wolff — Brigitte's mother's cousin. Born Berlin, 1881. Deported Berlin → Raasiku killing field, September 1942. Murdered.
115. Doris Wolff née Joachimczyk — Georg's wife. Born Poznan, 1883. Deported Berlin → Raasiku killing field, September 1942. Murdered.
116. Lilli Rosine Joachimczyk née Oppenheimer — Doris's sister-in-law. Born Berlin, 1891. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, October 3, 1942; transferred → Auschwitz, May 16, 1944.
117. Elsbeth Rosa Oppenheimer née Lesser — Lilli's mother. Born Berlin, 1866. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, October 3, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, March 3, 1943. Age 76.

The Levy family — Franziska was Ernst Levy's aunt. She and her four children were all deported from Berlin; three were sent to Auschwitz. The twins Walter and Bernhard were separated: Bernhard was deported first in 1941 and died in the Lodz ghetto hospital in January 1942; Walter followed in 1943.

118. Great-Aunt Franziska Levy née Kalisch — Ernst Levy's aunt. Born Berlin, 1863. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, July 21, 1942 (Transport I/27: 100 deported, 96 killed). Died Theresienstadt, November 15, 1942. Age 79.
119. Charlotte Sophie Levy — Franziska's daughter (Ernst Levy's first cousin). Born Berlin, 1889. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, July 21, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, October 26, 1943. Age 54.
120. Ella Philippine Levy — Franziska's daughter (Ernst Levy's first cousin). Born Berlin, 1891. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, March 1, 1943. Missing; murdered in the Shoah.
121. Walter Berthold Levy — Franziska's son (Ernst Levy's first cousin, twin brother of Bernhard). Born Berlin, 1895. Deported Berlin → Auschwitz, March 3, 1943. Missing; listed among the murdered Jews of Germany.
122. Bernhard Alfred Levy — Franziska's son (Ernst Levy's first cousin, twin brother of Walter). Born Berlin, 1895. Deported Berlin → Lodz ghetto, October 18, 1941. Died Lodz ghetto hospital, January 26, 1942. Age 46.

The Mayer family — connected to Brigitte through her Uncle Gustav Mayer. The Mayer cousins were spread across Berlin, Breslau, and Pomerania.

123. Sophie Hamburger née Mayer — Uncle Gustav Mayer's cousin. Born Prenzlau, 1875. Deported Breslau → Theresienstadt, August 30, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, March 8, 1943.
124. Otto Zacharias Hamburger — Sophie's husband. Born Breslau, 1871. Deported Breslau → Theresienstadt, August 30, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, December 4, 1942.
125. Anna Helene "Lilli" Hamburger — Gustav Mayer's niece (cousin once removed). Born Breslau, 1901. Deported Breslau → Theresienstadt, August 30, 1942. Died Theresienstadt, January 10, 1943.
126. Rosalie Daniel née Mayer — Gustav Mayer's cousin. Born Prenzlau, 1864. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, August 17, 1942; transferred → Treblinka, September 19, 1942. Murdered. Age 77.
127. Ascher Alexander Mayer — Gustav Mayer's cousin. Born Prenzlau, 1875. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, July 1, 1943. Died Theresienstadt, December 14, 1943.
128. Sophie Seelig née Mayer — Gustav Mayer's cousin. Born Prenzlau, 1869. Deported Stettin → Glusk ghetto, February 12, 1940. Died Glusk, March 25, 1942. Age 72.
129. Hugo Seelig — Sophie's husband. Born Schwedt, 1860. Deported Stettin → Glusk ghetto, February 12, 1940. Died Glusk, December 6, 1940. Age 80.
130. Alexander Mayer — Gustav Mayer's cousin. Born Prenzlau, 1873. Deported Berlin → Theresienstadt, July 27, 1942. Died Theresienstadt before December 30, 1943. Officially declared dead.

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130 people.

Connected to two people who survived.

This is one family. Multiply by six million.

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Each entry in this list has been researched through Yad Vashem, the German Federal Archives (Bundesarchiv Gedenkbuch), the Czech Holocaust Database, Find a Grave, and Geni.com. Individual memorials for many of those listed here can be found in the My Family's Holocaust Martyrs virtual cemetery on Find a Grave.Where records conflict or fate is uncertain, that uncertainty is noted. These are not estimates. These are people.

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This post is the completion of research I began over a decade ago. I wrote about why none of this was ever spoken of in my family in an earlier post: The Case of the Unmentionable Holocaust (November 2015).

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I Know What My Great-Grandfather Read for Breakfast in 1913

Context Is Everything — One Photograph, One Newspaper, One Sunday Morning in 1913

It is Pentecost Sunday. The eleventh of May, 1913. Berlin.

My wife Rosa has taken Gerda inside — the child is not yet two and already exhausting — and Edgar, who turned five in March, is somewhere in the garden making the kind of noise that five-year-old boys make when they believe no one is listening. I have changed out of my good clothes. I have my paper. The sun is out. For the moment, no one needs anything from me.

I am, as I have been for some years now, a contented man. This is not something I take for granted. 

I was born in Heidelberg in 1874, the second child of a father who ran a men's clothing shop and worried constantly about money. My name — Siegmund — is the modern form of an older one. My great-great-grandfather was Seligmann Bodenheimer. The family modernized the name somewhere along the way, as German-Jewish families often did in those years, smoothing the old into something that sounded a little less conspicuous, a little more of its time. I have always been Siegmund. It suits me.

I left school at sixteen to become a bank apprentice in Frankfurt — my principal told my father it was "a sin against scholarship" to withdraw me, which I have always found quietly gratifying — and I spent the next twenty years working my way upward through German banking with the focused intensity of a man who has something to prove and no one to prove it to but himself. In April of 1902 I joined the Darmstädter Bank as a Prokurist. On the first of January 1910, I became a full member of the Vorstand. I was thirty-five years old. I had started from the bottom and, as I wrote later, had "gotten there with nothing but untiring work, tenacious effort, and — perhaps — a bit of common sense."

I married Rosa in 1907. We moved first into a flat on the Hardenbergstraße, and after Edgar arrived in 1908 and Gerda in 1911, we did what prosperous Berliners do when the family outgrows the rooms: we moved somewhere larger. We are now at Meineckestraße 21, just off the Kurfürstendamm, in one of those grand Charlottenburg Bürgerhäuser with the ornate stone facade and the entrance steps that, on a Sunday morning with the sun out, are a perfectly reasonable place to sit in a wicker chair and read the newspaper. Which is, in fact, what I am doing.

I love German opera with an embarrassing passion — I have watched Wagner from standing room in the gods, fifty pfennigs a ticket, physical endurance required. I quote Goethe. I read everything. I consider myself, without complication or asterisk, a German.

On this particular Sunday morning, I am reading the news. There is a crisis in the Balkans — there is always a crisis in the Balkans — and I am watching it with the specific attention of a banker who has spent his career tracking European sovereign debt and alliance risk. The page facing outward shows photographs from Shkodër: crowds crossing a bridge, the last Montenegrin troops marching out of a city they besieged for six months. The Great Powers have held. The diplomacy has, barely, worked.

I turn the page. Here is something more pleasant: a full illustrated spread on the Wars of Liberation, a hundred years ago this Pentecost. Prussians and Russians against Napoleon. Engravings from a Dresden exhibition. The Germany I grew up learning to love. My history, as much as anyone's.

The sun is on the steps. Edgar has gone quiet, which is either good or alarming. Rosa will call us in for the midday meal soon.

I have, as I said, no complaints.

Siegmund Bodenheimer, Pentecost Sunday, 11 May 1913, Berlin. Blissfully unaware of what I was going to do with this photo 110 years later.

I have no idea what is coming.

In fourteen months, an archduke will be shot in Sarajevo. The world I live in — the Germany I love, the bank I have spent twenty years building toward, the apartment on the Meineckestraße with the good Sunday light — will begin, slowly and then all at once, to come apart. My two sisters will not survive what follows. I will. Barely. Smartly. I will end up at 91 in a New York apartment, a naturalized American, having written all of this down in a journal my son gave me for my 70th birthday.

But that is later. All of that is later.

Right now it is Sunday. The sun is on the steps. The paper is open in my hands.

Wait — How On Earth Do You Know That?

I didn't. Not at first. What I had was a photograph of my great grandfather. 

Specifically: a man on some steps, holding a newspaper, on a sunny morning. The newspaper is clearly visible — large format, held open, masthead facing the camera. And I am, apparently, constitutionally incapable of looking at a readable artifact in an old photograph and not trying to read it.

The masthead is printed in old German Gothic — Fraktur blackletter type — which is essentially designed to be unreadable by anyone born after 1920. I could make out something. Not much.

So I cropped hard. Zoomed in as far as the resolution allowed. And in the masthead I could just make out: Sonntag — Sunday — and what looked like "11. Mai" and a partial year: 1913.

A Sunday in May 1913. I checked a perpetual calendar. May 11, 1913 was indeed a Sunday. But not just any Sunday — it was Pfingstsonntag. Pentecost Sunday. A major German holiday. And the paper itself confirmed it: an inside feature was titled "Um Pfingsten vor 100 Jahren" — "At Pentecost, 100 Years Ago." The holiday was in the paper because it was that holiday.

Date locked: Sunday, 11 May 1913.

"Sonntag, 11. Mai." Right there. In his hands. This took me three hours.

🔍 PRO HINT: Crop ruthlessly and look for text.

Any text visible in a photograph is a potential anchor: newspaper mastheads, shop signs, street signs, building names, advertisements, labels on crates. Even partial text matters — a few letters in a known language and approximate era can be enough to identify a publication, a business, or a neighborhood. Dates hide in plain sight. Look for them before you assume the photo is undated.

Okay, But Which Newspaper?

The Fraktur masthead wasn't giving me enough. So I stopped trying to read it and started thinking about the man holding it instead.

Siegmund Bodenheimer. Board member of the Darmstädter Bank. Educated. Liberal. Jewish. Living in Charlottenburg — the most prosperous, most cultured neighborhood in Berlin. The question wasn't "what newspaper could he be reading?" It was "what newspaper would a man like this definitely be reading on a Sunday morning in 1913?"

One answer. The Berliner Tageblatt — founded by Rudolf Mosse, himself Jewish, the paper of record for educated, liberal, German-Jewish Berlin. Its illustrated Sunday supplement was called Der Welt Spiegel. Large-format. Heavy on photography. Exactly what was visible in the photograph.

I went to ZEFYS — the Berlin State Library's free digitized newspaper archive — and searched for May 11, 1913.

Der Welt Spiegel, Nr. 38, Sonntag 11. Mai 1913.

There it was. I pulled up page 3.

And there, on the screen, was the same photograph that was in his hands. Same image. Same layout. Same crowd crossing the same bridge into Shkodër, Albania.

I may have made a small noise.

🔍 PRO HINT: ZEFYS is your new best friend for German newspapers.

The Berlin State Library's ZEFYS portal has digitized hundreds of historical German newspapers, many going back to the mid-1800s. It's free, searchable, and covers the Berliner Tageblatt from 1872 onward. Browse by date. If your ancestor was in Berlin between roughly 1870 and 1940, their world is in there — ads, obituaries, social announcements, war news, everything. Deutsche Digitale Bibliothek has overlapping coverage. Between the two you can usually find what you need.

So What Was He Actually Reading?

Now it gets interesting.

Siegmund has the paper folded so the top half of page 3 faces the camera. Page 1 peeks in at the top, folded behind. He is reading page 2. Three pages of one Sunday supplement — each one its own window into that morning.

Page 3 — facing the camera — leads with the fall of Shkodër (Scutari), the final act of the First Balkan War. Since October 1912, Montenegro and Serbia had been besieging this Ottoman city in what is now Albania. One hundred and eighty-three days. Thirty-six thousand artillery shells. The Ottoman commander murdered by his own deputy, who was secretly negotiating surrender in exchange for Great Power backing for his claim to the Albanian throne. Russia and Austria-Hungary eyeing each other across the crisis. A naval blockade. European diplomacy at its absolute limit.

On this specific Sunday morning — May 11, 1913 — the last Montenegrin troops marched out of Shkodër. An international peacekeeping force entered the city. A banker who spent his career tracking European sovereign debt and alliance risk was holding that story in his hands, in the sunshine, in his wicker chair.

Page 3 of Der Welt Spiegel, 11 May 1913 — the page facing the camera in Siegmund's hands. "Der Einzug der Montenegriner in Skutari." This is the exact page he was holding up.

Now flip the paper over.

Page 2 — the page he is reading — is something else entirely. A full illustrated feature called "Um Pfingsten vor 100 Jahren": "At Pentecost, 100 Years Ago." Copper engravings from a Dresden exhibition. Prussians and Russians against the French. Austrians against the Old Guard. King Murat on horseback. A patriotic retrospective on the 1813 Wars of Liberation — the battles that forged modern German national identity.

Page 2 — the page Siegmund is actually reading. "Um Pfingsten vor 100 Jahren": a patriotic retrospective on the 1813 Wars of Liberation against Napoleon.

Siegmund Bodenheimer was born in Heidelberg. He attended German schools. He served his year in the German army. He quoted Goethe. He loved German opera. He considered himself German — deeply, genuinely, without asterisk. That 1813 retrospective was his history as much as anyone else's. He was a German citizen on a German holiday reading about German glory.

That is the moment. That specific Sunday morning, with those two pages. A man at the center of his world, settled completely in a life that felt solid and permanent.

It was not permanent. But he didn't know that yet. And that gap — between what he knew and what was coming — is exactly what context gives you access to.

🔍 PRO HINT: Context is not decoration. It is evidence.

Once you've identified a date and a place, spend thirty minutes reading about what was actually happening at that moment. Not just for color — because context helps you understand why your ancestor made the decisions they made. A banker watching the Balkan crisis in 1913 isn't just watching the news: he's watching bond markets, sovereign debt, alliance risk. A German Jew reading a patriotic retrospective about 1813 is telling you something about how he understood himself in his country. Historical context turns a photograph into a document.

More Than a Photo — This Is the Whole Point

Here is what a photograph actually is: a frozen moment that only looks still.

The world around it was in motion. The Treaty of London formally ending the First Balkan War was still three weeks away, unsigned, when that shutter clicked. Bulgaria was already plotting to attack its former allies. Whatever calm Siegmund felt in that chair was real — and borrowed. The wicker chair, the Sunday paper, the comfortable morning: all of it was standing on ground that was already shifting.

Identifying the newspaper gave me all of that. Not just a date — a vantage point. I could see what he saw, read what he read, understand what worried him professionally and what he celebrated as a citizen. I could stand next to him on that specific Sunday morning, a hundred and ten years later.

That is what context does. It thaws the frozen moment. It restores the motion.

And this method works on any photograph with a readable artifact in it. A newspaper is the best case — it comes with its own date and its own news — but shop signs, letter envelopes, advertising posters, labeled bottles, even legible embroidery on a tablecloth: all of it is information waiting to be used.

🔍 PRO HINT: One artifact can anchor a whole portrait.

Start with what you can see. Identify everything in it. Then chase each element outward. The newspaper became a research target. The date became a calendar problem. The masthead became a press history question. The story on the page became a history lesson. Each answer opened another question. This is how genealogy actually works — not as a linear search, but as a web where pulling any thread moves the whole thing.

The trick is to not stop pulling.

How to Do This Yourself

If you have an old photograph with a readable artifact in it, here is the approach:

1. Crop ruthlessly. Get as close as you can to any text in the image. Even partial letters matter. A few legible characters in a known language and era can be enough.
2. Use context to narrow candidates. Who was this person? What would they realistically have been reading, wearing, buying, standing in front of? Profession, religion, neighborhood, and education all constrain the answer fast. Don't ask "what could this be?" Ask "what would this person definitely have had?"
3. Search the archive. The major ones, by region:
   • Germany: ZEFYS (Berlin State Library) and Deutsche Digitale Bibliothek — free, browseable by date, hundreds of titles back to the mid-1800s.
   • United States (free): Chronicling America (Library of Congress) — fully searchable, covers 1770–1963, all 50 states, no account required.
   • United States (subscription): Newspapers.com — over 20,000 titles, all 50 states, full-page image scans from the early 1700s into the 2000s. Its World Collection also covers the UK, Canada, Australia, Ireland, Germany, France, Mexico, and more. Worth it for serious research.
   • United Kingdom: British Newspaper Archive — the UK equivalent of Newspapers.com; millions of pages, strong 19th- and early 20th-century coverage. Subscription, but deep.
   • Australia: Trove (National Library of Australia) — free, excellent, colonial-era through the 20th century.
   Browse by date once you have one. Don't only search by keyword — look at the full issue. The story you need may not be the one you thought you were looking for.
4. Read what they were reading. Not just to confirm the identification — to understand the morning. What was the lead story? What was the tone? What did the ads assume about the reader? What was the country worried about that week?
5. Add the layer they couldn't see. What happened next? What was already in motion just off-frame? That gap — between what they knew and what was coming — is where the photograph becomes a story.

A photograph is a frozen moment. Context is what thaws it.

Start with the mustache. End up with the whole world.

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How to Find a Cousin (With Only Breadcrumbs and Sheer Stubbornness)

I’ve got a problem only a genealogist could love: zero living male Maass cousins from Märkisch Friedland to run a Y-DNA test for me. So I did what any rational person with an irrational hobby would do—I went hunting through my tree for orphaned Maass men: the lone branches with a name and a birth who might have families I just haven’t chased yet.

You don’t really find ancestors—you negotiate with them. They toss crumbly bits of clues; you show up with a magnifying glass, date math, and a sense of humor, and eventually the records agree to line up.

What follows is a quick case study in clue-stacking: from a Prussian cradle to a Berlin obituary—and straight to a living cousin you can actually wave at. The point isn’t just names on a chart; it’s reconnecting long-lost family so we can share the really old photos hiding in shoeboxes and, when it matters for the surname line, run that Y-DNA test to lock the paper trail to the genetic one.

The Maass family of Märkisch Friedland

I’ve traced my Maass / Maaß line back to Moshe Favish Maaß (aka Moses Feivel Maass) of Märkisch Friedland (now Mirosławiec, Poland), circa 1730. And, as of 26 Oct 2025, his tree is still sprouting—499 descendants (including me and 267 other people)… and, so far, not a single one still carries the MAASS surname. The universe has jokes.

For a few centuries the Jewish families of Märkisch Friedland did what small-town Jews do best: run shops, keep books, argue lovingly in two languages, and spell Maaß/Maass three different ways before breakfast. Then 1871 happens—Germany becomes “a thing,” civil rights expand, railways knit the map, and Berlin (a few hours southwest) turns into a magnet with streetlights. Translation: bigger markets, universities, factory jobs, newspapers, doctors, and the sweet anonymity of a city where no one asks your great-uncle if he’s related to those Maasses (he is). So they did what smart families do: packed the candlesticks, caught the train, and scattered Berlin-ward—where the records would later taunt me from multiple archives, but also where the cousins—and the photo albums—were waiting.

Receipts: Maass family tree top starting point 

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Clue 1 — Start with a Birth You Can Point At

Adolph Maaß is born 5 July 1843 in Märkisch Friedland 

In the Jewish civil births, up pops Adolph Maaß (aka Adolf Maass), son of Moses Maaß and Johanna Orbach. When I first met him, he was a lonely dangler on my tree—no wife, no kids, no death date, just a name and a birth. Cute, but not helpful.

Why it matters: 

Date, place, and parents—the genealogist’s holy trinity. It’s the anchor point that turns a stray leaf into someone you can actually follow.

Pro Tip: Search spelling variations of German names.

• ß ↔ ss: Maaß/Maass
• Umlauts: ä/ae, ö/oe, ü/ue (Müller/Mueller)
• Vowel/cons. swaps: ei/ey/ai (Meier/Meyer/Maier/Mayer)
• C/K, F/Ph, Th/T: (Carl/Karl, Philipp/Filipp, Thal/Tal)
• Given-name variants: Adolf/Adolph, Karl/Carl, Johann/Johannes
• Other toggles: add/remove von/vom/van, middle initials, hyphens, Anglicizations

Receipts: 1843 birth of Adolph MAASS in Märkisch Friedland

 

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Clue 2 — Connect a Death That Talks Back

Death of Adolf Maass, age 77 — On 27 Sep 1920 in Schöneberg, Berlin, a death record is filed for Adolf Maass, age 77—he’d died two days earlier (25 Sep). The entry skips the usual goodies (no parents, no wife—thanks for nothing), but it does drop the line we needed: born in Märkisch Friedland. That’s the jackpot clue—he’s definitely one of my Märkisch Friedland Maass clan.

Pro Tip: Do the date math — The Adolf Maass sitting on my tree was born 5 Jul 1843. He dies 25 Sep 1920. That clocks in at 77 years, 2 months, 20 days—which the certificate politely rounds to 77. Math sings, record agrees. Bingo.

Why it matters: 

Age, birthplace, and timeline all snap into place. The death doesn’t just rhyme with the birth—it locks to it. Circle closed; the baby from Märkisch Friedland is the gentleman who died in Berlin.

But wait—what if there were two?
In theory, there could have been two different Adolf Maass born in Märkisch Friedland in 1843. In practice, that’s unicorn-rare here. We have the scanned Jewish birth registers for that town and year, and they show one entry: Adolph Maaß, son of Mose Maaß and Johanna Orbach (see birth certificate). Same name, same place, same exact birth date. Unless a duplicate Adolf materialized off-ledger and never touched a synagogue or civil book, our man is the man.

Receipts: 1920 death of Adolf MAASS in Berlin (born 1843 in Märkisch Friedland)

 

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Clue 3 — Newspapers: Where Families Quietly Shout

30 Sept 1920, Berliner Tageblatt: a family notice announces that Adolf Maaß passed away, “our dear father, father-in-law, and grandfather.”

Why it matters: 

“Grandfather” is not just sentimental—it’s a data grenade. At this point, the only known grandchild (Hanna) was born 11/11/1920, weeks after Adolf’s death. Conclusion: there must be another grandchild.

Pro Tip: Treat contradictions as treasure maps. If a “grandfather” dies before a known birth, you’re missing another grandchild. Go find it.

Receipts: 1920 Sep 30 Adolf MAASS death notice in Berliner Tageblatt

 

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Clue 4 — Marriages Are Mini-Censuses

1 Sep 1919, Berlin: The marriage of Toni Maass and Salomon Georg Glücksmann in Berlin. The entry gives us multiple payloads:

• Father status & location: Toni’s father Adolf Maass is still living in Berlin (vital pre-death timestamp).

• Bride’s birthplace: Königsberg (not just color—this becomes a search beacon).

• Witness line twist: Instead of Dad, we see “Dr. Johanna Maass,” age 46. Given Adolf dies a year later, a reasonable inference is illness/absence, with Johanna stepping in.

• Name normalization: Confirms the Maass/Maaß spelling range you must search under.

• Timeline fit: Places the family in Berlin by 1919, consistent with later deaths (Adolf 1920; Hulda 1914 Berlin already ties the migration arc).

Why it matters: 

One document verifies Adolf alive in 1919 (Berlin), hands us Königsberg as Toni’s birthplace, and drops a likely older sister (Dr. Johanna Maass, 46) into the frame—all of which tighten identity, place, and relationships right before Adolf’s 1920 death.

Pro Tip: Read everything on a civil record; you want to extract every crumb, every crumb. Don't miss an important clue. 

Receipts: 1919 marriage of Toni MAASS and Salomon Georg GLÜCKSMANN in Berlin

 

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Clue 5 — Königsberg Records Sweep

Once the marriage says “born in Königsberg,” you raid Königsberg registers for the rest of the crew. Immediate hits that cluster around Adolf Maass & Hulda (née Rosenheim):

• Johanna Maass — b. 25 Aug 1873, Königsberg → age 46 in 1919 matches the marriage witness “Dr. Johanna Maass”.  

• Albert Maass — b. 2 Sep 1876, Königsberg; d. 4 Apr 1911, Charlottenburg-Berlin; parents listed as Adolf & Hulda → stitches Königsberg to Berlin and confirms the parents.

• Gertrud Maass — b. Jul 1883, d. 12 Jun 1887, Königsberg → another child in the same household timeframe.

• Toni Maass — b. 12 Jun 1885, Königsberg → independently matches the marriage birthplace.

Why it matters: 

The Königsberg cluster proves this isn’t a lone bride wandering into Berlin; it’s a family migration with consistent parent names, repeated locales, and a witness whose age, name, and birthplace lock in. That cohesion upgrades “plausible” to probable for Johanna-as-sister and cements the Adolf + Hulda household. This creates a sturdy family cluster that marches to Berlin by the 1910s. Once you can move a family unit through space and time, you’re not guessing—you’re reconstructing. 

Receipts:

• 1885 birth of Toni MAASS in Königsberg to Adolf and Hulda
• 1876 birth of Albert MAASS in Königsberg son of Adolf and Hulda
• 1887 death of Gertrud MAASS in Königsberg
• 1873 birth of Johanna MAASS in Königsberg - index card 

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Clue 6 — Hulda’s Death  

(Expanding the “other” side, because we’re completists, and finding two more children!)

18 May 1914, Berlin: Hulda (Rosenheim) Maass dies. Her death record kindly overachieves: it names her parents, Abraham Rosenheim & Lina Cohn, and gives Hulda’s birthplace: Stettin, Prussia.

Why it matters (even if we’re laser-focused on MAASS):

• Full mother ID: Confirms the parent set for the Königsberg/Berlin children (Johanna, Albert, Toni, Gertrud, etc.).

• Cousin pipeline unlocked: Launches the Rosenheim/Cohn line out of Stettin (Szczecin) → new branches, records, and potential living cousins.

• Migration arc corroborated: Stettin → Königsberg → Berlin fits cleanly with the children’s events and later Berlin records.

• Address sanity check bonus: Hulda’s 1914 address (Gipsstraße 25/26, Mitte) isn’t the same as Adolf’s 1920 address (Grunewaldstraße 2, Schöneberg). If they had matched, that would’ve been chef’s-kiss confirmation—always look for that. But different addresses here aren’t a red flag; they read like widower-era logistics (health, family support, new lease). Same city, same family, perfectly normal late-life move.

Pro Tip: Note the addresses on civil records for consistency and mapping. 

Receipts: 1914 death of Hulda ROSENHEIM Maass in Berlin 

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Clue 7 — Hulda’s Death Notice  

Newspaper echo (aka: the part where I finally check the obvious)

Civil death in hand, I remember: Berlin papers run family notices the next day or so. I peek at the Berliner Tageblatt for 19 May 1914 and—jackpot. One column turns Hulda’s death into a mini family directory: three more children (Gustav, Hedwig and Lisbet), a son-in-law (Ludwig Hackel), and three granddaughters—Nora, Eva, Nina Hackel—in St. Petersburg. First I’ve heard of them. Nice.

Why it matters:

• It often names the living: Obits list the actual kin network—siblings, in-laws, addresses—the stuff civil forms often skip.

• It’s not just America: Yes, Germany had obituaries. So does almost everywhere. People mourn; printers print; cousins get found

Pro Tip: Search Newspapers for Obituaries to find more family. Duh. But yes, every time. 

Receipts: 1914 May 19 Death Notice of Hulda MAASS in Berliner Tageblatt

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Clue 8 — The History You Wish You Didn’t Need

Front and center is the 17 May 1939 German Minority Census (Volks-, Berufs- und Betriebszählung): a bureaucratic snapshot that is both genealogical gold and a historical gut-punch.

Blessing: it pins people to exact places with institutional detail.

Curse: it was built to identify Jews for persecution and deportation.

For the Maass family, it reveals that the three Maass sisters from Königsberg were all in/into Hannover—a single-city convergence that sets the stage for what followed.

• Toni (Maass) Glücksmann (1885–1941)
  Born: 12 Jun 1885, Königsberg (Pr.) · 1939: M.-J.-Heinemann-Stiftung, Brabeckstr. 86, Hannover · 15 Dec 1941: deported Hannover → Riga Ghetto.

• Luise Maass (1875–1943) — shows up as Luise/Louise, and likely the “Lisbet” from Hulda’s death notice—Lisbet being the family nickname, Luise/Louise the clerk-approved version.
  Born: 17 May 1875, Königsberg (Pr.) · 1939: registered; address trail includes Hochwildpfad 20, Berlin-Zehlendorf, then tied to Hannover · 15 Dec 1941: deported Hannover → Riga; died as a result of Nazi persecution (before 8 May 1945).

• Johanna Maass (1873–1940)
  Born: 25 Aug 1873, Königsberg (Pr.) · Seen earlier Berlin (Tiergarten), later Hannover · Died: 5 Dec 1940, Hannover—months before the Riga transport.

Why it matters

• The 1939 lists function like a grim census: they anchor identities and addresses, proving continuity Königsberg → Berlin → Hannover.

• Hannover becomes your research hub: target Judenhaus rosters, transport lists, Arolsen Archives files, restitution claims, and municipal records.

• In the tree, these records explain abrupt branch endings (1940–45) while also pointing to survivor pathways—e.g., Hanna, Toni’s daughter, who escaped to England.

Receipts:

• 1941 deportation of Luise MAASS from Hannover - mappingthelives.com
• 1941 deportation of Toni MAASS Glücksmann from Hannover - mappingthelives.com
• 1940 death of Johanna MAASS in Hannover - mappingthelives.com

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The Payoff — Great Grandchildren Who Prove the Paper Trail Breathes

Hanna Glücksmann, born in Berlin on 11 Nov 1920—after Adolf’s death—escaped to England, married, and had a son Daniel who is alive today.

Welcome, Daniel—newly connected cousin via the Maass line! (And yes, my name is Daniel too. Is that a clue? Absolutely not. Coincidences happen. Fun ones.)

Eva Hackel also escaped to England and had two children: Evamaria Guillery (1927-2024) and Rainer Walter Guillery (1929-2017), both of which had children of their own — great great grandchildren of our Adolf Maass.   

Why it matters: 

• This is the payoff: from an 1843 Prussian birth to living, breathing descendants. 
• That “grandfather” in the 30 Sep 1920 obituary wasn’t just sentiment—it was foreshadowing, nudging us to look for grandchildren beyond the one born weeks later. 
• And as with all good mysteries, found cousins usually means there are more leads still waiting.

Y-DNA note: Since both Daniel and Rainer descend from one of Adolf’s daughters, they don't carry the Maass paternal line for a Y-DNA test. And that’s… not what I was hunting for. Still, there is a living bridge to this branch—and I’m optimistically saving space in the album for whatever they might share someday. The hunt is still on for a living male Maass in the direct paternal line.

The Maass Cast of Characters Just Got Bigger

• Adolf Maass (1843-1920) — b. Märkisch Friedland; d. Berlin.
  Aka Adolph Maaß, and the gentleman of interest that started all this.

• Parents: 

• Moses Maaß (1814-?) — b. Märkisch Friedland; d. Märkisch Friedland
• Johanna Orbach (c1820-?) — b. Märkisch Friedland; d. Märkisch Friedland 

• Wife: 

• Hulda Rosenheim (1847-1914) — b. Stettin; d. Berlin

• Known Children:

• Johanna Maass (1873–1940) — b. Königsberg; d. Hannover
• Luise Lisbet Maass (1875–1943) — b. Königsberg; d. Riga Ghetto
• Albert Maass (1876–1911) — b. Königsberg; d. Charlottenburg (Berlin)
• Hedwig Maass (1878–1973) — b. Königsberg; m. Ludwig Hackel (c1900); d. New York City
• Gustav Sigmund Maass (1881–1937) — b. Königsberg; d. Buch (Berlin)
• Gertrud Maass (1883–1887) — b. Königsberg; d. Königsberg
• Toni Maass (1885–1941) — b. Königsberg; m. Salomon Georg Glücksmann (Berlin, 1919); d. Riga Ghetto

• Known Grandchildren: 

• Nora Hackel (1901-?) — b. Saint Petersburg; d. ?
• Eva Hackel (1903-1990) — b. Saint Petersburg; m. Hermann Guillery (Berlin, 1926); d. England
  
• Nina Hackel (1910-1999) — b. Saint Petersburg; d. Copenhagen
• Hanna Glücksmann (1920-1999) — b. Charlottenberg; m. Maurice Meyer (London, 1959); d. England

Receipts: Updated family tree for Adolf Maass and his descendants

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Closing Thought

Genealogy isn’t built by lightning-bolt revelations—it’s built by inferring facts from clues, then using those inferences to grab a toehold and find more records once you know where to look. Your ancestors absolutely left you a trail—written in 19th-century ink, in three spellings, across four jurisdictions, and then dropped during a regime change. That’s fine. We have coffee, scanners, and a healthy disrespect for dead ends. Keep stacking clue → inference → record → confirmation until the story can only be true.

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