Reichsmarks was insignificant. Her real recompense was distracting the guards’ attention from the fences and gates surrounding the barracks. Dozens of Jews and Romani escaped, sometimes entire families. Malina was impoverished—but a moral millionaire, many times over.
One such evening was May 25 th , 1943, when Malina serviced three gate guards simultaneously, her finest performance, in my book. Only a few Romani escaped during that one-hour love fest, but two of them, the Domanoffs, Andre and Mishka, walked out the unattended gate carrying a third Gypsy, baby Luminitsa Krietzman—my mother, then barely a month old.
Once outside the gate, Andre and Mishka and baby Luminitsa headed immediately to the forest, a quarter mile away, where they were embraced by Romani partisans. Over the next weeks and months, partisan guides led them from temporary encampment to encampment, deep in the fo rest paralleling the road to Kielce, then stealthily proceeded southwestward, eventually passing quite close by the gates of Auschwitz, then across the valleys and ranges of the Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia and Greater Germany, and finally, by small boat, across the Bodensee into Switzerland.
Little Luminitsa, my mother, was almost nine months old when they arrived at Sankt Gallen in northeast Switzerland in the dead of winter, January 1944. The next month they travelled to Winte rthur, Switzerland. At this point, you’re probably thinking, “Good for them, they made it to sanctuary in the n eutral haven of Switzerland .” You couldn’t be more wrong. In its treatment of Gypsies, Switzerland was neither neutral nor a haven; rather, it served as an early model for the Third Reich, lacking only the willingness to adopt the ultimate solution to the Gypsy menace: execution in death camps. During World War II, no Gypsies—Roma, Sinti or Yennish—were offered asylum by the Swiss government. Not one.All Gypsies who sought asylum from the Greater Third Reich wer e deported back to Germany, with most of those deportees sent on to concentration camps.
So the Domanoffs and baby Luminitsa were not welcomed with open arms by the Swiss go vernment. Fortunately, Swiss authorities were unaware of their origins. The Domanoff s and little Luminitsa were able to stay in Switzerland only because Andre’s uncle, a Swiss citizen who lived in Z ü rich, knew of their impending arrival and was able to obtain high-quality papers for all three, including passable birth certificates and work papers.
Their papers showed them to be German, of Polish and Swiss her itage, who had moved to Sankt Gallen Switzerland from Liechtenstein in 1940. Of their Romani heritage there was no mention. They were able to keep their names, except for baby Luminitsa Krietzman, whose birth certificate proclaimed “Luminitsa Domanoff,” born in Sankt Gallen, Swit zerland, 23 April 1943.
Nineteen years later , thanks to the heroics of Malina Lublinski, the determination of Andre and Mishka Domanoff, and the assistance of dozens of Romani partisans and sympathizers, I would be born a Swiss citizen in Lucerne, on 23 August 1962.
There is no mention of my origins as a Romani Gypsy on my birth papers either, or those of my parents, Luminitsa Domanoff and Jurgen Reiniger, who were married in 1961. But I know my R omani identity—my clan and my heritage—and I will never forget.
13
Sophia Fellini’s announcement of her husband’s infidelity had been intentional, Yoko Kamimura concluded. But for what reason? Was she trying to shift suspicion away from herself and onto her husband’s assistants? If so, she would have been more successful if she hadn’t exposed what could be her own motive to kill her husband: jealousy. Surely she would know that. What game was she playing?
Apparently it wasn’t a game that was causing Zoran much distress. He continued his questions as if Sophia Fellini had simply commented on the weather.
“Did your husband depend on Iona Duncan and
One such evening was May 25 th , 1943, when Malina serviced three gate guards simultaneously, her finest performance, in my book. Only a few Romani escaped during that one-hour love fest, but two of them, the Domanoffs, Andre and Mishka, walked out the unattended gate carrying a third Gypsy, baby Luminitsa Krietzman—my mother, then barely a month old.
Once outside the gate, Andre and Mishka and baby Luminitsa headed immediately to the forest, a quarter mile away, where they were embraced by Romani partisans. Over the next weeks and months, partisan guides led them from temporary encampment to encampment, deep in the fo rest paralleling the road to Kielce, then stealthily proceeded southwestward, eventually passing quite close by the gates of Auschwitz, then across the valleys and ranges of the Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia and Greater Germany, and finally, by small boat, across the Bodensee into Switzerland.
Little Luminitsa, my mother, was almost nine months old when they arrived at Sankt Gallen in northeast Switzerland in the dead of winter, January 1944. The next month they travelled to Winte rthur, Switzerland. At this point, you’re probably thinking, “Good for them, they made it to sanctuary in the n eutral haven of Switzerland .” You couldn’t be more wrong. In its treatment of Gypsies, Switzerland was neither neutral nor a haven; rather, it served as an early model for the Third Reich, lacking only the willingness to adopt the ultimate solution to the Gypsy menace: execution in death camps. During World War II, no Gypsies—Roma, Sinti or Yennish—were offered asylum by the Swiss government. Not one.All Gypsies who sought asylum from the Greater Third Reich wer e deported back to Germany, with most of those deportees sent on to concentration camps.
So the Domanoffs and baby Luminitsa were not welcomed with open arms by the Swiss go vernment. Fortunately, Swiss authorities were unaware of their origins. The Domanoff s and little Luminitsa were able to stay in Switzerland only because Andre’s uncle, a Swiss citizen who lived in Z ü rich, knew of their impending arrival and was able to obtain high-quality papers for all three, including passable birth certificates and work papers.
Their papers showed them to be German, of Polish and Swiss her itage, who had moved to Sankt Gallen Switzerland from Liechtenstein in 1940. Of their Romani heritage there was no mention. They were able to keep their names, except for baby Luminitsa Krietzman, whose birth certificate proclaimed “Luminitsa Domanoff,” born in Sankt Gallen, Swit zerland, 23 April 1943.
Nineteen years later , thanks to the heroics of Malina Lublinski, the determination of Andre and Mishka Domanoff, and the assistance of dozens of Romani partisans and sympathizers, I would be born a Swiss citizen in Lucerne, on 23 August 1962.
There is no mention of my origins as a Romani Gypsy on my birth papers either, or those of my parents, Luminitsa Domanoff and Jurgen Reiniger, who were married in 1961. But I know my R omani identity—my clan and my heritage—and I will never forget.
13
Sophia Fellini’s announcement of her husband’s infidelity had been intentional, Yoko Kamimura concluded. But for what reason? Was she trying to shift suspicion away from herself and onto her husband’s assistants? If so, she would have been more successful if she hadn’t exposed what could be her own motive to kill her husband: jealousy. Surely she would know that. What game was she playing?
Apparently it wasn’t a game that was causing Zoran much distress. He continued his questions as if Sophia Fellini had simply commented on the weather.
“Did your husband depend on Iona Duncan and
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