It’s March 1943. The three of us are still in our own home. For how much longer? The laws and regulations decreed by the Germans follow each other in quick succession. Every day brings new worries; we live under great stress. Terrible. The ring around the little freedom left to us grows tighter and tighter. This is the final phase; we can feel it coming.
On 28 March we read in the newspaper: Jews in the province of Gelderland must report to Vught by 10 April 1943. This tells us everything. Too much, in fact. We know what Vught means. Imprisonment, isolation, ‘concentration camp’. Family life abruptly ended. Not that, never! Giving ourselves up to the enemy without a fight, last of all that! Our plan is ready; we’re going into hiding. We have only twelve days left in our own home.
Forced to say farewell to everything that has become dear to you over the years – it’s frightening to have to take such a step into the unknown, to flee like a thief in the night to the village of V. in the Gelderse Achter-hoek, where the E. family is prepared to hide us, to try to keep us out of the hands of the cruel occupier, to save us at great risk to themselves.
The final days fly past. We count the hours. Hetty, our daughter, leaves inconspicuously on 7 April. It’s the first time she’s been away from the place that’s sacred to her, the family home. A day later, my husband and I follow. We arrive at the E. family’s house in the evening and they greet us with a warmth characteristic of Achterhoekers. We are welcomed into the family circle and all eat the evening gruel together. A brief chat and then we go to bed, tired out by the tension.
A new era dawns; we’re in hiding now, our last chance. Will we get through it? Who knows? We’re full of good cheer. Every day, in our attic room, we devise plans for how we’ll make our time as productive as possible. We decide that my husband will help in the farmyard, to make the work of Bernhard, the farmer, easier. But he can only do that in the early morning hours. He mustn’t be seen. ‘People might come by.’
My daughter and I knit, sew, read and look after the children. Little Henkie and his sister take our mind off things and give us great pleasure. Every day brings the same grind. We follow the war reports with enormous interest. It’s going well, but how much longer now? We hear that the Allies landed in Normandy on 6 June 1944. Our joy is unbounded. It might be over soon! Free again. Things turn out differently. We’re no strategists; we have to go on waiting.
Wait, wait, with endless complaint,
That can never alleviate the wait.
Every day we make a mark in our book. There are already 464 of them. It’s now Sunday 16 July, a day we spent quietly and calmly. In the evening we talk until late with Bernhard and Drika about how things used to be and about the time to come, when the war is over. We go peacefully to sleep. Around two in the morning I wake up with a start. I can hear something! Oh, it’ll just be the cows grazing close to the house. No, there’s a crunching on the gravel. A banging on the front door. A loud voice shouts, ‘Juden, rauskommen!’ (Jews, come outside!) What shall we do? Seized by fear, we’re already out of our beds. We can’t get away now, the house is surrounded. Men in green uniforms and members of the Landwacht are already on the stairs!
‘What’s going on?’ I ask in a trembling voice.
‘We’re looking for Jews. Show us your papers.’
We nervously obey the order. Our papers are forged, but sadly they’re not up to date. I ask one elderly Landwachter, who judging by his brutal performance seems to be the commander, to let my daughter go. But all my pleas are in vain. She’ll have to come with us. Our suitcases are packed, blankets rolled up, and after a sorrowful parting from our dear guardians we’re on our way to the town hall in V. Will we ever see them again?
Locked in a cell, it’s only at this point that great distress descends upon us. Now it’s all over. What awaits us? If only we’re allowed to stay together.
After several fearful hours, the lock grinds and two ‘gentlemen’ walk in. We say, ‘Good morning’ and are answered with ‘Der Kerl muss mit.’ (The guy comes with us.) Hetty and I are left behind, anxious. After a while my husband is brought back in by the Sicherheitsdienst (SS intelligence agency). We are searched and our money is taken. Then we’re made to get into a small car and driven to Velp. In the SD building each of us, separately, is subjected to a harsh interrogation. One of the men is notably courteous towards me. I’m on my guard. He wants to make an exception of me and my daughter and take us to Theresienstadt, the camp for ‘privileged’ Jews – as long as I tell him where others are hiding. But I stand firm and say, ‘Even if you shoot me dead, I don’t know anyone anywhere around here.’ He answers indignantly, ‘Totschießen tun wir niemand.’ (We don’t shoot anyone dead.) ‘Well then,’ I say, ‘you’ll take us to the gas chamber.’ At that he shouts, ‘Die verdammte Lügenpropaganda von England!’ (Those damned propagandist lies from England!) In short, he realizes I’m not going to give anything away, shrugs his shoulders and leaves the room.
In the corridor we come upon my husband. Oh, the sight of the poor man. They’ve beaten him black and blue; he didn’t know anything either. We look into each other’s eyes and understand everything immediately…
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