of our marriage, and we received each one as a special
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It was a very great joy to us that God gave us children. Emy-Margret was born on March 10, 1911, and Eberhard (we called him "Hardy") on August 18, 1912. To us, children were a wonderful confirmation
of our marriage, and we received each one as a special gift.
In the spring of 1913, after Eberhard had held meetings in Halle, where we lived at the time, on the topic of following Christ, he was stricken with tuberculosis of the larynx and lungs. This threw all our plans into an upheaval. Eberhard's doctor advised a move into the mountain air, and we soon found the perfect refuge – a lodge high in the Alps of South Tirol. (Our second son, Heinrich, was born there two days before Christmas, 1913.)
Our move to the mountains was a step of daring: we had no regular income and no assurance of support. Our parents had hoped that Eberhard would stay at a sanatorium; they were willing to help us financially, and suggested that the rest of the family be divided up (they were worried the children might become infected). We, however, felt strongly that we should not be separated during a time like this, especially as the doctors had given us little hope for Eberhard's recovery. (He had seven infections in his lungs and had undergone two operations on his larynx).
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As I had to look after a seriously ill husband and two (then three) young children, I asked my sister Else to come and live with us, which she did. From this time until her death in 1932, she was my right hand as well
as Eberhard's secretary, and served us with loyalty and dedication.
Our time in the mountains gave us plenty of muchneeded quiet contemplation and rest; indeed, our stay there was a gift of great importance for our future lives. As at other times of our life together, our reading and searching for deeper clarity and greater light became a source of strength. During this period, the first chapters of Eberhard's book War: A Call to the Inner Land were published in various magazines under the title "Greetings from the Mountains," as well as other articles. We also studied the early Anabaptist writings of Hans Denck, Balthasar Hubmaier, and others. This great movement – the most radical expression of the Reformation spirit – was centered in Switzerland and especially the Tirol, where Jakob Hutter, after whom the Hutterians were named, was born.
Thankfully the mountain retreat worked wonders, and gradually Eberhard recovered. In the majesty and grandeur of the Alps (and the jagged Dolomites, which faced our house) we rejoiced in the wonders of nature as never before: the rhythm of the seasons, the magnificent alpine flora, the rising of the sun from
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behind the peaks, and the red alpenglow of evening. For a long time after our return home, we continued to feel a deep longing for the closeness to nature that we had basked in during those eighteen months.
The time of quiet in our mountain retreat came to a sudden and abrupt end. During the night before August 2, 1914, the first day of German mobilization, we received a telegram summoning Eberhard to report immediately to his reserve unit. We had been aware that war was brewing, but when the news finally reached us, it came as a shock. Eberhard left for Halle the same day in an overflowing military train. From there he was immediately sent east in the direction of the front.
With war having been declared, mail now came to a complete standstill, and other avenues of communication were closed. We were without news from Eberhard. Since we had moved to the Tirol solely for Eberhard's sake, we – Else, Luise (a young German girl staying with us at the time), and I – considered taking the first possible train home.
Then on August 18 (Hardy's second birthday) news reached us that Italy had broken her alliance with Germany. Within hours we had packed the bare essentials and were on our way home. We managed to
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get on an overcrowded train leaving for Innsbruck the following day. Nobody could tell us how we would be able to travel on from there.
Normally the distance would have been covered
in one night by express train, but the journey took us a full six days. We were traveling with three small children – Emy-Margret was three, Hardy just two, and Heinrich seven months. Thankfully our fellow travelers were friendly and helpful. When we finally reached my parents' home in Halle on the evening of August 24, we found out that Eberhard had been discharged from the army as physically unfit for active duty, and that he would be arriving that very day. What a homecoming it was, and what a reunion!
Everything was in the grip of war. Trainloads of wounded soldiers were already being transported from the battle lines, and cattle were being shipped to the front to feed the men. At home – in the railway stations and in the streets – people talked of nothing else. Great enthusiasm was evident everywhere. "Germany is surrounded by enemies from all sides. Let us fight! It is a just cause, and we will die for it and carry through to victory!"
Eberhard did not see things in such a rosy light. But when we looked around at the people who were so close to us, especially in Christian circles, we didn't know what to do. Husbands, brothers, and sons were
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at the front. What else could we do but go along with the general trend, supporting Germany and praying for victory? Hatred against the English was particularly strong, even among those who had experienced Christ.
"We are German Christians, and God will give victory to our cause. God will punish England." This was the prevailing attitude, and it affected us too.
At this point we were living in a small rented house at Dölau on the outskirts of Halle. The house had a garden and bordered the Dölau heath, near a beautiful pine forest, which was good for Eberhard's health. It was a wonderful place for the children too, of course. Eberhard was continuing on his book War: A Call to the Innerland (which eventually evolved into the book Innerland).
Our friends in Halle who had been led to faith by Eberhard's witness were glad to have us back, especially as so many men had been called to the front. Already at this time we both had an uncanny feeling whenever we thought about the war. We began to ask ourselves, "How does all this fit in with the love of Jesus Christ? Where is the faith that was once so strong among our friends – the belief that the fellowship of faith, the alliance of all Christians, must stand high above all nationalism, above patriotic love for the fatherland? How can a Christian kill his brothers?"