Ruth Wilmschen

Abstract

I arrived alone at Ruth’s apartment building, a typical washed-out brick structure. Inside my footsteps echoed as I ascended the flights of stairs to her door. I do not recall any of these buildings having elevators — just as the subways had neither flat ramps nor elevators. Older people had to walk down endless stairs, gripping the rails. Those in wheelchairs had to be carefully rolled down steep cement stair steps. It was obvious why few physically disabled people rode the subways or frequented apartment buildings; the German way of life favored the indefatigable in body and spirit. For survivors like Ruth, her sturdiness is her anchor.

“In the Nazi years, I acquired an elephant skin and could handle any kind of treatment”