This summer my three brothers took a trip to Ukraine to see what they could discover. They went to the state archives in Zaporozhye. These archives were made accessible to scholars and the public by legislation submitted to the Ukrainian Duma (parliament) by president Petro Poroshenko in 2015.
My brothers at the Ukrainian state archives with their interpreters
What my brothers discovered was quite amazing and the news stunned us all. I wrote about it in a blog post in July, entitled Forget-Me-Not.
There was no supporting evidence to the accusation and my grandfather's arrest was based solely on charges made by a fellow Mennonite who had provided the NKVD with a long list of names of men who he claimed belonged to a German revolutionary organization. It appears that my grandfather's accuser made the accusations in exchange for his freedom, and no such organization existed. My grandfather, no doubt under duress and torture, signed his name, admitting to these charges. Abram Kroeger was executed by shooting at 8:30 p.m. on November 14, 1938, in Dnipropetrovsk where he was buried. He was exonerated by the Ukrainian government on August 7, 1989, cleared of all charges.
On November 12 my sisters and I met together to honor our grandfather's life and to light a candle. We remembered a grandfather we never knew, except through photos and what others had told us about him. From my mother we have the impression that he was a quiet and gentle man. He loved music and he enjoyed creating things with his hands. Mom recalled that Opa had carved doll furniture for her and her cousins. A descendant of the Kroeger clockmakers, he was a craftsman and his work was precise.
We are five sisters and we each lit a candle for a grandfather we never met. The small booklet behind the women is entitled Vergissmeinnicht which is the German word for forget-me-not. In this booklet my grandmother wrote important important dates and events; she had entered the date of my grandfather's arrest. I was now able to add the date of his death in that same booklet (see my July blog posting).
My mother recalled that their family had a small hand organ in their home and she often heard her father playing a song which she thought was probably his favorite. The song is Ännchen von Tharau. Originally it was a 17-stanza poem, composed in 1637 by the Prussian poet Simon Dach to celebrate the marriage of a friend. It was set to music by organist Heinrich Albert (1604-1651). Later (in the 18th century) Johann Gottfried von Herder translated the poem into modern German.
My sister and I found the song on YouTube and played it as we thought of our grandfather.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAS0gEgk-iU
Below, you will see my translation of the final stanza of Ännchen von Tharau. It is especially poignant when I think about my grandparents' love for each other and how they were torn apart, pawns of those who had no respect for human life and dignity. My Oma never spoke much about her husband or about the hardships she endured, but I believe his spirit did follow her on her long trek through Poland, Germany, Paraguay, and finally to Canada.
If you were ever from me to be torn
To live were the sun never shines in the morn,
I would follow you over land and sea,
Iron and prison and worst enemy!
Ännchen von Tharau, my light and my sun,
For me you are always the only one!
Ännchen von Tharau, my light and my sun,
For me you are always the only one!
Würdest du gleich einmal von mir getrennt
Lebtest du, da wo man die Sonne kaum kennt
Ich will dir folgen durch Länder, durch Meer
Eisen und Kerker und feindliche Heer!
Ännchen von Tharau, mein Licht, meine Sonn'
Mein Leben schließ ich um deines herum!
