Jiří Rak

“In 1953 or 1952, when why birth mother was searching for me, the Red Cross from Czechoslovakia visited us. I was nine then. They asked me how I was doing, and told me that I had an aunt in Germany and wouldn’t I like to go live with her in there. Of course I said no. Then I had no way of knowing that it was my real mother. And, really, a nine year old child saying he’s going to just up and go to Germany? I didn’t know a word of German. My birth mother was a German but she hadn’t taught me a single word of German. So I told them no, and they then justified it by saying that the child didn’t want to go. But they let me know that I had an aunt.”

“At that time Háje had only about a hundred or a hundred and fifty buildings. It was a small district next to Cheb. They either talked about it at home, or had overheard it somewhere else, that little Jirka was adopted. Some of them later, of course in the middle of arguments, told me. So I ran home and Mom confirmed it. I didn’t even make a fuss, I wasn’t able to even imagine it. Mom told me that I was originally a German and that on paper my name is Niedner. And she also said that it was from the German word for niemand, meaning nobody.”

“If I had found out that I was adopted and that I lived in the care of strangers as a grown man it would have been different. But I was thirteen. Well, you know how kids in the village tease each other and everyone knows everything about everyone, they told me straight to my face: ‘You’re not even a Rak. They adopted you.’ Before I was always wondering why they were always making fun of me by calling German.”