I grew up in a small village in northeastern Ohio. As a child of divorce, my grandparents often cared for me while my parents were working or running various errands. I spent a large chunk of my childhood there. I would hide under the dining room table, watching birds through the glass door eat food left for them on the back patio. Smells of goulash, punjena paprika, or schnitzel would fill the air, and I would hear a Spanglish type mix of German, English, and Croatian in the household.
Growing up I was always fascinated by my grandparents. They were the first immigrants I met, and the only Europeans I knew. As a kid they felt so different to me than my parents, my American grandparents, or any of my friend’s parents. Their accents, their quirks, and their cultural differences — they often felt, and often were quite literally foreign to me. My Oma was the sweetest woman, and in part inspired me to cook so many traditional eastern European and German recipes. My Opa was the hardest worker I knew, though was often a bit distanced from us kids. I was very fond of them both, and always enjoyed spending time at their home.
I often asked them questions about where they came from, which came with mixed results given their past and the many traumas they experienced to come to the US. Our family’s ethnicity is a cultural blend of Croatian, Serbian, and German, and pending the day I learned and lived elements of all those different parts of our culture. Even though I knew my Opa was proud of our culture and heritage, he once told me to “remember where you came from, but never tell anyone that we came from Yugoslavia. Tell them you’re German.” When I asked him why, he brushed it off.
I didn’t understand why he said that until I was older, but my grandparent’s history was complex. They were Donauschwaben — a group of German speaking peoples who lived throughout Eastern Europe and largely settled across the Danube River Valley. My Opa Otto came from a small village in Croatia called Welimirowatz (Velimirovac), and my Oma Elisabeth came from Serbia from a village called Franzfeld (Kačarevo).
Their families left the region in the 1940s due to the threat of genocide in Yugoslavia during WWII. Being German or perceived as German would have been a death sentence. Hitler had invaded Yugoslavia, and Tito and the Yugoslavian Partisians in response scooped up the people living in these German speaking villages, and threw them into their own death camps. Knowing that it wouldn’t be safe for them to stay, my Opa’s family fled as refugees to Austria and made a temporary home there. They had originally planned on returning to their home, but the state took control of their property and they had no where to return to. My Oma’s family on the other hand wasn’t as lucky. Franzfeld was occupied by the Partisans and moved her family around three concentration camps (Jabuka, Rudolfsgnad & Jarek) before she and her family too eventually escaped to Austria.
There’s so much more to their story and what happened to them during that time between Yugoslavia and Austria — it’s tragic, and a lot to unpack. I think this context is important, but what I really want to focus on and share with you all is their love.
Eventually, Otto and Elisabeth met in Graz, Austria as they were getting ready to immigrate to the United States. They fell for each other and were determined to be together after they moved. They shared their addresses there in Ohio and Illinois, and began writing. They wrote constantly from 1952 to1953 until they eventually got married and made a life together in Ohio. They had 5 children, and eventually, one of those children had me.
Their letters collected dust in a box in the attic unbeknownst to myself or my family. It wasn’t until 2020 when I was doing my family research, going through old documents, and working on applying for Croatian citizenship I found out that my Oma had saved all their letters to each other. These letters were written in German, and my my family largely doesn’t speak it anymore except for me. I decided to take them all home, and begin translating them.
Their letters obviously have sentimental value to me and my family, but they are a snapshot in history capturing their young love and experience as non-English speaking immigrants in the US. In a way for me, it’s also been a way for me to feel connected to them since they’ve passed. I want to preserve their stories, eventually including their refugee stories I’ve previously documented, as well as other letters they’ve written and received — but until then I want to focus on, and share their relationship and communications to each other as part of these immigration love letters.
I’ll be publishing their letters here on my blog, translating to the best of my ability. I’m not fluent in German, but doing my best to translate them as closely as possible. This project has already been a ton of fun, and I’m planning on publishing this as a book for my family when it’s all done. I have about 20 letters I’ve translated already and will be adding them to the blog weekly. In the meantime, I hope that you enjoy their young love letters as much as I do, and enjoy this snapshot in time. You’ll be able to view all the letters here as I post them, but for now here’s the first and earliest letter I have between them.
April 6, 1952
Dear Elisabeth,
I received your letter today with great joy, and wanted to respond right away. On April 3rd I arrived at my parents house, and was surprised with how accommodating the people have been. We were given food, clothing, a radio, refrigerator, washing machine, and many other things. We live in a one story house alone with enough room for you. I’m very satisfied here — I’m only missing you.
I’m working with my father in a carpentry shop, 3 minutes from here, making $1.60 an hour, father making $1.70 an hour. We are in a small city with 2,000 residents. Dear Elisabeth with Mary I have nothing else other than I swear my love to you. I thought about you often on the ship, and think about you often now. We are not so far away from each other, and will come together again soon.
Many greetings and kisses.
Your Otto
(Watch for my new address!)
Happy Easter wishes to you. Your Otto
My parents are also Donauschwaben. They also largely communicated through letters before marrying. What an unusual time for our ancestors. I would love to read the translations of the letters you found.
Thank you for sharing! My dad’s side is Donauschwaben from Yugoslavia as well. I would love to read the rest of the letters! Wonderful piece of history.
That is so sweet.
Very nice! I await more.
I do enjoy what you have shared. A lot of what you say also applies to my family. Only thing it was I and mother and grandmother who left then Yugoslavia in the part that now is Seebis
Hi Ashley,
Love that your sharing the story! My Grandparents were Donauschwaben too, immigrated to cleveland. Looking forward to future letters. Thank you!
My paternal grandparents, too, were Donauschwaben – from Werschetz and Karlsdorf (now Vrsac and Banatski Karlovac). Theirs marriage was arranged by their grandmothers and they were both in the US prior to 1920. Growing up with the food, accents, language and talk of the “old country” fascinated me. In the 1950s, they sponsored relatives, some of whom survived the camps. Grandma’s mother and a brother perished at Rudolfsgnad. I have no letters but am a genealogist and know much about their lives.
Thank you for what you are doing. It’s a great way to honor their lives and experiences.