Submitted by Seir Khan on the 2016 fall semester study abroad program in Paris, France…
University of Delaware’s Fall 2016 delegation in France took the opportunity to take part in Bavaria’s annual Oktoberfest this past weekend. A smaller group of the delegation left directly after class Thursday afternoon in order to arrive in the Bavarian capital Munich just at midnight to be able to have an entire Friday to enjoy the festivities. However, we had no intention of going to Munich without having actually gotten a taste of what the city is really about.
We decided that on Saturday, we would skip the lederhosen and dirndl donning for backpacks and snacks to take on the city. I, however, decided to get up a couple of hours early to visit a very special place. Opened from 8:00 a.m. to 12 p.m., I did not want to miss the tiny Bäckerei Paul Isaak’s opening hours. I now will tell you why this bakery is so important.
At the start of the Second World War, my adolescent grandmother accompanied by her younger sister and widowed mother escaped Stalin’s Russian forces and fled to Berlin, Germany. Eventually ending up in Munich, the mother and her two small girls spent the latter part of the war in the Southern German city. With barely anything to eat, and no means of being able to cook, Bäckerei Paul Isaak on 72 Südliche Auffahrtsallee Straße was kind enough to help. By allowing my Polish great-grandmother to bring unbaked goods to be baked so she could feed her 7 and 4-year-old daughters, the bakery would be essential to their survival in a perilous time.
Before my visit to this special bakery, my mother preceded me in visiting the same one in 1983, when she studied abroad in England through the University of Delaware. There, she visited the bakery with my grandmother and aunt where they encountered the following generation of owners who knew and recognized my grandmother. Even to this day, the same family owns the bakery.
Taking on the visit solo, I found that my tears were holding me back from efficiently communicating to the lady behind the counter, to tell her my family story. Although the owners were not there, the lady behind the counter patiently listened to my English being translated by another kind older customer. Although I did not get her name, this older customer is the woman who would go on to be in one of the most special photos I will ever take.
Even more, I would go on to the visit the original street where my widowed great-grandmother, great-aunt and grandmother lived. Having always known the stories of my grandmother’s childhood and how dangerous of a time it was to be living in a bombarded Nazi-Germany, the gravity of the situation became real when I stepped into the hallowed bakery that arguably, contributed to my grandmother’s survival, and possibly my existence.