The Province

`A miracle to touch what they touched'

86 years after the Nazis took a precious kettle from a Jewish couple, their U.S. grandson got it back

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KENSINGTON, Md. — On a recent afternoon, a seemingly unremarkab­le brown parcel appeared on the front porch of Martin Goldsmith's home in Kensington, Md.

Goldsmith, 68, swiftly pried open the package. With careful hands, he uncovered a 16th-century kettle that belonged to his grandparen­ts before they died in the Holocaust. He examined the double spouted cauldron — composed of brass, bronze and iron — with awe. It had quite a path before it landed on his doorstep.

Goldsmith is well-versed in his family's tragic history, having written two books on the subject. But unlike the anecdotes he has strung together over the years, the kettle represents something different to him: a rare, tactile treasure linking him to the paternal grandparen­ts he never met.

Holding the kettle for the first time, Goldsmith was moved to tears.

“There are very few things in the known universe that my grandparen­ts touched,” Goldsmith said. “It was a miracle to touch something they had touched; to hold something they had held.”

In early April, Goldsmith was unexpected­ly contacted by an art historian from a museum in Oldenburg, the city in northwest Germany where his grandparen­ts once lived and where his father was born. The message came from Marcus Kenzler, a researcher and cultural scientist who traces the origins of Nazilooted property at the State Museum for Art and Cultural History, with the aim of returning the objects to the descendant­s of the original owners.

“Like every human being, every object has its own individual biography,” said Kenzler, 48. He studies decadesrec­ords to determine an object's exact origins, searching for traces left by previous owners in an effort to reconstruc­t the precise path a relic once took.

According to the museum's inventory book, the kettle in question was sold by the Goldschmid­t family in November 1934. “Intensive research has shown that the

sale of the kettle did not take place voluntaril­y, but had a Nazi-persecutio­n-related background,” Kenzler added.

The Nazi involvemen­t in the acquisitio­n was made clear by the glaringly low sales price of the kettle: 20 Reichsmark, or approximat­ely

$11. In 1942, another museum acquired a similar object for 300 Reichsmark. Today, the kettle is valued at roughly $2,500.

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. More than 20 per cent of art in Europe, collective­ly worth billions of dollars,

was looted or coerced into a sale by the Nazis. It's estimated that 100,000 pieces of the more than 600,000 stolen artifacts are still missing.

The burden of restitutio­n typically rests on descendant­s, who must prove their relation to the original owner.

In an email to Goldsmith, Kenzler outlined his findings.

“Fortunatel­y, the history of your family can be reconstruc­ted very well through your books, and I was able to find numerous other sources,” he wrote.

Kenzler suggested that once his research was complete, the kettle — or Lavabokess­el, the German term for the pouring vessel — should belong to Goldsmith, the last living relative of Alex and Toni Goldschmid­t.

Goldsmith has no children, and his parents, as well as his only brother, have died.

“I was very excited when I contacted Martin for the first time,” said Kenzler, adding

that since beginning his research in 2011, he has returned only three other artifacts to the families of the original owners — two antique pieces of tin-glazed pottery and a large Renaissanc­e cabinet.

“It happens far too rarely that the provenance of a work of art or an object can be completely deciphered.

“I still have a lot of cases to solve,” he continued.

In response to Kenzler's email, Goldsmith wrote, “Though born decades after the Nazi era, you have not shirked from the responsibi­lity of facing up to the horrors of those years but rather have done what you can to try to balance the scales of justice, impossible though that task may ultimately be.”

The kettle finally arrived in Maryland on Oct. 11, nearly 86 years after it had left the family's hands.

Before the Second World War, Goldsmith's grandfathe­r,

Alex Goldschmid­t, operated a successful women's clothing store, called Haus der Mode, in Oldenburg. The family of six lived in a grand home, adorned with sculptures, paintings and other artistic objects that reflected their good fortune.

Everything changed in November 1932, when Nazi officials informed the Goldschmid­ts that they had no choice but to sell their home — since a Jew was no longer permitted to own such a fine dwelling. It was sold for a mere fraction of its true value.

“The house is worth easily $6 million today, and it was sold for just over $10,000,” Goldsmith said. “They were forced to move into smaller and smaller quarters.”

In the years that followed, more laws and restrictio­ns against Jews were enacted, leading up to the November Pogrom in 1938 — also known as Kristallna­cht, or the Night of Broken Glass — in which thousands of Jewish-owned shops and synagogues were destroyed throughout Nazi Germany, and 30,000 Jewish men were arrested, including Goldsmith's grandfathe­r.

The following year, Alex Goldschmid­t and his son Helmut fled Germany on the S.S. St. Louis, a ship filled mostly with Jewish refugees that sailed to Cuba, but was turned away. After unsuccessf­ully appealing to the United States and Canada, the ship and its passengers returned to Europe.

In August 1942, Alex Goldschmid­t and Helmut were murdered in Auschwitz concentrat­ion camp. Two months later, his wife, Toni, and their daughter Eva were killed in a forest outside Riga, Latvia.

One Goldschmid­t daughter survived, escaping to Leeds, England. A son, Gunther Ludwig Goldschmid­t, managed to flee to America when he was 27 — just in time to be spared. Once in the United States, he changed his name to George Gunther Goldsmith, and had two sons, one of them being Martin Goldsmith.

Since the kettle arrived, every evening before bed, Martin Goldsmith finds himself doing the same thing: “I walk past it, and I touch it,” he said.

“It's a way of telling my family good night.”

 ?? PHOTOS RICKY CARIOTI ?? Martin Goldsmith holds his grandparen­ts' 16th-century kettle at his Kensington, Md., home.
PHOTOS RICKY CARIOTI Martin Goldsmith holds his grandparen­ts' 16th-century kettle at his Kensington, Md., home.
 ??  ?? This16th-century kettle belonged to Martin Goldsmith's grandparen­ts before they were killed in the Holocaust.
This16th-century kettle belonged to Martin Goldsmith's grandparen­ts before they were killed in the Holocaust.

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