International Women’s Day 2025

Herta Probst

Last year on LinkedIn, a fellow accountant, college football fanatic, international traveler, history buff, and QuickBooks expert (hi, Becky!) commented that she, as a non-Catholic, still liked the notion of a St. Christopher’s medal. St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers, was a figure she could understand. Her story of how she acquired her St. Christopher’s medal made me smile.

Not just because it was Becky telling the story, although that was part of it. But because that story reminded me of Herta Probst and an especially cherished visit with that great woman.

During our first research trip in 1995, the Probst family was not on our itinerary. Oh, they were on our short list! But of all the White Rose families, the Probsts have suffered perhaps the greatest indignations at the hands of White Rose “storytellers” who care nothing about facts. You need only see Breinersdorfer’s depiction of Christoph Probst to understand how far-reaching the false depiction of Christoph Probst’s resistance has gone. Breinersdorfer depicted Christl as the shaky, insecure person at the February 22, 1943 trial. In reality, Hans Scholl was the person who nearly fainted as the trial progressed.

As a result of this and even greater insults, the Probsts have long been leery of granting interviews. In 1995, we were not given that honor.

Between 1995 and 2002, our relationship with Erich and Hertha Schmorell deepened. What started as respectful interviews in April and May 1995 evolved into friendship. I cherished my correspondence with that couple — letters, cards, laughter, contemplations. Along the way, they advised their dearest friends Herta Probst and her son Micha that we were trustworthy, that they should talk to me.

I found it sweet and touching that the Probsts and Schmorells remained as close after the war as Christl and Alex were during that time. Hans Scholl was not Alex’s best friend. That honor went to Christl. My first visit with the Schmorells, I gushed that the day before, I had stood at the intersection of Geschwister Scholl and Alexander Schmorell streets in Harlaching. “I think Alexander would have been pleased,” I naively commented.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” replied Erich Schmorell as kindly as possible.

Therefore in 2002, Herta and Micha Probst sat with us on their veranda, answering questions, asking questions of me. It was a serious conversation, punctuated with merriment and joy. As I had done with the Schmorells in 1995, I set their minds at ease by cataloging egregious errors in books such as Richard Hanser’s A Noble Treason, Annette Dumbach-Jud Newborn’s Shattering the German Night, and Inge Scholl’s White Rose book, Students Against Tyranny. Once they were comfortable that I knew the wrongness of the legend, inside and out, they opened up.

I had forgotten how rich the laughter had been at our not-an-interview, until May 2024 when Jennifer Rosenfeld and I viewed video footage from that 2002 conversation. Children romped all around us. It was a happy day.

When my mom and I returned in September 2007, on our way to Orenburg, Russia to speak on the occasion of the anniversary of Alexander Schmorell’s 90th birthday, it only made sense that we would ask the Probsts for another meeting. By this time, Micha was ill, as was his mother Herta. (Ironically, Micha died in 2010, while Herta survived until 2016.)

Herta’s daughter, ever protective of her mother, denied my request. But I could hear Herta in the background asking who was on the phone. When she heard it was me, she told her daughter, “Yes! I want to talk to her!”

My mom and I arrived promptly for cake and coffee. Herta, stretched out on the sofa, huddled under a blanket, looked frail and weak. But the longer we talked, the stronger she became. She had reached that stage of life where events from 1943 seemed almost clearer to her than life in 2007.

For several hours, she regaled us with tales of Christl, of his friendship with beloved Schurik, of life and love and laughter and sorrow and pain and… When I told her I was headed to Orenburg to talk about Schurik, she said, “Tell them, tell them: He loved to laugh. Schurik could always make me laugh. He would walk in the room and I would laugh.”

Even writing this now, I am made aware all over again: Not one of these students and the adults who worked alongside them was superhuman, not one was a hero mounted on a pedestal wearing a halo, not one was a saint. They were damaged, they came from dysfunctional families, they screwed up, and not only did they screw up, sometimes they screwed up royally. They could hurt one another with lies, deceptions, betrayal.

But at the worst times in this friendship that fueled resistance, they were 100%, absolutely, totally convinced that their friends in this circle loved them. Unconditionally.

Without that unconditional love, White Rose resistance would not have existed.

That had been clear before 2007. But in that small living room, listening to Herta Probst for what would be the last time, it became clearer than ever.

As my mom and I slowly and regretfully took our leave, Herta’s protective and sometimes difficult daughter accompanied us to our waiting car. We’d lucked into the coolest rental ever, a metallic blue Alfa Romeo Spyder convertible. My buddy (still my friend) and Herta’s son-in-law Nigel properly admired our roadster.

Just as we tore ourselves away, Herta’s daughter handed me a St. Christopher’s medal. Knowing I’m not Catholic, Nigel tried to stop her. But instead, I stopped Nigel. No, it’s all right. She cares, and she is showing me that she cares.

I still have that St. Christopher’s. I still treasure it.

In a time when it is way too easy to divide, to find reasons to fight, to hate and denounce and mock, take the damn St. Christopher’s. Embrace the caring and concern. Welcome the concrete sign that you matter to the other person.

Women of the White Rose

If — when — you hear ignorant “scholars” talk about White Rose resistance and say things like, The reason we revere Sophie Scholl so much is because she was the only woman involved with White Rose resistance--I actually heard that on a Webinar!--tell them to sit down and shut up. Because they know nothing.

As a reminder, I write about the women of the White Rose. I am woefully behind in filling in the gaps, but at least almost everyone is listed. And about 1/3 of the posts are uploaded.

The full stories of the work these women carried out, their bravery and courage, can be read in great detail in White Rose History Volume I (how they came to resist) and White Rose History Volume II (their contribution to White Rose resistance).

Women were equal partners of the White Rose men. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It was Käthe who saved the leaflet that Traute took to Hamburg. It was Lilo who stored leftover leaflets in her broom closet and baked cookies for the friends and let Alex play her piano. It was Tilly who brought money, paper, envelopes, and duplicating machines (plural) to the White Rose students on behalf of Eugen Grimminger. It was Lilli who stood with them at the Ostbahnhof before they headed to Russia, Lilli who had endured beatings in Ulm for not joining Jungmädel, Lilli who visited Alex’s parents after his execution.

It was Susanne who distributed leaflets in Stuttgart. Regine was the person Willi Graf most often turned to as safe haven. It was Elisabeth Scholl who spent two weeks with her siblings in Munich shortly before their arrests, Elisabeth who worked as nanny for a Communist, Elisabeth who was ejected from BDM.

And Traute, oh my goodness gracious!

Traute was guilty of: Producing leaflets in Hamburg; listening to foreign broadcasts from Moscow, England, Beromünster, and Communist Spain with friends; distributing Thomas Mann’s Responsa to the office of the dean in Bonn as Mann’s honorary doctorate was rescinded; owning banned books; providing aid and friendship to a Jewish family known to herself and friends in Hamburg; having a particularly radical attitude, being conspicuous during political discussions, possessing a special talent in maneuvering discussions during literary evenings to political topics; and, “being an especially free spirit, withdrawal from all connections to family, etc.”

She was two days away from being tried and executed for the above “crimes” when Americans liberated the concentration camp where she was imprisoned.

White Rose without its women would have been awfully weak beer.

Be strong and of good courage.

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Image credits: Top photo--Shopify, public domain for platform users. Photo of car--Our rental car, an Alfa Romeo Spyder, convertible, September 2007. © 2007 Denise Elaine Heap. Please contact us for permission to use.

The above information is fully footnoted in our White Rose histories. Please purchase them for access to that material! To order digital version of White Rose History, Volume I: Coming Together (January 1933-April 30, 1942), click here. To order digital version of White Rose History, Volume II, click here. WRH1 is © 2002, 2003, 2007 by Denise Elaine Heap. WRH2 is © 2002, 2007 by Denise Elaine Heap.

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